Staying on the lookout for legacies of war was originally not something high on the agenda of our expedition to Sri Lanka’s northwest. In fact, without any prior knowledge of a war, we probably wouldn’t have even known there was one.
Our sights included small towns scattered along the main highway lined with plenty of trees, a stray cow here and there crossing the road and trucks weaving past the steadily rattling tuktuks huddling the shoulders of the roads. Even passing through the Puttalam region, a larger town once at the center of the civil war that ended just 14 years ago, we didn’t spot any signs of war-torn rubble, burnt out vehicles or dividing lines.
However, with a little more time and education, our eyes were opened to a different kind of war remnant, possibly far longer lasting and more damaging than just a dilapidated building or two. Our journey illuminated the stark reality of how lasting conflict can deeply affect the natural world.
The Sri Lankan Civil War, spanning 1983 to 2009, profoundly impacted the island nation. For some context, the conflict was primarily between the Sri Lankan government and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), a group seeking an independent Tamil state in the northeast. This struggle, fueled by deep-rooted ethnic tensions and discrimination, spilled over into other parts of the country and left a major impact on the country's social and environmental fabric.
This devastating conflict isolated certain regions for decades, severely impacting local communities and the environment. The long-term effects of such a prolonged conflict weren’t so blatantly visible, but certainly there—with challenges in rebuilding infrastructure, restoring social connectivity, and addressing the environmental neglect that occurred during these turbulent years.
As we made our way up north to consciously explore the region, it was peaceful as we crossed the causeway that connects Mannar to the mainland. Mannar town, the primary settlement of the island, is a hub of fishing activity, with its vibrant market capturing the spirit of a secluded coastal community. The surrounding beaches were another spectacle, lined with stunning shells and bustling with activity in the early mornings as fishermen set off. In contrast, the afternoons brought a quieter ambiance, allowing the region's tranquil beauty to shine through at sunset.
Everyone we met was warm and friendly, curious as to why foreigners had made it this far up the coast. In particular, we became quite close to Noeline Corera, the larger-than-life personality running Hotel Agape where we stayed for a week. While we ate her team’s amazing meals three times a day, she told us stories of how she escaped to India during the war.
Mannar's proximity to the India-Sri Lanka border made it a focal point during the conflict, leading to early attacks and forcing many residents to flee as the island was transformed into a military base. Noeline's story, involving a 27 kilometer (16 mile) trek across Mannar’s dense forest as well as a boat journey to India, illustrates the plight many faced.
Years later, while Noeline returned home, numerous others weren't as fortunate in reclaiming their lands. The widespread issue of land reclamation, coupled with the exploitation of Mannar's resources by large exporters, highlights the region's complex post-war challenges, something Mannar-born naturalist Marynathan Edison shared through firsthand experiences.
From afar, Edison pointed out the operational aquaculture farms in Mannar, a symbol of how the area has become a site of intense resource extraction, often at the expense of environmental conservation and the locals. This situation is exacerbated by a general lack of awareness about the long-term ecological impacts.
Plans to potentially de-gazette the Vidattaltivu Nature Reserve (VNR) for aquaculture development are a perfect example of these challenges. Despite the dry season's barrenness, the rainy season brings fertility and wildlife, proving the region’s latent ecological vibrancy. Yet, to this day, the importance of this ecosystem and its biodiversity is not fully understood. That’s why Edison is entirely committed to preserving it, as a crucial counterbalance to the exploitative practices that have been going on for way too long.
Edison, a former wildlife officer and now dynamic freelance consultant working with the government, nonprofits, and local communities, is on a mission to educate people about the country's looming environmental challenges. Despite his extensive knowledge and education in biology, Edison has faced skepticism due to his academic background being in environmental studies, a field not understood or valued in Mannar. Even with Mannar being an island, there is no course or academic training in any way when it comes to fisheries or environmental studies.
