“Dark tourism is sick. People who visit sites of tragedy are just exploiting someone else’s pain.”
That statement is powerful. It feels right to a lot of people. It also misses a big part of the story. Dark tourism can be shallow, disrespectful, even harmful. But it can also be thoughtful, educational, and a way to face the parts of history most people would rather ignore. The real question is not “Is dark tourism bad?” but “Why do we go there, and what do we do with what we see?”
I might be wrong, but when people get angry about dark tourism, they are usually reacting to the worst version of it. The selfie on the train tracks at Auschwitz. The influencer posing at Chernobyl. The tour guide cracking jokes at a genocide memorial. Those images spread fast, and they shape how we think about the whole thing.
At the same time, millions of people visit places like the 9/11 Memorial, Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, or the Killing Fields in Cambodia with quiet voices and heavy hearts. They read every sign. They move slowly. They leave changed. That still counts as dark tourism, even if it does not look like it on social media.
So if you are asking yourself, “Why do people visit tragic sites at all?”, the very short answer is this: we go because we want to understand what happened, feel closer to history, face fear in a controlled way, and sometimes, whether we admit it or not, because there is a strange pull toward the shocking and the forbidden. There is no single clean reason. It is a mix.
Let us unpack that without pretending there is one neat explanation or a single “right” way to feel about it. I will push back if some ideas sound good but do not hold up. Dark tourism sits in a messy space between curiosity, respect, and sometimes plain voyeurism. That is exactly why it is worth talking about.
What Is Dark Tourism, Really?
“Dark tourism is just visiting haunted houses and spooky places.”
That is one narrow slice. Dark tourism usually means travel to places linked to death, disaster, suffering, or crime. Some of those visits feel serious and reflective. Others feel like an attraction. Many sit somewhere in between.
A few examples, just to ground this:
– Former concentration camps like Auschwitz-Birkenau
– Genocide memorials in Rwanda or Cambodia
– Slavery-related sites, such as Goree Island or plantation museums
– Disaster zones like Chernobyl or tsunami-hit regions
– Murder locations, serial killer tours, or crime museums
– Execution sites, old prisons, or torture museums
– Battlefield sites such as Verdun or Normandy
If you have ever walked through Ground Zero in New York, visited a war cemetery, or taken a tour in a former prison, you have already touched this kind of travel.
It seems to me that a big mistake is to separate “serious” dark sites (like Auschwitz) from “sensational” ones (like Jack the Ripper tours) as if they belonged to different worlds. From the visitor side, the motivations often overlap. Curiosity about death. A wish to stand where history happened. A need to feel something strong and real.
Why We Feel Drawn To Sites Of Tragedy
“If you visit a tragic site, you must secretly enjoy suffering.”
That claim sounds harsh, and it is usually wrong. The pull toward dark places comes from several psychological and social factors that often coexist. They are not always pretty, but that does not mean they are evil.
1. Curiosity about death and danger
Humans notice threats. Our brains are tuned for it. A burning building, an accident on the road, breaking news about a disaster. We look, even when we tell ourselves we should look away.
Travel adds another layer. When you plan a trip, you are not just looking for food and sights. You are looking for stories. Dark sites carry powerful stories, often with clear villains, victims, and turning points. That captures attention in a way that a regular square or museum might not.
Some researchers call this “morbid curiosity”. It is not simply a love of gore. It is an interest in the darker side of life, mixed with a wish to understand what could hurt us.
I might be wrong, but many people who book a dark tourism tour are not doing it to be entertained by pain. They want to see where the limits of human behavior sit, and how far things can go when they go wrong.
2. The wish to “feel history”
Reading about an event in a book is one thing. Standing in the place where it happened is another. That physical link matters.
– Walking through a gas chamber leaves a different imprint than reading a textbook.
– Standing at a mass grave forces the mind to slow down.
– Looking up at a nuclear plant, or at a coastline hit by a tsunami, changes how you picture those words in the news.
There is a sense that “this really happened; real people were here.” The ground becomes a witness. For many, visiting dark sites is a way to move history from abstract facts into something that feels real and personal.
Here is where people sometimes take a wrong turn: they chase emotional intensity for itself. They want the deepest shock, the most extreme story, like a kind of trauma tourism. That can turn into a problem, especially when it pushes guides and sites to exaggerate or dramatize suffering to meet demand.
3. Facing fear in a safe container
Dark tourism lets people flirt with fear while still feeling protected. You walk through a prison where people were once held and tortured, but you do it with a guide, an exit sign, and a ticket in your pocket.
