Peru Repsol oil spill leaves fishermen without work, upends ancestral tradition

But today he carried nothing. As he looked over the cliff edge, he lamented again the faint brown stain, the foam drifting up to shore as it poisoned Merino’s livelihood.

“The croaker is probably there,” he said. “There’s movement in the water.”

But it would be inedible. Merino is one of at least 2,000 artisanal fisherman along this coastline north of Lima who have been out of work for more than a month after an oil tanker sent thousands of barrels of crude gushing into the sea.

Described by Peruvian officials as the country’s worst ecological disaster in recent history, the Jan. 15 Repsol oil spill has spread to 24 beaches, contaminating an area almost twice the size of Manhattan. Beaches have been closed since the spill, and fishing along the affected shore has been prohibited indefinitely. Seafood restaurants are empty. Local tourism is at a standstill. And fishermen such as Merino have had to consider the possibility of finding new work — or moving elsewhere.

“I don’t know what I could do,” he said.

The oil flowed into the sea while a tanker was unloading at the La Pampilla refinery, not far from here in Ventanilla. Repsol initially blamed the spill on large waves triggered by the eruption of the Tonga volcano, but now says the spill was caused by unusual, uncontrolled movements by the tanker.

Critics have questioned the condition of the refinery. The investigative outlet OjoPúblico last month published what it said were photos of pipes at La Pampilla that analysts say showed corrosion. Repsol said in a statement that the pipes were in “optimal condition” and that the entire terminal underwent maintenance in December.

At first, the company said the spill was less than seven gallons. But two days after the spill, Peruvian environmental officials estimated it at 6,000 barrels. The government’s total is now 11,900 barrels — nearly 500,000 gallons. Repsol estimates the cost of cleanup at $65 million.

While the spill is under investigation, four Repsol executives have been barred from leaving Peru. Peru’s representative to the Organization of American States has formally denounced the company for the environmental and economic damage to the Peruvian coast.

Critics such as the Peruvian Society for Environmental Law accuse Repsol of poor planning, a failure to quickly contain the spill and a lack of transparency about its causes. The company denies wrongdoing.

“The causes of the accident were out of our control,” Jaime Fernández-Cuesta, executive director of Repsol Peru, told The Washington Post. “Once the signs of contamination appeared, we got to work immediately.”

Fernández-Cuesta said the company is “committed to helping all of those affected … and to returning all of the coasts, the beaches and the ocean to its natural state.” He accused the Peruvian government of refusing to work with the company in its efforts, including by helping to develop an accurate census of people affected by the spill.

Environmental advocates say the response from a government beset by political chaos has been similarly disorganized. President Pedro Castillo, the first-time officeholder who has parried multiple impeachment attempts since his July inauguration, swore in his fourth Cabinet last month.

The oil spill has left at least 270 birds dead and hundreds more coated in oil. They include threatened species such as the Humboldt penguin. Studies have yet to determine the level of contamination in the seafood in the area.

Repsol executives plan to finish their cleanup by late March, but analysts say it could be months or even years before the fish in this area are safe to eat again. Even then, the contaminants could have long-term impacts on the reproductive processes of many species and weaken their immune systems.

“There could be more sickness, more deaths,” said Yuri Hooker, a local marine biologist who focuses on biodiversity. “With time, it won’t be visible; no one can tell that the contamination is there. But by consuming these contaminants, we could also run the risk of lowering our own defenses. … We still cannot know the magnitude.”

In the meantime, the oil spill has upended an ancestral fishing industry — and the lives of all those who depend on it.

Peru is home to the world’s largest fishery. The country’s world-famous cuisine relies heavily on seafood, and the fishing industry generates an estimated 700,000 jobs. About $250 million in seafood exports were sent to the United States in 2020.

But the workers most affected by the oil spill are not those working for commercial fleets. They’re artisanal fishermen who learn the craft across generations. They have the least protection and are some of the hardest hit by the impacts of climate change. Many are older than 50 and have limited options for work.

The fishermen can sue Repsol in court for damages, but few can afford lawyers. Because much of their work is informal, many lack the documentation to show lost income.

“For us, it is a pride to be a fisherman,” said Alejandro Bravo Avalos, secretary general of the Federation of the Integration and Unification of Artisanal Fishermen of Peru. “The state did not prepare me. I didn’t go to a university, but I know how to do wonders at sea … We’re not capable of paralyzing the country’s economy, but they also shouldn’t abuse us. They should respect our work.”

Some fishermen have found work cleaning the spill. Workers could be seen on one beach on a recent Sunday afternoon in gas masks, full-body suits and hard hats. Repsol says it has provided financial stipends of 500 soles every 15 days — around $132 — to more than 3,500 people whose livelihoods were affected by the spill. But that’s hardly enough for families such as Merino’s, who made that much money in three days of fishing.

Merino’s 18-year-old son spent afternoons helping his dad fish in the hope of saving money to apply to chef school this year. But with his family’s income dried up and savings drained, the teenager won’t be able to afford the tuition or the class materials.

The economic impacts have reverberated beyond the fishermen to affect the entire chain of jobs in these coastal communities that depend on the sea.

About a half-hour drive up the coast from Merino’s home in Ventanilla, tourists from Lima would frequent the beach town of Ancón at this time of year. The docks would be packed with people selling fish, families eating at seafood restaurants and tourists waiting to head out on dozens of small, colorful boats.

But on a recent Sunday, many of the restaurants were empty, the beaches were closed, and the tourist boat trips were prohibited. There were no artisanal fishermen selling their catch — the only fish available was caught by boats on the high sea, far from the spill. And even that fish has declined, dock workers say; some boats are now landing only every 10 days or so, perhaps because fishermen worry customers won’t want to buy fish in Ancón in fear of contamination.

Blanca Ramirez works hauling crates of fish on the dock to be measured and put into trucks.

“If there’s no fish, we don’t make any money,” she said.

This is where Merino would sell his catch each afternoon. Then he would return to Ventanilla, where wooden homes stack up along barren hillsides over the ocean and murals urge community members to “care for your beaches.” A sandy road leads to Merino’s small cement-floor home, where one wall displays a framed certificate showing that his son passed his basic English studies.

Merino came to Ventanilla in 2003 with his wife and then-5-year-old daughter in the hope of buying a home in an area much more affordable than the outskirts of Lima. He would wake at 4 a.m. to take a bus to Lima to work at a factory making industrial leather gloves and would return home at 9 p.m.

Then a neighbor invited him to go fishing with him, and he never went back to the factory. Fishing was difficult and sometimes dangerous work, Merino said, showing the blisters on his hands from holding his ropes and nets. But he was his own boss, and the money he made depended on how much he worked. In the open air, with the sea in front of him as he works, he said, “I feel more alive, more free.”

He doesn’t know where to begin finding other work. There are few other jobs available to him in Ventanilla. Would he fish in the south of Peru, leaving his family for 15 days at a time? Or would he give up fishing altogether and try to reinvent himself?

“I don’t see how,” he said. “At my age, I don’t see how.”

Diana Durán contributed to this report.