White Gold

Lider Gongora knows this part of the Pacific like the back of his hand. The founder of the environmental organization Fundacion de Defensa Ecologica (FUNDECOL) stands stoically at the back of the boat, gripping the handle of the 75-horsepower Yamaha outboard motor and wiping salt spray from his face. The motor roars, we mount a wave and almost surf into the calm of the estuary.

On the riverbank, pelicans adorn shady trees, herons stalk amongst the reeds, and bright red crabs scuttle across muddy flats between green shoots of young mangrove trees. But the peace and tranquility are an illusion, as are the few mature mangrove forests that line the river. Behind this thin veil of trees, chainsaws, mechanical diggers and gold-rush fever have taken their toll. The farmers call the shrimps that grow in huge man-made ponds "white gold."

It has taken Ecuador 20 years to develop an industry of this magnitude, and today, this small South American country is the world's second-biggest producer of shrimp. One in five inhabitants of the coastal provinces lives from shrimp aquaculture. But the boom is not only an Ecuadorian phenomenon. White gold-rush fever has spread through other countries of Latin America (Mexico and Honduras) and Asia (China, Thailand, India and Bangladesh). The industry produces 930,000 tons a year at a current value of $5.6 billion.

Consumers have benefited. What was once a luxury, confined to fine restaurants and specialty shops, is today available in the local supermarket. Shelves are packed with bags of frozen shrimp of all sizes as well as shrimp rings, breaded shrimp, stir-fried shrimp and other prepared foods. Even fast-food chains offer low-priced shrimp meals for the whole family.

Muisne, a small coastal town in northwestern Ecuador, is a living example of the worldwide struggle between socio-economic and environmental priorities and corporate tycoons infected with white-gold fever. This is where Gongora founded FUNDECOL to fight the continued expansion of shrimp farms by patrolling the remaining green areas and documenting illegal clearing of mangrove forests.

On a moonless night, the desolate landscape of shrimp pools the size of football fields, separated by retaining walls of mud, reflect only the halogen spotlights that form perimeter security. A single spotlight on the sluice gate attracts the shrimp. They gather at the end of the huge pool, leaping out of the water toward the light. As the shrimp collect in the net, workers standing up to their waists in rushing water scoop the animals into deep plastic trays. A sea of tiny red eyes shines bright in the artificial light for the last time before the trays are immersed in ice and sodium metabisulphate to preserve the delicate meat.

When Eric Notarianni describes his harvest, it's with love for this 10-footed sea creature with its long head and plump little body. He is the president of Sociedad Nacional de Galapagos (SONGA), one of the biggest shrimp producers in Ecuador. He rhymes off the stats without pause: Ecuador has 2,000 shrimp farms occupying 500,000 acres, an area the size of the Aruba or the Channel Islands; last year they produced 150,000 tons, 80 percent of which was exported with more than half going to the U.S. and the rest to Asia and Europe. The trade in white gold reaped $900 million. Prospects for the industry look good. North Americans and Japanese eat between five and nine pounds per year per person.

The industry frequently sets up shop in areas that have traditionally grown rice, as in Guayaquil, Bangladesh and India. With every new shrimp pond, rice paddies are lost and with them, food for local inhabitants. For example, in the Krishna-Godavari Delta, the breadbasket of the Indian province of Andhra Pradesh, 15 percent of the rice fields are now producing shrimp for export.