BARATARIA, Louisiana— It is the perfect blue sky, humidity-free spring day in bayou country that makes
you feel like everything should be all right in the world.
The intercoastal waterway leading to the Gulf of Mexico is calm, the canals that host fishing boats behind each neat suburban home reflect the midday sun, and a cool breeze washes away extraneous sounds and smells.
But despite the bucolic day, fisherman Mike Roberts is angry. “Osama bin Laden couldn’t have done a better job of destroying a part of the American economy. This oil spill? It’s like the ultimate act of
terrorism. And these guys should be treated like terrorists.”
The guys he's referring to: BP and Transocean executives, and the Mineral Management Service, the federal agency that was supposed to
police the oil companies but appears to have been very
cozy with the industry instead.
As we talk, a leftover shrimp lasagna heating in the oven, a muted TV shows oil company heads testifying before Congress. Mike and his wife
Tracy Kuhns steal glimpses at the screen. Their house, a pair of fishing
boats tied up on the canal, is a hub this morning for neighbors,
friends and relatives looking for information. When this fishing
community went to bed last night they thought they were going to be able
to shrimp today in the fresh waters of the bayou. But they woke to
learn that all fishing along the coast had been shut down.
“They have got to make up their mind,” says Mike, who put hundreds of dollars he doesn’t have into gasoline for his boat the day before and
filled the onboard ice chests to the brim. “I just wasted that money.”
They had just come from town hall, where fishermen had gathered for news
from the mayor’s office. “I’m surprised there wasn’t a fist fight.”
Tracy wears multiple hats. She's the Louisiana Bayoukeeper—affiliated with the international grassroots advocacy group Waterkeeper
Alliance—and monitors the environmental health of local waterways. She
also looks after the Jefferson Parish Association of Family Fishermen,
which has meant her living room in recent days has hosted a non-stop
line of fishermen with questions. As we talk she helps an old friend, a
fishermen for 40 of his 57 years, fill out the forms necessary to get
his boat in line to help skim oil.
“They’re going to put your boat to the top of the list because you got that Karaoke machine," Mike jokes. "I’m serious, he does! He gets
out there fishing and just cranks it up and sings all day long.”
As Tracy and the fisherman wade through the multi-page form, she cautions him, “If you do go out there, I’m going to give you gloves,
rubber sleeves, and a respirator with replaceable filters. Initially
they were sending people out with nothing, no preparation, and they were
coming back covered with oil after spending a day trying to scoop it up
and breathing it in. We don’t want you getting sick on top of losing
your job.”
The economic hit caused by the spill has stunned this community, its ripples already being felt. Most of these fishermen live month to month;
this would normally be the middle of their biggest season. Today, the
only movement is crab men returning from having collected their empty
traps.
“I don’t know how we, or anyone here, is going to make it,” says Tracy. In one of many ironies, some of her neighbors are just now
getting checks from the federal government for loss of livelihood
because of Hurricane Katrina. “And those checks come with the condition
that the money cannot be spent on your mortgage or food or bills, that
it has to be spent on your ‘business,’ which for these guys is their
boat or supplies for fishing. But if they’re not fishing...what are they
supposed to do with the money?”
Each of the fishermen she counsels gets the same advice about protective gear; she also walks each one through a petition the
fishermen’s group is preparing to ensure that any federal or state
payments of support while the fishery is closed due to the spill are
made in timely fashion. “We can’t wait years for help," Tracy says.
"They are going to need it right away.”
Along these quiet canals, and across southern Louisiana, the impact of the closed fishing grounds is already being felt. The seafood
processing plants are shut down; boat repair shops and supply stores are
not bothering to open; New Orleans restaurants are scratching shrimp
from their menus, worried that even though they have shrimp and it's
clean, diners will avoid it anyway. At Veleo’s, a restaurant across the
Intracoastal Waterway in Lafitte, the owner admits he’s stocking up with
frozen fish.
Mike and Tracy have a handful of kids. One daughter lives across the street; none are in the fishing business. “We’ve got one grandson who
insists he wants to be a charter fishermen,” Mike says. “But he’s only
12 years old. I don’t think that’s going to be an option for him.”
Just after noon, their cell phones start buzzing. Apparently the governor has signed a waiver re-opening shrimping in Region 2. That's
their fishing grounds.
“C’mon,” says Mike, “they’ve got to quit jerking us around. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.” But he jumps on the phone, alerting neighbors who
may not have heard the news as he hustles his crew back to the boat.
Within the hour they’ll head out for a 24-to-48 hour run. It’s the
height of a young shrimping season and if they’re able to bring back a
$5,000 haul, it could be the last income from fishing they see for
months, or possibly years.
“I’m trying not to be overly pessimistic,” says Tracy, as Mike scoops steaming shrimp lasagna into bowls. “But given what we’re hearing about
the mess out there I really don’t see fishing coming back.” A neighbor
who made the 30-mile trip out to the Gulf the day before to see the
spill firsthand said that “you could run for four hours at top speed and
you’d never get clear of it.”
And a mile below the surface, the well just keeps pumping.
http://www.takepart.com/news/2010/05/12/bayou-fisherman-enraged-ove...
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