Tourism vs Tribal Rights: Striking a Balance in Meghalaya

Abhilasha Mohan

Meghalaya, one of India’s most breathtaking states, has seen a significant surge in tourism over the last decade. With its lush landscapes, living root bridges, crystal-clear rivers, and welcoming villages, it has become a sought-after destination for travellers craving nature and authenticity. Yet, beneath this beauty lies a growing tension: the clash between expanding tourism and the protection of tribal rights. Central to this debate is a fundamental question how can Meghalaya develop tourism without infringing the cultural sovereignty, land rights, and identity of its indigenous people?

Unlike most of India, land in Meghalaya is overwhelmingly owned by tribes, subject to customary laws and local village councils (Dorbar Shnong). The Khasi, Garo, and Jaintia people have been living sustainably all along, viewing rivers and forests as sacred inheritances, not commodities. But as more people visit locations like Dawki, Mawlynnong, Cherrapunji, and Sohra, tourism is now starting to transform living spaces of old into commercial spaces. Farmland is being turned into parking spaces. Sacred groves are being used as selfie opportunities. And tribal lands are under threat of being leased or sold for resorts and private homestays, frequently with no complete consultation or approval of the local councils.

This is a worrying issue. Development of tourism, without proper regulation, can quite swiftly disempower tribal self-governance, water down cultural practices, and induce economic imbalance. The concept of "development" should not be permitted to override the bedrock of tribal identity. In most regions, the Dorbar Shnong should take decisions, but now they are being influenced by external investors or government initiatives that do not always put local voices first.

Concurrently, tourism is unquestionably a chance. It has generated employment opportunities, enhanced connectivity, and presented the world with the exposure of Meghalaya's culture. In certain villages, money from tourism has helped support education, healthcare, and cooperatives for women. The state has also brought in a Meghalaya Tourism Policy and people-centered tourism programs that attempt to ensure that benefits trickle down to the grassroots level. However, when it comes to implementation, consistency is lacking, and loopholes exist that enable outsiders to exploit tribal resources in the name of development.

There have also been recent public controversies. The June 2025 killing of a foreign tourist in Sohra, while a matter of individual conflict, precipitated national headlines questioning the safety of Meghalaya. To respond, the state re-examined its monitoring systems for tourists and demanded higher regulation of travel into the countryside. But even as tourist safety is imperative, so is tribal land rights and culture safety. A region is never safe if the indigenous people who own the land feel marginalized regarding decisions on their own land.

The future is not to be found in prioritizing one over the other, but in the creation of a tourism model that honors tribal sovereignty, recognizes past injustice, and keeps consent and partnership top of mind. Each tourism development must be subject to community validation. Tourists should be educated to understand local traditions and prohibitions. And tribal councils need to be empowered rather than circumvented regarding land use, environment, and economic activity.

Meghalaya's identity lies not in its mountains and waterfalls, but in the people whose emotional and ancestral bond with the land is beyond price. As the state welcomes the world, it has to make sure that tourism treads softly, hears carefully, and never forgets whose home it is entering. The intention should not be to make Meghalaya a tourist destination, but to keep it as a place where tribal pride and ecotourism can develop side by side.

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