Can Emotional Solidarity Effectively Repair Indonesia’s Tourism?

The postcard image of Indonesian tourism is familiar: pristine beaches flanked by monolithic resorts, tour buses queuing at ancient temples, and bustling markets catering to fleeting visitors. For decades, this model of mass tourism has been a primary economic engine, generating vital revenue. But a growing chorus of communities, economists, and travellers themselves are pointing to its hidden cost, an extractive economy where cultural experiences are packaged, environmental footprints are heavy, and a significant portion of spending ‘leaks’ out to international airlines, foreign-owned hotel chains, and global suppliers.

Now, from the ground up, a quiet but potent antidote is emerging, rooted not in scale, but in the depth of human connection. It’s called voluntourism, and its superpower might be what researchers term ‘emotional solidarity’, the genuine bonds of friendship, understanding, and mutual respect that form when travellers don’t just observe, but actively participate in community life. This model presents a radical alternative: a regenerative tourism economy that keeps wealth local, empowers grassroots businesses, and measures success in strengthened communities rather than just visitor headcounts.

The Extractive Toll of Mass Tourism

The conventional mass tourism model often operates as a funnel. Tourists arrive on international flights, stay in internationally branded accommodations, eat at buffoys supplied by large conglomerates, and join tours run by external operators. Studies suggest that in some established destinations, as much as 70-80% of every tourism dollar can leak out of the local economy. This creates what is known as a “high-leakage” system.

Furthermore, the pressure of high-volume tourism can strain local infrastructure, inflate property prices, and at times, commodify culture into staged performances. The relationship between host and guest can become transactional, fleeting, and often unequal.

“Mass tourism is like a sudden downpour,” explains Budiman, a community leader in Sekotong. “A lot of water arrives quickly, but most of it runs off the hard ground, causing erosion. Very little soaks in to nourish the roots. We need a slower, steady drip that our social and economic soil can actually absorb.”

The Regenerative Alternative: Emotional Solidarity in Action

This is where the voluntourism model diverges sharply. Instead of the funnel, it creates a web. A traveller arrives not at a resort, but at a family homestay, often arranged through platforms like Worldpackers or local enterprises such as IndoPackers. Their itinerary isn’t filled with generic tours, but with contributions to a specific community project, teaching at a school, restoring coral reefs, or developing sustainable agriculture.

The cornerstone of this exchange is emotional solidarity. Shared labour, shared meals, and shared stories dissolve the barriers between “guest” and “host.” This fosters powerful outcomes:

1. Localised Spending as Default: A volunteer integrated into a family doesn’t seek out multinational brands. They buy snacks from the local warung, use the village motorcycle taxi (ojek), and purchase souvenirs directly from the artisan. The money circulates within a tight, community-based ecosystem.

2. Trust as Economic Catalyst: Deep trust, built over weeks of collaboration, leads to micro-investments. Volunteers often fund small business ideas, sponsor local children’s education, or use their skills to improve a family’s online presence, creating lasting value.

3. Reciprocity and Long-Term Advocacy: The sense of mutual obligation turns visitors into lifelong ambassadors. They return, send friends, and advocate for the community online, generating a sustainable, low-cost marketing channel driven by authentic testimonials.

Evidence from the Ground: The IndoPackers Example

The impact of this model isn’t just theoretical. Platforms facilitating these connections are beginning to quantify their effects. Take IndoPackers, an Indonesia-based social enterprise connecting travellers with community projects. Their internal impact assessments reveal a telling pattern:

• Hyper-Local Expenditure: They estimate that over 90% of a voluntourist’s daily spending goes directly to local households, covering homestay fees, local meals, transport, and supplies. This is the inverse of the high-leakage mass tourism model.

• Skills Transfer as Capital: Beyond money, volunteers contribute an average of 20-30 hours per week of skilled labour. Whether it’s digital literacy training, organic farming techniques, or language teaching, this represents a significant injection of human capital that communities often cannot afford to access commercially.

• Project Sustainability: Unlike “voluntourism” criticised for short-term, unskilled labour, platforms like IndoPackers increasingly focus on long-term, community-identified projects. For instance, a series of volunteers with engineering backgrounds might help a village complete a clean water system, with each building on the work of the last.

“This model flips the script,” says Agus Alwi, co-founder of Bagek Kembar Mangrove Ecotourism. “The tourist is no longer just a consumer of an experience. They become a co-creator of value. The community isn’t a backdrop; it’s the lead partner. The economic benefits are tangible and immediate because the relationship is direct and unmediated by layers of intermediaries.”

A Scalable Solution for a National Challenge?

For Indonesia, with its vast archipelago and countless communities rich in culture but poor in economic opportunity, the implications are significant. The emotional solidarity model offers a framework to develop tourism in underserved regions without replicating the extractive pitfalls of mass tourism hotspots.

It aligns with a global shift in traveller values, where authenticity, purpose, and positive impact are increasingly prized over luxury and convenience. It also provides a practical pathway to achieve the government’s own goals of community-based tourism (CBT) and equitable development.

The challenge lies in thoughtful scaling, preserving the authenticity and depth of connection that makes it work while providing broader access. This requires support in the form of community training, ethical guidelines for platforms, and perhaps gentle regulation to ensure quality and prevent exploitation.

As Lombok and other regions look to the future, the choice is becoming clearer. One path continues the extractive cycle of mass tourism. The other, illuminated by the powerful bonds of emotional solidarity, offers a regenerative alternative, where tourism doesn’t just take, but gives back, heals, and builds a more resilient and equitable economy from the village up. In the end, the most sustainable resource in tourism may not be Bali’s beaches or Borobudur’s stones, but the open hearts and shared humanity of its people and the visitors who come not just to see, but to belong.

Author: Fuad Andhika Rahman