Paper Nets Catch No Fish

Once, in a quiet coastal village, the wharf was the heart of life. Families rose with the tide, cast their nets, and brought back fish not just for trade, but for the table, for the stories, and for the legacy. Fathers passed their boats to sons and daughters. New fishers learned by doing—side by side with their elders, hands wet with salt and wisdom.

The sea was never easy, but the reward was clear: those who worked, earned. Those who risked, learned. And those who endured, prospered.

But one day, a group of well-meaning officials arrived from inland. They saw that some fishers returned with fewer catches than others. They feared the sea might run out of fish if not controlled. So they offered a solution: a system of fishing permits.

Paper nets catch no fish

At first, the fishers agreed. It made sense to protect the sea. But over time, the rules grew. Permits turned into shares, and shares became tradeable commodities. Soon, it was no longer the strongest or wisest or hardest-working who fished—it was those who held paperwork.

A young fisher named Eli, born to a family of fishers, longed to take over his father’s small boat. He had learned the tides, knew the estuary’s whispers, and loved the work. But the new rules required him to buy a permit worth more than the boat itself. Eli could not afford it. Banks wouldn’t back him—he had no collateral, no paperwork, just skill.

He went to the village council and pleaded: “Let me fish. I don’t ask for more than my father had.”

They shook their heads. “We must preserve the system,” they said. “We can’t make exceptions. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Eli watched as investors from afar—people who had never tasted salt air—bought up permits and leased them out at a price. Older fishers like his father, too tired to fight the waves, hoped to sell their boats and permits for retirement. But buyers were few, and prices fell.

The wharf grew quiet.

Boats sat idle. Nets dried and cracked. Young people left for cities. And still, the officials called the system a success—because on paper, the fish were managed.

One day, the tide rose, but no one was there to greet it.

The Moral

A fishery is not just a resource to be measured. It is a culture, a rhythm, a lineage. When risk is divorced from reward—when paperwork outweighs practice—an industry dies not from overuse, but from abandonment.