Dark Tourism: Ethical Borders
Some people love to sun it up in The Caribbean, others fancy a snowy ski trip in the Alps, and then there are those who save up their hard earned cash to take a stroll around a nuclear disaster site or serial killer tour. I’m not here to judge (I am one of those people). It’s called ‘dark tourism’—the rapidly growing phenomenon I first discovered through David Ferrier’s hit Netflix series Dark Tourist, where he travels to off-beat destinations all over the globe to find the ultimate morbid experiences. People are trading sandy beaches for sobering history lessons, and it does get me thinking- what compels some people to walk in the footsteps of tragedy, and what’s the moral scorecard for doing so?
From wartime reenactments and ‘famous’ cemetery visits to eerie ghost walks, UFO hotspots and genocide museums, the world of so-called dark tourism opens up unsettling yet intriguing questions about the human psyche and our fascination with the macabre. I suppose the main questions I want to explore here are; why are we so fascinated with death, and can dark tourism ever be ethical, or is it inherently exploitative?
Why Are We Drawn to the Dark?
Humans have always been naturally curious about the grisly side of life, we see it everywhere in our culture from horror films to true crime, we even have a whole day dedicated to it where children dress up and pretend to be icons of the macabre. But why?
Some are driven by curiosity and empathy, trying to understand and honour the stories of those who’ve suffered. Visiting sites like Auschwitz, the Anne Frank Museum and the Killing Fields can help people connect with tragedy, in a way that a classroom can’t. For me, I think my fascination comes from the allure of exploring the unknown—the chance to uncover hidden stories of tragedy, piece together the mysteries of the past and really delve into the darker corners of history.
Dark tourism can open doors to understanding, offering insights into history, spirituality, and the complex layers of human psychology. Psychologist Nina Strohminger suggests that people may be attracted to the macabre because it's an example of "benign masochism", the tendency to seek out negative experiences for the sake of enjoying constrained risks. In other words, people indulge in horror and visit morbid hot-spots because they know that they can explore a thrilling, more sinister world from a place of safety. One can still chase that eerie, heart-pounding feeling you get when walking through an abandoned asylum but subconsciously know you’re not in danger, almost like rock climbing knowing there’s a safety net underneath you. You trick your brain into triggering your fight or flight response and enjoy the pleasure of the adrenaline rush.
Red Flag or a Lesson in Humanity?
One of my biggest ethical concerns for dark tourism is the commercialisation of death. When sites of suffering are transformed into profitable tourist attractions, it can feel very uncomfortable and exploitative. Gift shops and selfie opportunities risk trivialising the horrors that happened in that space. A concentration camp should never be a backdrop for an instagram post opportunity, yet it happens, and far too often. Death is not a spectacle, and treating it as one diminishes its cultural and emotional weight.
Perhaps the most uncomfortable truth is how dark tourism impacts the families of those who suffered. Some memorials serve an educational purpose, ensuring that history is remembered with the gravity it deserves. But others feel more like macabre amusement parks, profiting from pain with little regard for those left behind. Visiting the sites of war crimes or mass killings should come with a sense of reverence, not just morbid curiosity.
But dark tourism doesn’t have to be exploitative. It can be a way to confront history, to learn, to remember, and to reflect. It all comes down to how we approach it. Before stepping into a place marked by tragedy, it’s worth asking: What happened here? Why does it matter? What will I take away from this? Understanding the significance of a site is the first step to engaging with it meaningfully.
Respecting local customs is just as important. Sacred sites and memorials often have rules—following them is the least we can do. In some places, photography is discouraged or outright banned, and for good reason. Snapping a selfie at a concentration camp or mass grave site is, at best, tone-deaf and, at worst, deeply offensive.
Perhaps the best way to engage with dark tourism ethically is to ensure that our visits contribute something positive. Supporting sites and tours that reinvest in local communities, educational initiatives, or preservation efforts can make a difference. If a place profits off suffering but does nothing to educate or honor its past, it might be worth reconsidering the visit altogether.
At its best, dark tourism is a lesson in humanity—one that reminds us of our history, our mistakes, and the people who came before us. But it’s a lesson that requires care, respect, and a willingness to engage with the past for more than just a thrill.
