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More on diving off the Pearl Banks

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by Rex. I. De Silva

(Continued from last week)

Sharks

In the nineteenth century the Government employed a “shark charmer” to protect divers during the pearl fisheries. He did this by means of incantations and other “magical” rituals. There apparently were no fatalities from shark attacks while he was on duty. This is hardly surprising as during the old pearl fisheries, divers and boats arrived from as far away as Arabia, (what is now) Pakistan, and India. Hundreds of divers and boats, and the resulting noise and turmoil, would have kept even the boldest sharks away. The chank divers and we did very well without the assistance of such a virtuoso.

Nevertheless, sharks (mora) were not rare – far from it. One or two harmless white-tip reef sharks often stayed around while we were spearfishing, possibly in the expectation of stealing our catch. In fact, we speared fish every day in order to feed the chank divers, boat crew and ourselves. Nurse sharks, which are primarily nocturnal, stayed in their caves during the day where we sometimes encountered them apparently in deep sleep. A variety of requiem sharks, including the blacktail, reef blacktip, graceful shark, pig-eye shark, a dangerous looking brute, and blacktip were seen from time to time.

One morning while I was spearfishing a largish shark swam towards me. The vertical dark stripes helped to identify it as a tiger shark (koti mora), a reputedly dangerous species. It was probably attracted to the fish I had speared which were on a stringer loosely fastened to my waist. I quickly undid the stringer, deciding to let the shark have the fish if it became aggressive. I also released the safety catch of my speargun and kept a finger on the trigger, although the weapon would probably have been poor protection at best.

The shark approached slowly to within about five metres, made a wide half-circle around me and then, seemingly alarmed, swam away. I had mixed feelings at the time; anxiety, combined with admiration at the beauty and grace of the creature. In retrospect, however, this encounter was to me the highlight of our expedition. This was the only live tiger shark I saw in Sri Lanka. Later I came across others in the Maldives, but that is another story. The chank divers told us that they often saw hammerhead sharks, but disappointingly we did not see any.

I speared a jack (parawa) on one of the deeper reefs, and as I was surfacing for air a largish grey shark seized the fish, tore off the posterior half and swam away, leaving only the head and part of the thorax on my spear. I am often asked if sharks are a danger and I invariably reply that they are usually a potential rather than actual danger, in Sri Lankan waters at least.

Most of the sharks we saw were accompanied by suckerfish. These are slim fish with a sucker apparatus on their heads by which they attach themselves to sharks, and other creatures, such as turtles and rays. The suckerfish feeds off scraps from its host’s meals and also gets transportation and possibly a degree of protection from its larger companion.

Large schools of yellowfin barracuda (jeela, silava) were common. These fish have a Jekyll and Hyde reputation. They school during the day when they are usually quite harmless but disperse at dusk to hunt individually. They can then become dangerous and several divers have been attacked at night.

Rays

We encountered many large eagle rays (vavul maduwa). They are gentle giants, which appear to fly underwater like enormous birds. Eagle rays relish chanks and other shellfish and we often came upon remains of their feasts on the seabed.

I saw my first guitar fish, a strange creature which looks like a cross between a shark and ray. It is however a true ray as the gill-slits are on the ventral surface. We also encountered a few electric rays. These are sluggish bottom-dwellers which have the ability to produce a powerful electric shock that is used to stun prey and also for self-defence. I might mention that as a schoolboy I hand-speared one of these rays and received a shock which made me lose hold of my spear and also deprived me of speech for a minute or two.

Turtles

The herbivorous green turtle (gal kasbava, mas kasbava) was common on the seagrass and seaweed beds. We also occasionally met with its relatives the hawksbill (pothu kasbava, pang kasbava) and olive ridley (mada kasbava, eramudu kasbava). One morning we saw a very large loggerhead turtle (Caretta caretta), so-named because of its large head. This is the second largest turtle species in our waters. We were probably the first humans it had seen as it swam around us in apparent curiosity.

