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Elite resistance to colonial rule : A continuing debate

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By Uditha Devapriya

The British takeover of the Kandyan Kingdom in 1815 led to a long period of resistance to colonial rule. Theoretically armed revolts against the British government ended in 1848, but popular expressions of resistance, couched more in symbols and propaganda than in armed insurrections, continued well into the mid-20th century. Having suppressed the traditional elite, to the extent of eradicating many of their families, the colonial government therefore chose to co-opt a section in it. The turning point was the 1848 rebellion, which alerted to officials the need to cultivate an intermediate class between the State and the masses. Their reasoning, essentially, was that lack of aristocratic authority had made the peasantry more amenable to insurrectionists and pretenders to the Kandyan Throne.

The traditional elites co-opted and appointed to positions such as the Ratemahattaya were different to the traditional elites that had been suppressed if not eliminated after the British annexation of Kandy. They hailed from a secondary layer, which had been subservient to the native chiefs. The process of their co-option worked out at three levels. Firstly, they were cultivated and lavishly patronised by the British government, in the form of land grants or knighthoods. Secondly, many of these families sent their children, who themselves followed their vocation, to elite English-medium schools, particularly those in Colombo, Galle, Kandy, and Jaffna. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the British government more or less made government employment contingent on fealty to the British Crown and conversion to Anglicanism. The result was that a secondary elite that had been subservient to the Kandyan king and a number of chiefs shifted their loyalty to the British government.

A corollary of these shifts in official positions on the Kandyan aristocracy was a shift in attitudes to the social relations which had governed the Kandyan regions before the intrusion of colonialism. The British never abolished the institutions that had governed those relations: it was simply not in their interest to change them overnight. Yet, as Asoka Bandarage has noted in Colonialism in Sri Lanka, British officials were moved by a mixture of humanitarian ideals and self-interest to abolish some of the more oppressive features of those institutions, like caste. On these issues, the British governors themselves displayed little consistency: some were in favour of abolition, others were not. Ultimately, however, the 1848 rebellion led to a pivotal shift, to the extent that the State “perceived the threat posed by the erosion of aristocratic authority and took steps to restore it.”

Newton Gunasinghe has observed, correctly, that these policies prevented the emergence of a local bourgeoisie. Such developments instead benefitted an intermediate, subservient secondary elite, whose interests were in line with the British State, and who were hardly motivated to break up the social relations that they were now able to reassert, thanks to their newfound colonial patrons. Debates rage over the extent to which British colonialism implanted capitalism in Sri Lanka and the extent to which it prevented capitalism from emerging fully here. Yet as far as the growth of a secondary native elite is concerned, it is clear that colonial policies had the effect of stunting rather than encouraging the growth of capitalism. That was as true of the Kandyan regions as it was in the low country: in those regions, too, colonial policies benefitted either British officialdom or minority trade groups. Against such a backdrop, the native elites were hardly capitalist.

The role played by the native elites that were co-opted into the ranks of a subservient class remains controversial. This is so for two reasons. Firstly, if we take the adage that history never really happens, but is instead written and invented, then most accounts of the elite class that joined forces with the British are likely to be false, if not embellished. A corollary of this is that much of the popular literature on the elite families, in Sinhala, frames them as fervent opponents if not critics of colonialism, who used every proverbial trick in the book to subvert rather than advocate the policies of the British state, particularly in their regions. Secondly, and in my view more importantly, native elite interests may have been aligned with British colonial interests, but they were also, at one level, at variance with them. The character of this native elite class, and their relations with British colonialism, thus remains for me one of the more fascinating aspects of colonial history in Sri Lanka.

