Catching fish

By Virginia Pasalo

 

ALMOST a year ago, in 21 November 2015, i was at the Capitol Resort Hotel watching a fish catch being hauled to shore. I wrote my observations then, took videos and interviewed those on shore about the status of the fish catch. Most of them said, “Dadaisit tan angkekelag lay siran naa-ala da. Dakdakel ni may dutak.” (They are catching very little, and what they catch are very small fishes. They catch more ocean debris in the nets). Here is what I wrote on that day:

“I didn’t realize that it takes hours to move a catch to the shore. It is my first time to witness the travel of the fisherman and his boat, and the fish trapped in the net still underneath. The women stand by with bamboo baskets and plastic pails, and “banyeras” to put the fish in for the market. Children mill around, curious still, despite seeing the activity daily. One child, visiting from Manila took a fish in his hands, pressed the fish so hard it went limp. The other child with no trousers just tossed the fish from his hands to the sand, and when it was no longer jumping, he also squeezed the tiny fish between his hands.

Some of the fish arrived on the shore earlier, clinging to the nets being pulled, and those swimming helped themselves with some, as those who were pulling the nets shouted a warning, “Hoy, kien mi tan!” (“Hey, that’s ours, don’t get them!” But a team of four swimmers ignored them. An angry fisherman ran towards them, shouting, “Baon ina yo!” (“Your mother’s vagina!”). And that’s the only time they swam away.

I eat fish, but watching them fight for their lives is something that makes me squirm. I think fish. I felt I was the fish. I think of the Syrians, the Palestinians, where the choice to live becomes a difficult one, under circumstances like these, trapped on the nets, and on the shore, to fight for life, with some lucky to find helping hands, and most, still running from the organized machinery of Jack the Ripper, Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan, masquerading under new names.

I heard the fishermen give thanks, despite the fact that they can only fish in nearby waters, and no longer at Masinloc (Scarborough Shoal), where they used to bring home fishes as large as their thighs. The politics of the sea has changed, and so did their lives. And the fish, the young ones who were the most vulnerable, got caught in between the holes of the net, which has been reduced in size by a local ordinance, so that the smaller ones can also be trapped for human consumption. Scarcity drives creatures to eat the young.

Don’t get me wrong, the day was bright, cool air blew on my face, and the sea breeze reminded me that there is something to smile about in this world. Even the small fishes caught along with the ocean waste were still jumping, and helplessly trying to swim in the air, thinking perhaps they are still in the water.”

I remember this now that the Duterte administration had made representations to allow Filipino fishermen to fish in Masinloc. Masinloc had served as their traditional fishing ground before it was reclaimed and made into an island by landfill coming from the soil of  the Zambales mountains that had been flattened out. China exercises absolute control on this reclaimed area that has been declared Philippine territory by the United Nations  based on available historical data and by virtue of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS).

For the reprieve given to our fishermen, I thank this administration. It is better than for them to be driven away with water cannons in a stormy, raging sea. It is a lifeline that is enough to stick their head out of the water and breathe, but not enough to bring them safely out of the storm towards the real independence they seek. The challenge remains to find out arrangements that truly ensures a semblance of political integrity and geopolitical balance, and avoiding the risk of transforming from a “little brown brother” to the “tiny  red brother” of another country.

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