CHAPTER 12

RESOLVING CONFLICT AND THE ART OF RESPONSIBLE TRAVEL

“WHY SHOULD I ‘travel responsibly’? It takes time and money; I don’t want to think, I don’t want to talk to people—I’d rather just relax and enjoy the beach!”

I have a very introverted friend who, when she speaks, says exactly what she’s thinking—and I appreciate it! Because if one person is thinking it, there are probably others thinking it too. We have busy lives: the demands of our jobs, homes, and families often make us see vacation as an easy way out of the daily grind of responsibility.

But when we travel, we still have a responsibility: a moral responsibility to first do no harm to the communities we visit. If all our money is going to international hotel chains, cruise companies, and travel companies, the chances are that only pennies are reaching the communities we are visiting.

Beyond this moral responsibility, changing the way we travel also improves our travel experience. We see new things, taste new things, and experience new things; we build a future where we don’t have to spend our vacation elbowing our way through overcrowded heritage sites; we have a more relaxing vacation; and we walk away with more than just the same Instagram photo that everyone else has.

Consider this: I’ve been to more than 60 countries and stayed in everything from two-star hotels to five- and the self-declared six-star hotels all over the world. But one of the best hotels I’ve ever visited was a locally run, environmentally friendly, vegan hotel in the jungles of Indonesia. As a Middle Easterner, I was not excited about hearing that the hotel restaurant had no meat or cheese. But I had what turned out to be one of the best meals of my life, which also inspired me to eat more vegetarian food. Overall, it was also one of the best hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in, at a reasonable price—and an unforgettable experience.

I say this to emphasize that responsible travel does not have to be an either/or choice between fun and sustainability. It does not have to be more expensive (local boutique hotels are often priced reasonably). It does not have to be more time-consuming; you can follow a few of the tips at the end of each chapter, or just hire a company to plan a responsible travel package for you by perusing the B Corp website’s travel listings.¹

If you’re an introvert, you don’t have to talk to everyone— just focus on some of the other target areas I’ve recommended, like participating in educational activities, being more environmentally friendly, or supporting community projects. And you can still spend time at the beach or the pool. In short, responsible travel is not a zero-sum game: you do not have to lose something to make sure that locals are benefiting. Responsible travel benefits everyone!

Responsible travel will look a little different for each of us. A person’s travel experiences will vary widely depending on the person’s means, skin color, gender, personality, nationality, and language spoken. But each of us can find ways to improve travel for ourselves, for others, and for the communities we visit.

To take into account these different travel styles, this book has provided tips and strategies—some quick and easy, some more difficult—for how to make your travel more responsible (and more fun!). Here are a few final thoughts on how we can transform our travel experiences—and in doing so, transform the world.

Don’t Be Afraid to Ask the Hard Questions

Like my introverted friend (who expressed her suspicions about whether sustainable travel would require more money, more effort, and more socializing), you can improve your travel by being honest and being willing to ask difficult questions.

Once, during one of our tours in Israel and Palestine, our group of MEJDI travelers met with Mazen, a Palestinian refugee who lived in Deheisheh refugee camp (in the Bethlehem district of the West Bank). Mazen spoke about his life, and how his family and thousands of other Palestinians in the camp had been displaced, expelled from their homes as a result of the creation of Israel.

When Mazen was finished speaking, one of the travelers raised his hand and asked a question. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why don’t you just work harder and get yourself out of the refugee camp? Move on.”

This was the beginning of a conflict: a clash of ideas. But as insensitive as the question was, not all conflicts are bad. Sometimes conflicts can be used to open conversations, and sometimes a lack of conflict implies a lack of freedom (or willingness) to express ourselves openly.

Anytime humans interact, disagreements and conflicts are guaranteed. Whether it is between our families, friends, neighbors, or strangers, we will encounter conflict. It’s how we handle those conflicts that matters.

Mazen was not offended by the question posed to him by the traveler, and he used the question to explain more about the reality of life in a refugee camp. He explained that most people didn’t have the financial means to leave the camp. The unemployment rate in the Bethlehem district in 2018 stood at 21 percent (and in the camp the numbers were higher).² Many of the residents (including Mazen) were in Israeli prisons as teenagers and never finished high school. For the next half hour, Mazen and the traveler engaged in a tough conversation about the Palestinian refugee situation.

