WHEN a video of a tiger spotted by the roadside in Pahang was shared in a social media group for conservationists, some members immediately suspected that the footage had been generated using artificial intelligence (AI).
But the tiger turned out to be real.
For wildlife conservationist Dr Lim Teck Wyn, the incident illustrates his growing concern over the proliferation of AI-generated wildlife images and videos: that even genuine sightings could increasingly be dismissed as fake.
Lim, who was among those who saw the video circulating in the group, says the immediate reaction from some conservationists was to question its authenticity.
“It turned out to be real, and you can see this is a genuine case of a real video being dismissed as AI,” he says.
He warns that as fabricated wildlife sightings become more convincing and widespread, the resulting scepticism could have serious consequences for conservation efforts and public safety.
“It’s almost literally crying wolf,” he says, explaining that wildlife authorities could struggle to distinguish genuine reports from fake ones.
If overwhelmed by false sightings, he fears that authorities might eventually become less responsive to legitimate reports of dangerous animals.
This could be particularly concerning for rural communities living near forests, where encounters with wild animals such as tigers are a genuine possibility.
Lim says residents in these areas need reassurance that authorities would respond promptly to reports of potentially dangerous wildlife.
“If a lot of videos are coming out with fake tiger reports, then authorities won’t act when there’s a real tiger,” he cautions.
The greater risk, he believes, is not unnecessary intervention by wildlife authorities but their failure to respond to genuine incidents after being inundated with misleading reports.
Beyond public safety, Lim says the growing difficulty in distinguishing authentic wildlife footage from AI-generated content could also weaken public appreciation for Malaysia’s natural heritage.
He recalls how wildlife photographs were once relatively rare because animals were difficult to observe in Malaysia’s dense rainforests.
“I was so delighted when the camera trap tracking technology and smartphone technology meant that more and more sightings were reaching the public.
“It kind of mobilised the public to start caring about wildlife because many of them didn’t realise we still had tigers and elephants in Malaysia,” says Lim.
He points to footage of a mother elephant remaining beside her calf after it was struck by a lorry as an example.
That video was widely circulated and prompted widespread public concern and calls for better wildlife crossings to protect animals from road accidents.
Lim fears that if people increasingly dismiss genuine footage as AI-generated, similar incidents might no longer generate the public response needed to spur conservation action.
“If no one can trust any of these videos anymore or they ignore them, then the government won’t be so much motivated to take conservation action,” he says.
He also raises concerns that the ready availability of spectacular but AI-generated wildlife imagery could diminish people’s appreciation for real animals and their habitats.
“When amazing sights are available at the touch of a button, then the risk is that we will be less motivated to actually go out and try and find something real.
“Then you end up living in a fantasy world without appreciating the amazing beauty of what we have in reality,” he says.
However, Lim acknowledges that AI technology could also benefit conservation, particularly through applications that help users identify plants and animals.
He encourages Malaysians to take advantage of these tools to explore the natural world for themselves rather than relying solely on images and videos circulating online.
For Lim, the challenge is ensuring that technological advances do not diminish the value of genuine encounters with wildlife.
“There’s a risk that the fantasy will kind of devalue the reality,” he says.
