South Indian Fisherwomen Map Their Own Future
How Tamil Nadu’s fisherwomen are turning maps into tools of memory, resistance, and coastal justice
"When the Kodai Kaatru, a seasonal wind from east to west, sweeps across Tamil Nadu’s East Coast, a group of fishermen set out on their catamaran—a sturdy, six-log wooden craft. Its sail catches the breeze, carrying cotton nets woven by fisherwomen and palm-leaf baskets. Their nets return on another wind’s pass from south to north, with mature sardines, flying fish, and ribbon fish."
"On the shore, fisherwomen wait for the boats to arrive. They sort, sell, and auction the fish. Once the boats land, the fish go straight to the plates—no exports, no mechanization. This is the way of life of fisher peoples in India.”
—Jesu Rethinam Christy, a veteran activist within the fisher movement, recalls the life of fisher peoples across India
For decades, human rights lawyer and fisher people defender Jesu Rethinam Christy has watched the coastal homelands of traditional fishers of Tamil Nadu state, on India’s southeast coast, come under pressure from neoliberal policies.
By the 1990s, the Indian state had embraced a set of tax and trade policies that incentivized export-oriented development. The result: more and more mega-ports, development projects, and power plants along the country’s coastlines, many of them financed by the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and other multilateral agencies.
Jesu is known among fisher people across India as Akka (elder sister), a sisterly comrade.
Trained as a lawyer and urged by her family to seek a prestigious position in the Indian civil service, Jesu first learned of the systemic oppression of fisher communities in 1982, when members of a majoritarian Indian fundamentalist group attacked fisher communities on the Tamil Nadu coast. The incident, which became known as the Mandaikadu riots, culminated in police shooting and killing six fisher community members and injuring 21 others. Jesu, then a young lawyer, worked as an assistant for a formal investigative commission, meeting with the affected communities and collecting evidence. “This was an important learning process for me,” she says. Later, she married Christu Rajan Pius (Christy), a fisher-community activist from Tamil Nadu, and devoted her energy full-time to the struggle. Christy, who died in 2004, and Jesu were dedicated to standing shoulder to shoulder on the ground with fisherwomen to help them emancipate themselves.
She became a pioneer, with her peers Osmund Fernandes (Ossie), Gandimathi Alagar, and others, in the campaign against the Sethusamudram Shipping Canal Project, a shipping canal in the open sea in the Gulf of Mannar Biosphere Reserve, and was also integral to Asia’s first Campaign Against Shrimp Industries (CASI). In her own home city of Nagapattinam on the Tamil Nadu coast, Jesu and the fisherwomen federations have fought off multiple attempts at destructive shoreline development, including port expansion, shrimp farms, and a power plant. With the land spared from these mega-projects, the community has welcomed much less intrusive forms of development, ones that offer educational opportunities to community members who might otherwise have been displaced: Engineering and medical colleges are now placed where a fume-spewing power plant might have been.
Jesu Rethinam Christy, human rights lawyer and fisher people defender. Credit: Media Collective
Jesu Rethinam Christy, human rights lawyer and fisher people defender. Credit: Media Collective
Portrait of the late Christu Rajan Pius, human rights advocate. Credit: Media Collective
Portrait of the late Christu Rajan Pius, human rights advocate. Credit: Media Collective
Nagapattinam city, Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Nagapattinam city, Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
It’s no surprise that fisherwomen are leading the resistance. “Earlier, they had free access to the shore,” Jesu says.
“In the morning, they would go to the shore to support their sons or husbands, conduct pre-fishing activities like mending nets and food preparation, then household activities, then post-landing work and preparatory tasks.”
The Indian state’s push for industrialization and export-oriented development in the early 1990s changed everything.
“When mechanization and port-led fisheries came, women lost their place in the value chain. Nylon silk machine-made nets alienated women from the net-weaving process—thousands of women lost their jobs.”
