The sun was about to rise when Aussaree Meenwang, 45, and his wife threw the first drift net into the sea near Khao Yai island off the Satun coast.
No net profit: Aussaree Meenwang drags his shrimp net out of the water in Satun. Many small-scale fishermen like Mr Aussaree now struggle to catch enough to make a living.
He moved his boat further ahead. Orange flags protruded from the buoys which trailed behind, bobbing up and down freely in the water to mark the net’s whereabouts.
Mr Aussaree cut the engine of his longtail boat, waiting patiently for the right time to drag in his net.
His wife, meanwhile, was lighting a portable stove to boil a pot of water. It’s coffee time.
“I would rather be on the sea than in the city,” Mr Aussaree said, sipping coffee from a paper cup and gazing out at the horizon. “The sea gives me comfort.”
After a while, other local fishermen pulled their boats up nearby, cut their engines and cast their nets. They chat freely and pass snacks between each other’s vessels.
This could be another good day, one of the men predicts — they’ve caught more than 50kg of banana prawns each day throughout the week.
But today was not to be.
Mr Aussaree returned to the spot where his buoys were floating and dragged the net up onto the deck of his boat. Only a few prawns were found struggling in it.
He cast his net out four more times. But each time he pulled it in, the result was the same.
“The sea bank is closed today, so only a few prawns have been withdrawn,” said Mr Aussaree, laughing. “You can take only what the sea gives.”
He returned to shore, still and calm despite the eight hours of profitless work.
But Mr Aussaree’s calmness belies a deepening revolt among small-scale fishermen, who after decades of commercial overfishing have been left struggling to support themselves and feed their communities.
ECONOMIES OF SCALE
In the past 20 years, the volume of Thailand’s marine catch has halved, while national fish consumption has doubled, according to a Department of Fishery report released in September this year but based on 2013 figures. The increased demand has meant that the annual catch, while 50% smaller in volume, has doubled in value over that same time period.
The statistic mirrors a global trend that is fuelling overfishing and driving many marine species to the point of extinction. As ocean resources decline, half of the world’s demand for seafood has now shifted to aquaculture.
In 2013, Thailand’s marine fisheries sector generated more than 56 billion baht from the 1.6 million tonnes of seafood products pulled from the ocean. About 80% of the annual catch came from commercial fishing vessels, many of which used destructive fishing practices such as bottom trawling, push nets, purse seine nets and electro-fishing.
Commercial fishermen — who comprise only 10% of the 56,859 households in Thailand who list fishing as their primary occupation — have been hailed as a main national economic driver, with their catch also providing an input for the industrial sector to produce processed food and animal food.
Yet the skills of small-scale “folk” fishermen — the other 90% of the seafaring population — remain undervalued in society, which generally views them as “poor” and unworthy of support.
“Small-scale fishermen play an important role in supplying fresh seafood to domestic and some premium markets like hotels kitchens and restaurants,” said Wichoksak Ronnarongpairee, a manager of the Federation of Thai Fisher Folk Association (FTFFA).
“Their fishing methods preserve the quality of fish and sustain the ocean.”
The gear employed by small-scale fishermen has been in use for generations, and is designed to catch only mature animals of a specific species. This differs wildly from commercial fishing gear, which aims to catch the largest possible volume of fish without discrimination.
Folk fishing gear, in essence, limits humans’ ability to over-exploit the ocean. Prawn drift nets, for example, can be used only when the ocean currents flow during a specific season, and the large mesh size means only mature prawns are caught. Crab nets are designed so that only crabs of a certain size will be trapped. This allows juvenile animals to survive so they can grow up to breed and replenish the stock that has been removed. But despite plying their trade for generations, folk fishermen are being pushed to the fringes as their livelihood comes under threat from chronic illegal, unreported and unregulated (IUU) fishing.
SUNKEN TREASURE
The first fishing trawler was introduced to Thailand in 1949, helping to propel the country’s seafood industry to one of the most valuable in the world.
Small haul: A fisherman holds some of the cuttlefish he caught off Thepha district in Songkhla.
The opening of international markets in the latter half of the 20th century facilitated the spread of destructive fishing gear. Lax enforcement of environmental laws meant this gear has often been used in restricted conservation zones, limiting the ability of fish populations to replenish themselves.
Much of the seafood produce delivered to markets in Thailand and abroad has always come from unknown origins. But there has been little incentive to investigate, as the industry is considered valuable for national economic growth.
In 1980, however, pressured by declining fish stocks, the Ministry of Agriculture and Cooperatives announced it would stop issuing new licences to trawlers and push-net vessels.
