Guardians of the Southern Sea: How Flores Fishermen Battle Destructive Fishing and Champion Sustainable Octopus Conservation

By Environmental Reporting Desk

ENDE, Nusa Tenggara Timur — As dusk settled over the rugged southern coast of Flores Island, Imran Tabri stood on the shores of Maurongga Beach, gazing intently at the churning, slate-grey expanse of the Savu Sea. It was late July, the peak of the rough season in Nangapanda District, Ende Regency, and the towering waves served as an unyielding barrier for the local fishing community.

Along this southern coastline of Nusa Tenggara Timur (NTT), the ocean dictates the rhythms of human survival. High waves roil the coastal waters into a thick, murky brew, rendering traditional octopus fishing nearly impossible.

"It’s the season of high waves, so we’ve dragged our boats ashore to keep them from being smashed to pieces by the surf," Tabri explained, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

With their primary livelihood temporarily on hold, the rhythm of coastal life shifts. While the men secure their fiberglass boats high up among the coconut palms, women and children comb the intertidal zones. They gather flat, deep-green stones, meticulously packing them into 25-kilogram sacks. Hauling the heavy loads ashore, they stockpile the stones to sell as an auxiliary source of income during the lean fishing months.

Yet, beneath this humble daily struggle for economic survival lies a compelling grassroots conservation success story. Facing environmental degradation, destructive fishing practices from outsiders, and volatile climate patterns, the small community of Maurongga has banded together to protect their marine commons. Through the establishment of locally managed marine areas (LMMAs) and innovative rotational harvest systems, these fishermen are proving that traditional wisdom and modern ecological management can intersect to preserve one of Indonesia’s most lucrative marine commodities: the common reef octopus (Octopus cyanea).

Chronology of a Fishery: From Solitary Skill to Community Movement

Imran Tabri’s journey as an octopus fisherman began over a decade ago in 2015. He originally honed his craft along the southern shores of Ende City before marrying and settling in Maurongga. At the time, octopus fishing was virtually unknown in the village.

"Back then, nobody was fishing for octopuses here. The potential for octopus populations in Maurongga was massive, so I decided to start," Tabri recalled.

Using artificial lures locally known as pocong, Tabri targeted octopuses in shallow coastal waters up to 10 meters deep, selling his catch directly to local middlemen or roadside buyers for Rp15,000 to Rp20,000 per animal. Alongside reef fish and pelagics, the income sustained his young family.

A turning point arrived in 2019. Recognizing the economic potential and the need for sustainable oversight, the Tananua Flores Foundation stepped in to provide community organizing and ecological training. The intervention expanded the local cohort of specialized octopus fishers to seven, notably including women.

By 2022, the fruit of their collective labor materialized in tangible government support. The Ende Regency government, taking notice of Maurongga’s organized approach to sustainable fisheries, distributed seven 1-gross tonnage (GT) fishing boats to the community, followed by another eight units the subsequent year.

"I became known, and our fishermen received assistance precisely because of media coverage highlighting our octopus management," Tabri noted with pride.

Today, the community manages 54.95 hectares of coastal waters across six distinct marine zones under a traditional management framework known locally as Loi. The largest of these protected sectors is Sera Numba, spanning 14.35 hectares. Although only a fraction of Maurongga’s residents specialize exclusively in octopus harvesting, almost the entire village relies on the sea for its sustenance.

Supporting Data: The Economic and Ecological Weight of NTT’s Octopuses

The fisheries data underscores why Maurongga’s transition toward sustainable management is of national significance. According to statistical data from the Indonesian Ministry of Marine Affairs and Fisheries (KKP), national octopus production is staggering. In 2020 alone, Indonesia recorded 55,913 tons of octopus production, valued at approximately Rp1.2 trillion.

Nusa Tenggara Timur stands as the country’s epicenter for octopus harvesting. In 2020, NTT contributed a massive 19,102 tons to the national tally, dwarfing other major producing regions such as Central Sulawesi (10,411 tons) and East Java (7,838 tons).

Economic returns for the province have grown exponentially. KKP data reveals that NTT’s export-driven octopus production jumped from 318.96 tons (valued at $8,784,703 USD) in 2019 to 554.49 tons ($10,282,987 USD) in 2020.

At the hyper-local level, the impact is equally profound. Data compiled by the Tananua Flores Foundation shows that total captured fisheries production in Maurongga for 2025 reached 1,096 kilograms across seven distinct catch categories. Among them, the common octopus reigned supreme, accounting for 479.8 kilograms valued at Rp16,074,000.