It goes without saying that relations between these two groups were fraught with contradictions. These stemmed, in part, from the quasi-feudal setup within which the co-opted elites operated: on the one hand they had to follow the orders of the colonial State, and on the other they had to maintain their leadership in their respective dissaves. The two goals did not always align with each other. Villagers would very often oppose colonial rule, particularly to taxation or corvee labour, while the headmen’s obligation was to the colonial State whose policies the villagers criticised and occasionally revolted against. The problem for the historian and anthropologist here is simple: given these contradictions, which side did the headmen take? Some would argue that they took the people’s side while declaring fealty to the British Crown, and others would argue they were unconditionally loyal to the latter. My contention is that it was possible, given the limits within which they worked, for headmen to be loyal both to the colonial State and to the people.

How so? The simplest answer is that it was in the British government’s own interest for village headmen to be seen as legitimate authority figures in their areas. The British had learnt, at an exorbitant cost, the consequences of subverting traditional authority during the 1848 rebellion. Subsequently, they set themselves to work in collaboration with the newly co-opted elite while promoting the (convenient) fiction that the latter’s duty to their people even surpassed their responsibility to the British State. For their part the elite realised the benefits of maintaining such a fiction: it helped them reinforce their authority in the villages, while carrying on good relations with British officialdom. Flipping this argument, we can hence say that popular expressions of anticolonial resistance forced the British government to use the elite classes, not to suppress people, but to make them pass off as legitimate representatives of the people. This task was arguably carried forward more discernibly in the highlands than in the Maritime Provinces, where 300 years of European colonialism had somewhat tempered the anticolonial tendencies of the people.

That said, it’s a little farfetched to draw a line between the low country and the up-country when it comes to popular and elite opposition to the British Crown. The same complexities can be discerned in both regions. Take the profusion of colonial symbols, like Dutch tiles and the portrait of Victoria, in the houses and residences of the native elites. Such symbols can be seen on the floors of Buddhist temples and the inner courtyard of at least one Sinhalese manor. Regarding the rationale for these symbols at temples, the head priest at Randombe Viharaya, in Ambalangoda, told me that people wished to express their resistance to British colonialism while perambulating the inner chamber and paying respects to the Buddha. The problem here is that such symbols adorn the entrances to these institutions as well. To this the Head Priest’s reply was that these temples were built with the aid of the British Crown, and that their founders wished to pay their respects to it. Note the logic: the symbols at the entrance, like Victoria’s portrait, denote loyalty to the British State, while the symbols along the floors in the inner sanctum denote repudiation of that same State.

The logic that dominates low country temples like the Randombe Viharaya dominates the residences of upcountry elites. I am of course talking about the Maduwanwela Walauwa here. At the inner courtyard of the Manor, one comes across, and invariably steps on, a tile bearing the portrait of the archetypal British monarch, Victoria. On the surface it suggests resistance to, and repudiation of, colonial authority. This version is more or less accepted by everyone, including the Archaeology Department: when I visited the Walauwa last year, the Department staff at the Walauwa carefully pointed out to me not just the image of Victoria on the floor, but also the Dutch tiles leading to the entrance, as evidence of his opposition of colonial rule. I am not in disagreement with such a thesis. On the other hand, though, we must note that these elites, if they wanted to maintain their position, had to be loyal to the colonial State and had to convert to Anglicanism. To be sure, they may have been nominal Christians, or “Rice Christians.” But that doesn’t resolve the paradox between loyalty to and repudiation of colonial authority which one comes across at the Walauwa.

One can argue either of two things here: that the Dissave was a lackey of the British Crown or that he played a double-game with the colonial State. I would agree with the latter view, but would also contend that there was no real contradiction between these two ideals, of fealty to the colonial State and fealty to the people. I would also contend that the so-called anticolonial symbols in the Walauwa are not anticolonial at all. They are what they are, tiles and mosaics bearing the dominant motifs of British rule, including a portrait of the British monarch. One can argue that stepping on them is hardly an act of reverence, but to a local, even a headman, stepping on them would hardly constitute disrespect, so long as these images have no religious, specifically Buddhist, connotations. Of course, Westerners may see things differently, but then the elites themselves probably did not: to them, placing the likeness of the British monarch, even on the floor, would have been reverential.

