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Prof. Tissa Vitarana: A scientist–statesman who changed the course of Sri Lanka’s innovation journey

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Prof. Tissa Vitarana

Sri Lanka awoke on the morning of 13 February, 2026, to the quiet passing of Professor Tissa Vitarana at his home in Nawala. With him departs not only a towering figure in science and public life, but also a rare national conscience—one that insisted, often against prevailing currents, that science, technology, and innovation must serve the people, the nation, and the future.

I had known Professor Vitarana from my early childhood and vividly recall his visits to our home in the 1970s and 1980s to meet my father, the late Mr. G. V. S. de Silva. At the time, I could not have imagined that he would later become one of the most pivotal teachers and mentors in my life. My first professional engagement with him came in 1986, when I was assigned to the Medical Research Institute (MRI) by the Postgraduate Institute of Medicine (PGIM) for my postgraduate training in microbiology. That encounter marked the beginning of a professional journey shaped profoundly by his guidance.

To me, he was first a teacher, then a mentor, later a colleague and a friend—and always a source of intellectual provocation and moral steadiness. My own professional life—its direction, ambitions, and even its internal debates—was deeply influenced by my association with him. I was privileged to work closely with Prof. Vitarana during what can only be described as the most consequential period in the evolution of Sri Lanka’s science and innovation ecosystem since independence.

Teacher and reformer of medical education

Before Prof. Vitarana became a national figure in science policy, he was, at heart, a scientist and an academic institution builder. In 1995, shortly after his retirement from the MRI, he was appointed Founder Professor of Microbiology at the newly established Faculty of Medical Sciences, University of Sri Jayewardenepura. The faculty was young, resources were limited, and expectations were high—but he saw in it an opportunity not to replicate inherited models, but to rethink them.

In 1996, I joined the faculty as Senior Lecturer in Microbiology, beginning a long and formative professional partnership. Working closely together, we shared a conviction that medical microbiology education in Sri Lanka needed to move decisively beyond the traditional organism-centred—often disparagingly termed “bug-based”—approach. We believed instead in a disease-oriented curriculum, integrating pathogens with clinical presentation, diagnosis, epidemiology, and public-health relevance.

Implementing this shift was far from easy. It challenged entrenched academic traditions and demanded both pedagogical courage and strong institutional backing. Prof. Vitarana provided both. With his guidance and support, the Faculty of Medical Sciences at Jayewardenepura became the first in Sri Lanka to introduce a fully comprehensive disease-oriented microbiology curriculum—an approach that subsequently influenced teaching practices across other medical faculties. In retrospect, this episode foreshadowed the principles that would later define his national work: clarity of vision, patience in execution, and the willingness to question inherited structures.

A scientist who entered politics—without abandoning science

A Fellow of the National Academy of Sciences of Sri Lanka, Prof. Vitarana was, unequivocally, a scientist. Trained in medicine, bacteriology, and virology, he built an international reputation through his work at the MRI, which he later led as Director. His scientific credentials were never in doubt. Yet history will remember him most distinctly as a politician who refused to abandon science, even when politics would have made that the easier choice.

When he entered Parliament and later assumed office as Minister of Science and Technology, Sri Lanka’s science system was fragmented, underfunded, and largely disconnected from national development. Research institutions operated in silos; universities engaged minimally with industry; and innovation was barely part of the national vocabulary. Public investment in R&D was low, private-sector participation negligible, and science was often viewed as a luxury rather than a necessity.

Prof. Vitarana recognised this reality clearly—and refused to accept it as inevitable.

The courage to think systemically

One of his most enduring contributions was his insistence that science could not advance in isolation. It required strategy, coordination, institutions, and—above all—political will. This conviction shaped every major initiative he championed.

Under his leadership and encouragement, Sri Lanka embarked on the National Nanotechnology Initiative (NNI)—a bold and, at the time, audacious decision, taken amidst civil war and severe fiscal constraints. The idea was simple yet transformative: instead of dispersing scarce scientific resources across multiple institutions, Sri Lanka would converge them into a single, high-end strategic platform, built through a public–private partnership and aligned with industry needs.

This vision led to the establishment of the Sri Lanka Institute of Nanotechnology (SLINTEC)—an institution that has since become a symbol of what Sri Lankan science can achieve when provided autonomy, infrastructure, and purpose. SLINTEC’s early successes—US patents, technology licensing, international recognition, and growing private-sector confidence—did more than validate a model; they reshaped mindsets. Policymakers began to believe. Industry began to invest. Young scientists began to stay.

That catalytic impact is now embedded in Sri Lanka’s institutional memory.

