Since 2014, working conditions have been in the spotlight when the media exposed controversial ‘slave labour’ practices in Thailand (Hodal, ; Hodal, Songkhla, & Lawrence, ; Mason, McDowell, Mendoza, & Htuun, ; Urbina, ). Further ‘slavery scandals’ (Marschke & Vandergeest, ) have since broken out in fisheries in Ireland, Taiwan and Hawaii, in seafood processing (Hapke, ) and nearshore fishing (Belton, Marschke, & Vandergeest, ). Beyond working hours, health and safety, and vessel conditions, fishery accidents at sea are further compounded by storms, vessels colliding, slipping on decks, bites from handling aquatic life, hypothermia or drowning, and sheer physical fatigue (Frantzeskou, Jensen, & Linos, ; Jensen, Petursdottir, Holmen, Abrahamsen, & Lincoln, ; Kaustell, Mattila, & Rautiainen, ). United Nation (UN) policy instruments such as the International Labour Organization's Work in Fishing Convention (C‐188), the Food and Agricultural Organization Voluntary Guidelines for Securing Small‐Scale Fisheries (SSF Guidelines), and the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights are being used by governments, businesses and not‐for‐profit organizations to address such challenges in the seafood sector (Kittinger et al., ) including unfair working conditions and improved safety at sea. However, these policies have had limited success to date (Urbina, ). This is in part because there is inadequate understanding of the everyday working conditions that contemporary fish workers endure, particularly throughout the global South and outside the media spotlight (Vangergeest & Marschke, ).
Our aim in this paper is to develop an integrative, or linked social–ecological, perspective with which to examine precarious work in the fishery sector. We use insights from fieldwork on the southwest coast of Jamaica, to ask the following questions: (a) what does precarity mean for mixed‐gear fishers working in the Jamaican context, particularly with reference to labour and working conditions and (b) how do changing ecological and biophysical conditions intersect with working conditions to influence fisher precarity? Precarity has not been applied in the context of fisheries‐based work, even as working conditions in fisheries are emerging to be a real issue (Kittinger et al., ). We draw on a precarity analysis to unite a diverse set of work‐related issues in fishing that have been previously fragmented. The concept of precarity, which has emerged as a descriptive – and occasionally analytical – tool to articulate forms of work and living (Munck, ), enables us to examine work in fishing in a detailed manner.
Kalleberg and Hewison () define precarity as uncertain, unstable, insecure work whereby employees bear all the risks associated with work – rather than a business or government – and receive limited social benefits and statutory entitlements. Precarity can also refer to those experiencing ‘precariousness’, conjuring ideas of uncertainty and instability (Waite, ) and the societal breakdown associated with the forces that drive late capitalism (Cruz‐Del Rosario & Rigg, ). Thus, precarity is conceived both as a generalizable social condition and as a condition specific to labour and employment relations (Waite, ). The idea of precarious work gained traction because nominal distinctions between formal and informal (or standard and non‐standard work) fail to capture the complexities of modern employment practices (Guy, , ). Precarity can refer to an underclass of workers in the gig economy, where workers move from gig to gig (Jayakumar & Goh, ), and in contexts where poverty is deepened by unimproved growth or integration into markets (Mosse, ).
The concept of precarity emerged in the 1970s to describe changing patterns of work and employment, moving away from full‐time continuous employment in stable working environments with social benefits (Munck, ). Paugam, Charbonnel, and Zoyem () further developed this idea by examining how ‘lines of disruption’ (lignes de fracture) led to new forms of poverty, particularly employment destabilization and labour market deterioration, and began to associate precarity with atypical forms of employment that downgraded the substance of social rights. Precarity is an emerging analytical field, including in geography and labour studies, focusing on thematic concerns such as aging, migration, the gig economy and refugee studies (see Cruz‐Del Rosario & Rigg, ). There is also a budding focus on precarity in the global South: Rigg, Oven, Basyal, and Lamichhane () focus on rural precarity of farming livelihoods in Nepal, Swider () looks at labour precarity in China’s construction industry and Larmer () reflects on permanent precarity in the Central African copperbelt. As Weston () argues, even if Fordism never fully developed and precarity is not a new condition in the global South, people globally are struggling for an imagined future that no longer seems possible. Precarity further focuses on new forms of poverty, what Rigg et al. () refer to as produced exposure whereby working conditions are impacted by shifting markets, changing population dynamics and biophysical shifts in ecosystems.
