Woes betide the seafarer

Amidst the chaos of Kudankulam, the environmental desecration by SPIC and Sterlite, and widespread pseudo-legal sand mining, the fishing hamlets of Tuticorin may actually be fighting their last days of battle against inflation, thieves, the government, and nature itself.

Fishing in Tuticorin has been going on for a long time and is a major contributor to the region’s economy. Ever since the town’s port was declared a minor anchorage in 1868, trade centered on fishes, prawns, and pearls has been flourishing. Unfortunately, pearl-diving ceased in the 1950s for various reasons and fishing for prawns was banned by the Supreme Court in 2009, citing concerns of environmental preservation.

This left the fishing industry fighting a lone battle, and it has not done well. The most common sights upon entering a fishing hamlet in Tuticorin include fishermen unloading many thousands of fish caught in the day’s trip, unknotting and drying the nets for the next haul, sitting around and talking or playing cards, women collecting drinking water in large containers from the hand pump, and children running around without a care.

However, a plethora of issues underpin this pleasant picture, and even though they vary in intensity from hamlet to hamlet, they are all persistent.

Irrespective of the fishermen’s location, rising fuel costs are hampering their ability to catch more fish. As part of a central government scheme, of which the state government partakes, fishermen with mechanized fishing boats are supposed to avail a discount of Rs. 5.50 on the Central Excise Duty (CED) on every litre of diesel they purchase from bunks installed near the harbour for this purpose. That amounts to Rs. 37.90. However, the fishermen are provided only 300 litres of fuel per month, which they claim suffices for two weeks’ worth of fishing.

It is there that the vicious cycle of poverty amongst Tuticorin’s fishermen begins. For the following two weeks, the boat owners are forced to purchase fuel at the market price of Rs. 43.40, which shaves off an impressive part of their monthly income. At the same time, with the cost of fibre-glass and fishing nets increasing, a limit is imposed on their expenses which, in turn, limit their income, too.

At Thracepuram, an urban fishing hamlet near Tuticorin port, there are about 1,500 mechanized boats and 6,000 families that are dependent on them. Despite the cost of one mechanized boat having increased from a little more than a lakh rupees in 2001 to Rs. 7 lakh in 2011, the number of boats has increased. This is not an indication of prosperity, however, because even though more fishermen have been able to afford boats in the last decade, fishing has been unaffordable only for the last two or three years. In fact, it is notable that between 2008 and 2011, private lenders increased their lending rates from 8 per cent per month to 12 per cent per month.

In the 1970s, fishermen could catch the kumala, vanjaram (Indo-Pacific king mackerel), kanagatthai, oola, and vaaval (white pomfret) species of fish. Forty years on, only the white pomfret is widely sought after because it continues to have some export value (Rs. 400 per kilogram). In the same period, the fishermen’s dependence on mechanized weaving has increased. Not that net-weaving is an art, but because it is a laborious process that can sometimes take up to two weeks, they begrudge the Rs. 1,300 per net as being necessary.

The market where the fishes are sold does not interface directly with the boat owners but via a fishermen’s union comprised of representatives from amongst the fishing population, a situation observed in many of the coastal hamlets in the district. The union is responsible for negotiating the selling rates for export-grade fishes with the state government, providing storage facilities, and, on a minor note, settling local disputes. At the same time, an auction is also held as soon as a boat returns from its trip, where the fisher is able to sell his catch to a bidder then and there.

The opportunity for communal conflicts within these entities, however, further distorts the region’s economic and political arrangement. A common complaint has been the issuance of a fisherman’s ID card, which a fisherman can use to prove his identity in case he ventures far into the sea and is apprehended by the Indian Navy. The card, they demand, could also be used to streamline fuel, electricity, and rice subsidies and not necessitate separate applications for each of them.

The unions are controlled by those of the Nadar community. The fishermen, all belonging to the Scheduled Castes (SC), insist that even though the fishers unanimously agreed to the introduction of the fisherman’s card, the cards are being withheld on communal grounds. Unfortunately, they also insist that they cannot afford to persist with their fight because they don’t have the resources for it. Instead, they have to fight to retain control in their own waters.

