Running across Rapa Nui, I expected to see ancient statues. But I also found an island fighting for its future

As I pass yet another abandoned moai lying beside the road, I’m struck by the tranquility around me. I’m midway through a five-day running trip across Rapa Nui (Easter Island), following an empty coastal road beneath a gray Pacific sky. Turning left, I move inland through open grassland scattered with horses, cattle and fallen statues, before reaching Rano Raraku, the volcanic quarry where hundreds of moai—giant human stone figures —appear to rise directly from the earth.

It feels profoundly peaceful. The island, now widely referred to by its Indigenous name Rapa Nui, is one of the most remote inhabited places on Earth. Located more than 2,300 miles (3,700 kilometers) west of mainland Chile, this triangular-shaped 14-mile (23-kilometer) speck of volcanic land, dominated by three extinct volcanoes, covers 63 square miles (165 square kilometers).

But as I realize during my stay, the island’s magical stillness is somewhat deceptive. Rapa Nui is not simply an archaeological wonder or an open-air museum housing 1,000 stone statues. It is a living Polynesian culture wrestling with how much tourism it can sustain, to what extent Chile should control its future, and who ultimately gets to decide what happens to the land.

Local estimates put its largely Chilean population at around 8,000, with around 2,000 identifying as Indigenous Rapa Nui, and a further floating population of 2,000. Although they are Chilean citizens, the Rapa Nui have recognized Indigenous status and specific rights over residency, land and decisions affecting the island.

For Indigenous guide Natalie Hotu, who leads me across craters, cliffs and archaeological sites during my stay, the problem is not tourism itself. After all, she runs her own sustainable guiding business built around hiking, cycling and snorkeling, shunning more financially rewarding offers from luxury hotel brands.

“Why don’t they ask the community if we want to support more flights? We are at the point where we have to question what we want. First should come protection of the ecosystem; second, the social side; and last, the economic.”

- Natalie Hotu, Indigenous guide, Rapa Nui

“I want to create sustainable tourism,” Natalie tells me as she shares plans about the educational guesthouse she is developing. “People come because they want to see our nature, our culture, share with us. We can teach them and create ways to visit with more hiking, fewer cars and more respect for the land.”

Tourism is the island’s economic engine. Around 80 percent of the population is estimated to depend on tourism, although mayor Elizabeth Arévalo Pakarati has warned that the island does not want mass tourism. More than 100,000 travelers visit each year, with arrivals concentrated around a relatively small number of archaeological sites.

This helps to explain the strange contrast I experience on my trip. I run for hours on deserted roads, yet at headline sites such as Ahu Tongariki (‘Ahu’ refers to the sacred stone ceremonial platform) and the volcanic crater and former quarry of Rano Raraku, visitors arrive in packed minibuses and tour groups.

Mahina Pakarati Trengove, an architect at the Rapa Nui Technical Secretariat for Heritage, sees both sides. “Tourism generates employment in the community and makes it possible to maintain and conserve the national park,” she tells me over a phone call. “But the number of tourists is increasing and saturation is increasingly evident. We want an informed tourist who understands respect for our heritage.”

The pressure extends beyond crowded viewpoints. Hotu describes summer water shortages for locals as hotels drain the island’s reserves, alongside regular electricity outages. Then there’s the growing volume of rubbish left on the island. “The tourists use our resources,” she says. “The garbage stays here. We need to know how many people we can support.”

That question has become more urgent because Chile is investing heavily in the infrastructure connecting Rapa Nui to the outside world. A USD$400 million programme at Mataveri Airport, the island’s main entry point, will eventually replace the existing passenger terminal with one almost three times its size.

The Chilean government argues the airport is not simply about bringing in more tourists—Mataveri is also the island’s lifeline for residents, medical travel, freight and supplies. President Gabriel Boric says the airport investment is “not only for the people who come from outside for 15 or 20 days and then leave, but for those who live on Easter Island every day.”

