Disaster struck the northeastern coast of Brazil in 2019 in the form of a major oil spill of unknown origin (Brum et al., 2020). This tropical region of Brazil is characterized by sandstone reefs, predominantly covered by algae, with occasional coral formations (Leão et al., 2003). Mangrove forests  are also present, even in its arid and semi-arid areas (Ferreira et al., 2022). It is also the home of numerous small-scale fishing communities – and in the coastal states of the Brazilian Northeast alone, there are an estimated 164,000 fishers and gleaners (Ministry of Fisheries and Aquaculture, 2024). These small-scale fishing communities have occupied the same regions for centuries and kept many of their fishing traditions  relatively unchanged. For example, small-scale fishers still use wind-propelled rafts or boats with very low mechanization. Fishing represents much more than a commercial activity for these small-scale fishing communities; it is their way of life; and, it contributes to the food security and well-being of their communities. And, yet, these communities are also historically poor and politically marginalized, often being excluded from decision-making processes (Lopes et al., 2013; Silva et al., 2021).

These coastal communities were particularly affected by the environmental and social impacts of the oil spill disaster – which started in August 2019 and continued until June 2020. The oil spill affected 11 Brazilian states (nine of them on the northeastern coast), 130 municipalities, and 1009 localities (Brum et al., 2020). This spill was the most extensive (2890 km) ever recorded in tropical oceans, reaching more than a hundred MPAs and impacting around 900,000 people (Câmara et al., 2021). The environmental damage included contamination of reefs, seagrasses, sandy beaches, mangroves, benthic communities, turtles, seabirds, and other wildlife. As of today, except for provisioning services (e.g., fish for consumption) (Estevo et al., 2021), it is still not fully known how ecosystem services were affected.  

Social impacts have also been reported, though most remain anecdotal or not scientifically fully assessed. Local communities were afraid of consuming fish and seafood, which is the basis of their food security. Their income directly derived from the fish value chain was compromised because people (non-fishers) stopped buying fish, and middlemen lowered the prices even in areas not directly affected, arguing that there was no demand for fish. Communities lost, for months, all income provided by tourism, which also affected many fishers and their families, as fishers often diversify their income sources (e.g., by taking tourists to local reefs, renting houses, or owning small restaurants and businesses) or indirectly through the tourism value chain (e.g., fishers and family members who work in hotels, restaurants, and diving companies). The contamination of sites is likely to have affected culturally important places for leisure and nature connection.

At first, nothing was done by governments (Brum et al., 2020). However, local fishers groups and communities organized and tried to bring attention to the issue through demonstrations and collective cleaning efforts. Some small protests were registered in different municipalities.  The federal government only took its first action, a simple press release acknowledging the disaster, after a whole month had passed, primarily due to media pressure (Gonçalves et al., 2020). But, it was insufficient to address the scale of the slowly unfolding environmental disaster.

In the absence of coordinated government action, fishers and volunteers took matters into their own hands and worked together to remove the oil from the beaches, reefs, mangroves, and other coastal environments. Communities created collaborative networks to organize themselves, raise funds and also to pressure the government for action (Gonçalves et al., 2020). In some places, such as the Extractive Reserve of Canavieiras, a Marine Protected Area (MPA) in Bahia state that permits sustainable fishing, fishers went to the sea with their nets to try to prevent the oil from reaching their beaches (BBC, 2019). Most of these initiatives lacked proper safety gear and instruction, exposing people to hazards for months as government actions, when finally initiated, were always insufficient. 

Eventually, the government provided a two-month emergency financial aid to fishers. Yet, by the end of 2019 and early 2020, many still reported not benefiting from it. Researchers and journalists recorded some testimonials to report immediate effects associated with the oil spill. Efforts from researchers and journalists were higher during the first five months following the spill, which corresponded to the most intense period of contamination, as the oil continued to come for a while. This engagement lost steam after the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. In general, fishers and volunteers succeeded in removing the large oil stains from the beaches, but as of mid-2024, there are still areas with oil that need to be properly removed, particularly in coral reefs and mangroves.

The level of social organization and activism varies across the communities. Some communities are well characterized by bonds of trust in well-structured associations and fishing colonies or in organizations within sustainable use MPAs. Yet, many fishers are immersed in various conflicts, ranging from internal disputes to conflicts with other activities (e.g., industrial fishery, oil industry, tourism, real estate speculation, recreational fishery, and even MPAs). Despite these challenges, many artisanal fishers recognize the need to protect the coasts to ensure resources for their fishing activity, which tends to be their main source of income, even if they are not full-time fishers. This is why various groups felt it was their right to be properly compensated financially for the damage caused by the oil spill, for their volunteer work, and for all the government inaction that compromised their livelihoods. However, after five years, only a few organizations are still fighting in the courts for legal reparation (e.g., the National Articulation of Women Fishers, the Fishers’ Movement of Brazil, and the National Commission for the Strengthening of Coastal and Marine Extractivist Peoples) (Spada, 2024). The oil spill disaster, unfortunately, seems to have been forgotten by a large part of society.

From the fishers’ perspective, their role in defending the ocean during the oil spill disaster reflected both short-term and long-term interests. In the short-term, fishers aimed to raise awareness about their situation as a group and sought compensation for the temporary loss of aspects that define their livelihoods. In the long-term, they expected their activities to be respected and protected by government actions. However, success in this case is unclear. Coastal ecosystems remain contaminated and largely depend on nature’s own course for recovery. Fishers suffered income loss and potential adverse health consequences that were not properly compensated or addressed. The cause of the oil spill remains uncertain, though the initial range of hypotheses has been narrowed down to two main possibilities: either the oil was released (intentionally or accidentally) from vessels transiting near the Brazilian coast, or it originated from shipwrecks, whether recent or historic (Soares et al., 2022). While researchers continue to report the impacts of this disaster on fishing communities’ food security, income, mental health, and leisure, the government treats it as a closed case, showing no further interest in finding the origin of the spill or taking additional action.

For fishing communities, this disaster represents another loss they must contend with, alongside other existing and imminent threats. In this scenario, legal support would be invaluable for fishers to continue their fight to protect the environment, their rights, and to seek compensation.