This post is from Sharon Wilson on tourism and activism related to nuclear sites. Sharon is based in Newcastle Business School. It was originally published here: https://t2m.org/publications/the-nuclear-family-project-the-art-of-touring-the-toxic-pt-1/
In the guise of a family holiday, artists Lindsay Duncanson, Marek Gabrysch and their 11 year old son Lukas toured the British Isles to explore 16 active and decommissioned nuclear power stations. By using the ‘Egg’ touring caravan as a living space and art studio, this creative family began a 2200 mile journey to visit nuclear industrial sites from Dounreay in Caithness to Dungeness in Kent. Using these ‘toxic’ sites for artistic exploration and recreation constitutes an unconventional form of tourism. Hannam and Yankovka1 note, ‘dark’ and ‘toxic’ tourism has developed as the numbers of travellers interested in death, sufferings and disasters have grown significantly of late. Whilst this project is not dark tourism per se, it does prompt a conversation about a human interest in the macabre or, in this case, how non-touristic sites may be used for leisure consumption. Unlike the fascinations of dark tourists who engage in toxic tours, The Nuclear Family Project links artistic and touristic practices together in a cultural performance and allows for engagement in family futures that are lensed through ‘environmental uncertainty’ and a ‘post-ecologistic’ quest for sustainable energy. So, while this art tour is partially about appreciating the beauty in a potentially savage environment of the nuclear, it is also, by default, a mobile form of political tourism that promotes toxic awareness through art. By travelling in a mobile atelier, the artists were not only able to engage in tourist activities, but also to use their caravan as a workplace from which to produce family portraits, drawings, photography and creative writing. The Nuclear Family Project tour thus raises interesting questions regarding the connections between art, politics and tourism as they meet on the move.
How then can a nomadic art practice utilise tourism to stimulate conversation about local and environmental issues? Whilst the discussion does make comparisons with ‘toxic’ tourism and protest art, it ultimately draws a distinction between the UK Nuclear phenomena (which barely registers on the cultural Geiger counter) and the more prevailing conditions of chemical corridors such as ‘Cancer Alley’ in Louisiana: a more deadly but still comparable context. As cultural theorist Pezzulo2 summarises in what Bullard3 also describes as ‘human sacrifice zones’, the guided bus tour is a powerful vehicle for environmental activism, in which campaigns against the consequences of industry attempt to make the intangible more visible through the modus of travel. Admittedly the nuclear threat, in this case, is more an ‘accident waiting to happen’ than communities being constantly exposed to dangerous contaminants. Nevertheless, the looming presence of nuclear reactors, whilst questionably benign, does not make them less hazardous as future impacts just because they appear dormant now.
To consider the outcomes of the tour, the first point of note is that the artists, in the post-mortem of their journey, reflected upon the idea that a self-conscious use of tourism as a positive agency could initiate debate about the corrosive impacts of the nuclear. It is suggested therefore, that as travel meets art through the auspices of a ‘toxic’ tour, an alternative form of vacation with a creative and educational purpose is made possible which fits neither the mould of toxic tourism nor raw activism. Also, as MacCannall4 points out, tourism is by its nature deemed toxic, ‘even tourists dislike tourists’. The question arises as to whether this kind of ‘art tourism’, in which the artists are engaging in a personal journey of discovery, may lead to ethical encounters with local populations surrounding nuclear sites. Another issue to emerge from their travels was how art is used to promote environmental justice as a gentler form of protest. Here it is proposed that participation in arts activities hosted in a 1960s vintage caravan due to its non-threatening demeanour is, perhaps, a quiet radicalism that re-engages residents and tourists in debate about the sustainable future of communities, nature and industry. As Branagan and Boughton5 point out, non-violent activism and education often occur simultaneously. So, while the artists’ intention was not to lead directly to civil unrest, arguably, by simply being in these locations making art, attention is drawn to important issues. As a result, it would seem that socially engaged art might facilitate critical debates in places where issues are on the threshold. The final point made relates to the ways in which the nuclear industry contributes to conservation, urban regeneration and tourism development. Admittedly it would be outlandish to propose that a temporary caravan holiday would be a catalyst for any major environmental campaign. Nevertheless, its presence is timely and subtly impactful. Investment in nature and the local communities pushes an industry agenda to redeem public opinion in a ‘post-toxic’ atmosphere. This dichotomous relationship between industry and nature reserves can lead to a social production of space paradoxically formed by chemical and community relations. The discussion briefly considers how beautification of the landscape may civilise the industrial thoroughfares through the encouragement of biodiversity in industrial habitats, reclamation and the strategic designation of leisure spaces. So, whilst the nuclear chemical industry creates toxicity, it also maintains, controls and manipulates nature arguably to reposition the tourist gaze through a pro-nuclear lens.
