Holiday in Cambodia, or, trying to be a white anti-racist ally

Travel is messed up.

Travel necessitates some type of transportation, which usually means using gas and hurting the environment. Then, what businesses do you support? How do they treat their workers? Their environment? What is the implication of your citizenship and level of access? Is that shared by those in your host community?

Yeah. And yet, travel can be absolutely illuminating. Travel can change consciousness and shift our realities. It can teach us greater levels of respect for humans and the environment. It can inspire within us dedication to justice and its realization.

Many people have asked me to develop a yoga retreat in the winter of 2015 to somewhere warm and not so far from the northeast of the US. I have been looking. Lordy, have I been looking. It's surprisingly complicated to find a place with a yoga space, the right accommodations, access to vegan food, and that doesn't require a ton of travel.

I found some promising leads in Vieques, Puerto Rico. And then I had to call some Puerto Rican friends and ask, is it right for me to go there? I was a part of the call to get the US military out of Vieques. There are still high levels of toxicity linked to cancer due to the military's experiments on the island. After conversations with friends, they felt it potentially could be a responsible act. The military stunted Vieques' economy. Tourism dollars, coupled with awareness of Vieques' history and current reality, could be beneficial.

I began concocting an experience including visiting the bioluminescent bay and inviting a Puerto Rican Independentista and former political prisoner to come speak to the group. And then I began calculating accommodations, transport to and from the local airport, and food. It would be nearly double what I charged in Guatemala, thereby cost-prohibitive to much of my community.

Accessible travel is important to me. I kept looking.

I found eco-cottages in St. Lucia that looked absolutely enchanting. Further research showed that while it would still be a little more costly than Guatemala (everything is) it would be more accessible for a larger demographic. I read on and discovered the site was a former plantation.

Seriously.

I checked in with a friend who recently returned from St. Lucia. Our conversation confirmed my sneaking suspicion. Tourism in the Caribbean generally means supporting a large multi-national resort where money is siphoned away from the local community and locals are largely exploited. Or, you can sometimes find small, locally-owned businesses, but many are located on former plantations.

Many of you followed the controversy earlier this year when Ani DiFranco cancelled a planned music retreat on a plantation outside of New Orleans. My friend, Clarissa, and I talked about our feelings over the Ani controversy. Clarissa largely felt sad because she felt like it was a missed opportunity for Ani, as a white woman, to model anti-racist solidarity. I also felt like Ani's defensive response was insensitive to the valid concerns of women of color and their allies.

And then I found a retreat center on a plantation in St. Lucia. WTF.

My first thought: you witnessed Ani's lack of awareness to the trigger of a plantation. Move along.

My second thought: why are so many plantations now restaurants and hotels?

I titled this piece, "Holiday in Cambodia," after the Dead Kennedy's song highlighting this behavior of white folk running all over and playing on beaches that were sites of massacres. In Cambodia, all tourists are invited to see the killing fields. While in Vietnam I talked to both Cambodians and tourists about this practice. Cambodians felt strongly that visiting the killing fields broadened awareness, provided history, and context. It kept alive both tragedy and accountability.

The tourists I spoke to were deeply affected and reverent.

I mentioned the St. Lucia plantation to a Jewish friend. "Yeah," she mused. "Former concentration camps are all museums. There's reverence in visiting these sites."

Old sugar-wheel on the grounds of the eco-retreat/former plantation

Granted, there are more plantations than concentration camps. But why have so many been converted into tourism spaces?

What do we do with these spaces of tragedy? I called Clarissa to talk this through. I explained that part of me wants to go and think through slavery's legacy. To do that responsibly, I think I would need guidance from and participation with an ally of color. But what does that mean for any participants of color? And a retreat implies some level of self-care. Would participants of color be able to feel safe there?

As Ani said, we all inhabit plenty of buildings and places with tragic histories that we don't know. But what about when we do know? When it's super obvious or we've done due diligence? Is there ever a way to inhabit that space respectfully?

The specific space I'm considering is owned by a German family who bought it in the 1960s. They've completed ecologically-sustainable renovations, created a diverse organic farm, and opened up partnerships with the surrounding community. From my research, it seems they've made space for neighbors to have farm plots, and share in other collaborative, community-driven enterprise. The owners are historians and speak openly about the land being inhabited first by Arawak Indigenous people before slaves and slave-owners.

No amount of community gardens erase this place's history as a plantation. Is there anything that can be done to make this space safe for people of color and allies? Who is this space meant for?

I'm genuinely interested in your comments below. I'm working to be clear, considered, respectful, and uplifting in my words. I ask for the same.

Clarissa urged me to write this piece to be transparent in processing as a white anti-racist ally. So often, I'm scared of being offensive or insensitive. I closet many processes for just that reason. She pointed out this tendency can be a disservice to other white allies on the same journey. Let's be open about these conversations and support each other in navigating responsibly.

With love, justice, healing, and accountability,
Maiga