‘Ayahuasca tourism' is a blight on Indigenous peoples and our environment

The Guardian

14 hours ago

In the world of the Ecuadorian Amazon, humans, plants and animals are relatives, and ancient stories reflect real ecological relationships and Indigenous knowledge rooted in profound connections to the land. But one of those connections – ceremonial medicine known as hayakwaska – is now marketed as a mystical shortcut to healing and enlightenment. Behind the scenes of these 'healing retreats' lies a deeper story of cultural erasure, linguistic distortion and ongoing colonisation masked as wellness.
The global popularity of 'ayahuasca' has given rise to a new form of spiritual tourism that romanticises and distorts Indigenous cultures. This growing industry fuels the exoticisation of Indigenous peoples, turning our languages, practices and identities into consumable fantasies for outsiders. Sacred rituals are stripped of context, spiritual roles are commercialised, and even the names of the plants are misused, reducing complex cultural systems into simplified, marketable experiences.
Aya means the soul of a dead person, skeleton, or corpse. The term ayahuasca is a modern invention, largely used in spiritual tourism. In our language, we say 'hayakata upina' when referring to drinking hayakwaska. Hayak is a short form of hayakwaska and directly means bitter, so the translation means drinking the 'bitter vine'. In contrast, 'ayata upina' would mean 'to drink the soul of a dead person', which no one would say. For this reason, I will use the correct term: hayakwaska.
Even the name of the medicine has been distorted. To understand it properly, one must understand our society, its structure, language and deep ties to the land. Unlike English or Spanish, Indigenous languages such as our Runashimi (Kichwa) are rooted in place. Like modern science, our knowledge is based on observation, but through relationships. We live through a social-emotional relationship with the land. In the rainforest, all beings, including humans and the more-than-human world, have roles and responsibilities.
Although our yachaks (traditional healers) may treat individuals, their true role is to maintain balance within the community and among relationships between people, forests and all beings. Healing, in our worldview, is collective because we are all interconnected. When yachaks focus only on 'ayahuasca' tourism for profit, abandoning this sacred responsibility, we must ask: what have they become? Tourist-oriented healing centres often prioritise individual experiences, personal growth, ego work and private revelations, detached from community, land and reciprocity. When healing is stripped of its collective foundation, it no longer nourishes true awakening. Instead, it risks becoming a performance that elevates the self, not the whole, opposing the very essence of Indigenous healing, which is rooted in relationship, humility and shared wellbeing.
It is not just sad, it is dangerous. When spiritual practices are altered to please outsiders, it shifts the very meaning of hayak and the relationship we have with it. These changes reshape how younger generations understand our traditions, not through lived experience or guidance from elders, but through performances tailored for tourism. What was once sacred, genuine and real becomes scripted. The danger lies not only in losing the essence of our ceremonies but in distorting our collective memory, values and roles. When healing becomes entertainment, and culture becomes spectacle, the spiritual thread that holds our community together begins to fray.
Hayakwaska tourism is also a driver of illegal hunting practices. Traditional hunting is rooted in respect and reciprocity, but today commercial demand for animal parts threatens both species and Indigenous ways of life, and this growing tourism industry not only distorts culture but also fuels threats to biodiversity. Recent research highlights how jaguars, already a near threatened species, are being exploited to meet tourist demand. Items such as jaguar-tooth pendants and skin bracelets are sold as mystical enhancers of the ayahuasca experience, endangering both wildlife and sacred balance.
Using Indigenous knowledge and medicine carries deep social and environmental responsibility. Without that responsibility, it becomes nothing more than extractivism, another form of colonialism dressed in spiritual language. The real question is: How are 'ayahuasca tourists' giving back? Are they supporting Indigenous rights, protecting ancestral lands, and standing with the people who safeguard this wisdom, often at great personal risk? Too many seek healing from Indigenous medicines while ignoring the lived realities of those who protect the plants, the knowledge, and the territories they come from. These communities continue their struggle amid threats from mining, oil extraction and agribusiness. If there is to be any true healing, it must include justice, reciprocity and solidarity with the people and the land from which this medicine grows.
Inspired by their stories and our experiences, I, Nina, created Waska: The Forest is My Family. The film explores the exploitation of Indigenous peoples and the forest. As the granddaughter of a yachak, I wanted to share what it means to live connected to hayakwaska and the land.
Nina Gualinga and Eli Virkina are both Indigenous women of the Ecuadorian Amazon, storytellers and land defenders
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