I was sitting in the water waiting for the next set when the conversation turned to sex. The American had just arrived on our island after four days of fornicating with prostitutes in Bangkok. This was his summer vacation – sex then surfing – and if the waves didn’t get better he planned to go back to Bangkok. He evidently did this every year and couldn’t understand why his girlfriend back in the states was less than thrilled with his chosen form of annual R&R.
Of course, the American wasn’t the only American. I, for one, was also an American. “No offense,” the Aussie had said at breakfast, “but the new guy is your classic ugly American.” “None taken.” The three father-son pairs from Malibu were also Americans. But evidently this new guy came closest to representing our global stereotype. However, over the next few days, as we all got to know each other better, it turned out that the American was actually a pretty nice guy – and an oceanographer, the profession that every surfer aspired to when he or she was thirteen.
The American was very proud of the fact that these women seemed genuine when they thanked him as they collected their fees. He was a true gentleman. He was also impressed with the unique live performances he had found in the bars and restaurants. “Gee,” said Malibu Dad #1, “I’d really like to see that.” It was kind of like the way you might say, “I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon. I’d really like to see that someday.” Maybe he and Malibu Son #1 would stop off on the way back to LA.
This conversation bothered me, so I finally made a comment about the plight of children in the Thai sex trade. The American assured me that was way off limits in his book, and all of his adventures were with adults. “It’s all the same industry,” I said as if I knew anything about it, which I didn’t. “Never thought of it as an industry,” said the American. Indeed, it was just another world-class diversion one could buy if one had the money and knew where to get it.
So where’s the paradox?
I had come to this island in the middle of the Indian Ocean on my first-ever weeklong trip devoted to nothing but surfing, and I thought that this form of tourism was a near-perfect industry. Clean. Healthy. Providing well-paying jobs for local, up-and- coming surfers who worked as our guides. Surfing is a small part of the resort industry here, which the Lonely Planet describes as, “… internationally recognized as a model for sustainable, environment-friendly tourist development.”
But how is this different from the sex trade in Bangkok? Well, in about a million ways, of course. But as an “industry,” perhaps the sex trade re-distributes Triad wealth, provides jobs, leaves the natural resources in place, just as effectively as any other form of tourism. I had assumed that the difference is that sex as an industry ruins the lives of the service providers or provides abusive sustenance to lives already ruined by some other vice. But was I right?
How about the other side of the coin? Is tourism really a near-perfect industry for Third World countries? As someone who grew up in South Florida in the ’50s and ’60s, I know the feeling of being a local dependent on tourist dollars. There was a natural tendency to think of the snow-birds as a necessary evil, clogging up the boulevards and beaches all winter, oblivious to the true beauty of the place, or worse, ignorantly destroying it. As a local, you can’t help resenting them and, well, feeling like a bit of a prostitute–selling your natural endowments to transients to put food on the table.
So there’s the paradox. On the one hand, I have clear, strong opinions (a) that my surfing trip was part of a near-perfect arrangement for buyers, sellers, and all of their significant others and (b) that the sex trade in Bangkok is a near-perfect example of all that’s bad about post-colonial industrialization. On the other hand, it’s hard to deny that the two industries have a lot in common.
I think the important difference between the two industries is the process, not the products. The two products – surfing and sex between consenting adults – are not commonly identified as evil, per se (although each has its detractors). However, the processes behind the products are very different. Maldivian waves are produced naturally by huge storms that form off Antarctica and slam into western Australia. The little island resorts, or in some cases live-aboard boats, seem to do no immediate harm. And the effects on the service providers are scrupulously controlled so as to not have unwanted consequences (e.g., non-resort islands are off-limits unless part of a guided tour). Given that this particular country has a well-defined set of widely shared values, they seem to have managed the process rather well. The sex trade in Thailand does not have a well-managed process from either an economic or an ethical perspective, although it does account for about 15% of the GDP of Thailand according to the International Labor Organization. The report, ‘Children on the Edge: Protecting Children from Sexual Exploitation and Trafficking in East Asia and the Pacific,’ says that surveys indicate 30% – 35% of all sex workers in the Mekong Sub-region are between 12 and 17 years of age.” Moreover, the sex trade contributes to the AIDS epidemic, which increases the demand for young, HIV-free prostitutes.
So the problem is with the process, not the product. Consumers are generally very poorly informed about processes involved bringing most goods and services to market. However, increasingly process is being revealed in the media, by activist watchdog groups, and by corporate social impact annual reports. All of this information is becoming part of branding and, in my opinion, this connection to branding is what makes social impact a fundamental part of doing business in the 21st century.
This article is a revised version of an article first appearing in the Association for Consumer research Newsletter, Spring 2003.
