efore Covid-19, the tourist industry was the largest employer by sector on the planet, giving work to one in every 11 people. And when the emergency ends, it will surely resurge – but should it return in the way it was before? Maybe now, finally, is a good time to rethink what tourism should be. Before the coronavirus outbreak, the number of global tourists was predicted to balloon to 1.8 billion international arrivals a year by 2030. In 1950 that number was at 25 million. That huge increase cuts two ways. Tourism supports jobs, often bringing vital economic sustenance to historic or remote places. But over-tourism has a clear downside for the frailest destinations, like Machu Picchu in Peru, for many historic city centres, like New Orleans or Dubrovnik, and for the location I know best, Venice. There, 30 million annual visitors exert enormous demands on the residents, the heritage and the environment, changing tourism into a corrosive force. In the years just before the coronavirus outbreak I spent months in the city of canals and culture interviewing Venetians about their lives. Invariably, the first thing they wanted to tell me about was the effects of mass tourism; how, since the 1990s, it has pushed out residents; how streets and squares can become dangerously overcrowded; how it has pushed up housing costs and destroyed local shops that now all cater to sandwich-eating, souvenir-buying tourists and little else; how it allows overweening sightseers to invade weddings, baptisms and funerals at its religious places. The social ties Venice once enjoyed, its rhythm of life, even the vibrant artisanal trades, are now almost a thing of the past. On top of all that, the millions of tourists coming to Venice put pressure on the environment by generating mountains of refuse, through the heavy use of the vaporetti water ferries and taxis, by over-stressing ancient buildings, and with the moisture in their collective breath on artworks. The hundreds of visits from floating resorts – massive cruise ships each with up to 4,000 passengers – add to air pollution and cause erosion of the area’s sensitive lagoon environment. The population of Venice, more than 170,000 after the second world war, has dropped steadily to some 52,000 today. Remaining residents still feel fortunate to live in a city of such beauty, many believing their culture survives despite the onslaught, but they also grieve at the losses, lose heart, and move away at a rate of 1,000 a year to homes on the mainland. A Venice without Venetians – without significant numbers of permanent residents – is predicted for as early as 2030. It is no exaggeration to say that mass tourism – adding to Venice’s existing issues with mismanagement of the environment, corruption, political stasis and now the climate emergency – is bringing the community, the lagoon and a fabulous heritage to within a hair’s breadth of collapse. Tourism was a fairly benign source of livelihood for Venice until the world itself took a step-change some 30 years ago, when a new economics helped bring on cheap air travel, faster communications and an accelerated globalisation. When management of the city was handed over to the market with few controls, Venice was turned into an asset for stripping. Regional changes to Italian laws in the 1990s unleashed rampant property trading that deepened the effects of mass tourism. Yet Venetians believe that they can still save Venice, and many are fighting for it and demanding that politicians do more. They want them to manage tourist numbers and pass new laws to govern property sales and rentals and put an end to the Airbnb-led free-for-all that is pushing residents out. They call for a focus on long-term accommodation at sustainable costs and more jobs through economic diversification. They want more environmental measures, especially a ban on outsized cruise ships, and improved treatment of the lagoon that is vital to Venice’s life. This has come into sharp focus in the months-long Covid-19 breathing space, when the sudden emptying of the city restored a lost tranquility, along with fish, swans and cormorants to canals no longer churned by excessive traffic. Most of all, it ignited the hope that this difficult moment for the world could eventually offer a turning point. The need in Venice, and in so many other destinations, is for a new tourism, one that also benefits residents – not one organised around speculators, landlords, and traveller’s demands. We visitors must see tourism less as an unquestionable entitlement and more as a part of our responsibility to sustain life on Earth. This must ultimately include limiting tourist numbers. Tourism after coronavirus requires a new mindset. Maybe we can’t visit places so casually; maybe we will need to sacrifice the freedom to drop in at any time and go anywhere as fast as we can or by whatever means suits us. We need to accept life – and visiting – at a slower pace. Beyond that we need to end our passivity as tourists and see destinations as people’s homes, not just attractions. We should acquaint ourselves with local conditions and be ready to refrain from travelling if authorities listen only to monied interests and fail to foster local livelihoods and protect the local environment. Greener attitudes will help fragile destinations to live on – and allow masterpieces such as Venice to survive for generations to come. • Neal E Robbins is the author of Venice, an Odyssey: Hope and Anger in the Iconic City, out in July