The onslaught of globalization reverberated throughout communities. Fisheries that had been carefully managed and had sustained households for centuries became subject to exploitative fishing from industrial fleets, encouraged by the state. The push predictably led to overfishing—and gave rise to a program to build out shoreline aquaculture operations, mainly shrimp farms, as a means to repair what were now called “over-exploited” oceanic resources. These operations destroyed ecologically crucial mangroves and polluted nearby waters with concentrated waste and agrichemicals. Mega-ports, power plants, factories, and ever-bigger aquaculture projects displaced self-sufficient and self-employed communities, giving them little opportunity for subsistence beyond low-wage labour.
Buffeted by economic machinations beyond their control, marginalized by conventional development projects, and quietly ignored by the state, fisher communities have persevered. And now, a women-led movement is harnessing grassroots cartography tools to literally put South India’s fisher communities back on the map, reasserting their role as stewards of the shoreline in the mid-21st century.
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women’s meeting in a coastal village in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Women have borne the brunt of the oppression. Fisherwomen are expected to provide extensive unpaid labour, and while they once freely sold their goods in informal vending hubs, they must now pay for a stall in a formalized fish market. As managers of households, they are also the ones who deal directly with the industrial pollution of their water resources, forcing them to find scarce extra cash to pay for clean drinking water.
And they've also led the charge to reclaim fisher communities’ place in 21st-century India, Jesu says. For many fisherwomen, this political transformation did not happen overnight. It emerged through years of patient organizing, collective discussions, village meetings, struggles against destructive projects, and a growing recognition that women's labour was central to fisheries and community survival.
Saroja B, a fisherwoman leader from Tamil Nadu, explained that Jesu played a critical role in nurturing this process. Rather than speaking on behalf of women, “she encouraged them to speak for themselves, helping them recognize that their everyday work—sorting fish, drying fish, vending, managing households, protecting coastal commons, and resisting displacement—was also political work,” Saroja says. Across coastal Tamil Nadu, fisherwomen increasingly moved from the margins of decision-making to the forefront of community struggles, becoming organizers, negotiators, educators, and leaders in their own right.
Mapping can help right an injustice rooted in the 1950 Constitution
In 2006, India took the momentous step of formally recognizing the land rights of forest-dwelling people by passing the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act. In the two decades since, fisher communities have received no such land-tenure recognition. A key reason is that during negotiations over the Constitution of India, adopted in 1950, Indigenous forest leaders secured constitutional recognition for their communities as “Scheduled Tribes.” While they suffered much displacement in the following decades, forest communities’ inclusion in the Constitution provided a foothold from which they were able to secure greater protections in 2006.
By contrast, because fisher communities were scattered along a vast coastline and were unable to secure representation during the constitutional process, the Constitution fails to mention them—the first of many omissions that continue to shape their marginalization today. Community fishers assumed they were safe because they exist outside of caste, feudal, and capitalist systems. But this outsider status in their own homelands made it easier for the state and business interests to proceed as though they did not exist. Fishers do not fit neatly into legal frameworks that offer even minimal protections to smallholders, sharecroppers, or landless agricultural workers. Left outside the caste system and unrecognized in law, fisher peoples had no protection from the pressures of global capitalism during India’s long era of neoliberal economic policy. As a result, coastal communities became easier targets for displacement than their forest-dwelling counterparts. In short, fishers could be dismissed as contingent residents of “barren lands.” That’s how coastal areas came to be increasingly understood by the state and private interests as sites suited for high-end tourism, industrial-scale ports, power plants, oil and mineral extraction, gas exploration, and extractive fishing modelled on industrial agriculture.
Fisher communities have now realized the consequence of their absence in formal law—and this is where community-led mapping comes in.
In recent years, fishing and forest communities have increasingly been in conversation. One natural overlap is that many fishing areas, including mangrove forests, fall under the jurisdiction of the Forest Department—creating the possibility that, in some cases, fishing communities can seek protection under the 2006 Forest Rights Act.
More broadly, fisher communities are using their new maps to argue for protective legislation similar to the Forest Rights Act of 2006.
Community mapping has thus emerged as a crucial legal tool for the self-determination and survival of fisher communities in Tamil Nadu.
