landlords, leaseholders & sweat equity: changing property regimes in aquaculture

Marine Policy 25 (2001) 335–352

Landlords, leaseholders & sweat equity: changing property regimesin aquaculture

Joan Marshall*

Department of Agricultural Economics, McGill University, 21, 111 Lakeshore, Ste. Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec, Canada H9X 3V9

Received 2 July 2001; accepted 26 July 2001

Abstract

This paper explores the tensions, issues and problems being experienced by one small fishing community off Canada’s east coast,as it confronts the challenges of a rapidly growing aquaculture industry. It examines the significance for the community of changingproperty regimes, directly related to a government policy, proclaimed in October 2000, that is transforming ownership patterns inthe industry, and creating new property regimes through the allocation of aquaculture sites. It argues that this policy reflects a

fundamentally different ideology that is taking away community control over resources and threatening livelihoods dependent uponthe wild fishery. r 2001 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.

Keywords: Aquaculture; Property regimes; Community change

1. Introduction

‘‘The fight for the waters of the Bay of Fundy haschanged the way of life on the island’’, said lobsterfisher Lawrence Cook, trying to explain for themedia why they were blockading two wharves.1 Fromthe time in October 2000 that the New Brunswickgovernment announced its new policy for thedevelopment of the aquaculture industry, traditionalfishermen had been waiting to see how the newpolicy would be implemented. It represented a radicalshift in basic philosophy of access to the marinecommons, and the fishers were in no doubt about itspotential impacts.By February, just four months after the new policy

proclamation, the entire community was in the throes ofexcitement, apprehension, anger and confusion. A seriesof advertisements in local newspapers had appearedover a two week period, each one announcing a differentapplication for a new aquaculture site around the island.

Adding to the existing 18 sites that had been establishedover the past decade, the 14 new applications2 repre-sented the possibility of almost doubling the numbers ofsites and the area of marine commons to be alienated,not to mention the implications for ferry and trucktraffic and countless spin-offs in jobs, both direct andindirect. There had been no community consultation bythe government, and conversations all focussed on whatit would all mean. That the implications were significantnobody doubted.May 18, 2001: The provincial Department of Agri-

culture, Fisheries and Aquaculture (DAFA) announcedtwo new site approvals on Grand Manan, together withthree on the mainland. One site manager was unequi-vocal: ‘‘The sites are too close. The wharves are alreadyovercrowded.’’3 By Wednesday evening (May 23) therewas news that in fact three new sites had been approved,and the lobster fishers called an emergency meeting. At11:30 pm they set up blockades at two of the wharves,preventing the salmon site operators from reaching their

*Corresponding author. Tel.: +1-514-398-7822; fax: +1-514-398-

8130.

E-mail address: [email protected] (J. Marshall).1President of the Lobster Fisherman’s Association, Grand Manan

Island, New Brunswick, quoted in the Telegraph Journal, Friday,

May 25, 2001.

2By May, less than three months later, the number had, without

explanation, been increased to 15 applications, eleven for the odd-year

class, and four for the even-year class.3Chris Rayner, on the CBC News, Saint John, N.B., Noon, ADT,

Friday, May 25, 2001.

0308-597X/01/$ - see front matter r 2001 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.

PII: S 0 3 0 8 - 5 9 7 X ( 0 1 ) 0 0 0 2 0 - 3

sites for feeding; and hours later there was a counterblockade at the airport by the salmon site workersprotesting the involvement of the local airplane owner insupporting the traditional fishery in his role as Managerof the Fishermen’s Association. The community was inturmoil. A week later, on June 1, three additional siteswere approved, bringing the total to six new sites forGrand Manan Island for 2001, an increase of 33% overthe previous year.This paper explores the tensions, issues and problems

being experienced by one small fishing community as itconfronts the challenges of a rapidly growing aqua-culture industry. As an island community that has reliedupon the traditional fishery for over 200 years, whoseindividual and collective identities are intimately linkedto the fishery resource, the introduction of the globa-lized, high tech industry, characterized by totallydifferent productive relations, will have both profoundand long term implications for all the social andeconomic institutions that define community life.Aquaculture is the most rapidly growing agrifoodbusiness in Canada, and has been called

one of the few bright spots in an otherwise bleakpicture, especially for those rural communities thathave seen their livelihood disappear and are nowthreatened with economic extinction. (Savoie, 1995,Foreword to Boghen [1])

But there is no consensus on what this ‘‘bright spot’’means, and for whom. What its impacts are upon theenvironment, upon rural communities and social struc-tures, and upon economic relationships, are nowbecoming areas of intense study.4 The main focus ofthis paper is the significance for the community ofchanging property regimes, directly related to a govern-ment policy that was originally established in 1991, butwas radically transformed in October 2000. The newpolicy represents an entirely new philosophy of environ-mental and resource management, having significantimplications for the traditional fishery and the peoplewho continue to participate in it. On one side are thecorporate site operators, represented in New Brunswickby the Salmon Growers Association who argue that ‘‘Ifyou take salmon farming away from Charlotte County,what have you got?’’ (Nell Halse,5 quoted in theTelegraph Journal, April 6, 2001), and on the other,traditional fishers and environmentalists who worry thathabitat degradation will seriously threaten the sustain-ability of the wild fishery (Harvey, May 2, 2001), and

denied access to traditional fishing grounds will threatentheir livelihoods (Lawrence Cook, Telegraph Journal,May 25, 2001).As state and commercial interests increasingly dom-

inate the decision-making processes and governance ofaquaculture development, local communities are havingto contend with institutional and structural changesassociated with the growth of aquaculture. Much of theresearch related to impacts of aquaculture has focusedon environmental issues [2–4]. There is concern aboutthe expansion of high-density fish farms which threatenthe natural ecosystems and the traditional fishery itself.‘‘The intricate ecological connections are more easilydisrupted as the scale of the economic subsystem growsrelative to the total ecosystem’’ [2]. This paper examinesownership patterns in the industry, with particularattention focussed on the nature and significance ofproperty regimes in the allocation of aquaculture sites,and the meanings and potential implications of these forcommunity relations.

2. Methodology

This paper is part of a long term ethnographic study,begun in 1995, that is exploring the complex meaningsand implications of economic and social change in asmall fishing community on Canada’s east coast.Profound changes associated with tourism and aqua-culture, as well as environmental degradation andincreasing government regulation affecting the tradi-tional fishery, have all introduced new relationships thatare impacting upon community relations. In particular,it is difficult to overstate the changes that aquaculturehas brought to the island in this period, clearly reflectedin an increasingly industrialized landscape, in the dailyand seasonal activity patterns of the men, in new andexpanded businesses that support the industry, and inthe influx of migrant labour from Newfoundland.Environmental, economic and social changes are im-pacting upon island structures and institutions to anextent that has never before been experienced in the 200year old history of the island.Over the past six years, I have lived in the community

for periods of four to eight weeks at a time, averaging 10weeks each year, in all seasons. I have participated inboth the celebrations and the conflicts, and watched asthe community has adapted, or not, to the many newforces of change that are often perceived as ‘‘inevitable’’and ‘‘beyond the control’’ of the community. The studyrelies upon a variety of ethnographic methods, includingformal and informal, recorded and impromptu, inter-views, individually and in groups. Data include thewords and ideas of community members, variousreports of the government and consultants, newspapers,school yearbooks, and as well, data collected by the

4In January 2001 the government of Canada announced a major

funding initiative for research into the social and economic impacts of

aquaculture, through its ‘‘Centres of Excellence’’ programme, based in

the University of British Columbia.5General Manager, New Brunswick Salmon Growers Association.