The question this man asked Mazen was phrased offensively, but it raised questions that others might have been too embarrassed to ask, and Mazen used the question to prompt an honest conversation. It opened a window for both the traveler and the refugee to learn about each other’s world and perspective.

Having a conflict with someone doesn’t mean we have to become enemies; enmity is born from our inability to manage our conflicts, listen to one another, express ourselves in a respectful way, and tolerate disagreement and diverse opinions.

So let’s not be afraid to ask hard questions; and let’s learn to have more productive conflicts—especially when they involve competing ideas. Uncomfortable situations and interpersonal disagreements can help us reexamine our own values and beliefs, and open up important conversations.

Strive to Suspend Judgment and Understand Other Perspectives

In 2015, I was on a speaking tour in Japan. I had been invited to speak to an auditorium of almost 1,000 students at a local university and was eager to talk to them about the role of edu­ cation in peace building and what they could do to advance peace in the world.

But halfway through my talk, I was ready to give up. I had made a few jokes; usually my jokes got loud laughs from audiences—but not at this university. I tried shifting gears and talked about some emotional situations I’d faced—but the audience didn’t give me even the slightest frown or sympathetic groan. I tried some interactive approaches, like asking questions and trying to get the audience to participate—but it made no difference. I started telling myself that those students must have hated me as a speaker.

The following day, I met with the professor who had invited me. He had collected hundreds of feedback papers from the students who attended my talk. As he shuffled through them, I was terrified when he suggested that we take a look and read some together. I expected the comments to be vicious.

I was wrong.

The feedback was full of compliments and kind words, and the students expressed strong interest in conflict resolution and peacemaking. I was puzzled. I asked the professor why it seemed that the students had been so uninterested in my talk.

“It’s a cultural thing,” he responded. “In Japan, at events like this you are not supposed to draw attention to yourself as an attendee. You don’t want to create a distraction. The focus should be on the speaker. You listen and learn without drawing any attention to yourself.”

In their essay “Conflict Resolution in Intercultural Settings,” in Conflict Resolution Theory and Practice, Kevin Avruch and Peter W. Black write that culture provides “the ‘lens’ by which we view and bring into focus our world; the ‘logic’ (known as common sense) by which we order it; the ‘grammar’ by which it makes sense.”³

In other words, while certain things (like laughing at a speaker’s jokes) might seem obvious or common sense to us, it is important to remember that these things are not common sense at all—they are often part of a cultural lens through which we view the world. These cultural differences can generate conflict or emotional distress because we are not aware of or do not understand the different sets of rules and values that other cultures have. As a result, intercultural communication is a challenge, because we all bring our own set of rules, expectations, values, and beliefs to the table. When we travel or communicate with other cultures, these “grammars” often clash with the grammars of our travel companions, local communities, or other tourists we encounter along the way; and this can create discomfort and even conflict.

Being aware that we speak different cultural languages (as well as different languages) is vital for becoming responsible travelers. We are likely to encounter things we don’t understand or don’t agree with. But if we determine not to take these differences personally, and approach these differences with respect and a spirit of learning, diversity can be a source of joy rather than pain.

I judged these students because I didn’t understand their culture. I assumed they didn’t care, and I was very wrong. I was in their country and expecting them to follow the cultural norms I was used to. It was ignorant of me to expect that. All cultures are different—all people are different (even if they’re from the same culture!)—our expectations, communication styles, needs, histories, and experiences are not all the same.

Yet it’s easy to make the mistake of assuming that cultural norms will be similar to ours wherever we travel. If we are not used to tipping in restaurants, we feel ripped off when expected to tip. We get upset when the service style at hotels and restaurants is not as warm and friendly as we’re used to. We assume that we are being disrespected or even personally attacked by new ideas or customs. But it is unrealistic for us to arrive at a new destination and expect all the norms and rules to be identical to ours—that is not traveling at all. We might not agree with or like certain practices, but we are guests in these destinations and must check our sense of cultural privilege (or rightness) at the door.

In the travel industry, for instance, I often find myself facing different cultures of service from one country to another. At one point, I worked with a hotel in Oman and felt very frustrated about the slow responses. Even though Omanis are also Arab and speak Arabic, I couldn’t understand them. Everything took longer than I was used to: email responses and confirmations took days or weeks. This is not to say that Oman doesn’t excel in customer service. However, their focus is more relational than punctual. I needed to understand that and learn how to work with local cultural norms. And in the end, Oman’s relaxed atmosphere is one of the things that make it a great destination to visit.

