Sustainable Tourism or Sustainable Power?

Sustainability has become the defining language of tourism. It appears everywhere—in destination strategies, hotel branding, policy frameworks, and investment narratives. Solar panels are installed, plastics are reduced, and tourism products are positioned as "green," "responsible," and "future-ready."

And yet, beneath this visible progress lies a more uncomfortable question:

Are we making tourism more sustainable—or simply making growth more acceptable?

A recent reflection by geographer Alba Millán provides an important lens here. From a critical social geography perspective, she argues that sustainability is often used to legitimize continued growth, without fundamentally questioning the territorial and social structures that produce inequality, environmental pressure, and spatial imbalance. Her work challenges us to move beyond how tourism operates, and instead examine what it produces—across space, society, and everyday life.

In Aruba, this question is no longer theoretical. It is increasingly visible in how the island is evolving.

Tourism has been central to Aruba's development. It has created employment, infrastructure, and global recognition. That reality is clear, and it remains one of the island's greatest strengths. But tourism has also reshaped the territory in ways that are becoming harder to ignore. Rising housing costs linked to short-term rentals, the concentration of development along the coast, changing dynamics in Oranjestad and San Nicolas, and a growing divide between visitor spaces and lived spaces are not isolated trends.

They are outcomes.

They reflect what Henri Lefebvre described as the "production of space"—the idea that economic systems actively shape how territory is organized, who can access it, and how it is valued. As Alba Millán points out, sustainability cannot be measured only through individual actions or corporate initiatives. It must also be understood through the territorial model that supports those actions—how land is used, how investment flows, and how communities are impacted over time.

From this perspective, tourism in Aruba is not just part of the territory. It is one of the primary forces shaping it.

A recent example makes this dynamic visible in a very concrete way. In a residential area, what once appeared to be an undeveloped green corridor has been cleared to make way for condominium development. At ground level, the transformation is striking: exposed soil, removed vegetation, and a flattened, prepared surface where natural terrain once absorbed water and supported plant life.

Seen in isolation, this might appear to be a straightforward development decision—converting "unused" land into economic value. But when viewed from above, the same space tells a different story.

What looks like empty land is, in reality, structured by function. The irregular, non-linear shape is not accidental—it follows the path of a rooi, a natural rainwater channel that becomes active during heavy rainfall. Mapping overlays make this even clearer, showing how the corridor connects to a broader drainage system within the surrounding neighborhood.

This shift—from green corridor to development site—is not just a physical transformation. It is a redefinition of space.

And it raises questions that go beyond a single project:

Where does the water go now? Which areas absorb the increased pressure? What happens when ecological infrastructure is replaced without fully accounting for its function?

This is precisely the kind of situation Alba Millán challenges us to confront. Sustainability cannot be evaluated within the boundaries of a single project. It must be understood within the broader territorial system in which that project operates.

What appears to be "unused land" is often not empty at all. It performs functions that only become visible once they are disrupted.

For years, the industry has operated under a relatively comfortable assumption: that growth is acceptable, as long as it is managed sustainably. Much of this thinking is reflected in established frameworks and in the way sustainability is applied in practice—through efficiency, certifications, environmental measures, and operational improvements. These actions are important, and they should continue. But they largely improve how the system functions, rather than questioning how it is structured.

On a small island, that distinction matters.

Land is limited. Housing is finite. Infrastructure has capacity. Social systems have thresholds. Growth does not happen in abstraction—it happens in neighborhoods, in pricing, in accessibility, and in daily life.

The transformation of a rooi into a development opportunity is not an isolated event—it is a clear example of how cumulative decisions reshape the territorial system over time.

Tourism is not neutral. It directs investment, shapes land use, and defines how different parts of the island evolve. In Aruba, this becomes visible when looking across micro-destinations. Palm Beach has become highly efficient and globally competitive, but also increasingly standardized. Oranjestad continues to attract visitors, yet struggles to maintain a strong connection to local life. San Nicolas holds cultural depth and creative energy, but remains structurally under-integrated into the tourism system.

These differences are not accidental. They reflect how tourism flows and investment patterns have been structured over time. As geographer Doreen Massey suggests, space is always shaped by unequal connections to economic systems.

And this leads to a question that is often implied, but rarely asked directly:

Who is tourism really for?

Much of tourism strategy focuses on yield, segmentation, and performance. These are important metrics, but they primarily capture economic value. When viewed through a broader lens—such as Amartya Sen's work on development and wellbeing—value becomes something more complex. It includes access to housing, the ability to participate in economic life, social mobility, and the preservation of cultural identity.

From that perspective, sustainability cannot be evaluated only through growth outcomes. It also depends on how benefits are distributed, and whether people feel included in the system that surrounds them.

If growth increases overall value, but makes it harder for residents to live, work, or remain rooted in their communities, then it raises a fundamental tension that cannot be ignored.

This is also where traditional concepts like carrying capacity start to fall short. More advanced approaches shift the focus away from how many visitors a destination can handle, and toward what kind of conditions should be maintained. What level of pressure is acceptable? What level of environmental, spatial, or social impact can be sustained? And at what point do accumulated decisions begin to erode the system itself?

For Aruba, this is not only about volume. It is about distribution, concentration, and balance.

In recent years, broader discussions around post-growth and degrowth have started to influence how development is viewed in constrained environments, particularly in small island contexts. These perspectives do not argue for stopping development, but for rethinking its direction. They emphasize wellbeing, resilience, and long-term balance over continuous expansion.

Applied to tourism, this does not mean reducing its importance. It means designing it more intentionally.

It means recognizing that tourism is not just an economic sector, but a system that shapes territory—and that it can be guided, adjusted, and redesigned.

The challenges faced by small businesses operating in survival mode, the untapped potential of micro-destinations, the gap between policy and everyday practice, the underutilization of frontline employees, and the need for more structured innovation are not isolated issues. They are all signals that the system is not yet fully aligned.

Tourism in Aruba has been designed to grow. But it has not yet been fully designed to rebalance, redistribute, and regenerate.

And that is where the next phase must go.

Not in rejecting tourism, but in maturing it. Not in slowing everything down, but in becoming more intentional about how growth is shaped, where it happens, and who benefits from it.

Because ultimately, sustainability is not something that exists in strategy documents or certifications. It is something that becomes visible in everyday life.

It shows up in whether people can still afford to live on the island. In whether local entrepreneurs feel part of the tourism economy or pushed to its margins. In whether public spaces remain accessible. In whether natural systems continue to function as intended—or are only noticed once they fail. In whether the character of the island is strengthened or gradually standardized.

And perhaps most importantly, it shows up in whether tourism continues to serve the island—or whether the island increasingly adapts itself to serve tourism.

That is not a simple question, and it does not have a simple answer. But it is one that can no longer be avoided.

Because the future of Aruba's tourism economy will not be defined only by how well it performs, but by how consciously it is shaped.

And in the end, the real measure of success is not how many people the island attracts, but what remains—livable, accessible, functional, and meaningful—after they leave.

References

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Harvey, D. (2008). The Right to the City. New Left Review, 53, 23–40.

Hickel, J. (2020). Less is More: How Degrowth Will Save the World. Windmill Books.

Interagency Visitor Use Management Council. (2016). Visitor Use Management Framework.

Latouche, S. (2009). Farewell to Growth. Polity Press.

Lefebvre, H. (1974). La production de l'espace (The Production of Space). Blackwell (English translation 1991).

Massey, D. (2005). For Space. Sage Publications.

North, D. C. (1990). Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance. Cambridge University Press.

Sen, A. (1999). Development as Freedom. Oxford University Press.

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