J. Marshall / Marine Policy 25 (2001) 335–352336

Fishermen’s Association and the Salmon Grower’sAssociation. Interviewees for this paper included finan-cial stakeholders and company representatives of aqua-cultural interests, government officials, traditionalfishers, site managers and workers, the village mayor,and community members of all ages.

3. Brief history of aquaculture

The definition of aquaculture as ‘‘The farming orhusbandry of aquatic plants and animals, and implicit inthe activity is some degree of human intervention’’(FAO, 1992, [1, p. 4]), hardly touches upon theprofound implications this technology has for social,economic, environmental and political systems. Asrecognized by many scholars, ‘‘the technological changeinvolved in the development of aquaculture is experi-enced as fundamental’’ [5, p. 64]. This new industry,they argue, ‘‘is a qualitative leap in the history of

culture’’. It is unlike either the gradual evolution ofagriculture or the modernisation within the wild fishery.Two important differences distinguish this revolution.One is the significant integration with world marketrelations; and the second is the important role ofscientific research [5]. ‘‘The international aquacultureindustry is characterized by a global integration processwith increasing competition across borders and con-tinents’’ [6, p. 105]. In North America it has become amajor factor in food production and as a contributor tothe economy only in the past several decades. World-wide, aquaculture production has increased steadily inthe past 20 years, more than doubling in value in the1984–1994 period alone. At the same time, wildfishstocks declined precipitously, a factor that is increas-ingly important in encouraging the growth of theaquaculture industry, even as it calls into question theuse of ‘‘wet feed’’ that relies upon inputs of wild fish.There is considerable debate about the wisdom andenvironmental impact of privileging aquaculture over

J. Marshall / Marine Policy 25 (2001) 335–352 337

the wild fishery when the conversion ratio of wild fishinput (herring) to farmed salmon is approximately threeto one. In Canada today, aquaculture is dominated byfinfish culture, including trout, char and salmon,accounting for 91% of total national sales in 1999.

The gross value added to the Canadian economy by theaquaculture industry in 1999 was $272 million, a rise of22% over the previous year, while sales figures, at $611.4million in 1999, showed a gain of almost 18% during thesame period (Telegraph Journal, April 6, 2001). New


Brunswick, where the first Bay of Fundy salmon site wasestablished in 1978 on Deer Island, contributes almostone-third of the value (gross sales) of all aquacultureproduction in Canada. In Charlotte County, N.B.where the industry is concentrated, salmon productionbetween 1985 and 1990 rose from 399 tonnes to 7265tones. Between 1991 and 1995 production doubled to14,490 tonnes, and by 2000 it had doubled again to30,000 tonnes.6 Value added was $88 million, comparedto almost $57 million in 1997, an increase of over 50%in two years.References to aquaculture in this paper refer exclu-

sively to salmon aquaculture, although there is someexperimental work on Grand Manan in the culture of

flounder, scallops and sea urchins. In New Brunswickthe rapid increase in numbers of farm sites, inproduction and in value, is shown in the charts below.The years 1987–1989 clearly marked the beginning ofthe major growth period for New Brunswick.On Grand Manan, one of New Brunswick’s first

pioneers in aquaculture, John L’Aventure, started a sitein 1980 in Dark Harbour. For several years, despiteproblems with a persistent disease that caused stocklosses as high as 60%, high prices and market demandallowed him to maintain profitable harvests (Interview,February 2001). Subsequently, following a series oftumultuous years in the late 80s, during which he wasengaged in testing new technologies of cage design,feeds, disease control and growing-schedules, involvinglarge investments and an unsympathetic financialservices industry, he settled at a new location on the

6Quoted in Janice Harvey, ‘‘Scale is everythingy’’, Telegraph

Journal, May 2, 2001.


eastern side of the island, in Seal Cove. In addition tothe establishment of his new site in 1990, there had beena short-lived attempt by another entrepreneur at a newsite in North Head (1988–90). Then in 1990 and 1992,over the strenuous objections of local fishermen, twonew companies with ownership based on the mainland,sub-leased sites from weir fishermen who had acquiredrights to weir ‘‘privileges’’. It was during this period thatthe Provincial government formulated its first policy onaquaculture development, the discussion of which I willpick up later in the paper. Subsequent to 1992, another15 sites were located around the island, bringing thetotal number to 18 in 1999. In January 2001, applica-tions for an additional 14 sites were announced by theProvincial government, 10 to be built in 2001, and theother four in 2002. An eleventh odd-year site was addedsometime between late February and early May. As Ishall describe, the process of expansion was to proceedboth with respect to the numbers of sites, and in terms oftheir capacity (areal extent, numbers of cages and totalcapacity).

4. Property regimes and resource allocation

Some of the most complex and contentious issues inthe fishery pertain to marine-space management, en-compassing the concepts of the ‘‘commons’’, propertyand accessibility. Property is ‘‘as much an expression ofsocial and political, as it is economic, relationships’’[7, p. 253]. Property rights are ‘‘essentially bundles ofrights to use or transfer resources’’, that may beclassified according to four categories, open access,private property, communal property and state property[8, p. 332]. Of these four types, only open access isunrestricted. The others all represent a managementsystem characterized by a form of private propertyrights. The problem is in defining who has right ofaccess, and by whose mandate or edict? These idealtypes in fact are subject to overlapping characteristics,such as when the state is the acknowledged owner ormanager, but grants property rights access to designatedindividuals or communities [9, p. 250]. The complexityderives from the many elements that contribute to the


definition of these concepts, including historical ac-quired rights, riparian rights, and government regula-tion, as well as their dynamic characteristics of changeassociated with new technologies. Their contentiousnature is rooted in the ambiguities of interpretation, thecontingency associated with lineage, family status andother customary norms, and the difficulties ofstructural adjustments in the face of incompatible uses.Property is an institution that encapsulates a society’spolitics, ordering material welfare through specific rightsand obligations. Marine systems are what Ostrom [10]terms a ‘‘common-pool resource’’, involving a dualchallenge: to organize in a way that allows withdrawalof benefits within a system of multiple and competinguses; and to allocate production units amongst them.There have been important questions raised about the

moral and philosophical justification for effectivelycreating ‘‘property’’ out of and a market for publicgoods. As Eythorsson asks in relation to using quotashares as collateral for loans, ‘‘In what sense is itpossible to buy and sell something that is legally definedas public property? [38, p. 489]. As he shows, there hasbeen a transformation of fishing rights into capital thatsupports the increasing dominance of corporate inter-ests, counter to production embedded in local commu-nities. Furthermore, with aquaculture there is additionalpressure to create private property because the char-acteristics of the wild fishery that historically inhibit‘‘the extended reproduction of capital’’ [11, p. 34] do notapply to the farm managed context. Nevertheless, thereis considerable debate over the extent to which marinespace should be privatized, thus making it a‘‘contestable commodity’’ [12]. In her exploration ofthe culture of ‘‘commodification’’, Radin argues for amiddle ground view of the world that would precludeeconomic valuation of social relations. In an earlierpaper, she demonstrated the clear connection betweengovernment decisions with respect to property and thecultural context within which the state functions. ‘‘Theexistence of property regimes, their phenomenologicaldetail, is connected with culture and not just withgovernment action narrowly conceived’’ [13, p. 3].Significantly for the future of aquacultural sitedevelopment, she points out that ‘‘our very recognitionof the existence of property rights is intertwinedwith our perception of their justice’’ [13, p. 3] [34, 36].‘‘Legal regimes both express and help shape culture, andin that function they have symbolic force’’ [13, p. 4]. Thenature of property rights, their definition and how theyare enforced, is crucial in determining the performance ofan economy and the social relations that evolve withinthat context. Two reasons are basic to this analysis:

First, by assigning ownership to valuable assets anddesignating who bears the rewards and costs ofresource-use decisions, property rights institutions

structure incentives for economic behaviour withinthe society. Second, by allocating decision-makingauthority, the prevailing property rights arrangementdetermines who are the actors in the economic system[14, p. 10].

