Sri Lanka’s wildlife conservation is teetering on the brink of collapse due to systemic neglect, mismanagement, and a crippling shortage of trained personnel, warns veteran conservation researcher Sameera Weerathunga.

Speaking on the state of the Department of Wildlife Conservation (DWC), Weerathunga said the institution — once a respected guardian of Sri Lanka’s unique biodiversity — is now being stripped of its core identity and responsibilities through arbitrary restructuring and short-sighted policy decisions.

“We are watching the dismantling of the country’s premier conservation body in real time,” he said.

“These aren’t reforms. This is erosion.”

Weerathunga pointed to the recent rebranding of frontline conservation staff under different service categories such as Civil Security, Integrated Services, and Multipurpose Services. Now relabeled as part of the Grama Arakshaka Sevaya, the original identity and professional dignity of trained conservation officers are being erased.

 “Soon, even identifying who is actually a conservation officer will become impossible,” Weerathunga said.

“We’re sacrificing professionalism for administrative convenience.”

This, he argued, is not just a naming issue — it reflects a fundamental loss of recognition for those dedicated to protecting Sri Lanka’s wildlife.

Weerathunga emphasised that the DWC lacks a proper operational hierarchy. Unlike in other professional services, there is no second-tier of trained officers, no clear succession plan, and critical cadres such as veterinary assistants and field-level supervisors are absent or underqualified.

“We have no trained second line, no third line. No trained reserve officers. No veterinary assistants. Even trained wildlife rangers are scarce,” he noted.

“If a single senior officer retires, there’s no one to take the baton.”

This leadership vacuum, he argued, is setting the stage for institutional failure.

Instead of grounding policy in scientific frameworks, Weerathunga accused decision-makers of relying on ad hoc interventions and politically motivated directives.

“It’s like groping in the dark. We’re using painkillers for a broken leg. There’s no evidence-based planning.”

From elephant corridors to human-wildlife conflict zones, critical ecological issues are being addressed reactively — not through long-term, scientifically sound strategies.

Weerathunga also acknowledged the marginalisation of experts and field voices.

 “Those of us who speak out are labelled as the problem. Those who stay silent are rewarded,” he said.

“But if no one raises these alarms now, by 2040 there may not even be a Department of Wildlife Conservation left to save.”

With mounting pressure from unregulated tourism, encroachment, climate change, and poaching, the DWC’s current state of dysfunction could have catastrophic consequences.

Weerathunga is calling for a comprehensive overhaul, not to weaken the department further, but to rebuild it:

Reestablish the dignity and autonomy of conservation officers.

Invest in training and deploy a second tier of professionals.

Create a structured scientific policy framework.

Restore respect for expert voices and field data.

As political attention sways toward militarisation and bureaucratic reshuffling, Sri Lanka’s fragile ecosystems and its world-renowned wildlife are being left defenseless.

“The extinction we’re facing isn’t just of animals — it’s of a legacy, a profession, and a public trust,” Weerathunga concluded.

By Ifham Nizam