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Early employment and the move to Colombo

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CHAPTER 6

The 1920s in Sri Lanka was a period of excitement and change. Politically there was significant movement after many decades of stagnation… [S]ocially… there were breaches in traditional hierarchies and practices. Some… who in earlier times had little say in society for class and caste reasons, achieved high status positions… and middleclass women shocked the orthodox.

(de Alwis & Jayawardena, 2001, pp.1 & 5)

An Uncertain Future

After leaving St. Aloysius’, NU seemed to be uncertain about his future, and initially applied for a job as a teacher:

When I was 16, in 1924, I did not know what to do and I thought the best thing would be to teach. My father had come at this time to Tangalle, which is our ancestral home. I stayed with my parents after leaving school and I decided to apply for a teaching post at the same school [St. Mary’s] in which I had my education. (interview by Manel Abhayaratne)

NU’s application was accepted and he was hired. However, since NU was underage, he could not be registered and his salary was paid out of the principal’s own pocket. NU stayed with his uncle who was working in the Hambantota Kachcheri. NU still did not give up his desire to study:

I wanted to pursue my studies but I wanted to do it by studying by myself. There was a series of books advertised by a London tutorial college and I decided to get them down and study to further my qualifications. (ibid)

According to NU, his father was anxious that he join the public service and follow in the footsteps of his uncle (who was later appointed Kachcheri Mudaliyar of the Hambantota Kachcheri); and it

was due to his father’s persuasion that he applied for the post of clerk in the District Roads Committee (DRC). NU further explained the events leading to his entry into the clerical service:

Mr. Frank Leach, Assistant Government Agent, had set the qualifying papers. We all handed over the papers and went back. About a month later I learned that I had answered the papers very well and had got pass marks, but pressure had been brought on the Assistant Government Agent, to recommend someone else who was a relation of the then Mudaliyar. (ibid)

The final decision, however, rested with the Government Agent himself, Mr. Millington, who insisted that the man who had obtained the best results in the examination, NU, should be appointed

to the DRC at a salary of Rs. 27.50 a month. Incidentally, this salary was significantly less than the Rs. 40 he received when teaching at St. Mary’s.

This was perhaps the first occasion when NU came face to face with social realities and favouritism in the system, which could on occasion ignore merit and reward social position. Thus began NU’s

career, which was to take him first, up and down the Southern Province in various posts, and finally, to join the Ruhuna diaspora in Colombo. The District Roads Committee was set up in 1862 to oversee the construction and maintenance of minor roads. It was funded with one third of the money collected from the Road Tax. Committees were set up in each district, and each consisted of the Government Agent or Assistant Government Agent of the district and the District Engineer, along with three other elected members from the European, Burgher or other ‘native’ communities. Significantly, the DRC was the first local body to follow the elective principle (Saparamadu, in Woolf, 1962, p.1xiii-iv).

Back to School

As mentioned above, NU was not particularly interested in applying for the job at the DRC and did so only at his father’s insistence. He soon tired of this minor post, and against his father’s wishes took up a teaching position at his old school, St. Servatius’ College, Matara. NU lodged at the school catechist’s home in the Fort, Matara – as he had done earlier when a student there. He coached the catechist’s son and, to please his father, prepared both for the Clerical Service and Matriculation examinations.

NU soon moved on from St. Servatius’ when a job opportunity opened up at the leading Buddhist boys’ school in the Southern Province – Mahinda College, Galle. To reach the school, NU had to

again travel daily by train, and as in the past, he continued to use the train and the station waiting room as his ‘study.’ He had to take the early train to reach Galle from Matara, and for the return journey:

“He would reach Matara station in the dark, settle down in the Third-Class waiting room and study by the dim light from the oil lamp which hung down from a beam in the room” (de Zoysa manuscript, p.59).

