Sabah Human-Elephant Conflict: A Heart breaking 'Dance' For Survival

Barnama

6 days ago

I
n Sabah, humans are often cast as villains in conflicts with Bornean elephants. Yet this perception is far from the truth. Here, both humans and elephants are victims in what appears to be a complex 'dance' for survival. This first of a two-part feature reveals both sides of the story.
In the heart of Sabah's forested landscape here, where the morning mist clings to the dense foliage, a story unfolds that cuts to the core of humanity's relationship with nature.
Not far from the natural habitat of the Bornean elephants lies the rustic village of Sukau, cradled by the mighty Kinabatangan River, where Md Ismail Radzi, 45, and fellow villagers dwell and whose lives embody the delicate 'dance' between human survival and wildlife conservation.
Their story bespeaks a long-standing conflict – between impoverished farmers trying to make an honest living and displaced elephants, whose search for food often leaves a trail of damaged crops behind.
'When I see these gentle giants walking through my land, my heart is split in two. They are like old friends who have become unwanted guests. Last month, they came again… 10 (oil palm) trees gone, just like that,' says Md Ismail, his calloused hands gesturing toward his devastated oil palm smallholding.
The Sabah Wildlife Department recorded 881 cases of human-elephant conflict from 2022 to 2024. Last year saw the highest number with 376 cases, compared to 248 cases in 2023 and 257 cases in 2022.
During the same three-year period, the department documented 97 Bornean elephant deaths, with 38 deaths last year, 24 in 2023 and 35 in 2022. The deaths were attributed to various causes, including getting caught in snares; collisions with vehicles; entrapment in electric fences; falling into ditches, holes or muddy areas; poisoning; infection; disease; poaching; and natural causes.
In this story from the Land Below the Wind, there are no villains or heroes – only victims, namely farmers trying to make ends meet and Bornean elephants looking for food. Both man and animal remain caught in a relentless struggle for survival, with no clear solution in sight that offers a peaceful path forward for both sides.
PROTECTED SPECIES
Md Ismail's story is not unique in this corner of Borneo. His modest five-hectare oil palm smallholding, along with patches of corn and fruit trees, represents not just his family's livelihood but a generational dream for a better living.
Yet, these dreams are trampled under the feet of the endangered Bornean elephants, themselves fighting for survival in an increasingly fragmented habitat.
The cruel irony is not lost on anyone here.
The Bornean elephant (Elephas maximus borneensis), the smallest subspecies of the Asian elephant and endemic to northern Borneo, was classified as endangered on the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List as of June last year. This species is also protected by law, including Sabah's Wildlife Conservation Enactment 1997.
According to IUCN, only 1,000 Bornean elephants are left in their natural habitats, with 399 of them being mature breeding adults. The majority can be found in Sabah, particularly in Kinabatangan on the state's east coast, with some populations in Kalimantan, Indonesia.
But for smallholders like Md Ismail, the protected status of this species feels like a double-edged sword.
'We would never harm them, we love them full-heartedly. They are our heritage, our children's inheritance. But who will protect my family's livelihood and my children's future?' he asked, his voice breaking slightly.
Last month's destruction was particularly devastating. Standing amid his crushed palm saplings and flattened corn stalks, the father of four said a herd of elephants destroyed crops belonging to him and other farmers worth thousands of ringgit in a single night.
For a small farmer, it is a catastrophic loss that no insurance covers and no government fully compensates. Replanting can cost up to RM18 to RM20 per oil palm tree. The elephants are clever – they target oil palm trees less than five years old to reach the umbut, the tender young roots they especially enjoy eating.
These mammals are merely following ancient migratory paths that now cut through farmland. It is a path that leads nowhere except into further conflict with humans. And while conservation laws protect these animals from harm, there is no protection for farmers whose livelihoods are in danger.
'Sometimes we stay up all night, trying to scare them away with lights and noise,' Md Ismail said, showing the makeshift hut he and the villagers built.
He added grimly: 'But how do you choose between your love for these creatures and your duty to feed your family? There are no winners in this fight – only survivors.'
LIVELIHOODS
The story that is playing out in Kinabatangan echoes across multiple districts especially on the east coast of the state, from Tongod to Lahad Datu, Telupid and Kalabakan.
Making matters worse, Kinabatangan, Tongod and Lahad Datu are ranked among the 10 poorest districts in Malaysia, with the human-elephant conflict further hampering local communities' efforts to improve their economic situation.
'Farmers are left helpless when these wild elephants encroach on their land. We can't shoot or harm them because it's a serious offence under the (state's) Wildlife Conservation Enactment,' explained Kuamut State Assemblyman Datuk Masiung Banah. (Kuamut is one of the state seats under the Kinabatangan Parliamentary constituency.)
In Tongod, one of the districts under his care, the scene is particularly heart-wrenching. The elephants regularly 'trespass' into plantations, leaving destruction in their wake.