Art and Activism
In considering how The Nuclear Family Project situates itself as a form of ‘accidental’ environmental activism, a brief account of where it is located in the wider campaign for sustainable ecologies and economies is in order. The UK government’s nuclear energy policy has, in the past, been met for the most part with public outcry. Often this was as much a response to the Cold War’s nuclear weapons program as to the industry itself. Even in the face of the relative safety of nuclear energy versus other forms of generation (coal mining, gas drilling) and against other risk-related contexts6, serious concerns about risk underlying the nuclear industry remain. As Martin7points out, most environmental damage is caused by governments and corporations, yet the world’s environmental crisis is so enormous that averting its relent is not just about governmental or corporate action but requires the engagement of all of society8. We seem to be in a state of flux concerning our energy future. Public opinion favours low-carbon generation from wind and other renewables in spite of limited and sporadic supply. In the face of rising demand for low-carbon baseload, UK public opinion polls still reflect substantial unease regarding nuclear power. However, current trends toward nuclear power are interestingly characterised by falling concern and increased ambivalence9. This was borne out by the artists’ experience through conversation with the communities visited. Brook10 suggests that because nuclear power has arguably advanced the means to enable low-carbon energy, the notion of its endorsement as an energy source is also in the public consciousness. Also, according to Truelove and Greenburg (2013)11, the new greater risk of climate change has made people more open to nuclear facilities since these may improve energy security. Thus, previous criticism has perhaps begun to take a back seat in light of more global ecological concerns.
With these wider national debates in mind, the ‘Nuclear Family’ project is a creative response to the fear of the unknown. With concern about nuclear still expressed by around half the general population, its roots in the mindset of nuclear threat and with only limited information about how nuclear power is managed, the human imagination is left to draw its conclusions. The artists, therefore, travelled the country with a desire to learn about the phenomena, to understand what those living near the power stations think about the industry, and with optimism to explore nuclear power from a post-Cold War perspective with no particular axe to grind.
In this instance, the artists used their ‘tour’ to learn where the real and imagined idea of ‘the nuclear’ resides in 2016. Researching the subject, they travelled using their caravan as a travelling laboratory for aesthetic specimens to be collected, observed and contemplated. Tourist Information, collated oral histories, snapshots, collected shells and anecdotes from conversations en-route, were all used as a mobile archive and meeting ground for community interest. Environmental concerns were surreptitiously built into the leisure activities, not only from an artist’s perspective but also for the visiting public. That said, the artists by their own admission were not trying to preach a particular doctrine, and despite making critically engaged art, they chose to ‘sit on the fence’ in their attitude to the nuclear industry. They used tourism simply to converse with those who are impacted by the presence of the nuclear industry. The artists also said that their main aim in touring, apart from their own personal pleasure in making art, was about a fascination with industry and landscape: despite having little previous contact with nuclear power stations they were still mystified and intrigued by them. It was also a ‘privilege’, they said, to be able to share their thoughts, fears and misconceptions with different people in the hope to widen knowledge about the toxic. So, although the tour was a personal inquiry, the fact that they had conversations with others was deemed an additional benefit Marek, sharing some observations noted:
It is hard to hear negative conversations around the nuclear power stations because there is a zone of acceptance. The police at Sellafield said there was generally support around the power station, and it would gradually wane off with distance, so the zone of maximum dissatisfaction would be just outside of commuting range; outside the zone of economic influence. There are often lots of lovely houses around the power stations, and perhaps people live there because it’s quiet.