NU also studied while ‘on the move,’ as an amusing anecdote related by Lucien de Zoysa shows: “he used to read while walking after school, creating a stir among those walking on the [Matara]

ramparts when they saw a young man oblivious of all and everything except the open book in his hand.” As de Zoysa notes: “reading… [and] studying… [were] more than second nature to him. It was all of him and he spent every moment he could, studying for both the Matriculation and Clerical Service examinations” (de Zoysa manuscript, pp.57-58).The principal of Mahinda at that time was P.R. Gunasekara, who had succeeded the earlier distinguished foreign principals.

The school, founded by the Buddhist Theosophical Society, was initially funded by Thomas de Silva Amarasuriya and his son Henry Woodward Amarasuriya, both important plantation-owners, businessmen and liquor merchants from the Southern Province. In Mahinda College two tendencies prevailed, namely, dedication to Buddhist causes and local history and culture, along with a modern education in English. Two foreign principals of the school had also set the tone for liberal political awareness. The first was the Theosophist F.L. Woodward, an Oxford-educated Pali scholar who had translated

sections of the Pali Canon, and who was closely associated with Colonel Olcott. He was the founding Principal of the College, serving from 1903 to 1919. The second, Gordon Pearce who served as Woodward’s Vice-Principal, was also a Theosophist and British Labour Party supporter, who became Principal in 1921.

In contrast to Christian schools, Buddhist schools such as Mahinda College encouraged a national awareness and exposed students to Indian nationalism. In 1922 visitors to the school included persons linked to the Indian independence movement, such as Rabindranath Tagore, Sarojini Naidu, Rev. C.H. Andrews (a British supporter of Gandhi), and Annie Besant, a leading Theosophist and advocate of Indian Home Rule. Significantly, the sessions of the Ceylon National Congress were held at Mahinda College in 1926; and at the 1927 prize-giving, Mahatma Gandhi was the chief guest:

“The Olcott Hall was filled to capacity. Never was there such a large gathering of Buddhists, Hindus and Christians to pay homage”

(Norah Roberts, 1993, pp.154 & 156).

NU may have been present at some of these historic events. In his student days, NU had moved from Hambantota to Matara and then to Galle. The process was reversed after he passed his Senior

Cambridge and began his career, when he first moved back to Hambantota, then to Matara and Galle. There was thus some mobility in NU’s life at this stage, with his progression from school to school and job to job, although limited to the Southern Province.

In the process, both at St. Aloysius’ and Mahinda College, NU was fortunate to have interacted with excellent teachers. They were men of dedication and generosity, some famous scholars, some politically committed to an anti-colonial agenda.

Early Days in Colombo

In 1926, NU also passed the London Matriculation (in the First Division) as a private student, passing in Mathematics, which he had failed at the Senior Cambridge. Another important event in

his life was his success at the General Clerical Services Examination in 1926, followed by his posting to the Public Works Department (PWD) in Colombo as a Class 2 clerk on a monthly salary of Rs.75. Getting into the Class 2 category was a significant advance from which NU never looked back. His father was so pleased he gave NU a 50-rupee note. According to family folklore, NU looked at it and pointed to the note’s signature of W.W. Woods, the Colonial Secretary, and asked,

“Why can’t I sign a note like this?” – thereby provoking much amusement in his family.

The PWD, formed in 1867, consisting of a director and provincial engineers, was responsible for construction and maintenance of government-constructed buildings, roads, ferries, and resthouses

(Woolf, 1962, p.lxxi). Until the early 1930s, the top administrators and executives, who ran the various government departments, were almost exclusively British; while the essential routine work in the office was handled by local clerks who were hierarchically just above peons (now called ‘minor employees’), performing the lowliest work in the offices. As noted earlier, to become a clerk in the government service was the main ambition of most young men whose parents were neither professionals, wealthy businessmen nor large landowners. NU, when he passed his clerical examination, had achieved the aspirations of many families from his background, namely to have a family member in the prestigious government service, which would elevate the family’s social standing.

NU had been to Colombo only twice before, to sit examinations, staying in one of Maradana’s cheap lodging-houses for young workingmen, known as ‘chummeries.’ On his move to Colombo as a clerk in the Public Works Department, he worked at its head office in the Fort, and lived in a ‘boarding house’ on Forbes Lane in Maradana, run by Dickman de Mel. The transport between Maradana and Fort was by tramway or train.