'Our farmers depend on rice and oil palm as their economic lifeline. But before the rice is ready for harvest, the elephants get there first. Before the oil palms can bear fruit, the elephants have already torn them down,' Masiung said, adding this pattern of destruction has become an annual ritual over the past four years.
The farmers, trapped between their respect for wildlife conservation and the need to survive, find themselves in a quandary.
Masiung has raised this pressing issue several times in the state assembly, advocating assistance for farmers who fall victim to wildlife encounters.
'We need to establish a subsidy system to help these small-scale farmers who are facing disasters not of their own making.
'It's unfair to our community. They're only taught to drive the elephants away but if they harm these protected animals, they face arrest. We need the government to show genuine concern and provide subsidies to these affected farmers,' he added.
HEARTBREAKING
Meanwhile, asked for his thoughts on possible solutions to Sabah's perennial man-elephant conflict, retired wildlife ranger Hamzah Maulad, 68, said it is not as simple as building more electric fences to keep the wild creatures away.
'We need to address both sides of this equation – the elephants' need for habitat (and food) and the farmers' need for sustainable livelihoods,' he said, his eyes fixed on the distant treeline where elephants once roamed freely.
Drawing from his decades of experience as a ranger, he pointed out that effective conservation efforts must adopt a holistic approach.
'When people talk about solutions, they often focus solely on the elephants alone. But what about the farmers? What about their children's future? We need economic alternatives, compensation schemes that work, and maybe even ways to turn this challenge into an opportunity.
'Until we find that balance, we'll keep seeing this heartbreaking dance between farmers and elephants. Both sides are fighting for survival, both sides deserve to live. But finding that middle ground – that's the real challenge we face today,' he added with a weary sigh.
And, as long as the conflict persists, rangers will inevitably encounter the remains of Bornean elephants that die under suspicious or unexplained circumstances.
Recalling a dark chapter of Sabah's elephant conservation history with painful clarity, Hamzah said the incident in Sabah's Gunung Rara Forest Reserve in 2013 haunts him to this day.
'When we found 14 elephants – 10 females and four males – dead within just four weeks, it felt like a personal failure. The post-mortem revealed severe haemorrhage and ulceration in their gastrointestinal tracts, with bleeding from their mouths and anus.'
It was suspected that the elephants were poisoned by chemicals allegedly linked to plantation activities, raising concerns about habitat loss and human-wildlife conflict.
Recalling more recent tragedies, Hamzah said in January this year, a mutilated elephant was found on the Kalabakan-Sapulut road.
'The head and limbs were severed,' he said.
Then in early April, another Bornean elephant was discovered decapitated near the Tibow-Sapulut road, close to Tawau. Both cases were linked to smugglers of wildlife parts. No arrests have been made in either case.
UNITED HEARTS
Meanwhile, for well-known elephant conservationist Dr Nurzhafarina Othman, conservation is not just about wildlife, it's about people.
'You can watch (and admire) these magnificent beasts all your life but if you're not listening to the people who share their backyard with these gentle giants, you're missing the whole show,' said the 41-year-old expert whose peers regard her as an elephant whisperer who has 'seen it all' in the last two decades of her career immersed in the study of Bornean elephants.
Nurzhafarina, a senior lecturer at the Institute for Tropical Biology and Conservation at Universiti Malaysia Sabah, received the prestigious Whitley Award 2025 (also known as the Green Oscar) from the United Kingdom-based Whitley Fund for Nature for her work in protecting Bornean elephants and fostering coexistence between them and local communities. The award came with a grant of £50,000 (about RM287,000).
Speaking to Bernama about her elephant conservation work, Nurzhafarina, who hails from Kota Sarang Semut, Kedah, said humans are key players in such efforts.
'We can't focus only on the elephants. They're actually easier to learn about. They don't change their minds easily, so they're easier to understand.
'Humans, on the other hand, can be supportive one day and change the next. But they're not bystanders, they're key players… so, we're trying to balance both approaches to ensure we achieve meaningful conservation.'
Nurzhafarina, founder of a non-profit organisation Seratu Aatai (which means 'united hearts' in the Orang Sungai language), said the primary goal of her initiative is to build support for conservation efforts among communities affected by elephant intrusions.
'Let me tell you, the Bornean elephant needs all the support it can get,' she said, adding that in Kinabatangan, only about 250 tuskers of this species are left.
'People are scared and don't know what to do when these massive creatures come knocking. These aren't just some small-time visitors. We're talking about giants showing up in your backyard, and your oil palm crops – your bread and butter – are their all-you-can-eat buffet,' she said.
NOT AN EPIC BATTLE
From her perspective, the conservation of Bornean elephants is not merely a government concern or an NGO initiative – it is everyone's responsibility, especially those living alongside them.
'It's about helping these people view the elephants as integral members of their community,' she stressed.