Where precarity has been most useful is in unpacking working conditions and the absence of secure contracts, social rights and protections (Kalleberg & Hewison, ). Precarity analyses, however, have not focused in on the ecosystem conditions which resource‐oriented livelihoods are based. While a few studies have emerged to examine poor working conditions in fisheries, including the influential work of Christina Stringer in the case of New Zealand's fisheries (Simmons & Stringer, ; Stringer, Simmons, Coulston, & Whittaker, ; Stringer, Whittaker, & Simmons, ) and Sallie Yea in the context of Taiwan's long‐haul sector (Yea, ), there is limited academic literature examining the reality of what poor working conditions mean in the context of overall fish decline (but see Belton et al., ; Tickler et al., ). This is a notable absence since ecological and biophysical change impacts fisher work, including longer working hours at sea to compensate for declining fish stocks (Environmental Justice Foundation, ), and necessary changes in gear and equipment required to target different species as stocks shift with changing conditions.
Our paper examines fish work precarity in the context of Jamaica's declining fisheries. While fish work has always been precarious, we argue that this is a useful analytic to better understand and pay attention to the specific characteristics of fish work, particularly when combined with an analysis of biophysical change. To address our objectives, we begin by reviewing the research context, framework and methods, before turning to our analysis. We focus on workers using two main types of fishing gear – pot fishing and dive fishing – to examine labour arrangements, local perceptions about working conditions and risk, and the role of ecological and biophysical change. We show how a more integrative (or social and ecological) approach to precarity analysis, particularly for commodity‐based work, helps characterize and give nuance to various fisheries work operating across time and space, resulting in differing levels of precarity. A precarity analysis lends itself to thick description, which points to key challenges that could be operationalized through the broader suite of UN policies including the SSF Guidelines.
Caribbean countries, including Jamaica, are experiencing substantial threats from environmental change. Changes in coastal and marine ecosystems are exacerbating situations of poverty and poor working conditions with implications for the well‐being of fishers. This even as Jamaica's fishing industry contributes to the food security and livelihoods of nearly 5% of the island's population (FAO, ): Jamaica's maritime space is 274,000 km2. There are over 23,000 fishers and 7,000 boats registered, which does not take into account unregistered boats or people who benefit from fishing indirectly, operating from 187 fishing beaches and two cays located offshore at Pedro Bank (MICAF, ). The marine capture fishery – which is economically significant – is comprised of both nearshore (also referred to as artisanal or small‐scale) and industrial operators. The fishers who make up our case study, operating in nearshore waters, fish from open boats powered by outboard motors, targeting demersal and pelagic fish within a significant portion of Jamaica's maritime waters.
Notably, many people from other sectors turn to fisheries seasonally, temporarily or permanently when faced with unemployment or poverty (World Bank, ), further straining ecological conditions. Reef and reef‐associated finfishes are the main fishery (MICAF, ), but lobster tails, conch and valuable finfish species such as snappers are exported to hard currency markets in a chilled or frozen state, with France and the United States being the primary markets for Jamaican fish exports (Department of Economic & Social Affairs/United Nations Statistics Division, ). Local economic conditions are driving intensification of these valuable commodities but in the absence of a strong regulatory framework and associated conservation measures. In 2017, fisheries imports were valued at USD $61 million far outstripping the value of fish exports (USD $14 million) (Department of Economic & Social Affairs/United Nations Statistics Division, ). This is in part linked to highly processed seafood products and luxury items designated for tourism. Jamaica has one of the highest levels of fish consumption per capita in the Americas – which account for 79% of fishery products consumed domestically (World Bank, ).
There has been limited uptake in Jamaica with regard to the SSF Guidelines pertaining to decent work, even as a few national fisherfolk organizations have been strong advocates working within the Caribbean Network of Fisherfolk Organizations (McConney, Phillips, Nembhard, & Lay, ). Jamaica has not ratified ILO’s Work in Fishing convention, C‐188, and it is unclear how the government draws on the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights. Jamaica's new Fisheries Act does not focus on work in fishing, which is the case for most national‐level fisheries policies (see Marschke & Vandergeest, ), and which is why the SSF Guidelines hold potential. That said, we acknowledge how difficult it is to combine fisheries management and labour issues, that a diverse set of actors are required, and implementation challenges remain the norm (Courtney, Pomeroy, & Brooks, ; Singleton, Allison, Billon, & Sumaila, ).
To assess precarity in the context of work in fisheries in Jamaica, we adopt the framework developed primarily by Rogers (). Rogers () highlights four dimensions that contribute to workers’ varying degrees of exposure to employment and socio‐economic precarity, namely: (a) temporal – limited or uncertain employment duration; (b) organizational – weak individual and collective control over working conditions; (c) protection – little or no social security benefits and inadequate protection against improper working conditions and (d) economic – inadequate pay, associated with poverty and social exclusion. However, we add two additional components. First, we include an explicit focus on ecology and biophysical change which is essential to the sustainability of commodity‐based livelihoods. Here we are interested in reflecting the ecological and biophysical drivers of change within which labour practices, organizational decisions and economic logics are situated (e.g. stock decline, implications of climate change). Second, we add a spatial perspective to precarity. Employment and socio‐economic insecurity has a temporal dimension and a spatial dimension, particularly as it relates to the distribution of resources (e.g. harvesting of fish stocks and other marine resources) that shift in response to changing biophysical conditions. We use this framework as a general heuristic or guide for our analysis. In doing so, we seek to develop an initial approach to examining precarity that reflects a more linked social–ecological (Berkes & Folke, ) perspective (see Figure ), but one that is flexible to context and choices by researchers about what to emphasize.
