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Exiled as GA to Ampara and the splendours of Gal Oya Valley

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Gal Oya Valley

(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar by Bradman Weerakoon)

I was expecting a transfer to the outstations but had not really thought it would be Ampara – one of the farthest districts to reach from Colombo and one of the least developed. When in the 1950s, on the initiative of D S Senanayake, the Gal Oya river was dammed at Inginiyagala, the American construction firm of Morrison Knudsen paid off with the country’s earned foreign exchange, and the colonists from the over-populated wet zone were brought in, the district was buzzing with activity.

Change was in the air. Even the casual visitor could scarcely fail to notice that a new world of broad roads and fine buildings was being created as well as a chain of small reservoirs with the names of both Sinhala and Tamil villages like Namal Oya, Kondewattuwan and Pannalgama. The Gal Oya Development Board in those days had a very competent leadership and plentiful resources, and had got going with a great deal of productive development.

However, when I arrived some 20 years later all that had changed. There was visible everywhere an aura of neglect and complacency. The district appeared to have slipped back into the familiar, somnolent rhythm of life that the dry zone so insidiously induces. The inevitable jungle tide, so close at hand in this most hostile of environments, seemed to have returned.

I felt that I needed to get busy very quickly, encourage the bright, young and eager-looking SLAS (Sri Lanka Administrative Service) team of assistants I had inherited and re-establish the authority of the civil administration. The task was not going to be easy because the whole area had been dominated for the past 20 years by the specially mandated and richly resourced Gal Oya Valley Development Authority.

I found that personal relationships between the GA’s administration and the Board were at a very- low ebb. After many peak-points of tension and a long tussle to assert who was the leader, the government agent, my good friend and colleague Victor Unantenna, and the Resident Manager (RM) of the GODB, Padmasiri de Silva, were not even on speaking terms. They communicated if they had to, by usually writing long and vituperative minutes to each other in the official files; and all the time this letter writing went on, they were both in the same building.

The government agent and his kachcheri had been located on the ground floor and the GODB resident manager and his staff, as perhaps befitted their perceived higher status – and it was the Board that had constructed the Secretariat – on the upper floor!

My appointment coincided with the winding-up of the Board’s activities in the Valley and I knew that soon I was going to inherit the whole of the Board’s empire. One of my first tasks was to have to engineer and carry through the transition process. This turned out to be easier than expected. Once I adopted the practice of walking upstairs into the RM’s room to discuss an issue, there was immediate reciprocity and he came down to see me. After that we got on very well together. Eventually when the Board left Ampara, I had the choice of upgrading my accommodation from the lowly B 1 residential quarters that the GA had occupied fill then, and move into the luxurious air-conditioned Resident Manager’s bungalow. This four-bedroom residence, built and furnished by the Board, commanded one of the finest views in town. It overlooked the large Ampara Tank – the source of the town’s water supply, and offered the blue Mahakandiya range of mountains as its majestic backdrop.

I was given the choice if I wished of moving two miles out of town to the GODB (Gal Oya Development Board) circuit bungalow – an eight-roomed mansion – but decided against this move because that would have kept me away from the Ampara town and access to my officials and the people. So Damayanthi and I soon moved with obvious delight to the former Resident Manager’s bungalow a few yards up the road.

My first few days in Ampara were spent trying to grasp the enormity of the tasks of civil administration at the periphery, that needed the government agent’s attention. The civil administration was symbolized by the kachcheri, a venerable institution of hoary origins. Its institution dated back to the third decade of the 19th century and the Colebrooke-Cameron reforms.

The position of government agent was manned in colonial times by young men with a good public school education and usually an Oxford Degree in classics. The career of Leonard Woolf, husband of the famous writer Virginia Woolf, illustrated the kind of path that others with a successful outlook would follow.

By the 1970s, the native breed that followed the British and were notably represented by members of the Ceylon Civil Service had almost died out. There were still some civil servants in the field but the spirit of the ‘club’ and its special elite quality now lay broken. Some were wont to say that the rot had started after the abolition of the CCS in 1963, principally on the initiative of Felix Dias Bandaranaike.

I found the work fascinatingly different from what I had done for 15 years in the prime minister’s office. Here, one was at the root of the problem. This was where it all started: the search by young men and women for employment, hunger for land, shortage of water for agriculture, schools for the children, hospitals for the sick, and the overall struggle for survival. But what encouraged me most and kept all of us active was the indomitable will of ordinary people to keep going in the face of impossible odds. The bureaucracy was, for the most part, uncaring and the political leadership partial in the distribution of its largesse.

