The Tribune

By Desiree K Major-Corneille

FROM the unpermitted cutting of trees and unauthorised mining of limestone to illegal charcoal kilns burning in remote coppice, and reef fish—undersized, spawning, and unrecorded — smuggled in coolers bound for foreign restaurants - a silent economy thrives in the shadows of The Bahamas’ blue and green wealth. This is the black market for natural resources — unregulated, untaxed, and frequently unchecked.

While legitimate industries strive to comply with the law and absorb the costs of doing so, these illicit operators extract value from our ecosystems with little fear of prosecution. The result is systemic erosion of public revenue, degradation of diverse ecosystems, threats to biodiversity, and intersections with organized crime. And the heaviest burden is borne by the Bahamian public — by residents who inhale carcinogenic smoke from unregulated charcoal, by families who unknowingly consume fish harvested through unsustainable and illegal practices, and by consumers paying more because local fishers must travel farther as nearby stocks are pillaged.

What is often framed as environmental harm must also be recognized for what it is: natural asset theft — a slow, deliberate siphoning of national wealth from the Bahamian people to illegal profiteers.

Environmental crime operates as a parallel economy. It includes the unlicensed harvesting, transport, and sale of marine life, timber, minerals, and other resources — often facilitated by informal networks or criminal intermediaries. These acts are not incidental or benign. They are systematic, profit-driven, and often sophisticated. Some actors profit handsomely, and their persistent evasion of authorities reflects both their complicity and full awareness of the illegality of their actions.

Foreign and local operators alike exploit enforcement blind spots. They move products without documentation, evade taxes, and leave environmental destruction in their wake. In this light, environmental crime is not just ecocide — it is economic sabotage.

Our marine sector remains acutely vulnerable. Poaching of conch, lobster, snapper, and parrotfish persists at unsustainable levels, often bound for international markets. Parrotfish — vital to reef health and sand production — are now consumed locally with little regard for their ecological role, as other reef stocks are depleted.

Vessels from the Dominican Republic have been repeatedly apprehended in Bahamian waters with massive hauls of seafood. Yet prosecutions are inconsistent, and incursions continue. Locally, some middlemen knowingly purchase from illegal harvesters, fueling a supply chain that delivers unregulated seafood to unsuspecting consumers and foreign buyers.

Ghost traps and illegal nets continue to destroy coral reefs and trap marine life long after they’re abandoned. As reef fish disappear, both local food security and tourism are compromised.

On land, the story is equally alarming. Charcoal kilns fueled by poisonwood, used tyres, and chemically treated lumber are often hidden in remote coppice — posing health risks and contributing to deforestation. While authorities occasionally announce kiln dismantling, prosecutions are rare.

Unregulated sand mining strips coastlines of their natural defenses, increasing erosion and vulnerability to storm surge. Quarrying operations in pine forests across the archipelago disrupt water systems, destroy habitats, and devalue the landscape — yet the materials are sold openly under the guise of legitimacy.

The business model is simple: low risk, high reward. Minimal oversight and lax enforcement make environmental crime a lucrative proposition for those willing to violate the law.

The fallout goes far beyond ecosystems. Every unlicensed transaction results in lost revenue: unpaid taxes, uncollected royalties, and bypassed fees. Law-abiding operators — licensed fishers, registered charcoal producers, eco-tour guides — must compete against black-market counterparts who pay nothing into the national economy.

More troubling still, ecological degradation undermines future economic opportunity. Overfished reefs, deforested hillsides, and polluted groundwater threaten the sustainability of industries critical to national development. The very communities most harmed are often the ones exploited for support — manipulated by a few well-positioned profiteers who campaign loudly for leniency while benefiting from public ignorance.

Beyond lost revenue, these crimes undermine public health, erode trust in governance, and heighten national vulnerability. A nation with stripped coastlines, collapsing reefs, toxic charcoal smoke, and depleted fisheries is not only poorer — it is less secure.

Environmental crime is not a peripheral concern. It is a destabilizing force with cascading effects on food systems, storm resilience, equity, and future development.

These crimes persist because enforcement systems are often under-resourced, undervalued, or procedurally delayed. In some instances, entrenched interests or administrative bottlenecks can frustrate investigations or discourage consistent follow-through.

Agencies tasked with protection frequently lack the training, tools, or mandate to pursue environmental crimes with the same rigor applied to drug or arms trafficking. Financial investigations are rare. Asset seizure tools go unused. And in the absence of meaningful deterrents, violators not only escape justice — they profit from it.

Environmental crime must be reframed as a form of serious economic crime. That means tracing profits, sanctioning buyers, and dismantling the criminal supply chains that exploit our land and sea.

Disrupting this shadow economy requires more than patrols — it requires a shift in enforcement strategy. Environmental crime must become financially untenable. That means stiffer penalties, strategic seizures, and reputational consequences that outweigh the profits of wrongdoing.

Asset recovery legislation should be modernised to allow for the confiscation of proceeds from environmental crime. Fines should fund restoration. Financial institutions must be trained to flag suspicious environmental transactions, and natural resource markets must become digitally traceable and transparent.

Above all, environmental enforcement must scale to match the sophistication of environmental crime. And because these crimes cross borders, regional cooperation — through intelligence sharing, joint task forces, and coordinated prosecutions — is essential.

Around the world, nations that once thrived on natural abundance are now reckoning with irreversible loss. Florida has no legal conch fishery — decades after collapse, it still has not recovered. In Haiti, deforestation has stripped the land bare, triggering floods, crop failure, and food insecurity. The Baltic Sea’s cod stocks have crashed despite bans, while sea cucumber fisheries in the Galápagos, and artisanal fish in Gambia, have been decimated by unchecked exploitation and weak enforcement. Somalia’s fisheries were so plundered that piracy emerged from desperation. These are not cautionary tales from faraway places — they are mirrors. The question is not whether it could happen here in The Bahamas. The question is: what will it take for us to act before we reach the point of no return?

When our marine life, minerals, and forests are stolen, it’s not just nature that suffers. It is every Bahamian — robbed of future income, coastal protection, and food security. Enforcement must evolve not only to safeguard ecosystems, but to dismantle the black-market economy exploiting our national heritage.

Every illegally caught conch, mined beach, or bag of illicit charcoal is a withdrawal from our national trust fund — with no receipt, no tax, and no return.