Last week, an absolute tragedy hit New York’s East Village when a gas leak caused an explosion, killing two people and destroying numerous businesses. This is a truly awful situation, and if you’re like me, then you’re thinking of those injured and the families of those killed as well as the individuals who have lost their livelihoods. The fire is a terrible, terrible loss for so many, and it breaks my heart more with every keystroke.
However, some saw this not as a tragedy, but as an ideal photo op. Scores of people, including a group of girls with a selfie stick, posed in front of the blaze and took smiley pictures. Yes, in lieu of lamenting the horrific calamity or checking charities where they could donate to help those impacted, they decided to mug for the iPhone.
I could spend an entire article ranting about why exactly people (very often Americans and surprisingly often women) are constantly making the news cycles for acting like fools on camera. But this is a pervasive problem far beyond a few choice individuals, and there’s little point in vilifying them in particular (besides, the rest of the internet is doing a fine job of that already). Instead, let’s focus on the broader travel issue at hand: the rise of disaster tourism.
Disaster tourism encompasses any sight that is primarily famous due to a horrible event or events. Think, for example, the World Trade Center Memorial, which has been described as “tacky” and “insensitive.” At its core, these places are benefitting from death. Hence, it would be easy to condemn this entire subset of tourism and be done with it.
However, truth be told, I can’t fully criticize disaster tourism, seeing that Salem and Gettysburg–two of my all-time favorite destinations–are both results of this brand of travel. I’ve also been to Pennsylvania’s Flight 93 Memorial (where a park ranger may or may not have hit on me, adding a whole new level to how crass disaster tourism can be).
Looking more internationally, where would we be if no one could descend into the Catacombs in Paris or take a somber trip through Hiroshima or the Anne Frank House? So if some of the world’s favorite tourist spots are, in one form or another, veiled disaster tourism, where does that leave us?
For many, it’s a matter of perspective. If a photographer is capturing images of a fire or memorial for posterity (a newspaper or archive, for example), then we applaud their actions in being up-close, sometimes in spite of the danger, so they might ensure future generations never forget the moment. Yet add a few grandstanding people to the pictures, and the situation changes. Is it simply the willful glee these selfie takers express? Could it be the wanton disregard for basic manners and decency? Or is it just how casual they all act—grinning, bad posture, etc.–as if posing in front of tragedy is as normal as snapping a selfie with the green mermaid on their Starbucks cup?
Again and again, I grapple with this issue. This post isn’t even the first time I’ve discussed the topic on this site. At the end of the day, there are no easy answers. While most of us can agree celebrating a group hug near an in-progress disaster is in incredibly poor taste, we might diverge in our thinking about, say, posing in front of a famous person’s gravestone (for the record, I’ve done this more than once, even going so far as to read “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” in front of author Washington Irving’s grave, so judge me accordingly).
Psychological distance is often an important component to deciding when you can satirize something. If it’s a recent event and it hits close to home for a lot of people, you should probably not tell a joke or take a goofy selfie. If there’s a little bit of distance, as is the case with Gettysburg or Salem, then a group picture doesn’t rank as high on the offensive scale. Still, there’s no perfect formula for determining when you can act the part of a fool, so if in doubt, be respectful. That will never steer you wrong.
Happy haunting, and for the good of humanity, leave those selfie sticks at home!