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Exhibit A: The Rebranding of the Immigrant
The colonizers in Bali call themselves “expats” and “digital nomads” because apparently the word immigrant is derogatory.
Which is interesting. Because their home countries have spent decades making the word “immigrant” sound like an insult.
So perhaps the problem isn’t the word. Perhaps it’s being on the receiving end of it.
This thought wasn’t actually triggered by a visa dispute, a villa development or a wellness influencer charging €50 for a spiritual awakening workshop.
It was triggered by a running club. More specifically, the recent Entourage.Bali controversy.
An Indonesian woman alleged that her application to join the club was rejected while her foreign husband was accepted. The organizers said it was the result of a technical issue in their approval system.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Personally, I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Because the most interesting part of the story wasn’t the algorithm. It was what happened afterwards.
When Indonesian immigration concluded that the organizers had been conducting activities without the required permits, the conversation stopped being about a running club and became a much larger conversation about Bali itself.
And nowhere is that conversation more fascinating thatn in the world of the modern expat.
Apparently there is a difference between an immigrant and an expat.
An Indonesian moving to Australia is an immigrant. A Filipino moving to Canada is an immigrant. A Mexican moving to America is an immigrant.
But a Westerner moving to Bali? That’s an expat. Or a digital nomad. A global citizen, perhaps. Or whatever rebranding exercise helps avoid the word immigrant.
Because let’s be honest.
Back home, many of these “expats” are not particularly exceptional. They are just regular people. Normies. Someone’s middle-class neigbour with an office job, a mortgage and a crippling addiction to Pret.
Then they move to Bali.
Suddenly they’re international. And entrepreneurs. Citizens of the world!
Same person. Same Passport. Different country. Different social status.
And with that status, comes a very curious expectation. The expectation that the country they’re living in should adapt to them. Not the other way around. They don’t necessarily learn Bahasa Indonesia or make much effort to understand Indonesian customs. They can spend years living in Bali while existing almost entirely inside a foreigner bubble.
But eat enough Nasi Goreng and suddenly they’re “basically Indonesian”.
Apparently cultural integration is optional when you have the right passport.
Exhibit B: Rules for Thee, Not for Me
The Entourage controversy was interesting because it accidentally exposed something much bigger.
Not the allegation itself. The reaction. Because this pattern keeps appearing. Someone arrived in Indonesia as a tourist. They they begin working remotely. Or organizing events. Or running a business. Or generating income while physically operating from Indonesia.
And when Indonesian authorities start asking questions about visa, permits, taxes, or licensing requirements?
Suddenly Indonesia is oppressive. Enforcement becomes discrimination. Suddenly everyone discovers a deep passion for civil liberties. Funny how that works.
Because if an Indonesian entered your country on a tourist visa, started working, opened a business through local connection and ignored the regulatory framework, would you call them a misunderstood digital nomad?
Or would you call them an illegal immigrant?
That’s the uncomfortable part isn’t it? People don’t hate immegration, they hate being treated like immigrants. Especially when they are accustomed to having a passport that opens doors.
You. are. a. foreigner. That is not an insult. It is simply a fact.
And if the idea of being treated like a foreigner makes you angry, perhaps you should ask yourself why you are expected to be treated like the owner.
Exhibit C: The Island of Gods™ Experience
And before anyone asks: no, I haven’t been to Bali recently.
I used to visit quite frequently in my early twenties. But somewhere along the way, the island started giving me the ick.
Partly because Bali started feeling less like Bali, and more like a carefully curated white-people wellness theme park.
You know the aesthetic.
Eat, Pray, Love. Açaí bowls. Yoga. Breathwork. Cold plunges. A gym on every corner like how there’s a 7/11 on every corner of Singapore. Minimalist cafes serving overpriced coffee in concrete buildings. Someone’s spiritual awakening happening approximately three metres away from someone else’s €4 smoothie. And of course, the endless stream of foreigners talking about they’ve “found themselves” in the Island of the Gods.
It was the performative quality of it all that gave me the ick.