We take a constructivist, case‐study approach (Harrison, Birks, Franklin, & Mills, ; Yin, ) to the collection and analysis of fish worker precarity on the southwestern coast of Jamaica. In all, 25 key informant interviews were conducted during 2017 and 2018 at three different intervals, with trap (also known as pot) fishers and divers (free divers), as well as a smaller subset of boat owners, fisheries managers and heads of local fisher associations. While we attempted to speak with compressor dive fishers, these men were difficult to locate when not on a boat diving and so we learned more about this fishery from compressor boat drivers and owners, as well as free divers with experiences in compressor diving. We also spoke with a former off‐shore fisher and a lobster boat owner with Honduran crew which gave us a broader perspective on the fisheries (Figure ) hinting at poor working conditions among migrant workers in and around Pedro Bank. The majority of interviews (all except two) were with men, since fisheries work at sea is male‐based (had we looked into seafood processing, we would have spoken with far more women). Research ethics clearance was obtained from the lead author's university, with all interviewees giving their informed consent to participate in this study.
We explored working conditions across the pot and dive fisheries, including fishers’ perceptions of their work and the risks associated with their livelihoods, how fishers dealt with fisheries decline and thoughts for the future of these fisheries. We did not provide accounting standard figures on income and expenses, rather we explore fish worker perceptions of how profits are split between crew and boat owners, and recognize that profits fluctuate in this sector. Interviews generally took place within the fishing port or at a local pop shop in the port, and lasted between 30 min and 2 hr. These interviews were supplemented with data from a community‐based vulnerability assessment (n = 73) conducted on the southwest coast in 2016 examining fisheries livelihoods. This approach was adapted from Smit and Wandel () and sought to integrate scientific and local knowledge systems to query coping strategies and resilience attributes and entry points for building local adaptive capacity among coastal communities and small‐scale fishers. We further reviewed relevant literature pertaining to the region and accessed a data set looking at injury rates among fishers collected at the Jamaican Marine Lab.
We concentrate our analysis in this paper on the two main fishery gear types found along the southwestern coast of Jamaica – pot fishing and dive fishing – and emphasize working conditions, fisher perceptions of their work, the risks involved in a particular fishery, along with reference to the ecological and biophysical context in which conditions of precarity should be considered. In doing so, our results reflect the temporal and spatial dimensions of fisher and ecosystem precarity. Our analysis of fisher precarity adopts an integrative perspective (Figure ), and we further reflect on our precarity framework in the discussion section.
Pot fishing and dive fishing provide an important livelihood source for many fishers along the southwestern coast of Jamaica (MICAF, ). Pot fishing involves traps that are made from mesh wire and a wooden frame, varying in size. Pots are attached to a buoy, and lowered into the sea in and around reefs. This fishery targets mainly coral reef fish such as Parrotfish (Scaridae), grunts (Haemulon sciurus) and snappers (Lutjanidae). The dive fishers, in contrast, are highly mobile using a spear to target higher value reef fisheries including conch (Strombus gigas). There are two types of divers, free lung and compressor. Free lung divers do not use compressed air, and dive for a maximum of 15 feet generally along reefs in comparison to compressor divers who target fish up to a 150 foot depth. Both types of fishing gear operate along a gradient of scale and distance, with fishers spending various lengths of time out at sea, ranging from daily trips to week‐long journeys (Table ).
Overview of pot fishing and dive fishing| Fishery | Fishing grounds | Gear type | Monetary arrangements | Average age | Crew | Length of time at sea |
| Pot | Blossom | Pots w/hook and line | Individual, but haul boat owner traps | Over 40 | 3–4 | Day trips |
| Pedro Bank | Pots w/hook and line | Individual, but haul boat owner traps | Over 40 | 6–7 | A week max | |
| Dive | Blossom | Free diving | Individual | Mixed | 2–3 | Day trips |
| Pedro Bank | Free diving | 50/50 profit split, crew with boat owner | Mixed | 12–15 | A week max | |
| Pedro Bank | Compressor diving | 50/50 profit split, crew with boat owner | 20s | 3 | A week max |
1Monetary arrangements were calculated with the owner, based on the fact that crew did not own the boat and there were expenses that the boat owner had to cover (fuel, food in some cases).
2Time at sea is dependent on weather, catch, etc.
