Is It Okay to Travel to Bad Countries?

Breakfast in our homestay in the Caucasian mountain village of Xinaliq

At Easter we visited Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan was the only one of the three Caucasian countries where we hadn’t been yet; we had been to Georgia several times and twice to Armenia. Azerbaijan is a more interesting and varied country than I had thought. But in this post I want to write about something else.

A Czech friend commented on my photos on social media with the words: “Azerbaijan is certainly a beautiful country, but I would never go there. After everything they have done to the Armenians … !“

The question bothered me. Are there good and bad countries? Are there countries that you shouldn’t visit because their regimes are evil or because there isn’t enough opposition in society? Is it morally reprehensible to visit Azerbaijan after everything that has happened in Nagorno-Karabakh?

I have been to countries whose regimes are totalitarian and can be blamed for many a wrongdoing, such as Iran. It was a fantastic trip, though Iran is a tough totalitarian theocracy. In a sense, every time you travel to a totalitarian country, you support the regime and its economy, for example by paying visa fees. Limited financial support, but support nonetheless.

My friend objected that Iran is a different story, because there is opposition against the regime, in contrast to other totalitarian countries where society seems to be in full support. In Iran, I met people who criticised the regime, and I met people who supported the regime.  The principle is never as simple as: people versus regime.

The strength of the opposition is an interesting criterion, but I am not sure if it leads to fair conclusions. How strong must the opposition be, how well known must it be in the West that there is an opposition for us to have the right to accuse society of totalitarian thinking and boycott the country? Would I have the courage to be a dissident in those countries? Isn’t it a bit arrogant from the position of a Western liberal democracy such as the Czech Republic, which not so long ago was itself a totalitarian country in which only a few had the courage to openly oppose the regime because this entailed very unpleasant consequences?

How should the West have behaved towards a society that voted for communism in democratic elections? According to the above logic, foreign visitors should have boycotted Czechoslovakia. I am not concerned with the election result at the time, for which reasons can be found in the historical context shortly after the Second World War. I am concerned with the far-reaching conclusions that are drawn from that circumstance.

Admittedly, there are countries where I would have a moral dilemma about indulging in seemingly innocent tourism. North Korea, for example, where you are not allowed to speak to the locals and, as far as I know, even tourists have to bow to the statue of the dictator. I don’t condemn people travelling to North Korea, but personally, I prefer to avoid the dilemma.

A similar dilemma might arise for some who enjoy travelling to Russia but support Ukraine in Putin’s war of aggression. I can understand the dilemma and this is the reason why I would be hesitant to travel to Russia now. At the same time, this reminds me of a debate concerning learning Russian in school. A friend in Germany was terribly upset because a teacher had suggested this possibility for her children. How could anyone even think about it, given the war in Ukraine?

The British writer John le Carré described in a wonderful essay how, as a student in the midst of the Second World War in a boarding school, he learned German and fell in love with the language. In the midst of the Second World War! Was he a victim of Nazi propaganda? No! He saw in German not only Hitler and Goebbels but also Heine and Goethe. And he also understood later, after the war, when it was far from clear that Germany would become a peaceful country, how important it is to know the language and culture of others. Even, and perhaps especially, the language of the enemy. Not to wage war again, but to prevent future wars. So maybe I’ll finally learn Russian – and continue with Ukrainian.

Azerbaijan is neither North Korea nor Russia. It is a consolidated autocracy, where opposition is difficult and dissidents are imprisoned for their political views, but foreigners can travel freely and speak to the locals. It is true that there are practically no contacts with the neighbouring country Armenia, and people you speak to describe Armenia as hostile.

The conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan did not start with the wars in Nagorno-Karabakh. It goes far back in history and is not black and white. Until a few years ago, I also thought that Azerbaijan was the villain, the sole aggressor, and Armenia the sole victim. We often judge through the lens of the horrific Armenian genocide in 1915, implicitly assuming that a victim of genocide cannot have hurt others in a different context.

The truth is more complex. The more I read and learn, the more differentiated the conflict between these two peoples becomes. I recommend the book “Black Garden: Armenia and Azerbaijan through Peace and War”, by the British historian and journalist Thomas de Waal. It was published in 2003 and therefore does not cover the second Nagorno-Karabakh war, but it gives detailed insight into the historical course of the conflict and the first war. The book was praised for its “balanced approach given the ethno-nationalist nature of the conflict.”

Both sides have inflicted much harm on the other. Terrible wars have caused heavy casualties and hundreds of thousands of civilians were displaced or forced to flee. On both sides. Like many other conflicts that have lasted for generations, it will take a long time before reconciliation is possible. If it is possible at all.

Can a regime be equated to its people? Do we have the right to judge and condemn ordinary people who are not dissidents? Should they be isolated from contacts with the outside world, including foreign visitors, as a punishment for their conformity?

I don’t think so. On the contrary, I believe this would be counterproductive. It is important to communicate, to be in contact, to talk, also about controversial issues. Isolation and boycott are not the solution, on the contrary, they make things worse. Radicalism grows stronger in resistance against rejection and perceived external enemies. Moderation does not come through confrontation but through communication.

Most countries in the world are not liberal democracies. I have met many hospitable people in countries with evil regimes. They welcomed visitors and contacts with the Western world. Sometimes, though not always, I also asked them their opinion on controversial topics, and I listened. The very act of listening can soften the sharp edges of positions in the conversation. Through personal contact, prejudices can be reduced, new perspectives opened up.

During our trip to Azerbaijan I learned about the lives of Azerbaijanis, their mindset, their historical experience and perspective. This doesn’t mean I agree with them politically on everything. Did I have an influence on them? It would be presumptuous to believe that, and it was also not the primary goal of my journey. But as an interpreter who has worked her whole life in international understanding, I believe in the power of the word, of communication, of human contact. In a globalised, yet increasingly unpeaceful world, this is more important than ever.