Trengove does agree better infrastructure is needed, but emphasizes the need for quality tourism rather than quantity-based tourism. “The island has grown, and basic services, electricity, water, gas, construction, medicine and supplies in general cannot keep up,” she says. But she believes expansion should come alongside limits on the number of people and vehicles entering the island: “This is a lawless island where everything happens haphazardly and without oversight—that is simply not right.”

Hotu, who has two children growing up on the island, is more skeptical. “Why don’t they ask the community if we want to support more flights?” she asks. “We are at the point where we have to question what we want. First should come protection of the ecosystem; second, the social side; and last, the economic.”

The airport dispute, which I saw through protest banners plastered around the main town of Hanga Roa, also reaches deep into Rapa Nui’s contested history. Chile claimed political control of the island in 1888 under the Agreement of Wills signed with Rapa Nui leaders. But the agreement has long been interpreted differently.

Rapa Nui oral tradition argues they accepted Chilean sovereignty, but did not surrender ownership of their land, yet in 1933 Chile registered the island in the name of the state. That contested ownership history is still playing out today.

Who makes those decisions is complicated. Rapa Nui has been constitutionally designated a special territory since 2007 but remains part of Chile and is administratively tied to the Valparaíso Region. It has an elected mayor and council, while central government is represented on the island.

The existing airport terminal sits on land claimed for decades by the Roe family. The family, descendants of Rapa Nui landowner Rafael Roe Roe, has spent more than 50 years seeking the return of land now occupied by Mataveri Airport, arguing that it remained their ancestral property. In 2024, the Chilean government recognized the family’s rights and agreed to return the land once airport facilities are moved.

“The airport terminal infrastructure upgrade is intended to address regulatory non-compliance issues with the current facility and matters regarding Indigenous land tenure,” says Trengove. “However, the volume of the transient population also needs to be regulated—there are currently too many flights.”

The same tension surrounds plans for new maritime infrastructure. At the moment, supply ships cannot berth directly, and goods have to be transferred to smaller vessels. Chile’s Ministry of Public Works is consulting the Rapa Nui people over infrastructure that would allow supply ships to dock directly.

To some residents, the prospect of a larger facility raises fears of greater development and further pressure on the island. Hotu says many people want improvements—but not transformation. “We want a better port, but to destroy and change everything and build a big design, I think is too much.”

For Tengrove, the current arrangement has environmental costs of its own. Anchored ships can remain offshore for prolonged periods, she says, damaging coral and marine life. “The solution is not a port as such,” she explains. “It should be something on a smaller scale, in a safe place, that allows us to regulate what comes in and goes out.”

Who makes those decisions is complicated. Rapa Nui has been constitutionally designated a special territory since 2007 but remains part of Chile and is administratively tied to the Valparaíso Region. It has an elected mayor and council, while central government is represented on the island.

Indigenous institutions include CODEIPA (Comisión de Desarrollo de Isla de Pascua/Easter Island Development Commission), which brings together elected Rapa Nui representatives and state bodies; Honui, the Council of Elders; and Ma’u Henua, the Indigenous community that administers Rapa Nui National Park but controversially does not own the land. “There is a great deal of institutional structure and little local coordination,” Tengrove says. “We need local governance that is more autonomous from the Chilean state.”

By the end of my five days, I understand why the island feels so difficult to read. On the surface is the relaxed Rapa Nui filled with wandering dogs, mysterious stone idols and an almost meditative sense of space. But beneath it is a culture still negotiating the consequences of colonial history and the pressures of tourism.

Hotu describes the island as being at an “inflection point”. The question is not whether Rapa Nui should welcome visitors or retreat from the world. It is whether tourism and development can be shaped on the island’s own terms.

“We can share our culture, our history and our nature with everyone,” she says. “But first, we have to protect our place.”

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The writer was hosted by Rat Race and stayed at Hotel Hotu Matu’a on Rapa Nui.

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