As elite-driven tourism threatens to displace communities and commodify culture, it’s time to reimagine Goa’s future around the rights of the oppressed and the justice of the commons
Goa’s tourism today stands at a difficult crossroad. What was once a locally embedded, culturally vibrant, and ecologically sensitive ecosystem has been slowly hollowed out by elite-centric models of development that prize profits over people. In recent years, the state has become a playground for big hospitality chains, real estate lobbies, and investors who view Goa’s land not as home, but as commodity. The everyday Goan — the small taxi operator, the local homestay host, the fisherfolk community, and local craftspeople — find themselves increasingly marginalised, their livelihoods undercut, and their presence reduced to decorative folklore.
The government’s approach to tourism has failed to foreground people’s participation, democratic planning, or sustainability. Grandiose plans are made with little consultation. Infrastructure projects disrupt community life. Forests and coastlines are opened to encroachment in the name of development. The result is a tourism model that displaces the very people whose labour and culture make Goa vibrant.
The struggle over tourism in Goa is ultimately a struggle over space — who it belongs to, who has the right to shape it, and whose dreams it should fulfil. For too long, state policy has imagined locals as either service providers or spectators in their own land, while big capital reaps the rewards. But Goa’s beaches, forests, heritage villages, and coastlines are not mere “attractions” to be monetised. They are commons — not in the tokenistic, charity-based sense of something gifted to the poor, but in the truest sense: shared, co-owned, and central to justice.
To reclaim the commons is to assert a vision of Goa where land and livelihood are not sacrificed at the altar of elite leisure. The commons are not nostalgic leftovers — they are future-facing political spaces where the oppressed demand dignity, where economic autonomy is cultivated, and where profit does not override care. Fisherfolk, small tourism operators, food vendors, and taxi drivers are not disposable. Their desires — for sustainable livelihood, cultural rootedness, and community control — must be at the heart of tourism policy.
In villages like Morjim and Agonda, traditional fishing communities have seen their spaces encroached upon by luxury resorts, their access to the sea narrowed, and their livelihood criminalised under selectively enforced norms. Taxi operators have been pitted against app-based services introduced without consent or compensation — a classic example of how the government embraces technological capital while sidelining informal labour. The stories repeat across Goa: homestays facing arbitrary shutdowns, markets gentrified, and festivals drained of local voice.
These are not isolated grievances. They reflect a systemic effort to erase the commons and remake Goa as a gated paradise for the affluent. But everywhere, people resist. Local panchayats push back against land grabs, youth movements document violations, and tourism collectives attempt to revive ethical, community-based alternatives. Their resistance is not just economic — it is cultural and political. It says: we have a right to belong.
Around the world, movements to reclaim the commons are gaining ground — from indigenous land defenders in Latin America to cooperatives in Kerala that run tourism through women’s self-help groups. These challenge the logic of capitalism by foregrounding shared stewardship, ownership, and ecological care. Goa must look inward to its history of community, its ganvkari tradition, and its culture of hospitality rooted in reciprocity, not servility.
The state must stop treating these groups as passive beneficiaries of schemes. They are stakeholders of resistance, asserting their right to shape the narrative and economy of tourism. To expand the commons is to reimagine tourism not as extraction, but as a dialogue of equals, where visitors are welcomed into a living culture, not a curated display. Until this vision takes root, tourism will remain a battleground between people’s aspirations and power’s hunger.
Goa deserves better. The future of its tourism must be rooted in justice, in dignity, and in co-creating models that respect both people and place. Anything less will only deepen inequality and alienate Goans from their land. It is time for a paradigm shift — from tourism as exploitation to tourism as collective flourishing. Let the commons return — not as an afterthought, but as the very soul of sustainable, democratic tourism in Goa.
(The writer is an activist engaged in struggles for social justice, people’s sovereignty, and ethical tourism)
