New Dam Helps Farmers Shake Off Poverty

On a farmstead by the Mekong River, Ban Had Krai fishermen in Chiang Rai's Chiang Khong district gather in the shade of a tree around a TV-sized bamboo shrine.

Under the mid-April morning sun, the smoke of incense and candles fills the air, as well as the smell of cooked chicken, beef, a pig's head. Chants and shouts invoke the descent of the spirits in rhythmic Lanna music. The atmosphere is sweltering and Sao Rattanatrai, the 63-year-old ritual master, works up a sweat summoning the spirits.

"We couldn't catch any giant catfish last year. Please come and help bring the fish to us this year," he chants.

This scene harks back to the old days when the fishermen practised the ritual of liang luang when the fishing season for giant catfish began. Believing that the big fish, which can weigh up to 300 kilograms, are protected by water spirits, they make offerings to the spirits to seek their permission to catch the fish and for blessings on their boats.

But the scene was somewhat changed this year, starting with Sao's incantations to the spirits. Boonrian Jinnarat, the 52-year-old head of the village's Giant Catfish Association, says the participants in the ritual this year are much fewer than in the past, about 20 compared to more than 100. No fishermen from Houei Sai town on the opposite bank in Laos have come as guests. They haven't come for two years and Boonrian says they might not join the communal catch either.

"The water is not as it used to be," says Boonrian. "People say China has built dams upstream to control the river."

For generations, Thailand's Ban Had Krai and Laos' Houei Sai fishermen have been catching giant catfish.

The river section between their village and town is the only place on this more than 4,000-kilometre river where the fishermen can still catch the fish professionally. In some other places, such as Nong Khai province, catches were reported ages ago but they have stopped over time. Here, the nearly half-kilometre shoal of Don Wang in Laos divides the river, narrowing its channel. The riverbed is also flat and composed of gravel - appropriate for laying nets.

Disregarding the boundary set by the French, who ruled Laos a century ago, the fishermen have developed a unique cooperative culture over shared fish resources and a river that belongs to no one.

Shortly after the first dam on the Mekong in China started operations seven years ago, some fishermen noticed a change in the river's flow. Since then, their fish catch has gone down and their fishing gear has been less capable of adjusting to the changes in the river. If the water continues to flow unnaturally, Boonrian says, they will no longer be able to fish and will have to find a new livelihood.

Hundreds of kilometres upstream in China's Yunnan Province, a cascade of eight dams has been planned since the 1980s to produce approximately 15,000 megawatts of electricity. The People's Daily, a Beijing-based newspaper with a circulation of three million, reported that Yunnan has a hydropower potential of around 90,000 megawatts, 23 per cent of China's total and ranking second among all the provinces. In the 10th national Five Year plan covering 2001 to 2005, Yunnan is to accelerate its hydropower construction in keeping with China's rapid economic development. The province will finally become China's biggest hydropower base and dams on the river will also improve water traffic, linking China with several Southeast Asian countries.

E C Chapman and He Daming, director of the Asian International River Centre affiliated to Yunnan University, reported in their study, "Downstream Implications of China's Dams on the Lancang Jiang and their Potential Significance for Greater Regional Cooperation", that the first dam of Manwan began generating electricity in mid-1994. Meanwhile, the People's Daily reported that the second dam of Dachaoshan was built in 1997 and began operations last year. The latest to start construction was the Xiaowan dam, the country's second largest after the Three Gorges dam on the Yangtze River, with a 292-metre-high wall equivalent to a 100-storey skyscraper.

In April 1994, the Mekong along Chiang Khong district dried up to about a metre in depth, which allowed fishermen to catch only 18 giant catfish, a sharp drop from the 48 caught the year before. The following year, the Mekong reached its lowest level of 44 centimetres.

"I have lived here for many decades, but that was the first time that I saw the water dry up to the middle of the river," says Boonrian.

According to the fishermen's annual records, an average of 41 giant catfish was caught annually in the eight years before 1994. This was reduced to seven in the eight years after 1994. Last year, 24 fishing boats tried desperately to catch catfish, to no avail.

For more than 100 years, Ban Had Krai fishermen have caught catfish based on a keen observation of nature. In mid-April, flocks of terns, a species of seabird, will fly past, signalling the appearance of the fish, usually within 10 days. Boonrian says as rains fall at the beginning of April, the water rises up before falling in mid-April. Then it gradually rises up again and continues until the beginning of June, when it's high enough to flood Don Wang, marking the end of the fishing season. Rains lure the fish - and the fishermen know this as they hit small fishing nets downstream, usually in the second rise of water.