While the historical evidence we have may bear out these conclusions, however, it is more difficult to ascertain how the elite classes, and their families, themselves responded to these contradictions. As the sole, legitimate link between the State and the people, how did they see themselves? We know that they showed one face to colonial officials and another to their villagers. But in the great divide between these two groups – British officialdom and the indigenous peasantry – which side did they take? It is somewhat naïve to assume that they waited on the fence. Fundamentally, they were Anglicised and Westernised and they owed their careers, and their wherewithal, to the British Crown. But they were placed in such high positions by virtue of their ability to converse with their people, to handle their affairs and to represent them. It was a two-way street. Did they remain in the middle? The problem here is functional: us history writers are not psychoanalysts. We know how people behaved, but we have no idea about how they thought.

Perhaps the observation of a friend of mine can help us here: on his way out of the Maduwanwela Walauwa, he chortled to me that even if the anticolonial symbols inside were really anticolonial, “those officials could not possibly have minded them, I mean how could mere tiles pose a threat to the British Crown?” This is as insightful an interpretation as any I have heard, and it sits in with encounters between the Dissave and British officials: for instance, Herbert Wace, then Assistant Government Agent at Sabaragamuwa, is reported to have got on very well with him. Such encounters may baffle those who read into symbols like tiles and mosaics, but really, to me, the logic is simple: to the British Crown, superficial displays of resistance to the British Crowd did not matter in their larger scheme of co-opting and flattering the native elites – and keeping them in their payroll.

The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.



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Pay attention or pay the price: Sri Lanka’s maritime imperative in a fractured ocean

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An AFP photo of people queuing up for LP gas in Colombo

Sri Lanka stands at a geopolitical crossroads where geography is both its greatest asset and its most vulnerable liability. Sitting astride the Indian Ocean’s critical east-west highway, the waters, south of Dondra Head, channel nearly 30% of the world’s maritime trade. This route is the arterial vein connecting Asia, Europe, and the Middle East. Yet, as tensions flare in the Middle East and great power competition intensifies, Sri Lanka finds itself guarding a highway it does not own, with an economy too fragile to absorb the shocks of collateral damage.

Recent analyses, including insights from the Financial Times on the fragility of global ocean governance, offer a stark warning: international treaties alone cannot guarantee security. The newly enacted UN Biodiversity Beyond National Jurisdiction (BBNJ) treaty may be a diplomatic triumph, but as major powers, like the US, sidestep commitments, while China seeks strategic influence, the high seas are becoming increasingly lawless. For Sri Lanka, relying on international law to protect its 600,000 km² Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ), is a strategy destined to fail. The moment demands a shift from passive reliance to active resilience.

The Naval Imperative: Sovereignty requires strength

The first pillar of survival is a robust Navy. The FT report highlights that without enforcement mechanisms, marine protected areas become “paper parks.” Similarly, an EEZ without patrol capacity is merely a line on a map. With Sri Lanka’s Navy having just rescued 32 Iranian sailors from the sunken frigate IRIS Dena, following a US submarine strike in nearby international waters, and additional Iranian vessels now seeking assistance, or operating in the region, amid major powers vying for influence, the risk of direct incidents at sea remains very real.

Sri Lanka must accelerate investment in blue-water naval capacity and EEZ surveillance. Strengthening patrols, south of Dondra Head, is not just about conservation, it is about sovereignty. The ability to manage rescue operations, grant diplomatic clearances, and monitor traffic, without external coercion, is the definition of independence. “Might is right” remains the operating principle for some superpowers. Sri Lanka cannot afford to be a bystander in its own waters. A strong Navy acts as a deterrent, ensuring that the 30% of global shipping passing nearby does not become a theatre for proxy conflicts.

