Inclusive Tourism is not a Threat to Culture but a Promise of a Better Sri Lanka
Photo courtesy of Pelago
A recent initiative to inspire inclusive tourism in Sri Lanka – one that seeks to ensure safe tourism experiences and employment opportunities for LGBTIQ people – has been met with a fierce backlash. Social media fury and online campaigns accuse it of “promoting homosexuality,” revealing how easily inclusion can be misunderstood as a threat. But beneath this noise lies a deeper question: what does it mean to be a welcoming nation in the 21st century?
For a country whose identity has long been intertwined with warmth, hospitality and coexistence, this controversy feels painfully misplaced. The impulse to fear what we do not understand (or even don’t want to understand) or to label it as a moral danger is not new. Yet each time we give in to that impulse we lose a part of what makes Sri Lanka special: our ability to live among difference.
Inclusive tourism, at its core, is not about promoting a lifestyle or ideology. It is about ensuring that every person who visits or works in this country regardless of gender or sexual orientation can do so safely and with dignity. The Sri Lanka Tourism Development Authority has made it clear that “promoting tourism does not mean promoting homosexuality.” Its Chairman, Buddhika Hewawasam, explained in a recent interview that the only message being conveyed is that Sri Lanka is open to all tourists without discrimination or harassment. In his words, “Our industry accepts them just like any other ordinary tourist, without interfering with their identity.” What this initiative really does is prepare the tourism workforce – hotel staff, inbound tour operators, tour guides and drivers – to treat all visitors with respect, something that aligns perfectly with our traditions of hospitality and compassion. The logic is simple: tourists, regardless of identity, come to enjoy our country and contribute to its economy. If they are treated badly, they will not return and they will tell others not to come. Can we afford that at a time when rebuilding tourism is central to our national recovery?
The outrage directed at this initiative reveals a profound misunderstanding of what inclusion means. To create a safe space for someone is not to promote their sexuality, it is rather to acknowledge their humanity. It is a basic human rights issue. Every individual, regardless of their sex, gender, sexual orientation and gender identity, has the right to live free from discrimination, to work safely and to participate equally in the life of their country. These are not imported ideals but principles that Sri Lanka itself has pledged to uphold as a member of the United Nations and a signatory to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Article 1 of the Declaration affirms that all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights; Article 2 guarantees those rights without distinction of any kind, including “other status.” Sexual orientation and gender identity, increasingly recognised worldwide as protected categories, fall squarely within that guarantee. To create safe spaces for LGBT people whether they are tourists or citizens is not to endorse a behaviour but to honour the constitutional and moral commitment to treat all people with dignity.
Across the world, societies are moving in this direction. For example, our neighbour India, with its spiritual and cultural richness, overturned its colonial era Section 377 not because it abandoned tradition but because it reaffirmed its constitutional values of liberty and dignity. In Sri Lanka, however, many people have been misled into thinking that inclusion is about changing marriage laws or forcing religious institutions to alter their beliefs. In truth, it is about something far simpler and more human: whether a person can live openly without fear, whether they can work, travel and exist as who they are. As the Buddha taught in the Kalama Sutta, one must not accept or reject ideas through blind tradition but through understanding and compassion. The principle of equality arises from the same soil.
It is worth remembering, too, that Sri Lanka’s laws criminalising same-sex relations are not indigenous. Sections 365 and 365A of the Penal Code were inherited from British colonial rule. As our Prime Minister Dr. Harini Amarasuriya recently reminded parliament, “This is not a law which originated in our country, it was introduced during the Victorian era.” To continue upholding such laws is to continue living under the shadow of a colonial morality that we never chose. Decriminalising same-sex relationships is not a rejection of culture but an act of decolonising our conscience, a reclamation of our right to define morality in our own terms, guided by compassion rather than fear. Moreover, we cannot also forget the promise of our current government, which included support for LGBTIQ rights and the decriminalisation of homosexuality in its 2024 manifesto and backed by the Private Member’s Bill tabled by Podujana Peramuna government MP Premnath C. Dolawatte to decriminalise same-sex relationships under the Penal Code.
Inclusion is not only a moral imperative, but also an economic one. EQUAL GROUND’s research shows that 12% of Sri Lanka’s population belongs to the LGBTIQ community. These are not foreigners or outsiders – they are Sri Lankans: colleagues, family members and neighbours. When hateful rhetoric targets them, it not only violates human rights but also undermines national progress. The inclusive tourism initiative aims to provide training and employment opportunities to community members, helping them gain financial independence and contribute to the economy. To oppose that is to deny our own citizens the chance to build better lives and to strengthen the country as a whole. In an economy struggling to recover, inclusion is not indulgence; it is good sense.
And yet, in recent times, we have seen a worrying rise in anti-LGBTIQ rhetoric much of it amplified online, often twisting well-intentioned initiatives into fabricated moral battles. While public support for LGBTIQ people has grown in the past two decades, so has hate speech. This tension exposes the fragility of progress. When misinformation spreads unchecked, when fear replaces empathy, the consequences extend beyond one community. They damage the social harmony that Sri Lanka has spent decades trying to rebuild. Fear divides. Compassion heals. A country that allows fear to define its moral boundaries will always be at war with its own people.
The irony is that inclusive tourism and the larger struggle for equality it represents is deeply consistent with our cultural and spiritual values. Mettā and karunā – loving-kindness and compassion – are not abstract virtues, they are calls to action. They remind us that a society is judged by how it treats the most vulnerable. When we ensure that no visitor or citizen is mistreated for who they are, we embody these values in their most practical form.
What Sri Lanka’s inclusive tourism initiative asks of us is simple yet profound: to remember that hospitality is not selective. To be a truly welcoming nation means to welcome difference, to say, “You are safe here” not because we agree on everything but because we believe in human dignity. Our ancestors built a culture of exchange and openness, a civilization that thrived on dialogue between faiths and peoples. To retreat now into suspicion and fear is to betray that inheritance. We can be a nation that stands tall in its traditions and open in its heart, one that recognises diversity not as a threat but as a reflection of life’s richness.
We are Sri Lankans too. We also want our country to progress. If these kinds of problems are raised, we will never move forward. We all need to come together to do something for the country. This call for unity, empathy and forward motion must guide us now. Inclusion is not an imported idea; it is the purest expression of who we already are. To build a Sri Lanka that thrives we must remember that a nation that welcomes all is a nation that heals and grows together.
