OPINION | Who owns the sea? Are Kerala’s coastal communities facing collateral damage in the name of 'development'?

Kerala is often proud of its development models and social progress. Yet, traditional fishing communities are among the people whom Kerala continues to leave outside this narrative.

The existential challenges, livelihood crises, and coastal erosion faced by these indigenous communities, whose lives are deeply intertwined with the sea and its ecosystem, remain unresolved. The fundamental reason is that successive governments and mainstream society have ceased to treat these issues as matters requiring attention.

The lives of traditional fisherfolk, their habitat, natural disasters and the impact of development projects cannot be addressed through a few welfare schemes alone. They need to be viewed comprehensively as social and rights-based issues.

'People of the sea' without a definition

The most important challenge in the Kerala context is that there is no official, precise legal definition of who or what constitutes a “fisherman”. The amendments to the Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) regulations have attempted to bring everyone living along the coast under the single umbrella of “coastal residents”. As a result, resort owners and large tourism operators who live by the sea, but see it merely as a view, are also treated as coastal residents.

In reality, there is a large section of small-scale, traditional fisherfolk who regard the sea not merely as a means of livelihood but as their cultural and social habitat.

Yet, the current broad definition places large mechanised trawlers and companies that extensively exploit marine resources alongside traditional workers. A majority of those working on large mechanised boats today are migrant workers from other states.

Majority of those working on trawling boats in fishing areas such as Munambam, Chellanam, Thoppumpady, the Kozhikode harbours, Muthalapozhi and Neendakara are migrant workers from states such as Bihar and Odisha.

On a trawling boat seen at the Muthalapozhi harbour recently, there were also young men from other communities who had come for some pocket money. Their work largely involves sitting atop large boats equipped with CCTV cameras and casting nets; it requires no particular skill. The administrative system also has this attitude that anyone can go out on a boat or fishing vessel.

This is why it is important to clearly distinguish indigenous, small-scale, traditional fisherfolk. They are the ones who see the sea not merely as a means of livelihood, but also as their habitat and as a cultural and social space.

According to UN criteria, indigenous communities that depend on natural resources and maintain their own languages, cultures, and economic systems are classified as tribal communities. Traditional fisherfolk possess a distinctive economic system in which the benefits derived from the sea are shared equitably; they have their own language, culture, food practices, customs and rituals; they live in harmony with nature; and they fish primarily to meet their daily needs.

Yet, in India, fishing communities have not received many of the legal protections afforded to tribal communities on geographical and historical grounds. This is because of the mistaken public perception that they are not marginalised from mainstream society. In reality, they have become one of the most invisible communities across society and policymaking.

“Rights over the sea to the children of the sea” is an election slogan used by all political parties. Yet, neither mainstream society nor political parties have a clear understanding of who the “children of the sea” are. The communities that have depended on the sea as a natural resource for centuries, with their own languages, ways of life and socio-economic systems, are the ones facing the greatest threats today.

When government benefits and priorities are distributed, it is these traditional fisherfolk who are most marginalised. When development projects are undertaken, it is this community—which regards the sea as its “mother”—that bears the greatest losses. Migrant workers or members of other communities who come temporarily or merely for pocket money do not lose anything because of such development.

Coastal communities possess the knowledge and skills to use the sea sustainably. Traditional small-scale fisherfolk are concentrated particularly in the Thiruvananthapuram and Kollam regions. They have also migrated to northern districts, and as far as Mangaluru. A large community that migrated from Thiruvananthapuram lives south of the Bekal Fort in Kasaragod. They have built their own churches and schools there and preserved their distinct culture, language and fishing practices.

While the Dheevara and Valan communities there fish close to the shore, these migrant fisherfolk are particularly skilled at fishing on reefs in deeper waters. This is an example of why fisherfolk here have not been recognised by the administration as a distinct community.

Recently, Jiji, the daughter of John—a fisherman from Vizhinjam who went missing at sea after his boat capsized—came forward to speak about the systemic failures in protecting fisherfolk. The wider public seemed surprised to learn that she was pursuing a PhD: a reaction that itself reflects the deeply entrenched perception that members of the fishing community belong on the margins of society.

Even elected representatives sometimes speak of them in dismissive terms: “It is the coast; you know what the situation there is like.” This is marginalisation that goes beyond mere prejudice; it is the denial of their place and agency in mainstream society.

In the context of the Vizhinjam International Seaport project too, propaganda has been built around portraying fisherfolk as “anti-development”. The same happens when people protested against the long-running mineral-sand mining in Alappad or the hunger strikes in Thottappally—attempts are made to brand them as “extremists” or “anti-development”.

It was after the 2017 Ockhi disaster that accidents in the Arabian Sea became more frequent. According to government figures, 467 fisherfolk have died in the past 10 years. But the actual number is believed to be higher.