NU gave tuition to de Mel’s nephews in exchange for lodging – a similar arrangement to what he had done when he stayed with the St. Servatius’ catechist. Released from paying for his lodgings in Colombo, NU was able to bring his youngest brother Peter to Colombo. NU, who held thwarted ambitions to be a doctor, was keen to see his brother enter the medical profession. Peter stayed at the boarding house, with NU paying his fees and enrolling him in the leading Catholic school, St. Joseph’s College, just near Forbes Lane. Later, Peter Jayawardena, benefiting from the education he received, entered the Medical College, later becoming a well-known gynaecologist and obstetrician.

In Sri Lanka, supporting family members has long been a tradition. It is expected and even taken for granted that family members, including those from the extended family, would assist and support each other – especially to help brighter children pursue their studies.

NU’s strong family ties and his willingness to assist his relations were evident at all times. NU, who himself continued to benefit from such family support in later years, managed, with assistance from his future father-in-law, Norman Wickramasinghe, to get his brother David a job in the Government Stores. NU also helped arrange marriages for his younger sisters and was always present at family weddings, often being the attesting witness for his nieces and nephews on such occasions. This was all part of the close family network. NU’s success in entering the clerical service enabled him to move

from minor jobs in the Southern Province, to the capital city. ‘Go West, Young Man!’ was a popular US slogan for ambitious settlers moving westwards to California in the 19th century. In Sri Lanka, in the early 20th century, ‘Go West’ meant moving to the Western Province – and to the city of Colombo.

Public Works Department

Colombo in the Late 1920s

There had been a rapid population growth in Colombo, which in 1911 had more than 200,000 inhabitants, an increase of 30% since 1901. Urbanization was fast occurring, with a drift from the countryside to the towns. Though the transfer was not large enough to alter the demographic balance, and the country remained overwhelmingly rural, urban centres expanded considerably. In the economy, these were years of boom in the mid-1920s, then a severe economic depression in the early 1930s. One important development of this period was the expanded infrastructure of roads, railways and port facilities, along with banks, shops, offices and government departments, typical of a colonial economy. This meant employing increasing numbers of manual workers and government servants at all levels, many of them – like NU – originally from the outlying provinces.

The move from Galle to Colombo would have been somewhat daunting for NU, as he was now very far from home, no longer within the secure confines of his family and relatives. At the same time, he would have felt a measure of excitement and expectation at being in the political and commercial capital of the island, where the local elite and the colonial establishment lived and worked, patronizing its restaurants, clubs and hotels. The city of Galle for all its charm could not be compared to the economic and social activity, excitement and bright lights of Colombo. From 1926 to 1929, NU eked out a living in Colombo as a clerk, living frugally in a poor neighbourhood, but observing the activities and life of the city in the heyday of the island’s economic prosperity of the 1920s. This period of NU’s residence in Colombo, however, was also an era of political and social change alongside emerging movements of dissent.

Politics in the 1920s

Politically there had been very little change before the 1920s. The legislature up to 1911 continued to be composed of European ‘officials’ and a few others known as ‘unofficials’ appointed by the Governor to represent the different local ethnic communities and business interests. A nationalist ferment was lacking, as radical political dissent and activism had subsided after the Rebellion of 1848. In 1864, however, a few Members of the Legislative Council, notably Charles Lorenz (whose family was from Matara), had led a vote of ‘unofficials’ against the government and subsequently walked out of the legislature. This group started the Ceylon League, to campaign

First Letter of Appointment as a clerk in the Public Works Department

for political reform.

While there was no mass-based political agitation in the 19th century, some moderate political reform of the constitution was demanded by the emerging local political leaders. In 1919 the Ceylon National Congress was formed, with Sir Ponnambalam Arunachalam as President, to press for more representation, wider franchise rights and an elected legislature. Under the Manning Reforms granted in 1920, a Legislative Council was established with elections on a limited (4%) male franchise. But although some further reforms were demanded, there was no agitation comparable to the militant nationalism that developed in India in the 1920s.

