Monday, 27 June 2016

Seahorses – Ambassadors for Marine Conservation

Seahorses are so instantly recognisable that they almost need no introduction. Creatures of myth and storybook, it comes as a surprise to many people that they are in fact fish, complete with gills and fins. Unlike most fish, however, they have a tube-like snout, bony external armour instead of scales, and a grasping tail to hold onto seagrass, corals or other holdfasts. They are also unusual because it is the male that broods the young, and most species studied to date form strong pair-bonds that are maintained by daily greetings.
 Dwarf seahorse (Hippocampus zosterae).

Highly sought after for traditional Chinese and other Asian medicines, as well as for curiosities or aquarium fish, it appears that the trade is not sustainable. Seahorses are caught accidentally in trawl nets by the millions, and given the fact that they tend to live at low densities and have complex social structure, this is decimating their populations. As a result of these threats, they are the focus of much conservation concern.
The seahorse trade appears not to be sustainable.
The oldest seahorse fossils were found in 12.5 million-year-old silt-stone deposits in Slovenia, but genetic data suggest that seahorses evolved from pipefish-like ancestors approximately 28 million years ago. Today they are found in shallow tropical, subtropical and many temperate seas throughout the world. A few are found in estuaries, but there are no truly freshwater seahorses. 
RĂ©union seahorse (Hippocampus borboniensis).

There are approximately forty species in the genus Hippocampus (meaning ‘horse sea-monster’) living in a variety of habitats, including coral reefs, seagrass beds, mangroves and soft-bottom areas. They range in size from the pygmy seahorses (such as Hippocampus satomiae, ~ 1 cm in height) to the giant Pacific seahorse (H. ingens, > 30 cm in height). 
Satomi's pygmy seahorse (hippocampus satomiae).

They are relatively conservative in their body form, although they vary in terms of their body ornamentation, spines, coronet shape and size, fin rays and body and tail rings. As ambush predators, they rely on stealth and camouflage to avoid detection by their prey, aided by their ability to change colour to match their surroundings. They eat small crustaceans (such as tiny shrimp, or crab larvae), which they efficiently vacuum up with their snout using some of the most rapid suction action known in the animal kingdom. 
Ribboned pipefish (Haliichthys taeniophorus).

Drawing on much of the latest research, Seahorses is an in depth, but accessible introduction to these fascinating creatures. It provides background details about their ecology, behaviour and evolution, as well as their connection with humans in terms of culture, trade, and conservation action. The second half of the book provides a species by species account of all the seahorses, as well as a selection of their relatives within the family Syngnathidae, including a number of pipefishes, pipehorses, and seadragons. The book hopes to inspire and educate readers, as well as to raise awareness of the fragility of the marine realm. Can the charisma of theses unusual creatures help motivate conservation action for seahorses and their imperiled marine habitats?

Sara Lourie has been involved with Project Seahorse, an international marine conservation organisation, since it was founded by Amanda Vincent and Heather Koldewey in 1996. She published the first seahorse identification guide in 1999, described several new species of pygmy seahorses, and received her PhD from McGill University in 2004, with a thesis on the genetic connections among populations of seahorses in Southeast Asia. She has travelled extensively and continues to  work on marine conservation projects, particularly in Indonesia. 

Seahorses: A Lifesize Guide to Every Species by Sara Lourie is published by Ivy Press. 

Friday, 10 June 2016

Seafood: A choice that matters

I write this blog from a little lane in a suburb in Bombay from a house that has recently been built adjoining an old fishing village. The original inhabitants of this megacity are the Koli fisherfolk, artisanal and subsistence fishermen, who for centuries have, and continue to, rely on the ocean for their sustenance. Almost daily I walk down the street and pass the Koli women selling fish which the Koli fishermen have caught that morning. My discerning eye roves over their wares and invariably, in addition to the usual catch of smaller inshore fish, I find juvenile tuna and sharks. And as I slow down to make my observation, the Koli women flash a wide smile and say to me, “Arre, ghey ki”, (Come on, buy some). I sheepishly smile back, nod my head and walk on.
Siddharth Chakravarty on the deck of the M/Y Steve Irwin on Operation Driftnet. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

Instantly my mind shifts to the deck of the conservation vessel, M/Y Steve Irwin, where on a recent campaign in the South Indian Ocean, my crew pulled in critically endangered tuna and sharks from the illegal nets of a fleet of 6 illegal Chinese vessels. The scale of marine wildlife caught in the nets then horrified me, but somehow I don’t feel horrified when I walk past the Koli women selling tuna and sharks at the fish stall in Bombay.
The lane the author walks down every single day in suburban Bombay. (Sid Chakravarty).

