Why in Keralam, Muthalapozhi in Thiruvananthapuram has become ‘harbour of death’ for fishers

After more than seven decades as a fisherman, Lawrence still has enough liabilities (he doesn’t detail the nature of those) that require him to keep working. Age has not freed him from the sea, nor has experience made the waters any less dangerous. He continues to go out in boats through Muthalapozhi, which the fishermen in the area describe as one of Keralam's “most treacherous” fishing harbour mouths.

"Before the harbour [the project was completed in 2020], we used to set off to sea in our indigenous small boats directly from the shore. There was a proper shore and a proper coast," says Lawrence.

The name Muthalapozhi literally means “crocodile estuary”. The name is believed to reflect local folklore or a time when crocodiles were found in the estuarine waters. For fishers who live along this coast, the name has acquired a darker meaning over the past decades. According to the fishing community here, around 85 people have died in accidents around the harbour in the past decade, a figure also cited by Chief Minister VD Satheesan in the state assembly in June.

Locals talk of boats capsizing, fishermen being thrown into turbulent water, engines and fishing nets being lost and hundreds of families bearing the economic and emotional cost. The latest accident on July 31, in which one fisherman died and another went missing, has once again turned attention to a danger that the people of this coast say has been staring everyone in the face for years.

But Muthalapozhi is not only a story about deaths. The coastline around Muthalapozhi and Anchuthengu is also facing severe coastal erosion, point out locals, with the sea steadily eating into the land and leaving homes and the coastal road increasingly exposed. The coastal erosion has been an imminent danger to the entire Anchuthengu panchayat.

Lawrence remembers a very different coastline before the harbour was built. "There was no erosion then. From my house, the sea was almost 500 metres away. Now it is barely 50 metres," he recalls.

The change is not difficult to see. The coastline that once gave fishers a natural landing place has narrowed in places. Homes stand close to the water. Waves now reach areas that the elder among the fishermen remember as land.

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For Lawrence, the story of Muthalapozhi cannot be separated from this changing coastline.

In the 1970s, the demand for a harbour began gathering momentum under the Latin Church and later led by the Kerala Independent Fish Workers Federation. The artificial structure for ships to sail from and moor was expected to protect fishers from the rough waters, especially in inclement weather.

By the early 1990s, the demand had become a movement among traditional fishers, who wanted a safer way to reach the sea, particularly during the monsoon.

The demand was simple. Fishers wanted to go to sea without risking their lives in rough weather. What happened next, they say, is where the trouble began.

Muthalapozhi is an artificial harbour at the mouth of the Vamanapuram River, where the river and the Kadinamkulam backwaters meet the Arabian Sea at Perumathura in Thiruvananthapuram. It is one of two breakwater fishing harbours in Thiruvananthapuram district, the other being Vizhinjam.

Studies and preparatory work for the Muthalapozhi fishing harbour began around 2000. The first phase of construction was led by IIT Madras. The harbour was designed around two long breakwaters, or groynes, extending into the sea, according to information shared by the Harbour Engineering Department, available in the public domain. The southern breakwater is about 480 metres long and the northern one around 420 metres. The first phase was completed in 2004 at a reported cost of around Rs 13.66 crore. But questions about the design soon emerged. Fishermen began complaining about changes in water movement and sand accumulation. Coastal erosion was also reported.

Construction was stopped in 2007. A subsequent study by the Central Water and Power Research Station in 2011 confirmed problems with the first-phase design. The harbour was redesigned and some work was carried out between 2012 and 2014. In 2020, after further construction, the harbour was declared complete and safe. It was formally commissioned with the assurance that fatal accidents would no longer occur.

But the deaths did not stop, allege fishers.

The day The Federal visited the harbour marked the 30th day since the latest accident, in which one fisherman, 28-year-old Freemon (identified by first name only), died and another, 32-year-old Shijin (identified by a single name), went missing. Freemon’s body was recovered from Kannanthura, 23 kilometres away, after two days. With the family assuming that Shijin is also gone, they were offering prayers for him at the church.

“These boys are not the first to disappear in these waters since the harbour came, and they will not be the last if things continue like this. The local police station is barely 100 metres away, yet, when the accident happened, his [Shijin’s] wife had to stage a sit-in, braving the rain, to get them to act. Even then, it was too late. The government did nothing, literally. All those search operations were just an eyewash. You cannot imagine what it means for a family to have to live without even getting his body back,” alleges Amalolbhavam, a 60-year-old woman from Perumathura village.

Terry Boy, 70, has worked around the harbour for years. He remembers the accident that claimed Freemon, and in all probability Shijin, in detail.