Protests often involved people who had travelled from other places, from cities. The Wylfa protest group, PAWB, on the other hand had been protesting locally against the power station in Anglesey since it had been there. In an old school CND way, perhaps they would be against anything nuclear. Their debate is wider though because it’s also about maintenance of nuclear weapons. Conversely, we live in an energy hungry society and locally, people need jobs and so on. Activist groups seem more focused ideologically than practically in terms of their nuclear debate. Activist groups protest against the nuclear for ideological reasons; parties that often do not live in the sites they represent often undertake campaigns. Whilst this is not necessarily a negative, protest groups are interested in national issues of the nuclear and have occasionally been criticized for having a romantic or revolutionary vision of social change. A campaign to close a nuclear power station as part of the long-term goal to decrease nuclear pollution may make sense, yet in the short term is unpopular if livelihoods depend upon it. Whilst protest groups may provide a much needed voice for environmentalism, critically they are not always representative of the communities for whom they seek ‘justice’. This problem is echoed in the worthy optimism of Cumbrians Against Radioactive Environment (CORE). As a not for profit organisation, CORE started life in 1980 as the Barrow Action Group, with the aim of opposing the import of foreign fuel to be reprocessed at Sellafield. In 1990, they also engaged in toxic tourism, conducting local tours and giving presentations to schools, universities and community organisations. Whilst this group offered an effective forum for which to take local issues to parliament, their work was not popular with the locals. CORE celebrated living in harmony with nature, pro-actively defending the purity of the fells, estuaries, lakes and woodlands of Cumbria. Through a political activism they were deeply opposed to what they felt was ‘harbouring invisible danger’, yet many of them did not work at the reprocessing plant. They alluded to the preservation of the traditional picturesque and nature as essential and important national assets, deemed these under threat and in need of protection above and beyond the economics. As pointed out on their website, CORE’s manifesto embodied sentiments such as ‘The water we drink, the food we eat along with the very air we breathe all bear the hallmark of man-made nuclear pollution.’12. One of CORE’s major campaigns was to fight against the operation of a new plant THORP and they were successful in challenging a proposal by the nuclear waste agency NIREX to put a waste dump on the edge of the Lake District.
On the other hand, The Nuclear Family Project was motivated by curiosity regarding the reappraisal of nuclear in the light of climate change by notable media commentators (such as Stewart Brand and George Monbiot). This curiosity was alongside a genuine interest in toxic landscapes and appreciation of the natural world through art. This forms a different, if contentious, lens through which to engage with the issues highlighted by collectives such as CORE. However, such sentiments have similar environmental roots and it is merely the process which differs. Art arguably has the power to involve itself more subtly with politically driven campaigns due to perceived neutrality. As Marek explained, “By being holidaymakers on an unlikely tour, the caravan served as a sounding board or a conversation opener from which reciprocal knowledge could be exchanged through creative dialogue”. So, art arguably endeavoured to give a voice to the unspoken without being seen to be overtly activist. Marek commented that, “Typical protest tends to polarise people and lead to disengagement where arguments are complex: where people are at loggerheads, there is no dialogue”. Lindsay added that, “The project, rather than a point of conflict, instead was a meeting place where ideas could be cracked open – we were trying to work it out for ourselves, what the arguments are, and the most authentic way was to go and visit the places”.
To echo this, according to Taylor13, the celebratory and creative aspects of the arts bring a balance to environmentalism by lightening its often confrontational messages with creativity and humour. Although anger is an important emotion in activism, it is not sustainable for long periods, and may contribute to burnout. Similarly, audiences may ‘turn off’ if they are continually bombarded with angry messages, whereas the use of many different emotions can evolve a variety of ‘hooks’ to engage people. In this case, the novelty of the vehicle and the public being invited to participate in quirky activities such as making milkshakes on Sellafield beach added a sense of oddity hard to ignore. It would be naive to suggest that visiting toxic locations and talking to others would serve to collapse or rehabilitate the atomic industry, yet engaging local people in environmental debates linked to the local area, if nothing else, is the antithesis to the normative acceptance of toxicity. As Marek noted after spending time in these localities:
It almost felt like rather than attempting to change the minds of locals we were an expedition on behalf of the angry liberal city dwellers to understand nuclear. In the light of changing attitudes and increasing opposition to fracking and fossil fuels: the default stance was always been to distrust nuclear but this is now undermined by global warming concerns. All well and good to just say we can’t have fracking and fossil fuels and we need renewables…what does that mean in real terms? If nuclear power is part of that alternative- what does that really mean to the country and communities?. There was, however, a playfulness in our family activities, reminders about local nuclear impact… the ‘elephant in the room’
Pezzullo14 uses the term ‘toxic tourism’ to describe organised tours to places of environmental degradation in underprivileged communities. Toxic Tourism cannot just be categorised as dark tourism, but, as Di Chiro15proposes, it is a form of environmental tourism which draws together the contentious relationships between environmental justice and social degradation. The arts fit into this debate by using aesthetics to synthesise sometimes controversial ideas into potent symbolic images, songs or performances which can raise awareness with the community at large (Andrew and Eastbum16, Evergreen Theatre,17). The arts play an important role in exposing these covert processes in promoting open, factual debates. As Branagan points out, the arts bring a carnival, yet simultaneously sharp, atmosphere to environmental rallies18. This arguably creates ‘liminal’ settings which are conducive to the deep learning necessary for social action (Turner) 19, 20 Using tourism to socialise with strangers by means of a self-conscious ‘doing family’ performance, is a playful and non-invasive way to meet others. Indeed many activists have used art to educate audiences, to disseminate information and try to convert them to environmentalism.
