Studer fair-fish

Because You Shouldn't Tickle Fishes
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-3-906304-84-7
Verlag: Rüffer & Rub
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 8, 168 Seiten

Reihe: rüffer&rub visionär

Billo Heinzpeter Studer has been a devotee of fish for over 20 years: ‘Fish have always fascinated me, while I also feel sympathy for them. Because they are rather neglected, and only attract our attention in mass groups – but fishes are not vegetables!’
Fishes are stranger to us than other (working) animals, and we have very limited knowledge about them and their needs. What defines a good life for a fish? Most of us have no idea. Billo Heinzpeter Studer is on a mission to change this. He explains why fish are close to his heart, describing his aim to protect them as well as the practical projects, strategies and solutions to realize his vision.
One such a project leads to Senegal. He goes fishing with local fishermen to observe what happens at sea. He discusses a more humane and sustainable method of fishery for the fishes. The fishermen not least would reap the reward, by asking fairer prices for fair trade fish. This could safeguard their long-term livelihoods. ‘C’est intéressant, ça,’ they tell Billo Heinzpeter Studer who is on board with the fishermen and on their side.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Studer, Billo Heinzpeter

Weitere Mitwirkende

Kirkbright, Suzanne

Inhaltsverzeichnis

So Fishes Suffer Less and Fewer Fishermen Have to Emigrate
Back to the Beginning: From Hens to Fishes
Fair Fishes from Swiss Lakes
Excursus 1 – fair-fish Guidelines 2000 for Fish Farming
Excursus 2 – fair-fish Guidelines 2000 for Fish Capture
Excursus 3 – Interlude with Ornamental Fish?
Fair Fishes from Africa
Excursus 4 – fair-fish on Senegal’s Fishery Policy
Excursus 5 – A Ship Cargo of Tinned Fish – Why Not?
Excursus 6 – Why No Fair Fishery in Europe?
Excursus 7 – Campaigns Instead of Projects
Back to Aquaculture: When Are Fishes Happy and Healthy?
Excursus 8 – Do fish experience pain?
Excursus 9 – How fair-fish almost had a model fish farm
Handover to the Next Generation
Which Fish Can I Still Eat?