“It happened around 8.30 pm. There were four people in the small boat, which was returning to the harbour as the weather was getting rough. They had almost crossed the river mouth when the boat capsized. Two managed to swim back, but despite people flashing torches from the breakwater rocks, the other two could not make it. The whirlpool-like currents and the rocks used to build the breakwater played the villain,” Terry claims.

"There was a warning not to go into the sea. But how can fishers stay at home when their families are starving? It is not practical. The government can easily issue a warning. But fishers have to live," Terry says.

His solution is less complicated than the engineering discussions that have surrounded the harbour for years.

"There should be periodic dredging, at least to keep the river mouth free of sand beds. You cannot simply tell fishers not to go to sea."

But even Terry does not believe that the problem can now be solved simply by removing the existing breakwater.

"It is a known fact that there are issues with the construction of the breakwater and the harbour mouth. But now I don't think it can be rectified easily, given the impossibility of taking all the rocks and tetrapod blocks [concrete blocks used for wave dissipation] back from the sea and relaying them," he says. According to him, while designing the harbour, the system had consistently ignored the indigenous knowledge of fishers who had spent decades reading the sea, its currents, winds and changing moods.

Lawrence remembers attending meetings with officials and engineers during the earlier stages of the project. "We told them our concerns. When I said the direction of the wind and the flow of the river and backwaters had not been properly considered while constructing the breakwater, one of the chief engineers asked me where I had studied engineering," he recalls.

The fisherman has only studied up to Class VI. "But I know the sea,” he insists. “I have spent decades riding its waves. These engineers may have top degrees, but many of them have never gone to sea. They know very little about how the water and wind actually behave,” he claims.

That tension between technical calculations and the acquired knowledge of the fishers runs through the Muthalapozhi story.

The fishers' concerns find validation in the arguments forwarded by educator, researcher and activist Johnson Jament, who has studied the Muthalapozhi Harbour and the problems associated with its design. Jament, a research fellow at the School of Global Studies and the Sussex Sustainability Research Programme (SSRP), at the University of Sussex (UK) and founding director of the BlueGreen Coastal Resources in India, has long worked on inclusive education and coastal community development.

According to Jament, the fundamental problem is that Muthalapozhi has to work for the fishers who need it most, but the harbour's design has not adequately accounted for the conditions in which they require it to work.

"Thiruvananthapuram has historically been a traditional fishing zone. Traditional fishers need the harbour most during the monsoon. The monsoon is also when they earn the most. So safety becomes a major concern," Jament explains.

Fishing itself is a risky occupation. Fishers often go to sea when the conditions are rough because that is when the catch can be better. "Their occupation itself is based on taking risks. When the wind is extremely strong, that is often when they get the most fish. So they take that risk. That is precisely why they need the harbour," Jament says. When the sea is calm, many fishermen can launch their small boats directly from beaches. It is during rough weather that they need the protection of a harbour.

He adds: "The south-west monsoon is one of the roughest periods here, apart from cyclonic weather. It is an extremely rough period. That is why they are forced to depend on the harbour."

Which is why, Jament argues, studying the harbour during calm months tells only part of the story.

Fishers recall an interaction with officials who said a study of the harbour had been carried out for nine months. When the fishers asked which months, they claim the answer they received was "September to May". Which meant the peak monsoon period of June, July and August had been excluded.

"The fishers laughed," Jament says. "They asked, isn't the monsoon when we need the harbour the most? So shouldn't you be studying the harbour during the monsoon?"

For fishers, this is not an academic argument. It is the difference between coming home and not coming home.

At Muthalapozhi, the river, backwaters and the sea meet at a narrow opening. During the monsoon, the freshwater flow from inland areas becomes much stronger. At the same time, strong winds and waves push water in from the sea. Jament says the interaction of these two opposing forces creates turbulence at the harbour mouth. The water does not simply move in a straight line. "It becomes almost like a deep depression or a hole. Like a whirlpool. The water enters that depression and then rises and comes back out. That is how the flow behaves." For a small fishing boat, such a movement can be enough to turn a routine return from the sea into a disaster. "And if the sea is also pushing in at the same time, even a relatively small wave can cause the boat to overturn," Jament explains.

The state government acknowledges that there were errors in the design and construction of the harbour. But the current United Democratic Front (UDF) government in Keralam, which was sworn in earlier this year, now conveniently shifts the blame to the previous government.