Statecraft: Balancing economics and sovereignty

The second pillar is nuanced statecraft. Sri Lanka imports nearly 100% of its fuel, making it hypersensitive to disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz. Prolonged conflict in the Middle East will spike oil prices, reigniting inflation and threatening the hard-won economic stability following recent crises. However, economic desperation must not drive diplomatic misalignment.

The smartest priority is strict neutrality. Sri Lanka cannot afford to alienate any major partner – the US, India, China, Iran, or the Gulf states. Coordinating quietly with India for maritime domain awareness is prudent given proximity, but joining any military bloc is perilous. Recent discussions highlight how the US aggressively prioritises resource extraction in international waters, often at the expense of broader environmental protections. Sri Lanka must navigate these competing agendas without becoming a pawn. Publicly urging de-escalation, through forums like the Indian Ocean Rim Association (IORA), allows Colombo to advocate for safe passage without picking sides.

Securing the economy and energy future

The third pillar is economic shielding. The immediate threat is fuel security. The government must build emergency fuel stocks and negotiate alternative suppliers to buffer against Hormuz disruptions. The Central Bank must be prepared to manage rupee pressure as import bills swell. Furthermore, monitoring secondary effects is crucial; higher shipping costs will hit exports like tea and garments, while tourism warnings could dampen arrival numbers.

Long-term resilience demands energy diversification, prioritising solar power. Sri Lanka’s abundant sunshine offers huge potential to cut reliance on Middle Eastern oil and shield the economy from geopolitical shocks. Accelerate rooftop/utility-scale solar with incentives: duty exemptions on equipment, enhanced net-metering, subsidies/loans for households and businesses, and fast-tracked approvals plus battery storage support. This attracts investment, creates jobs, and boosts energy security. Secure financier confidence for sustainable blue economy initiatives without compromising sovereignty.

The bottom line

The message for Sri Lanka is clear: This is a “pay attention or pay the price” moment. The country is geographically positioned on the critical Indian Ocean highway but remains economically fragile. The smartest priorities are to protect people first, secure the seas second, and shield the economy third, all while staying strictly neutral.

Any misstep, whether getting drawn into naval incidents or visibly picking sides in a great power struggle, would be far costlier than the fuel price hike itself. The global oceans treaty may offer a framework for cooperation, but as experts warn, we need “systems of co-operation that go beyond the mere words on the page.” For Sri Lanka, those systems must be built on national capacity, diplomatic agility, and an unwavering commitment to neutrality. The ocean is rising with tension; Sri Lanka must ensure it does not drown in the wake.

Reference:

“The geopolitics of the global oceans treaty”https://www.ft.com/content/563bef02-f4a7-42c3-9cfa-7c3fe51be1eb

By Professor Chanaka Jayawardhena
Professor of Marketing
University of Surrey
Chanaka.j@gmail.com

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Winds of Change:Geopolitics at the crossroads of South and Southeast Asia

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Asanga Abeyagoonasekera

Asanga Abeyagoonasekera’s latest book is a comprehensive account of international relations in the regions it covers, with particular reference to current rivalries between India and China and the United States. It deals with shifting alliances, or rather alliances that grow stronger or weaker through particular developments: there are no actual breaks in a context in which the three contestants for power in the region are wooing or threatening smaller countries, moving seamlessly from one mode to the other though generally in diplomatic terms.

The area is now widely referred to as the Indo-Pacific. Though that term was coined over a hundred years ago by a German keen to challenge the Anglo-American hegemony that triumphed after the First World War, it gained currency more recently, following a speech by the hawkish Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, who was instrumental in developing the Quad Alliance between Japan, India, the United States and Australia.

This marked a radical change in Indian Foreign Policy, for India had prided itself previously on being Non-Aligned, while the West saw it as close to the Soviet Union and then to Russa. But as Abeyagoonasekera constantly reiterates, India’s approach is governed now by nervousness about China, which in the last couple of decades has made deep inroads into the Indian Ocean. Now many states around this Ocean, relatively far from China, are being closely connected, economically but also otherwise, with China.