Relinquish Privilege

During one of our tours in Israel and Palestine, we were headed to Sderot (in southern Israel) after visiting the West Bank city of Hebron, a flashpoint of tensions between Israeli settlers and Palestinians. I was leading a group of 36 American students and professors, who were on a study abroad program focused on conflict and religious studies. Shira Nesher, an Israeli peacemaker and former guide for the Israeli Army, was co-guiding with me.

Approaching the Tarqumiyah checkpoint, which serves as the main passage for products from Israel to enter the southern part of the West Bank, we weren’t expecting any issues. Our group had already passed multiple checkpoints and had no problems.

But when we tried to pass, our bus driver (a Palestinian from Jerusalem) was told by the soldiers to park the bus and get off to undergo extra security checks. As I was the only other Palestinian on the bus, the soldiers soon told me to join the driver.

I didn’t want to create an argument with them about the absurdity of the situation. (It was rather pointless to check the driver and me but not the rest of the bus—especially since we had access to the luggage.) But I didn’t say anything. I just wanted us to pass quickly and get to our next meeting on time.

However, Shira, our Israeli guide, decided to ask the soldiers about the reasoning behind this selective treatment. Her question of “why” was met matter-of-factly:

Security: “We need to check Aziz and Mustafa [the driver].”

He turned to me and Mustafa. “Both of you, take off your shoes, jackets, and belts; bring your backpacks . . .”

Equally matter-of-factly, Shira replied, “OK”—and started taking off her shoes and belt, trailing behind us.

Security: “What do you think you are doing?”

Shira: “I am going through the same security checks they are going through.”

Security: “What reality are you living in?” Suddenly realizing that she was protesting his profiling us for being Palestinian, he said, “You wouldn’t have done this if you were in a New York airport and the security pulled a Muslim guy in front of you for extra checking, would you?”

Shira: “My reality is different than your reality. These are not strangers in the airport. They are my coworkers. I didn’t ask you not to check them; I will not interfere with your work. However, you should check me too. I don’t accept you racially profiling my colleagues. We are one team; we spend 15 hours together every day. We work together, eat together, and at checkpoints we should be treated similarly. We are equal in everything we do—why not here?”

Shira then underwent the same security checks that Mustafa and I underwent. She didn’t get angry; she just used a calm voice to force the security officer to reconsider his actions. She could have yelled and tossed about accusations, which would have surely made him angry, but she chose a different path. She decided to create cognitive dissonance and prompt him to rethink the objectives and practices of his work. And she showed him that she considered Palestinians her equals.

What impressed me was that Shira didn’t just demand better treatment of Palestinians from afar or sermonize about justice and equality. Instead, when she realized she couldn’t guarantee that her Palestinian colleagues would be treated equally, she gave up her privileges in a show of equality.

When we returned to the bus, one of the Christian theology professors told us in a trembling voice, “When I saw the soldiers profiling you, I was angry. All of us on the bus were angry. But Shira, you showed us how to use love and respect to model a different reality. I have to tell you, to me, that embodies the biblical commandment to love your neighbor.”

Shira also provided a great example of how as travelers we must be aware of the privileges we enjoy because of our nationality, economic class, race, ethnicity, gender, skin color, and religion. As a male, I have the freedom to not worry about certain things women have to consider while traveling; and as a Palestinian Arab, I can move more freely and blend in while traveling in South America and the Middle East, but I often become a target of suspicion in parts of Europe and North America.

In other words, being aware of our privileges will help us consider them as we communicate and engage with other groups. Like Shira, as travelers we must always assess our privileges. In the end, the power we possess having the means to travel internationally is a luxury, and we must be reflective about how these privileges divide us from or connect us to those around us.

Be Kind toward Others

I met Arno, a former neo-Nazi, while moderating an event in New York City. Arno was one of the speakers on our panel; during his presentation, he shared how he had become a white supremacist at age 16—and the encounter that had made him change his mind. He had grown up angry, a teen in an alcoholic home where emotional abuse was the norm. He had reacted by bullying other kids and committing acts of vandalism.