For pot and line fisheries, spatial variation and intensity was observed. Those fishers working on small boats – 28 foot vessels with one 40 horsepower (hp) motor, as an example – did day trips, going 20 km from shore (which took a travel time of 2 hr) to a shallow water area known as Blossom Bank (Figure ). Here, a crew of three or four worked with a boat owner to haul their own individual traps, along with those of the boat owner. Typically, the bulk of the traps belong to the boat owner, with individual crew owning up to eight traps or so (with the boat owner owning up to ten times more traps). The boat owner typically covers gas and boat costs, and crew haul his traps but maintain the income of what comes out of their individual traps. A line will also get set to target offshore pelagic fish (barracuda, yellow snapper) or coastal reef finfish as a bonus, and this is split 50/50 with the boat captain (who may be the owner, but not always). Crew take care of their own food, and may contribute gas once in a while when the catch is particularly good.
Pot fishers also operate further afield, in and around Pedro Bank, around 80 km off the southwestern coast of Jamaica, which can take up to 12 hr to reach (Figure ). In this case, a crew of six or seven is needed to operate a 45 foot boat with two 60 hp motors. Crew spend from 3 days to a week or so fishing in and around Pedro Bank, depending on the fish catch, before returning to land. Since these boats are larger than those fishing closer to the coastline, they can take more pots, typically over 200 with crew owning up to 20 individual pots. Here too crew are responsible to set and haul traps for the boat owner, and will also set a communal line to catch off‐shore pelagic fish, also split 50/50. A major difference here is that men sleep on the boats at night, in the open air, and a boat captain needs to be vigilant against shipping traffic. As one boat owner noted ‘Sleep little, as need to watch steam ships. Sometimes they cross the bank, steamers don't have a shipping lane so go anywhere’ (Interview #5). Here too the boat owner covers gas and boat costs, whereas food and ice are ordered collectively with men paying for ice based on the number of traps they are hauling.
The other important fishery for men living in this region was the dive fishery, either free diving or compressor diving. For men doing free lung diving, this can take place on the reefs closer to shore or in and around Pedro Bank. For those doing day trips, men work in teams of two or three to target fish together, spending 6–8 hr in the reef areas nearshore. Men may or may not find reef fish, and combine this form of fishing with other livelihood activities. This differs from men going out to Pedro Bank for up to a week at a time. Here a boat owner will take a crew of 12 or so divers to Pedro Bank. The men dive to a max of 15 feet, and are doing three dive sessions a day with a 1‐ to 2‐hr rest period in between each set. Interviewees estimated they were in the water for 10 hr a day or so. Each diver has a 50/50 split with the boat captain or owner, in terms of fish catch, with gas, ice and food being covered.
In contrast to the numbers of men free diving on a particular boat, boats with compressor divers have a small crew. There are typically three men diving, as each of the lines have to be carefully watched by the boat captain to ensure that no one runs over a line and cuts off air supply. These men dive to a maximum of 150 feet, and will fill up their bags with fish, drop them on the boat, and return deep into the water throughout the day. The big risk here is decompression sickness (‘the bends’) caused from uncontrolled or emergency ascent. In these arrangements, the men rent their compressor and pay for the gas in the compressor, and then do a 50/50 split arrangement in terms of fisheries product with the boat owner.
While a few fishers do day fishing – pot fishing near Blossom Bank or spear fishing on the nearshore reefs via free lung diving – such fisheries were not seen as very viable economically. Most fishers are out at sea for days on end. Here men sleep on their boats, sometimes on anchor and sometimes with the driver moving locations, in and around Pedro Bank. One interviewee explained, we ‘carry some sleeping pads like at the hotels and spread them out in the bottom of the boat and sleep close to one another (Interview #11)’, although as another interview noted ‘water come in when you are asleep, rough, used to it’ (Interview #5). Those sleeping on the boats endure the elements – there is no protection from rain, winds nor sun – and someone has to keep watch for cargo ships at night since there are no designated cargo lanes. Boats of this size do not have washroom facilities nor do they have any covering. While cell phones do work at various parts in and around Pedro Cays, cell phone batteries quickly run out. This can be an issue in terms of knowing that storms are brewing or if someone is hurt. That said, all boat owners or captains said if there was a serious health issue on board they turned around immediately as land is not that far away and that men out at sea help each other. A compressor boat captain spoke of helping a Honduran man who was severely ill on a cargo ship and of bringing him back to shore to be hospitalized. The boat owner was compensated for her loss in this case by the Honduran boat owners.
Working hours at sea are typically long, requiring sustained physical labour across all fisheries. We did hear about rest periods in the free lung dive fishery – where men took an hour or two break after a 3‐hr stint in the water – but this was the only case. Pot fishing is consistent work in that one is hauling, emptying and setting pots throughout the day, except in a few cases where boats have a pot hauler. Men spoke of back aches and the sheer physicality of pot fishing as they age; free lung divers spoke of potential ear problems if they dove too deep. But, it is compressor dive fishing that is likely the most physically tough, in that one is going into the sea at various depths for extended periods of time, without proper equipment, training or ability to treat cases of decompression sickness. Across all our interviews, men mentioned that they knew someone who had died or been severely injured from decompression sickness. Part of the challenge facing fishers is a lack of health insurance or funds to treat decompression. For those who survive, many suffer from life‐long injuries that prevent them from fishing and, in some cases, any form of work. Yet, since dive fishing is more lucrative than pot fishing, this appeals to many younger men.