Instrumental in this development is the Belt and Road Initiative, which China has used to develop infrastructure in the region, designed to facilitate its own trade, but also the trade of the countries that it has assisted. Abeyagoonasekera is clear throughout the book that the initiative has been of great assistance to the recipient countries, and contests vigorously the Western claim that it was designed as a debt trap to control those countries.

I fully endorse this view. To supplement his perspective with a couple of anecdotes, I recall a British friend in Cambodia telling me how the country had benefited from Chinese support, which developed infrastructure – whereas the West in those days concentrated on what it called capacity building, which meant supporting those who shared its views through endless seminars in expensive hotels, a practice with which we are familiar in this country too.

Soon afterwards I met a very articulate taxi driver in Ethiopia, who had come home from England, where he had worked for many years, who described the expansion of its road network. This had been neglected for years, until the Chinese turned up. I remembered then a Dutchman at a conference talking about the sinister nature of a plane full of Chinese businessmen, to which an African responded in irritation that the West had applauded the plunder of the continent by their own businessmen, and that the Africans now knew better and could ensure some benefit to themselves as the owners of the commodities the West had long thought their own birthright.

Abeyagoonasekera contrasts with the Chinese approach the frugality of the Indians, a frugality born of relative poverty, and appends the general suspicions with which Indian interventions are treated, given previous efforts at domination. And while he is himself markedly diplomatic in his accounts of the different approaches of the three players in this game, time and time again he notes the effortless ease with which the Chinese have begun to dominate the field.

His research has been thorough, and the statistics he cites about trade make clear that the Chinese are streets ahead of the other two, both in terms of balances as well as in absolute terms. And he notes too that, whereas the Western discourse is of Chinese restrictions on freedom, in Sri Lanka at any rate it is the others who are wary of transparency.

Though he notes that there is no clarity about the agreements the current government has entered into with the Indians, and that contrary to what might have been expected from former Marxists it has not resumed the tilt towards China of earlier left wing regimes, he shows that there has been no break with China. He seems to believe that the groundwork China laid still gives hope of more economic development than what the other two countries have to offer.

We cannot after all forget that the Rajapaksa government first asked India to develop the Hambantota port, and I still recall the Indian High Commissioner at the time, Ashok Kantha, wondering whether India had erred in not taking up the offer. In a marked example of how individuals affect bilateral relations, I have no doubt his predecessor, the effusive Alok Prasad, would have taken up the offer.

It was Rajapaksa hubris that made the cost of the port escalate, for when the rock inside the breakwaters was discovered, before the harbour was filled, and Mahinda Rajapaksa was told it would not cost much to get rid of it, he preferred to have the opening on his birthday as scheduled, which meant the waters then had to be drained away for the rock to be dynamited. And unfortunately, planning being left to the younger brother, we had grandiose buildings in the town, instead of the infrastructure that would have ensured greater economic activity.

This error was repeated in spades with regard to Mattala. Though not in the right place, which was not the case with the Hambantota development, nothing was done to take advantage of the location such as it was and institute swift connections with the hill country, the East Coast, and the wildlife so abundant in the area.

The last section of the book, after its thorough examination of the activities of the three major players in the region as a whole, deals with Sri Lanka’s Domestic Political Challenges, and records, politely but incisively, the endless blunders that have brought us lower and lower. But while highlighting the callousness of politicians, he also notes how efforts to appease the West weakened what he describes as core protections.

Though there has been much speculation about what exactly brought down Gotabaya Rajapaksa – not his government, for that in essence continued, with a different leader – perhaps the most far-reaching revelation in Abeyagoonasekera’s book is of Gotabaya’s conviction that it was the CIA that destroyed him. As so often when the hidden hand of the West is identified, the local contributions are ignored, as Gotabaya’s absurd energy policy, and the ridiculous tax concessions with which his rule began. But that does not mean there were no other players in the game.

