In 2021, we laid down a roadmap for Watchdog. This is the first time I’ve talked about it to anyone outside the organization. On it was a solid set of reasons for what we called Project Sauron - somehow getting our hands on satellite imagery for the entire country, from 2017 onwards.

The challenge was acquiring that imagery, and then converting it into something we could use. Processing satellite imagery is unfortunately not as easy as screenshotting Google Maps - there’s so many fine details that stack up, from eliminating clouds and their shadows to making sure you have enough imagery of  each patch at regular intervals to stack them into a sharp enough image over a regular timespan. 

This year, thanks to our funders and to the European Space Agency’s Sentinel-2 project, we’ve been able to actually complete that piece of the puzzle. We’re making public our maps of Sri Lanka from 2017 to 2024, in all their forms, here: https://github.com/team-watchdog/satellite2024

They’re obviously lower-resolution than the raw data we have on tap; for us, a single year’s imagery can run to well over 6 gigabytes. These are high-resolution JPEGs, scaled down so that you can actually open them on your devices. 

If you ever doubted the reality of what humans can do to a landscape, these satellite images would convince you. The evidence is written across our landscapes. Coastal erosion in Mannar, visible year after year as the shoreline retreats. The changing vegetation patterns in the central highlands, as paddy fields creep relentlessly upwards and outwards. 

The Power of the Pixel

After spending months immersed in satellite imagery of our island nation, I can spot at least five pressing stories: these aren't just abstract data points; they're narratives of change, conflict, and hope written across our landscapes.

The first story is around tourism and its costs. Year by year, I've watched as resorts and tourist infrastructure devour our beaches. In Mirissa, once a sleepy fishing village, I can trace the explosion of guesthouses and restaurants right up to the water's edge. The satellite doesn't lie – our booming tourism industry is reshaping our coasts, often at the expense of local fishing communities.

But it's not just about pretty beaches. These images reveal a stark choice we face as a nation: do we want short-term tourist dollars or long-term environmental sustainability? The answer isn't simple, but the consequences of our choice are written in the sand – visible from space.

The second is around agriculture’s impact. Our agricultural heartlands tell a story of adaptation – and sometimes desperation. In the rice bowls of Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura, I've observed a patchwork of change -  a visual record of climate change adaptation, economic pressures, and sometimes, land grabs. These images show us how our food security is adapting – or failing to adapt – to new realities.

Most troubling are the brown patches – abandoned fields that speak to crop failures and rural-to-urban migration. Our changing agricultural landscape is a barometer for the health of our rural communities and our food security.

The third is around development; especially the gaps between promise and progress. Our politicians love to promise grand infrastructure projects – new highways, industrial zones, port cities. Satellite imagery lets us track these promises from blueprint to reality. The satellite record allows us to ask: Are we getting what we were promised? Is it on time? And at what cost?

The fourth is around how we build our cities. The lush canopies of Cinnamon Gardens stand in stark opposition to the concrete expanses of Slave Island. It's a visual representation of urban inequality that's impossible to ignore.

But there are plenty of stories further afield. When you look at changes over the years, we can see how and where our towns are expanding - and what challenges come with it. My personal obsession is the lack of green spaces within our towns, but plenty can be spotted about challenges and how people build around them. It's like watching a time-lapse of our development choices – for better or worse.

And last, but not least, are what’s happening to our forests. In the buffer zones around Wilpattu National Park, I've watched as patches of forest are slowly nibbled away, replaced by the geometric patterns of agriculture and settlement.

But here's where satellite imagery becomes a powerful tool for accountability. By correlating these changes with land use policies and industrial developments, we can pinpoint potential violations of environmental regulations. 

A Call to Arms

The environmental challenges facing Sri Lanka are complex and intertwined with economic development, political decisions, and cultural practices. To explain them properly, we as journalists also need to do better. We need to explain and explore in ever more visual ways; to show rather than just tell.

Of course, just looking at imagery won’t do. What looks like deforestation from space might have a different explanation on the ground. Rigorous fact-checking and ground-truthing are essential. Satellite imagery of this sort is great for pointing out potential stories; we still have to do the legwork to tell them. Satellite imagery is one potential tool in a toolbox, but one that lets us highlight large, sweeping changes: we need to get in closer. The key to impactful environmental journalism in Sri Lanka lies in connecting the dots: between policy and practice, between economic growth and environmental preservation, and between local actions and global consequences.

We’ve made a small start on these - two broad recaps, titled the Green Death I and II, that explore a few fragments in very broad detail. More needs to be done.

What Kind of Stories Could We Tell?

