"Well, it was just, the bars was all just like the bamboo roofs and everything. You know. As I say, to me, it's completely spoiled all, all these places now. Make them all just tourist traps"
About this Quote
The line lands like overheard grousing, which is exactly why it’s potent: it’s anti-oratory from a man best known for incendiary moral prose. David Walker, the abolitionist writer of Appeal to the Coloured Citizens of the World, is associated with high-voltage urgency and principled confrontation. Here, by contrast, the voice is vernacular, halting, almost bored with its own complaint: “Well... just... you know.” That texture matters. It performs the way cultural loss often registers in real life - not as a manifesto, but as a tired inventory of cheap substitutions.
“Bamboo roofs” and “bars” evoke an aesthetic of the “authentic” that has already been packaged for consumption. The speaker isn’t defending some untouched Eden; he’s clocking the staged authenticity of places remade to satisfy outsiders’ expectations. “Completely spoiled” isn’t only nostalgia. It’s a judgment about power: who gets to design a place, who gets to profit from it, and who ends up feeling like a stranger in their own environment.
Calling them “tourist traps” sharpens the critique into a moral category. A trap isn’t just tacky; it’s engineered. The subtext is that commercialization is not an accident of modernity but a deliberate rearrangement of public life around extraction. Read against Walker’s historical mission - exposing how systems normalize exploitation until it feels like scenery - the complaint becomes a miniature allegory: the world refitted to please a buyer, while the people who lived there are left with the set dressing.
“Bamboo roofs” and “bars” evoke an aesthetic of the “authentic” that has already been packaged for consumption. The speaker isn’t defending some untouched Eden; he’s clocking the staged authenticity of places remade to satisfy outsiders’ expectations. “Completely spoiled” isn’t only nostalgia. It’s a judgment about power: who gets to design a place, who gets to profit from it, and who ends up feeling like a stranger in their own environment.
Calling them “tourist traps” sharpens the critique into a moral category. A trap isn’t just tacky; it’s engineered. The subtext is that commercialization is not an accident of modernity but a deliberate rearrangement of public life around extraction. Read against Walker’s historical mission - exposing how systems normalize exploitation until it feels like scenery - the complaint becomes a miniature allegory: the world refitted to please a buyer, while the people who lived there are left with the set dressing.
Quote Details
| Topic | Travel |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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