In the contracting involved in changing propertyrights systems, the bargaining parties must see that theirwelfare is to be improved in order for them to supportinstitutional change.Resource regimes regulate actions that govern both

appropriation of the stock and the provision of itsbenefits. Rosemary Ommer has looked at the changingpatterns of ‘‘sequent occupance’’ of the east coastfisheries, describing the difficulties for defining‘‘ownership’’ that arise partly because they are intrinsi-cally related to the impossibility of ‘‘settlement’’ thatallows a claim on land. As she argues, the histories ofdifferent technologies, visions and agendas have beenunderpinned by changing motivations and ethicalframeworks in the context of differing ideologies.‘‘However, what is fundamental is that, in terms ofaccess and control, any one group or person who canclaim and maintain exclusive access to a fishing groundholds de facto effective ownership of that fishery’’ [15, p.119] (emphasis in the original). As scholars have shown,for the most part governments have been reluctant toassign private property rights to areas large enough tocover widely roving species. Such rights ‘‘have beenviewed by politicians as interfering with the politicallypopular guarantees of a right to fish’’ [14, p. 76]. Thework of James Acheson on the Maine lobster fishery(Acheson, 1979, [16] [36]) illuminated the problem of‘‘boundary permeability’’ and the role of politicalmanoeuvres in differential boundary-maintenance me-chanisms within a context of community norms [39,p. 255]. He showed that access to the lobster fishery andterritorial limits to individual fishing grounds weredirectly related, and defended, through a clearly definedset of normative rules established over generations.Land ownership was the key criterion for entry into thefishery, while territories have evolved concurrently withchanging technologies that facilitated expansion ofpotential fishing areas [39, p. 264]. In Newfoundlandand elsewhere as well, ‘‘Residence in the community andeconomic dependence on local marine resources gaveone the minimal de jure right to share a common base ofoperations and compete for local fish’’ [17, p. 304]. But,while the division of marine space became more difficultas intensity of fishing increased over wider areas, the‘‘real feelings of ownership concerning establishedterritories [17, p. 275] continued to inform the allocationof access rights. Anderson’s work in Newfoundland alsoexamined issues of public and private access [17],focussing on the regulatory strategies that evolved as amix of formal-legal constraints and community based


access rules and privileges. Acknowledging the intensecompetitive nature of fishers who were known to be‘‘covering oil lamps in the morning’’ so that other fisherswould not know they were getting ready for their day onthe water, Andersen also describes the cooperative waysin which customary rules have been negotiated overgenerations. Contrary to a persistent belief that com-mercial fishers engage in exploitative practices, Ander-sen describes how they have ‘‘developed a variety oftechniques by which they influence, if not directlyallocate and balance their numbers and effort againstfishing opportunities [17, p. 329]. These strategies inthemselves underpin community relations. The nature ofcompetition, Andersen argues, is such that it does notsingle out a particular skipper, thereby creating an‘‘ambiguity to intentions behind individual action’’[17, p. 331]. It is possible therefore to continue thecommunity building networks of interaction and in-formation exchange that encourage cooperation in timesof ‘‘imperative need’’.The linkages between the nature of marine-space

allocation and community relationships are importantin the definition and meanings given to place-basedcommunities. As I shall show, the changing nature ofmarine-space allocation and property rights in aqua-culture have significant implications for the community,and must be seen in the context of evolving regulatoryregimes of the traditional fishery. As Eythorsson showedfor Iceland, the change in the nature of fishing rights‘‘from common property to quasi-private property’’through the adoption of individual transferrable quotas(ITQs), changed the incentive structure and, ultimately,the numbers of active fishers [18]. Whereas in the past,control over marine resources was vested in largemeasure through access granted by land-based adja-cency [16,15], today that principle is being severelychallenged. Changes of marine property-rights systemsto accommodate the demands of the aquacultureindustry are fundamentally altering the basis of occu-pance, under conditions of state and corporate controland decision-making. Not only is there a significantchange in who actually controls use of particularterritories of sea-space and the water column to seabed,but changes in social relations and networks ofinteraction within the community are also clearlyimplicated [35]. It is in times of transition from onesystem to another that different understandings andethical visions collide, causing conflicts that reflect thenature of individual and collective insecurities. UnlikeAndersen’s Newfoundland fishery where broad local-level political organization could benefit by ‘‘increasedcooperation among fisherman production units’’, theoff-island control of aquaculture sites threatens todisembed this working-social relationship, separatingthe economic structures from community relations.Marine access-management strategies are in dynamic

interplay with many new forces, including both marketand corporate interests and the increasingly significantrole of government.At the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Canada

(DFO), there has been an acceptance of commonproperty as an inherent dilemma for the fisheries thatrequired regulation. As analyzed by Ralph Matthews[19], five themes dominated DFO’s fishery policythrough the 1970s and 1980s, highlighting the signifi-cance of the common property perspective. His exam-ination of reports from the Journal of FisheriesResearch (1979) illuminated the thinking that becamegovernment policy in the early 90s. The first is the beliefthat the common property nature of the fishery, asposited by Gordon [20] and Hardin [21], in itself leads toinevitable overcrowding and depletion of fish stocks.Secondly, there was broad agreement that excess labourshould be moved out of the fishery, although noconsensus was apparent in how to determine whoshould be excluded. Thirdly, while the idea of regulationwas accepted, its form was not known, despite acknowl-edgement that ‘‘some form of property rights waspreferable to taxation’’ [19]. Fourth, everyone assumedthat some form of limited entry was necessary. Finally,there was consensus that any policy must be ‘‘rational’’.The evolution of licensing and quotas, particularly theestablishment of the IQ’s or ITQ’s, Individual andIndividual Transferable Quotas, together with thedefinition of bona fide fishermen (excluding part-timefishers) effectively moved policy to an emphasis onresource management that gradually marginalized smallscale and part-time fishermen. ‘‘The institutionalisationof the resource management model has established theideas of open-access and self-seeking actors, in short thetragedy of the commons, as the authoritative account ofthe basic problem of the fishery. The fishermen havebeen recast from heroes to villains in the drama of thefisheries and must consequently be restrained ratherthan protected’’ [22, p. 113]. Individual quotas were aform of proprietorship in the resource that effectivelyprotected ‘‘exclusivity of access and participation in thefishery’’ [7]. The change in Canadian fisheries policythrough the 70s and 80s, fundamentally altered therelationships of fishermen to their resource by putting inplace mechanisms that ‘‘tend to disembed fishermenfrom the local communities and re-embed them in stateand market structures’’ [22, p. 115]. With the introduc-tion of ITQs in 1990, there was a ‘‘specification ofproperty rights to the resource and the application ofmarket principles to problems of conservation’’ (Apos-tle, Barrett, et al., p. 188). Insofar as governmentpolicies neglected the significance of social relations intheir efforts to promulgate regulations for economic andproperty distribution, there was no attention given to‘‘distributional fairness, participatory access, and sys-temic equality’’ [7, p. 253].