Work contracts consist of verbal agreements related to the split of fish profits: there are ‘no written contracts’ (Interview #4), rather fishers need to register for a particular fishery and all boats require a fishing license. All interviewees – crew, captains and boat owners – were able to explain the labour arrangements found on their particular boat in clear detail, including how gross income is calculated, labour arrangements, and details about the costs of gasoline, ice or food. Two main trends emerge: (a) a form of labour sharing, where men operate a boat owners gear in exchange for being able to go on the boat and carrying individual gear (generally pots) and (b) a direct split of profits. In either case, it is boat owners, or captains who rent a boat, that obtain a significant amount of the profit, in the form of manual labour as seen in the pot fishery or in a catch share arrangement, generally obtaining 50% of what a worker catches as seen across the dive fishery. Even with surplus value skewing towards boat owners, boat ownership was not something fish workers necessarily aspired towards given costs of capital investment, gasoline and upkeep.
For pot fishing, all the men we interviewed were in their 40s or beyond, with most being in their 50s or 60s. What was consistently expressed was a love of the fishing lifestyle: ‘Love the sea, love my work. Doing it for 40 years’ (Interview #6). Men also noted the barriers to other jobs when they were young, and how fishing was open to them. ‘Didn't have any other skills, so headed to the sea … It was a fast way to make money’ (Interview # 6). Some men entered fishing because of tradition, ‘Father did it, we're good at it’ (Interview #5). That said, there was a concern that this might be the last generation of boat captains, since young men were not interested in being pot fishers nor boat captains. The real potential quick money to be made is now in compressor dive fishing. We heard comments such as ‘no youngsters coming into fishing, everyone on their phone. Last generation of fishers’ (Interview #5) or ‘when we die there will be no captains left’ (Interview #7) or ‘I am on my way out … Knowledge base not being transferred’ (Interview #8) across our interviews.
Free lung fishers, on the other hand, were a mix of ages, with some fishing in the nearshore reef areas part‐time and others consistently going out on boats to Pedro. A free lung fisher told us that he really had the ideal fishing lifestyle: ‘Didn't like fish pots, harder work still as you have to set the pots and have to draw them still, and freelance diving just have my fin and goggles and I can go to work. Don't need much to get started’ (Interview #11). He further noted that this type of fishing (in contrast to compressor diving) is ‘Not that risky, low risk … don't get quick money with this, some make quicker money, me prefer my health over the money’ (#11). Another free lung fisher spoke of the value of being able to fish near shore: ‘So I like doing it because sometimes at home I need some fish. You can jump over to the reef and get a few fish and come back and cook a pot, you know? Fish is very good and I really like to do it a lot’ (Interview #12).
It is worth noting that in some cases, particularly for pot fishers, fishers do not know how to swim and safety equipment (life jackets, preservers) are not always available. As one respondent noted, … there are a lot of men down here that can’t swim. But because it is their livelihood they have to do it. They don’t really want to do it you know but because it is their livelihood they go out there. They are more careful than swimmers like us are and because they know [they] can’t swim they won’t make an error and go out there in bad weather and their boat turns over. (CBVA interview #16)
Even so, this is seen as a manageable risk in comparison to the extreme risks involved with compressor diving.
Compressor diving is strenuous work: ‘Sometimes they go down with a bag that can hold 100 pounds and strap up and give and then take next bag and go and get no rest, they go all day and don't get no rest’ (Interview #11). There is considerable risk with spending long hours underwater: ‘Sometimes a guy comes up all crumpled and you go by and assist him as he has catch Benz’ (Interview #9). Or, as another boat captain noted: ‘A lot of men die from Benz, I am going to feel guilty if this happens, so don't carry any divers, just do hook and line and pots’. (Interview #4). Compressor divers are also vulnerable in situations of conflict. A free lung diver explained: The compressor now – it is like a hose that it is attached, remember that. So for instance, if you and a man are in things, you go overboard on the compressor, all he has to do is to hold the hose and crimp it. Simple like that and your life is gone. Or he can just step on it for a couple of seconds. So when you feel like that breath is cut at least 80 or 90 feet down in the bottom … (Interview #12)
Figure illustrates the steady increase in treatments at Jamaica's Marine Lab for fishers using compressors when diving. Compressor divers do not use tanks, rather small tubes connected to a compressor on a boat. While first‐time patients are treated without upfront payment, the problem is that most cases of compression sickness require multiple treatments: this is where affordability is a major issue. Until payment for the first treatment is covered, it is unlikely that the Marine Lab would administer a second treatment. Figure also highlights the risky nature of this fishery, and how divers are going to deeper depths.
