Faith is an important part of Carlos Vicente’s story.

“Faith is the foundation of my life.”

Carlos’ mother was from the northeast of Brazil.

“Her parents migrated from the northeast to the south. When they arrived, they were drawn into the slavery system, so my grandfather decided to return to the northeast. Even though their situation there was very difficult, they were free, they were not slaves. They took a ship to travel back to the northeast, but it was damaged along the way, and they needed to get off the boat in Cabo Frio, so my mother’s family started a new life in this very small town.”

At the time, Cabo Frio was a fishing town and a major salt producer. 

“It’s about 150 kilometres from Rio de Janeiro, so today it’s a tourist town, very famous, but it’s also a very unequal town with a lot of poverty with many descendants of enslaved people. When slavery was banned in Brazil, Cabo Frio still received many illegally enslaved people from Africa. My father came from a very poor family of fishermen and salt workers. He met my mother at a very young age, she was 18 when she gave birth to me.”

As a child, Carlos appreciated the world with an open mind.

“I loved new ideas, I loved new knowledge, I loved people who did interesting things, different things. As my interest was in knowledge and new approaches, one of the best parts of my life was when I went to school.

“The first school I went to was a Catholic school run by nuns. It only had four year levels, so after four years, I had to transfer to a public school. To get into the public school, I had to take an entrance exam, but when I went to see if I had passed, I didn’t see my name on the list. I remember it was a big wall with lots of sheets of paper full of names, and some of the papers were very high. I was very short and couldn’t read all of the names because I was there alone and had eye problems. So I went home, and in the evening, when my mum came home from work, I told her I hadn’t passed. She was desperate and decided to get help so I wouldn’t miss a year of school: she spoke to the headmistress of one of the public schools attended by the city’s economic elite and asked if I could study there for a year. The headmistress understood the situation and offered me the opportunity to study there paying half the tuition, but we didn’t have that kind of money, so my mum went to talk to the mayor of the town to ask for a grant that he then gave me, which paid for the other half of the tuition.

“So I went to this rich school and saw a new kind of world, totally different from the world I lived in. In this new world people had nice clothes, went on holidays, had birthday parties and had a very open outlook on life, whereas for most people in my world the focus was just on working to make sure we always had food. So I discovered at this new school that our life was very limited, and I developed the desire to live in this other world where you can focus your attention not only on how to have food, but also on enjoying the many other parts of lived experience.”

Carlos lived about six kilometres from the school, and his family couldn’t afford a bus or taxi, so his mother visited one of Cabo Frio’s tourist neighbourhoods “with big houses”. At the back of one of the houses she found what she was looking for, “an old bicycle”.

“My mum offered the owner of the house to exchange the bicycle for her service: my mum did their laundry for six months as payment for the bicycle, and she used that bicycle to take me to school for the whole year.”

The year at the elite school came with its challenges, but it inspired a belief in Carlos that he could aspire to a different life to his parents.

“When I was at the public school, outside of the classroom I felt inferior to my classmates because my school materials and shoes were of poor quality and worn out. I was the only black person in the school and I was very thin, so I was nicknamed mico, which is a type of small monkey. This made me feel very ashamed, and since I didn’t have any money for lunch, I stayed in the classroom during recess so as not to be exposed to bullying. But inside the classroom I felt different, I didn’t feel inferior to anyone because I was able to learn the subjects like the other pupils. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have any material possessions, what counted was my ability to learn and my interest in acquiring knowledge. The classroom was a place where prejudice and poverty didn’t affect me, I could travel in my imagination, discover a new world and learn to dream of a different life. The classroom was one of the few places where I experienced the thrill of feeling free. Outside of school, in the community where I lived, I suffered a lot of bullying too, not because I was poor, but because I was too thin. People made me believe I was abnormal and that I should be ashamed of my body.”

To help buy food for his family, Carlos started working at the age of nine: he sold popsicles on the beach, collected rubbish to sell, and worked at the market as both a vendor and shopper. This work at the market became his main source of income until he was 16.

“At the beginning of my last year of secondary school, I had a conversation with a friend who told me she was leaving our school to go to an elite public school, as she had plans to go to university and then do postgraduate studies abroad. As I was the first person in my family to have studied beyond primary school, I had no guidance on how to develop my academic career, but as I listened to my friend talk about her plans, I saw a window open in front of my eyes, showing me a horizon of possibilities that I had never imagined. I went home and told my mum that I needed to leave public school to go and study at the same elite school I had studied at six years earlier. She went with me to the school and the old headmistress was still working there and she got me a 50 per cent scholarship. I paid for the school myself with the work I did at the markets three days a week.”

