Chagos Archipelago, Indian Ocean Global commitment to ocean conservation

Chagos Archipelago, Maldives, Indian Ocean Global commitment to ocean conservation

As the United Kingdom prepares to transfer control of the Chagos Archipelago to Mauritius, this is not merely a standard legal transition; it represents a global test of conservation integrity. What is at risk is not just 24 square kilometres of contested land but over 640,000 square kilometres of ocean, home to one of the last untouched marine ecosystems on the planet.

The Chagos region is expansive, rich in biodiversity, and has remained largely undisturbed. Since 2010, the UK has implemented a no-take marine protected area (MPA) throughout the region. The results have been evident: thriving reefs, robust predator populations, undisturbed seabeds, and migratory routes free from industrial exploitation. Whether this protection arose from an ecological commitment or political strategy is irrelevant. The ecological result—intentional or not—has been an exceptional success.

Mauritius, the new steward, has vowed to uphold environmental protections. However, verbal commitments don't stop bottom trawlers. They don't deter illegal fleets. And they certainly don't eliminate the economic pressures that accompany newly gained sovereignty: fishing licenses, maritime access deals, phased development. Without continuous oversight, conservation doesn't collapse all at once – it suffers from gradual degradation.

Let's be clear: this isn't just about a few isolated atolls. It's about one of the world's largest marine zones – twice the size of the UK – located on crucial Indo-Pacific shipping routes. It's not only ecologically rich; it's also strategically significant.

Even under UK jurisdiction, enforcement has not been flawless. Trawlers have been found operating illegally in Chagos waters and have frequently avoided prosecution. Selling fishing rights to unscrupulous parties is profitable, and overfishing is hard to prove until the damage is already evident.

If the handover leads to weakened regulations, anticipate an increase in foreign fleets, illegal fishing, and unmonitored ecological damage. By the time the world takes notice, it will be too late.

Currently, all commercial fishing and bottom trawling are prohibited. This singular policy has dramatically allowed the marine ecosystem to recover. Apex predators are flourishing, reefs are abundant with life, and benthic habitats remain untouched. However, if these protections are eased even slightly, decades of ecological resilience could start to unravel.

Bottom trawling, in particular, is devastating: it levels the seafloor, destroys slow-growing coral structures, and displaces entire marine communities. Once permitted, this practice is almost impossible to control.

The ecological importance of Chagos is immense. Its coral reefs, among the healthiest on the planet, support over 220 species of coral and more than 800 species of fish. Green and hawksbill turtles nest on its beaches, while sharks, manta rays, and even blue whales navigate its waters. Overhead, frigate birds and red-footed boobies prevail. On land, Pisonia trees and Scaevola shrubs anchor the soil against wind and waves.

Chagos is not only remote; it serves as a scientific benchmark, one of the last places where researchers can study a coral reef system untouched by human influence.

Nonetheless, this ecological haven is in conflict with a troubling human history. From 1967 to 1973, the Chagossian community was forcibly displaced to make way for the military facilities mentioned earlier. Their descendants have long fought for the right to return. This justice is long overdue, yet without ecological foresight, it could jeopardize the very environment they wish to reclaim. If not managed properly, resettlement could pose significant environmental risks. The push to rebuild often leads to infrastructure, increased energy needs, and altered coastlines.

Development typically outpaces ecological caution. In fragile island ecosystems, the impacts are rarely subtle. Cruise ships, hotel resorts, and expanded runways not only change landscapes but also disrupt entire ecosystems. I find this situation deeply concerning. It highlights a broader issue about the relationship between people and place, and whether a place can be preserved when the politics surrounding it take precedence.

Our natural environments—land, water, and air—must be revered. However, nationalism often manifests as economic ambition, overshadowing national policies aimed at protecting nature. Chagos needs to demonstrate that these objectives are not incompatible. It must integrate conservation with sovereignty.

If it does not succeed, the loss will be both ecological and philosophical.

Then there's the issue of Diego Garcia—the paradox central to the archipelago. The U.S. military base, while adding to environmental stress, has also prevented commercial exploitation through its territorial control. Its presence has inadvertently acted as a barrier against industrial intrusion. However, this barrier comes at a cost: storage of jet fuel, waste disposal, and ongoing infrastructural pressure all pose threats to the surrounding ecosystem. As political agreements evolve, so might the conditions of the U.S. presence. Will environmental protections remain intact? Or will secrecy and strategic priorities take precedence?

Some nations use "dual-use" fishing fleets in disputed waters—ostensibly civilian vessels equipped with military-grade surveillance systems. This underscores a broader conflict: nature reserves are increasingly situated at the crossroads of ecological protection and geopolitical surveillance. Particularly at sea, where tracking species loss and recovery is challenging, protected areas are susceptible to a false sense of security.

Chagos might be the most prominent example. Weak enforcement here is not a mere technicality—it is an open invitation. This area is unsuitable for increased military or commercial activities.

Any future involving a return must be based on community-based governance, indigenous stewardship, and strict ecological planning. Traditional, low-impact fishing could align with conservation goals—but only if resettlement is not merely symbolic or a political prize. It must be accompanied by funding, long-term planning, thorough oversight, and international backing. Otherwise, it risks becoming another instance of land restitution at the cost of ecosystem integrity.

This is what makes Chagos so significant. It's not merely a matter of sovereignty; it's about stewardship. Losing this place means more than just losing a coral sanctuary – it means losing one of the last effective examples of large-scale ocean protection. We would lose the credibility of international marine protected areas and scientific baselines that cannot be replicated elsewhere.

The world is full of cautionary tales. Let's not add Chagos to that list. Let's not exchange a rare ecological victory for symbolic closure. Let's not pretend that marine protections can endure without enforcement, funding, or political determination.

This isn't solely about who owns the islands. It's about who will commit to the permanent defense of one of the world's most pristine marine protected areas, despite the pressures.