India’s Tourism Paradox

India is a land of breathtaking contrasts with snow-capped mountains and sun-kissed beaches, timeless temples and frenetic bazaars, sacred rivers and lush forests. Every few kilometres reveal a new dialect, a fresh cuisine, or an unfamiliar tradition. With over 40 UNESCO World Heritage Sites and a civilisational legacy spanning millennia, India possesses a magnetic pull for global travellers. But this immense potential is undercut by a persistent and tragic truth: public spaces, especially those meant for leisure and tourism, remain fraught with danger. In a country that markets itself to the world as “Incredible India,” violence, apathy, and moral policing corrode the foundations of safety, freedom, and credibility.

The recent horror at Pahalgam underscores this crisis. The serene Kashmiri meadow, long a haven for families and couples, was transformed into a site of carnage on April 22, 2025, when armed terrorists opened fire on tourists. Such incidents don’t just claim lives; they erode the fragile trust that underpins India’s tourism economy. Domestic and international travellers alike are left to think: can India truly guarantee their safety?

The question gained further urgency following the gang rape of a 20-year-old student at Odisha’s Gopalpur beach last weekend. What should have been a day of leisure turned into a harrowing ordeal when a group of men brutally assaulted the young woman and tied up her male companion. This was not an isolated act of violence; it was a damning indictment of structural failures in law enforcement, political accountability, and social consciousness, converting places of beauty into monuments of fear..

Gopalpur is only the latest in a distressing pattern. From the 2013 gang rape of a Swiss tourist in Madhya Pradesh to the 2018 rape and murder of a Latvian woman in Kerala, from the molestation of a Lithuanian tourist in Agra to the gang rape of an Israeli traveller in Hampi this year — the list is long and growing.

The data is alarming: the National Crime Records Bureau reported over 31,000 rapes in 2022, with conviction rates stagnating at a dismal 27–28 per cent between 2018 and 2022. While tourism numbers continue to rise, with 9.52 million foreign tourist arrivals and nearly 2.5 billion domestic visits in 2023, the infrastructure of safety, accountability, and gender-sensitive governance remains woefully underdeveloped.

What makes this situation even more disturbing is the nature of public spaces themselves. India’s beaches, parks, forts, and tourist hubs have, for many women, become sites not of joy or exploration, but of threat and surveillance. Women who step into these spaces, alone or with partners, are often subject not only to harassment or assault, but to intrusive moral policing. Shockingly, the enforcers of this scrutiny are not just criminals, but frequently the police themselves. Instead of offering protection, they interrogate, hurt survivors, delay FIRs, and perpetuate institutional cruelty.

What is often disguised as “culture” is, in truth, institutional misogyny. A deeply embedded mindset tells women what not to wear, where not to go, and how not to behave. When these “rules” are broken, blame is subtly shifted onto the victim. “Why were you at the beach so late?” becomes not a question, but an indictment. These attitudes infiltrate police stations, courtrooms, and family discussions, creating an environment where women are expected to justify their very presence in public life.

This failure is not only a moral collapse but an economic one. India ranks a dismal 131 out of 148 on the 2025 Global Gender Gap Index, an embarrassing position for a country aspiring to global leadership. Meanwhile, official data suggests that at least 5 per cent of India’s GDP comes from tourism, with strong projections for future growth. But this optimism is hollow if women, half the population, are implicitly advised to remain indoors or self-police their movements. A tourism economy cannot grow on glossy brochures alone; it needs trust, liberty, safety, and dignity.

Every such incident ripples far beyond the victim. It damages entire communities that rely on tourism — local vendors, homestay owners, transport workers, and artisans. When women retreat from public spaces, when international visitors warn others online, and when the state appears indifferent, the economic loss becomes structural. Tourism, unlike manufacturing, thrives on perception. Once trust is broken, rebuilding it is a long and uncertain road.

To be clear, safety is not the only challenge. The sector also struggles with exploitation, extortion by facilitators, lack of clean facilities, poor signage, unregulated operators, waste mismanagement, overcrowding, and local resentment. These issues demand attention. But avoiding fear and violence is paramount. No reform, economic or infrastructural, can succeed without safety as its foundation.

The issue is not a lack of laws but a collapse in implementation, urgency, and empathy. Fast-track courts exist, yet over 200,000 rape cases remain pending. Tourist police units have been announced in states including Odisha but remain under-trained, understaffed, and unaccountable. What is urgently required is structural reform beginning with policing. Gender sensitisation must be compulsory for law enforcement, particularly in tourism zones. Tourist police need to be trained, visible, and empathetic, not ceremonial or reactionary.

Safety infrastructure must also be reimagined: well-lit public areas, functional CCTV networks, emergency response mechanisms, and visible patrolling that respects privacy can go a long way in deterring violence. Equally vital is robust survivor support. Every major tourist hub must have accessible facilities for immediate medical aid, trauma counselling, legal assistance, and psychological care. Far too often, survivors are forced to navigate a hostile and humiliating bureaucracy.

Meanwhile, the epidemic of moral policing must be confronted with legal teeth. Officers and vigilantes who harass women and couples must face prosecution. The law must uphold constitutional rights, not local prejudices. Public awareness campaigns should affirm the simple truth: everyone regardless of gender, attire, or relationship status has the right to be in public without fear. Every assault must trigger not just criminal prosecution but an audit on lapses in policing, infrastructure, and governance.

But change cannot be driven by the state alone. Society must also look inward. From WhatsApp forwards that trivialise rape to media coverage that sensationalises trauma, from dismissive jokes to dinner-table skepticism — the ecosystem around us normalises violence. We must move beyond the defensive refrain of “not all men” and ask the harder question: What kind of society have we built where women walking on a beach must weigh their lives against their liberty?

The media has a duty too — not to sensationalise, but to demand accountability, push for reform, and keep public attention focused on systemic failures. Political leaders must stop hiding behind empty statements. Government must accept its responsibility. The Centre must ensure that unspent Nirbhaya Fund allocations are urgently directed toward real capacity-building on the ground.

Beaches are meant to be places of freedom and delight, where people come to breathe, reflect, and belong. But in India, they are becoming contested spaces where women’s freedom is bartered for safety. Gopalpur should have been a memory of sunlight and sea breeze. Instead, it has become a site of national shame. The choice before us is stark: will we dismiss this as just another tragedy, or will we finally treat it as the culmination of decades of tolerated failure?

Meaningful change won’t come through hashtags or knee-jerk arrests. It must come through structural transformation, law by law, institution by institution, mindset by mindset. As a nation, we have failed. But failure is not final; unless we choose not to change. Let Gopalpur be more than a tragedy to be the reckoning we so desperately need—for justice and freedom, to every woman who stepped outside and traumatised.

Amal Chandra is an author, policy analyst, and columnist. Lekshmi Narayan is a writer and law student. Views expressed are personal