The popular Tunisian island of Djerba, steeped in centuries-old traditions and religious heritage, is facing an unprecedented crisis as its unique cultural legacy comes under assault from mass tourism, institutional neglect, and the accelerating impacts of climate change. This convergence of pressures threatens not just the island’s architectural treasures, but the very continuity of its traditional ways of life—raising alarms for heritage preservationists and tourism-dependent communities across North Africa and beyond.
Djerba, off Tunisia’s southeast coast in the Mediterranean, has long been celebrated for its historic role as a crossroads of civilizations, from the Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, and Arabs to today’s diverse population. The island’s storied sites include the Sedouikech underground mosque, St Joseph’s Church, and the El Ghriba Synagogue—testaments to Djerba’s entwined religious histories and multicultural legacy. Until recently, these icons coexisted with vernacular houses known as houmas, menzels, and houchs, embodying architectural traditions adapted over centuries to the island’s climate and community life.
Yet, since the 1990s “golden age” of Mediterranean tourism, profound changes have swept Djerba’s physical and social landscapes. At its peak prior to the 2011 Tunisian revolution, Djerba was drawing 1 to 1.5 million visitors annually—making it the nation’s top tourist destination, and boasting more hotels than any other area in Tunisia. Excessive tourist numbers have fueled environmental strains, such as severe water stress and overwhelming waste management demands: hotels alone now account for up to 40% of the island’s total waste, according to 2020 figures.
Just as significantly, the pivot towards mass tourism has transformed Djerba’s built environment. Traditional dwellings have been demolished in prime areas, supplanted by modern hotels and tourist infrastructure. The Tunisian revolution’s aftermath saw a sharp decline in institutional oversight, permitting illegal construction on archaeological sites, frequent vandalism, and unauthorized demolition of historic buildings. With the rapid expansion of roads, ferries, airports, and digital connectivity, traditions of agriculture, fishing, and artisanal crafts have declined sharply—now more commonly staged for tourists than practiced as livelihoods.
But if unchecked development poses serious threats, the existential danger comes from climate change. Weather data and predictive climate models indicate Djerba’s annual rainfall could fall by 20% this century, landing the island in a new era of droughts and water insecurity. Meanwhile, rising sea levels and intensifying storm surges are carving away at Djerba’s coastline and flooding low-lying heritage sites. A 2022 study found 14% of the island’s beaches highly vulnerable to coastal erosion and submersion—a risk already realized at sites such as the ruins of Sidi Garous and the shrine of Sidi Bakour, now entirely underwater and replaced only by memorials.
Even Djerba’s Roman-era archaeological sites—including Meninx, Edzira, and Ghizene—lie partly or wholly submerged, with Tunisia’s National Institute of Heritage warning that much may already be lost permanently to the sea. Without rapid intervention, preservation experts caution that “significant portions of Djerba’s cultural heritage have already been erased by sea-level rise and coastal erosion,” with more losses likely unless adaptive efforts are ramped up (The Conversation).
The heritage crisis has not gone unnoticed internationally. In September 2023, UNESCO added Djerba to its World Heritage Sites list, a move championed by local advocates and Tunisia’s culture ministry after years of lobbying. The designation brings new visibility and potential funding for Djerba’s heritage, and spurred the government to establish a monitoring task force overseeing construction and data collection for protected areas.
Community organizations such as the Association for the Safeguarding of the Island of Djerba have also become vital actors, launching public awareness campaigns and repurposing ancient rainwater tanks to help communities weather drought. Even so, these grassroots and institutional initiatives cannot yet match the escalating threats; chronic underfunding, weak regulatory frameworks, and slow bureaucracy continue to undermine efforts, leaving essential maintenance and emergency interventions outpaced by deteriorating conditions on the ground.
Experts widely agree that the root of the crisis is the lack of coherent, enforceable frameworks for sustainable heritage management that balance the needs of tourism, preservation, and local well-being. As one heritage researcher observed in the study: “Improved preservation of these sites will require continuous funding and stringent regulation of tourism and construction activities.”
The unfolding drama in Djerba holds resonant lessons for Thailand and Southeast Asia, where tourism-fueled growth often brings gains in jobs and infrastructure but poses risks to local cultures and fragile coastlines. Many of Thailand’s coastal sites and heritage towns—Chiang Mai, Phuket Old Town, Ayutthaya—face similar balancing acts: maximizing economic returns from tourism while protecting unique selling points rooted in history and place (Bangkok Post coverage).
Many Thai officials and heritage preservationists warn that, like Djerba, both institutional neglect and overreliance on tourism threaten iconic locations. Severe flooding, saltwater intrusion, and coastal erosion—already realities in cities such as Bangkok and Songkhla—also put Thai historical sites at risk, especially in the context of climate change (UNESCO Southeast Asia). The absence of robust regulatory or conservation frameworks can lead to irreversible losses of culture, with serious implications for education, local pride, and long-term tourism revenue.
From a historical and cultural perspective, Djerba’s fate is a reminder of the importance of local stewardship and international cooperation. In Tunisia, centuries-old religious festivals and crafts traditions—once integral to daily life—are at risk of becoming mere entertainment for outsiders. The same dynamic can be seen in parts of Thailand, where ancient crafts, festivals, and vernakular architecture risk commodification or extinction if not protected alongside economic development. Both contexts highlight the need for grassroots community involvement, effective government oversight, and diversified funding streams.
Looking forward, the path to strengthening heritage resilience in places like Djerba (and similarly vulnerable sites in Thailand) will depend on several interlocking strategies. Experts recommend expanding investment in climate adaptation (such as seawalls and improved water infrastructure), regulatory reforms restricting unplanned construction, and enhanced partnerships with UNESCO and global heritage groups. Sustainable tourism models—prioritizing lower-impact, longer-stay, and heritage-focused travelers—offer another route for balancing economic needs with preservation. Digital documentation and creative reuse of traditional structures may also help keep tangible and intangible heritage alive for newer generations.
For Thai readers invested in preserving their local and national heritage, Djerba’s experience offers several practical takeaways: support local advocacy groups protecting heritage sites through donations or volunteering; engage in public consultations on new development in heritage zones; and demand greater transparency and enforcement from local authorities when it comes to conservation rules. Individuals can also contribute by patronizing authentic local businesses, learning about their community’s heritage, and advocating for sustainable tourism—ensuring that economic growth doesn’t come at the irreversible expense of culture and memory.
As Djerba’s crisis shows, without active stewardship, heritage is at risk of being lost to both the tides of the Mediterranean and the unchecked currents of economic and social change—a warning that resonates from North Africa to Southeast Asia.
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