A couple of years ago I began to study the large-scale, deliberate trafficking of men onto the distant-water, industrialised fishing vessels. I have continued to delve into the economics of this industry and have begun to comprehend how the globalisation of fisheries supply chains has seen some parts of these supply chains systematically squeezed – typically at the production end – with profits concentrated near the end consumer. Most deep sea fishing vessels employ a production-led commodity cost-driven low-road business model. The model inevitably leads to poor labour practices coupled with environmental abuses, including Illegal, Unreported and Unregulated (IUU) fishing. The current model ensures that the world’s poorest and most vulnerable populations are exploited, trafficked and made to work in horrific conditions so that the fishing industry can maintain effort. And the maintenance of this effort means that more fishing vessels, operating on government subsidies, enter the oceans in search for fish.
Dead animals recovered from the illegal driftnets, piled on the deck of the vessel. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

Consumers rarely eat fish that comes from their coasts anymore. The fishing industry is trans-national in nature with vessels, crews, fishing grounds, ports and markets being spread across the globe. And when oceans cover 71% of this planet, a large section of which are outside national jurisdiction, the complexities of ocean governance become evident. Consider this, the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), a convention that forms the basis for international fisheries management, was adopted in 1982. We’re a mere 34 years from when the first step to collectively govern the oceans was taken. Just last week, the Port State Measures Agreement, a convention to inspect fishing vessels in port came into force. While a step in the right direction, it was adopted by only 30 countries. Most of the world’s biggest fishing nations like China, Taiwan, Indonesia, Japan, and India have not signed the agreement. Given that fisheries capture is largely international in nature, it is entirely governed under the UN Frameworks. National implementations of these frameworks take time and in this sense, we’re at the very start of building ocean governance measures.
Siddharth Chakravarty with some of the species found in the illegal driftnets. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

In spite of reports from various agencies, including the UNFAO, that fish stocks are being depleted faster than they can naturally replenish, the demand for seafood ensures that fishing effort is not reduced. Our oceans are in peril. We’re a long way from a unified and uniform ocean governance regime. We’ve got a world with hungry people who need to be fed. We’ve got a demand for seafood that is pushing communities to the edge, allowing the trafficking of men and the destroying of the marine ecosystem. The closest land-based analogy to industrial, distant-water fishing would be a mining operation, where migrant workers are forced to work in appalling conditions for a few cents an hour, are often away from their families for years, are physically and emotionally abused and are condemned to the dark reality for the rest of their lives with little recourse to justice and equality- a mine where the onus of labour and environmental regulatory mechanisms is left entirely to the owners of the mine; a mine where toxic runoffs, effluents and waste are regularly allowed to enter the surrounding ecosystem leaving them degraded and nothing more than wastelands.
 Dead sharks lie on the stern deck of the vessel. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

Last week the Fisheries Commissioner for my state opened the waters for Purse Seiners, a fishing method used to catch schooling fish, including tuna. I met the head of my state’s fishermen’s union, the Maharashtra Macchimar Kruti Samiti, who expressed his concerns on the impact of industrial fishing on the traditional Koli fishing communities. The fishermen have already been displaced to the very fringe of the existence in the city with the increase is industrialised fishing. As fish stocks in the high sea and the Exclusive Economic Zone decrease, the effects are felt closer to shore by the Koli fishermen. Now they venture out to fish for long hours, travel perilous distances out to sea in their small boats and get back catch that barely covers their cost of fishing. It’s a special kind of fortitude to sit at the roadside to sell fish every single day and yet manage to smile as I pass by.
One of the 11 species, the critically endangered Southern Bluefin Tuna, in the illegal nets. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organisation (UNFAO) estimates that 800 million people are malnourished across the world. Almost all of the people are in developing countries, including India. Here in Bombay, a city that is driven by an imminent sense of urgency at all times of the day and night, hunger is everywhere. Hunger is in the eyes of the man squatting under a tree, in the matted hair of a child at a traffic signal, in the weak legs of the new mother with an infant at her breast. And yet, in 33 years of my life, I have never been hungry. I’ve never been hungry in the sense that I had to think of where my next meal would come from. My folks worked long hours and hard jobs and ensured I had access to food to nourish my body. My hunger has always been one of choices.
 Critically endangered Southern Bluefin Tuna on the deck of the M/Y Steve Irwin. (Sea Shepherd Global/Tim Watters).

When I pass the Koli woman on the street, I see her fortitude. I think of her community struggling to exist as they have for thousands of years. I understand that my ability to make dietary choices does not automatically allow me the right to pass a judgement on those who can’t do the same.
A Koli woman selling her daily catch of fish near the author's home in Bombay. (Sid Chakravarty).

Once I understood the impact of my choices, I chose to give up seafood. I gave up seafood because it matters. It matters because the child with the matted hair needs it more. It matters because the Koli community needs to survive. It matters because the blue marble we call home needs some respite. It matters because the world needs time to figure things out. If you have the time, the ability and the good fortune of having a hunger that affords choices, then make the right choice because it matters.

Siddharth Chakravarty has spent the last five years of his life with the direct action group Sea Shepherd Global. His current work involves the study into the economic model of the fishing industry and investigating labour supply chains to bring to light the ethics of seafood consumption and the effect of industrial fishing on the world's oceans. Follow Sid @OceanBanter and Facebook.