Strategy before slogans

Prof. Vitarana was never content with isolated success stories. He understood that without a national framework, innovation would remain episodic and fragile. This belief culminated in the formulation of Sri Lanka’s first National Science, Technology and Innovation (STI) Strategy, approved by Cabinet in 2010 and subsequently presented to Parliament.

The strategy was pragmatic, time-bound, and unflinchingly honest about national weaknesses. It set measurable targets, linked science to economic transformation, and recognised that innovation must serve not only growth, but also equity and sustainability.

To translate strategy into action, Prof. Vitarana supported the establishment of the Coordinating Secretariat for Science, Technology and Innovation (COSTI)—designed to break institutional silos, align ministries, and ensure that public investment in research translated into tangible societal benefit. Despite bureaucratic resistance and political turbulence, COSTI endured and eventually evolved into the National Innovation Agency (NIA), formalised through an Act of Parliament. Few initiatives better illustrate his patience, persistence, and long-term vision.

From nanotechnology to biotechnology: extending the vision

Prof. Vitarana’s system-level thinking did not stop with nanotechnology. As our work through COSTI matured, he urged us to look further—to biotechnology as a strategic national capability, capable of leveraging Sri Lanka’s rich biological resources and scientific talent. In this context, he conceptualised the Sri Lanka Institute of Biotechnology (SLIBTEC) as a complementary pillar to SLINTEC, anchoring advanced biotechnology research, translation, and commercialisation within a coherent national framework.

Technology to the village: the moral core of his politics

Among his many achievements, Prof. Vitarana often spoke most passionately about the Vidatha programme. This was not about advanced laboratories or international patents; it was about taking technology to the village, empowering micro- and small-scale enterprises, and ensuring that innovation did not remain an urban or elite privilege.

Although I was not directly involved in its implementation, we had many discussions on Vidatha. He welcomed critical feedback and remained unwavering in his belief that science must touch everyday life. Vidatha was, in many ways, the moral anchor of his science policy—an expression of his deep commitment to social justice and inclusive development.

Quality, credibility, and trust in science

What distinguished Prof. Vitarana was not only his appetite for innovation, but his insistence on quality and credibility. He believed deeply that science must earn public trust. I clearly recall his firm insistence on introducing accreditation for medical and testing laboratories, long before quality assurance became fashionable policy language. I was privileged to be part of those early efforts.

This conviction culminated in the establishment of the Sri Lanka Accreditation Board (SLAB), strengthening the integrity of scientific and technical services across the country. For Prof. Vitarana, accreditation was not bureaucracy—it was the backbone of trust.

The unfinished dreams

Not all our shared visions came to fruition. We collectively envisioned the establishment of a National Science Centre cum explaratorium —a space where science would meet society, curiosity would be nurtured, and scientific literacy cultivated across generations. Plans were drawn, concepts refined, and momentum built. Yet political shifts, bureaucratic inertia, and changing priorities meant the project never materialised.

Prof. Vitarana accepted these disappointments with remarkable equanimity. He understood that nation-building is rarely linear and that progress often outlives its original champions.

A mentor who trusted, not micromanaged

On a personal level, Prof. Vitarana gave me something invaluable: intellectual freedom. He trusted people, delegated responsibility, and never micromanaged. When obstacles arose—often from the bureaucracy or the Treasury—he stood as a buffer, absorbing pressure so others could continue their work.

There were moments of frustration. He loved politics—perhaps more than science—and that occasionally irritated me. Our philosophical disagreements were real and sometimes sharp, shaped by his political ideology and my own Buddhist-influenced thinking. Yet they were always respectful, often enriching, and never diminished the mutual regard we shared.

A legacy that endures

Today, institutions such as SLINTEC, COSTI/NIA, SLIBTEC, and SLAB stand not merely as organisations, but as embodied ideas—proof that Sri Lanka can think strategically, act boldly, and build sustainably.

Prof. Tissa Vitarana’s greatest legacy may well be this: he convinced a generation that Sri Lankan scientists, technologists, and entrepreneurs are capable of excellence—provided they are trusted, supported, and allowed to work within a conducive ecosystem. He shifted national conversations, altered institutional trajectories, and left an imprint that will outlast political cycles.

I shall miss him deeply—not only for his guidance and steadfast support, but also for the arguments, the laughter, the impatience, and the shared hope that Sri Lanka could do better, think bigger, and act wiser.

May his journey through sansara be short!
And may the nation he served with such conviction remember, protect, and build upon the foundations he laid!

by Sirimali Fernando

Former Science Advisor to the Minister of Science and Technology
Former Chairperson, National Science Foundation
Former CEO, COSTI
Founder Board Member – SLINTEC
Founder Board Member – SLAB
Current Board Member – SLIBTEC
Former Senior Professor of Microbiology, Faculty of Medical Sciences, USJP



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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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