Carlos wanted to be a doctor, but when he saw a film focused on medicine and saw the blood of a patient undergoing surgery, he became ill, and thus discovered he was not suited to this profession. Nobody in his family offered alternative recommendations, but on the final day of registration for a university scholarship, he decided on forest engineering. He knew very little about the job, but he felt a strong intuition that working with nature would be the right direction. His love of nature was a reflection of the comfort it had offered him.

“I was a very, very thin guy and I had low self-esteem in relation to my body, so when I went to the beach, I felt very ashamed. I would wait for the moment when I thought people weren’t looking at me, take off my shirt and get into the water and stay there for three or four hours enjoying myself. I discovered in nature I felt at peace, far from the atmosphere of prejudice that suffocated me, far from the stares and judgements. Nature was my space of freedom. So when I decided to go to university, I tried to focus on nature, because nature was my place, and I wanted a career that would help protect it, I wanted to repay the care that nature gave me.”

Carlos studied at the Federal Rural University of Rio de Janeiro. His days were not easy, trying to make his way without his family’s support.

“For a few months I had nowhere to sleep and nowhere to store my suitcase. I slept on the floor and even on a table in other students’ rooms. I only ate one meal a day, my immune system weakened, but I was convinced that this was the price I had to pay in order to try to have another life. 

“Two years into my degree, a friend recommended me for an internship at a large forestry company. The company was in the centre of Rio de Janeiro, 60 kilometres from the university. I travelled four hours each day (round trip) to get to the internship. This work was paid and it allowed me to stop receiving help from my family, eat three meals a day and buy books. I was working as an intern at Floryl Florestadora Ypê AS, one of Shell’s companies in Brazil. They had a forestry operation dedicated to planting eucalyptus and pine trees for the timber industry. Despite always being very tired, I managed to maintain good grades and my time at university was very rich, full of learning, but somewhat lonely because I didn’t want people to know about the difficulties I was going through, to not risk further prejudice and bullying.”

When Carlos finished his degree, he spent five months in Rio de Janeiro working for a consultancy.

“This company was very problematic and I decided to leave for ethical reasons, so I went back to my hometown. At the time, Brazil was facing a long economic crisis with high unemployment rates and hyperinflation. I couldn’t see any opportunities to work or change my life. I spent my days on the beach depressed because I felt there was no place in the world for me and I would be condemned to live in misery.”

Then life intervened.

“A friend of mine was sitting on a bus and overheard a conversation between the two men sitting in front of him who were talking about a job opportunity in the state of Acre. There was a man looking for a forestry engineer, and my friend overheard this and asked if they could write down the number of this man. My friend then called me, gave me the number and I spent four hours trying to call the man on a public phone. As I didn’t have the money to pay for an interstate call, I had to call collect. When the man answered, I explained my situation and said I was interested in the job. We chatted for a few minutes and he hired me.

“My friend who gave me the number bought the plane ticket from Rio de Janeiro to Acre and another friend lent me money for the first month’s expenses. So I went to Acre without knowing anyone apart from this man I’d met over the phone, but I knew it might be my only opportunity to escape the reality of my hometown, so I put all of my efforts into earning the respect and credibility of my boss in order to remain in that job.”

Carlos was working at the Technology Foundation of the State of Acre.

“The purpose of this Foundation was to develop technical studies and research for the sustainable development of Acre based on forest conservation and to promote better conditions for small farmers, rubber tappers and Indigenous Peoples. We were trying to create alternative technological responses to curb deforestation and improve the population’s quality of life.”

Carlos’ focus connected with the growing social and environmental movements in Acre.

“When I arrived, Chico Mendes was still alive, and together with Marina Silva they were fighting in defence of the rights of rubber tappers, Indigenous Peoples and small farmers, and for the preservation of the forest. I was very attracted to them and the social movement they were part of. My dream was to be part of this group of people fighting against social injustice.”

In the early 1980s, Chico Mendes and Marina Silva formed a labour union while also leading empates, peaceful demonstrations against deforestation and the expulsion of forest communities from their traditional territories.

“Six months after arriving there, I became friends with them and became part of this group. I took part in meetings and demonstrations. In Acre I found my place in the world and the people I wanted to share dreams and struggles with.”

Through the process of becoming closer to Chico Mendes and Marina Silva, Carlos made another important connection.