At some point, the island itself began feeling like a backdrop. The culture became branding. The food became content. The spirituality became merchandise. And Bali increasingly felt like the supporting character in a story about foreigners discovering themselves.
Which is ironic.
Because the people who actually call Bali home don’t need to travel there to find themselves. They already live there.
Exhibit D: Colonization, Now Available in Digital Format
And this is exactly why I call it modern colonization.
I’m not talking about colonialism in the literal historical sense. There are no armies. No naval invasions. And no Dutch East India Company 2.0.
I’m talking about what happens when people with greater economic power arrive somewhere, create a lifestyle designed around themselves, reshape the local economy to serve that lifestyle, and gradually turn the culture of the place into a product they can consume.
The locals are still there. The flag and the government hasn’t changed. But the experience of the place increasingly becomes curated around somebody else’s preferences.
The cafes, gyms. villas and businesses all cater to foreigners.
And eventually, the locals are exepcted to adapt to an ecosystem increasingly designed around somebody else’s comfort.
Because colonialism was never only about territory.
It was also about influence. About who gets accommodated. About who gets listened to. About whose preferences become the default setting.
But pretending that economic power has nothing to do with who gets to shape a place is equally naive.
Modern colonization doesn’t necessarily arrive with an army. Sometimes it arrives with a remote-work laptop, a villa investment, an oat-milk latte and a very strong opinion about where the locals should park.
Exhibit E: Follow The Money (It Might Not Stay Here)
There is another side to this conversation that often gets overlooked.
Tourism is supposed to benefit local communities.
And sometimes, it absolutely does. But it is worth asking a simple question.
Who captures the value?
Because if tourists stay in foreign-owned villas, eat at foreign-oriented cafes, train at foreign-owned gyms, attend foreign-run events and spend morst of their money inside businesses built around other foreigners, a significant amount of tourism revenue can end up circulating inside the same ecosystem.
The labour remains local. The ownership does not always remain local. And those are not the same thing. A business being physically located in Bali does not necessarily mean the economci benefit stays in Bali.
The people whose home is being sold as the tourist experience can end up capturing less of the wealth generated from selling it.
And that is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable. Because tourism is not just about who visits. It is also about who profits.
Exhibit F: The Regional Expansion Pack
And before anyone thinks this is uniquely a Bali problem, it isn’t. The same tensions keep appearing across Southeast Asia. Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam.
Different locations. Same story. Same public misconduct. Disregard for local customs. Conflicts with residents. Visitors behaving in ways they would never tolerate from foreigners in their own countries. The details change. The attitude deosn’t.
And the attitude is what interests me.
The entitlement that can emerge when people become accustomed to being treated as desirable consumers rather than ordinary foreigners who are expected to follow the rules.
Because somewhere along the way, hospitality becomes mistakened for permission.
Exhibit G: Everybody Loves Local Culture Until Local Laws Show Up
Then there is another contradiction.
Bali has some of the strictest drug laws in the region. And yet it has also developed a reputation for the undergound market that remains accessible to tourists.
Now obviously I am not suggesting everyone goes to Bali looking for drugs. That would be ridiculous…
But when a destination develops a reputation for being a place where you can find things that would get you into serious trouble back home, it can attract a particular kind of tourist.
And that fits neatly into the larger fantasy. The fantasy that Bali is a place where consequences become negotiable.
Work remotely. Live cheaply. Party! Start a business… Find yourself. Do whatever you want.
Until Indonesian authorities remind you that Indonesia is still Indonesia.
That tends to ruin the mood.
Because Bali is not a lifestyle brand. Or a co-working space. A wellness retreat? An instagram backdrop?
It is a place where millions of people actually live. It has laws, customs, communities. A place that existed long before digital nomads discovered it.
And will continue existing long after they leave.
Final Verdict: The Expat Exception
Maybe “expat” isn’t really a description.
Maybe it’s a status symbol. A way of distinguishing certain migrants from other migrants.
A way of signalling that some people are expected to integrate while others are merely expected to be accommodated.
Because at the end of the day, an immigrant is simply someone who moved to another country.
The only real question is who gets to pretend they aren’t one.
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