Through time, they have developed fishing gear from spears to a nylon net over 100 metres long with rhomboid one-foot grids developed in 1967 called mong lai.

Because of the consistent change of water levels, they can predict the river's condition in order to adjust their gear.

"Mong lai is dependent on the current," says Boonrian "Its weight has to be set in harmony with the water. For instance, if the current is strong, we add more weights at the end of the nets so that they will not be blown upwards and fail to bar the fish. It requires experience to do this."

Based on this experience, fishermen can often make their first catch a week later, or at the latest in the first week of May.

This year, a week after the liang luang ritual, a flock of terns gathered over a cottage near the river. News of the fish's arrival was heard from downstream but Don Wang, where the fishermen usually set off in their boats, remained silent as no one began the season except for 70-year-old Yuen Yongyuen, who has caught nearly 40 catfish in his entire life, along with his nephews. Only six other Thai fishermen have proposed making a catch to Boonrian.

On the evening of April 23, Yuen held the traditional ritual of liang ruea, serving offerings to the spirits of his boat in return for blessings and good luck, in the belief that the spirits can help search for the fish before they are caught.

His nephew, 33-year-old Sathit Boonnak, then cruised about in the boat for a few rounds before turning back to the riverbank. The net was too light and needed adjustment.

He adjusted the net the next evening, adding lead rings one by one at even intervals of one palm along the 200-metre net.

At night, rain fell for a few hours and the water at Chiang Khong rose by a foot the next day. Somchai Pollnikom, head of Chiang Saen's Hydrographics Centre, says that the rise of downstream water depends on upstream rain rather than the rain in the area. And rain in a dry season usually raises water levels just a bit.

On April 23 and 24, there was no rain in upstream Chiang Saen. And 68-year-old fisherman Sri Suwantha, whose bamboo cottage is near the river, said the rising water was quite clear, not muddy like the river after rain.

Somchai said the water this season rose and fell unnaturally: "Sometimes, the water quickly rises up to one metre."

Sathit did not adjust his net the day after. He just left it and helped Sri's son, 40-year-old Sanan Suwantha, in his first catch over the next few days.

Sanan said as the water rises immediately, the current will become too swift and too deep to drift a net, causing the fish to escape to the Laotian side, where the water is deep and the riverbed rugged.

As a result, no one was certain of the water level. They began their fishing efforts late and had to stop earlier because the water quickly flooded Don Wang. Last year, Sanan cruised on his boat for only a bit more than 10 days before he had to stop work in mid-May.

Chainarong Sretthachau, director of Southeast Asia Rivers Network Thailand, says the inconsistent water levels reduce the fishing ability of local fishermen.

"The water changes so fast and unpredictably that they can barely catch up," says Chinarong. "Their local knowledge and fishing gear will be useless if this condition persists."

May came and there was still no good news. Yuen said it was impossible to fish with just a few boats. In the first few days of May, only one Thai fishing boat was cruising the desolate river. Lao fishermen will not begin their catch unless they have received good news from Thai peers because catching the fish is huge investment for them.

This includes petrol, which ranges up to Bt10,000, plus a 5-per-cent tax levied by the Lao government.

Like the Thais, Lao fishermen believe in water spirits and the need to ask them to help catch fish. They also hold the same ritual of liang luang, to which the Ban Had Krai villagers are invited.

Renowned anthropologist Srisak Vallibhodom noted in his article "Societies along the Mekong" published last year in Art and Culture Magazine, that people along the Mekong used similar beliefs and rituals to ensure a peaceful coexistence long before the establishment of national boundaries.

Shortly after the invention of mong lai enhanced the fish catch 30 years ago, Lao fishermen joined their Thai peers in adopting the innovation. In 1982, giant catfish were popular fare, raising competitive tensions among fishermen. This reached its peak in 1990, when about 80 fishing boats patrolled the river.

Boonrian and Boontan Khampha, 63-year-old head of Houei Sai's Giant Catfish Association, have since established rules of fishing such as queuing and alternation of rounds.

"Thais and Laos form a brotherhood," said Boontan "We have made a living together and we should share things if we can."

Thereafter, there were no major arguments. Don Wang became a giant catfish fishing centre, where Lao fishermen from distant villages would build temporary homes. Every time a fish is caught, they offer food to the spirits and hold a party.

This year, Lao fishermen haven't come to Don Wang. They haven't held a liang luang ritual either. Boontan says they might not fish this year. "The water is abnormal again," said Boontan. "It's not worth it to try and catch fish."

