8 Chapter 7: “Tourism and the Environment: An Environmental Justice Autoethnography” by Katie Shedden

Critical Autoethnography as Social and Environmental Justice

The quantitative research methods of autoethnography and ethnography emphasize the importance and power of storytelling in the study of lived experience. Generally, ethnography is concerned with representation of others from the perspective of the researcher to better understand culture (MacNamara, 2009). Autoethnography analyzes culture through the lens of the personal, treating “research as a political, socially-just and socially-conscious act” (Ellis et. al, 2011, p. 1).

Critical autoethnography “engages us in processes of becoming and because of this, shows us ways of embodying change”, offering a fruitful lens for the study of environmental justice (Holman Jones, 2016, p. 229). As Ellis et. al (2011) discuss, though objectivity in research has been pursued and idealized – our subjectivity as researchers does not allow for true neutrality. Autoethnography “acknowledges and accommodates subjectivity, emotionality, and the researcher’s influence on research, rather than hiding from these matters or assuming they don’t exist” (Ellis et. al, 2011, p. 2).

The study of environmental justice has benefitted from robust quantitative analyses correlating patterns of environmental destruction and pollution with adverse effects on particular human demographic groups (Banzhaf et. al, 2019). However, I would argue that critical autoethnography offers a crucial toolset to expand upon these ideas and amplify the lived experiences of marginalized groups in conversation with quantitative literature.

Below, I expand upon ideas that originated in my master’s thesis work through the lens of my own identity and how this extends to the study of environmental justice (Shedden, 2018). I aim to expand, in part, upon analyses that discuss Anderson’s (2006) concept of “imagined communities”. While imagined communities “are bounded geopolitical entities whose members recognize the people within the boundaries as members of the nation, and those outside as not”, I argue that our increasingly globalized world blurs and expands these boundaries and, by proxy, the scope of justice (Spurrier, 2008, p. 2).

Tourism and the Environment: An Environmental Justice Autoethnography

I have thought most often lately about the ways in which I am able to make a difference in the world: for better and for worse.

I am an able-bodied, cis-gendered white woman married to an able-bodied cis-gendered, straight white man. And I never thought it was all that important to say that I’m not all that straight because I have known for a long time that Mark is the love of my life – even when I wasn’t sure of myself. The universe works in mysterious ways and I have been a fool for thinking that I could outsmart and outmaneuver it.

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous –

Almost, at times, the Fool.

(Eliot, 1915)

My parents moved to the United States from the United Kingdom before I was born, over 30 years ago. I am turning 30 this year on December 7th, the anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day. Since I was born, I have been entitled to citizenship in both the US and UK – a Western colonial power and its rebellious colonial offspring – which have granted me incredible privilege in more ways than I can and will understand for some time.

I grew up on an alpaca farm in Goochland, Virginia. As a first generation American and a first generation farmer, I felt so divorced from the idea of inheritance. Each day I was building myself from the ground up, and I wished so desperately to better understand my family so that I could better understand myself. The first opportunity I saw, I clutched to – a study abroad program in Scotland. I took the opportunity to see every family member who would have me, and I hung onto their every word – in hopes that I would know where I came from.

My mother’s side of the family would later disown my mother and by proxy they would disown me, too. In many ways I realize that the world perceived me as a product of my mother – for better and worse.

During my study abroad program I met my husband, Mark. He was born and raised in Scotland where he had also attended veterinary school. He would later move to America with me and eventually, finally, be granted a more secure means to stay via our marriage. We talked a lot about how difficult this process was, and despite all of that – how much harder it would be if not for his country of origin, his occupation and the color of his skin. We would laugh at the ignorance of other white people, as they shared their disdain for immigrants not knowing he himself was “one of them”.

As we continued our lives together and grew in our careers, we suddenly and for the first time had more than what we needed. I remembered waiting for them to call my name for food stamps just a few years earlier, and how unimaginable it felt to even be here in a place of seeming abundance. All of a sudden we had no idea what to do with it all, which might be something you ought to keep to yourself – it felt ignorant and embarrassing to have such privilege.

Our friend had decided to get married in Hawaii, and we embarked on our most expensive vacation yet – I felt almost irresponsible for spending so much money on something as frivolous as a trip. I reassured myself that it was an important occasion and that really we had earned it, so the voices quieted a bit.

While we were in Hawaii, after the wedding celebrations had ended, we visited the Big Island. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever been, and I was so grateful to be here, so why did I feel so conflicted?

It seemed that everywhere I looked, I was reminded of the damage that tourism was doing to the local people and their environment. While many will say, perhaps rightly, that tourism provides for them as well – I couldn’t help but feel as though it shouldn’t have to be this way. I experienced deep inner shame as I was, in some way, being a voyeur in a place that was not my home.