Our Forests: A Tale of Siege and Slow Death

Sinharaja, our crown jewel of biodiversity, is under siege. Every year, it seems, we hear of roads snaking ever closer to its borders, hotels sprouting like invasive species, and the forest edge slowly receding. It's a story of loopholes in environmental laws, of corruption greasing the wheels of "development," and of a delicate ecosystem buckling under the weight of 30,000 annual visitors.

But Sinharaja isn't alone in its plight. The Kanneliya-Dediyagala-Nakiyadeniya (KDN) Complex and the Knuckles Conservation Forest tell a similar tale of slow degradation. Through time-lapse imagery, I've traced the fragmentation of wildlife habitats as roads cut through once-pristine areas. I've mapped the creep of agricultural lands into forest borders. 

We need to dig deeper here. Who's really benefiting from the exploitation of these forests? How effective are the public-private partnerships claiming to restore these areas? By combining satellite data - maybe even drone imagery - with on-the-ground reporting, we could expose the gap between environmental promises and the harsh reality visible from space.

The Green Revolution's Hidden Costs

Kilinochchi's transformation from 2018 to 2024 is nothing short of remarkable – a testament to human ingenuity and perseverance. But as I've watched verdant agricultural plots replace what was once scrubland, I can't help but wonder: at what cost?

The satellite imagery reveals a complex story of trade-offs. Yes, we see increased food production, but we also see the disappearance of natural vegetation, the alteration of water bodies, and the expansion of human settlements into once-wild areas. Are we trading long-term ecological health for short-term food security?

And what of the people behind this transformation? Satellite imagery can show us the changing landscape, but we need to combine this with human stories. How have the lives of Kilinochchi's farmers changed? Has this agricultural boom translated into better livelihoods, or are we seeing a repeat of age-old patterns of exploitation?

Wetlands in Crisis: The Anawilundawa Warning

The Anawilundawa Wetland crisis is a stark reminder of how human activity can devastate fragile ecosystems. From above, I've watched this RAMSAR site transform from a lush, water-rich landscape to a parched shadow of its former self. The culprit? Year-round farming practices that have disrupted the natural wet-dry cycle.

This is more than just an environmental tragedy – it's a cautionary tale for the whole country. Through careful analysis of satellite imagery, combined with on-the-ground reporting, we could create a powerful multimedia narrative. Imagine time-lapse videos showing the wetland's transformation, alongside interviews with local farmers and environmentalists. We could explore sustainable farming practices that might allow agriculture and wetlands to coexist, offering solutions alongside the stark reality.

Urban Heat Islands: Our Cities' Fever

As our cities grow, they're quite literally heating up. Thermal satellite imagery of Colombo and other urban centers reveals a troubling trend: expanding heat islands where temperatures soar above the surrounding areas. This isn't just about comfort – it's a public health crisis in the making.

We could use this satellite data to create interactive heat maps of our major cities, allowing readers to explore how temperatures have changed over time. In fact, we attempted something similar once in this piece titled the Unwalkable City, where we used both academic studies and our own readings of ground temperatures to show how hot unshaded pavements get (56 Celcius and above!). By overlaying this with data on green space loss and development patterns, we could tell a powerful story about the consequences of unchecked urbanization.

But let's not stop at identifying the problem. We could showcase innovative urban cooling solutions from around the world, challenging our city planners and policymakers to do better. The satellite imagery gives us the diagnosis; now it's time to prescribe the cure.

From Paper to Practice: The Environmental Law Gap

The Sri Lanka visible in legal documents bears little resemblance to the one I see from space. We have environmental protections on paper, but the satellite imagery tells a different story – one of continued deforestation, unchecked development, and ecosystem degradation.

This calls for a deep dive into the gap between law and reality. We need to investigate staffing and resource allocation in key environmental agencies. We should track the journey of environmental impact assessments – how many are waived or ignored? And crucially, we need to examine the role of political influence in environmental decision-making.

Imagine combining satellite imagery showing environmental degradation with a paper trail of ignored regulations and political interference. That's the kind of investigative journalism that could drive real change.

Acknowledgements

This work was created by Watchdog Sri Lanka (Appendix) as a part of the project Building Tools to Strengthen Pluralist, Inclusive and Fact-based Public Discourse, conducted by LIRNEasia. LIRNEasia (www.lirneasia.net) is a pro-poor, pro-market regional digital policy think tank. The project is conducted in partnership with the Strengthening Social Cohesion and Peace in Sri Lanka (SCOPE) programme, co-funded by the European Union and German Federal Foreign Office. SCOPE is implemented by GIZ in partnership with the Ministry of Justice, Prisons Affairs and Constitutional Reforms.