The Authenticity Paradox: When Tradition is Put on Display

What happens when a sacred ritual becomes a tourist attraction? When the music that once guided the harvest is now played for an audience on a schedule? This is the complex reality of cultural tourism, a world where the lines between preservation and performance, authenticity and invention, are increasingly blurred.

In a recent discussion, researcher Aryo from the Indonesian Development Discourse (IDC) forum delved into this very issue, exploring how traditions are reshaped, revived, and sometimes even created for the tourism economy. The central question is a challenging one: are the traditions we see on vacation authentic, or are they carefully curated performances? And does the difference even matter?

Watch the full session on YouTube

What Do We Mean by 'Tradition'?

Before we can discuss its role in tourism, we must first understand what tradition is. According to sociologist Edward Shils, tradition is more than just an action; it's a pattern transmitted through generations that guides the "re-enactment" of a practice.

However, this doesn't mean tradition is static. It's a living thing that can change, adapt, or even fade away if the context that supports it disappears. Think of it as an invisible authority—a set of unwritten rules that shape our behavior, from evening meals with family to deep-seated community rituals.

Case Study 1: The Revived Music of Angklung Paglak

In Kemiren, a village in Banyuwangi known as the cultural center of the Osing people, a musical tradition called Angklung Paglak was once central to life. This music was played from tall bamboo structures in the rice fields, known as paglak, to accompany the local rice harvest. Its fast-paced, rhythmic beats would call villagers to help with the harvest, and specific songs signaled different times of the day, from starting work to taking a break.

This entire ecosystem was shattered in the 1970s by the Green Revolution. The government, under President Suharto, mandated the use of new, high-yield rice varieties. This policy, sometimes enforced by the military, forbade the planting of traditional rice. The new rice was harvested much more quickly with machinery, not by hand, rendering the day-long musical accompaniment obsolete. The paglak structures were abandoned, and the music fell silent.

Decades later, with the rise of cultural tourism in the 1990s, Angklung Paglak was revived. But its context had completely changed. It is now performed for tourists in a designated village area, not in the rice fields. The day-long performance is condensed into a two-hour show, and the musicians, who once played as part of a community ritual, are now paid for their performance.

Case Study 2: The Invented Tradition of Songsong

In contrast, consider the Songsong, a trumpet-like instrument from Desa Citengah in Sumedang. This tradition wasn’t revived—it was newly created. The instrument originated from a simple kitchen tool: a bamboo tube used to blow air into a fire.

A local artist, seeing the potential, gathered these tubes and transformed them into a musical ensemble. The local government promoted this new musical form, and it has since become a core part of the village's cultural identity, created specifically with tourism and cultural preservation in mind.

The Problem with "Authenticity"

Both of these cases can be seen as "invented traditions"—practices that seem old but are, in fact, recent creations or reconstructions. This brings us to the tourism industry's favorite buzzword: "authenticity."

Tour operators love to promise an "authentic experience," but what does that mean when the original cultural context is gone? The speaker argues that authenticity is a "problematic" and even "colonial" concept when applied to intangible culture. It treats living traditions like static museum objects, denying them the ability to evolve. This pressure for a fixed "authenticity":

• Ignores History: It conveniently overlooks the reasons traditions changed, such as the coercive government policies during the Green Revolution.

• Negates the People: It prioritizes a romanticized past over the needs and desires of the people practicing the culture today. As one farmer said, they can't go back to the old ways; they must adapt to the times.

• Creates a Performance: It can force people to become mere "performers" of a tradition they might otherwise leave behind in pursuit of better economic opportunities, as seen in cases where batik makers would prefer to work in factories.

Moving Beyond the Authenticity Trap

So, what is the alternative? The discussion suggests a shift in perspective. Instead of chasing a mythical, unchanging past, we should:

1. Embrace the Real Story: The story of why Angklung Paglak is no longer played in the fields is now part of its identity. Tourism should tell the whole story, honestly and without romanticization.

2. Listen to the Practitioners: Development should be bottom-up, not top-down. The future of a tradition should be determined by the community that practices it.

3. Redefine Authenticity: True authenticity may not lie in replicating the past perfectly. It may lie in the feelings and expressions of the people continuing their culture in the present, adapting it to a new ecosystem—even if that ecosystem is tourism.

Ultimately, culture is not a fragile object to be frozen in time. It is a dynamic, resilient force that adapts to survive. By letting go of a rigid definition of authenticity, we can appreciate traditions not for what they were, but for what they have become and what the people who carry them want them to be.