As one fishing representative from Whitehouse noted, ‘I think we have the most overfished area in the western hemisphere, Jamaica. So what we had is more fishermen going out to catch fewer fishes (CBVA interview #29)’. Reef fish stocks on the Pedro Bank, the fishing grounds of our case fisheries, have been declining for over 20 years, with some areas being fully exploited (Baldwin & Mahon, ). There is now a complete moratorium on the conch fishery for 2019 (Stewart, ). More trash fish species like Doctorfish (Acanthurus chirurgus) are being caught (Selvaraju, Trapido, Hayman, Santos, & Mar Polo Lacasa, ), with economically important species declining in number (World Bank, ). Baldwin and Mahon () also observe the shift from pot fishing to compressor diving for fish and lobster on Pedro Bank, noting that this has increased effective effort and further contributed to overexploitation. Another indicator of overfishing is the increasing proportion of young adult or juvenile fish in the catch (Selvaraju et al., ; Stewart, ).
Changes in quantity, size and composition trends are impacting working conditions in other ways too. For example, the men we interviewed spoke of needing to spend more time out at Pedro Bank, extending trips that used to be 2 or 3 days to a week or so in duration, reflecting both the temporal and spatial dimensions of precarity linked to ecological change. Respondents spoke about ‘taking more time to get the same amount of fish as 10 years ago’ and the subsequent trend towards much riskier compressor dive fishing: ‘dive fishing is increasing and trap fishing is decreasing’ (Interview #11). However, people continue to fish since the price of species has increased. As one interviewee noted, ‘it takes more time, but we get a better price’ (Interview #5). Another respondent noted, ‘Hard to say about dollars, [I] used to catch more but catch less fish now and get a better price. Difficult comparison as things change so much’ (Interview #4).
Notably, there is an additive ecological pressure from non‐Jamaican fishers accessing the same stocks. A common theme throughout the interviews was the impact of non‐Jamaican fishing fleets from nearby countries that were perceived to engage in fishing practices that further threatened stocks and augmented situations of precarity. As one respondent summarized, … I am telling you since this year … it’s the most breeding lobster I have ever seen and the close season has ended now. And once they are breeding … we let them go, but the Honduras divers who come on the bank, hiding and coming out here, are taking them … Yes, so they are destroying the lobster out there man … and the conch. They take lobster and conch from Pedro Bank. If those boats weren’t coming on Pedro Bank man, Jamaica could supply the whole world with lobsters and conchs. (CBVA interview #10)
Invasive species also drive precarity. For example, one individual we interviewed noted the impact of Lionfish (Pterois volitans) on overall catch: ‘[I] really don't know what to say. Sometimes we draw our pots and [only] the Lionfish is in them. It [seems] like they have taken over the bank’ (CBVA interview #7). Indeed, the problem posed by species shifts and invasive species like lionfish are a growing concern throughout the Caribbean basin. Effort has been made to turn the lionfish into a consumable fishery and there has been success in this regard. Specifically, Jamaica has instituted an ‘eat it to beat it’ program for lionfish, but the ecological change it has caused is significant. The outbreak of Saragassum (Sargassum natans and S. fluitans) has further created extremely challenging conditions for nearshore fishers and can threaten gear and access to stocks (Franks et al., ; Schell, Goodwin, & Siuda, ).
Finally, more general changes in climate and storm uncertainty pose longer‐term threats and may exacerbate precarity in a profound manner. For example, Taylor et al. (: 2923) have examined climate outcomes under different scenarios of temperature change, noting that differences between 1.5 and 2°C for the Caribbean include near year‐round warm spells with longer hot and dry spells. Fishers, too, observe the uncertainty or peculiarity of weather systems: ‘The air … it look like we are getting more breeze … we are getting some funny weather right now’ (CBVA interview #19). Severe storms impact fishing livelihoods in multiple ways. ‘… And I’m in this position because of hurricanes. My pots were taken away twice, over 200 pots – at first 100, and then, another time, over 100 – and I didn't get anything back. Nothing’ (CBVA interview #13). Another fisher noted, ‘I used to catch more fish back in the days than now. I think one of the things that cause [the change], especially the bank that I fish, one of the things that cause it was one of the hurricanes’. This individual went on to explain how the hurricane damaged the corals and ultimately reducing the productivity of the fishing ground. Drawing attention to the precarity implications, he concluded, ‘So after a while now the fish go all the way down … So then you come back from [the fishing ground] now but not like you used to. So people [are] setting more fish pots now because you are getting a little you know?’ (CBVA interview #15).