The question arises: what kind of social activism may be induced through aesthetic practices when a) the itineraries are not always clear, or b) are ignored? Considering the natural inertia experienced in the ‘zone of acceptance’ (as Marek puts it), the nuclear ‘foreshadowing’ the every day, is inherent, and tacitly accepted around the potentially hazardous sites. (See Figure 3). In fact, Bonnett, like Redclift21 and Blühdorn22 mourns the fact ‘that we now live in a post-ecologist period in which, behind a façade of deep ecological concern and green politics, inaction is par for the course’. Re-igniting potential concerns through art, however, could lead to significant social change through a radicalised population if the messages were clearly heard and acted upon in a meaningful way. The Nuclear Family Project’s alternative form of tourism contains the idea that pleasure-seeking with traditional forms of family leisure such as swimming on Wylfa Beach or building sandcastles at Dounreay, instead of deactivating and naturalising the toxic, draws attention to it. Art activists from this pretext are seen not as provocateurs but instead passionate, informed individuals who admire and respect the place and just have relevant questions to ask.
Figure 3 Nuclearity Boundary Markers. Winfrith. Nuclear Family Tour 2015
Art and Tourism
By engaging with contested sites of leisure and capturing these travel experiences through photography, drawing and community participation, it is suggested that the art of touring politely disrupts the status quo of places visited because it can critically engage with the issues of atomic power through the gentle lens of art. Whilst other artists have looked at the nature of art and tourism and art and the toxic, (Martin Parr, Cornelia Hesse-Honegger, and Isabella Mongelli for example) what is subtle and effective about this project is the process by which it uses an established form, a family vacation, to critically engage with toxic smells, sounds, contagions, stories and imaginaries as a form of cultural production and political debate. The 30-day tour culminated in a body of work which includes a range of creative musings from pastiches of family portraits to self-styled souvenir drawings of the nuclear power stations, oral histories of residents, security guards, police and employees who live and work in intimate proximity to the nuclear ‘factories’.
The almost ubiquitous nature walks (which formed part of the artistic ‘family activities’) were often remote and yet industrial. Their setting against the ‘romantic idealism’ in the highly managed safe zones of public nature reserves revealed a paradoxical symbiosis between the banal landscapes of industrialisation, environmental toxicity and the itineraries of conservation which seek to preserve and maintain nature. Interestingly, anecdotal evidence from visitors to these places which tried to mix local tourism with the nuclear said that they didn’t feel comfortable photographing a nuclear site in spite of nature paths passing through or adjacent to the stations. By investing in conservation and promotion of local tourism, another juxtaposition between the mundane architecture of the functional factory is set against the equally manufactured, ecologically ‘sustained’ environment with conservation of the nature that surrounds the factories tempering the perceived threat to public health. Whilst conventional leisure seekers travel to contemplate picturesque landscapes through a romantic gaze, travel to these sites is foreshadowed by the perceived dangers associated with nuclear facilities.