Leseproben

So Fishes Suffer Less and Fewer Fishermen Have to Emigrate
European perch [Perca fluviatilis]
Short profile: fishethobase.net/db/35 Kayar, one of Senegal’s major fishing ports, at 5 am in mid-January 2005. An old fisherman, the leader of the handliners [], meets me in the pitch dark in Medina. Untypically for Africans, he arrives half an hour earlier than yesterday’s arranged time. Hastily, he flip-flops across the sand between the tightly parked pirogues [], glancing back at me repeatedly and urging me to hurry along. On arrival at the beach, he tells one of the assembled figures waiting by a boat to bring out his oilskins. I am supposed to take his place and slip into the clammy gear, grab hold of the side of the boat, then heave-ho, until the pirogue is pushed down the beach and afloat, and quickly jump aboard and off we go. Captain Banda Diouf, who is right behind me, switches on the engine for a top-speed chase in the pirogue, which is as narrow as a dugout canoe, out onto the open sea. It is blackest night as the bright lights of Kayar’s large fishing port disappear. So, who am I crouching next to, here in the same boat? Clinging onto both sides with my hands, I wedge my feet against the rib; I concentrate entirely on the constant shifting of my weight to counter-balance the fierce crashing of the waves, which rock the boat up and down and back and forth, threatening to capsize the craft, or so I fear. Hold tight, no sliding around! What is the lunatic doing ahead of me? Standing upright … he takes a pee, in all honesty, calmly and without falling overboard. I count my blessings that I had no time for breakfast; I don’t even know if my stomach is seaworthy. It’s daybreak; behind me the captain slows down the engine, looking for the perfect spot above a reef, then one of his crew at the bow drops anchor. We sit here in the heavy swell; the boat is still rocking. I stay wedged in, looking at the three youths as they cast their handlines, guiding and adjusting them through their fingers taped with plasters, and constantly pulling them in to replace the bait on the hooks, pieces of yesterday’s fish. A fish rarely bites. ‘Marée haute’, says Banda, who is sitting opposite me, shrugging his shoulders, as though he would like to apologize from the outset: fishing is no good at high tide. It’s true, the other two fishermen don’t see much activity either. Only Banda is lucky today; now and again, a fish wriggles on his line with eight hooks. ‘Tu veux essayer?’, you wanna try?, he asks me, holding out his line towards me. I wave it aside. ‘Just tell me exactly how you do it.’ He lets the line glide over his finger, waiting, waiting, and pulls sharply. ‘You see?’ he says, articulating with his fingers more than with his voice. ‘With some fish, you have to let the line go when they bite, whereas with others you have to pull instantly, so they get caught.’ ‘And how do you know what kind of fish you’ve hooked?’ He shrugs his shoulders dismissively, as if to say: ‘It’s obvious, man, I’ve been doing nothing else since I was a child!’ They have been returning daily to the same places for generations; they know every inch of their reefs, even if they use GPS nowadays to check that they have arrived at the right location. My backside aches from sitting for so long on the same spot. Yet, I’m more focused on Banda, who speaks a little French and likes using it, while the others remain silent. I find out that the three cousins have been fishing together for years. Do they love their work? ‘Travail? Ce n’est même pas un travail de merde!’ It’s not even a shit job; it’s lousy pay, and the fish stocks are virtually nil at the moment, because the Spanish, Japanese and Koreans are exploiting the sea on a grand scale. Or else, I reflect, they get others to do the overfishing for them. I picture myself on my first visit here, half a year ago, on the short ferry crossing from Gorée Island back to Dakar. Thousands of dead fishes were adrift on the water, floating into the distance, their appearance unscathed and fresh. The puzzle was solved soon afterwards at the sight of a Korean factory ship at anchor. That’s where the pirogues were selling their catch, and from here countless fish were being discarded because they didn’t fulfil certain criteria. ‘But thousands of people could be fed with these fish,’ I had said to our guide. And after he politely nodded, I probed further: ‘So why does your government allow that?’ ‘We’re just a poor country,’ he remarked quietly, ‘and we absolutely need foreign currency …’ But things get much worse than that. Six months later during my third stay in Senegal, I discover that better-off countries even have a way of satisfying their lust for fish without compensation in hard currency. To cut costs, factory ships from South Korea (and who knows from where else) bring local fishermen and their pirogues on board; they sail along the West African coast, from Mauritania to Angola, dropping anchor just off reefs teeming with fish and dispatch the pirogues, which have free fishing rights in Senegal and other West African countries, with no regard for their country of origin and irrespective of where they sell their catch. At least, this was still the case until 2005, because traditional fishing rights were not applicable to vessels from Europe or Asia. The pirogue fishermen from North Senegal hadn’t anticipated that the very Korean factory ship that they had supplied with such an abundant catch off the Angolan coast would send them out again to the reef, only to abscond suddenly and leave them stranded in remote waters and without compensation. However, I discover too that local experts blame the overexploitation of Senegal’s once rich fish stocks not merely on the sell-off of fishing rights to foreign industrial fleets, but also on the local pirogues. The fishermen are multiplying in number due to the local exodus from ever more arid crop fields and pastureland. They hope at least to earn some income from fishing, although they lack the expertise or the proper fishing gear. Besides, says Banda, nudging me back from my thoughts, their job is extremely dangerous. A pirogue capsizes every so often, and the fishermen drown. ‘Are there no life jackets?’ I ask, while at the same time I realize that I’m perched out here without protection, fully clothed and in tight oilskins, which I wouldn’t be able to pull off in the water … ‘Non, pas de gilets de sauvetage.’ Nobody here has life jackets, there’s just not enough money. In fact, wearing a life jacket is compulsory in Senegal for every sailing trip. I find this out half a year later, while boarding the old ferry to Foundiougne, when I’m astonished to be reminded to put on a life jacket. What’s missing are the life jackets themselves. Our colleagues with a Senegalese NGO had taken the trouble to manage the local production of life jackets. After three batches, however, they had to give up again because of a countrywide shortage of materials for the buoyancy aids. Instead, China took pity (which applies to Taiwan and mainland China, as both generously set up projects in Senegal, while leerily eyeing its natural resources) and donated thousands of life jackets to Senegal. The life jackets are now sold for about 5,000 local francs – the equivalent of five simple midday meals at a local restaurant. Yet none of the fishermen wears any of these gilets chinois. Perhaps, they don’t much like the inscription on the back: ‘Amitié de la République de Chine (Taiwan)’. In any case, the donation has certainly had one effect: local production of the life-savers remains postponed indefinitely. To cut a long story short, for Banda it may have been less humiliating and at least simpler to explain the absence of the life jackets with the customary shortage of funds. Hadn’t he received EUR 100 last year? ‘Who from?’ ‘Well, Senegal receives the most relief aid in all of Africa, USD 100 per head and per annum!’ He pauses, then laughs. ‘Non, jamais vu ça; nobody ever gave me anything, and no one that I know would’ve got a share. But if I do have any money, I’m clearing off. I’m emigrating, you see?’ ‘Where to then?’ ‘Italy, Spain …’ ‘Right now, you’ll get as far as Morocco at the most; Europe has erected a high fence there!’ ‘Well, I’ll muddle through …’ ‘And when you do: our climate back home is not only too cold for you, but nobody will be waiting for you!’ ‘But I know someone who made it and now he has a fantastic job in Amsterdam!’ ‘Well, someone got lucky, one of tens of thousands. But where do you feel at home?’ ‘Well, here, that’s obvious!’ ‘So why do you want to leave?’ ‘I want to do something else other than fishing; none of us youths wants to carry on fishing.’ ‘What would be an alternative?’ ‘None, there’s nothing else here.’ ‘No tourists at this beautiful beach?’ ‘No, nothing. Well, yes, there are plans, everyone always has plans here, the French, the Italians, the Spanish, the Canadians, the Americans, but nothing...

Über Autor(innen)

Studer, Billo Heinzpeter
Billo Heinzpeter Studer studied social psychology and journalism in Zurich. He was director of KAGfreiland (1985–2001), the non-profit animal welfare association campaigning for a good life for working animals. In 2000, he founded the fair-fish association. He was director of its Swiss centre of expertise until his retirement in 2012. He has since lived in Italy – by the sea, of course – and focuses on the development of the fair-fish international association as well as its research into the behaviour and welfare of fishes.

Kirkbright, Suzanne
Suzanne Kirkbright is a freelance translation professional, based in the UK, with wide interests in the cultural and humanitarian field.

Billo Heinzpeter Studer studied social psychology and journalism in Zurich. He was director of KAGfreiland (1985–2001), the non-profit animal welfare association campaigning for a good life for working animals. In 2000, he founded the fair-fish association. He was director of its Swiss centre of expertise until his retirement in 2012. He has since lived in Italy – by the sea, of course – and focuses on the development of the fair-fish international association as well as its research into the behaviour and welfare of fishes.