Most interesting though was the giant leatherback turtle (dhara kasbava, vavul kasbava ) in which a thick leathery covering replaces the bony carapace of the other turtles. Leatherbacks grow to almost three metres in length and although not rare on the deeper banks, are wary and difficult to approach underwater. From the boat I watched one dive. It flipped backwards, almost somersaulting to submerge.

Some giant fish

Giant groupers (kossa, gal bola, gal kossa) were rather scarce, possibly due to a relative sparseness of large caves. Nevertheless we saw a few estuary groupers, at least one of which we estimated at around 100 kg in weight.

A single, large, one and a half metre long potato cod – actually a grouper despite its name – turned up when I shot a large golden snapper, which a white-tip reef shark tried to steal off my spear. The grouper also wanted the snapper and rammed the shark, making it retreat a short distance. The grouper then made for my fish and I had to kick at it and swim for the boat. The shark lost interest, but the grouper trailed me until I threw the snapper into the vessel.

While diving in deep water Rodney pointed out two large fish which resembled the common reef sweetlips (boraluwa), except that each probably weighed around 50 kg. These were the first giant sweetlips I had seen. The species was always rare and sightings few.

Two great jacks emerged from a crevice in a sandstone reef where I was diving. One bore the normal silvery-grey coloration of the species whereas, to my great astonishment, the other was black. As I had never before observed a black jack (no pun intended) I asked Rodney if he could account for this aberration. He replied that he too had on a few occasions come across this phenomenon, but had no ready explanation. It was many years later that a research paper on Caribbean marine fishes clarified the mystery. The black coloration is apparently the courtship (or mating) livery of male jacks of several species. The fish presumably revert to their normal coloration after sometime.

Leisure in camp

On some days we would finish diving early. Rodney and I would then explore the jungles around our camp, while Trevor who did not like jungles stayed back. We would encounter grey langurs, black-naped hare, and other denizens of the forest. After a shower of rain we often saw star tortoises grazing out in the open. One purpose of these jungle outings was to shoot a few grey partridge for the pot in order to vary our otherwise monotonous fish diet. Nights in the camp were peaceful and quiet. The silence was occasionally broken by the strains of “Oh Danny Boy”, Rodney’s favourite song played on his piano accordion, or sometimes by the rather mournful chants of the divers.

The dark unpolluted skies were an astronomer’s delight, with stars shining as they never do in the city. It was here that I saw my first fireball or bolide, a very bright, slow-moving meteor or shooting-star. This one left a glowing train, which remained visible for several minutes.

Reef off Silavatturai

One morning Rodney persuaded the captain to take us to Silavatturai reef, which he (Rodney) had visited earlier. The reef is shallow and is made up of magnificent corals interspersed with sandy patches. In most of these sandy areas we would find one or two large coralheads, around and under which were a variety of fish, including schools of silver sweetlips (boraluwa) and numbers of lobsters, including the large ornate spiny lobster (pokurissa).. That day we speared our quota of fish in less than fifteen minutes, and at night dined on lobster.

Several species of gastropod molluscs, including the large tiger cowrie (kavadiya) were common on the reef. The sandy areas harboured a variety of cone shells, including the colourful but highly venomous textile cone. This mollusc has a poisonous sting capable of killing a human. Colourful angelfish (manamalaya), butterflyfish, and moorish idols were almost everywhere, giving the reef a festive atmosphere. There were no large fish, the exception being a single great barracuda ( jeela, silava, ulava). This species, unlike its congener the yellowfin, can be dangerous by day as well as at night, although attacks are rare. If harpooned it will sometimes turn on its attacker and, being large and having a fearsome set of dagger-like teeth, is well able to cause severe injury or perhaps even death.

It was on Silavaturai reef that we encountered parrotfish in some numbers. These are often brightly coloured fish in which the teeth are fused into a parrot-like “beak”, giving the group its name. Parrotfish feed primarily on algae and corals; hence their relative abundance on this reef. The males of most species occur in two phases, viz. the initial phase (sexually mature) young males which resemble the females, and the older terminal phase males (“supermales”) which are usually larger and differ considerably from the younger males.