Many of the planned artistic interventions occurred in residential areas associated with the nuclear sites and travel in this sense allowed hosts and guests to meet in fleeting encounters; the format of a family on holiday in a caravan had an innocence and novelty about it which allowed the artists to explore environmentalist issues without themselves being ostracised. As Lindsay pointed out:
We were playing out being tourists, being slightly disruptive and inquisitive even ignorant, sort of ‘oh what’s going on here’ type thing. It allows you to take any role that you want. You can talk to the train spotters or the ex-worker from the nuclear industry. I don’t think many people actually thought we were tourists but I think they quite liked the fact we opened up the possibility that you could tour nuclear power stations. The idea of setting up a new paradigm of how and why you might want to travel, a kind of informal activism and leaving perhaps a legacy for a kind of new form of tourism seemed like a plan. Because of the art side of it, you are acting as a tourist, so it is tourism development in a strange way. As a family we made a tourist itinerary of motor boating, kite flying or swimming in the sea. But they were all set within a nuclear framework; doing them next to a power station added a weird element of risk.
The ‘nuclear family’ moniker (in this case, the idealised white Anglo-Saxon version of the nuclear family23 ) is the post-war idea of the family which itself alludes to the security in conformity. It is this conformity set against the backdrop of a somewhat ambivalent relationship with nuclear energy that underpins the family photographs. Taken at each destination, they represent an attempt to begin a dialogue which locates threat. Here, the traditional poses both allude to the conventions of expressing togetherness in a happy family holiday, whilst also being a reminder of the toxic landscapes which contextualise these portraits. By engaging in family activities at each of the destinations, the aim was also to engage a wider audience through the cultural media genres of literature, film and art, adding narratives to public debates on the environment, on beauty and toxicity. Through the genteelism of art production, this narrative can be a ‘quiet riot’ in the otherwise undisturbed experience of the everyday. So, from the realm of artistic appreciation in a banal landscape, the radioactive ‘elephant in the room’ is temporarily made visible by a family on holiday. They are not, of course, an entirely conventional family, but rather a publicly funded one which travels to make art: the Nuclear Family Project is in this sense a form of alternative ‘niche’ tourism but hosted under the rubric of ‘environmental tourism’ and mediated through an artistic practice. By their own admission, The Nuclear Family Project are artists and not activists. Because of the form of their project, they are also ‘holiday makers’. In contrast to the idealised notions of a white, happy family on a beach (Obrador-Pons)24 this is juxtaposed with the arguably darker aura of the toxic landscape; spaces of leisure and family activities as played out in the contested spaces of the nuclear industry. The artists, in holidaying in these places, wished not only to use tourism for contemplating the strangeness of industrial landscapes but also as antithesis to the more traditional forms of tourism such as the beach holiday:
I had no idea what it would be like to tour nuclear sites. I didn’t even know if you could get close to them. They are fenced off, but fenced off right next to the building and were surprisingly accessible – that really surprised me. I mean, even Dounreay, an ex-military site had a nice viewing area that was made for tourists. It has informative panels and yet was one of the nuclear research places during the Cold War, I believe it would have been top secret. They are now promoting tourism and have even built a massive car park to encourage people to hang around. Wylfa has a visitor centre, and Trawsfynydd is a tourist spot again – now that the reactors don’t heat up the lake water. In fact, it’s now a leisure lake with watersports, fishing and Ospreys.
By touring nuclear sites, The Nuclear Family are able to re-engage both hosts and guests (and most importantly audience) in a debate about the social reality of nuclear threat. As Pezzulo25 points out, tourism is romanticised for its promise of pleasure, and yet tourism may also enable exploitation of other cultures. In the case of the environmental justice movement, raising awareness about polluted communities and reducing the physical distance between hosts and guests serves to redress this. Being a creative family on holiday, the danger of ‘othering’ its host is reconciled by the artists’ reciprocal engagement with, for example, place. Making work that does not preach about the nuclearity of the destination, and has an appreciation for aesthetics with a genuine concern and sympathy for local issues, is arguably a more ethical encounter with its host.
When visiting these industrial towns, the artists used a variety of tactics to engage with both the public and the surrounding areas which they wished to explore. As participants in this somewhat unlikely holiday, the artists, as suspect holidaymakers, mimicked the performances of conventional leisure tourism by engaging in activities such as beach walking, fishing, sightseeing, apparently behaving like any other visitor. Another approach was to park their caravan in public areas such as car parks and roadsides near the nuclear facilities, intending to prompt reactions to their unusual presence. Using such leisure spaces for family activities naturally led to tourist encounters with residents who lived and worked with nuclear reactors on their doorstep. Interactions included conversations with the communities about the positive and negative impacts of nuclear factories in their neighbourhoods. So, instead of exploiting the destinations encountered, Marek and Lindsay made art which, while addressing an environmentalist agenda, also involved the local community as a way of giving something back. The artists as tourists were as curious about where to find the souvenir shop as they were at disclosing uncomfortable truths, striking up conversations on difficult topics with non-threatening naivety. By performing family holiday activities close to a nuclear facilities, rhetorical questions are raised around safety, security and what can be construed as acceptable leisure pursuits in toxic zones.
