In 2014, Calla de Hecha penshell clams suddenly began disappearing over a two-week period. Word of the stolen clams quickly spread, and before long everyone knew they had been taken contrary to the agreement the fishers had made.
These stolen clams were a major setback to the restoration effort. El Manglito is a small community of fishing families who all know one another—indeed, many are relatives. Once they determined who was responsible, OPRE arranged to have the fishing inspector confront him, but rather than enforce punishment they simply told him not do it again. He agreed, but just a few months later he went back and harvested still more clams and this time he was apprehended.
“You must remember,” says NOS’s co-director Liliana Gutiérrez Mariscal, “that fishing illegally was a way of life for everyone for many years. They really had no option. It was a survival issue for them. So, when the stolen clam event occurred, in some ways no one was surprised. When it happened a second time, they knew they had to do something or their whole effort would lose credibility.”
“It was a defining moment for the new fishing cooperative, OPRE,” says NOS co-founder Alejandro Robles. “The fisherman had been receiving some income as a member of the surveillance team, and so now the OPRE staff decided he would receive no income for three months. The fisherman, Herubey Avilés, as part of his punishment, agreed to clean the beach for no pay. After a month went by, he appealed to the OPRE board to reinstate him on the team. But, as he reports, they said, ‘We appreciate the work you’ve done, but we’re going to stick with the original punishment, so you still have two more months of no salary.’ He tried to look for other jobs but no other options emerged, so he was unemployed for those three months. It was very hard on him.”
Herubey Avilés and his Twitchy Fish Net
“The whole incident of the stolen clams and the community’s ensuing reflections led to profound cultural transformation,” says NOS co-founder Alejandro Robles, “as most fishermen had been fishing illegally for decades.”
And, ultimately, Herubey rejoined the surveillance team once his three months of no pay were up. As he, Herubey, says, “this all made me realize how important this project is, and that the Callo de Hachas are for the whole community and the next generation of fishing families. It was selfish of me to do what I did. I was desperate, but so are a lot of people. We must stick together.”