In the past this sometimes led to confusion, with females and young males being classified as one species and “supermales” as another. Despite the fair size of many individuals, they were spared from our spears as the flesh of most parrotfish, while edible, lacks flavour. Another interesting fact about this family is that many species of parrotfish secrete a mucous cocoon around themselves before settling down to sleep at night, which they do in a crevice or cave in the reef. The exact function of the cocoon is not known, but is suspected to be protective.

It was on Silavatturai reef that I first encountered the courtship of a pair of octopuses (buvalla) in four metres of water. They stayed at arms length and the (presumed) male gently stroked the female with one of its arms. I found this behaviour touching and almost human in its gentleness. Frank Lane in his classic work “The kingdom of the octopus” states that courtship can go on for hours or even days. The female octopus however makes the ultimate sacrifice. After laying her eggs in an underwater cave she stops feeding to guard and care for them. She uses the suckers on her arms to clean them and jets water from her siphon to keep them aerated. One of her duties is to protect the eggs from predators, including other octopuses. The mother often dies soon after her babies hatch out.

It was in deeper water on the seaward side of the reef that we were spectators to a mysterious act. Two large cuttlefish (poku dhalla) had joined together head-to-head with arms entwined. In this species a blue line runs around the body at the junction of mantle and fin. In the two individuals we watched, these lines glowed and pulsated like neon lights. They remained motionless, except for the rippling movements of their fins. Whether this was courtship, mating, or aggressive behaviour between two males I did not know. Rodney and Trevor were equally mystified. None of us had seen anything like it before. I learned subsequently that this was mating behaviour.

All too soon our ten-day expedition came to an end and we regrettably had to return to “civilization”. As we packed the vehicle and said good-bye to our new friends, I promised myself that I would return to the Pearl Banks someday. I never did.

Rodney passed away in November 1989. He is sorely missed by his many friends. Trevor now lives in retirement in Melbourne. We meet occasionally but strangely never talk about the underwater adventures we once shared.

(Concluded)

(Excerpted from ‘Jungle Journeys in Sri Lanka: experiences and encounters’ compiled by CG Uragoda)



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Rebuilding Sri Lanka Through Inclusive Governance

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Management Committee of the 'Rebuilding Sri Lanka' Fund Appointed with Representatives from the Public and Private Sectors - PMD

In the immediate aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah, the government has moved swiftly to establish a Presidential Task Force for Rebuilding Sri Lanka with a core committee to assess requirements, set priorities, allocate resources and raise and disburse funds. Public reaction, however, has focused on the committee’s problematic composition. All eleven committee members are men, and all non-government seats are held by business personalities with no known expertise in complex national development projects, disaster management and addressing the needs of vulnerable populations. They belong to the top echelon of Sri Lanka’s private sector which has been making extraordinary profits. The government has been urged by civil society groups to reconsider the role and purpose of this task force and reconstitute it to be more representative of the country and its multiple  needs.

 The group of high-powered businessmen initially appointed might greatly help mobilise funds from corporates and international donors, but this group may be ill equipped to determine priorities and oversee disbursement and spending. It would be necessary to separate fundraising, fund oversight and spending prioritisation, given the different capabilities and considerations required for each. International experience in post disaster recovery shows that inclusive and representative structures are more likely to produce outcomes that are equitable, efficient and publicly accepted. Civil society, for instance, brings knowledge rooted in communities, experience in working with vulnerable groups and a capacity to question assumptions that may otherwise go unchallenged.

 A positive and important development is that the government has been responsive to these criticisms and has invited at least one civil society representative to join the Rebuilding Sri Lanka committee. This decision deserves to be taken seriously and responded to positively by civil society which needs to call for more representation rather than a single representative.  Such a demand would reflect an understanding that rebuilding after a national disaster cannot be undertaken by the state and the business community alone. The inclusion of civil society will strengthen transparency and public confidence, particularly at a moment when trust in institutions remains fragile. While one appointment does not in itself ensure inclusive governance, it opens the door to a more participatory approach that needs to be expanded and institutionalised.