Fisherwomen Resist
Over these 75 years of deep inequality and injustice, fishers have resisted collectively and courageously, often in the face of violent repression. During the 1990s, when coal-based thermal power plants were established along the coast, women and the entire fisher community vigorously opposed them. They submitted objections in public hearings, brandishing maps showing how these facilities were placed on wetlands in coastal plains, making fisher communities prone to flooding. On many occasions, their efforts effectively stopped projects from being operationalized.
When the Indian government promoted intensive aquaculture in brackish-water areas with huge subsidies, upper-caste landlords seized the opportunity to launch industrial shrimp farms. Such aquaculture operations mass-produce shrimp through the intensive use of antibiotics, chemicals, and artificial feeds to serve export-oriented markets. They enclose coastal and inland water bodies that fisher communities have depended on for generations, salinize coastal aquifers, and dismantle subsistence livelihoods.
In 1989, the National Fishworkers’ Forum (NFF), a national body of fisher unions in India, organized a massive rally named “Protect Water, Protect Life,” demanding legislation to protect the coast in Kanyakumari, India’s southernmost tip. More than 25,000 fisher people from the east and west coasts gathered in the rally. The state lashed out in response, with police firing guns at the assembled fishworkers. Despite the repression, including the loss of three fisher lives, the demonstration ultimately led to the 1991 Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) notification under the Environment Protection Act, 1986.
The original CRZ ostensibly recognized fisher peoples’ right to exist. It divided coastal areas (up to 500 metres from the coast) and marine areas (up to 12 nautical miles offshore) into different zones, regulating industrial activity to protect biodiversity through detailed plans and maps. But rather than carry the force and permanence of a formal law, the CRZ is a “notification”—a government decree that holds less authority than legislation and can be amended more easily. Proponents of corporate-friendly development have jumped on the opportunity. Since 2007, the notification has been amended no fewer than 25 times—and at present it essentially fails to acknowledge fisher communities, leaving them vulnerable to further dispossession and displacement.
Jesu Rethinam Christy (in the orange sari, holding the microphone) has spent decades organizing with members of the fisher community. Credit: Jesu Rethinam Christy
Jesu Rethinam Christy (in the orange sari, holding the microphone) has spent decades organizing with members of the fisher community. Credit: Jesu Rethinam Christy
Jesu Rethinam Christy with members of the fisher community. Jesu is pictured on the far left, wearing a green blouse and pink sari.
Jesu Rethinam Christy with members of the fisher community. Jesu is pictured on the far left, wearing a green blouse and pink sari.
Jesu Rethinam Christy, wearing a green and silver sari, looks toward the camera.
Jesu Rethinam Christy, wearing a green and silver sari, looks toward the camera.
Jesu Rethinam Christy with members of the fisher community. Jesu is seated on the left, wearing a grey sari.
Jesu Rethinam Christy with members of the fisher community. Jesu is seated on the left, wearing a grey sari.
Mapping a Better Future
When Jesu filed a Right to Information (RTI) request for the 1991 Coastal Zone Management Plan maps, she found that wetlands documented in the original had been quietly removed from the official version. It was not an isolated error, says Jesu, but rather part of a decades-long pattern of cartographic falsification that has steadily stripped fisher communities of legal recognition and protection.
In 2023, Jesu filed a case with the National Green Tribunal (NGT) demanding recognition of fisher peoples' existence. A year later, in response, the NGT ordered the Coastal Zone Management Authority to map all of the fisher commons, and conduct ground-truthing in ecologically sensitive areas with proper consultation with fisher peoples. At the same time, fisher peoples, particularly fisherwomen, across Tamil Nadu and Karaikal mapped their villages, boat parking areas, dry fish yards, and ecological commons (such as mangroves and wetlands). Without access to cutting-edge technology, fisherwomen traced their villages on chart paper, analyzed them with land records, and prepared their own Geographic Information Systems (GIS)-based coastal zone management maps. Women sat together at the village level to review their maps: what was missing, what was present. They organized youth and elders in intergenerational discussions about their coastal and marine commons, and fishing zones in the ocean.