In school, he fell in with a group of kids who believed that Jews were bringing Latinos and black people to America on purpose to destroy the white race; he said, “I joined up for the kicks and to make people angry.” He ultimately dropped out of high school and made a meager income working at a T-shirt store. His money went to buying alcohol. Six days a week he would eat only packaged ramen noodles; once a week he treated himself to McDonald’s.

But the fast food restaurant turned out to be the place that began a shift in Arno’s perspective. Behind the register, an elderly African American woman would always greet him “with a smile as warm and unconditional as the sun.”⁴ Arno didn’t like that the woman was welcoming and nice to him—it challenged everything he believed in. It bothered him so much that he would leave McDonald’s and immediately try to get into a fight so that he could maintain his worldview of besiegement.

One day, Arno decided to get a swastika tattoo on his middle finger to provoke people. But as his weekly trip to McDonald’s approached, he found himself thinking, “I don’t want to show my swastika to the nice elderly black lady.” He had been affected by her without even realizing it.

As much as he tried to hide the tattoo, she noticed it. She saw the swastika and froze. “What is this?” she asked. While normally Arno would respond by picking a fight, this time a wave of shame swept over him; he couldn’t even look the woman in the eyes. He muttered, “Nothing.” She softly responded, “You’re a better person than that. That’s not who you are.”

Even though Arno didn’t leave the neo-Nazi group right away, he said it was this seed of compassion that spread doubt in his mind about the doctrines of white supremacy. In the end, that woman became one of the reasons why he decided to leave the neo-Nazis. While others he encountered spewed hate, this African American woman’s kindness moved him. In retrospect, Arno describes these kinds of people as peace warriors: individuals who brought love into his life until there was no longer any room for hatred.

Arno’s story is a powerful example of how a kind word can make a difference in someone’s life. While traveling, we will encounter angry people, rude people, racist people, people who will offend us, and people who act unjustly toward us. But I’ve learned from Arno to always act with kindness and compassion, and to always try to smile. Most times, we will never know how our kindness affects others; but as Arno’s story shows, unconditional kindness—even in a moment’s exchange between a service worker and a customer—can change even the hardest of hearts.

Share a Cup of Coffee

A final story I want to leave you with is about coffee. Coffee is an essential drink in the Middle East. But its value goes beyond its high caffeine content and its strong taste, as we slowly sip it from the finjan (special small coffee cup). Research shows that Arabs were among the first to drink coffee, in the 15 th century. Within a hundred years it found its way to every corner of the world, including the New World, which eventually became a leader in coffee production.

I grew up learning about coffee’s symbolic power in our community. The acceptance of a marriage proposal is sealed by drinking coffee. A wedding is celebrated by drinking coffee. When you offer condolences at a memorial service, you drink sugarless coffee. And when there is a conflict to solve, drinking coffee is the sign of reconciliation. I also learned that you never refuse coffee in someone’s home. It is considered a major insult, as it’s a symbol of relationship and hospitality.

A few years ago, my oldest brother, Mustafa, called me and said, “Come over now—I caught a burglar in my house.” I arrived 15 minutes later to find about 100 family members gathered outside the house. My cousins were angry and demanded that my brother bring the burglar outside so they could “teach him a lesson.” When my father arrived, he asked everyone to calm down. He then walked into the house to speak with the burglar. When my father eventually reemerged, he told everyone to let him go unharmed.

The burglar was 19 years old. He had broken into the house while my sister-in-law was out, hastily shoving a few valuables in a bag. But when she and the family returned, he was trapped; he hid and found himself locked in for the night (in the Middle East, windows often have bars, and steel doors are locked from the inside at night).

My brother Mustafa found the thief the next morning. He grabbed the teen, pushed him into a room, locked the door, and called all of us. When my father heard the story, he said, “I think we are lucky—we got the worst burglar in town.” We all knew what my father was going to do. He was not going to call the police; he would resort to our traditional tribal conflict resolution method instead: a sulha.

He picked up his phone and called Abu Ayman, one of the elders of our tribe. Abu Ayman wears a Palestinian black and white keffiyeh (or scarf) and a traditional brown garment called an abaya. He commands respect in the whole country and is one of the most eloquent men I know. My father explained the situation to Abu Ayman, who arranged a meeting with the members of the thief’s tribe.

The day of the council, more than a hundred men from my family convened. The youth among us wanted a show of strength and talked about revenge. Abu Ayman and the other elders listened and reasoned with us. The ultimate goal, they said, was to restore peace. Once we had decided on our demands, we elected Abu Ayman as our spokesperson and the representative of the family.