Work in fishing is not easy, and this is not unique to the Jamaican case nor to the global South: work on the oceans has always been dangerous, with high injury rates and risk of mortality (Jensen et al., ; Marto, ). For example, one study found that fishing was the most dangerous livelihood a Canadian worker could do (Grant, ), echoing what other research has found in the European context (Chauvin, Le Bouar, & Lardjane, ). Media and advocacy groups have exposed stories of serious worker abuse at sea globally (Environmental Justice Foundation, ) including in Indonesia (Mason et al., ), Taiwan (Greenpeace, ), Hawaii (Mendoza & Mason, ) and Ireland (Stringer et al., ), often involving migrant workers. Unacceptable working conditions occur in nations with superficially strong regulatory frameworks, and greater attention is now being paid to the broad intersection of poor working conditions, fisheries and modern‐day slavery (Couper, Smith, & Ciceri, ; Stringer, Simmons, & Rees, ; Tickler et al., ; Vandergeest, ).
Yet while all fishing livelihoods face a degree of precarity, and one cannot think of fishing in terms of standard employment (Fordism has never existed in most fisheries), there is considerable variation across working conditions. Specific to our Jamaican cases, there is an absence of forced labour in comparison to what has been found elsewhere (Environmental Justice Foundation, ; Marschke & Vandergeest, ). We did not hear of instances where men experienced violence on boats, or violence that they felt we should know about, even as they admitted that ‘the fishing life is rough’ (Interview # 5). Men were clear about their work, the expectations of them, and the amount of time they would spend on a particular fishing boat. For the fisheries that we examined, men were not out at sea for months on end. These fisheries draw in men from the region: had we looked at the Jamaican lobster or conch fishery this may have been different in terms of crew brought in from Honduras or elsewhere, and if such working conditions differed. Men talked about appreciating the fishing lifestyle, and this was particularly true for older crew, boat captains and boat owners.
Even so, across all our interviews, there is an absence of work contracts, gross income always favours a boat owner or captain, men do not get the best price for their fish, and general working conditions have real health and safety challenges such as sleeping all night on an open boat and a lack of safety equipment. All men face the elements, the risk of hurricanes that can destroy boats, gear and, in some cases, lives. Pots were lost in hurricanes or seriously damaged. Cargo ships cross the Pedro Bank, and in the absence of shipping lanes everyone has to be vigilant if such ships come near smaller boats. However, the most persistent challenge mentioned was for the young men involved in compressor dive fishing – this fishery was leaving men injured or dead. Compressor diving is not safe – this is far different than diving with a tank.
As such, we observed variety in terms of fish work precarity across the fisheries we examined: this is where Roger's typology of precariousness is helpful (Table ), particularly with our modifications to focus on social–ecological work conditions.
Degree of precariousness found across Jamaica's pot and dive fisheries| Pot fishery | Dive fishery | ||||
| Blossom (day trips) | Pedro (week trips) | Free (day trips) | Free (week trips) | Compressor (week trips) | |
| Temporal & spatial | x | xx | x | xx | xxx |
| Organizational | xx | xx | xx | xx | xx |
| Labour protection | xx | xx | x | xx | xxx |
| Economic | xxx | xx | xxx | xx | x |
| Ecology | x | xxx | xx | xxx | xxx |
3x = precarious; xx = very precarious; xxx = extreme precarity.
4temporal – limited or uncertain employment duration; organizational – weak individual and collective control over working conditions; protection – little or no social security benefits and inadequate protection against improper working conditions; and economic – inadequate pay, associated with poverty and social exclusion; ecology – changes in the relations of organisms to one another and to their physical surroundings upon which fishers depend. Adapted from Rogers ().
Table highlights the temporal and spatial precarity facing fishers – fishers doing day trips are offered more protection from the weather and the general risks of being out at sea than those fishing further away at Blossom or Pedro. And, compressor dive fishing is far more precarious than men doing pot fishing; men are not protected from improper dive conditions and the risks associated with this fishery. Labour challenges were evident in terms of how many pots one could bring on a boat versus hauling for a boat owner, the split of fish profits between a boat owner and fisher, the lack of work contracts and overall fatigue. Economically, compressor dive fishing is the best pay, although this is in response to the heightened risk men take. Other fisheries can also pay well if the catch levels are high, but again this depends on seasonality, species fish routes and climatic variation. Overall fisheries in the nearshore areas of Jamaica, including those we examined, continue to be associated with poverty and social exclusion.
Fishing is not like fish farming or factory work – it is not a 9 to 5 job, nor is it consistent in nature. This plays out organizationally too: men are not unionized, and fish workers have little social protection including a lack of health insurance, regardless of the fishery they are engaged in. None of the workers we spoke with were registered with Jamaica's National Insurance Scheme, and emphasized that the local cooperative primarily focused on marketing and petrol sales rather than social protection for its members. One interviewee we met was in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down after an accident at sea. He received no compensation, and now spent his days at port relying on help from fishers and fish vendors. In the case of a pot fisher whose boat engine died, he and his crew mates drifted at sea for 25 days, only to end up in Belize: they each had to raise money to pay for their hospital expenses and flight home (Barrett, ). While this is not the extreme version of fish work precarity seen in cases beyond Jamaica, this still warrants further reflection.