Ironically, Gotabaya’s accusations against the United States occur after a startling passage in which Abeyagoonasekera declares of that country that ‘The fatigue gripping the nation is deeper than weariness; it is a spiritual exhaustion, a slow erosion of belief. Rising prices, policy paralysis, and a fractured foreign policy have left America adrift. Inflation haunts them like a spectre, while the immigrant crisis stirs frustrations in communities already stretched to their limits’.

This he claims explains the re-emergence of Donald Trump. Now, in the midst of the horrors Trump has perpetrated, this passage suggests that he is desperate to assert himself in denial of the fatigue that has overcome a nation initially built on idealism, now in the throes of ruthless cynicism. What will follow I do not know. But the manner in which India’s slavishness to the bullying of Netanyahu and Trump has destroyed the moral stature it once had suggests that Abeyagoonasekera’s nuanced but definite adulation of Chinese policy will be a hallmark of the new world order.

By Rajiva Wijesinha

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Human–Elephant conflict in Sri Lanka

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Human–elephant conflict (HEC) in Sri Lanka results in significant loss of human life, elephant deaths, and extensive damage to crops and property. Despite numerous interventions over the decades, the situation continues to deteriorate. The reasons for the breakdown of what was once a relatively tolerant coexistence—albeit one dominated by humans—into an increasingly confrontational relationship must be clearly understood by both the public and policymakers. Immediate measures are required to minimise losses, alongside long-term solutions grounded in sound ecological and governance principles. It must also be recognised that this is a complex problem; effective mitigation and sustainable solutions require a multidisciplinary approach integrated into the country’s overall development planning. This article examines several cost-effective methods that have been successfully implemented in other countries and may apply to the Sri Lankan context.

Key Challenge: Lack of Reliable Data

The primary reason for the escalation of human–elephant conflict (HEC) is the shrinking of wildlife habitats in the country due to poorly planned development and uncontrolled, unwise land encroachment. A major barrier to effective intervention is the lack of accurate and comprehensive data in two key areas: (a) land and land utilisation, and (b) the elephant population and their range.

It became evident after the Ditwah cyclone disaster that the lack of readily accessible, reliable data on land and its use, is a major obstacle to a wide range of project planning and implementation efforts. Regardless of how HEC is mitigated, the government must take immediate action to establish a digital land-use database, as this is a key component of long-term planning for any development initiative. Using modern aerial mapping technologies, it should be possible to catalogue the geography and utilisation of every square metre of the island’s landmass.

Crossing a railroad in the North Central Province (File photo)

Wild elephant near an electric fence (File photo

Chilli-grease fence

Similarly, accurate data on the number of elephants, their age and gender distribution, and the extent of their habitat range, are essential for data-driven decision-making. Here, too, modern technology offers practical solutions. Land-based digital cameras have been successfully used to count elephants, identify individual animals, and monitor their range. Research has shown that the pigmentation patterns of Asian elephants—particularly those on their ears—can serve as a “fingerprint” for identifying individuals. The same technique can also be used to study elephant movement patterns and habitat range. Computer programmes already exist for such cataloguing purposes; however, developing a similar programme, locally, could be both economical and educational, for example, as part of a university IT programme. Since data-driven decision-making is key to the success of any long-term strategy, data collection must begin immediately while short-term mitigation measures are implemented.

Root cause

There must be a general understanding of how this problem has worsened. Sri Lanka is considered an anomaly in island biogeography for supporting a high density of megafauna—including Asian elephants, leopards, and sloth bears—on a relatively small landmass of about 65,000 square kilometres. This is further complicated by the country’s high human population density, estimated at about 356–372 people per square kilometre, ranking among the highest in the world. The human population has increased more than fivefold between 1900 and 2024, from about 4.5 million to nearly 22 million.

