Are All Conservation Programs Ethical?

During my master’s program, I came into contact with several conservation projects in Malaysia. My whole life, I’ve been searching for purpose, and I truly thought conservation was where I’d make a difference. I wanted to change the world.

My first real experience was volunteering with a sea turtle conservation program in Malaysia. The professor who led the initiative was well-educated, charming, and incredibly knowledgeable (or so I thought). I was amazed by how passionate he seemed, and I placed him on a pedestal.

At the time, I wasn’t too impressed by what many scientists in Western Europe were doing, a lot of focus on academic research, but very little action or real-world impact. This man, however, looked like he was doing both: research and conservation.

I volunteered at the turtle sanctuary for a week and it was, in many ways, a good experience. I felt like I was contributing to something important. That made me come back the next year as an intern, this time for three months. I was still wearing rose-colored glasses, and I was excited to finally be part of a “proper” conservation effort.

But this is where my dream of making a change started to fall apart.

When Good Intentions Meet Reality

That internship completely crushed the illusion I had of conservation work. I started asking myself: Is the work we’re doing actually ethical, or is it just really good marketing?

What does “ethical” even mean in conservation?

To me, it means:

• Responsible impact on wildlife and ecosystems
• Respect for local communities and inclusion
• Transparency in goals and methods
• Fair treatment of volunteers, interns, and staff

Unfortunately, none of that was really present. Instead, I experienced:

• Greenwashing
• Exploitation of interns and volunteers
• Unscientific practices
• Poor staff welfare

What I thought was going to be a meaningful experience turned out to be a nightmare.

Conservation? Or Just a Show for Visitors?

As the only international intern at the time, the way I was treated already made me feel isolated. I raised concerns about practices that seemed unethical, and I quickly noticed that speaking up meant being treated even worse. Volunteers I managed also brought up similar concerns.

Here are just a few things that stood out:

• Excessive Nest Relocations: Almost all turtle nests were moved, even when it didn’t seem necessary. Most were placed in full sun. This can skew the hatchling gender ratio (since sex is temperature-dependent), potentially impacting populations long-term. When I asked the rangers or interns why we were moving so many nests, most couldn’t give a clear answer.
• Keeping Hatchlings in Trays: Hatchlings were sometimes left in the hatchery for days after digging them up, either because someone forgot or to save them for tourist release activities. By the time they were released, many were lifeless or unresponsive.
•  Tourism Over Education: In some cases, “false nests” were made by burying hatchlings just so tourists could dig them up again, for the photo-op. Hatchlings were sometimes re-excavated multiple times in a morning for different groups. While education is important, these practices distort the natural process and can give the wrong message.

Exploitation Behind the Scenes

Conservation work, at least according to this program, meant staying up all night on patrol, relocating nests, and giving educational talks. That sounds fine in theory, but we were understaffed and overworked. 

As interns, we:

• Managed rotating groups of up to 20 volunteers
• Led night patrols with minimal sleep
• Checked and dug up 50+ nests every morning
• Gave turtle lectures to tour boats, up to 10 a day (up to 100 visitors or more)
• Led hikes and daily activities
• Were responsible for data collection and entry

This meant NO DAYS OFF. No weekends. 24/7 work. On top of this, there was no internet or signal, which meant no support from family or friends.

All of this while often having barely enough food to eat. I lost over 5kg in a month and became so sick I could hardly do anything. I was still doing more than most other interns, yet I was threatened with being fired for “not doing enough.”

No support. No appreciation. No sustainability.

The Problem with Voluntourism

Most conservation programs require volunteers to pay to participate. That’s how they survive, and I understand that. But when profit takes priority over purpose, exploitation creeps in.

The rise of voluntourism, paying to work, has led to:

• Interns and volunteers doing critical work without proper guidance
• Tasks that feel impactful but have little actual conservation value
• Minimal staff support or training
• Burnout, especially among unpaid early-career biologists hoping to get a foot in the door

As a recent graduate, I was expected to work full-time (and then some) without pay, mentorship, or opportunities for growth. I was replaceable, not supported. And sadly, that’s becoming the norm.

How to Evaluate a Conservation Program Before You Join

Don’t let a shiny website or pretty turtle photos fool you. Here’s what to look for:

Ask yourself:

• What’s their mission, and is it backed by science?
• Who runs the program, actual scientists or just marketers?
• Are local communities involved? Are they respected?
• What happens to the data collected? Is it published or used in policy?
• Will you be trained, mentored, and supported, or are you just cheap/free labor?

Do your research:

• Look up reviews on forums and blogs
• Contact past volunteers or interns
• Check for academic or government affiliations
• Ask direct questions about your role, responsibilities, and support systems

Just because something looks meaningful doesn’t mean it is. Be critical.

I was completely fooled by the image this program projected: scientific, impactful, and run by a respected professor who seemed genuinely passionate about conservation. On the surface, it looked like the perfect blend of research and real-world impact. But once I was on the inside, I realised how much of it was smoke and mirrors, carefully crafted marketing that masked unethical practices, poor treatment of interns, and questionable conservation methods.

Why It’s Still Worth It (If You Pick the Right One)

Despite all this… I still believe in conservation.

There are ethical programs out there, ones that treat staff and volunteers with care, use data responsibly, work closely with communities, and truly focus on conservation impact.

When you find those, the work becomes incredibly meaningful. But we need more transparency, reflection, and accountability in this field. And I hope sharing stories like this helps.

Final Thoughts