These Baloch fishermen don’t want fast food

The people living along Balochistan’s beaches have always fought to defend the sea that feeds them. For years, fishermen from Gwadar to Lasbela accused large trawlers from Sindh of sweeping up everything in their path when they entered Balochistan’s twelve-nautical-mile waters. Their prohibited wire nets or “gujja” trapped juvenile fish, breeding stock and species with scant commercial value, leaving little behind. This fight defined the Haq Do Tehreek movement that united thousands around a single demand: save the sea before it is emptied.

Today, that friction has turned inwards over a fish that barely fits in your palm and is banned from fishing: the Beechum (or Paseli). Scientists call it the Fringescale Sardine because it rarely grows beyond 11cm and spends its life moving in dense schools. “We never used to catch it,” says 65-year-old Ghulam Muhammad who spent his life in the waters off Ormara. “The bigger fish follow these schools of Beechum and those are the ones we actually wanted,” he says. “If we wipe out Beechum, one day we will lose the larger fish too.“ This understanding shaped the trade along the Makran coast long before governments spoke of marine conservation. “Earn your livelihood from the sea but don’t set fire to the fishermen’s fields,” as Gwadar activist Javed Hayat puts it.

Time and money

High-powered speedboats, known locally as “kayak” changed the game so the younger lot don’t want to spend days searching for tuna and king mackerel. A fishing trip used to demand patience because the Yak-dar or heavy wooden boats were slow, but could remain at sea for days, carrying enough food, water and fuel. Crews waited for the fish they wanted rather than chasing whatever could be sold quickest.

Unlike the old wooden boats that took nearly a day to reach distant fishing grounds, these speedboats can make the same journey in less than three hours so a crew can now return the same day and head back out again the next morning. Their numbers have rapidly grown, say local activists, because the cross-border diesel trade with Iran has made it possible for rich newcomers to enter the fishing business.

As catch declined, fishermen grew impoverished. Today many of them don’t even own their nets but have to borrow gear, fuel and equipment from seafood processors or factory owners under agreements that require them to sell their catch back to them. Now that market forces control the decision-making, these businesses are happy to pay for a fish that was once left in the sea. Demand from China and Malaysia for the sardines has gone up and the men are just following the market, explains Nagman Baloch, the general secretary of the Seafood Association.

So now, from Sindh to Sonmiani the waters have been depleted by persistently hoovering up one of the last links in the food chain. Balochistan’s coastline stretches more than 730 kilometres, and fisheries support the livelihoods of over seventy percent of the province’s coastal population. Yet official assessments conclude that almost all conventional marine resources within the province’s jurisdiction are now either fully exploited or overexploited. Some of the most valuable commercial species, including snappers, groupers, croakers and shrimp have declined to critical levels. The intensive harvesting of juvenile fish and small pelagic species is preventing stocks from recovering.

Law and order

Pressure is being exerted on the government and Fisheries Department by both sides for and against the ban. It would be counterintuitive to lift it as that would destroy the very ecosystem the fishermen once fought to protect. But times are tight and many men argue they just can’t afford to leave Beechum in the sea.
Some of the resentment and anger comes from the unequal application of the ban. “If it is banned, then ban it across the entire Balochistan coast,” says Younis Anwar of the Gwadar Fishermen’s Alliance (Gwadar Mahigeer Ittehad). “Why should it only be enforced in Gwadar tehsil?” No one is against ecological conservation but that is a conversation that applies to everyone. “If the whole coast is covered by the ban, we will support it,” he says. “But everyone should be treated the same.”

That said, policing the waters is, to him, a waste of time. The government would do better to create artificial reefs as breeding grounds and push for the use of marine-friendly nets. “If the fish increase,” he says, “people won’t have to depend on Beechum.”

Slip right through

The growing dependence on catching the small fish has made the men fight over even the size of the mesh in a net. Government officials explain it in inches.

Fishermen explain it in “chamag”. Younis Anwar stretches out his arm. From the tip of his middle finger to his elbow, he traces an imaginary line. “This is how we measure our nets,” he says. If sixteen mesh openings fit between those two points, they call it a “16-chammag” net. It is 2.5 inches of mesh officially. “This lets the small fish escape,” Younis explains. “Only the fish that have grown large enough remain in the net.”

As catch declined the demand for small fish increased, and the mesh kept shrinking. Sardines and prawns need a 28-chammag which won’t let anything slip through.

The fisheries law prescribes minimum mesh size that broadly corresponds to the 16-chammag net. Ahmed Nadeem of the Fisheries Department says they eventually stepped in after objections over the widespread use of Number 28 nets. Following a series of meetings at the Deputy Commissioner’s office involving fishermen, local officials and the Fisheries Department, the authorities prohibited the 28-chammag nets. The negotiations ended with a compromise, fishermen agreed to replace them with 25-chammag nets. But even the 25-chammags are still finer than what the law technically permits.

Activist K. B. Firaq sees the Beechum debate as the latest chapter in a long-running story. Several species had thinned out long before fishermen began arguing over sardines. His surest proof is that younger fishermen no longer recognize their names. Most fishermen, he says, are no longer deciding what they want to catch. They are catching what the market is willing to buy. The tragedy, in his view, is that everyone earns something today while the sea absorbs the cost.

All photos by author

This report has been produced as part of the Dawn-ICRC Media Clinic