But the numbers kept growing. Various governments on at least three occasions granted amnesties to illegal fishing vessel operators, apparently fearful of the economic consequences of strict regulation. “I believe if the government solves the overfishing problem without prioritising fast economic returns, the ocean will give us more than enough to eat,” said Kampon Thinthalay, 50, a fisherman in Satun.
FIGHTING BACK
As their catches started to dwindle in the face of commercial overfishing, small-scale fishermen began a quiet revolt in the early 1990s, forming networks in the southern provinces which would eventually lead to the establishment of the FTFFA in 2010. The association has since initiated its own marine restoration projects, such as the construction of artificial fish habitats and the restoration of coral and mangrove forests.
A “crab bank” project was piloted in several fishing communities, based on an agreement among locals that any fishermen who caught pregnant crabs would deliver them to a local nursery centre. After the eggs hatch, both the mother and the newly hatched young are released back into the sea.
The group has also taken on the role of sea guardians, by chasing out illegal fishing vessels from Thai waters. The boats rarely leave willingly.
Few details are publicised about the battles at sea. Small fishing boats take on large trawlers. Guns are often involved. The dead go unreported; some of them were friends of Mr Wichoksak.
A sense of anger is obvious as Mr Wichoksak recalls the names of his dead friends: Ben Meuntongvaree, Usan Mingpijarn and Churin Ratchapon.
The most recent of those murders was in 2001, when Churin was gunned down after his activism placed him in conflict with shrimp farm operators who had encroached on mangrove forest in Phuket. His killer was eventually caught, though the murders of Ben, in 1985, and Usan, in 1996, were never solved.
Mr Wichoksak said such violence is rare today; small-scale fishermen are now better connected and better educated, meaning they choose to fight with documents instead of guns.
CUTTING THE MIDDLEMAN
Jirasak Meerit, 41, a small-scale fisherman in Prachuap Khiri Khan’s Khan Kadai Bay, has found himself unwittingly thrust into a new era. He says it’s now impossible to talk about ocean conservation without a discussion of economics.
“I used to catch fish just to make enough for day-by-day living. I didn’t care if I received a low price [from middlemen],” he said.
“I couldn’t control the market price, so I caught more and more to boost my income.”
Faced with meagre volumes of fish at home, Mr Jirasak resettled in another fishing community. A short time later though, he was kicked out; that community was also experiencing problems of declining stock, and newcomers were only making matters worse.
Mr Jirasak returned home and joined the emerging marine conservation movement. He and others were intent on encouraging the use of environmentally friendly fishing methods — catching only mature animals and using non-destructive fishing gear.
Mr Jirasak found later, after adopting the habits that conservationists were promoting, that his catches and income became more stable. He says he can now earn 100,000 baht in a month, during which time he only spends 15 days on the water.
Supported by the FTFFA and the Thai Sea Watch Association, a network of fishermen including Mr Jirasak have developed a social enterprise model which led to the launch of the Fisherfolk shop last year.
The shop creates channels for small-scale fishermen, who are also the shop’s shareholders, to directly reach consumers using an online platform and alternative shopfronts such as the organic supermarket Lemon Farm. The focus is on organic, wild-caught seafood products rather than aquaculture.
Fisherfolk targets consumers in premium markets, meaning small-scale fishermen are able to sell their products to the shop at prices 20% higher than what regular middlemen can offer. But with the higher cost comes quality: consumers are assured that the products have been caught using non-destructive fishing methods, are fresh and free of preservatives and that the fishermen have received a fair price.
“We’ve [previously] seen our catches being preserved using chemicals when we delivered them to local fish dealers. I don’t want to blame the dealers; it’s market demand that pushes them to do that,” said Sompong Pannoi, 41, a Prachuap Khiri Khan fisherman who now contributes his catch to Fisherfolk.
MERCHANTS OF MENACE
Fishermen generally deliver their catch to local dealers, who will then sell them to merchants in central fish markets like in Samut Sakhon’s Mahachai district.
Large volumes of fish are preferred in the market, as it gives merchants more bargaining power. Many of the merchants require large volumes of seafood products out of season, like banana prawns, which can only be caught in the monsoon season from November to January but are often stocked year-round.
To get such large volumes of fresh-looking products, some local fish dealers have to store catches for extended periods. Chemical preservatives are inevitably used.
Fisherfolk, on the other hand, purchase only small volumes of fish directly from the fishermen. The small-scale fishermen usually set sail and return to shore with their catch on the same day, differing from commercial trawlers which spend days at sea before returning. It means the seafood’s journey from the sea to consumers is cut down, placing a premium on freshness and quality rather than low prices.
“We want to prove that folk fishermen have the potential to meet market demand with safe and fair products,” said Saowalak Prathumthong, the manager of Fisherfolk.