Ever since the introduction of trawlers, fishermen have suffered greatly for two reasons. One, the trawlers reduce the catch available, and two, they rake up the seabed, reducing its consistency and ability to support marine life. Because a majority of the fishing community constitutes small fishermen and few enterprises, larger vessels (not trawlers) invade common fishing space, pushing smaller boats away from their own coast in search of food. This has been the case in Tuticorin, whereby trawlers prowling in Rameswaram and Tiruchendur have resulted in the smaller vessels going as far south as Kanyakumari in search of fishes.

For all these reasons, alternative cost-cutting solutions are sought after, such as no longer venturing out deep into the ocean. This increases the fisherman’s dependence on those organisms closer to the coast, such as crabs, molluscs and smaller fish, which do not have good remunerative value. Those who have lived near the sea all their lives claim that the water levels are rising, too, and that in five years, the hamlets will be no more. They could be true, but it won’t be the sea that swallows them. It will be the nonchalance of the government that refuses to recognize these unspoken issues.

Caste politics holds down the poor in Tuticorin's farms

Caste politics determine the economic independence of the Scheduled Caste farmers and agricultural labourers in and around Tuticorin district. Even though they are more in number, the “upper caste” Nadar maintain a strict control over their wages and entry into agriculture.

In the villages of Peikkulam, Palayamkottai, Sawyerpuram, Arumugamangalam, Nattathi and Arel, banana plantations account for the majority of cultivated land. Spread over more than 2,000 acres out of the total 3,500, they are irrigated by water from the Thamirabarani River and 100 bore-wells. The remaining land is used for paddy and drumsticks cultivation.

Agriculture has been the main occupation in these villages for the past 140 years and has been paying good returns on investment. However, caste politics have an iron grip over the livelihood of the Scheduled Castes to the extent that they continue to get suppressed.

The Peikkulam Farmers’ Association represents all farmers and farmland-owners over the 3,500 acres, and claims responsibility for “arranging for” assistance in times of need. However, according to Mr. Paramasivan, a farmer belonging to the Scheduled Caste, “When the price of DAP jumped from Rs. 12,500 per ton in April, 2011 to Rs, 18,000 per ton in October, 2011, the cost per acre of paddy cultivation jumped from Rs. 18,000 to Rs. 25,000 for small farmers.”

“All this while, the Association stood back despite demands for the regulation of fertilizers purchases and redistribution of income.” In the same period, the membership fee for these small farmers, mostly of the Scheduled Caste, was increased from Rs. 400 to Rs. 600 per acre citing “technical issues”.

Mr. M. Murugesan, the Secretary of the Association, and his colleague, the President of the Association, Mr. S. V. P. S. P. Sundarapandian, are the leaders of the local Nadar community. They have been traditionally administering its duties for as long as agriculture has been practiced in the region: 140 years. Mr. Sundarapandian admitted that even though elections are held amongst the farmers for various offices in the union every year, the posts of secretary and president have always been inherited by Nadar leaders.

When asked about the wages for the people employed on the farms, Mr. Murugesan responded, “The men do the more specialized tasks of planting the seeds, digging the irrigation channels and grafting, and they are handpicked from our community from the neighbouring villages. They are paid Rs. 400 to Rs. 500 a day.”

As for the women, he said that they “are engaged only in slicing the leaves, picking the fruits, mixing and sowing the fertilizers and pesticides, and in other coolie tasks. They are also from the neighbouring villages, but since they will be performing tasks that everyone can, they are paid Rs. 140 to Rs. 150 a day.”

While many have considered withdrawing from the Association, its added benefits are costlier to procure without its support. Two such benefits are insurance against disasters – which is sustained by donations made to the Association’s coffers – and bargaining power against the government. A third aspect, that of loans, hinders the “lower caste” population from turning into landowners.

“Two banks that operate in rural Tuticorin and that have affordable interests for small farmers, Canara Bank and the Tamilnad Mercantile Bank, are dominated by Nadars,” says Mr. V. Perumal, a farmer employed by Mr. Sundarapandian. “When we seek loans to buy land and operate our own farms, there are significant delays in processing the loan. One of my kinsmen was denied a loan even though he had just returned from Tirunelveli town with all his savings.”

