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‘Cod was a way of life for us’

The moratorium changed many things, but there’s a new sense of optimism now

DORETTA STRICKLAND Doretta Strickland lives in Triton, where she has worked at the local fish plant for 40 years. She became the first female vice-president of the Fish, Food and Allied Workers union in 2018.

Triton, the coastal Green Bay town I call home, and where I was born and raised, was built off of the rich resources off our doorsteps — but those resources now are just a fraction of what we had before the northern cod moratorium fell in July 1992.

When the plant in Triton first opened, it processed 20 million pounds of cod brought in by the offshore draggers each year. I began working for the plant in 1982, shortly after Fishery Products International (FPI) bought the plant from the previous owners. At the time, we had 400 people working two shifts for 30 to 40 weeks a year, processing mainly cod, caplin and other groundfish.

Where there were over 50 fishermen in the early ‘90s, fish harvesters now number about 14, and we have 120 people working in the plant — lucky if we get our minimum 14 weeks per season.

Until the moratorium, my husband went away every summer to fish off Belle Isle, where many inshore fishermen from the area went for their cod each year. And cod was a way of life for us and so many families like us. We had nothing else to replace it with at the time. When the fishery closed, we were hit with a devastation we never expected.

My husband and I have three children — two sons and a daughter — and all our children had started in the fishery before the moratorium came. Our oldest son, Leon, joined his father fishing summers in Belle Isle starting at just 12 years old. Leon was good at school, but fishing was in his blood, and he made the decision to pursue it full time at age 15. By age 19, he had just purchased his own fishing licence when the moratorium came.

FORCED TO LEAVE HOME

There wasn’t enough left in the fishery to support the entire family, and Leon — like so many other young people — made the decision to retrain. Soon after, he left for the mainland with a broken heart.

Those of us who couldn’t face leaving home were left feeling soulless and destitute in the months and years that followed. Turns out, we were among the lucky few. The FPI plant was closed for just a few years before the company acquired a snow crab license and began retrofitting the plant. Slowly, some life began to trickle back into our town and into our hearts.

My husband and youngest son continued fishing, picking up lobster, squid and caplin.

My daughter works in the plant and fishes as a crew member with my husband on her days off in order to better provide for her family.

The problem now is attracting people into the fishery — both as harvesters and plant workers. While us older folks stuck around, many young people still don’t look at this job as a future or enough to raise a family on.

MYTHS ABOUT RURAL LIFE

There’s a common misconception that those of us who choose rural life are lazy and only want to do the bare minimum for our “stamps.” Right now, the minimum number of weeks is 14 in order to get employment insurance, but we want more than that. We COURTNEY GLODE • FFAW need more if we are going to attract people to live and work in our coastal communities.

With the closure of the mackerel fishery this year based on government’s refusal to invest in new survey opportunities and its kowtowing to the green movement, we will all be losing instead of gaining.

Our provincial and federal governments need to wake up and realize the potential they are throwing away when they fail to act. The fishery has the potential to provide economic prosperity to our community — and it can be done sustainably so that generations to come can live and work here. But changes need to be made to prioritize people instead of companies, and communities instead of politics.

Shutting down fisheries instead of doing the needed science shows that our federal government is not committed to making this industry work. They’d rather everyone work from home at a computer instead of taking action to preserve and expand our fishery. Companies would rather ship product out than pay the decent wages our unionized contracts provide, forever trying to roll back what little gains we make.

Our provincial government is failing to protect workers by allowing companies to take more than their fair share while they hold harvesters and plant workers hostage — instead of holding companies accountable for their actions.

Back in 1992, none of us expected the mortarium to still be in place 30 years later. Sadly, my husband won’t be fishing when a commercial fishery finally reopens — he plans to retire in the next year or two. But our son Leon moved home a few years ago and accepted a job as a supervisor on the wharf here in Triton. As close as it was to the water, though, it wasn’t close enough. Watching the boats come in with the squid and the caplin hurt his soul.

Leon has just purchased a new boat and will soon be taking over his father’s licence to fish full-time again with his brother.

While nothing will ever be the same after the moratorium, there’s a new sense of optimism for the future.

We shouldn’t be forced to give up our history, our culture, and our way of life when there are so many ways it can be done sustainably. With more diversification and a focus on prioritizing people and communities, we can make the fishery last in Triton, and the many towns around Newfoundland and Labrador like us, for generations to come.

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2022-07-04T07:00:00.0000000Z

2022-07-04T07:00:00.0000000Z

https://saltwire.pressreader.com/article/281578064361425

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