Lao fishermen haven't caught fish with their Thai peers for a few years and some of them have sold their nets and are now driving taxis.

Mekong River Commission (MRC) chief executive Joern Kristensen says it is critical that universally accepted planning and resource-sharing arrangements be adhered to by all countries sharing the river. This is because the risk of one country benefiting from development of a shared resource at the expense of others is real. So far, China and Burma are not members of the MRC, which coordinates sustainable management of water and related resources in the basin. This is despite the fact that four other riparian countries downstream signed the Agreement on Sustainable Development of the Mekong River Basin in 1995. Some projects that preceded the agreement, the MRC notes, could not have been discussed under the current arrangements.

For locals like Boonrian and Boontan, the origin of their problem lies far beyond the scope of their community. "We know about the dams in China but we can't do anything," said Boonrian "They are in China and we can never go there."

At Sri's cottage by the river, Sathit, Sanan and some others gathered over local whisky. In front of the cottage, Don Wang stood empty in the golden sunset. Sanan stared out blankly for a while before speaking about his plans for the near future.

He was thinking of resizing his engine, which was used to chase giant catfish, to a smaller one to catch small fish. The big engine consumes too much petrol - more than Bt2,000 worth this season. If he caught small fish, he might earn about Bt5,000 a month. But it would be double or even more if he could still catch giant catfish. He just hasn't caught any this year.

"It's all very discouraging. I can't catch catfish and I am not even sure there are small fish because I have earned no more than Bt50 since last November," Sanan said. "I have no idea what went wrong here."

Note: The fishing season ended in mid-May, when the water level rose over two metres, making it difficult to catch giant catfish. In the first week of May, only one fish was caught by chance upstream.

These stories were written under the Inter Press Service/Rockefeller Foundation media fellowship programme "Our Mekong: A Vision amid Globalisation".

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IT may all be academic

Fewer and fewer mong lai can be found in Ban Had Krai these days, and it appears there's little certainty the giant catfish will continue to survive. Making predictions even more uncertain is the fact that there have been few studies on the impact of dams on fish biology.

Little is known about the natural state of the giant catfish, says Dr Tyson Roberts, an ichthyologist who has researched fish in the region for decades.

It's likely, he says, that they are migratory, given the fact that all other species in the same pangasiidae family are migratory. Like other migratory fish species, they have a tendency to roam long distances to feed and reproduce, travelling up and down the main Mekong River and its tributaries.

Given the hundreds of years they have been catching it, local fishermen are probably the best source of information on the giant catfish. They believe it migrates upstream to reproduce. They often catch the fish heavily laden with eggs.

Khemchat Jewprasart, chief of Chiang Rai Fisheries Station, says these fish are ripe for breeding programmes. Since 1983, the Thai Fisheries Department's artificial breeding programme has successfully bred giant catfish fry, and hundreds of thousands have been released into the Mekong. Khemchat says some were tagged but there have been no reports on whether they survived and reproduced naturally.

Last year, Phayao Fisheries Station successfully bred fry from fish that were artificially bred in 1984. Khemchat says mature natural fish will be needed to maintain a genetic diversity of the stock.

"If fewer fish are being caught, then we can't continue to conduct a breeding programme," Khemchat said. "There will be less chance that we can obtain the matches at the right time."

As the fish are caught in an almost fertile state, it's likely their breeding grounds are not far from Chiang Khong. Fisherman Sor Jinnarat, 75, says he saw the fish mate in the river 20km upstream from Chiang Khong 30 years ago.

Despite a lack of information on the impact of dams on the fish population, the rapids between Chiang Saen and Chiang Khong are due to be blasted under the regional Commercial Navigation Agreement signed on April 20, 2000, by China, Burma, Laos and Thailand.

This will allow boats of the contracting countries to sail freely along the 886-km route between Simao Port in China and Luang Prabang in Laos to boost trade. Rapids and reefs considered to be dangerous will be removed to open safe channels, including Kon Pi Luang located about 19km upstream of Chiang Khong.

The declining stocks of giant catfish have resulted in pressure being put on fishermen to stop catching them. But Sor says the fish will never become extinct because they lay hundreds of thousands of eggs.

But in the end the point may become just academic as the existing dams and the plans to blast the rapids may eventually destroy both fish and fishermen.

"The Chinese hydropower dams, channelisation for navigation, and heavy commercial shipping will kill the river and all of the important migratory fish species.

"They may not completely die out, but their value as fishery resources will be greatly diminished," says Roberts.