That mix of “this is scary” and “I am safe” can be strangely attractive.
There are parallels with horror movies. People watch them to experience fear without real danger. Dark tourism adds location and history, which makes it feel more meaningful, but the structure is similar. Strong emotion, controlled setting.
The risk here is that some sites lean too far into this thrill angle. When guides tell exaggerated stories, add jump-scare effects, or treat victims as background characters to a horror show, that is where criticism of dark tourism feels very justified.
4. Moral engagement and responsibility
This part gets less attention in headlines, but it matters. Many visitors go to tragic sites because they feel some kind of moral pull: to pay respects, to learn from injustice, to witness.
– People with family ties to an event may visit to understand their own history.
– Others come because their country played a role in the tragedy.
– Teachers bring students to make history education more grounded.
– Travelers visit sites of slavery, war, or genocide to face the harm that shaped the world they live in.
“If we stop visiting, we forget. If we only visit, we still forget.”
That line shows the tension. Just going is not enough. But not going at all can make it easier for societies to soften or ignore uncomfortable histories.
The truth sits in between. You can visit for the “right reasons” and still make mistakes. You can go out of shallow curiosity and still walk away with deeper understanding. Human motivation is rarely pure.
5. Identity, status, and social media
There is another layer that many people do not like to admit: signaling.
Posting a photo at a tragic site can say several things at once:
– “I travel to serious, meaningful places.”
– “I care about history and human rights.”
– “My experiences are intense.”
– “I am not afraid to confront hard topics.”
And, obviously, it can also just say, “I am here; look at me.”
Some visitors use captions that sound respectful but still center themselves. Others post casual selfies that feel out of place. This tension is not unique to dark tourism, but it becomes sharper around suffering.
If your main aim is to collect shocking content, you are taking a bad approach. That mindset pushes you toward disrespect, stripped context, and shallow understanding. It can also pressure local operators to turn tragedy into a backdrop.
Types of Dark Tourism: Not All Sites Are Equal
“All dark tourism is the same. Once you label it ‘dark’, it is just exploitation.”
That view is simple. Reality is not. Different sites have different purposes, levels of consent from affected communities, and ways they present the past.
Here is a table to map some common types:
| Type of site | Main focus | Typical tone | Key ethical questions |
|---|---|---|---|
| Memorials & museums (e.g., Holocaust, genocide, war) | Remembrance, education | Solemn, structured | Are victims’ voices central? Is history presented with context? |
| Disaster zones (e.g., Chernobyl, tsunami areas) | Impact of technology or nature | Mix of scientific and emotional | Are locals benefiting? Is safety clear? Is suffering minimized? |
| Crime & serial killer tours | Stories of crime, investigation | Often sensational | Are victims objectified? Is glamor of perpetrators an issue? |
| Slavery & colonialism sites | Historical injustice, resistance | Varies widely | Who tells the story? Are power and racism addressed honestly? |
| Former prisons, execution sites | Justice, punishment, control | Can be reflective or theatrical | Is suffering used as spectacle? Is context about law and society present? |
| Active conflict-adjacent visits | Witnessing current crises | Unstable, sensitive | Does presence add risk? Are locals treated as props? |
Lumping all these into one moral category hides the details that actually matter. For example:
– A carefully curated genocide memorial guided by survivors serves a very different purpose than a “zombie prison” tour with actors.
– A community-led tour of a tsunami-struck village, run by locals, is not the same as an outsider operator bussing in visitors for photo opportunities without consent.
So if you say “dark tourism is wrong,” you might be flattening a very diverse field. At the same time, if you say “dark tourism spreads awareness, so it is good,” you might be ignoring how easily it can slide into spectacle.
Ethical Problems With Dark Tourism
You are not paranoid if something about dark tourism feels off. There are real issues that come up again and again.
1. Turning suffering into entertainment
The biggest red flag is when tragedy becomes a product with no space for reflection.
Signs of this:
– Joke-filled tours at sites of serious violence
– Gift shops selling tasteless items related to death
– Tours that exaggerate or invent stories to make them more shocking
– Marketing that highlights gore but hides context
At that point, you are not trying to understand. You are consuming. That is where a lot of criticism of dark tourism lands, and frankly, much of it is deserved.
If you book this kind of experience thinking “It is just a bit of fun,” you are probably taking a bad approach. It flattens real lives and real harm into an attraction.
2. Erasing or distorting victims’ voices
When sites are created or run without meaningful involvement of survivors, descendants, or local communities, several problems follow:
– The story may center the perspective of the powerful, not the harmed.
