It is saddening to read reports that two foreign tourists assaulted the owners of a local business in Siargao after seeing a pro-Palestinian flag outside the shop. The foreigners allegedly threw rocks at the storefront and destroyed a nearby CCTV camera. The local community immediately—and rightfully—condemned the assault. The municipal government of General Luna also denounced the incident, saying, “we are proud to share our beautiful islands, culture, and hospitality…all tourists are expected to respect local laws, customs, and communities at all times.” The national government, through the Department of Tourism (DOT), likewise issued a statement that it “stands in defense of Siargao’s tourism…and, in defense of Filipino dignity and welfare.”

For the people of Siargao—a place known for its surf, coconut palms, chill vibes, and quiet provincial life—the episode must have been a shock and an upsetting reminder that hospitality is not an unconditional passport to do as you please.

Tourism has been a lifeline for many Philippine communities, including Siargao, which is one of the country’s more popular destinations for both foreign and local visitors. After the pandemic shuttered islands and emptied resorts, arrivals have since rebounded. The DOT reported over 7.6 million international visitors to the Philippines in 2023. Numbers still need improvement: arrivals totaled 6.4 million in 2025, a 0.76 percent increase from the previous year but well below the regional average. For comparison, Thailand received 33 million tourists in 2025, while Vietnam drew 12 million visitors.

There is no doubt tourism can inject billions into the economy and create millions of jobs—many of them driven by local entrepreneurs in key destinations. In Siargao, tourism has supported homestays, eateries, transport services, tour guides, and small retail businesses.

But prosperity should not erase responsibility. The economic benefits of tourism come intertwined with a moral obligation: respect for local people, their politics, their faiths, and their everyday ways of being. The incident in Siargao is a blunt, public example of what happens when that obligation is ignored. When visitors treat local spaces as a playground for their personal whims—especially over disputes of identity, history, or politics—the results can be dangerous and dehumanizing.

All over the world, residents have shown frustration when tourism tips from welcome to burden. Barcelona and other Spanish cities have seen mass protests and coordinated campaigns demanding caps on short-term rentals and stricter regulation of tour groups. In Japan, neighborhoods around Kyoto and Nara have staged demonstrations and petitioned authorities after residents endured overcrowding, noise, and disrespect at temples and on residential streets; some shrines and historic sites have introduced visitor limits and tougher behavior rules. Similar pushbacks have appeared in parts of Greece, Croatia, and Iceland, where communities have sought restrictions to protect daily life and fragile ecosystems.

I travel with a simple premise: I am a guest, and my presence is not a right. That mindset helps me stay respectful and prevents me from abusing my hosts’ hospitality. It also lets me truly enjoy the sights, wonders, and people of the places I visit. I observe dress codes at temples and ancestral homes. I try—however awkwardly—to learn a few words of the local language: enough to say thank you and apologize if I step wrong. I keep my opinions measured and my actions considerate; I did not travel thousands of miles just to pick a fight. These small courtesies add up. More importantly, they affirm a basic truth: the ability to travel is a gift, and gifts deserve gratitude.

In the Philippines, there is an added dimension of power imbalance to acknowledge. Tourists—especially foreigners—often arrive with economic and social privilege. Some may treat that asymmetry as a blank check to do whatever they please. It is not. Money is appreciated, but it cannot buy dignity or respect.

Every visit to a foreign place is an exchange. We bring our currency, curiosity, and sometimes our opinions. Hosts bring history, daily life, and the right to live free from coercion. If those exchanges are to remain equitable, tourists must remember their status as guests. That posture—humble, observant, and thankful—turns travel into an act of mutual enrichment.

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