Alberta, March-April 2006
17
ALTERNATIVA Latinoamericana
ENGLISH SECTION
In order to
s
ave costs "the industry
externalizes its
ser
vices to
subcontractors
- especially processing
plants - who do
no
t comply with labour
legislation. This means unpaid salaries,
declared but unfulfilled
contributions to
pension plans and the complete
inexistence of job security" says Jaime
Bustamante, president of the 3000
member salmon workers union
FETRAINPES. Accidents on the
jobsites are common, processing
workers face problems including
tendonitis and dermatitis, and fish farm
workers are often subject to carrying
very heavy loads. Working conditions
can be deadly for divers, many of whom
are not properly trained for the
dangerous work that they do.
It's not only the workers directly
employed in the salmon industry whose
labour is rendered precarious and
dangerous by the rapid growth of
aquaculture. Another group that feels
the pinch of the emergence of the
salmon farming behemoth is the more
than 65,000 people who live directly or
indirectly from small-scale fishing,
including southern hake fishers,
collectors, algae extractors, as well as
shellfish cultivators and processors.
Many fishers lack access to information
about their rights in relation to the
salmon industry. Small-scale fishers,
many of whom make survival wages, are
fined whenever they are caught
returning to the fishing port with
escaped salmon in their nets.
Carlos Nuñez Martinez, president
of CONFEPAH, a coalition of small-
scale fishers told us that often,
"intensive fish farming is developed
directly above natural fish banks. That
is the major problem for [small scale
fishers] since antibiotics consumed by
salmon sink to the bottom of the sea in
the form of fecal matter," which in turn
changes the food chain, affecting native
species and completely altering the
ecosystem.
Over the last five years, previously
unknown red tides caused by toxic algal
blooms have appeared in bays and still
waters where commercially viable
marine species live. Contamination is
not limited only to the waters, but is
also an issue with regards to the fish
itself: a salmon weighing in at 2 kg at
the time of export eats an average of 7
kg of feed a day. Salmon feed is laden
with antibiotics, which remain in the fish
meat, leading some health
professionals to conclude that eating
farmed salmon is a potential health risk.
Looking Ahead
In Puerto Montt, the salmon boom
is in full swing, built on the backs of
low-paid workers and at the expense of
sustainable environmental and
economic practices. Most profits flow
out of the country, directly into the bank
accounts of European salmon
multinationals. According to a report by
the Raincoast Society, an organisation
based in Victoria, BC, the emergence of
large quantities of low priced Chilean
salmon on world markets has led to a
global oversupply, resulting in a much
lower return for farmed salmon.
At the outset of 2006, salmon
farms continue.
Dawn Paley &
Frédéric Dubois
(Seven Oaks Magazine,
www.sevenoaksmag.com)
Farmed salmon is so
on to
become Chile's number o
ne export,
outpacing copper, long th
e
backbone
of the Chilean e
conomy.
Atlantic salmon farmed on the Pacific
coast of Latin America is a product
that has moved from an idea in
foreign boardrooms to the dinner
tables of the Western world in little
over thirty years. Independent
journalists Frédéric Dubois and Dawn
Paley visited the region of Puerto
Montt - Chile's salmon capital - in
2005, and found out that under calm
waters, a handful of corporations are
setting the agenda for a growing
number of communities.
Puerto Montt, for the uninitiated, is
a touristy port city, from where the
famed ferry through Chilean Patagonia
begins its descent towards the
southernmost cape on the planet. Up
the street from the port, vendors line the
sidewalks, selling heavy wool sweaters,
tuques and socks in the crisp morning
air. A little farther down, Angelmo
market is abuzz with activity: farmers
from the nearby island of Chiloé hawk
carrots and cherries, while older men in
tall white boots scrape rocks from
mussels. On wooden tables, fresh
seafood is laid out carefully, local
favorite hake fish for sale alongside
huge silver salmon, who betray but one
clue that something is amiss: they're
headless.
Downtown, mirrored buildings
housing aquaculture offices stand tall
among run down 1960s era shops. And
so it is, in Puerto Montt, past the tourist
stops that fan out from the port: a city
where development has been dictated
by salmon riches. The nets and
processing plants are tucked away over
the hills and around the bay, and the
real story behind the salmon industry,
the second largest in the world, lies
outside of the public eye.
Around the edges of salmon
farms, environmental concerns and
studies are multiplying. For the 33,500
workers directly employed by the
salmon industry, already precarious
employment is rendered even more so
with the introduction of labour-saving
technology. Small fishers and sport
fishers are forced to bear the heavy
impacts of salmon farming along the
Chilean coastline. The salmon industry
is far from benign, and the future of the
industry is one of the crucial questions
facing Chileans today.
Introducing
Atlantic Salmon
Experiments in salmon farming in
Chile started in the 1960's and
continued into the 1970's, as Japanese
and North American governments
worked together with their Chilean
counterparts to introduce Atlantic
salmon in Chile's Pacific waters. In
1978, the first farmed fish was exported
from Chile to France, and the high
market value of salmon at that time
encouraged foreign and private capital
holders to invest in salmon cultivation in
Chile. Soon after the first successful
export, a joint venture between the
Chilean government and the Canadian
International Development Agency
spawned a number of private firms
managed by a Canadian consulting
group called Hartfield International.
Salmon farming continued to grow over
the 1980's, spearheaded by Fundación
Chile, a non-profit created in 1976 with
funds from the dictatorship of Augusto
Pinochet and the ITT corporation of the
US.