Plastic waste and hospital waste reaching the sea through rivers, along with the destruction of reefs caused by dredging, are contributing to rising sea temperatures. As a result, fish are moving into deeper waters in search of cooler waters. Fisherfolk who follow them into the deep sea are increasingly exposed to extreme weather events.

In states such as Odisha, systems are in place to evacuate hundreds of thousands of people within hours when cyclones strike. Yet, even nine years after Ockhi, Kerala’s disaster-response mechanisms remain largely unchanged.

The ₹400 crore 'Mission Samudra' project announced in the state budget is an example. Notably, the safety or survival of fisherfolk is not a priority in it; rather, it is seemingly aimed at selling resources from the sea for profit.

At the Vizhinjam Port, there have been demands to prohibit fishing on the grounds that small fishing vessels obstruct the berthing of large ships. Establishment of such “non-fishing zones” would effectively eliminate hook-and-line fishing practised by traditional fisherfolk in the region.

Can the sea be protected by uprooting people from it?

Development activities in coastal areas often have a profound impact on the lives, livelihoods, and social relationships of the people who live there.

For traditional fishing communities in particular, the sea is not merely a workplace; it is an integral part of their social, cultural and emotional lives. Yet, there is insufficient discussion about the consequences of displacing them from their natural surroundings in the name of development.

Following the Ockhi disaster, many people who lost their homes to the sea were relocated to flats under the government’s Punargeham rehabilitation scheme. Providing safe housing to those who have lost their homes is necessary. But a house cannot be viewed merely as four walls. These flats have created significant difficulties. For people who lived along the coast, the beach had immense social and psychological significance. Sitting on the shore, children playing there, women talking to one another, and people sharing their problems and emotional burdens were all part of their everyday lives.

Therefore, when they lose the beach along with their homes, what they lose is not merely a building or a piece of land, but an entire living environment. The shift from an open social life connected to the sea and beach to the confined life of a flat has triggered a silent mental-health crisis. Yet, the government has still not adequately addressed these problems.

The beach is essential for launching fishing vessels into the sea, bringing them back and storing them. With the loss of access to the beach, many fisherfolk have been unable to use their vessels. Eventually, some have had to sell their fishing boats and move into other occupations, such as electrical work and wage labour.

Seen in this light, what is happening in the name of development is a process of uprooting a community’s identity, livelihood, and way of life simultaneously. Development undertaken for the state and wider society cannot be allowed to erase the identity rights and livelihood rights of indigenous traditional communities.

The idea that indigenous communities are the first guardians of natural resources is recognised internationally.

People who have lived in close relationship with a natural resource for generations understand its nature, changes and risks better than anyone else. Therefore, conservation of natural resources cannot be viewed as the sole responsibility of governments. The people who live directly in relation to those resources must be key participants in their conservation. But if people who have lived with the sea are themselves uprooted from it, how can their knowledge and experience be used to protect the sea?

Today, discussions on climate change are intensifying across the world. India is a party to international climate agreements. The Union and state governments submit reports on the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), while India presents various programmes and achievements at international forums, including those of the FAO.

Kerala too claims to have undertaken several interventions in areas such as sustainable development and climate resilience. Yet, the rights of people whose lives are connected to the sea—one of the most important elements of the climate system—continue to be denied.

Changes in sea temperatures and marine ecosystems affect the global climate. How can the sea be protected by displacing the very people who have lived in close relationship with this vital natural resource for generations? If the sea is to be protected, the people who live with the sea must also be protected.

The first step towards protecting the rights of coastal communities is to clearly define who constitutes a “fisherman”.

Just as priority groups are defined in disaster-management plans and action plans, small-scale, traditional and indigenous fishing communities must be given priority when development projects are undertaken. This cannot be viewed merely as something fisherfolk must fight to secure. These are rights that a welfare state must consciously guarantee. Their rights over their occupations, workplaces, and the natural resources they depend on must be clearly documented.

Disaster-management systems must not be limited merely to rescue operations, particularly in the case of communities dependent on the sea. Homes and workplaces must be protected; facilities must be provided for safely storing fishing vessels; priority protection during disasters and livelihood rights during rehabilitation must be guaranteed; and mental-health support must be provided. Their social and cultural relationship with the sea must also be taken into account.

Displacing a community from its natural living environment in the name of any “mission” cannot be the measure of development. A new dwelling, provided after taking away a community’s home, livelihood, relationship with the sea and social life, cannot by itself be considered rehabilitation.

True rehabilitation means restoring people’s lives. Development and conservation are not necessarily contradictory. But development that uproots people from their rights is not sustainable development. Coastal policies must therefore place at their centre not only the sea and its resources, but also the people who live with the sea and their rights.

The author is a coastal rights activist.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of THE WEEK.