Near the end of Seaspiracy, Ali Tabrizi takes us with him on the grind, a traditional hunt for pilot whales in the Faroe Islands. The images of the hunt are jarring—boats close in on a struggling pod, the water is blood-stained, and a string of captured whales line the beach.

Against this backdrop, Tabrizi, the English cinematographer who directs the film, reminds us that this carefully-regulated, long-standing hunt is technically sustainable because it kills a limited number of whales without affecting their overall population. It’s a chance for Tabrizi to raise the question: What does sustainability actually mean? And is it what we want? 

Released this year on Netflix, Seaspiracy is not a feel-good movie. In its examination of the ways we treat marine life, it covers the whales washing up on our shores with plastic-filled stomachs, tracks dolphin hunts, examines the value of “sustainable seafood” labels, and looks into the sometimes filthy truth about large-scale fish farms. By the end, Tabrizi has made a case that the relationship we have with our oceans is both corrupt and extractive.

For decades we have drastically depleted the stocks of our oceans, overfishing to such a great extent that Tabrizi claims oceans will be empty by 2048. Countries that overfish in their own waters often turn to the shores of other nations when their stocks run out. When it proves unprofitable to spend time and money catching such depleted stocks, commercial fisheries turn to slave labor to support their industry—as Tabrizi discovers on a harrowing trip to Thailand, where he interviews formerly enslaved fishermen who maintain anonymity for fear of repercussions from fisheries.

In the face of these issues, many environmentalists assert that managed fishing is a solution. But Tabrizi finds that even “sustainable” fishing has a seedy underbelly. In a series of interviews with high profile sea conservation organizations, including Oceana, the Earth Island Institute, and the Marine Stewardship Council, Tabrizi uncovers just how impossible it is to define or regulate sustainability when it comes to our oceans, and exposes how easily consumers are misled by sustainability labels. 

In these meetings, nervous representatives are unable to guarantee that protective measures are implemented, or even clearly define what sustainability means. Labels such as “Dolphin-safe Tuna” and the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) blue checkmark, which promises that sustainability regulations are adhered to by fisheries, therefore mean very little.

Tabrizi and his team find that the MSC label is simply licensed out to fisheries willing to pay for it. A “sustainable” fishery in Iceland, for example, approved by the MSC, killed 269 harbor porpoises and 5,000 seabirds as bycatch in a single year.

“The term ‘sustainable’ is so vague that even bycatch of seabirds, dolphins and seals can be considered sustainable,” asserts Tabrizi. How can a fishery that kills thousands of other species along with the fish it intends to catch qualify as having a “[minimal] impact on other species and the wider ecosystem,” as required by the MSC blue checkmark?

Farmed fish, seen by some as a solution to depleted fish populations, comes with its own set of drawbacks. The fish are often fed dried fish and fish oil, further depleting our oceans. And in a nighttime visit to a Scottish fish farm, we are shown a mound of putrid and rotting salmon, their skin destroyed by sea lice and their flesh a sickly grey color. The image is gruesome. No one, seeing the footage, would want to eat fish like that, and yet many of us do without knowing.

Sustainable commercial fishing, says Tabrizi, doesn’t exist. He interviews Karmenu Vella, the Commissioner of Fisheries and Environment for the European Union, who defines sustainability as “spending the interest without touching the capital.” In other words, consuming fish in such a way that their population remains constant. But we are already so deep into eating the “capital” of the oceans that, by this definition of sustainability, we can’t eat any more.

The most responsible course of action, says Tabrizi, is to stop eating fish entirely. 

Seaspiracy has come under fire from critics who say that sustainable seafood consumption is possible, and it’s unrealistic for the entire world to give up fish. Small-scale fish farms, like McFarland Springs Trout, where fish are fed a vegetarian diet and waste is disposed of responsibly, is one model of sustainability, for example. Farmed bivalves like oysters and mussels require no feed and can rehabilitate ecosystems by filtering water. And giving up fish would disproportionately affect the many small towns and villages around the world that depend on fishing for survival.

There’s no one in the movie who can lend insight into why so many of the worst offenses seem to take place in Asian countries. What is more, elements of the film such as covert visits to fisheries in the dark of night and narrow escapes from pro-fishing government police are perhaps overly sensational. And interview questions seem to pointedly lead those being questioned into traps, manipulating their assertions for effect.

Critics also point out that one of film’s boldest claims—that oceans will be empty by 2048—is outdated. In fact, many fish populations are in the process of rebounding due to preservation efforts according to Professor Boris Worm, the marine scientist who originally published the statistic and has now recanted his earlier prediction.

When challenged, Tabrizi had this to say: “We are not scientists nor did we claim to be. Despite there being some confusion about [the 2048 statistic], the overall state of fisheries are in severe decline.”

In the end, I think the dramatic footage plays a vital role in making this a movie worth watching. It’s an effective way to engage us and tug at our heartstrings. It’s also most likely how the film became so popular and widely-viewed in the first place.

And debates about particular facts in the film only serve to distract from the truth of its central message, which is that our massive consumption of fish, along with unsustainable practices by the fisheries industry, is taking a devastating toll on our world’s oceans. 

Seaspiracy has “not been made for its scientific rigour,” argues Professor Callum Roberts, a marine conservationist, in its defense. “It has used the techniques of film storytelling to make its case.”

Though by no means a perfect film, what Seaspiracy ultimately does is raise awareness, and encourage us to rethink our relationship to seafood. No, it isn’t realistic for every individual in the world to give up eating fish, a vital source of nutrients for many people, especially in coastal communities. And yes, small-scale, locally-organized fishing that has no lasting impact on species populations, such as the grind in the Faroe Islands, may technically be sustainable.

But if we can choose what we eat, we can also decide not to support an industry that depletes our waters, is known to resort to slave labor, and misleads us with dishonest assurances of sustainability. At the least, we can prioritize finding out where our seafood comes from, because society’s vague promise of sustainability just isn’t enough. 

Anna McCormack is a Stone Pier Press News Fellow based in Riverside, CT.

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