As Marek observed:
In Sizewell there is a managed walk that highlights butterfly spotting and right next to it is a sign about what to do if there’s a disaster, you know, go home close your windows etc. Weirdly the campsites right next to some of them are really beautiful. Sandy Bay camp site’s promotional material talks about wildlife and proximity to the Sizewell sands beach, and stunning Suffolk coastal walks yet completely fails to mention that it’s directly next to two enormous nuclear power stations. When we arrived and talked to the woman at reception, I said we had come to see the nuclear power station and she stopped and gave me an uncomfortable look then regained her composure and went on ‘oh that’s nice’. I did wonder if she’d imagined that any of her other guests had come to see it. Sizewell Tea are great though, they are a beachside café and they proudly celebrate the fact they are in a car park next to a nuclear power station and make the best of it.
Lindsey also commented that:
Awareness of the nuclear presence is quite ambiguous. I mean we were a bit worried before we left for the tour. Dounreay beach has a history of incredibly hot particles. I think we also imagined we would have more fractious encounters. I didn’t anticipate how pretty the sites would be and how accessible they were with paths and places to walk dogs alongside the structures. We did meet occasional tourists like the Dutch ones in the camper van, and they were completely unaware of the nuclear power station, and they were the only ones walking their dog on the beach. Others would not go on the beach but enjoyed the view of the coast, and some read the warning signs not to go on the beach and turned back. There they were more cautious but at Torness everyone rocks up more as a conventional seaside holiday spot, a best kept secret beach. Dungeness was at the other extreme and had been a tourist resort well before it had a nuclear power station so its popularity is probably historical.
This study has followed the journey of The Nuclear Family project to understand better, how the mobilisations of art and tourism can re-engage environmentalist discourses surrounding the controversial global enterprise of atomic power, manufacture and disposal. Set against the mundane realities of communities living and working at nuclear power stations in the UK, a family of contemporary artists posing as tourists on a caravan holiday were inspired by the cold war narratives of their childhood; their mobile installation used creatively to explore how eco politics in the 21st century, relates to everyday life.
By visiting 16 nuclear power stations in the UK and staying at the industrial beaches, car parks, laybys and visitor centres located next to nuclear reactors, these unconventional holiday destinations allowed social connections with residents, prompting informal conversations about the challenges and benefits of engaging with atomic power. Despite the undeniable danger attached to being a nuclear host, Chernobyl as historical exemplar of horrific consequences, the communities in question tended to mythologise potential risks, distancing them from both public consciousness and debate. Arguably, given the quotidian circumstances of the everyday, death by radiation appears as phantasmagorical given the occurrence of disasters overall.
Whilst the artists enjoyed capturing the beauty of the industrial landscape and with gentle provocation raised the issue of the toxic, local residents as employees of the nuclear industry counteracted these critical views with stories of economic and conservational benefits. In summary, this essay has discussed how tourism mobilities can be used as a vehicle through which to explore the dichotomy between urban mythology and scientific actuality. Through critical contemplation of the relations between economic necessities, social activism and aesthetic practices therefore, new stories about our paradoxical relationship
With the nuclear as a lived experience have been told.
Turner, J.C, (1982). Towards a cognitive redeﬁnition of the social group. Social identity and intergroup relations, pp.15-40.
Redclift, M. (2011). “The Response of the Hermeneutic Social Sciences to a ‘Postcarbon World’.” International Review of Social Research 3 (2): 155–166.
Blühdorn, I., (2011). The politics of unsustainability: COP15, post-ecologism, and the ecological paradox. Organization & Environment, p.1086026611402008.
Carr, N.(2011). Children’s and Families’ Holiday Experience, London, Taylor and Francis.
Obrador Pons, P. (2012). Annals of tourism research, Vol. 39, No. 1, pp, 401-420
Pezzullo, P. C. (2007). Toxic Tourism: Rhetorics of Pollution, travel, and environment justice.