There are rumblings of discontent from within the Kalash community regarding the influx of tourists who converge in their thousands to watch certain religious ceremonies, most notably the recently concluded Chilam Joshi Festival.

I have witnessed first-hand the scramble of hired jeeps, seasoned leather-clad bikers and ill-suited city cars crammed with make-shift camping gear, making their way across Lowari Top and along the treacherous route to the Kalash valleys. There is a spirit of adventure among visitors, an awe of the journey itself and anticipation of the first glimpses of the fabled Kalash. This atmosphere, together with the boost to the local economy, should indicate a thriving cultural tourist trade

While recommending visiting the valleys, however, I would suggest that visits during the Chilam Joshi be avoided. For behind the air of festivity there is a dark undercurrent rearing its ugly head, endured until now by the Kalash but creating a nagging sense of unease among the more astute of visitors.

Tourism may be the lifeblood of the indigenous culture of the Kalash valleys but is also threatening it

The problems become apparent once the first brightly-dressed Kalash girls and women are spotted walking along the water channels. Whispers and nudges commence, clandestine photographs are taken from a distance and laddish jokes with sordid undertones abound. Over the next few days, all pretence at civility is dropped. Women are hounded for intrusive photographs, private discussions with neighbours interrupted, and even trips to and from communal bathrooms documented and uploaded on social media. Cat-calling, harassment and manhandling of young children into unsolicited group photos are common.

Some visitors desecrate ancestral remains in the Kalash graveyards by kicking fragmented remains or standing in coffins in an overt display of contempt. Others loiter around private dwellings, trample thoughtlessly across carefully tended crops, spook livestock and pull down spring blossoms decorating building façades. No matter how dignified the Kalash are in continuing their preparations for Chilam Joshi, nothing can prepare them for the free-for-all that the main festival rituals have become. ‘Scrum’ comes to mind when describing the outbreak of minor scuffles as visitors desperately vie for the best vantage point or photo opportunity of singing and dancing women, whilst others surge forward to get closer, forcing religious gatherings into increasingly cramped spaces. It is ironic the visitors coming to see Kalash ceremonies first-hand are so disruptive that the community can barely carry out their activities in any semblance of their traditional routines.

Once the festival starts winding down, the villages become jammed with the exodus of traffic as tired, often hung-over tourists head homeward. They leave behind campsites strewn with litter, decimated stockpiles of firewood and evidence of open defecation lining the edges of streams — despite provision of tourist washrooms. Chilam Joshi has become a devastatingly stark example of the destructive consequences of a mismanaged tourist industry, and of how uncouth some of Pakistan’s domestic tourists can be. Whilst the Kalash strive to maintain normality, their discontent at the escalating situation is very much justified.

A recent conference in Islamabad concerning the challenges faced by the Kalash community raised a number of valid and critical issues, although media coverage of the event has been subdued in its acknowledgement of pressures arising from domestic tourism. The Kalash community has survived in Chitral for centuries — if not millennia — and is one of the last extant indigenous cultures in Pakistan. It has not, however, survived fully intact, and its current vulnerability is demonstrated by the changes encountered within the lifetimes of community elders.

The next few years are critical, and will decide whether the snowballing erosion of the communities will continue unabated, or if comprehensive resolution of the issues will ensure long-term sustainability of their way of life. The emerging tourism industry is in many ways pivotal to Kalash survival, but presents the ultimate paradox. Despite generating much-needed seasonal revenue and keeping the Kalash identity visible within the wider region, the out-of-control influx of visitors will inevitably destroy the very things that have captivated outsiders for decades. Whilst this situation has developed due largely to external influences, only the Kalash community can start a move towards much-needed change and if facilitated, are well-positioned to determine what is in their best interests.

While my earlier descriptions emphasise my more negative observations, there are numerous positive aspects to this as well. This leads me to believe that cultural tourism in Kalash communities has great potential — if managed appropriately. This is a view shared by many NGOs aware of the predicament facing the Kalash, and there is general consensus that informed decision-making by the Kalash community with the participation of authorities, non-Kalash locals and other vested parties can contribute to a more cohesive rapport between locals and outsiders.

Tourism is one of the few lifelines upon which the Kalash community and its neighbours increasingly depend, and sustainable management of visitors must be achieved using solutions that benefit all stakeholders concerned. Doubtless, compromise will have to be made on all sides, but it should be possible to find a solution of ‘no regrets’ where the gains make it worthwhile.

A tried-and-tested system used elsewhere in the world to great acclaim is implementation of a capped permitting system, which in the Kalash scenario could serve to limit the number of visitors within the valleys at any given time. It would be advisable to make the permit validity subject to compliance with a published list of expectations about behaviour of visitors, with serious or repeat offenders prevented from obtaining future permits.

Permits controlling the inflow of visitors would enable Kalash activities to continue with minimal interference, lessen security concerns, ease traffic congestion and reduce accommodation woes, thereby consequently improving visitor experience. Permit revenue could be used towards security personnel, community initiatives and uplift, and construction/maintenance of facilities for visitors. Efforts to attract people outside the festival dates could include reduced permit fees.

Dialogue with stakeholders should investigate which aspects of the culture visitors are interested in. The Kalash community could – to a certain extent — ensure that visitors experience these cultural experiences, ensuring non-festival days hold equal interest. This will have the added benefit of providing uniform revenue streams throughout the visiting season — particularly crucial if the community is to benefit as a whole, rather than a few individuals within it.

Above all, it should be remembered that elements of Kalash culture that had charmed the area’s first explorers, as well as the natural beauty and traditional built-environment, are the same factors which will attract a steady stream of visitors in the future. Over-commercialisation and uncontrolled development will dilute the allure of the Kalash valleys and further erode an already fractured cultural identity.

The trap of rapid, short-sighted development resulting in short-term gains with no onward potential should be avoided, and the tourist trade nurtured to ensure it does not peak prematurely. Ethical, community-driven eco- and cultural-tourism are feel-good catch phrases in an increasingly discerning global tourism industry, but for the Kalash the essence behind these concepts needs to be made a reality.

There is nothing stopping the Kalash valleys from becoming an exemplar in good tourism practice, and Pakistan could do with the positive publicity if it is to gain any foothold as a world-class travel destination.

The writer is an anthropologist, envirmentalist and social researcher

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 11th, 2017