It is within this context that a generation of critical youth has stepped in with participatory rural learning-action methods, working with fisherwomen in each village and embedding GIS within mobile and smartphone platforms, to rebuild and assert their customary governance through community cartography. At the heart of this approach is a recognition of women’s existing knowledge systems.
Lakshmi V, another fisherwoman leader in Tamil Nadu, talked about Jesu’s role in the movement. "Jesu Akka always believed that fisherwomen should lead, not simply participate. Through the community mapping process, she helped us understand that our coast, our commons, our markets, our fishing grounds, and our villages are all questions of rights and justice. Mapping became much more than a technical exercise. It helped educate our communities, bring women, youth, and elders together, strengthen our confidence, and challenge official maps that ignored our existence. She taught us that knowledge in our hands can become power."
Their maps formed a meticulous articulation of their world, detailing fishers’ commons such as auction centres and landing centres, village commons such as hospitals and schools, ecological commons such as dunes and mangroves, and fishing and breeding zones in the sea and intertidal areas. They not only discussed current land use but also marked long-term housing sites to protect their communities from coastal erosion, disasters, and the impacts of the climate crisis. Their visions are futuristic.
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Community-led village mapping conducted by fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu. Credit: Media Collective
Initial hand-drawn version of the Kameshwaram village map.
Digitized version of the Kameshwaram village map.
GIS version of the Kameshwaram village map. Credit: Pradeep Elangovan.
Woman using smart phone to record location data on Teamspace. Credit: Media Collective
Woman using smart phone to record location data on Teamspace. Credit: Media Collective
Women using a smartphone to record location data on Teamspace. Credit: Media Collective
Women using a smartphone to record location data on Teamspace. Credit: Media Collective
Jesu Rethinam Christy (middle) with Jones Spartegus (left), a researcher, and Pradeep Elangovan (right), GIS practitioner. Credit: Media Collective
Jesu Rethinam Christy (middle) with Jones Spartegus (left), a researcher, and Pradeep Elangovan (right), GIS practitioner. Credit: Media Collective
The women then collected geocoordinates using handheld GPS devices, mapped the entire village boundary, and digitized the results. They also gathered land records, survey maps, fishing zone information from elders, and oral evidence to validate their findings. Finally, they consulted GIS experts to prepare the final map.
Once mapping was completed, they validated the maps with villagers in public meetings, explaining the details. Women, children, and youths gathered in these village meetings. The maps were then handed to the traditional governance system for further advocacy. Fisher wisdom made this a more democratic process—far more so than the official “public hearings,” where authorities rarely listen to fishers, explained Jesu.
After Jesu secured the NGT judgment, these community maps became the basis for challenging the government’s maps. They are not merely participatory maps but documents asserting rights over the coast and ocean—rights that had remained unrecognized for 78 years since independence.
Fishers produced maps that both symbolically and concretely reclaimed governance rights that the state had never recognized. They have also fought for decades for recognition as “Sea Tribes” (also known as Ocean Adivasis or Neithal Pūrvakudi) under the Scheduled Tribe category, not only for socio-economic empowerment but also to address historical injustice and trauma. Their identities are internationally recognized under the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and the UN Declaration on the Rights of Peasants and Other People Working in Rural Areas (UNDROP), but not by the Indian state.
The community mapping thus adds pressure to fisher peoples’ longstanding demand for recognition. Recently, the government took an important step in that direction by conducting consultations with fisher communities and providing technical support to strengthen their mapping skills.
Meanwhile, Jesu has sought to organize and consolidate these communities’ hard-won collective knowledge by creating the Christy Neythal Learning Centre (CNLC), a community library that preserves records of fisher struggles and photographs, along with a collection of more than 4,000 books regularly used by fisher children across three districts in Tamil Nadu, South India.
Currently, CNLC focuses on educating fisher youth by supporting their preparation for competitive exams, with the broader vision of building a more equitable society.
Recognizing that fisher peoples worldwide face similar challenges, Jesu has actively worked to build coalitions and foster solidarity with peers elsewhere.
