In June, I grappled with visibility and contradictions. In one twist of events, NAMA accepted an award from an organization that we’ve clashed with on seafood programming. In another twist, I found myself criticizing a documentary series I had a small part in helping shape. Both of these events had me thinking about platforms and what to do when you’re presented with one.

Back in 2022, I saw a call for story pitches for an upcoming docu-series about sustainable seafood. At the time I was an assistant director of Fishadelphia, a community-supported fishery in Philadelphia. I sent in a pitch about our little seafood-program-that-could, talking about how Fishadelphia engages people across lived experience, from the city to the shore, in a celebration of place, of local abundance, and of the vast and pluralistic knowledge our communities hold about food, ecology, and the solutions we need in a changing world. Later, I accompanied the film crew as they captured scenes across Fishadelphia’s supply chain, from the fishing docks to our customers’ homes.

This week, I got to see the fruition of it all on TV, as part of the “Hope in the Water” series airing on PBS. I found myself reliving those scenes with a new critical lens and sense of complexity. In the years since, I’ve joined the team at NAMA and gotten an education from the fishing communities who lead our work. For decades, they’ve been speaking up at council meetings, in congressional offices, and on the ground to protect their ways of life from being swallowed by top-down powers pedaling false solutions, whether in the form of catch share policies, factory fleets, pay-to-play seafood standards, or industrial finfish aquaculture.

Though “Hope in the Water” features the inspiring stories of people and groups that I believe in, including several in our network, I know now that it is backed by big monied interests with a track record of undermining the health of our ocean commons and the rights of family-scale fisherfolk. Holding all the contradictions of my experiences, I wrote an essay called “Hope in Muddied Waters?” which explores how the docu-series carries out bluewashing — using stories of community and hope to obfuscate enterprises that actually entrench oppressive systems — and asks the question of who stands to gain the most from bluewashing. I also look into the nonprofit that created the series, Fed by Blue, and break down the ties it has to problematic corporations and “big green” environmental groups, including the Environmental Defense Fund and the Walton family of Walmart notoriety.

Players like the Waltons and EDF, among many others, are pushing for “blue economies” that privatize ocean resources and favor the global consolidation of wealth and power over localized seafood systems, community sovereignty, and an ocean commons stewarded through bottom-up management. The truth is, there are fortunes to be made from so-called blue economies. With terrestrial ecosystems experiencing depletion, we are seeing the world’s wealthy and powerful turn increasingly to ocean frontiers to extract resources and capital.

Given that, it’s helpful for the EDFs and Waltons of the world to align themselves with people and groups, like Fishadelphia, who are actually doing the work on a grassroots level. In fact, the Hope in the Water team also showed up on NAMA’s doorstep last year, asking us to help with their impact campaign. As a team, we decided to say no, for the reasons laid out in my essay.

All in all, there will be more invitations to collaborate and offers of support pouring into our worlds of small-scale fisheries and local seafood systems, as the powers-that-be scramble to align themselves with stories of authentic struggle and solutions. What better PR for their lobbying decision-makers and courting public favor? And yet, what does that mean for our people, the “little” guys who are effecting change with few resources? Here we arrive at the age-old question of whether it’s better to have a seat at a table that was perhaps not built for us in the first place, or whether it’s better to overturn the table and rebuild it altogether.

These topics were also top of mind for me when I accompanied NAMA’s coordinating director, Niaz Dorry, to Chicago for her recent acceptance of a James Beard Foundation leadership award. NAMA has diverged from the foundation on its seafood advocacy, particularly when it comes to factory farmed fish. So we were surprised to learn of Niaz being honored with the award. Ultimately, we decided this was an opportunity for her to invite the James Beard family into a conversation on what is truly sustainable seafood, and to call on chefs to join our movement against the corporate food system. At the same time, we recognized the irony of doing so at an event presented by Capital One and other corporations.

How do we strategically divest from harmful institutions when we all have to live in a world run by harmful institutions? I don’t think any of us alone have all the answers to such questions. For now, I’ll offer some gleanings from my experiences of the past month. I think it’s important we stay vigilant, with our ear to the ground, listening to communities most impacted by systems of oppression. If we’re not careful, we could get swept up by wolves in sheep’s clothing (or sharks in minnow’s clothing). When we’re presented with seats or tables or platforms, and we decide we want to use them, let’s look for opportunities to deliberately wield our visibility, to call for accountability, or to even flip the power dynamic on its head. And, in order to do any of this, let’s strive to stay connected and in honest, good-faith dialogue with one another, rather than letting challenges fragment us. Do you have thoughts to share? Let me know. I believe we win together.

Yours,
feini yin
Director of Communications

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