“Destructive fishing has built up the nation’s economy. Small-scale fishermen can do that too, but in a sustainable way.”
Between June 2014 and May this year, Fisherfolk purchased about seven tonnes of fish from small-scale operators in Prachuap Khiri Khan and Nakhon Si Thammarat provinces.
It meant about 300,000 baht in profits returned to fishermen and local sea restoration projects. “Folk fishermen have worked on conservation and state policy issues for decades. The world has changed and economics is the main driver,” said Ms Saowalak. “So we have to adapt too. We can feed people in new ways.”
Fisherfolk is planning to find new suppliers in Satun and Songkhla soon.
RAISING THE STANDARD
The coming year will mark another major step for folk fishermen, as they prepare to launch Blue Brand — an industry standard to guarantee clean, green and fair seafood products.
Developed by local fishermen and the FTFFA, with support from the TSWA and Oxfam over the past five years, the new standard will create a mark of quality for folk fishery products. Small-scale fishermen who request the guarantee will be evaluated by the FTFFA to determine whether they meet the necessary criteria.
“We hope the Blue Brand will be a tool that helps small-scale fishermen grow their share in the market,” said Ms Saowalak.
It also coincides with measures by the government to curb the IUU fishing this year, under the threat of sanctions by the European Union. Across the country, illegal fishing vessels — such as unregistered boats and boats with illegal fishing gear — have been confined to port since July.
The move was prompted by the EU issuing a yellow card warning to Thailand in April for its slow progress in eliminating rampant illegal fishing operations.
Only two months after the illegal vessels were confined to shore, local fishermen in Krabi province reported the return of a fish species called lu-tan, which they had not seen in the ocean for many years.
Fishermen in Satun reported catching more than 200kg of mackerel in a single night near the shore, a haul that had been made impossible since the arrival of unregistered electro-fishing vessels which use enormous arrays of bright LED lights to attract marine animals to the surface.
“For many years, we had to sail further offshore to find fish. Now marine life is starting to return,” said Satun fisherman Mhad Meenwang, 70.
“This proves the sea has the capacity to recover if we just give her a chance.”
SEA CHANGE
The threats to the folk fishery sector, however, come from more than just overfishing. The undervaluation of their skills by both the government and public also poses significant challenges.
State officials define folk fishing as “coastal fishing within three miles [5km] of the shore”, meaning their fishing zones are restricted by rigid laws which fail to take into account their non-destructive fishing methods.
As the military government attempts to revive the sluggish economy, major infrastructure projects like coal-fired power plants and deep sea ports are pushing forward areas which have long been the domain of small-scale fishermen, such as the coastal regions of Krabi, Songkhla, Chumphon and Satun.
Meanwhile, climate change is being blamed for fluctuations in seasonal weather and more extreme monsoons over the past five years, which has meant local fishermen haven’t been able to apply their traditional knowledge of reading weather and currents.
Fishermen say their trade is one that must be passed down through generations, yet young people are increasingly turning their backs on manual labour in favour of higher-paying urban jobs.
“I’ve taught my son folk fishing skills. It’s not something that he can get from school,” said Torhad Klongyaun, 40, from Krabi. “But it depends on what he decides to do with his life. I want him to at least love the sea like I do.”
Both Mr Torhad and his son, who is now in the sixth grade, are now contributing fresh crabs and cuttlefish to local markets.
SIMPLE PLEASURES
Three days after Mr Aussaree’s lacklustre shrimp haul, the ocean bank opens again. He catches enough crevalle jack to earn him 2,000 baht from a local middleman.
In a few months’ time, Mr Aussaree will start selling to Fisherfolk. He admits he will need to adapt himself and learn about markets and consumers. But he will still be able to catch as much as the sea provides while sipping coffee aboard his boat.
“Rich men have lots of money, live in air-conditioned rooms. Would they know the joy of eating and drinking coffee like this under the sunlight?” he asked.
So long as fishermen like Mr Aussaree can remain happy, so too will consumers and, just as importantly, the fish that feed them.
Moored: Many commercial fishing boats have stopped operating since July, when the government announced a crackdown on illegal practices.
Small fry: Villagers in the fishing community in Baan Suan Kong in Songkhla’s Chana district grill fresh seafood they caught for their picnic by the beach.
Folk fleet: Colourful fibreglass fishing boats used by fishermen in Songkhla’s Chana district.
Clutching at claws: A local woman catching shrimps by hand in the shallow waters of the Tuyong canal in Songkhla’s Thepha district.
High and dry: A woman in a fishing community in Satun’s Pak Bara bay area dries fish in her front yard.
Folk tales: A group of fishermen in Satun chat and share snacks while waiting to pull their nets.