She has helped inspire fisher peoples in Bangladesh, Brazil, Indonesia, Thailand, and Sri Lanka to collect and share testimonies about their experiences. These tribunals reframe fisher knowledge as evidence, asserting human rights and environmental justice on a global stage.
Back in Tamil Nadu, the struggle continues. “For generations, [fisher communities] governed and lived on this land freely. They believed it was theirs—untouchable. But reality says otherwise; land records do not recognize their existence. Through community mapping, they assert, reclaim what the records erase—identifying their lands and commons, their fishing grounds, their settlements, and the many ways the coast sustains life,” says Jesu. “This is not just mapping; it is an educative and political process that ignites collective consciousness, sharpens their sense of belonging, and charts the path to asserting their land and oceanic rights.”
These maps are not merely representations of space; they are assertions of the right to exist, grounded in the voices of fisherwomen that travel across coasts and oceans, documenting memory, labour, rights, and presence.
Key Takeaways
Elders and youth collaborated to document oral histories and customary boundaries with detailed digital maps that corrected and challenged state mapping inaccuracies. By combining traditional knowledge with modern technology, communities produced far more precise representations of how they use the land and coastal areas, and of local governance systems, than those used by state government planners, helping secure governance and resist imposed developments.
Earlier hand-drawn maps were painstakingly assembled to challenge government records and were even submitted as evidence to court. These practices laid the groundwork for today’s GPS- and satellite-based counter-mapping. This demonstrates continuity from past movements together with a powerful collaboration between older generations, with their historical context, and tech-savvy younger generations, turning that information into digital maps. Generations united and blended their knowledge and skills to achieve the success of this case.
By documenting wetlands, floodplains, fishing zones, and cultural sites that were omitted from state maps, communities’ maps exposed how dams, power plants, and ports disrupt irrigation systems, fishing grounds, fish nursery sites, and sustainable traditional uses of natural ecologies. Community-led mapping made visible how official plans erased the way of life of fishers by reclassifying them as industrial zones, identified critical wetlands as “wastelands” to smooth state capture for development, and also strengthened resistance in public hearings and legal processes.
Development projects routinely neglected the women, cutting them off from resources and markets. Fisherwomen’s unique ecological and social knowledge proved essential to mapping efforts that stopped harmful projects, while exposing how formalized markets and infrastructure forced women to pay for rights they once held informally. For instance, even when new ports were designed to include a small market area to help local communities maintain their ability to sell their catch, competition for stalls in the allotted space ultimately drove up rents. Women unable to afford access to a stall found themselves left out.
Aquaculture has often been promoted as a solution to the overfishing triggered by the industrialization of the wild catch. In South India, it has exacerbated the injustices inherent in displacing traditional fisher communities: agricultural land used for shrimp farms has led to the disappearance of plants and fruits and the cessation of rice cultivation, harmed community health, and pushed traditional fishers into low-wage labour on shrimp farms. Promoting aquaculture as a fix for fisheries management failures or as a means of addressing the so-called “global protein crisis” risks serving export-driven demand rather than local food security and justice.
Intensive aquaculture fouls coastal waters through its reliance on pesticides and other toxins to manage what the industry considers pests, which can include wild fish and even shrimp, as well as insects, aquatic weeds, plant diseases, and aquatic snails. Industrial activities on coastal land bring pollution from the other direction as well—pesticides including organophosphate, carbamates, organochlorines, pyrethroids, and neonicotinoids are used very widely in agriculture, forestry, public health, and veterinary practices. The residues that contaminate the water, usually within a few weeks after application, are primarily due to intensive farming combined with surface runoff and surface drainage. Aquaculture and industrial land farming combine to deliver a cocktail of agrochemicals into surrounding water, placing a burden on the health of fisher communities as well as the fish they rely on.
Harassment, violence, and exclusion—such as being barred from public transport because “they smell of fish”—motivated women fishers and traders to organize across villages. Through collective structures, they challenged donors, governments, and the shrimp aquaculture industry. Funders often ignore existing circumstances and functioning community institutions in their pursuit of “development,” but when appropriate approaches are used, power can shift back to local communities. Shared injustice can strongly motivate groups to collectively defend their rights and needs, turning problems into progress.
