It’s no secret that South Africa’s fishing industry is in a mess. Some say the trouble started when Valli Moosa left the cabinet in 2004. Why? Because, they say, Moosa was the last minister who was strong enough to stand up to the well-connected predators who see the country’s  marine resources as just another asset to be plundered – one such well-known family name that comes up in this regard rhymes with Hake.

The theory is plausible enough: it’s hard to imagine lightweights like Kortbroek van Schalkwyk and Tina Joemat-Pettersson standing up to some of President Jacob Zuma’s most favoured people (or anybody really).  No, what ministers like that are good for is visiting fishing villages at election time and telling the villagers what they want to hear.

Others would ascribe the decline to the departure in 2005 of Horst Kleinschmidt who was for years the head of Marine and Coastal Management (MCM), a government entity that’s part of the Department of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries and which is funded by levies on fisheries and permit fees through something called the Marine Living Resources Fund. Kleinschmidt successfully transformed the fishing industry and tackled the issue of poaching by introducing various initiatives, including specialised investigating units, and training in environmental law for prosecutors and magistrates.

As a result, the conviction rate for poaching went up to 85%, and there were some high-profile convictions, including Elizabeth Marx of Gansbaai and Jason Ross of the Eastern Cape, who both got three years and had their assets seized. 

Kleinschmidt also ran a tight ship with strict budgetary controls (certainly no business class flights), which meant that MCM actually operated a surplus.

But the good people of the National Assembly who oversee these things weren’t interested in any of this. Instead they were rather vexed about the fact that MCM employed fewer black South Africans than demographics dictated, and certainly not enough African women. When it was pointed out to them that there simply weren’t enough black science graduates to fill the positions, they were told the solution was simple: drop the requirements, which is, of course, so much simpler than raising education standards. So Kleinschmidt and his right-hand man Shaheen Moola  resigned in frustration, lost to the world of consultancy.

The result is that the demographics are now perfect. But little else is. The anti-poaching initiatives that Kleinschmidt introduced certainly went out the window. As did notions of constancy: the Department of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries has had four directors-general since 2010, each deployed from Pretoria and arriving with little or no knowledge of matters maritime, and most of the senior positions are filled by acting appointments – while expenditure has gone through the roof.

(This may be a small example but it sums things up rather well – when Kleinschmidt and Moola were in charge, the MCM Christmas party comprised poetry readings and sandwiches on one of the department’s boats, the Sarah Baartman. But the year after they left,  Idols contestants provided the entertainment at the 5-star Constantia Uitsig restaurant.)

Within a year, a surplus of R5 million became a deficit of R90m.

But what about abalone poaching? Hardly a week goes by without the public hearing of refrigerater-truck loads of abalone being seized by police. Surely that battle’s being won?

It certainly is, but only in places like Australia and California (with advice from South African experts, nogal). In  South Africa it’s being lost hands down. 

For starters, the demand for abalone is huge. In China, where the delicacy is a status symbol and aspirational, the demand is being fuelled by the huge growth in the middle class. Which means there’s serious money involved.  The figures are, in fact, astounding. R3 billion-worth of abalone leaves South Africa annually, of which only R30-R50m is legally harvested. (There is a small abalone industry, with 300 individuals and entities being granted rights to harvest 280 tonnes per year.)

Money like that makes people do nasty things, and the lawlessness and gangsterism that it fosters have serious repercussions for coastal towns like Hawston. And yes, there is a direct link with drugs – the sellers of the abalone are often paid in ephedrine (used to make tik) rather than in cash.

The laws are in place: the Marine Living Resources Act makes it an offence to harvest abalone without a permit,  and it’s an offence to be in possession of, or to transport, such abalone. Penalties are severe, with fines of up to  R2m and prison sentences of up to five years. 

The police do still seize abalone at roadblocks on a regular basis, but convictions, we understand, are rare. That’s because all the procedures that Kleinschmidt put in place to make sure  the system works  have long gone. And because corruption’s rife: a poacher caught with 10 bags of abalone will come to court and the charge will relate to two bags – the other eight having mysteriously  disappeared. The sharp defence attorney will then let the prosecution know that there will  be questions about the missing eight bags, and voila! the case is dropped.

Measures that have been put in place recently don’t work either. The 24-hour  poaching hotline isn’t answered, and the fishery control officers stationed in the various fishing villages are a waste of space because they have to knock off at 4pm due to the fact that they can’t get overtime pay, so every poacher knows that you start poaching at 4pm.  And, as always, cadre employment rules: the fight against abalone poaching is fought by  otherwise-unemployable military veterans.

But here’s the real kicker: the authorities simply cannot afford to win the war against poaching. That’s because the abalone that’s seized isn’t destroyed; it is kept in cold storage at Paarden Eiland and then sold by the department.

There was a time when it was sold at auction and the poachers would simply buy it back, with the sale legalising (or laundering) the abalone they’d stolen. But now the seized stolen abalone is sold directly to foreign buyers, where it competes not only with the stolen abalone that hasn’t been seized, but also with legal South African abalone.

In the past the proceeds of these sales of seized abalone simply represented a nice surplus for MCM, but nowadays the profligate entity is dependent on the proceeds of the sales  for its survival. In 2009 abalone sales  brought in some R80m, roughly 30% of MCM’s operating budget;  in 2010, however,  590 tonnes were sold for a R11m,  which means that it was sold at R18 a kilogramme, when even mediocre abalone fetches R350/kg (raising all sorts of other questions...);  for the period April to September 2011, however, sales are already in the order of R30m.

What’s going on? Well there’s obviously complete confusion in the ranks.  But apart from 2010 – when the entity hopelessly undercut the price of legal South African abalone and found itself with a deficit of R58m – MCM clearly relies on the sale of seized abalone to keep it going – so a delicate juggling game is now apparently being played. The aim is to seize and sell enough abalone to stay in business, but not so much that poaching stops and revenue dries up. 

A government agency that depends on the proceeds of crime to stay in business! What next?

A government agency that depends on the proceeds of crime to stay in business! Whatever next?

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