5. Property rights, aquaculture, and weir privileges

The emerging patterns of organizational structure andregulatory regime in aquaculture represent a continua-tion of trends that have characterized the traditionalfishery over the past 40 years. The restructuring of thetraditional fishery has involved increasing governmentregulation through licenses and quotas that effectivelylimit access to the common fishery resource. ‘‘From the1960s on, science and state management on the eastcoast became increasingly intertwined, access becameless and less a matter of local occupancy, and fleetsbecame increasingly footloose’’ [15, p. 130]. However,the increasing importance of highly competitive globalmarkets, and the growing legitimacy of market mechan-isms vis-a-vis the role of the state, [22, p. 2] are creatingnew pressures for the privatization of marine areas. Aparticular property-rights system is embedded in aparticular production form, and as property rights areprivatized and manifested in contracts, just as on landthe sea sites are transformed into a commodity subjectto trade and economic profit. The technology ofaquaculture and its specific forms of production in acontext of increasing dominance of the market side ofthe food industry, are factors that define the conditionsfor change from a situation of ‘‘public goods’’ to one of‘‘private goods’’, dominated by global and corporateinterests. ‘‘In structural terms, the historical progressionhas resulted in a switch from de facto ownership(access), to access versus ownership [15, p. 134].The basic requirement of aquaculture for access to

and control over marine sites has created a new‘‘resource’’, in the redefinition of marine sites as privateproperty, and the attribution of market value to thesesites. The specific sites that have been given value arethose described as ‘‘weir privileges’’. For generations,families on Grand Manan have built and tended theirheart-shaped weirs, located near the coastline in waterusually about six to eight fathoms deep at low tide.Characteristics of shoreline conformation that mightdirect the feeding herring inward, protective shoals andislands that offered shelter from destructive storms, andtidal currents that wash through the area twice daily, alldescribe ideal situations for both herring weirs andaquaculture cages. It is significant that the map shownbelow, based on one produced by the Provincialgovernment [23], depicts the locations of both herringweirs and aquaculture sites. The development ofaquaculture in the Bay of Fundy and around GrandManan Island has created a demand for sites that areprecisely congruent with historic weir privileges, origin-ally acquired through family lineage, and more recentlycontrolled by the Federal government. For weir site‘‘owners’’, there is a requirement that they operate theweir (that is, to ‘‘build’’ it) each year. If after three yearsof non-use they elect to give up their privilege, then the

government may license it to someone else, but theoriginal owner still has right of ‘‘first refusal’’. Since1995, with the rapid development of aquaculture on theisland, the value of a weir site has been considerablyenhanced. The nature of the changing valuation on weirsites has been expressed in several ways. For currentweir owners who continue to fish their weirs each year,there are pressures to release their sites to aquaculture,although fewer and fewer potentially good sites exist.For weir sites that are not attractive to salmoncompanies, an average value might be $50,000; whereasfor a weir site that can be bought outright by salmoninterests, the value may be $100,000 and more.7

Secondly, for those who had weir sites in the LongIsland area, during the mid-90s period there was a studydone by the New Brunswick Department of Fisheriesand Aquaculture (DFA) to establish potential areas forlocating new aquaculture sites. Since the Long Islandarea seemed to offer the potential for accommodatingboth weirs and salmon cages, fishermen in this areanegotiated five aquaculture sites. In three cases the mendid not have to give up their weirs as conditions of beinggranted an effective ownership of sites for aquaculturecages covering areas averaging 12 ha. In other words,five island weir fishermen became landlords whocould either develop the sites themselves or rentthem to companies based on the mainland. Under theoriginal DFA policy for aquaculture development,designed to encourage local ownership of aquaculture,these men, between 1996 and 1998, were able tolease their sites at rents varying from $75,000 to$40,000 per year, usually on four year contracts. Thethird outcome of the relationship between weirs andviability of aquaculture sites, was that several indivi-duals reclaimed and re-built former weir sites in1998–99, with the intention of eventually convertingthem to aquaculture sites.New technologies themselves become a ‘‘determinate

force’’ altering relative transaction costs, providingopportunities for the redefinition of property institu-tions [24, p. 24]. When economic entrepreneurs identifyalternative property-rights systems that enhance thepotential value of a resource, they tend to enter thepolitical arena and demand changes that will captureincreased values. Unlike the historic weir sites aroundGrand Manan that have captured wild herring overgenerations, the aquaculture sites are being leased anddeveloped by distant, mainland and internationalcompanies rather than by families. Whereas theweirs operated within informal understandings evolvedthrough community relationships, that becamecodified more recently in government regulations,competition for aquaculture sites amongst off-islandcompanies and state control of leases has created a

7Interview, Hugh Madill, DAFA, May 17, 2001.


market for the weir sites that is effectively privatizing themarine commons.The relationship between federal and provincial

jurisdictions is also a factor in these changes. WhileDFO has regulated the traditional fishery, it has grantedjurisdiction of aquaculture to the provinces. Under theBNA Act, 1867 (now the Constitution Act, 1982),the power to legislate property rights is vested in theprovinces. But land under the sea is a complicatedmatter. For the Province of New Brunswick, underagreements with the Federal government reached in1977 (as a Memorandum of Understanding) and in1989, there is jurisdiction over the entire seabed of theBay of Fundy. However, while the seabed is controlledby the province, the water column above it remainsunder Federal jurisdiction ([40]; [24, p. 157]). While eachProvincial agreement is slightly different, the one signedwith New Brunswick [41] has been best characterized asa compromise between strict legalities and an adaptiveapproach [24, p. 158]. Finally, however, it is theprovince that is responsible for the licensing and leasingof all aquaculture sites, with a provision that they bereferred to Canada ‘‘for comment’’. It is the Federalgovernment through DFO that is responsible formonitoring the weir privileges.

6. Aquaculture on Grand Manan—the early period:

1978–88; 1989–1999

The first aquaculture site on the island was establishedin a sheltered inlet called Dark Harbour, by localentrepreneurs Glen McLaughlin and John l’Aventure in1980. After a few experimental years it moved to theeastern side of the island, to Seal Cove where it is stilloperating. But it was not for another decade, until thelate 80s, that another site was situated in North Head,soon becoming the focus of intense local resistance astraditional fishers opposed the siting of the newtechnology close to traditional lobster nurseries andherring weirs. Only after the original application hadbeen accepted did local opposition convince governmentscientists that the area was an important lobster nursery.In addition, the inauguration of a large new ferry in1990 seemed to represent a potential danger in the eventof strong northeast winds that could take the boatdangerously close to the salmon cages. Regardless ofthe reason, the license for the site was revoked afteronly two years of operation, and, with growinginterest in aquaculture development in other areasaround Passamaquody Bay in the Bay of Fundy,the government acknowledged that it needed a clearpolicy on site development. In 1991 the governmentdeveloped its first policy regulating access to theindustry, and more particularly, the allocation ofmarine sites.

In New Brunswick, the original site allocation policy,released in 1991, incorporated five main objectives:

1. To ensure that finfish marine aquaculture applica-tions are dealt with in an orderly and equitablemanner.

2. To integrate new aquaculture sites and operationswith the commercial fishery and other resource users.

3. To diversify the economic base of the traditionalcommercial fishery.

4. To ensure a high percentage of new entrants to thesalmon farm industry.

5. To promote the development of the finfish aquacultureindustry in an environmentally sustainable manner.

The overarching purposes of these objectives were tobe order and equality, made explicit in a context ofimplied support for the participation of local fishinginterests. Indeed, participants in the industry todayacknowledge this early attempt by the government toensure local involvement in the emerging industry.Describing the original policy, one farmer agreed thatthe government’s intention was to offer opportunities toas many local people as possible (Interview, 2000).However, commenting on the actual impact of thepolicy, another local owner of an aquaculture site saidthat, ‘‘There was a preference for the local fishermen toget into it; but the trouble was every ‘turkey’ with a weirwanted to sub-lease, without investing in it’’ (Interview,2001). Interestingly, both of these men, presentlyinvolved in the industry with different levels of financialcommitment, are active participants in the industry.Both could be described as entrepreneurial and innova-tive, but neither has been a traditional ‘‘fisherman’’, andboth shared a history of intermittent residency on theisland that would contribute to an identity as ‘‘notquite’’ native islanders.8 They are, in other words, bothin their self-defined identities, and in how they are seenby islanders, ‘‘outsiders’’. This is important in terms ofthe implications of the growth of aquaculture for socialstructures and relations on Grand Manan.The critical criterion for site allocation in 1991 was

tied to the traditional herring weir. Very similarrequirements of shore access, shallow waters, protectedareas, and regular flushing, made the weir sites ideal forthe location of aquaculture pens. When a potentialsalmon farmer applied for a lease of the seabed, theapplication entered a centralized decision-making process,through the Department of Fisheries and Aquaculture ofthe New Brunswick government (DFA). Furthermore,the Act clearly differentiated between a lease to hold title

