While the world frets over US President Donald Trump’s latest tariffs and their sting on global trade, a quieter economic war is playing out along South Africa’s rugged coastline.
It is a conflict fought not with tanks or sanctions, but with permits, appeals, and accusations of illegality over who gets to harvest the ocean’s most prized mollusc: abalone.
For two decades, abalone has been South Africa’s most contested fish, balancing billion-rand export potential against rampant poaching, criminal syndicates, and fragile ecosystems.
What was once an artisanal delicacy served in coastal towns has become the centre of a national dispute, pitting long-standing right holders against regulators determined to curb transgressions.
The Department of Forestry, Fisheries and the Environment notes that in 2004, long-term rights were granted to 304 applicants.
Those rights expired in 2014, but the sector never fully transitioned into new long-term allocations.
Instead, previous holders operated on yearly exemptions, conditional on permits, under the Marine Living Resources Act (MLRA).
For 10 years, this uneasy compromise kept boats in the water and factories running. But from 2020 onwards, the department’s audits began to tell a darker story.
Officials discovered that some exemption holders had wilfully exceeded quotas, misreported catches, or otherwise transgressed the law. Initially, 10 operators lost their exemptions.
By December 2024, that figure had ballooned when 179 former right-holders were implicated in “serious offences” under the MLRA and criminal investigations are now underway.
The revocations sent shock waves through coastal communities where abalone has long been a breadwinner.
For some, the sudden shift meant falling overnight from legitimate industry player to alleged criminal, a brutal reminder of how fragile fishing rights can be.
Adding fuel to the fire, a 2020 consultation by the then fisheries minister Barbara Creecy raised the possibility of splitting abalone between commercial and small-scale categories.
Few public comments were received, but the idea has not gone away.
The department is now considering reopening consultations – a move that could reconfigure who gets access to one of the country’s most lucrative marine resources.
The uncertainty has created a business limbo. Exporters struggle to secure a consistent supply. Processing facilities face closure risks.
Coastal towns from Gansbaai to Port Nolloth brace for job losses if permits dry up. And all this while international demand, particularly from Asian markets, remains insatiable.
Against this backdrop, current fisheries minister Dr Dion George has moved to calm tensions.
On Thursday, he promised to finalise all appeals lodged against the department’s 2024/2025 exemption decisions by the end of October 2025. Roughly 140 appeals are on his desk.
“It is imperative that these appeals are finalised, as anticipated, so that certainty and stability can be restored, while upholding the principles of sustainability and compliance under the Marine Living Resources Act,” George said.
His department insists the process will be handled “fairly, transparently and efficiently.” Yet the fact remains: until next month, the fate of hundreds of livelihoods rests on bureaucratic timelines.
To the casual observer, South Africa’s abalone drama barely registers compared to high-profile trade wars or energy disputes.
But within fishing circles, it is nothing short of a cold war – fought quietly through legal filings, verification reports and ministerial statements.
Each side accuses the other of betrayal: regulators allege lawlessness, while fishers cry economic strangulation.
At stake is more than molluscs. The outcome will shape the balance between commercial and small-scale fisheries, test the government’s ability to enforce sustainability, and determine whether South Africa can protect a resource that has too often slipped into the hands of poaching syndicates.
For now, the waves still crash on the Cape coast, and the abalone still lurk in kelp beds. But until October’s verdict arrives, the only certainty is uncertainty.
In South Africa’s abalone sector, legality and criminality remain separated by little more than a permit, or the lack of one.
