Walk into any discussion about conservation, and you’ll hear terms like “protection,” “wildlife,” and “preservation.” However, you rarely encounter the words “people,” “power,” “justice,” or “historical repair.” Behind every protected area, there is often a community that has been displaced, disempowered, or ignored in the name of conservation.
Why do we still live in a world where a lion’s safety is monitored and funded through satellite tracking, while a child in the neighbouring village goes to bed hungry and unheard? Why does a park ranger respond more quickly to an injured elephant than to a pastoralist whose livestock has been attacked? And why, despite decades of promoting community-based conservation, do local voices continue to struggle for recognition?
This isn’t a rant; it’s a call for introspection. Conservation, as it is often practised, carries a colonial legacy. It’s time for us to confront this reality.
A Glorified Myth: “Conservation Equals Good”
For years, conservation has enjoyed an almost sacred status, framed as the moral high ground and a heroic fight against extinction. While it’s true that ecosystems are collapsing and wildlife needs protection, we should recognise that conservation does not occur in a vacuum.
Many of Africa’s most celebrated parks were created through forced evictions. Maasai communities in Kenya and Tanzania were displaced from their ancestral lands to establish “pristine” spaces for tourists and wildlife areas designed for viewing, photographing, and consuming nature, but not for living in. National parks like Serengeti and Amboseli were never truly “empty wilderness”; they were emptied of their people.
Today, the same communities are still being asked to make sacrifices for the greater good, national pride, tourists, and wildlife. This should be recognised for what it is: exploitation wrapped in a green ribbon.
The Double Standards We Normalise
Let’s break this down. Imagine a scenario:
An elephant is killed by poachers: the headlines scream, donations flood in, and international campaigns mobilise.
A child dies from a waterborne disease in a conservation buffer zone: there is silence, shrugs, and perhaps a charity borehole is established two years too late.
Why do we accept this disparity?
Part of the answer lies in global narratives. The story of “saving the animals” is easy to sell. It’s dramatic, emotional, and visible. In contrast, communities, especially rural African ones, are harder to portray as heroes or victims in simple terms. They are complex, nuanced, and political. Often, they have grievances that donors and foreign NGOs would prefer to ignore.
Animal Welfare vs. Human Rights: A False Dichotomy?
Here’s the tricky part. Many conservationists claim, “We care about both wildlife and people.” I believe that many genuinely do. However, when it comes to budget allocations, the deployment of security forces, and the enforcement of laws, the priorities tend to shift, often heavily in favour of animals.
In some parks, anti-poaching units are better equipped than local police. Rangers patrol with night-vision gear, while villagers still rely on candlelit clinics for childbirth. Fines for harming a protected species can be more severe than those for assaulting a woman in the same area. Where’s the justice in that?
When communities respond by killing wildlife due to crop destruction or cattle loss, they are often criminalised, shamed, and further marginalised.
It’s not that these communities hate wildlife; they resent the hypocrisy. They are frustrated by the message that their survival is considered less important.
Conservation Refugees: The Hidden Casualties
Let’s discuss displacement. The term “conservation refugee” may not be new, but it remains a taboo topic. More than 14 million people around the world have been forced off their land due to conservation efforts. In Kenya, Indigenous groups like the Ogiek and Sengwer have consistently been denied land rights in the forests they have safeguarded for centuries.
They are prohibited from living in these “protected” areas, yet their traditional practices, such as rotational grazing and controlled burning, are suddenly being recognised as “sustainable.” The irony of this situation is striking.
We have taken their land, ignored their knowledge, and labelled their culture as backward, all while repackaging their techniques as climate-smart solutions.
The Role of Eco-Tourism: Blessing or Burden?
You often hear the saying, “Tourism funds conservation.” While this is true, we must ask ourselves: at what cost?
Many lodges occupy prime land that locals cannot access. Tourists pay hundreds of dollars per night, while local guides earn less than minimum wage. The fees collected for park entry go to central governments and rarely benefit the communities that face daily human-wildlife conflicts.
Eco-tourism is promoted as a win-win solution, but it can often be extractive. It presents an image of harmony while concealing underlying tensions. It profits from “untouched” landscapes that are, in reality, heavily managed and politically controlled.
So, What Needs to Change?
1. Redefine Conservation Success
Rather than measuring success by the number of elephants or hectares protected, let’s consider the following questions:
Are communities thriving?
Do they have the power to make decisions?
Are their children educated, well-fed, and safe?
If the answer is no to any of these questions, then conservation is failing regardless of how many rhinos are saved.
2. Land Back and Legal Rights
Indigenous and local communities must have legal recognition of their land. Not “co-management” with strings attached. Not “benefit-sharing” that results in tokens. Ownership. Autonomy. Respect.
3. Equal Investment
Why does wildlife tracking technology receive more funding than rural schools or clinics near parks? We must rebalance budgets. A healthy community is the best defence against habitat destruction. Want to stop poaching? Invest in people, not just patrols.
4. Stop the Saviour Complex
Funders in the Global North need to abandon the “we know best” attitude. Communities understand their landscapes and possess lived solutions. What they often lack is power, not knowledge.
Devil’s Advocate: What If We Go Too Far?
Now let’s challenge ourselves by considering what a critic might say:
“If we give communities full control, won’t they overexploit the land?”
That’s a fair question. However, data indicates the opposite. Lands managed by Indigenous communities often have equal or even better biodiversity outcomes than state-run parks. The real issue isn’t local mismanagement; it’s a lack of trust and systemic exclusion.
“But wildlife is vulnerable and voiceless.”
So are many rural communities. If we can advocate passionately for a baby elephant, we can do the same for a mother trying to feed her family nearby.
“Balancing both is hard.”
That’s true. However, we can’t continue choosing the easy route that favours wildlife while neglecting the needs of humans. True conservation must grapple with complexity.
A New Narrative: From Conflict to Coexistence
The real question isn’t about animal welfare or community well-being; it’s about why we have allowed the two to be treated as mutually exclusive.
True conservation involves building relationships not just between people and nature, but also between the powerful and marginalised groups.
We need to shift our approach from protecting nature from people to protecting nature alongside people. Communities are not the enemy of conservation; they are its future.
Final Thoughts
To achieve sustainable ecosystems, we need to begin with social ecosystems. This requires fostering trust, fairness, and dignity for everyone, not just for the iconic species that are appealing in donor reports.
So, the next time you celebrate a wildlife rescue, consider this: Who is helping the communities that coexist with these animals?
Until we address this question, our efforts in conservation will remain unfinished.