Costly Exclusions

 Going  down the road of history, the absence of inclusion in government policymaking has cost the country dearly. The exclusion of others, not of one’s own community or political party, started at the very dawn of Independence in 1948. The Father of the Nation, D S Senanayake, led his government to exclude the Malaiyaha Tamil community by depriving them of their citizenship rights. Eight years later, in 1956, the Oxford educated S W R D Bandaranaike effectively excluded the Tamil speaking people from the government by making Sinhala the sole official language. These early decisions normalised exclusion as a tool of governance rather than accommodation and paved the way for seven decades of political conflict and three decades of internal war.

Exclusion has also taken place virulently on a political party basis. Both of Sri Lanka’s post Independence constitutions were decided on by the government alone. The opposition political parties voted against the new constitutions of 1972 and 1977 because they had been excluded from participating in their design. The proposals they had made were not accepted. The basic law of the country was never forged by consensus. This legacy continues to shape adversarial politics and institutional fragility. The exclusion of other communities and political parties from decision making has led to frequent reversals of government policy. Whether in education or economic regulation or foreign policy, what one government has done the successor government has undone.

 Sri Lanka’s poor performance in securing the foreign investment necessary for rapid economic growth can be attributed to this factor in the main. Policy instability is not simply an economic problem but a political one rooted in narrow ownership of power. In 2022, when the people went on to the streets to protest against the government and caused it to fall, they demanded system change in which their primary focus was corruption, which had reached very high levels both literally and figuratively. The focus on corruption, as being done by the government at present, has two beneficial impacts for the government. The first is that it ensures that a minimum of resources will be wasted so that the maximum may be used for the people’s welfare.

Second Benefit

 The second benefit is that by focusing on the crime of corruption, the government can disable many leaders in the opposition. The more opposition leaders who are behind bars on charges of corruption, the less competition the government faces. Yet these gains do not substitute for the deeper requirement of inclusive governance. The present government seems to have identified corruption as the problem it will emphasise. However, reducing or eliminating corruption by itself is not going to lead to rapid economic development. Corruption is not the sole reason for the absence of economic growth. The most important factor in rapid economic growth is to have government policies that are not reversed every time a new government comes to power.

 For Sri Lanka to make the transition to self-sustaining and rapid economic development, it is necessary that the economic policies followed today are not reversed tomorrow. The best way to ensure continuity of policy is to be inclusive in governance. Instead of excluding those in the opposition, the mainstream opposition in particular needs to be included. In terms of system change, the government has scored high with regard to corruption. There is a general feeling that corruption in the country is much reduced compared to the past. However, with regard to inclusion the government needs to demonstrate more commitment. This was evident in the initial choice of cabinet ministers, who were nearly all men from the majority ethnic community. Important committees it formed, including the Presidential Task Force for a Clean Sri Lanka and the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force, also failed at first to reflect the diversity of the country.

 In a multi ethnic and multi religious society like Sri Lanka, inclusivity is not merely symbolic. It is essential for addressing diverse perspectives and fostering mutual understanding. It is important to have members of the Tamil, Muslim and other minority communities, and women who are 52 percent of the population, appointed to important decision making bodies, especially those tasked with national recovery. Without such representation, the risk is that the very communities most affected by the crisis will remain unheard, and old grievances will be reproduced in new forms. The invitation extended to civil society to participate in the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force is an important beginning. Whether it becomes a turning point will depend on whether the government chooses to make inclusion a principle of governance rather than treat it as a show of concession made under pressure.

by Jehan Perera

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Reservoir operation and flooding

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Floods caused by Cyclone Ditwah

Former Director General of Irrigation, G.T. Dharmasena, in an article, titled “Revival of Innovative systems for reservoir operation and flood forecasting” in The Island of 17 December, 2025, starts out by stating:

“Most reservoirs in Sri Lanka are agriculture and hydropower dominated. Reservoir operators are often unwilling to acknowledge the flood detention capability of major reservoirs during the onset of monsoons. Deviating from the traditional priority for food production and hydropower development, it is time to reorient the operational approach of major reservoirs operators under extreme events, where flood control becomes a vital function. While admitting that total elimination of flood impacts is not technically feasible, the impacts can be reduced by efficient operation of reservoirs and effective early warning systems”.