8Although highly respected by islanders, one site owner is a man

who has been a summer resident of the island from the time he was a

teenager, and married ‘‘onto’’ the island. His origins in urban Canada

and continued half-year residency on the island contribute to a

lingering identity as still not quite an ‘‘island family’’.


to a parcel of the seabed (and the right to use the watercolumn above it), and a license as permission to farmsalmon. In the early years, prior rights were awarded totraditional fishers who already held title to areas of themarine commons through their construction and opera-tion of the weir fishery, arguably the most historictraditional fishery in Canada [25]. This meant thatpotential aquaculture sites were defined by existing weirsites, the rationale being tied to (1) their environmentallysimilar requirements, and (2) the moral imperatives ofcommunity rights acquired through generations.By 1993 there were four sites, by 1996 10 sites, and

two years later 18 sites. The period from 1997 to 1999was an especially crucial time for the industry, partlyrelated to the rapid expansion in scale of operations andpartly as a result of the sudden spread of infectioussalmon anaemia (ISA), a previously unknown virus thatattacks the liver of the fish. It became apparent togovernment regulators that a wide variety of issuesassociated with organizational structure, regulation, andscientific understanding of environmental impacts andharvesting practices, needed careful scrutiny. By the endof 1998, the province declared a moratorium on any newsite development, which was rescinded with theannouncement of the new policy in October 2000. Overthe intervening two years, the government of NewBrunswick, through its DFA (subsequently reorganizedin 2000 under a new Progressive Conservative govern-ment to include Agriculture, DAFA), developed aradically new regulatory regime and strategy for siteallocation. In developing the new policy, DAFA workedclosely with the New Brunswick Salmon GrowersAssociation, whose voting structure is part of this story.During the spring of 2001, an intense round ofnegotiations and meetings seemed destined to approveup to an additional 15 sites for development over thefollowing two years.Before examining the policy changes enunciated in

October 2000 that radically transform the nature ofproperty rights, and the future prospects for communitycontrol of their resources, I shall turn briefly to thequestion of the wider context of globalization in thefishery as a whole.

7. Globalization and aquaculture

The increasing impact of globalization can be seen asa wide net of interrelationships, drawing together andimpacting upon the overall fishing industry, with spin-off influences upon the development of aquaculture. Aspointed out earlier for Canada, the changing nature ofthe regulatory regime has increasingly relied uponmarket principles and privatization to limit entry andaccessibility to the fishery. As well, in the global context,the fishing industry as a whole has undergone major

changes since the 1970s, with implications for theorganization and development patterns of aquaculture.Four factors have been especially important in theglobalization of fish markets [26]. The first factor wasthe establishment of the new ocean law regime of the1970s and the delimitation of the 200-mile exclusiveeconomic zones. This new regime radically altered thedistribution of rights to fish resources, effectivelyrealigning control of the ocean ‘‘commons’’ in favourof nation states. The nationalization of resources throughthe establishment of the 200-mile limit, meant that tradein fish became crucial, especially for nation states suchas Spain and Japan who had lost access to waterspreviously relied upon for the resource. The secondfactor contributing to globalization was the develop-ment and diffusion of new technology. Efficient technol-ogies for catching and processing fish, and therevolution in aquaculture, have been complemented bynew information and communications technologies thathave all created global links and new conditions fororganizing international operations. A third factor hasbeen the rise of international corporations and theirgrowing power through markets and pricing mechan-isms. Terms such as ‘‘global sourcing’’ and ‘‘globalfocusing’’ describe strategies increasingly adopted bycompanies involved in seafood markets. The fourthfactor has been the general liberalization of trade andmovement of capital. Interestingly, a global phenomen-on has been the shift of regulatory focus of governmentsfrom market management to resource management. Inother words, fisheries policy has become more preoccu-pied with what goes on before the fish is landed thanafter. This means that the closure of the resource systemhas coincided with an opening of the trading system [26].In their analysis of the significance of globalization forthe fishing industry, Arbo and Hersoug argue that in theproliferation of multilateral agreements (such asthrough GATT and NAFTA), there has been areduction in barriers to trade that has required newrules related to structural protection for national fishinginterests. While the former system allowed for govern-ment subsidies and support for fishers and theircommunities, increasingly competitive world marketsare focused on the retail level represented by largecorporate interests. As Sandberg and Didriksen pointout, the possibility for planning production in relationto expected market prices, and the ability to entercontracts on the sale of fish before slaughtering,increases predictability and the potential for expandedvertical integration with the food industry [5, p. 65].The growing links into food retailing in turn createnew demands for Government monitored health stan-dards in buildings, machinery and procedures thatdemand additional capital inputs. For example,describing the financial investment required for theconstruction of an innovative sea urchin enhancement


facility, one researcher on Grand Manan estimatedbuilding costs would be double that of a conventionalbuilding because of government health standards. The$500,000 building he envisaged would be out of therealm of any individual local investor (Interview,February 2001).The experiences of Norway and Scotland in aqua-

culture development are instructive. In the case ofScotland, the dominant decision-maker has been theCrown Estate, a ‘‘landed estate’’ created in 1760 byGeorge II as a way to ensure financial support for theCrown from the Civil List. The Crown Estate includes amajor portion of the foreshore and seabed around theUnited Kingdom, making it a ‘‘landowner’’ of greatsignificance. Commissioners who sit on the governingboard effectively control ownership patterns and accessto marine resources, a regime that excludes the regionsof Cornwall, Shetland and the Orkney islands. On therecommendation of a Committee of Inquiry in 1985, theCrown Estate was explicitly required to instituteintensive public consultations during the process of siteapplications and allocation [27]. Over the period,despite the centralisation and privatisation of marinesites, there is a perception that aquaculture hasevolved in the interests of local communities,reflected in the fact that ‘‘the majority of the enterprises(76%) are in fact locally owned and controlled’’.Encouraged by the Highlands and Islands DevelopmentBoard (HIDB), marine fish farming was seen as anideal sector for promoting growth in remote rural areas.Once its viability was established, and guidelines hadbeen accepted for approving applications, the Boardfocused on the need to ensure local participationin the industry. Concurrent with the Committee ofInquiry conclusions, the Board, in 1985, explicitlyredirected funding support for potential fish farmersfrom larger firms to the smaller, newer locally basedcompanies, thereby assuring local control over theindustry.The situation in Norway represents a very different

regime, with different impacts upon local communities.Aarset has described a series of stages that havecharacterized the central role of the state in Norwegianaquaculture, as supportive, distributive, innovative, andprotective. Like Ommer who explored the notion of‘‘ownership’’ in relation to accessibility, Aarset showsthat the location of decision control is important for thejudgements and priorities made by entrepreneurs inrespect to resource management, distribution of indus-trial surplus and maintenance of local employment [28].Who makes decisions and how the process of decision-making is effected are crucial aspects to the ethicalframework within which the fishery has operated. InNorway since the 1970s there has been a change ofdecision control from the community to a centralized setof state and corporate interests. In its governance of

aquaculture, the Norwegian government in 1991 chan-ged its ownership regulations from a system thatequated a single license and one farming company, toa system that allowed and encouraged the holding ofmultiple licenses by a single company. By mid-1996 thelargest corporation controlled 88 licenses [28]. The pentechnology of salmon aquaculture permitted a standar-dization of government regulations insofar as sitelocations, pen sizes, and capacities could be controlled.In the early period of development, the government’sgoal of equity amongst fish farmers recruited in thefishing communities seemed sustainable. But with theincreasing dominance of food companies at the marketend of the industry structure, there was an internatio-nalization that favoured efficiency in the sales of salmonfor export. The global structure of the fishing industry,embedded within the broad networks of food markets,were powerful determinates of government strategy withrespect to the development and regulation of aqua-culture.This change in basic organizational structure of the