From the outset of the 1990's,
foreign capital flooded the newly
established salmon farming industry,
and from its roots as an industry
introduced with public funds (both
Chilean and international), the benefits
of salmon farming became concentrated
in the hands of large multinational and
Chilean companies. Attesting to this
concentration is the salmon cluster
called SalmonChile, which regroups
some 40 farming companies, 150 drug
laboratories, container manufacturers,
hatchery construction enterprises and
transportation providers. SalmonChile is
also the public relations face of the
entire industry in Chile today.
The biggest player in Chilean
salmon farming is Marine Harvest, a
subsidiary of Netherlands based
Nutreco corporation. In 2005 they
controlled 41 cultivation centres and
one processing plant. Not far behind is
Mainstream, which is part of Cermaq, a
company 80% owned by the Norwegian
government. Mainstream controls 21
cultivation centres in Southern Chile.
Here as elsewhere, the salmon farming
industry is export based, and has little
to do with providing a local food supply.
Farmed salmon makes up 63% of all
fish exported from Chile, and the three
major markets for export are in the
United States, Japan and Europe.
Chile has become a favorite for
intensive salmon production for a
number of reasons, the most obvious of
which is the abundant supply of clean
waters with shore access, made
available to aquaculture companies free
of charge. Lack of environmental
legislation also helps make Chile a
popular place for the salmon farming
industry. Juan Carlos Cárdenas, director
of Ecoceanos, an environmental non
governmental organisation based in
Santiago explains that "after 20 years of
expansive, industrial production, during
which time Chile became the second
largest producer of salmon in the world,
environmental legislation was not put in
place until 2004." The mere existence
of legislation is not a solution, for as
Cardenas points out, "the Chilean state
only has the capacity to control 12% of
the salmon industry" with regular
inspections and check ups. Another
reason that Chile is an attractive place
to open up a salmon farm? Cheap
labour.
Precarious Labour,
Affected
Ecosystems
Workers in Chile are subject to
some of the most lax labour laws in
Latin America. Since Pinochet's
dictatorship ceded to democratic rule in
1990, new job opportunities have
opened up in the salmon sector in
Chile's Southern region, often at the
expense of alternative livelihoods such
as small-scale fishing, wool production
and tourism.
Chile's labour force is typified as
cheap and hardworking and, until
recently, represented Chile's main
competitive advantage, giving rise to
widely cited accusations of "social
dumping". In recent years, the
multiplication of free trade agreements
has accelerated the import of cheaper
technology to Chile, triggering
systematic replacement of human
labour. "Where I work, there were 60
workers one year ago, and now we are
20 because of the machinery they
introduced," says Maria, who has
worked in a salmon processing plant
since 2002. Maria is paid based on the
amount of individual pieces that she
processes, which means that she
works the Chilean standard of 45 hours
a week, plus ove
rtime,
to earn the
equivalent of $3
90 CDN a month.
Chile: Salmon Country
Rage, rage
against the killing
of the light...
from previous page
ahead of me and went straight towards
a couple. They jumped on them and
grabbed them, forcing them towards the
Ford Falcon. I kept walking slowly,
trying to understand without watching
too intently with fear. The woman yelled
her name and the name of her
companion: "We are so and so", she
said, "they are taking us, please call
such phone", again, and again. The
woman yelled while forced into the
Falcon awaiting them on the side of the
avenue. The man was quiet between
two other men.
In the middle of that scene I
realized that I was not alone, there were
others who, like me, couldn't help
hearing and seeing. They were also
careful and continued to walk as if
nothing was happening, as if it was the
most natural thing to be kidnapped on a
busy Buenos Aires' avenue. I was
petrified inside, hearing but not listening
to the women's words. At the time I
was staying in Argentina illegally and
was, naturally, terrorized of calling any
attention to myself. Later, I reflected,
even if I had legal status my reaction
would have probably been the same,
like the reactions of those around me
who were probably argentinians. We all
understood the danger of the situation
and none of us wanted to be taken to
where this couple was being taken.
Scientists say that arousal helps
memory making, but my terror didn't.
My memory of the scene then and now
remains like a vague movie scene.It is
probably always like this when you
witness a violent event. My fear didn't
go away until I left Buenos Aires. I was
both afraid and ashamed. I shared what
I saw with no one. To begin with there
wasn't much to share. I could not
remember the names or phone being
yelled so intently by the woman. My
memory of the scene was vague. We all
believe that we would perform better in
a situation like this; thus, it is shocking
to discover that we generally do not.
I wishI had been braver. I wish I
had been more focused so that I could
remember useful details. But I was
neither. Much later, I wished that one
among the many of us who witnessed
this kidnapping had come forward with
important details once the dark cloud
which cover Buenos Aires for many
years lifted. But I am not sure this ever
happened. In my mind the scene still
plays: the young woman yelling, the
man being taken, the secret police
running towards them like hunters do
when falling on unprotected pray. The
couple was being pushed into a Ford
Falcon. It was ironic that this car,
proudly made in Argentina was the car
of choice of the secret police and would
become the symbol of these
kidnappings and of these terror filled
days. When the streets of Buenos
Aires were a hunting ground and their
young were the hunted prey.
I guess, 30 years later, I have to
confront my fears. I had something to
tell years, years, ago, but I didn't. I was
too afraid, too confused, maybe too
young. Still, I didn't fail to connect the
dots. Thirty thousand people were taken
from us then in the most violent and
horrific way. Many more were taken in
Latin America, many more are still
being taken every day. To them and to
their family members, many of us,
silent witnesses of pieces of that horror
we all faced, need to say "sorry". I am
sorry for not writing then what I am
writing now. In truth, our fear to stand
up, which is very human and
understandable, made us weak. It also
led us to pay the highest price, the
price of losing the best among us, the
ones who cared and who stood up.