The nature of the local opposition to colonialism reflected a certain economic weakness. Local capitalism was based on accumulation in plantations, the liquor trade and graphite mining – areas where there were few confrontations with colonial interests. In contrast to India, there was no major clash with colonialism in the market place – the ‘school’ where, it is said, a bourgeoisie learns its nationalism. Although national feeling was not militant, communal tensions based on economic considerations arose. There was some criticism of the influence of Indian merchants, South Indian Chettiar moneylenders and other non-Sinhala traders, who by their extraterritorial

interests or economic domination, were seen as a threat to the Sinhala trader. Competition for the limited number of jobs in government service also led to some tension between Sinhalese and

Tamils in the public sector.

But dissent grew and there were some social upheavals. Members of many ‘lower’ castes entered politics and emerged as radical labour leaders, to the consternation of those belonging to ‘higher’ castes. Women also created a stir by agitating for the right to vote – led by the Women’s Franchise Union, formed in 1927. Universal suffrage – including votes for women – was obtained in 1931, and by 1932 there were two women in the legislature. The ‘new women’ of the period shocked traditional society.

They began to participate in politics, making demands for women’s franchise, and caused a sensation by driving cars, riding bicycles, wearing short skirts, bobbing their hair, socializing and dancing with men in public. They also entered University College, and moved into new avenues of employment, including the medical and legal professions (de Alwis & Jayawardena, 2001, p.5).

There was other excitement too. When NU came to Colombo in the mid-1920s, the Ceylon Labour Union led by A.E. Goonesinha was at the height of its popularity among Colombo’s workers.

A general strike in the government and private sectors had occurred in 1923, followed by militant strikes in the Colombo port (1927), tramways (1929), and numerous other places of work. The tramway strike was particularly aggressive, resulting in violence and the setting on fire of the Maradana police station, which led to a police shooting and five deaths. NU, whose lodgings were nearby, would have gazed on with amazement on the new phenomenon of working-class militancy.

This unprecedented agitation resulted in the formation of the Employers Federation (1929), leading to the first collective agreement with a labour union (1929) and the beginning of trade union legislation in Sri Lanka. During these years, NU was in government service and was therefore debarred from politics or trade-union activity. Thus, as he watched these events firsthand, even if he had any sympathies with the workers, he would have kept his views to himself.

NU’s Work Ethic

When NU started work as a clerical servant, he was determined to bring certain principles and practices into his work. No doubt the lessons on efficiency and excellence, which he had learned both in school and from his British bosses in the workplace, were crucial in his attitude to office routine. He was a conscientious worker, but more than that, he was anxious to formulate a system whereby the files he maintained would be kept orderly and comprehensive.

This characteristic of his to have everything in a tidy retrieval system was one that stood him in good stead in the furtherance of his career. It brought a certain discipline not only to the office, but also to his own work.

NU took pride in his work and did not want any superior officer to find fault with him, and did whatever was given to him with meticulous care. In fact, he often used to say that the guiding principle with regard to his work was that ‘he must do today what he could well do tomorrow.’ It was a principle that made him impatient with those who did not have his keen and cutting intelligence and his ability to remember things down to the last detail.

He never proffered excuses if he failed to do anything, and this again was a trait that affected his relationships with those who worked with him. NU worked hard and conscientiously, combining study with work. His great opportunity for social and financial advancement, however, came with his marriage in 1929.

(N.U. JAYAWARDENA The First Five Decades Chapter 5 can read online on https://island.lk/lure-of-govt-service/

(Excerpted from N.U. JAYAWARDENA The first five decades)
By Kumari Jayawardena and Jennifer Moragoda ✍️



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Meet the women protecting India’s snow leopards

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These women work with the local forest department to track and protect the snow leopard species [BBC]

In one of India’s coldest and most remote regions, a group of women have taken on an unlikely role: protecting one of Asia’s most elusive predators, the snow leopard.

Snow leopards are found in just 12 countries across Central and South Asia. India is home to one of the world’s largest populations, with a nationwide survey in 2023 – the first comprehensive count ever carried out in the country – estimating more than 700 animals, .