Such unionism is well-established in the seven villages. There are government initiatives that are aimed at increasing the representation of the Scheduled Castes via quotas in universities and government offices, and the Rajeev Gandhi Grameen Vidyutikaran Yojana scheme that subsidises electricity supply. However, the ground-level situation remains harshly inconducive to economic independence for the poorer sections.

Even after extended decentralization of authority in the form of the Gram Sabha and employment opportunities through the NREGA, being of a “lower caste” still pushes these people to live between debt and more debt.

Alcoholic, gambling distress in Tuticorin goes unnoticed

Rampant alcoholism, pockets of gambling and frequent suicides set the tone for the social lives of fishermen, farmers and salt pan workers in Tuticorin district. While piling debts to sustain their livelihoods batter them on the one hand, they are also beset by a host of other debilitating issues.

At 4 PM in the urban fishing locale of Thracepuran in Tuticorin, many fishermen are already drunk even as boats that have returned from fishing trips in the afternoon unload their catches. Mr. John Fernandes, who had just returned after fishing for crabs, says, “Sometimes it’s the stench of fishes that makes us drink. Sometimes, when we return to land after 4-5 days of continuous fishing in deep waters, we are frustrated and agonized by the ordeal, and so we drink. At other times, it is the domestic problems or the debts. The debts just refuse to let go.”

The incidence of domestic violence, according to the womenfolk of Thracepuram, increases when the men drink because they have not recovered the day’s investment. Some, however, fiercely admit that they are strong willed: “when the men hit us, we don’t hesitate to hit back”. They say the problem is further aggravated by the proximity of the state-run TASMAC shops, which gives the men access to cheap alcohol and makes them more addicted. Sophilia, a final-year college student, sayes, “If a fisherman earns Rs. 500 on a trip, at least Rs. 200 is spent in buying liquor.” She also suggested that some more is lost in gambling.

In 2009, a group of women from many households rallied against a TASMAC outlet that had been opened within the settlement and forced it to be shut. The incident occurred after a lorry carrying liquor to the store had run over three fishermen. Now, the nearest outlet is almost a kilometer away, but that hasn’t been a strong enough deterrent.

According to Father Simon, a missionary engaged in rehabilitation activities, 450 families in Thracepuram alone were affected by alcoholism and gambling. At the same time, falling standards of sanitation in the neighbourhood he said have led to water contamination, further adversely affecting the health of drinkers. Hospitals have been built nearby, but they also mean further expenses.

In fact, Mr. Ayyappan, a resident of Rajapandinagar, a 30-year old settlement populated only by salt pan workers, quipped that the nearest hospital was almost five times as far away as the nearest TASMAC outlet, which meant men were more likely to forget their troubles drinking than consult the doctor.

Even in places where access to alcohol is non-existent, the problem refuses to disappear. In Vagaikulam, Vadivel, a landless agricultural labourer aged 56, says, “There are many mobile vendors of alcohol who come to the village once a week. They buy liquor from elsewhere and peddle it to us at the same price.” When asked if any of them were affiliated with the government, he laughed.

Alanthalai, another fishing hamlet near Arel, also suffers from losses in gambling. Freyton, a 40-year old fisherman whose ancestors have all been employed in fishing, said that after the boats returned from a 12-hour trip at 8 AM, the men have the rest of the day off, and spend it playing cards and gambling.

Even though the younger men remained reluctant to admit how much they gambled with every day, the elders begrudged that it was anywhere between Rs. 100 and Rs. 1,000. And with costs of kerosene, diesel and even the fishing nets increasing, these addictions are becoming more luxurious.

The direst consequence of these issues is suicides amongst the labourers and their families. Father Simon says that in the last week of December alone, there had been three suicides in Thracepuram. He adds that post mortems were never performed on the victims, lending credibility to some doubts that they may not have been suicides. Sophilia, the college student, believes that alcoholism is the root cause of the suicides and informs that her relative’s son, aged 21, had recently immolated himself as a consequence of an alcoholism issue.