– Complex causes of the tragedy get simplified or omitted.
– Local trauma can be reopened over and over with no benefit to locals.
“History is written by the victors. Dark tourism is sold by them too.”
That is not always true, but it can be. Some sites put victims’ stories front and center, through testimonies, artifacts, and community involvement. Others tell a cleaner story that is more comfortable for the group that caused the harm.
If you find yourself at a site where the narrative feels strangely neat, with clear heroes and very soft language for perpetrators, it is worth asking why.
3. Ignoring local impact
Visitors often focus on their inner journey: “How did this make me feel? What did I learn?” That is understandable. But these sites exist inside living communities.
Some effects on locals:
– Constant flow of visitors can interrupt mourning and daily life.
– Properties may be repurposed in ways that locals see as disrespectful.
– Money from tourism may not reach those most affected.
– Tourists can behave in ways that reopen wounds.
If a town hit by a disaster sees tour groups walk through ruins while locals still struggle to rebuild, feelings get complicated fast.
One common mistake is assuming that “more tourists means more awareness, and awareness is always good.” Without local control and tangible benefits, that belief is weak.
4. Safety and risk-taking
Some dark tourism sites are still hazardous:
– Radiation levels in certain areas
– Structural damage after earthquakes
– Ongoing political unrest
– Landmines or unexploded ammunition
Visitors who push for “edgy” experiences can pressure operators to bend rules, skip safety steps, or open areas that should remain closed. That friction between thrill-seeking and safety turns dark tourism from morally tricky to physically dangerous.
Can Dark Tourism Be Respectful?
“If a site allows tourists, then visiting it is automatically respectful.”
That claim is comforting and wrong. Permission to visit does not guarantee that your behavior, mindset, or impact is fine. Respectful dark tourism takes more than a ticket.
1. The role of education and context
Some sites are designed as educational spaces: they offer clear context, survivor stories, and thoughtful curation. These places invite you to learn, not just look.
Key elements that support respectful visits:
– Clear information in multiple languages
– Survivor or community involvement in design and guiding
– Honest timelines, including responsibility and complicity
– Space for silence, reflection, and mourning
You can still behave poorly inside a well-designed memorial. But the structure itself nudges visitors toward reflection rather than spectacle.
2. Local ownership and benefit
Ethical dark tourism has a better chance when:
– Local people have real control over how the site is run.
– Revenue supports affected communities, not just distant companies.
– Guides come from the community and are compensated fairly.
– Boundaries are set by locals and enforced.
When local voices lead, they can set limits: no photography in certain areas, no joking, no entering private spaces. Disregarding those limits is another bad approach that many visitors still take.
3. Visitor mindset and behavior
You cannot control how a site is built, but you can control your own behavior. Some simple but strong guidelines:
– Accept that your feelings are not the main event. The history is.
– Avoid selfies that make you the focus in front of symbols of suffering.
– Listen more than you talk. Ask questions with care.
– Follow rules on where you can walk, what you can touch, and when you can take photos.
– Be cautious with posting online. Ask yourself who benefits from that post.
If you feel tempted to turn a gas chamber, a mass grave, or a still-grieving neighborhood into a backdrop, pause. That instinct is common, but it points you in the wrong direction.
Why We Need To Talk Honestly About Our Motives
Many people tell a “clean” story about why they visit tragic sites.
“I am here to pay respects.”
“I want to learn so this does not happen again.”
Those can be sincere. They can also be half the truth. Underneath, there might be other motives:
– Curiosity about the shocking or forbidden
– Desire for a unique story to tell friends
– Wish to feel strong emotions in a controlled way
– Interest in horror, crime, or catastrophe
I might be wrong, but pretending these motives do not exist makes dark tourism less ethical, not more. When you hide your real reasons from yourself, you are more likely to act in ways that hurt others.
A more honest statement might sound like:
“I am drawn to this place partly because it is disturbing. I also want to understand what happened. I know my curiosity has a dark side, and I will try not to let that override respect.”
That inner honesty gives you something to measure your behavior against.
How motives shape the visit
Here is a simple way to see how motives show up in practice:
| Primary motive | Likely behavior | Risk | Better direction |
|---|---|---|---|
| Learning | Reading, listening, asking questions | Over-intellectualizing, no emotional engagement | Leave time to feel and reflect, not just collect facts |
| Curiosity & thrill | Seeking shocking stories, intense visuals | Insensitive photos, pressure on guides for gore | Acknowledge the thrill, then refocus on people and causes |
| Respect & mourning | Quiet behavior, focus on memorial spaces | Romanticizing tragedy, ignoring context | Pair empathy with concrete learning and historical detail |
| Social status / content | Photos, posting, storytelling | Self-centered narrative, victim erasure | If you share, center the history, not your presence |
The goal is not to purify your motives completely. That is unrealistic. The goal is to be self-aware enough that your weaker motives do not dominate your actions.
