Tony Howard takes a look at mountain culture and our impact upon it.
We would all like to believe that our climbing activities impacted either not at all, or preferably positively, on the indigenous peoples of the steeper realms of our planet. But neither is necessarily the case. To have no impact is almost impossible. To have a positive impact requires positive effort and an awareness of ourselves as intruders or guests in the domain of others.
I would like to take just one example: Wadi Rum in Jordan, not a country normally associated with mountains, at least, not in 1984 when we first went, looking for new rock to climb. For us, our explorations have always been as much about meeting the mountain people of other cultures as about climbing. It was consequently a real joy both to be welcomed into the scattered Bedouin camps and to discover that, through hunting, they were excellent climbers who knew their mountains intimately and delighted in recounting tales of their adventures.
Meeting these people also posed a problem: they were obviously pleased that we were there and were wonderful hosts as their traditions dictated, but did they want us to publicise our findings and encourage others? At that time tourism in Rum was almost non-existent. The Bedouin were still predominantly semi-nomadic pastoralists scratching a traditional living from their livestock. But did they want more? Sitting by a fire in a Bedouin tent drinking endless cups of tea, we outlined the pros and cons of increasing tourism: the financial benefits of guiding and desert safari, the benefits of cultural exchange, the downside of the consequently increasing pace of life and the additional pressures that living in a more material world creates. Despite our own forebodings, they never had any real doubts. They were keen to assist with our explorations.
They showed us their climbs, destined to become renowned as “amongst the world’s best adventure climbs”. We made new routes of our own. In the following years we introduced other climbers to the area. Others discovered it for themselves, repeating old routes and making new ones. Our guidebooks were published, the local economy slowly grew. Then, with the peace deal between Israel and Jordan, tourism boomed. Following the precedents of the Alps, Himalayas and other mountain areas, mass tourism came hotfoot in the steps of the climbing community. Rum was well and truly on the map. The once tiny settlement around the fort suddenly grew into a large village – some would say spreading like a cancer into the desert.
The Bedouin were sucked into Jordan’s mainstream economy: they had vehicles to drive, fuel to buy, hitherto unneeded furniture, fridges, cookers and washing machines and the consequent electricity bills; they discovered the seductions of TV which, with its advertising, tempted them (just as it does us) to buy ever more superfluous possessions.
Not only that, but Jordanian environmentalists saw an urgent need to protect the area and, conversely, the tourism authorities to further develop it. An uneasy alliance was created which included the newly formed Bedouin Co-operative. Some in this union see the traditional lifestyle of the Bedouin as ecologically damaging. Others see them as unwanted ‘gypsies’ on the fringe of modern ‘civilised’ society and envy them for having so swiftly and successfully captured the tourism market. Apparently, there are those who still call for the removal of the village or conversion of it to tourist accommodation, to create a ‘clean’ Lawrence of Arabia theme park. Historical sites and even mountains have been given erroneous names to pander to tourists' expectations. There are fantasy ‘Bedouin weddings’ whilst the Bedouin themselves have happily taken up the swashbuckling role expected of them. The real Bedouin world with its real customs and hospitality is still there but what the tourists see is a façade created for their benefit in tourism brochures.
Interestingly, throughout this period, the climbing community has continued to have an excellent and genuine relationship with the locals who see us as ‘different’. We don’t come from Aqaba for an hour trip in the desert – tourist sheep to slaughter - we stay for a couple of weeks, we get to know them. We travel with them, visit their homes and camps, repeat their climbs – and maybe climb with them. We respect their culture. Many of us become their friends and return year after year.
But has their quality of life improved since our first visit and those conversations in the firelight all those years ago? Last spring, I asked one of our Bedouin friends this very question “I don’t think so” he said. “We didn’t have much when you came, but we had enough, and we had plenty of time for our family and friends. These days we have no time. We rush around with tourists and for what? I have a house and a car. I have a washing machine and TV but I don’t need them. Really, we are no better off. Sometimes I think we are stupid!” he said with a laugh, then added sadly “But I think that now it will be difficult to return to our parent’s ways”.
Since then, the west’s Islamophobia following the disaster of September 11, combined with the increasingly violent nightmare of Israel’s occupation of Palestine, has meant that Middle East tourism has suffered more than most. Lacking work, some Bedouin have temporarily re-pitched their desert camps. Valleys that in recent years had been devoid of their traditional presence now have the once common, black goat hair tents tucked into familiar wind-sheltered alcoves. It seems the ephemeral honey pot of tourism has not yet totally eradicated the customs of generations.
I sometimes wonder if we, and the climbing community, played any part in the changing fortunes of these people. In just 17 years, they have become fully paid up members of the global economy and subject to its two-edged sword. They are almost, but not quite, locked in. Not too long ago, the events of last September would have passed them by. Now it’s too late. I think my Bedouin friend is right. Barring a continuation of world disasters forcing the issue, there is no way back.
Had we – the climbers – not discovered Rum and brought it from the relative obscurity of Lawrence’s ‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom’ to the world’s attention, as was acknowledged by both Jordan’s Director of Tourism and the World Bank, would things have been any different? I think they would. The changes that have taken place as the tourism authorities subsequently commenced development of “The Golden Triangle of Petra, Aqaba and Rum” would have been even more abrupt and, from the Bedouin viewpoint, less beneficial. Having had those early years of interaction with climbers and trekkers before the real explosion of mass tourism has undoubtedly allowed them to realise that they have many valuable assets which they had previously taken for granted: the stunningly beautiful desert and dramatic mountains with their magnificent Bedouin climbs; natural rock arches and other weirdly sculpted rocks with pre-historic inscriptions; historic connections with the legendary Lawrence (from their point of view mysteriously revered by tourists); and their own warm hospitality and customs which Lawrence and other western writers have extolled.
By the time that others realised that Rum was a ‘golden egg’ and wanted a piece of the action, the Bedouin already knew it and had it! This not only put them in a stronger position to negotiate, but they also had friends in the world-wide climbing and trekking communities who supported them in their claim to their indigenous people’s rights.
Moving into 2002, the end game is unfolding. Rum has been declared a ‘Special Regulations Area’ (National Park) something which we personally have always supported, but it may not be as advantageous as we had hoped for the local people. Despite the fact that the area can hardly cope with current normal tourism numbers, it is being further developed and promoted with World Bank millions. Rumours of plans to marginalise Bedouin involvement are still rife (but consistently denied by those concerned). Their right to retain the customs and lifestyle of their choice seems under greater threat than ever as parts of Rum are reputedly being targeted for closure, not only to visitors, but possibly also to them.
It may yet be that we can continue to play a positive role by being available, if called on, to support the Bedouin in choosing for themselves where and how they want to live and which parts of their culture they wish to retain as they move into the future.
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