One of the places they roam is around Kibber village in Himachal Pradesh state’s Spiti Valley, a stark, high-altitude cold desert along the Himalayan belt. Here, snow leopards are often called the “ghosts of the mountains”, slipping silently across rocky slopes and rarely revealing themselves.

For generations, the animals were seen largely as a threat, for attacking livestock. But attitudes in Kibber and neighbouring villages are beginning to shift, as people increasingly recognise the snow leopard’s role as a top predator in the food chain and its importance in maintaining the region’s fragile mountain ecosystem.

Nearly a dozen local women are now working alongside the Himachal Pradesh forest department and conservationists to track and protect the species, playing a growing role in conservation efforts.

Locally, the snow leopard is known as Shen and the women call their group “Shenmo”. Trained to install and monitor camera traps, they handle devices fitted with unique IDs and memory cards that automatically photograph snow leopards as they pass.

“Earlier, men used to go and install the cameras and we kept wondering why couldn’t we do it too,” says Lobzang Yangchen, a local coordinator working with a small group supported by the non-profit Nature Conservation Foundation (NCF) in collaboration with the forest department.

Yangchen was among the women who helped collect data for Himachal Pradesh’s snow leopard survey in 2024, which found that the state was home to 83 snow leopards – up from 51 in 2021.

Spiti Wildlife Division A snow leopard looks into the camera
Snow leopards are often called the “ghosts of the mountains” because they are so hard to spot [BBC]

The survey documented snow leopards and 43 other species using camera traps spread across an area of nearly 26,000sq km (10,000sq miles). Individual leopards were identified by the unique rosette patterns on their fur, a standard technique used for spotted big cats. The findings are now feeding into wider conservation and habitat-management plans.

“Their contribution was critical to identifying individual animals,” says Goldy Chhabra, deputy conservator of forests with the Spiti Wildlife Division.

Collecting the data is demanding work. Most of it takes place in winter, when heavy snowfall pushes snow leopards and their prey to lower altitudes, making their routes easier to track.

On survey days, the women wake up early, finish household chores and gather at a base camp before travelling by vehicle as far as the terrain allows. From there, they trek several kilometres to reach camera sites, often at altitudes above 14,000ft (4,300m), where the thin air makes even simple movement exhausting.

The BBC accompanied the group on one such trek in December. After hours of walking in biting cold, the women suddenly stopped on a narrow trail.

Yangchen points to pugmarks in the dust: “This shows the snow leopard has been here recently. These pugmarks are fresh.”

Devesh Chopra/BBC A woman wearing a black and red scarf writes something in her notebook and a camera trap is placed in front of her.
The women set up cameras with unique IDs and memory cards, which capture an image of a snow leopard as soon as it passes through [BBC]

Along with pugmarks, the team looks for other signs, including scrapes and scent‑marking spots, before carefully fixing a camera to a rock along the trail.

One woman then carries out a “walk test”, crawling along the path to check whether the camera’s height and angle will capture a clear image.

The group then moves on to older sites, retrieving memory cards and replacing batteries installed weeks earlier.

By mid-afternoon, they return to camp to log and analyse the images using specialised software – tools many had never encountered before.

“I studied only until grade five,” says Chhering Lanzom. “At first, I was scared to use the computer. But slowly, we learned how to use the keyboard and mouse.”

The women joined the camera-trapping programme in 2023. Initially, conservation was not their motivation. But winters in the Spiti Valley are long and quiet, with little agricultural work to fall back on.

“At first, this work on snow leopards didn’t interest us,” Lobzang says. “We joined because we were curious and we could earn a small income.”

The women earn between 500 ($5.46; £4) and 700 rupees a day.

But beyond the money, the work has helped transform how the community views the animal.

Spiti Wildlife Division A woman looks at a computer screen which has a grab of a leopard.
Images captured by the camera traps are analysed using a special software [BBC]

“Earlier, we thought the snow leopard was our enemy,” says Dolma Zangmo, a local resident. “Now we think their conservation is important.”