As soon as the tribal elders representing the thief’s family arrived, we called for coffee to be served. As was tradition, the elders then declared they were there to solve the conflict and swore not to drink the coffee until we had reconciled.

The teen’s family admitted that a crime had been committed, and they were willing to pay for that crime. They used an Arabic saying that translates to “Whatever you tailor for us, we will wear.” Abu Ayman then laid down our demands: First, the teen (who had been high on drugs at the time of the break-in) needed to be put in a drug rehabilitation center. They agreed. Second, he would not be allowed in my brother’s neighborhood for six months. They agreed. Finally, a financial payment would be owed to my brother for the social damages of disrespecting and breaching honor among neighbors. We started with $1 million. This was tradition: the offended tribe chooses a high number to show the severity of the crime committed.

The teen’s tribal delegation agreed that it was a reasonable number, but they also knew that we were not expecting them to pay this amount. They thus countered with a traditional formula: “You are a generous and gracious people; you are people of faith. We ask for the sake of God that you bring that number down.”

Abu Ayman responded, “For the sake of God, we will drop the number to half—only $500,000.” The other family agreed again, and said, “For the sake of Prophet Muhammad, we ask your grace.” Abu Ayman dropped the payment to $250,000 for the sake of the Prophet. Again, the family agreed. However, they continued, “For the sake of Jesus,” and then later, “For the sake of Moses,” and then for Abraham and other prophets and respected figures in our faith.

Within a few minutes, the $1 million became $20,000—an amount that everyone agreed upon. The delegation then asked for three days to collect the money. In our traditions, when one person commits a crime, it’s the whole family who has to pay for it.

They finally lifted their untouched coffee on the table and began to drink—a sign that the reconciliation had been reached.

Three days later, the teen’s family brought the money. My brother and I were excitedly planning what we would do with it. Go on vacation? Buy a car? Invest in a business? But before we had a chance to decide, my father interrupted us. “Don’t waste your time; I’m giving the money back to them next week.”

My brother and I were upset. “But this is our money!” we complained.

My father responded with a bit of wisdom: “We are a big family,” he pointed out. The chances were good that one of us would do something stupid at some point. “If we are known as people who forgive, others will forgive us too. If we are known as people who take every penny we can, then others will have no mercy on us.” Mustafa and I grudgingly accepted; we knew he was right.

“But then why did you take the money in the first place?” I asked. “You could have forgiven them right away. Why keep it for a few days?” My father explained that he wanted the family to feel consequences of what the thief had done. “I wanted them to take it seriously,” he said. “By making each of them pay for his crime, everyone in the family is now involved, and will see to it that this young man gets the help he needs.”

My father added that when he returned the money after a few days, the family would understand the meaning of the gesture more than if he had never taken the money at all.

This is how Palestinians (and many other Arabs) solve societal conflicts. And as travelers, there are many things we can learn from these practices. First and foremost is the importance of a cup of coffee: the gesture of sitting with another person and sharing a warm (or, in the case of the tribal council, cold) beverage. These moments of sitting and sharing life together, if you’re willing to slow down and be present for them, can be infinitely more rewarding than Instagram pictures and checking off heritage sites from top-10 lists.

Second, the story illustrates the importance of listening to elders in the destinations we visit. Elders have unique, fascinating, and insightful knowledge, which can help make our world a kinder, more responsible place. They are the carriers of cultural traditions and can teach us about everything from different styles of conflict resolution to human relationships.

Finally, the story of the thief and the tribe speaks to the importance of grace and wisdom under pressure. As one travels around the world, things are bound to go awry, and people wrong me (intentionally and unintentionally) all the time. Sometimes it’s the cranky, anxious, and tired people I’m traveling with; sometimes it’s rude or racist hotel and restaurant staff. At other times, it’s a pushy local, or a horde of loud and selfish tourists pushing their way around. But in these situations, it’s important to remember: be gracious. You and I have been that rude person before (and sometime in the future, after a sleepless 10-hour flight, we will probably slip up and be that rude person again). But it’s not all about me, my vacation, and what I want—it’s about the betterment of all the communities involved in the travel experience. Stop. Breathe. Reflect. And act in ways that will make the world a more kind and humane place.