Norwegian aquaculture industry since 1991 reflectsthe efforts of the Norwegian Industry and regionalDevelopment Fund (SND). The SND has argued infavour of a higher degree of ownership integration andlarger enterprises [29]. As a result, the total number ofaquaculture firms fell from almost 700 enterprises in1994 to approximately 300 enterprises in 1999 [42],quoted in Borch [6, p. 108]). Paradoxically, operatingperformance figures of the salmon industry suggest that‘‘the smaller salmon enterprises still achieve betterresults than the larger integrated ones’’ [6, p. 105].Just as the trend to large scale operations withinthe vertically structured organizations is gainingmomentum in Norway, studies are indicating‘‘significant problems with regard to operating profit’’that seem to be linked to a lack of flexible and adaptivestrategies [6].

8. Grand Manan—the new policy in October 2000

Ten years later, Canada is following a very similarpattern of evolution to that of Norway. The release of amajor new policy by the New Brunswick government inOctober 2000 corresponds precisely with the 1991change in Norway’s regulatory regime. The overarchingmanagement tools identified for the new policy an-nounced in October 2000, specifically addressed issuesof sustainable practices for the fish farms, with theestablishment of:

1. Single year class sites and2. Bay management area framework.

Within these overriding goals, the new policy strictlylimits access to the industry to already established fish


farmers. This means that, based on the current low-levelof financial commitment by community members,effectively large areas (described in hectares) of themarine space and traditional fishing grounds would bealienated from the community. Due to the extremelylarge financial investments required and the high risksassociated with this relatively new technology, localisland entrepreneurs have been either unable or reluc-tant to become involved as investors. The main elementsof the new policy explicitly aim to ‘‘restructure theexisting salmon aquaculture sector’’ (N.B. Policy, 2000,p. 8), allowing entry through the conversion of herringweirs that ‘‘must involve one or more existing aqua-culture licenses’’ (p. 8) The Province will approve aconversion only where:

1. The viability of the herring weir sector is notcompromised. (But) In order to ensure the viabilityof the weir industry, weirs may be required to relocateto a different location prior to consideration beinggiven for salmon site conversion (emphasis added).

2. The conversion does not result in a sub-leasearrangement whereby the former herring weirlicensee merely rents the site to an existing aqua-culture licensee. The Province will only accept aproposal to convert where the herring weir licensee:(a) demonstrates a managerial & financial commit-

ment to the operations; or(b) demonstrates a significant financial investment

in the proposed salmon site; or(c) is not involved with salmon aquaculture in any

manner.9

3. Final authority to occupy and operate a site will bewithheld pending the Province being notified byDFO that the herring weir privilege has beenrelinquished, banked or transferred to anotherlocation or fisher.

In the Preamble, the document also points out thatthere are ‘‘key areas’’ that are strategic for supportingthe traditional fishery, and that these will be protectedby excluding them from new sites. However, as the mapdepicting these exclusionary zones shows, for GrandManan, virtually all of the inshore coastal zone isvulnerable to aquaculture development, areas that todaysupport a diverse traditional fishery that includesgroundfish, herring, lobster, urchins, and scallops.Effectively, there is the potential for an almost completealienation of adjacent marine resources from thecommunity. Not only does the new policy restrict entryto those who are already involved, but it specificallyrequires that only those who have licenses and have a

50% stake be permitted expansion permits. This meansthat even islanders who currently may be sub-leasingtheir sites as ‘‘landlords’’ will not be permitted to obtainoperating licenses by virtue of their non-participationbefore 2000. Their sites become available only to thecompanies already invested, all of which (with theexception of one locally owned company) are ownedprimarily by multinational and mainland corporations(see Table 1). Although each site has a slightly differentownership structure and contractual arrangements, thebasic corporate structure in October 2000 when thepolicy was announced can be characterized as follows:In a discussion about the evolving ownership struc-

ture of aquaculture sites with a former islander who hasa financial stake in one site, and who is an executive witha mainland aquaculture company, I was told that the‘‘government had been disappointed’’ that under theformer policy of equity established in 1991, fishers hadnot chosen to invest in the industry. ‘‘There are guyssitting at home with pieces of property’’, he said, whoare ‘‘sucking dollars out of the industry for no purpose’’.They are ‘‘landlord leaseholders’’, and if, as a single siteowner, I want to expand into another site I would haveto sub-lease from them at $60,000/annually. Myquestion, ‘‘why should I have to sub-lease that theyare getting for a few thousand a year?’’ He argued thatthe new policy is important as a way to stabilize theindustry, referring to the limitation on lobster or seaurchin licenses as a comparable situation. However, hisanalogy is inappropriate insofar as the licensingsystem for the traditional fishery aims to preserve anenvironmental resource, versus the constraints on entryto aquaculture which is an institutional barrier establish-ing territorial rights and restrictions. The distinction isan important one, for it calls attention to the nature ofresource allocation, and the fact that marine ‘‘property’’has become a marketable resource.A crucial criterion in the new policy is the requirement

for single-year class sites, which was devised to improvethe health of the fish and to control the spread ofdisease. This means that a single site, that might have

Table 1

Grand Manan Aquaculture SitesFOwnership, January 2001 (Loca-

tion of majority owner)

7 sitesFStolt Co ownership (Norway) (*4 with some Gr. Manan

investment)

1 siteFConnors (Weston Co., Toronto)

3 sitesFCooke (St. George, N.B.)

1 siteFJail Island. (St. George, N.B.)

1 siteFLimekiln (St. George, N.B.)

2 sitesFAquaFish, and Ocean Salmon (overlapping ownership)

(St. George, N.B.)

1 siteFEarl. Carpenter (Deer Id.)

2 sitesFFundy Aquaculture (John L’Aventure, mainland/island

residency)

9Questioned about the meaning of this criterion, a representative of

the DAFA said that it applied to situations when weir owners might

want to completely sell their privilege and access to the site to someone

who was not previously involved in the industry.


between 10 and 30 cages, and perhaps up to 500,000 fish,would have all fish on the same grow-out cycle.10

Therefore, in planning for buying feed, hiring labour,operating boats and scows, there is an intense economicdimension that dictates the need for two sites that allowfor balanced production flows. The recognition thatpreventing the spread of disease and minimizingfinancial risk necessitated single class (year) grow-outs,created instant demand for second sites for all compa-nies in the context of a two-year growing program andthe economics of labour and capital control. Followingthe announcement of the new policy in October 2000,there was a race to find additional suitable sites. Thatthe traditional weir sites had suddenly become avaluable and increasingly scarce resource, subject tointense competition, meant that there was pressure fromthose already in the industry, notably those whocontrolled the Salmon Growers’ Association, to restrictentry to the industry. The perspective of the govern-ment, according to one island investor, was that ‘‘TheProvince viewed the nature of ownership differently thansimply ownership,’’ by incorporating aspects of otherinputs such as both financial and labour investments. Inhis case, he described his major input as ‘‘sweat equity’’.Describing the crisis period of 1997–1999 when ISApushed many companies close to bankruptcy, he said hehad used his weir ‘‘privilege’’ as leverage to borrowmoney for fish and feed, growing contracted fish for amainland company. ‘‘We knew we were making aninvestment and would take seven to eight years to getany return’’. Others, he said, were not willing to take therisk or to wait, and they sub-leased their site. ‘‘Whyshould they now be allowed in?’’ ‘‘We had to work hardnot to be sucked up by the pressure of the mainlandcompany; at the end of the day we wouldnt cave in.’’‘‘So I have no sympathy for the guys hollering now!’’Interestingly, there are only four islanders, plus one