The corresponding expansion of land use for human settlement, agriculture, and infrastructure development has placed enormous pressure on wildlife habitats. Habitat loss, together with imbalances in predator populations, has resulted not only in escalating human–elephant conflict (HEC) but also in increasing crop damage caused by peacocks, monkeys, giant squirrels, and feral pigs. The Sri Lankan elephant has no natural predators; its only significant threat arises from human activities. Restoring balance within this complex ecological system is no easy task, yet it must remain the long-term objective if the country is to safeguard its unique biodiversity.

Short-term Measures

Since the current situation has developed over an extended period, practical and humane solutions will also take time to implement. In the short term, several interventions can reduce direct interactions between humans and elephants while ensuring the safety of both:

* Strict prohibition of roadside feeding and improved waste management.

* Public education on safe deterrence methods and the promotion of ethical and sustainable practices in forests, national parks, and sanctuaries.

* The use of proven, non-lethal deterrent methods implemented in a coordinated and systematic manner.

* Anti-depredation squads (ADS): well-trained response teams tasked with implementing and monitoring these measures.

* The use of AI-based technologies to prevent train–elephant collisions.

Several countries have successfully used chilli as a deterrent to keep elephants away from farms and settlements. While cultivating chilli as a crop may contribute to this effort, it alone is not an effective deterrent; the pungent compounds in chilli, which act as an irritant to elephants, must be delivered effectively. One widely used and economical method is chilli-grease fencing, an alternative to electric fencing. In this method, rags soaked in a mixture of ground chilli and used motor oil are hung from ropes in strategic locations to create a deterrent barrier.

More advanced deterrence techniques have also been tested. For example, compressed-air launchers that fire chilli-filled projectiles have demonstrated effectiveness in safely redirecting elephants from a distance without causing harm. In some countries, locally made projectiles containing chilli powder, sand, and firecrackers enclosed in flexible sheaths, such as rubber balloons, are ignited and launched ahead of approaching animals. When combined with strobe lights, air horns, or other noise-making devices, these methods have been found to be even more effective. Over time, elephants may learn to associate irritation with light and sound, allowing these signals alone to act as deterrents. The main limitation of this approach is the need for well-trained personnel available throughout the day. Therefore, the involvement of existing national services—such as the armed forces—in developing and implementing such systems should be considered.

Technology can also play an important role in reducing train–elephant collisions. Night-vision cameras mounted on trains, combined with artificial intelligence, could be used not only to detect elephants but also to identify patterns in elephant movements near railway tracks. Once such high-risk locations are mapped, additional cameras could be installed along the tracks to transmit warning signals to approaching trains when elephants are detected nearby. As a further step, this system could be integrated with the Driver’s Safety Device (DSD)—the “dead man’s” handle or pedal—so that trains can be automatically stopped when elephants are detected on or near the tracks, thereby reducing reliance solely on driver response.

Sustainable Long-Term Solutions

A lasting resolution depends on strategic land-use planning and coexistence-based management. This must form part of a broader national discussion on the sustainable use of the country’s limited land resources.

* Protection and restoration of elephant migration corridors.

* Data-driven placement and maintenance of fencing, rather than attempting to confine elephants within fixed areas.

* Strengthened management of wildlife reserves, including the prevention of human encroachment and uncontrolled cattle grazing.

* Habitat improvement within forests to reduce the attraction of elephants to agricultural lands.

* Introduction of drought-resistant grass varieties such as Cenchrus purpureus (commonly known as elephant grass or Napier grass) and Pennisetum purpureum in wildlife refuges and national parks to alleviate food shortages during the dry season.

* Population control measures, including vaccine-based methods, supported by reliable population data.

Public education on the importance of maintaining ecological balance—especially amid environmental change and expanding economic development—must also be a key priority. Basic principles of environmental management should be incorporated into higher education across all disciplines. At the same time, difficult but necessary questions must be asked about the long-term sustainability and economic return of certain land-use patterns, particularly those shaped during the colonial period for plantation crops. Inefficient agricultural practices, such as chena cultivation, should be phased out, and the clearing of wilderness—especially in ecologically sensitive highland areas for tourism development—must be strictly regulated.