'Everyone discusses the human-elephant conflict as if it's some epic battle, but we're working to shift that perspective. Simply raising awareness isn't enough – you need to immerse yourself in the community, learn alongside them and truly understand their challenges.'
She said Seratu Aatai's programmes help communities better understand elephants as well as their movements, behaviours and how to coexist with them safely.
'This isn't about passing responsibility around. It's about everyone taking ownership of the solution (to minimising human-elephant conflict),' she added.
On the brighter side, Nurzhafarina and her team's ongoing studies have revealed that the Sabah people genuinely care about the Bornean elephants.
But then, when these massive mammals appear at their doorsteps, theoretical appreciation meets harsh reality.
'What these communities need is practical support, namely tools and resources for protection but right now, they're struggling to cope (with wildlife intrusions),' she said.
UNDERSTANDING THE GIANTS
Explaining why elephants encroach into human territory, Nurzhafarina reiterated that they are not invaders but the original inhabitants of the land.
'They were there long before the people came. It was their ancestral 'food court'. It isn't random wandering… these are their ancient feeding grounds, etched into their collective memory.
'When they appear, they're simply following ancestral paths, searching for food in what was once their territory. It's a bittersweet dance of survival… these majestic creatures have become uninvited guests in their own ancestral home,' she said.
Nurzhafarina explained that elephants do not just move in herds but create sophisticated social networks. They form strategic groups, especially in high-risk areas, and each elephant develops its own approach to meeting challenges.
In Kinabatangan, she noted how pristine forest corridors – the elephants' age-old migratory paths – are now interrupted by vast oil palm plantations and villages, forcing the animals to navigate through oil palm trees, banana trees and corn fields where their ancestral feeding grounds once stood.
'Male elephants show particularly fascinating but risky behaviour. They're bold enough to take risks for food because they need to build body mass and increase testosterone for mating.
'This drive leads them to seek opportunities, even in dangerous situations,' she explained, noting how understanding these patterns is crucial for managing human-elephant interactions.
Unlike their Indian 'cousins', who predictably raid crops during the harvest season, Bornean elephants move through the landscape with a different rhythm. They are constantly on the move, grazing where they can.
Elephants, Nurzhafarina explained, possess an incredible mental GPS, a memory bank that would put any smartphone to shame.
'But like any smart local who knows where the best food is, they're practical creatures. Why wander far, when everything they need is right here in a nearby village or oil palm plantation?'
THE STORY OF SANDI
One such 'smart local', Nurzhafarina went on to tell Bernama, was her favourite pachyderm 'pupil' named Sandi, the Bornean elephant she tracked and studied for years.
'Amid the oil palm plantations here, where electric fences slice through ancient elephant paths like cruel reminders of progress, I witnessed something extraordinary,' she related, her eyes alive with the kind of passion one only sees in people who have found their life's calling.
Describing Sandi as a 'battle-scarred warrior that turned an oil palm plantation in Kinabatangan into his kingdom', she said when she first met him in 2007, he was this majestic bull in his mid-twenties but life had already left its marks. He had a severed tail, torn ears and a body that read like a battlefield memoir – pellet gun scars telling stories of countless human encounters.
'But here's the thing, this wasn't your typical crop-raiding elephant. He made that oil palm plantation his home and became what we call a permanent resident. And get this… he never bothered anyone. Cool as a cucumber, that one.'
Observing Sandi for years, Nurzhafarina realised one day that this magnificent bull had turned into something more than just a survivor – he became a teacher. This 'veteran' showed two younger elephants how to navigate an electric fence.
'Sandi, this remarkable being, didn't just brute-force his way through (the fence). No, he developed a technique so precise. He would curl his trunk into his mouth, lift it over his tusks, wait a few beats, and then, with the deliberate grace of a martial arts master, lift one foot at a time (to go through the fence).
'The younger elephants? They were like students watching a master at work. At first, they tried to dive under headfirst… imagine a beast weighing several tonnes attempting to do the limbo dance under an electric fence,' she chuckled.
'But Sandi, patient teacher that he was, showed them the way. Over time, these apprentices learned from the master. This wasn't just adaptation, this was genius at work. This was resilience in its purest form.'
Sandi, sadly, died in 2021. While the exact cause of his death remains uncertain, he lived into his forties, leaving behind a legacy that continues to inspire both humans and elephants alike.
Recollecting his final moments, Nurzhafarina said Sandi chose a quiet spot in a river to lie down. Two other elephants came to check on him. Within a few hours, he was no more.
'To me,' she continued, her eyes glistening with emotion, 'Sandi represents the ultimate symbol of elephant resilience. Here was this magnificent creature, forced to adapt to a world that wasn't meant for him, yet he did it with such grace.
'He was a testament to the extraordinary capacity of these beings to adapt and persist in a world that's increasingly less wild, less forgiving.'