“The unscientific design and construction of the harbour there has caused many deaths. It has created a serious situation in which around 80 people have lost their lives in accidents. Moreover, the Anchuthengu region is facing extremely severe sea erosion. Because the harbour was constructed in this flawed and unscientific manner, the natural movement of sand from one part to another has been obstructed. As a result, the natural condition that existed there has changed,” Chief Minister VD Satheesan had stated in the assembly in June. “The government will listen to the fishermen’s knowledge of the sea. There will be a permanent solution to the drinking water problem. There will definitely be a comprehensive Muthalapozhi package,” he added.

However, the harbour engineering department has a difference of opinion with the chief minister.

“If the indigenous knowledge of fisherfolk is to be included, it has to be a policy decision. We cannot take that decision at the official level. Under the existing rules and regulations, no official can approve a construction project that has not been technically cleared. That clearance is based on existing science and technology,” says an official on condition of anonymity.

The argument over Muthalapozhi does not end at the harbour mouth. Walk along the coast towards Anjuthengu and another crisis becomes visible. The sea has been eating into the coastline. Anjuthengu, or Anjengo, is an old fishing settlement whose history is inseparable from the sea. The remains of the Anjengo Fort, built by the English East India Company in the late 17th century, still stand near the coast. The fort was an important trading and military outpost for the British and was involved in the early colonial trade in the region.

Today, the fort sits against a coastline that is itself under pressure. For people living here, coastal erosion is not an abstract environmental statistic. It has changed where they live, where they land their boats and how close the sea comes to their homes.

He adds: “The present government cannot shift the blame entirely to the [previous] LDF [Left Democratic Front government]. The harbour was built during the UDF governments in 2001–06 and again in 2011–16. The construction was completed during Pinarayi Vijayan’s tenure [LDF CM], but by then, the structural changes were largely irreversible. However, bureaucratic negligence is a reality and obviously governments have responsibility over that.”

In a social media post, Thiruvananthapuram-based marine environmental activist Joseph Vijayan writes, "natural sandy beaches still have the capacity to protect the coast from sea erosion. This is because, unlike beaches where erosion has become severe, their sand has either not been washed away or has returned through natural processes. It is also clear that only a healthy and stable coast can effectively protect the land from the sea."

He adds: "The problem is that many people, including policymakers and officials responsible for administrative decisions, have still not recognised an important scientific fact. The impacts are now being felt most severely along stretches of coast where the natural, continuous movement of sand along the nearshore waters has been disrupted".

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For communities whose lives depend on understanding the sea, the absence of a sustained response is itself a form of neglect. That is why researchers like Jament say the authorities need to look at the entire coastal system rather than treating Muthalapozhi as an isolated engineering problem.

"The permanent solution, fundamentally, would have to recognise that the construction itself is part of the problem," he says. He points to the way the river and sea have been brought together through the artificial harbour.

"The issue is that the construction was not undertaken with a proper understanding of this particular geographical and hydrological condition. That is the fundamental issue."

There is no shortage of proposed solutions. Dredging is one. Changing the alignment of the breakwaters is another.

Jament points to the example of Thengapattanam harbour in neighbouring Tamil Nadu, where the harbour structure was modified with a curved alignment to reduce the force of the water. "When the flow comes in strongly, the curve helps dissipate some of its energy. Because the water is diverted slightly and follows a curved path, its force naturally gets reduced," he says. But he is cautious about presenting it as a ready-made solution. "The most important point here is that a proper study has not been conducted. There needs to be a proper study. If we want a solution, we first need to study the system from the very beginning."

Which means studying the harbour during the monsoon, observing the river flow towards the sea, the movement of seawater towards the shore, wind direction, sand movement and the interaction between them.

For fishers, however, there is an urgency that cannot wait for another cycle of studies and promises. They have already watched the harbour change. They have watched the shoreline disappear. They have seen boats overturn. They have seen young men go missing in the water. They have also watched governments announce solutions, complete projects and declare the harbour safe, only to see another accident bring the same questions back.

Sea workers have long carried a deep-seated sentiment that the administration, the system and people on the mainland have treated those who go to sea for a living with a discriminatory attitude, particularly when they are injured or killed in accidents.

They feel that even after so many people have died, been injured and had their lives devastated, successive governments have failed to respond adequately to their most basic demand: ensuring safe working conditions at sea.

Even though the chief minister has acknowledged the flaws surrounding Muthalapozhi, those who have closely followed the lives of coastal communities see little indication of any drastic change in the government’s approach. Many fear that the confrontation between coastal communities and the state could intensify, particularly as the government turns its attention to the sea as a new frontier for development, with the announcement of Mission Samudra [aimed at transforming Keralam into a global maritime powerhouse] already signalling its ambitions.