The day dawns slow and red, but Najt Hdidar, 56, has no time for watercolors on the horizon; he takes the boat’s engine with a firm hand and moves forward through the gloom. Next to the bow, Farjant, 12 years older, silently observes the calm sea that stretches out in front of them. They are not the only ones who enter early in these still black waters. When the first bursts of yellow appear, half a dozen boats leave the port of Kraten, northeast of Quérquens, an archipelago in front of the city of Sfax, in eastern Tunisia. A tattered Tunisian flag waves furiously on the bow of Najt and Farjant’s boat and gives the scene a warlike air, as if all the boats advancing in unison are not going to fish, but to fight a last battle for traditional fishing. After a short while, Farjant pours a drizzle of olive oil on a plate and dips a piece of biscuit or fisherman’s bread, a dry flour cake that stays fresh for days. They must gather strength for the fight. Hours later, under the midday sun and with his hands still wet after collecting the nets, Najt warns that the war is being lost: “Look at the nets, almost empty! We used to put half a net there and catch twice as much. We fish less and less because of trawlers, which destroy the seabed and break our nets. It’s a disaster. We have to give thanks for still being alive.”
Querquens, birthplace of charfiya, a centuries-old technique that uses palm leaves to catch fish, considered intangible heritage of humanity by Unesco, has always been a paradise for fishing. Located in the heart of Cape Gabes, nursery of Mediterranean species and green lung of the sea because it houses the largest posidonia reserve in the Mediterranean, the Tunisian archipelago is the jewel in the crown of the country’s fishing industry, employing 54,000 fishermen, in addition to creating 46,000 indirect jobs. But if the whole of Tunisia is immersed in the Mediterranean (85% of the population lives on the coast), to talk about Quérquens is to talk about fishing: 43% of the workers in the archipelago work in the fishing sector, almost triple the percentage national But for a few years now, talking about Quérquens is also talking about a point of no return for the sea.
The invasion of hundreds of trawlers, an aggressive technique with the seabed that deploys nets with weights and destroys the habitats, organisms and posidonia meadows in their path, threatens the survival of the ecosystem. Although it has been prohibited for almost thirty years by the Tunisian law number 94-13 in waters less than 50 meters deep, this fishing art, known locally as kiss ( b ossa in Arabic, the word refers to the shape of the net when it is dragged) has multiplied following the absolute indifference of the Tunisian authorities.
While finishing a cigarette in the port of Karen, fisherman and mechanic Neji Cheik, with more than 37 years in the trade, senses where the reasons for growth are: in the heart and in the wallet. “It’s a matter of disrespect for nature and money. Traditional fishing respects the breeding seasons, the size of the fish or other species, such as turtles, octopuses, dolphins or posidonia, but trawling destroys everything. It’s a business! It gives ten times more money than other ways that are more respectful of the sea. Ten!”. According to a study this year by the German oenagé Fishact, there are currently 576 trawlers in Tunisia, the vast majority on the axis between Sfax and Quérquens, 38.5% more than just four years ago.
Accounts do not go to the sea or to those who defend it. For Ahmed Soussi, Tunisian activist and president of the association Kraten for Development, the real number of trawlers is higher, as many are not registered or registered. For Soussi, the survival of the Mediterranean depends on the real will of the rulers to put an end to abusive fishing.
And time is running out. “In two or three years we will be talking about Quérquens as a desert island, as a paradise that will only serve to come and swim.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, to understand the plundering of the seabed, you don’t have to look only at Tunisia. According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization’s State of the Mediterranean Sea report, the Mare Nostrum is the most overexploited sea in the world, with 73% of its marketable species caught illegally unsustainable But despite the fact that the Mediterranean has no borders, the attempts to solve the problem do have them.
While the European Union has extended its hand to the fishermen of Italy, Spain and Greece, with compensations to paralyze their activities and thus let the sea rest or has given incentives for the development of sustainable fishing techniques, north of Africa the lack of aid has exacerbated the problem. Or worse. While the EU describes trawling as “harmful to the seabed and the environment” and has presented a plan to eliminate it from all its marine protected areas by 2030, it does not hesitate to buy Tunisian catches even though have dubious provenance: 80% of Tunisian fishing, especially shrimp, squid and octopus, is exported to European markets, mostly to Spain and Italy. The coincidence is suspicious: the main fishing targets of Tunisian trawlers are shrimp, squid and octopus.
Lack of control allows disaster. While trawling by large, deep-water vessels is legal and allowed to export catches internationally, kiss fishing, by vessels less than 15 meters long and fishing close to shore, is illegal and therefore not licensed for export. A study on trawling by the Environmental Justice Foundation reported that illegal catches from kiss fishing are mixed with legal catches and then exported to European territory.