Addressing the question often raised by the public as to “Why is flooding more prominent downstream of reservoirs compared to the period before they were built,” Mr. Dharmasena cites the following instances: “For instance, why do (sic) Magama in Tissamaharama face floods threats after the construction of the massive Kirindi Oya reservoir? Similarly, why does Ambalantota flood after the construction of Udawalawe Reservoir? Furthermore, why is Molkawa, in the Kalutara District area, getting flooded so often after the construction of Kukule reservoir”?

“These situations exist in several other river basins, too. Engineers must, therefore, be mindful of the need to strictly control the operation of the reservoir gates by their field staff. (Since) “The actual field situation can sometimes deviate significantly from the theoretical technology… it is necessary to examine whether gate operators are strictly adhering to the operational guidelines, as gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”.

COMMENT

For Mr. Dharmasena to bring to the attention of the public that “gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”, is being disingenuous, after accepting flooding as a way of life for ALL major reservoirs for decades and not doing much about it. As far as the public is concerned, their expectation is that the Institution responsible for Reservoir Management should, not only develop the necessary guidelines to address flooding but also ensure that they are strictly administered by those responsible, without leaving it to the arbitrary discretion of field staff. This exercise should be reviewed annually after each monsoon, if lives are to be saved and livelihoods are to be sustained.

IMPACT of GATE OPERATION on FLOODING

According to Mr. Dhamasena, “Major reservoir spillways are designed for very high return periods… If the spillway gates are opened fully when reservoir is at full capacity, this can produce an artificial flood of a very large magnitude… Therefore, reservoir operators must be mindful in this regard to avoid any artificial flood creation” (Ibid). Continuing, he states: “In reality reservoir spillways are often designed for the sole safety of the reservoir structure, often compromising the safety of the downstream population. This design concept was promoted by foreign agencies in recent times to safeguard their investment for dams. Consequently, the discharge capacities of these spill gates significantly exceed the natural carrying capacity of river(s) downstream” (Ibid).

COMMENT

The design concept where priority is given to the “sole safety of the structure” that causes the discharge capacity of spill gates to “significantly exceed” the carrying capacity of the river is not limited to foreign agencies. Such concepts are also adopted by local designers as well, judging from the fact that flooding is accepted as an inevitable feature of reservoirs. Since design concepts in their current form lack concern for serious destructive consequences downstream and, therefore, unacceptable, it is imperative that the Government mandates that current design criteria are revisited as a critical part of the restoration programme.

CONNECTIVITY BETWEEN GATE OPENINGS and SAFETY MEASURES

It is only after the devastation of historic proportions left behind by Cyclone Ditwah that the Public is aware that major reservoirs are designed with spill gate openings to protect the safety of the structure without factoring in the consequences downstream, such as the safety of the population is an unacceptable proposition. The Institution or Institutions associated with the design have a responsibility not only to inform but also work together with Institutions such as Disaster Management and any others responsible for the consequences downstream, so that they could prepare for what is to follow.

Without working in isolation and without limiting it only to, informing related Institutions, the need is for Institutions that design reservoirs to work as a team with Forecasting and Disaster Management and develop operational frameworks that should be institutionalised and approved by the Cabinet of Ministers. The need is to recognize that without connectivity between spill gate openings and safety measures downstream, catastrophes downstream are bound to recur.