Recognizing the fragility of this resource, the fishermen of Maurongga formed the Local Marine Management Area (LMMA) organization Embo Angi. Led by Ismail Isman, the group instituted a rigorous rotational harvest system—locally termed "open-close" (buka tutup) management—to allow marine life to replenish undisturbed.

Under this system, the village’s fishing grounds are divided into specific management units. For instance, an area might be split into sectors roughly 250 meters long, subjected to alternating closures.

"One section is closed for three months while the other is open," Isman explained. "We alternate them so that there is always a designated area for fishermen to seek octopuses while giving the rest of the ecosystem time to recover."

The biological dividends have been immediate. According to Tabri, since the implementation of the buka tutup system, the average weight of individual octopuses caught by local fishers has increased significantly, with specimens frequently reaching 3 to 4 kilograms each.

"The benefits of closing and opening the waters are enormous because it gives octopuses time to breed without human disturbance," Tabri said. Currently, LMMA Embo Angi boasts 12 dedicated members, seven of whom specialize directly in octopus jigging.

Official Responses and Conservation Challenges: The Threat of Destructive Fishing

Despite these localized conservation triumphs, Maurongga’s guardians face a daily war against illicit, destructive practices. Historically, coastal communities across Flores frequently resorted to ecological shortcuts, deploying fish poisons and underwater explosives to maximize catches with minimal effort.

Through patient, years-long community accompaniment, the Tananua Flores Foundation successfully persuaded local Maurongga residents to abandon these harmful habits. Bernadus Sambut, Chairman of the Tananua Flores Foundation, emphasized that the organization’s mandate extends far beyond gear restrictions.

"We equip our assisted fishermen to consistently safeguard marine ecosystems. This involves not only banning non-environmentally friendly gear but also educating them on the long-term impacts of marine debris and plastic pollution," Sambut stated.

However, a grave external threat remains: rogue fishermen from outside the regency who are either ignorant of or indifferent to the Loi conservation rules.

"Sometimes, we have to confront fishermen from outside our area who frequently catch fish using homemade bombs and potassium," said Muhammad Nuhu, a member of LMMA Embo Angi.

Nuhu described how fish bombing remains distressingly common. Perpetrators often arrive in flotillas operating multiple boats, deploying mechanical air compressors to dive deep and dispersing potassium cyanide directly over fragile coral reefs.

Imran Tabri added that some trespassers even utilize agricultural insecticides, such as danke—a chemical pesticide typically used by cocoa farmers—pouring the toxins directly into coastal waters to stun marine life and cause dead fish and invertebrates to float to the surface en masse.

The confrontations have occasionally turned volatile. Tabri recounted instances where he and his fellow LMMA members had to deploy air rifles to ward off poachers attempting to poison their waters, noting that they have even scuttled poachers’ boats in self-defense.

"We feel anxious because these perpetrators act recklessly. If we approach them, they won’t hesitate to hurl fish bombs directly at our boats," Nuhu admitted.

Yet, the members of LMMA Embo Angi refuse to back down. Routine patrols are organized voluntarily. When poachers are spotted, local fishers mobilize en masse to drive them away and report them to law enforcement authorities. Navigating these confrontations is fraught with difficulty; poachers frequently throw their illegal gear and chemical evidence overboard the moment maritime patrols or local guardians draw near.

"We must protect the sea; it is our bank account," Nuhu asserted defiantly. "Sometimes, farmers in our village get jealous because we can earn cash quickly from the ocean. That is why we must fight those who try to destroy our marine environment."

Broader Implications: A Blueprint for Community-Based Marine Stewardship

The struggle unfolding along the black-sand beaches of Maurongga serves as a microcosm of Indonesia’s broader maritime dilemma: balancing the insatiable global demand for seafood with the ecological preservation of fragile tropical archipelagos.

As climate change intensifies seasonal anomalies—manifested in Maurongga by prolonged stretches of high waves where calm days occur merely once or twice a month—subsistence communities are placed under unprecedented economic duress. When industrial overfishing and illicit poachers strip coastal zones bare, local fishers bear the immediate brunt of the collapse.

Yet, the Maurongga model demonstrates that top-down fisheries management by distant ministries is insufficient without robust, community-led enforcement. By anchoring conservation in customary governance structures like Loi and empowering local groups like LMMA Embo Angi, vulnerable fishing villages can reclaim stewardship of their waters.

As the rough seas of the southern Flores coast eventually recede in the coming months, Imran Tabri and his fellow fishermen will ready their fiberglass boats once more. They will return to the shallows armed not with destructive chemicals or explosives, but with artificial jigs, traditional knowledge, and a fierce, unyielding resolve to safeguard their blue harvest for the generations to come.