Let alone the economic prognosis, such social distress constantly steeps these communities of farmers, labourers and fishermen into costly addictions. Even though organizations like Alcoholics Anonymous and the local church hold rehabilitation programs in the villages of this district, the people’s participation is feeble. Those affected want to take action only after they have been affected significantly, and until then, the distress goes unnoticed.

The resolved pleasure of rural journalism

On January 2, 2012, I didn't think rural journalism would be something I could come to like. Being a science nerd, amongst other things, I always thought my heart would lie with the urban side of things: huge laboratories smashing the smallest things together, guilt-spasmed corporations funding obscure research, the grand designs and the fervent pursuit of knowledge, and essentially all things developed. However, meeting with the fishermen, farmers and salt pan workers of Tuticorin, Tamil Nadu, shook the foundation I took for granted enough to have me reconsider my options. At first, at least.

The first sensation that becomes apparent is that, in rural journalism, public participation is much greater than on the urban side. In India, that's just because government policy is conspicuously biased toward the urban populace and urbanization, leaving the rural and the poor to fend for themselves in an economic environment that takes more than it gives. When the journalist shows himself, he finds that his place has already been clearly marked out: adversary to the government, darling of the masses, assumed to be sacrificial and, in many cases, leftist.

For the uninitiated, i.e. me, that's the sort of attention I've to really fight to get when working in science journalism. When reporting science stories, I don't have the assured readership of thousands of people, I don't have the constant reminder that if I goof up somewhere, actual lives and livelihoods will be rattled with it, and most of all, I don't have a fresh crop of stories day after day, week after week. Fortunately, and disregarding all these terrible thoughts (that have only the effect of bogging me down), what reportage in rural India will do best is reinforce your purpose as a journalist. That at the lowest level, journalism is as pertinent and life-changing as influencing economic policy is at the highest level.

At the same time, it becomes very easy to get lost in a sea of the micro: micro-political issues are rampant and most of them are self-limiting, and micro-economic issues often restrict the penetration of "urban goodness". With such regular and close contact with the deprived, most journalistic remediation focuses on the micro-issue of mitigation of the effects of resource theft. What IMHO it should focus on is the mitigation of the effects of improper deployment and administration, which is the root cause of all the theft.

For instance, the Sterlite copper smelting plant situated on the coast, next to Tuticorin's harbour, has been accused of severely polluting the neighbouring waters, depleting the water of the Thamirabharani, and undermining the significance of local and more traditional industries. I don't think that's what Sterlite has done. I think that's what all copper smelting plants do when the government can't step up and do its bit: modify policy perspectives to prevent abuse in the face of demand and have a hand on long-term evolution characteristics, broadly speaking.

However, because of a queasy and money-mongering government, Sterlite operations everywhere will take a hit. People will quote the damage the corporation has wrecked in south Tamil Nadu even if a plant is coming up somewhere where the necessary safeguards are in place. Industrialism is not all that dispensable, if you didn't know, and toying around with it for personal gains is only going to delegitimize its already-pocked facade. This is one of the most important perspectives of rural journalists that needs to be emphasized: that stories extend far beyond the interface of the deprived and the depleter, that just because they're not visible to the naked eye doesn't mean they aren't there.

[caption id="attachment_21204" align="aligncenter" width="266" caption="P. Sainath is an award-winning rural journalist who works efficiently between the deprived and the depleter, but his negligence of remedial measures makes him a cynic-in-power."][/caption]

All in all, I had a wonderful time talking to the people in Vagaikulam, Aalanthalai, Rajapandinagar, Nattaathi, Periyakulam, Subramaniyapuram, Srivaikundam, people employed in paddy-farming and banana plantations, raking salt in the salt pans, fishing, pearl-diving, weaving, and trading, people generous with their food, cynicism, homes and opinions. For a change, it felt strangely good to travel vast distances just to solicit the petitions of a few men and women under the grating January sun simply because there was someone waiting for a listen. That was the moment of (selfish?) pleasure that made the trip worth it.