Therefore, the mandate for dam designers and those responsible for disaster management and forecasting should be for them to jointly establish guidelines relating to what safety measures are to be adopted for varying degrees of spill gate openings. For instance, the carrying capacity of the river should relate with a specific openinig of the spill gate. Another specific opening is required when the population should be compelled to move to high ground. The process should continue until the spill gate opening is such that it warrants the population to be evacuated. This relationship could also be established by relating the spill gate openings to the width of the river downstream.

The measures recommended above should be backed up by the judicious use of the land within the flood plain of reservoirs for “DRY DAMS” with sufficient capacity to intercept part of the spill gate discharge from which excess water could be released within the carrying capacity of the river. By relating the capacity of the DRY DAM to the spill gate opening, a degree of safety could be established. However, since the practice of demarcating flood plains is not taken seriously by the Institution concerned, the Government should introduce a Bill that such demarcations are made mandatory as part of State Land in the design and operation of reservoirs. Adopting such a practice would not only contribute significantly to control flooding, but also save lives by not permitting settlement but permitting agricultural activities only within these zones. Furthermore, the creation of an intermediate zone to contain excess flood waters would not tax the safety measures to the extent it would in the absence of such a safety net.

CONCLUSION

Perhaps, the towns of Kotmale and Gampola suffered severe flooding and loss of life because the opening of spill gates to release the unprecedented volumes of water from Cyclone Ditwah, was warranted by the need to ensure the safety of Kotmale and Upper Kotmale Dams.

This and other similar disasters bring into focus the connectivity that exists between forecasting, operation of spill gates, flooding and disaster management. Therefore, it is imperative that the government introduce the much-needed legislative and executive measures to ensure that the agencies associated with these disciplines develop a common operational framework to mitigate flooding and its destructive consequences. A critical feature of such a framework should be the demarcation of the flood plain, and decree that land within the flood plain is a zone set aside for DRY DAMS, planted with trees and free of human settlements, other than for agricultural purposes. In addition, the mandate of such a framework should establish for each river basin the relationship between the degree to which spill gates are opened with levels of flooding and appropriate safety measures.

The government should insist that associated Agencies identify and conduct a pilot project to ascertain the efficacy of the recommendations cited above and if need be, modify it accordingly, so that downstream physical features that are unique to each river basin are taken into account and made an integral feature of reservoir design. Even if such restrictions downstream limit the capacities to store spill gate discharges, it has to be appreciated that providing such facilities within the flood plain to any degree would mitigate the destructive consequences of the flooding.

By Neville Ladduwahetty

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Listening to the Language of Shells

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The ocean rarely raises its voice. Instead, it leaves behind signs — subtle, intricate and enduring — for those willing to observe closely. Along Sri Lanka’s shores, these signs often appear in the form of seashells: spiralled, ridged, polished by waves, carrying within them the quiet history of marine life. For Marine Naturalist Dr. Malik Fernando, these shells are not souvenirs of the sea but storytellers, bearing witness to ecological change, resilience and loss.

“Seashells are among the most eloquent narrators of the ocean’s condition,” Dr. Fernando told The Island. “They are biological archives. If you know how to read them, they reveal the story of our seas, past and present.”

A long-standing marine conservationist and a member of the Marine Subcommittee of the Wildlife & Nature Protection Society (WNPS), Dr. Fernando has dedicated much of his life to understanding and protecting Sri Lanka’s marine ecosystems. While charismatic megafauna often dominate conservation discourse, he has consistently drawn attention to less celebrated but equally vital marine organisms — particularly molluscs, whose shells are integral to coastal and reef ecosystems.

“Shells are often admired for their beauty, but rarely for their function,” he said. “They are homes, shields and structural components of marine habitats. When shell-bearing organisms decline, it destabilises entire food webs.”

Sri Lanka’s geographical identity as an island nation, Dr. Fernando says, is paradoxically underrepresented in national conservation priorities. “We speak passionately about forests and wildlife on land, but our relationship with the ocean remains largely extractive,” he noted. “We fish, mine sand, build along the coast and pollute, yet fail to pause and ask how much the sea can endure.”