What has been missing from most precarity analyses, including that focus on the global South, is how ecological decline contributes to precarity directly (e.g. through loss of access or changes in fishing grounds) and indirectly (e.g. through conflicts for increasingly scarce resources). For fisheries, it is the materiality of the fishery is not accounted for, nor how ecological decline and other forms of biophysical change affects working conditions. As our results show, people work harder and longer to get enough fish to consider it worth going out. Longer days at sea increases the chances of fatigue. People engage in riskier behaviour, diving to deeper depths to collect fish, as the Marine Lab statistics for compressor diving illustrate. Emerging climate shifts, such as increased hurricanes, add to such precarity as noted by various interview respondents. As the fisheries resource hits crisis point, so to do working conditions for fishers. We have sought to address this gap in our analysis of Jamaican fisheries, including for example, unpacking how the general squeeze fishers feel in terms of consistent stock declines results in an increased level of self‐exploitation (Howard, ). The connections between precarity, self‐exploitation and self‐employment, which is how some fish workers would view their situation, require further investigation.
Our case portrays a time‐bound perspective of working conditions in southwestern Jamaica, particularly for those fishers fishing towards, in and around Pedro Bank. The sustainability of Jamaican fisheries is of significant concern (Baldwin, ). Capture production in Jamaica has steadily declined since 1997, linked to coastal pollution, environmental degradation and unsustainable fishing practices, with climate change expected to exacerbate the situation (CCCCC, ; CSGM, ). There are several dimensions of ecological and biophysical change that intersect with labour and working conditions to influence fish worker precarity. Such emerging ecological shifts are rarely accounted for in a precarity analysis. Our approach enables us to compare working conditions across two fisheries operating at multiple scales, and identifies a range of patterns that require further exploration including labour protection, economic incentives for particular fisheries and the role of ecology in driving fish worker choice.
Our analysis of precarity implies that we need to pay more attention to these issues in the governance of fisheries, and in terms of investments around labour protection, individual and collective control, and social–ecological sustainability. This includes nearshore fisheries outside of the media spotlight. Policy does not need to be (re)created to enable this shift in fisheries governance to happen. The voluntary SSF Guidelines also emphasize decent work and Jamaica's nearshore fish workers could be covered by such a policy. Social protection policies coupled with health and safety mechanisms are important first steps to support fish workers. Shifting exploitative patron–client relations and regulating markets will require greater thought. More case analysis such as ours can point to key areas that require policy intervention. Regardless, fisheries resources will most likely continue to decline, and this will further drive precarious working conditions. There needs to be a short‐term plan for this. In the medium‐term plan, education in coastal areas will be important to give young people viable choices beyond fishing.
Thanks to all the fishers we spoke with, who generously shared their insights, and to the CBVA team – Steven Alexander, Maliha Majeed, Ryan Hogarth and Thalia Balkaran. Funding was provided by Canada’s Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (Grant #435‐2016‐0196), and the International Research Centre ‘Work and Human Lifecycle in Global History' (re:work) at Humboldt‐Universität zu Berlin.
The authors declare no conflict of interest.
M.M., D.C. and D.A. did fieldwork, with additional fieldwork and data manipulation by D.C.; all authors worked on the framing and analysed the data; M.M. led the writing of the manuscript. All authors contributed critically to the drafts and gave final approval for publication.
We guaranteed anonymity and confidentiality to our interviewees, as per our Ethics Approval granted by the University of Ottawa. This is in compliance with Ontario's Tri‐Council Policy Statement on research ethics.
1001Note that we did not interview men who permanently stayed out on Pedro Cays for fishing, but rather we focused on men who fished in and around Pedro Bank for short periods of time (a week or less). This partly explains why we mainly interviewed older men (except for several free lung dive fishers, since it is mostly 40 plus men who are involved in pot fishing). Future research will require deeper analysis into fishing practices in this region, particularly the semi‐permanent fishery at Pedro Cays, the role of migrant fishers from Latin America also searching for conch and other fish species in and around Pedro Bank, and the role of men and women throughout the seafood processing value chain.
1002These boats zig‐zag along the edge of Pedro Bank; men sleep on the boats compared to those men that live out on one of the three sand islands within Pedro Bank known as Pedro Cays.
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; Campbell, Donovan 2 ; Armitage, Derek 3
1 School of International Development and Global Studies, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON, Canada
2 Department of Geography & Geology, University of the West Indies, Kingston, Jamaica
3 School of Environment, Resources and Sustainability, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, ON, Canada