Elephants typically travel between 15 and 50 kilometres a day. Therefore, restoring uninterrupted elephant corridors, linking existing wildlife reserves, must be a central component of long-term planning. In some cases, this may require carefully considering the relocation of human settlements that have developed within former elephant corridors.

Unfortunately, rural communities often bear a disproportionate share of the burden created by these conservation measures. It is, therefore, essential that policies ensure they receive a fair share of the economic benefits generated by wildlife-based industries, particularly tourism. Such policies should aim to help these communities transition from subsistence livelihoods toward improved standards of living. In this context, a critical evaluation of existing agricultural systems must form part of a broader national land-management strategy. Put plainly, the long-term viability of plantation industries, such as tea and rubber, should be assessed in terms of their return on investment—particularly the investment of scarce land resources.

Finally, all ecosystems have a carrying capacity, meaning there is a limit to the number of people and animals that a given area of land can sustain. This issue extends beyond Sri Lanka; many scientists argue that, given current levels of malnutrition and resource depletion, the planet may already have exceeded its sustainable carrying capacity. Others suggest that technological advances and lifestyle changes may increase that capacity. In either case, significant changes in human consumption patterns and lifestyles are likely to become inevitable.

For elephants, however, the absence of natural predators means that humane human intervention may be required to manage population growth sustainably. If elephant populations were allowed to increase unchecked, food scarcity could lead to malnutrition and starvation among the animals themselves. At the same time, a nation, already struggling with child malnutrition, must carefully balance its limited resources between human welfare and wildlife conservation.

One promising approach is immunological sterilisation using the Porcine Zona Pellucida (PZP) vaccine, a reversible and humane form of immunocontraception used in wildlife population management. By stimulating antibodies that prevent sperm from fertilising eggs, this dart-delivered vaccine controls reproduction without significantly altering the animals’ natural behaviour. Once accurate data are obtained on the age and gender distribution of the Sri Lankan elephant population, the systematic application of such methods could become feasible.

Moreover, the development of local capacity to produce such vaccines should be encouraged. Similar technologies could also be applied to manage populations of other animals—such as monkeys and stray dogs—whose numbers can become problematic if left unchecked. Local vaccine production would not only address domestic needs but could potentially create opportunities for export and scientific collaboration.

Conclusion

Human–elephant conflict (HEC) in Sri Lanka is intensifying due to habitat fragmentation, unplanned development, and weak governance. Elephants require large, connected landscapes to survive, and when traditional migration corridors are blocked, conflict becomes inevitable.

Current ineffective practices—such as the mass translocation of elephants, fragmented fencing that obstructs migration routes, and policies that overlook the livelihoods of rural communities—must be reconsidered and replaced with more effective strategies. Mechanisms must also be established to ensure that the economic benefits of environmental protection, particularly those generated by wildlife tourism, are fairly shared with rural populations who bear the greatest burden of living alongside wildlife.

A shift toward data-driven planning, protection of ecological corridors, community partnerships, and stronger institutional accountability is essential. The human–elephant conflict is not solely a wildlife issue; it is fundamentally a land-use and governance challenge. Sri Lanka would benefit from establishing a dedicated Human–Elephant Coexistence Organisation, or from strengthening an existing Wildlife Commission with the authority and capacity to implement long-term, science-based management strategies.

With informed policies and genuine support for affected communities, peaceful coexistence between humans and elephants is both achievable and sustainable. Ultimately, educating future generations and equipping them to face emerging environmental challenges with knowledge and responsibility is the most effective long-term strategy.

BY Geewananda Gunawardana and Chula Goonasekera
on behalf of LEADS forum
Email admin@srilankaleads.com

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