However, it’s his father's influence that ignited his passion for conservation, leading to significant projects like creating a mangrove nursery. His ability to navigate the complexities of Sri Lanka's diverse dialects has been crucial in rallying community support for environmental initiatives. Edison’s effective communication and advocacy convinced his village to adopt more sustainable practices, going so far as to preserve mangroves and smaller fish with no practical use once caught. This approach has not only benefited local ecosystems but has also paved the way for collaboration on larger projects with organizations like LEF.
This marks the country's first project into an in-depth study of seagrass ecosystems. The immediate goal is to create a comprehensive seagrass species composition map, detailing the distribution of various species within the nature reserve. Its long-term ambition though is to lay the groundwork for Sri Lanka's inaugural blue carbon credit project, which would be a huge step forward for the country.
Co-financed by the Blue Marine Foundation and the Lanka Environment Fund (LEF), the project's timing is critical, coinciding with Sri Lanka's most severe economic crisis since 1948. Over the last five years in particular, Sri Lanka has been hit with a series of hardships. From the Easter Bombings in 2019, to COVID and its repercussions on the economy, followed by the political and economic instability in 2022, it has felt like a relentless string of bad luck for the small island nation.
Debt-for-nature swaps put forward by The United Nations Development Program’s proposal could offer a pivotal step towards integrating environmental conservation into Sri Lanka's economic strategy. Simply put, the idea is to exchange a portion of the nation's substantial debt for the commitment to implement environmental policies or fund conservation programs, steering the country towards a blue and green economy.
One of the seagrass project's objectives is to identify the distribution and species composition of seagrasses within VNR, using drone technology for mapping, preparing sheets for the National Herbarium, and conducting laboratory analysis to estimate carbon storage among various species. Additionally, the project aims to assess the total potential carbon stock of the reserve, pinpointing areas of high carbon storage, and contributing valuable data to national and global climate change initiatives.
Edison is working on the ground to help deliver this comprehensive approach, ultimately helping to drive awareness around why it's important to preserve seagrass ecosystems—which are vital players when it comes to marine biodiversity and carbon sequestration.
Leading this engagement is another critical player, Susantha Udagedara. He serves as the Director of the Seagrass and Climate Change Programme at Blue Resources Trust (BRT), a Sri Lankan marine research and consultancy organization. With a focus on seagrasses, climate change vulnerability and adaptation, and species-based ecological studies, Susantha’s work is instrumental in shaping national conservation policy. Additionally, he is a member of the IUCN Species Survival Commission (SSC) Seagrass Specialist Group, reflecting his expertise in the field.
Susantha, Edison and the rest of their core team have identified 15 varieties of seagrass in the nature reserve, with the potential discovery of another pending a seasonal assessment. As we walked through fishing villages in the Mannar region with Edison, we found eight different types of seagrass, giving us that glimmer of hope everyone else had found here. There’s a lot that can still be protected and even more that can be restored if the proper care, time and energy is put into the effort. That’s why this team is working day and night to explore whether or not green and blue bonds are possible.
A healthy reef off the coast of Mannar, alongside thriving seagrass beds visible from the surface, indicated a resilient marine ecosystem. “Continuous monitoring and surveys of these seagrass beds are important in order for us to understand their role in carbon sequestration and biodiversity, even when surrounded by extreme extraction,” Edison explained, as he continued us on the tour of his home.
Despite what’s happened in the past, and what continues today, Edison remains positive and optimistic. “I have two sons, aged four and one. I don’t care what they do for a living or if they follow in my footsteps. But I do care that they have a healthy world to grow up in. I want them to be able to have a connection with nature, the way that I do. But only if that’s something they want. I just want it to be an option for them. That’s why I do the work that I do.”
The region, impacted by war and recent economic crises, now hosts innovative environmental projects like those the LEF and its partners are pushing for at the Vidattaltivu Nature Reserve. However, these efforts represent more than just conservation. They're about securing a viable future where nature thrives in tandem with human communities. As Edison's dedication to preserving his homeland for future generations shows, Mannar's story is one of relentless determination, reflecting the overarching spirit of this unique and enduring coastal region.
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