Alongside survey work, the women help villagers access government insurance schemes for their livestock and promote the use of predator‑proof corrals – stone or mesh enclosures that protect animals at night.

Their efforts come at a time of growing recognition for the region. Spiti Valley has recently been included in the Cold Desert Biosphere Reserve, a Unesco-recognised network aimed at conserving fragile ecosystems while supporting local livelihoods.

As climate change reshapes the fragile trans-Himalayan landscape, conservationists say such community participation will be crucial to safeguarding species like the snow leopard.

“Once communities are involved, conservation becomes more sustainable,” says Deepshikha Sharma, programme manager with NCF’s High Altitudes initiative.

“These women are not just assisting, they are becoming practitioners of wildlife conservation and monitoring,” she adds.

As for the women, their work makes them feel closer to their home, the village and the mountains that raised them, they say.

“We were born here, this is all we know,” Lobzang says. “Sometimes we feel afraid because these snow leopards are after all predatory animals, but this is where we belong.”

[BBC]

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Freedom for giants: What Udawalawe really tells about human–elephant conflict

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Too many vehicles entering national parks

If elephants are truly to be given “freedom” in Udawalawe, the solution is not simply to open gates or redraw park boundaries. The map itself tells the real story — a story of shrinking habitats, broken corridors, and more than a decade of silent but relentless ecological destruction.

“Look at Udawalawe today and compare it with satellite maps from ten years ago,” says Sameera Weerathunga, one of Sri Lanka’s most consistent and vocal elephant conservation activists. “You don’t need complicated science. You can literally see what we have done to them.”

What we commonly describe as the human–elephant conflict (HEC) is, in reality, a land-use conflict driven by development policies that ignore ecological realities. Elephants are not invading villages; villages, farms, highways and megaprojects have steadily invaded elephant landscapes.

Udawalawe: From Landscape to Island

Udawalawe National Park was once part of a vast ecological network connecting the southern dry zone to the central highlands and eastern forests. Elephants moved freely between Udawalawe, Lunugamvehera, Bundala, Gal Oya and even parts of the Walawe river basin, following seasonal water and food availability.

Today, Udawalawe appears on the map as a shrinking green island surrounded by human settlements, monoculture plantations, reservoirs, electric fences and asphalt.

“For elephants, Udawalawe is like a prison surrounded by invisible walls,” Sameera explains. “We expect animals that evolved to roam hundreds of square nationakilometres to survive inside a box created by humans.”

Elephants are ecosystem engineers. They shape forests by dispersing seeds, opening pathways, and regulating vegetation. Their survival depends on movement — not containment. But in Udawalawa, movement is precisely what has been taken away.

Over the past decade, ancient elephant corridors have been blocked or erased by:

Irrigation and agricultural expansion

Tourism resorts and safari infrastructure

New roads, highways and power lines

Human settlements inside former forest reserves

Sameera

“The destruction didn’t happen overnight,” Sameera says. “It happened project by project, fence by fence, without anyone looking at the cumulative impact.”

The Illusion of Protection

Sri Lanka prides itself on its protected area network. Yet most national parks function as ecological islands rather than connected systems.

“We think declaring land as a ‘national park’ is enough,” Sameera argues. “But protection without connectivity is just slow extinction.”

Udawalawe currently holds far more elephants than it can sustainably support. The result is habitat degradation inside the park, increased competition for resources, and escalating conflict along the boundaries.

“When elephants cannot move naturally, they turn to crops, tanks and villages,” Sameera says. “And then we blame the elephant for being a problem.”

The Other Side of the Map: Wanni and Hambantota

Sameera often points to the irony visible on the very same map. While elephants are squeezed into overcrowded parks in the south, large landscapes remain in the Wanni, parts of Hambantota and the eastern dry zone where elephant density is naturally lower and ecological space still exists.

“We keep talking about Udawalawe as if it’s the only place elephants exist,” he says. “But the real question is why we are not restoring and reconnecting landscapes elsewhere.”

The Hambantota MER (Managed Elephant Reserve), for instance, was originally designed as a landscape-level solution. The idea was not to trap elephants inside fences, but to manage land use so that people and elephants could coexist through zoning, seasonal access, and corridor protection.