Through his work with the WNPS Marine Subcommittee, Dr. Fernando has been at the forefront of advocating for science-led marine policy and integrated coastal management. He stressed that fragmented governance and weak enforcement continue to undermine marine protection efforts. “The ocean does not recognise administrative boundaries,” he said. “But unfortunately, our policies often do.”

He believes that one of the greatest challenges facing marine conservation in Sri Lanka is invisibility. “What happens underwater is out of sight, and therefore out of mind,” he said. “Coral bleaching, mollusc depletion, habitat destruction — these crises unfold silently. By the time the impacts reach the shore, it is often too late.”

Seashells, in this context, become messengers. Changes in shell thickness, size and abundance, Dr. Fernando explained, can signal shifts in ocean chemistry, rising temperatures and increasing acidity — all linked to climate change. “Ocean acidification weakens shells,” he said. “It is a chemical reality with biological consequences. When shells grow thinner, organisms become more vulnerable, and ecosystems less stable.”

Climate change, he warned, is no longer a distant threat but an active force reshaping Sri Lanka’s marine environment. “We are already witnessing altered breeding cycles, migration patterns and species distribution,” he said. “Marine life is responding rapidly. The question is whether humans will respond wisely.”

Despite the gravity of these challenges, Dr. Fernando remains an advocate of hope rooted in knowledge. He believes public awareness and education are essential to reversing marine degradation. “You cannot expect people to protect what they do not understand,” he said. “Marine literacy must begin early — in schools, communities and through public storytelling.”

It is this belief that has driven his involvement in initiatives that use visual narratives to communicate marine science to broader audiences. According to Dr. Fernando, imagery, art and heritage-based storytelling can evoke emotional connections that data alone cannot. “A well-composed image of a shell can inspire curiosity,” he said. “Curiosity leads to respect, and respect to protection.”

Shells, he added, also hold cultural and historical significance in Sri Lanka, having been used for ornamentation, ritual objects and trade for centuries. “They connect nature and culture,” he said. “By celebrating shells, we are also honouring coastal communities whose lives have long been intertwined with the sea.”

However, Dr. Fernando cautioned against romanticising the ocean without acknowledging responsibility. “Celebration must go hand in hand with conservation,” he said. “Otherwise, we risk turning heritage into exploitation.”

He was particularly critical of unregulated shell collection and commercialisation. “What seems harmless — picking up shells — can have cumulative impacts,” he said. “When multiplied across thousands of visitors, it becomes extraction.”

As Sri Lanka continues to promote coastal tourism, Dr. Fernando emphasised the need for sustainability frameworks that prioritise ecosystem health. “Tourism must not come at the cost of the very environments it depends on,” he said. “Marine conservation is not anti-development; it is pro-future.”

Dr. Malik Fernando

Reflecting on his decades-long engagement with the sea, Dr. Fernando described marine conservation as both a scientific pursuit and a moral obligation. “The ocean has given us food, livelihoods, climate regulation and beauty,” he said. “Protecting it is not an act of charity; it is an act of responsibility.”

He called for stronger collaboration between scientists, policymakers, civil society and the private sector. “No single entity can safeguard the ocean alone,” he said. “Conservation requires collective stewardship.”

Yet, amid concern, Dr. Fernando expressed cautious optimism. “Sri Lanka still has immense marine wealth,” he said. “Our reefs, seagrass beds and coastal waters are resilient, if given a chance.”

Standing at the edge of the sea, shells scattered along the sand, one is reminded that the ocean does not shout its warnings. It leaves behind clues — delicate, enduring, easily overlooked. For Dr. Malik Fernando, those clues demand attention.

“The sea is constantly communicating,” he said. “In shells, in currents, in changing patterns of life. The real question is whether we, as a society, are finally prepared to listen — and to act before silence replaces the story.”

 

By Ifham Nizam

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