‘‘almost islander’’, who have direct financial investmentsin the industry itself (excluding consideration of thespin-off companies associated with feed, pens, machinesetc.). Without exception, none would be considered a‘‘traditional fisher’’ by the community. In other words,those who have become involved in aquaculture at thelevel of financial commitment, with one exception, arepeople who had worked at other types of work, such asfish processing and packing, repairing wharves, sellinginsurance, or operating a retail food company. In acommunity where status has always derived from beinga successful fisher, there is a rapidly changing structureof success related to investment in aquaculture. One ofthe lobster fishers was characteristically unequivocal:‘‘Those guys couldn’t make a living fishing, so they’re

ruining it for us!’’ This new industry is not only creatingnew property regimes, it is also causing profoundly newsocial divisions. ‘‘Family against family, and brotheragainst brother’’, said one man, describing an assaultthe previous evening during the wharf blockade on May23, when one brother went after another with a brokenoar. Unlike the traditional fishery which was character-ized by petty bourgeois relations and multiple skills andknowledges learned on the water, aquaculture is abusiness grounded in capitalist relations, reliant onhourly paid labour and high stakes financial investmentsthat are based away from the community. While thegovernment may extol the virtues of job creation andincreasing revenues, with gross sales rising from $25million in 1996 to an estimated $100 million in 2001, thenet benefits are accruing mainly to off-island interests.The marine commons is being alienated from thetraditional fishery and control by the adjacent commu-nity, and the diversity of skills and opportunities foradvancement are being increasingly constrained. Yellow‘‘privacy tags’’ every 50 feet around the sites, proclaimthe new ownership of these areas.Despite all this, on Grand Manan there is growing

acceptance of the inevitability of aquaculture, evenamongst some of those who have been opposed to it.Comments made to me during the spring of 2001 whileislanders awaited word from the DAFA as to siteapprovals based on the 16 pending applications,included such as the following: One tourist operator,when asked by a potential salmon farmer for anendorsement of a site that would front on her property,responded with, ‘‘Well I guess I can’t stop what is goingto happen anyway.’’ A traditional fisher and weiroperator, said, ‘‘I’m beginning to come around tothinking it’s good for the island.’’ For the young meninvolved in it, as one site manager said, ‘‘It’s meant agood job for me.’’ A multi-skilled labourer wasunequivocal: ‘‘It’s the first steady work I’ve had. It’sdefinitely good for the island. ’’ One young man who hasan island reputation as ‘‘very smart’’, and who hasinvented a new wet-feed blower, works for the onlymarine engine and boat building shop on the island. Hesaid that business had almost doubled in the past twoyears. Almost everyone has some family memberinvolved, and the issue of property and alienation ofthe sea has only just begun to impact upon communityconsciousness. In addition, there is a fear that if thelobster fishery declines as everyone has experienced withthe other fisheries, then salmon may be a ‘‘last resort’’.For the lobster fishers who are most directly affected bythe loss of marine space, there is both urgency in theirneed to protect their harvest areas, and a concern thatincreasing sympathies in the community for the job-promising salmon industry may dilute their support.Unquestionably, collective resistance to aquaculture

emerged most significantly amongst the lobster fishers.

10 In the series of site applications for 2001, one of the site proposals

would allow over one million fish, or possibly a grow-out of 12 million

pounds.


At a specially convened meeting of the Lobster Sector,on March 14, 2001, requested by DAFA, 64 licenseholding lobster fishers were vocal in their opposition tothe proposed new aquaculture sites. As well as thefishermen, who represented about 56% of the totalmembership, there were eight guests and three staffmembers from the Grand Manan Fishermen’s Associa-tion. That there was not greater attendance of license-holders was explained by one lobster fisherman as beingrelated to many having a family member involved inaquaculture. There was a reluctance to be forced to takesides in any vote. While only about seven of the 110licensed lobster fishers also have a financial stake inaquaculture, many more have some family memberworking on the sites. Avoidance of conflict by notattending the meeting was one way to ensure a measureof peace in the community.The meeting, held only two weeks prior to the first

announcement of site approval and almost a year afterthe government’s formulation of the new policy foraquaculture development, was requested by the govern-ment as a way to receive the ‘‘input’’ from thetraditional fishery sector. It was a closed meeting, withattendance open only to members (license holders) ortheir designated proxy, as well as invitees. A motionpresented by a former mayor who had originally, by hisown account, supported aquaculture on the island,demanded that no new sites would be located in Zone28. This Zone had been designated in the new policy andit included the applications for the majority of new sites.Only two of the licensed fishermen voted to accept thesite approvals, while all 62 of the others voted againstthe applications. The meeting developed into a hostileand angry expression of the need to preserve traditionalfishing grounds against the impending probability ofalienation and privatization. Despite a sense thatconflict should be avoided, within a few days of themeeting there were repercussions felt throughout thecommunity. According to two accounts, a lobster fisherwas spat upon in a local store by an aquacultureemployee, purportedly because of the active oppositionof the lobster fisher to the new site applications. Duringthe same week, the President of the Lobster Fishermen’sAssociation received a verbal warning from an islandinvestor in aquaculture that their organized oppositionto expansion of aquaculture would engender a lawsuit.During this same period in March 2001, one of the

island investors in aquaculture approached the Munici-pal Council, requesting that it become involved inactively supporting a small scale industry that encour-aged local ownership. The Council, recognizing that itdid not grasp all of the issues, asked for a meeting withDAFA, that took place during the week following theLobster Association meeting. As the Mayor described it,DAFA gave assurances that there was no bias in theirdecision procedures, and that they did not have an

agenda of supporting large corporate interests. Despitethis assurance, the October 2000 policy seems to suggestotherwise. Careful reading of the new policy showsunequivocal support of new development and expansionof aquaculture being restricted to existing entrepreneurs,who are dominantly off-island companies. In addition,the voting structure of the Salmon Grower’s Associationfavours the large companies because of the allocation ofvoting privileges on the basis of each site rather than ona company basis. Therefore, a company such as theNorwegian Stolt Corporation, with seven existing sitesaround Grand Manan, claims seven votes, in compar-ison to the two votes (two sites) allowed JohnL’Aventure.The most immediate impacts of an expansion in the

number of sites over the next two years would certainlybe in the alienation of large tracts of the marinecommons. Not only would this remove large areas fromcommunity control and access, it would also threatenthe sustainability of the traditional fishing industrywhich relies upon large areas of these commons forharvesting lobster, scallops and sea urchins. Describingthe area that had been taken over in the May 18 siteapprovals, one fisherman estimated that fully one-thirdof the lobster bed near Wood Island had beenalienated.11 An early analysis of aquaculture develop-ment had argued that it represented a win–win situationfor the community insofar as ‘‘the gain to the localaquaculturalist does not represent a loss to othereconomic actors in the community’’ [5, p. 65]. ‘‘Theincreased gain is not transferred from the traditionalfisheries, but is a gain for the fishing community overand above the value created in ordinary fisheries’’. Whatthey neglected to consider were the impacts of with-drawing the very resources (marine space) upon whichthe traditional fishery depends. But for many in thecommunity, the loss of marine space is being balancedagainst an underlying fear of declining stocks in thosefisheries that are still viable. As one fisherman said, inrecent years fewer people have been able to survive onwhat’s left of the remaining stocks of lobster, scallopsand sea urchins. Within the past five years, salmonaquaculture has grown from an industry producingequal revenues to the traditional fishery, to exceeding itby a factor of almost ten. That this factor difference (tentimes the growth in salmon revenues) will not beexperienced proportionately on the island may not beof concern when people’s experience is steady work.That social divisions based upon a status acquiredthrough generations of participation in the vagaries andchallenges of a diverse wild fishery will change is alreadybecoming apparent. New productive relations thatemphasize the roles of unskilled, young male labour,and exclude the traditional roles of women as book

