Mexico Slashes Protections for Vaquita Porpoises

Known for their distinctive black-ringed eyes, lipstick-like mouth markings and timid, elusive nature, the vaquita is the world’s rarest marine mammal. Last year’s survey—carried out by a team of international scientists and state environmental officials—estimated just seven to 10 remain in the waters of Mexico’s Upper Gulf of California.

Yet Mexican authorities announced last week that they were rolling back 2020 protections for the globally adored porpoise. Having declined from more than 550 in 1997 to just a handful today, conservationists warn the vaquitas’ future hangs in the balance.

“We’ve reached the point where every single vaquita matters. With such a small population remaining, even losing one individual has serious consequences for the future of the species,” said Heidy Martínez, a shark scientist and science communicator who has spent years on board vaquita-monitoring vessels in the Upper Gulf. 

“I really hope that years and years of effort working on protecting the vaquita are not going to get diminished because of this,” said Martínez.

New regulations, announced last Wednesday, reduce the regional area where gillnets are prohibited by almost 86 percent, from around 4,300 square miles to just 600. 

Mexico previously banned the use of gillnets in the region to bolster vaquita populations and combat criminal activity. Though used legally for decades by fishermen from the town of San Felipe to catch shrimp and sharks, the vertically hanging, curtain-like fishing gear is known for snaring high levels of indiscriminate bycatch. 

The gear is also the poaching tool of choice for those hunting large silvery totoaba. A similarly endemic and endangered fish with a highly valuable swim bladder that sells on the Chinese black market for between $20,000 and $80,000 per kilo, totoaba is prized for its alleged medicinal and aphrodisiac benefits. 

In addition to allowing gillnets back into vast swathes of the Sea of Cortez, the “Zero Tolerance Area”—where fishing and all boat traffic were previously banned—will also open up an 1,100-foot wide vessel transit corridor.

While conservation advances have been made in banning commercial fishing between the hours of 7 p.m. and 5 a.m., and requiring local fishing boats to have satellite vessel-monitoring systems on board, the latter will not be required for a further 12 months. 

“With only a handful of vaquita left, it’s absolutely shocking that the government is gutting protections rather than stepping up to help these little porpoises,” Alex Olivera, the Mexico representative at the Center for Biological Diversity, said in a press release. “It’s heartbreaking because if this isn’t reversed it will almost certainly lead to the vaquita’s tragic extinction, which could’ve been prevented.” 

Beyond international conservation concerns, however, lies a story of local struggle. For residents in San Felipe, a town built on fishing, vaquita protections have often been seen as a barrier to their own economic survival.

In December 2020, this conflict came to a head when a collision between Molotov cocktail-hurling fishermen and a 150‑ton cutter operated by the ocean nonprofit Sea Shepherd resulted in the death of 56-year old local fisherman, Mario García Toledo. In the weeks that followed, trucks were scorched, a Navy patrol boat was set on fire and local police and army units were called into the region to restore order. 

Mexico—pressured internationally to protect the vaquita but locally to look after the 17,000 residents of San Felipe—appears to finally have chosen a side. On Thursday, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum defended the lifting of regulations by emphasizing the need to let local people earn a living from the ocean.

Marina del Pilar Ávila, the governor of Baja California, similarly welcomed the move on social media, describing the development as “great news for the fishing community of the Upper Gulf of California.”

Counterintuitively, some local fishermen were dissatisfied with the change. 

Following the government announcement, fishermen blockaded the road out of San Felipe, unhappy that the “Zero Tolerance Area”—one of the most productive shrimp areas—remained in place. With previous gillnet bans poorly enforced, they contended that the reconfiguration of fishing zones will actually restrict them further.

“The whole new agreement was very controversial,” said Valeria Towns, a National Geographic Explorer and field coordinator for Pronatura Noreste, who has spent years trying to build relations between conservationists and the community. 

“Since the former agreement was never applied, for the fishers, anything new that implies real enforcement is obviously a threat to the way they’ve been doing things for years,” she said.

While the blockades were lifted over the weekend, talks about government compensation for fishermen who avoid the restricted zone will continue: “It’s the most just and fair thing to do considering the fishers, and also the most effective way to ensure that Mexico can comply and actually enforce a polygon where we know vaquitas are,” added Towns.

Indeed, among some conservationists, there is a recognition that maintaining harmony with local communities is paramount to protecting vaquitas. 

“My biggest question is whether these changes will actually result in more or fewer nets in the water, because ultimately that’s what determines whether the vaquitas are safe or not,” said Martínez, noting that more stringent restrictions on an already struggling fishing community haven’t always been enough to protect the species.