water separating the Baja peninsula from mainland Mexico, where
thousands of laborers deliver fish from the ocean to cities.
In Celso’s day, he was one of only a few men selling catches
directly to consumers on the docks, but today, a generation of
artisanal workers often find themselves tangled at the bottom of
a vast global supply chain. Ninety percent of the world’s 35 mil-
lion fishermen operate on a small scale—with millions in remote,
rural areas—yet they produce more than half of the global catch
and a similar share of what hits their countries’ export markets.
Many live hand to mouth, dependent on a string of middlemen
to keep 91 million tons of perishable wild-caught fish cold, pro-
cessed, and distributed to restaurants, hotels, and supermarkets.
On many remote docks, a single buyer sets the price, or a few
collude to keep fishermen from demanding higher rates. And all
the shuffling between parties from there onward provides ample
opportunity for misconduct. Catches that are illegal, unreported,
or unregulated (known in the trade as IUU) account for one of
every five fish reeled in, injecting $23.5 billion worth of effectively
stolen seafood into the market, according to Global Fishing Watch,
an international nonprofit that uses satellites, infrared, and radar
imagery to detect IUU. Such losses jeopardize food security for
over 3 billion people and the livelihoods of small-scale fishermen.
To maintain incomes, they do whatever they can to catch
more. In Guaymas, a majority use gill nets, which trap swim-
mers by the gills in webbing—to devastating consequence. A
2016 assessment of 121 Gulf of California fisheries stocks by re-
searchers at several entities, including the National Center for
Ecological Analysis and Synthesis, estimates that 69 percent
have collapsed and another 11 percent are overexploited. Such
indiscriminate methods also lead to losses of other species,
notably the critically endangered vaquita, the world’s smallest
porpoise. There may be no more than 10 of them left.
That’s in normal times. When COVID-19 shut down
most of the world in March 2020, it unleashed an
economic tsunami on the $150 billion global seafood
market. The shuttering of restaurants, where nearly
70 percent of catches ended up before the pandemic,
dried up demand for high-end chef favorites such as
lobster, abalone, and squid—as well as everyday fare
like Guaymas’ yellowtail and grouper.
The global movement of fresh fish—the most
traded food commodity in the world—has been
sputtering ever since. The coronavirus is an “un-
paralleled” disruption, says Paul Doremus, deputy
assistant administrator for operations at National
Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Fisher-
ies, the US agency tasked with monitoring marine
resources. “It is so comprehensive in scale and scope
and so long in duration that it is going to have pro-
found effects on seafood supply chains globally, in
ways we don’t entirely understand yet.” The inter-
ruption has undoubtedly complicated efforts to meet
the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goal
to end overfishing, illegal catches, and destructive
practices by the end of 2020.
Amid the chaos, though, many see an opportunity to
reshape seafood sales in ways that bolster adoption of
more sustainable methods and create a more equita-
ble future for fishermen like those in Coronado’s co-op.
That starts with helping the little guys benefit from
supplying the best of their goods to a growing market
of home cooks and eco-conscious retailers. The secret
weapon is transparency: the ability for the end con-
sumer, and industry monitors, to verify the how, where,
and by whom of each snapper, salmon, or shrimp.
Over the past few years, nonprofits, government
agencies, and industry collectives have begun steady
development of projects to rebuild depleted fish
stocks, often by enlisting locals in managing catches.
In addition, efforts are underway to test and adopt
traceability technologies such as RFID chips, QR
tags, and blockchain coding to carry information
about a specific fish from hook to cook.
The fact that Coronado’s cooperative had always
caught by ethical means attracted SmartFish, a La
Paz, Mexico, company focused on championing sus-
tainable fishing in the region. The organization’s
nonprofit arm helps workers transition to eco-friendlyPOPSCI.COM / WINTER 2020 111LEFT: A fisherman drops
anchor at the first stop
in a long night. BELOW: A
seafood market, or pes-
caderia, in a small town
outside the major fishing
port of Guaymas, Mexico.
LANDING A LIFELINE