11Phone interview, May 24, 2001.


keepers and fish plant processors, also contribute to aradically new dynamic for social relations.New patterns of social cleavages and definitions of

status, changing relationships with the sea, the nature ofownership and access to marine resources, and produc-tive relations of work are all changing in ways thatfundamentally alter the meaning of rural fishingcommunity. Fish farms are industrial capital aimed atprofit, and their rationale, in the context of a globalmarket economy, takes little account of communityinterests and local control. Millar and Aiken argue forthe crucial role of processes of conflict resolution thatmay mediate the transition. ‘‘Aquaculture presents aunique set of challenges, for there is no right way tomanage conflict for all communities and all situations.There are, however, certain principles that must beobserved if the process of resolving aquaculture conflictis to be successful’’ [30, p. 620]. Insofar as aquaculturerequires private-property rights ‘‘in an area that hasalways been managed as commons by small coastalcommunities’’ (p. 621), there must be a basic overridingprinciple that constructs ‘‘a management regime capableof supporting sustainable development’’. There has to beexplicit acknowledgement of differences in philosophyand a willingness to negotiate within the context of thesedifferent value systems.A column in a regional newspaper reflected a

commonly held view of the debate. Titled, ‘‘No, I’mnot anti-aquaculture at any cost’’ [31], it argued that thegovernment had not established any limits on theexpansion of the industry. Echoing his sentiments, aformer mayor of Grand Manan and a lobster fisherman,was unambiguous: ‘‘Enough is enough; what is pro-posed now is saturation’’ (Interview, April 2001). Heexplained that in the past he had vigorously encouragedthe development of aquaculture on the island, but thatnow it was time to stop. As Wilbur said in his column,‘‘Charlotte County must strike a fair balance between itand the traditional fishery. There’s no balance now.’’The vociferous reception given the DAFA by theLobster Sector at the March meeting, testifies to morethan problems associated with ‘‘change’’. The entirediscourse of the meeting points to a significant problemof communication breakdown. One fisherman pointedout that in the past, if one fishery failed, there wasalways another to take up the slack. Today, withdepleted stocks in other fisheries, this flexibility is nolonger an option. And he wondered whether, regardlessof what science might indicate, a decline in lobsterstocks would not be blamed on aquaculture, withprobable consequences that might be violent. Untilapplications were actually submitted and being consid-ered, DAFA had not taken any action to explorecommunity responses or to request local input into thepossibilities of expanding the aquaculture industry onthe island. Indeed, the very first request for consultation

with the all-important weir sector did not occur untilafter the six new sites had been approved. The Ministerrequested a meeting with the weir fishers for Tuesday,June 19 to assess their feelings about the industry. Intheir discussion of participatory issues in fisheriesmanagement, McCay and Jentoft point to the value ofdecentralised systems that can incorporate local knowl-edges and values [32]. While ‘‘The democratic principlethat affected interests should have a say in the decision-making process is a challenging one’’, they argue that‘‘communicative rationality’’ and ‘‘communicativeaction’’ offer the possibility for ‘‘Breaking through thebarriers to communication, trust, and mutual learning’’that often exist between local communities and fisheriesscientists and bureaucrats [32, p. 247].

9. Conclusions

Aquaculture creates many problems for the commu-nity, that are manifested in conflicts between thoseinvolved in different sectors, but which also reflectfundamental questions of equity and access rights. Theeventual outcomes will affect social divisions, thesurvival and sustainability of the traditional fishery,and the long-term direction of development of allaspects of island life. The very meaning of community,and the basis for individual and collective identities, arebeing transformed. The introduction of new productiverelations that are directed from outside the community,and the alienation of the very marine spaces that havesustained the community over generations, togetherthreaten to, at the very least, completely transform allsocial relations. If it is to retain any semblance of beingan ‘‘embedded fishing community’’, characterized by‘‘modest ‘adapted’ levels of technology that facilitateadaptability, flexibility and low technological im-peratives’’ [22, p. 260], Grand Manan must be allowedto balance the intrusive forces of globalized aquaculturewith the traditional bases of cultural livelihoods andcommunity values. While globalization is inexorablyimpacting upon patterns of social interaction, newstructures for and processes of consultation and com-munication become increasingly crucial in maintainingand encouraging social cohesion. As one fisherman saidto me, ‘‘When rats are cornered, they’re going to fight,and that’s how we feel’’ (Interview, April 2001). Theprediction that ‘‘globalization may accelerate the ero-sion of community solidarity’’ [22, p. 328] is being borneout in this small community. Solutions need to besought by everyone, government, community, fishersand corporate interests. Increasing privatization of themarine commons is fundamentally a disenfranchisementof all traditional fishers, effectively precluding sustain-able livelihoods within the wild fishery. The loss of localcontrol threatens to transform the communities into


‘‘competitive, atomized, and dependent’’ entities [22, p.333]. This situation can be avoided if there is systematicinvestment in participatory democracy and co-operativeeducation, and in strategies that provide for conflictresolution. ‘‘Embeddedness must be negotiated’’[22, p. 334].Whether or not embeddedness of social and economic

relations, linking local and global spheres of under-standing, is feasible in the context of aquaculture is anopen question. Without ongoing dialogue betweenactivity sectors, and between communities, governmentsand corporations, rural communities such as GrandManan will continue to be vulnerable to tensions andinstabilities of social relations. The evidence to datesuggests that the government is unwilling to listen to thecommunity. On May 25 the CBC reported that theMinister had agreed to meet with the Lobster Sector,but that he would not rescind any aquaculture siteapprovals, and development would continue. As withthe belated willingness to meet with the weir sector, theMinister was essentially engaging in public relationsmanagement. There is clearly no intention to negotiatewith Grand Manan. Not only do economic and socialmilieux become disengaged, but also the intricateconnections to the environment are threatened by theloss of community control. Within a context of localgovernance structures in the traditional fishery, genera-tions of flexible strategies and seasonal adaptationscreated a synergy of cooperative patterns that are notpossible for aquaculture. The government is taking apowerful lead role in this ideological shift towardsprioritizing globalized market forces to the detriment ofcommunity relations and identities tied to the naturalenvironment. Foreign capital, off-island investments,and new productive relations, all in the context ofprivatizing the commons and larger corporate struc-tures, will forever transform this small island. In thetraditional fishery, ‘‘The exclusion of outsiders fromgeographical territory reinforces the long-term relation-ship of people to a healthy, sustainably managedterritory’’ [33, p. 350]. The privatization of marinecommons, and the loss of effective community control ofthe commons, represent significant changes in propertyregimes and an ideology that ultimately underminesgenerations of cultural meanings for small fishingcommunities on Canada’s east coast.

Acknowledgements

The author is grateful to the community of GrandManan, for their support of this research, and especiallyto the many people who agreed to be interviewed andthose who clipped news articles for me while I was out ofthe province. I also acknowledge with appreciation thefunding support of the Social Sciences and Humanities

Research Council of Canada, without which thisresearch would not have been possible (changingproperty regimes in aquaculture).

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landlords, leaseholders & sweat equity: changing property regimes in aquaculture

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