“But what happened?” Sameera asks. “Instead of managing land, we managed elephants. We translocated them, fenced them, chased them, tranquilised them. And the conflict only got worse.”

The Failure of Translocation

For decades, Sri Lanka relied heavily on elephant translocation as a conflict management tool. Hundreds of elephants were captured from conflict zones and released into national parks like Udawalawa, Yala and Wilpattu.

Elephant deaths

The logic was simple: remove the elephant, remove the problem.

The reality was tragic.

“Most translocated elephants try to return home,” Sameera explains. “They walk hundreds of kilometres, crossing highways, railway lines and villages. Many die from exhaustion, accidents or gunshots. Others become even more aggressive.”

Scientific studies now confirm what conservationists warned from the beginning: translocation increases stress, mortality, and conflict. Displaced elephants often lose social structures, familiar landscapes, and access to traditional water sources.

“You cannot solve a spatial problem with a transport solution,” Sameera says bluntly.

In many cases, the same elephant is captured and moved multiple times — a process that only deepens trauma and behavioural change.

Freedom Is Not About Removing Fences

The popular slogan “give elephants freedom” has become emotionally powerful but scientifically misleading. Elephants do not need symbolic freedom; they need functional landscapes.

Real solutions lie in:

Restoring elephant corridors

Preventing development in key migratory routes

Creating buffer zones with elephant-friendly crops

Community-based land-use planning

Landscape-level conservation instead of park-based thinking

“We must stop treating national parks like wildlife prisons and villages like war zones,” Sameera insists. “The real battlefield is land policy.”

Electric fences, for instance, are often promoted as a solution. But fences merely shift conflict from one village to another.

“A fence does not create peace,” Sameera says. “It just moves the problem down the line.”

A Crisis Created by Humans

Sri Lanka loses more than 400 elephants and nearly 100 humans every year due to HEC — one of the highest rates globally.

Yet Sameera refuses to call it a wildlife problem.

“This is a human-created crisis,” he says. “Elephants are only responding to what we’ve done to their world.”

From expressways cutting through forests to solar farms replacing scrublands, development continues without ecological memory or long-term planning.

“We plan five-year political cycles,” Sameera notes. “Elephants plan in centuries.”

The tragedy is not just ecological. It is moral.

“We are destroying a species that is central to our culture, religion, tourism and identity,” Sameera says. “And then we act surprised when they fight back.”

The Question We Avoid Asking

If Udawalawe is overcrowded, if Yala is saturated, if Wilpattu is bursting — then the real question is not where to put elephants.

The real question is: Where have we left space for wildness in Sri Lanka?

Sameera believes the future lies not in more fences or more parks, but in reimagining land itself.

“Conservation cannot survive as an island inside a development ocean,” he says. “Either we redesign Sri Lanka to include elephants, or one day we’ll only see them in logos, statues and children’s books.”

And the map will show nothing but empty green patches — places where giants once walked, and humans chose. roads instead.

By Ifham Nizam

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Challenges faced by the media in South Asia in fostering regionalism

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Main speaker Roman Gautam (R) and Executive Director, RCSS, Ambassador (Retd) Ravinatha Aryasinha.

SAARC or the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation has been declared ‘dead’ by some sections in South Asia and the idea seems to be catching on. Over the years the evidence seems to have been building that this is so, but a matter that requires thorough probing is whether the media in South Asia, given the vital part it could play in fostering regional amity, has had a role too in bringing about SAARC’s apparent demise.

That South Asian governments have had a hand in the ‘SAARC debacle’ is plain to see. For example, it is beyond doubt that the India-Pakistan rivalry has invariably got in the way, particularly over the past 15 years or thereabouts, of the Indian and Pakistani governments sitting at the negotiating table and in a spirit of reconciliation resolving the vexatious issues growing out of the SAARC exercise. The inaction had a paralyzing effect on the organization.