Although the EU, the world’s largest importer of fishery products (34% of the total), has control systems to prevent illegal fishing from reaching consumers, Eva Lindström, a member of the European Court of Auditors who audit the situation, he admitted in 2022 that, “despite the measures, these products continue to reach the plates of EU citizens. One of the main reasons is that member states apply controls and sanctions unevenly. The Court points out as reasons that the traceability certificates are delivered on paper, which makes it easier to falsify them, the poor implementation of relevant sanctions and the difficulty of tackling the administrative mountain, with more than 300,000 certificates and documents. His conclusion is devastating. “The legality of a product – the report points out – does not guarantee that it is obtained in a sustainable way”.
At the port of Port Sidi Youssef, the main port of the archipelago, where dozens of trawlers rest, the elderly Abdelaziz Msadak, with 47 years in the trade, only needs a glance to know that there is a central reason behind the disorder: poverty. The economic crisis after the Arab Spring in 2011 and the covid pandemic, in addition to the rise in fuel and grain prices due to the invasion of Ukraine, have increased inequality in Tunisia. In addition to inflation, which has raised the price of basic foods by 14.6%, 39% youth unemployment completes a devastating cocktail for the sea: for many trawling is a way out. “They are not fishermen and they don’t know anything about the sea – explains Msadak – you just have to see how they move. Since there is no work, they see trawling, which does not require knowledge or much physical effort, as an option to earn money”.
Despite the social X-ray, Msadak belies himself. They are not just unemployed. He, a sea wolf, left traditional fishing three years ago and bought a trawler with a friend. “I need the money and the charfia gives you almost nothing; there are less and less fish in the sea. But with this boat, in four years I will be able to build a house”. Msadak justifies his decision with broken artifacts. It shows their nets smashed by trawlers and octopus traps split in two. “A few years ago I would come back from the sea with 60 boxes full of fish or more, now you come back with one or two and small fish. Why do I do kiss fishing? Because everyone does! If I use my networks, they break them. I would not want to do it, because we will leave our waters deserted, but there is no alternative”.
When Msadak is asked if he is not afraid of fines for committing an illegality, he laughs. He points towards the port guard building. “It is not allowed? Well, some money, some fish, tobacco and you’re done. There’s no problem”.
According to the authorities, there is control, but they are overwhelmed. At the Quérquens Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, Dr. Habib Ben Chikha crosses his fingers on the office table before extending the threats to the ecosystem beyond kiss fishing. In addition: pollution, sea level rise, salinization or temperatures that have attracted invasive species, such as the blue crab, a predator that devours the local fauna. In the end he admits that kiss fishing is a problem and talks about “lack of control in the ports” and “anarchy”, although he stresses that the naval guard must also control illegal migration, since the archipelago is just 120 kilometers from the Italian island of Lampedusa.
For Ben Chika, they don’t give the scope. “The number of trawlers has skyrocketed on the islands and it’s a social problem,” he admits. He estimates that one in three Querquens fishermen practice kiss fishing. Beyond the environmental problem, Ben Chika anticipates other problems. “The conflict between trawlers and traditional fishermen will increase. There is cholera, but at the same time there are thousands of people who work in kiss fishing, and it cannot be stopped overnight, a global strategy is needed, from all the countries of the Mediterranean. We have the main responsibility, but without help we can’t do much.”
The time and place where Rami Yahya quotes this reporter, right at dawn on the remote Mkaren Khalifa beach, explains in part why the fire among fishermen did not take place. You have to wait half an hour until the sound of its engine announces its arrival. His boat, seven or eight meters long, appears at last. Rami, who invents his name because he doesn’t want to be recognized, admits with some shame that he too has taken to kiss fishing. “I know it’s not well seen, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Many of us do it secretly, almost all families already. Yesterday a fellow spent all day with the traditional method and returned to the harbor with only six kilos of shrimp, nothing else; look at me: 16 kilos of prawns, seven cuttlefish and a box of blue crab”. Ten years ago, he says, a normal day ended with 60 kilos of prawns, half a dozen octopuses and 40 kilos of cuttlefish. “My heart hurts, but I have a family.”
Not everyone acts the same. After the whole day at sea, Najt and Farjant have tired faces, as if they are returning from the battlefield. During the morning, Najt released two entangled turtles, as well as another dead one. Although he frowns when he sees the scarcity of catches, he tightens his lips when an exit is considered. “I troll? Never! I will never do it. Since I was a child, my father and grandfather taught me how to work at sea. It’s part of my life. I love it like my family. How would he be able to destroy it? I have to defend him”. Beside him, the elderly Farjant smiles slightly when he hears his friend untangling crabs from the net. In the bow, in front of the two friends and fishermen, the Tunisian flag waves furiously in the wind, warlike, as if the frayed piece of fabric insists on remembering that the fight is not over yet.