My wife and I decided that this was a heaven-sent opportunity to indulge and enjoy ourselves in the work with the knowledge that what little you could do was being really appreciated by those

waiting for some service. One early instance of this was when, after literally hacking our way through jungle to get to a distant village on the Moneragala border, I was greeted by people who said that the agantha hamuruduruwo himself — the government agent — had not visited their particular village in living memory.

Ampara was a treasure trove of surprises. Its physical landscape was quite variegated contrary to the usual vision of the dry zone as a dreary plain of scrub jungle. It had large expanses of water as a result of the development work of the Gal Oya Board and vast stretches of paddy fields below them. If you entered the district from the west, driving down to Ampara from the great dam at Inginiyagala, you would be literally in a green valley.

Once when Dudley Senanayake was waxing eloquent in Parliament about how green the valley looked in full season, Felix is said to have baited him by asking him, “How green is your valley?” It is reported that Dudley, losing his cool, had advanced menacingly towards him muttering, “I’ll show you how green my valley is,” until he was stopped by the intervention of his friend M D Banda.

Elsewhere in Ampara the broad plain was covered with thick tropical jungle and jagged rock outcrops — silent sentinels that carried the names given to them by the early explorers who had chanced upon them in their survey work. The landscape was immortalized in the writings of R L Spittel, the Colombo surgeon who spent his spare time in researching the Veddahs — an aboriginal people of the island. In. my childhood I had devoured his books, all of which had been meticulously collected by my father.

The rock outcrops carried the most interesting names. One which I could dimly see as I looked south from my bedroom window was called `Westminster Abbey’. It lay some thirty kilometres away as one proceeded southwards from Hingurana on the Moneragala road. Another had been appropriately named ‘Friar’s Hood’, as it looked out under its jutting hood across Bintenna towards Maha Oya and to the Mahaweli ganga in the distance.

The Gal Oya Project

The heart of Ampara district was the Gal Oya Project. Although in the last 50 years the country had gigantic irrigation and power projects providing much more power and water, the Gal Oya Project

continues to have an enduring national significance. Its construction paralleled the birth of the new nation. Much of the pride of its creation came from the fact that this large multipurpose irrigation and hydropower project was done without resort to foreign borrowings.

To have finally come to Ampara as a government agent was in a sense a dream come true. I had, as a young student of Sociology at the University of Ceylon and under one of its American professors, Bryce Ryan, visited the valley to help in his research of the breakdown of traditional village structures. Our hypothesis had been that the modernizing impulses of colonization, bringing in settlers from the wet zone districts like Kegalle, Kandy and Matara would have greatly hastened the breakdown. When I arrived in 1970, twenty years later, the process was almost complete except for a very few purana villages which lay mostly at the back of the great reservoir and stubbornly maintained their traditional way of life.

In 1951, when the massive earth dam at Inginiyagala was being raised, I had stood on its height and looking west, marveled at the spread of the vast man-made lake as it engulfed the jungle. The blue foothills of Bible and the forbidding Knuckles range beyond provided a spectacular backdrop. I harboured a dream that some day I might have the chance of playing a larger part in the development of this new region which was being carved out of the larger Batticaloa district.

It was potentially productive and with its now mixed population of Sinhala, Tamil and Muslim people was representative of the multi-ethnic, plural entity that Sri Lanka was fast becoming. By a quirk of fate and on the irrational decision of the then government, I was now to serve for a while in one of the more remote districts of the country after 15 years at the centre of power. I found myself now with an opportunity of making this move towards the realization of a dream after 20 years since I had first set foot in this greenest of the country’s man-made valleys.

In 1970 the Gal Oya Development Board was still functioning actively in the area of its authority. It had been patterned in structure and function, in the wisdom of the first prime minister D S Senanayake, on the Tennesse Valley Authority of the United States. It was held that rapid and integrated development of virgin lands, needed the flexibility of a new coordinating mechanism – the veritable creation of a regional government within an existing overall national government. In 1970 the presence of the Board was yet very visible all over. In fact, other than for the function of law and order which was a subject for the National Police, all other activities within the territory and jurisdiction of the Gal Oya Board (which constituted a large part of the Ampara district ) was in the hand of that authority.

The supply of irrigation, power, drinking water, the alienation and management of land, agricultural extension services, cottage industry, some part of tertiary education (the Hardy Technical Training Institute, for example) and most functions which would normally be regarded as part of civil administration under the charge of a normal government agency were, by virtue of the Gal Oya Board Act, statutorily under the control of the Board.

Even in such aspects usually regarded as of a social and cultural nature such as the running of the local club, the maintenance of the playing fields, and the conduct of the annual religious festivals at Digawapi and the Buddangala hermitage, it was the Board’s writ that ran. Most of the buildings in Ampara town and Inginiyagala had been constructed, maintained, occupied and disposed of by the Board.



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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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