Unfortunately the rest of South Asian governments too have not seen it to be in the collective interest of the region to explore ways of jump-starting the SAARC process and sustaining it. That is, a lack of statesmanship on the part of the SAARC Eight is clearly in evidence. Narrow national interests have been allowed to hijack and derail the cooperative process that ought to be at the heart of the SAARC initiative.

However, a dimension that has hitherto gone comparatively unaddressed is the largely negative role sections of the media in the SAARC region could play in debilitating regional cooperation and amity. We had some thought-provoking ‘takes’ on this question recently from Roman Gautam, the editor of ‘Himal Southasian’.

Gautam was delivering the third of talks on February 2nd in the RCSS Strategic Dialogue Series under the aegis of the Regional Centre for Strategic Studies, Colombo, at the latter’s conference hall. The forum was ably presided over by RCSS Executive Director and Ambassador (Retd.) Ravinatha Aryasinha who, among other things, ensured lively participation on the part of the attendees at the Q&A which followed the main presentation. The talk was titled, ‘Where does the media stand in connecting (or dividing) Southasia?’.

Gautam singled out those sections of the Indian media that are tamely subservient to Indian governments, including those that are professedly independent, for the glaring lack of, among other things, regionalism or collective amity within South Asia. These sections of the media, it was pointed out, pander easily to the narratives framed by the Indian centre on developments in the region and fall easy prey, as it were, to the nationalist forces that are supportive of the latter. Consequently, divisive forces within the region receive a boost which is hugely detrimental to regional cooperation.

Two cases in point, Gautam pointed out, were the recent political upheavals in Nepal and Bangladesh. In each of these cases stray opinions favorable to India voiced by a few participants in the relevant protests were clung on to by sections of the Indian media covering these trouble spots. In the case of Nepal, to consider one example, a young protester’s single comment to the effect that Nepal too needed a firm leader like Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was seized upon by the Indian media and fed to audiences at home in a sensational, exaggerated fashion. No effort was made by the Indian media to canvass more opinions on this matter or to extensively research the issue.

In the case of Bangladesh, widely held rumours that the Hindus in the country were being hunted and killed, pogrom fashion, and that the crisis was all about this was propagated by the relevant sections of the Indian media. This was a clear pandering to religious extremist sentiment in India. Once again, essentially hearsay stories were given prominence with hardly any effort at understanding what the crisis was really all about. There is no doubt that anti-Muslim sentiment in India would have been further fueled.

Gautam was of the view that, in the main, it is fear of victimization of the relevant sections of the media by the Indian centre and anxiety over financial reprisals and like punitive measures by the latter that prompted the media to frame their narratives in these terms. It is important to keep in mind these ‘structures’ within which the Indian media works, we were told. The issue in other words, is a question of the media completely subjugating themselves to the ruling powers.

Basically, the need for financial survival on the part of the Indian media, it was pointed out, prompted it to subscribe to the prejudices and partialities of the Indian centre. A failure to abide by the official line could spell financial ruin for the media.

A principal question that occurred to this columnist was whether the ‘Indian media’ referred to by Gautam referred to the totality of the Indian media or whether he had in mind some divisive, chauvinistic and narrow-based elements within it. If the latter is the case it would not be fair to generalize one’s comments to cover the entirety of the Indian media. Nevertheless, it is a matter for further research.

However, an overall point made by the speaker that as a result of the above referred to negative media practices South Asian regionalism has suffered badly needs to be taken. Certainly, as matters stand currently, there is a very real information gap about South Asian realities among South Asian publics and harmful media practices account considerably for such ignorance which gets in the way of South Asian cooperation and amity.

Moreover, divisive, chauvinistic media are widespread and active in South Asia. Sri Lanka has a fair share of this species of media and the latter are not doing the country any good, leave alone the region. All in all, the democratic spirit has gone well into decline all over the region.

The above is a huge problem that needs to be managed reflectively by democratic rulers and their allied publics in South Asia and the region’s more enlightened media could play a constructive role in taking up this challenge. The latter need to take the initiative to come together and deliberate on the questions at hand. To succeed in such efforts they do not need the backing of governments. What is of paramount importance is the vision and grit to go the extra mile.

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