Coastal peoples play a central role in food sovereignty and ocean stewardship, but they receive little recognition in development policy. Instead, a “Blue Economy” framework, as noted by the Programme for Social Action, is used by many in industry and government to promote industrial-scale aquatic food systems as a solution to a supposed global protein crisis, marginalizing small-scale local food producers and pushing to increase fish protein production in countries that already consume too much. Initiatives linking ocean histories with the right to food and nutrition challenge this marginalization and re-centre coastal communities in food systems debates.
Jesu Rethinam’s leadership model—Collective Consultative Collaborative Community Educational Development—is defined by continuous questioning and accountability to the communities being served. Unlike more hierarchical structures, all strategies are collectively and proactively vetted before adoption, fostering clarity, shared ownership, and legitimacy rooted in collective consent. This process is exemplary and critical to long-term collective movement of communities.
Successes in securing customary tenure in India have inspired Indian practitioners to train communities in other regions. A global series of fisher tribunals has helped raise awareness, while Indian community experts have conducted training events in places such as Indonesia and Sri Lanka. The core lesson from these processes is widely applicable: secure customary governance underpins food sovereignty, cultural continuity, and resistance to extractive development.
Acknowledgements
Storytelling
Nagapattinam and Mayiladuthurai District Fisherwomen Federation, Tamil Nadu, India
Karaikal Fisherwomen Federation, Pudhucherry, India
Jesu Rethinam Christy, National Fishworkers Forum/World Forum of Fisher Peoples, India
Jones Thomas Spartegus, Community Researcher/Fisher, India
Pradeep Elangovan, Geographer/Journalist, India
Vijayan MJ, Director, Participatory Action Research Coalition-India (PARCI), India
Arun Mohan, Media Collective, India
Roy Bealey, Lead Researcher, Pelagic Fisheries Consulting Ltd. (PFC), Kenya
Tom Philpott, Journalist, John Hopkins Center for a Livable Future, USA
Meena Nallainathan, Global Alliance for the Future of Food, Canada
Beacons of Hope Advisory Committee
We would like to give special thanks to Imani Fairweather-Morrison (Oak Foundation) and Beatrice Gorez (Coalition for Fair Fisheries Arrangements) for the inspiration to keep fishers at the centre of this work and for their wise steering and steadfast support. Special thanks to Leslie Hatfield (GRACE Communications Foundation) for bringing us closer to fisher movements and their stories. Appreciation to Katy Taylor for mentorship, anti-oppression coaching, and helping us grapple with what it means to have an authentic Global North-South partnership.
Pak Salman, Fisher, Indonesia
Ahmed Imere, Fisher, Kenya
Gaoussou Gueye, CAOPA, Senegal
Nadine Nembhard, World Forum of Fisher Peoples, Belize
Beatrice Gorez, Coalition for Fair Fisheries Arrangements, Belgium
Nireka Weeratunge, International Center for Ethnic Studies, Sri Lanka
Niaz Dorry, North American Marine Alliance, USA
Javiera Calisto, Oak Foundation, Chile/Switzerland
Josh To, A Growing Culture, Canada
Global Alliance Aquatic-Terrestrial Foods Nexus Working Group
Oak Foundation
GRACE Communications Foundation
Walton Family Foundation
Erol Foundation
Rockefeller Foundation
We also want to thank the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation for supporting the evolution of Beacons of Hope.
Global Alliance Secretariat
We appreciate the support of Dharini Parthasarathy and Melanie Moran for their strategic, technical, and creative expertise, and to Lauren Baker and Anna Lappé for editing support. We extend our thanks to the Global Alliance for the Future of Food Secretariat for making this publication possible. Thanks as well to Tracy Bordian for copy-editing, Cultivate Communications for strategic direction, design and video production, TINTA The Invisible Thread for interpretation, and Owlingua and Myriam Helou for translation. The Global Alliance for the Future of Food is responsible for the content of this report and any errors or omissions.
