WORLD Mangrove Day is commemorated on July 26, 2025.
There’s a pull I can’t quite explain – Sabah’s mangroves always tug at my soul.
Maybe it began during my university days, immersed in botany, marvelling at how these tangled ecosystems thrive between land and sea. Or perhaps it’s how they breathe – where saltwater meets soil to form a sacred, living tapestry.
That connection never faded. Not through career shifts or even during my time in Sabah.
Amid the rhythms of plantation life, I found solace at the muddy margins, watching nature’s quiet resilience unfold one tide at a time.
Sugut lies along Sabah’s northeast coast, where meandering rivers meet coastal forest. More than a workplace, it became a retreat. I remember cruising down the Bongaya River.
Year after year, we planted saplings – ankle-deep in mud, elbow-deep in laughter. No fanfare. Just sweat, sunburn and purpose. Yes, mortality was high. But we replanted and learned.
Nature whispers, but it speaks volumes – if we’re willing to listen.
Yes, I’m a plantation guy talking about mangrove conservation. And honestly, proud of it. Because this isn’t about choosing between trees and economy.
It’s about managing both with foresight, hard work and continuous improvement.
Some lands are gazetted for agriculture, others for protection. That’s not ideology – it’s reality.
But they don’t have to clash. With planning, political will and partnerships these land uses can complement each other. We must keep striving, relentlessly, not resignedly.
We must move past the false choice of economy versus environment.
With science, sincerity and long-term commitment, we must strike a balance between cultivating prosperity and conserving nature.
It’s no longer a luxury, it’s a necessity. If we care about food security, biodiversity and climate resilience, we must do both. Protect where we must. Cultivate where we can. And act responsibly.
And within plantations lies an untapped force: a vast, grounded workforce – boots on the ground, hands in the earth. They know the land. They can be partners, not bystanders, in conservation.
Want more trees in the ground? We need more hands in the mud. That’s not philosophy – it’s logistics. With in-situ nurseries, partnerships and surrounding community involvement, we don’t just raise seedlings - we raise awareness and shared responsibility.
Stewardship, I’ve learned, lives in the space in between. Between oil palm and estuary. Between profit and preservation. Between what we extract – and what we must give back.
Mangrove superstars
Step into a Sabah mangrove and you’re not entering a swamp – you’re entering a vibrant, muddy metropolis. Claws, fins, wings - drama everywhere.
The mudskipper is front and centre – half fish, half frog, all attitude. Leaping across mudflats and breathing through skin, it’s evolution’s little prankster.
The crab crew brings flair. Mud crabs – hulking and delicious. Fiddler crabs? Waving oversized claws like they’re hailing a Grab. Hermit crabs? Always house-hunting.
In the waters, tiger prawns filter plankton like underwater vacuums. The red snapper – important and delicious.
At night, fireflies blink in harmony. By day, butterflies sparkle, mosquitoes buzz relentlessly, and monitor lizards sneak by like ancient paparazzi.
Above, egrets and hornbills rule the branches. And let’s not forget the crocodile – all teeth, no small talk. Best admired from a safe distance.
Among mammals, the pot-bellied, big-nosed proboscis monkey reigns. Silver leaf monkeys glide through treetops like Zen masters. Come dusk, giant fruit bats take flight, and bearded pigs root through the mud in search of snacks or treasure.
Why does this wild cast matter? Because mangroves aren’t just muddy – they’re magnificent. They protect coasts, trap carbon, breed marine life, and clean the very air we breathe. But they’re disappearing.
In Kota Kinabalu, once lined with mangroves, only fragments remain. The KK Wetland Ramsar Site stands as one of the city’s last green lungs. Let’s keep it breathing.
A tug-of-war no one wins
There’s a darker reality. Tugboats barge in, hauling catches of all sizes. Mangroves are felled – for firewood, tannin, or greed.
Enforcement is stretched thin. Fisherfolk claim livelihoods; conservationists demand protection. Caught in the middle? The environment. Too often, plantations are blamed for every misstep. But here’s the truth: if someone breaks the law, hold them accountable – firmly. No excuses.
Let’s not fall into the trap of sweeping generalisations.
Many plantation companies are doing the right thing – or trying. Raise the floor and raise the bar.
I choose to believe in the sincerity of owners, planters, agronomists and managers who restore degraded parcels of land and protect conservation zones.
They deserve affirmation, not suspicion. Support, not sidelining. With training and trust, they can become vital partners in preservation.
We need more than outrage. We need clear, fair laws. Land-use clarity. Buffer zone frameworks. Incentives for the responsible. Map high conservation value areas. Replant. Monitor. Improve. Every sapling counts.
Above all, we need trust. Government, industry, NGOs, researchers and communities must stop working in silos. Real solutions come not from shouting across fences, but from building shared tables.
Mangroves are among the most undervalued ecosystems on Earth. Climate regulators. Fish hatcheries. Carbon sinks. Flood barriers.
Each hectare delivers an estimated US$88,000 annually in risk reduction.
That’s nature doing the work of sea walls, filters, carbon offsets and hatcheries – for free.
They store four times more carbon than rainforests – locking it away for centuries. While we chase carbon credits, mangroves have quietly mastered capture since forever. They reduce wave heights by up to 70%, shield coastlines, and protect vulnerable communities – no concrete, no corruption.
And seafood? Up to 80% of commercial fish spend part of their life cycle in mangroves. Remove them, and we unplug the fish factory.
Globally, over 120 million people rely on mangroves for food, income and protection. These aren’t just stats – they’re families and coastal cultures.
Yet, mangroves are disappearing three times faster than other forests. Already, 35% are gone. The cost? More floods, fewer fish, and rising carbon.
We don’t need to reinvent the wheel. Nature already built it. Mangroves are efficient, renewable, and proven. All they ask is to be left standing – and helped to grow.
Sabah is Malaysia’s final mangrove stronghold – home to over 60% of what remains. The Sabah Mangrove Action Plan is commendable. Let’s ensure it doesn’t collect dust.
Here’s a bold yet practical idea: take a small slice of the RM1.4 billion State Sales Tax (2024) collected from oil palm growers, and reinvest it in mangrove protection and other measurable conservation efforts.
Call it tax revenue, re-rooted. It’s about reinvesting what’s already there. It’s strategic.
It would position Sabah as a leader in environmental stewardship with contributions from oil palm growers, showing that preservation and prosperity can grow from the same soil – if we choose to plant wisely.
Let’s move past greenwashing. What we need now is real mud-washing. Hands in the soil. Action rooted in reality.
So here’s to the mangroves – to their tangled roots and tidal rhythms. To the crabs, crocodiles and the people who get muddy to protect them. To a state that can turns tax into trees and revenue into roots.
May the mangroves thrive. And may we be wise enough to let them.
Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