As we ventured around the Big Island, I learned about the natural places – as I most often like to do. As I was asked to clean my shoes, I learned that our presence is the likely cause for rapid ʻŌhiʻa Death (U.S. Department of the Interior, 2024). As I walked around the educational exhibits, I learned that avian malaria was driving many endemic bird species, and particularly the honeycreepers, to extinction (U.S. Department of the Interior, 2024). I learned that colonialism had brought mosquitoes here, which in turn spread this disease. I felt a quite profound sense of sadness in my very bloodstream, as I knew that not only was I here right now – but it is likely my ancestors had done this before me.

When I returned home, I noticed that a local artist I follow had shared a flash tattoo design of a scarlet honeycreeper, or I’iwi bird, and I requested to have it tattooed on my left arm. My friends would later ask me why I got it and I didn’t know how to explain why. They asked if I had seen one, and I felt a little stupid in saying no. I later realized that, in a way, that was the point – and I may never see one in my lifetime.

My sister had done an Ancestry test, as my estranged sister had given one to each of us for Christmas the previous year. When my sister received their test results, in a way I was shocked – and then I found it hilarious, then outrageous, then deeply sad. They had clearly designed the graphical representation of the customer’s genetic material with the assumption of variation in mind. My sister’s test came back as 100% British and Irish.

My mother asked me why I wasn’t proud of this result – couldn’t I find some pride in just how British I was? I will admit that I still struggle to be prideful in this at all. The more I face this information, the more sadness I feel. How could my ancestors be so ignorant? So single-minded? And then I look over to Mark. The universe laughs. And I do, too.

My grandfather, Ian, told us a story about our ancestors – that we were at one stage part of a group of pirates. They were paid off by the British government to “legally pirate” for them as privateers. My ancestors were pirates in international waters and I’m still 100 percent British? Apparently my ancestors were banned from the state of Virginia, so I do find some comedic spite in my being born here for that reason.

We now live in Lakeside, Virginia together. Despite all of my travels, and the privilege that has afforded them to me, I live in the same county I was born into. I would have attributed that “pattern” to an ignorant, uncultured person in the past. Yet every day I grow to love our home and our community more.

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I sit, right now, on a couch in our hotel room at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico. Mark and I are both sunburnt, surely in part due to our rich Northern European ancestry. In a way I feel this is our rightful penance for being the descendants of colonizers in this beautiful place.

Our first night here, we sat at the lobby bar. We sat and talked for hours, almost unaware of our surroundings – we talked about our plans for the future and shared our feelings with each other openly. As it became later in the day, more and more people began to crowd the bar and I turned my attention to them. Then to the people of color working behind the bar. And then back to the sea of white people, all with their various asks and demands. I felt myself growing angry, frustrated – couldn’t they see how hard these people were working? Mark reminds me that patrons of this resort may never have had to work like this. I pitied them at that moment.

Warm bodies, I sense

Are not machines that can only make money

(Live, 1994)

But I returned to resentment and self-righteous indignation soon enough. As one man, Felipe, was rushing to mix drinks – he knocked over a glass by accident and it shattered on the bar. He started to pick up the broken pieces with his hands. I felt tears rush to my face and I looked at Mark. We had been drinking all afternoon so maybe it’s making me emotional. It felt so incredibly unfair to see him working like this – I wanted him to stop. It was as though all of these white people just didn’t care, as he was physically hurting himself in a rush to serve us. He asked if I wanted another drink. I hesitated and I felt bad for that – I was wasting his time.

“No, thank you. Is your hand okay?”

He brushed it off, nodded his head, and kept moving to the next person. I asked Mark – should I have asked that? Do you think I annoyed him? I felt embarrassed for a moment. We left him a tip and moved to another spot.

The longer we stayed, the more I noticed. I made it my goal to acknowledge every person that I saw working at the resort, and to know their name. When they would ask us where we are from, I reminded myself – why would I not ask them the same? We spoke to a man from Tabasco, Mexico and he taught us that the hot sauce was named after a pepper from the region. He saw the tomato tattoo on my shoulder and asked if I was a chef. I laughed and said no, then pointed to Mark – he used to be a chef! He showed us a tattoo on his arm and told us that he used to be a chef, too.

We started chatting to a couple of folks nearby, I was drawn to them as the husband seemed like an outspoken, goofy sort of a character. It seemed like we were finishing each other’s sentences and learning lessons from each other – they were about 15 years older than we were. And then he said something that startled me, something I didn’t expect. He started talking to me about Donald Trump – how he loved America and was working hard to make it better from an economic perspective. We nodded politely.