How Dark Tourism Shapes Memory And Responsibility
Dark tourism does not just affect individuals. It also shapes how entire societies remember their past.
1. Collective memory and forgetting
Sites of tragedy can support memory by:
– Preserving physical traces of events
– Gathering documents, testimonies, and artifacts
– Teaching new generations directly on site
– Creating rituals and days of remembrance
They can also weaken memory if:
– They soften or excuse the role of perpetrators
– They omit groups that do not fit a neat narrative
– They turn complex causes into a simple story
– They shift focus from structures and systems to a few “bad individuals”
For example, a former prison that focuses completely on a famous escape, but barely mentions who was jailed there and why, turns a story of repression into an adventure tale. That might draw visitors, but it also blurs truth.
2. Present-day choices
Good dark tourism sites can nudge visitors to ask, “What choices are we making now that could lead to harm later?”
– Visits to genocide memorials can prompt questions about hate speech, propaganda, and early warning signs.
– Slavery sites can open discussions about current forms of exploitation and racism.
– Disaster zones can spark thinking about safety, technology, and climate risk.
The trouble is, many sites stop one step too early. They say, “This was terrible,” but do not ask, “What looks similar today?” That gap can turn a living warning into a tragic story safely locked in the past.
You can push yourself past that gap by asking:
– Who plays a similar role today?
– What systems allowed this then, and what systems resemble those now?
– Where do I, my community, or my country fit into this story?
Those questions are uncomfortable, and they should be. Without them, dark tourism can become a way to feel self-righteous: “Those people back then were cruel; I would never do that.” History suggests that level of confidence is risky.
When You Should Not Go
There is a lot of talk about how to visit better. Sometimes the better choice is not to visit at all.
Situations where skipping the trip might be wiser:
– The site is in an active conflict zone, and your presence adds risk or pressure on stretched resources.
– Local groups explicitly ask outsiders not to come yet because grief is still raw.
– The tour operator mocks complaints from affected communities.
– Safety is unclear, and you are mainly drawn by the idea of danger.
– You know that you are going mainly to collect shocking content.
If you feel yourself thinking, “This would make incredible photos, and that matters more to me than the people involved,” then yes, that is a bad approach, and walking away is better.
Practical Ways To Visit More Responsibly
Once you have decided a visit is appropriate, there are some concrete ways to shape it so that it does more good than harm.
Before you go
– Read about the event from multiple sources, especially those written by or with survivors or affected communities.
– Check who runs the site or tour, where the money goes, and how locals feel about it.
– Learn basic terms and names so you are not starting from zero.
– Ask yourself honestly what you hope to get out of the visit.
While you are there
– Follow local customs: clothing, behavior, photography rules.
– Pay attention to your body: if you feel numb or overwhelmed, pause.
– Listen closely to guides, and remember they might be holding their own pain.
– Avoid treating any part of the site as a background for casual photos.
After you leave
– Give yourself time to process. Journaling or talking quietly can help.
– If you share images, ask whether the people affected would welcome that image.
– Look for ways to support related education, memorial efforts, or advocacy, if that feels right.
None of this makes you a perfect visitor. There is no such thing. It does make you a more thoughtful one.
Why This Topic Makes People Uncomfortable
Dark tourism sits at a painful intersection:
– Our real interest in tragedy
– Our wish to see ourselves as caring and moral
– The economic logic of tourism and content
– The political use of memory
That mix brings contradictions. You can feel moved by a site and still catch yourself checking how your photos look. You can be respectful at a genocide memorial and book a lighthearted crime tour in the same week. Humans hold conflicting impulses.
I might be wrong, but that tension is not a flaw to erase. It is the starting point for more honest travel. Instead of pretending we visit tragic sites only for noble reasons or only for shallow thrills, we can admit the mix and work with it.
“We go to dark places not because we are monsters, but because we are human. What we do there is what counts.”
Dark tourism is not automatically sick, and it is not automatically noble. It is a mirror. It reflects how we handle suffering, history, power, and our own curiosity. Sometimes that reflection is not flattering. That is exactly why it is worth looking at it closely, and changing how we show up when we walk into the shadows of someone else’s pain.