“I’m sure Donald Trump does love America. But he is hateful”, I said.

It was clear at that moment that we did not agree. They both started to move towards an exit – we all quietly understood that this could get awkward. I noticed that his wife seemed quite quiet and made a mental note to ask for her name if we saw each other again. Though I knew we disagreed, in a way I appreciated that we parted ways gracefully, and perhaps in a way they heard what I had said. I had been honest. And actually, I didn’t know if she disagreed with us or if it was only him.

I looked back over to the man working the bar, and I looked over to Mark. I began to imagine how many of these conversations played out in front of him. I felt immense shame.

“Fuck Donald Trump”, I said. And I meant that. Not the people we had just met – fuck that guy and what he represents. As we were sitting at a bar in Mexico, it felt disrespectful to even utter his name. His platform has made a point, in particular, of demonizing Mexico and the Mexican people. And these people had been nothing but kind to us, and were working so hard to serve us – and were sharing their community with us.

I hoped in a way that our server had heard me. I felt an immense amount of respect for him, and then sadness, knowing that he likely had to endure disrespect from wealthy white tourists every day. I didn’t know if I could do his job, I’m too reactive. And I realized in that moment how privileged I am to even be reactive.

We would later run into the same couple we had chatted with earlier. I wondered if they would avoid us – and they clearly wondered if we would avoid them. As I approached them he acknowledged our shared understanding, stating outright: “You know, I thought y’all weren’t going to talk to us. And you didn’t have to, but you did.”

I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind. But, I thought, if I have the privilege to be honest and speak my mind, shouldn’t I use it? If I can be honest, what could that do? And despite my newfound knowledge of our disagreement, I grew to look forward to running into them. Despite his support of someone I perceived to be hateful, I thought they were both kind – and they were open to hearing what we had to say. I hoped that there might be some opportunity in that.

In all of these experiences, in connection with the human and non-human world, I see a common thread. I have begun to wonder if, in our modern age, we have been encouraged to act as tourists in so many ways. The world is our oyster and we are entitled to consume it. We are not required to learn of a place’s history before we take what we want from it. We are not required to be kind to the people we spend time with there. I wonder how Western ideals and systems of oppression have enabled us to experience the world in this way.

And then I wondered if we could be different.

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”

(Le Guin, 2014)

I have tremendous faith that together we will achieve so much more than we ever could alone. As we build and share in our imagined communities, we have tremendous opportunity to expand our scope of justice – in considering how our lived experiences are part of the communal ecology of our shared world.

References

Anderson, B. (2006). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (Revised edition., pp. xv–xv). Verso.

Banzhaf, S., Ma, L., & Timmins, C. (2019). Environmental Justice: The Economics of Race, Place, and Pollution. The Journal of Economic Perspectives, 33(1), 185–208. https://doi.org/10.1257/jep.33.1.185

Eliot, T. (1915) Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, Vol. VI, No. III (pp. 130-135). Seymour, Daughaday and Company, Chicago.

Ellis, C., Adams, T., & Bochner, A. (2011). Autoethnography: An overview. Historical Social Research / Historische Sozialforschung, 36(4) (138)), 273-290. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23032294

Holman Jones, S. (2016). Living bodies of thought: The “critical” in critical autoethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 22(4), 228-237. doi: 10.1177/1077800415622509

Le Guin, U. (2014, November 19). National Book Foundation Medal: Ursula’s acceptance speech. https://www.ursulakleguin.com/nbf-medal

Live (1994). Pillar of Davidson [Song]. Throwing Copper [Album] Radioactive.

McNamara, P. (2009). Feminist ethnography: Storytelling that makes a difference. Qualitative Social Work, 8(2), 161-177. doi: 10.1177/1473325009103373

Shedden, K. (2018). “(In)visibility and meaning in food labor: A Feminist autoethnography”. Masters Theses, 2010-2019. 557. https://commons.lib.jmu.edu/master201019/557

Spurrier, C. (2010). Cassava, Coconut and Curry: Food and National Identity in Post-Colonial Fiji. (Master’s thesis). Retrieved from https://scholarcommons.sc.edu/etd/269

U.S. Department of the Interior. (2024, April 26). Rapid ‘Ōhi‘a Death. National Parks Service. https://www.nps.gov/havo/learn/nature/rapid-ohia-death.htm

U.S. Department of the Interior. (2024, August 20). The Time Is Now: Saving Maui’s Honeycreepers Before It Is Too Late. National Parks Service. https://www.nps.gov/articles/the-time-is-now-saving-maui-s-honeycreepers-before-it-is-too-late.htm