“Eight weeks after arriving in Acre, I met Raimundo de Barros, another leader of the rubber tappers and a cousin of Chico Mendes. He invited me to spend a few days in the Xapuri forest with him. It was one of the most important moments for me in Acre because we stayed together for a week, sleeping and walking in the forest. He told me lots of stories about the forest, showed me many different trees, and illuminated the relationship between animals, plants and the climate. It was like taking a new university course because my university studies were about plantations, not natural rain forests, and Raimundo de Barros gave me a very intensive course. This deep contact with the forest and its people opened another huge window in my mind and was fundamental in guiding my priorities and the development of my professional career.”

In 1988, Chico Mendes was assassinated in his home in Xapuri.

“The group that killed Chico Mendes wanted to elect a governor who would approve building lots of roads in the forest and favour the expansion of the agricultural frontier in Acre. This would increase social conflicts and deforestation. A friend of mine, Jorge Viana, who was director of the Foundation, together with Marina and the other people in our group, decided to run for governor, and I was part of his campaign team, responsible for the election polls. We didn’t win the election, but he got a lot of votes and two years later he became Mayor of Rio Branco, the capital of the state of Acre. So I decided to leave the Foundation to work as Jorge’s technical advisor.” 

After almost two years in this role, an incredible opportunity arose for Carlos to study abroad.

“After the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development took place in Brazil in 1992, the Costa Rican Institute of Business Administration (INCAE) created an MBA in Natural Resources Management. A friend from our group, who fought for forest peoples, had been selected to take part in the third class of the course in Costa Rica but he couldn’t go as he had been elected to the state legislature. He told me about the course and recommended me for his place. I took the tests and passed the selection. I was very impressed with INCAE because it was the second best business school in Latin America and I knew that business knowledge would help us in the challenge of creating projects, strategies and public policies to sustainably develop the Amazon.”

Carlos decided to enrol, but the cost of the opportunity was a barrier.

“The course lasted 18 months and cost $50,000 (USD). I raised these funds by selling my house and car, borrowing from friends, and through two scholarships — one with the Ford Foundation and the other with the International Tropical Timber Organisation (ITTO).

“I wanted to acquire the technical knowledge and develop the cognitive, behavioural and managerial skills to create viable sustainable economic ventures in the context of the Amazon and its traditional communities. My initial university education didn’t give me these competencies and I knew they were important for structuring solutions so the forest bioeconomy could become a reality in the region.  Since arriving in the Amazon, I had participated in and learned of various projects that sought sustainable economic alternatives but failed. One of the causes, in my opinion, was our lack of knowledge about how to structure viable businesses in remote regions and how to deal with competitive markets.”

After completing the course in Costa Rica, Carlos returned to Acre with a clearer vision of how to connect natural resources and traditional cultures with the market. He then worked for two years as a consultant for various organisations. 

Marina Silva had been elected senator for Acre in 1994. She was the first rubber tapper elected to the Federal Senate and the youngest senator in the history of the Republic of Brazil. Four years later, when Jorge Viana was elected governor of Acre and adopted the slogan “Government of the Forest”, Marina suggested he create the Executive Secretariat for Forests and Extractivism, to structure public policies to support the development of the state, based on the sustainable use of biodiversity; and to support Indigenous Peoples, rubber tappers, river dwellers, small farmers and the traditional forestry sector. Marina also suggested that Carlos lead this work.

Carlos was faced with a challenge that seemed too great for him: despite the good reputation he had built up in Acre as a competent technician, he didn’t feel he was capable of fulfilling the vision of this new role. Carlos saw himself as a survivor of an unjust and unequal social system, but he also carried deep wounds in his heart, struggling with insecurity and low self-esteem. He didn’t see himself as capable of taking on a role full of historical and symbolic importance, as it would be the secretariat responsible for developing public policies inspired by the legacy of Chico Mendes and all the other martyrs who fought for the forest and its peoples for decades, facing the violence imposed by powerful economic and political interest groups. So Carlos decided not to accept the invitation, and he told Jorge and Marina. Then, on the day Jorge was about to announce the government team, Carlos had a profound and transformative spiritual experience with Jesus Christ, and he suddenly felt safe to accept the invitation and lead Acre’s forestry policy.

“Our work at the State Secretariat was both visionary and paradigmatic, because we created the first payment for environmental services in the Amazon, structured the production chains for various socio-biodiversity products and created Acre’s forestry legislation. The results came quickly to the point where we saw growth in the economic indicators for forest products and a reduction in the rural exodus by rubber tappers. This work began to attract national and international attention.” 

The New York Times published an article about their work. 

“We also supported the creation of COOPERACRE, which is currently the largest co-operative of extractivists and small farmers in Acre, and brings to market a large part of the state’s fruit pulp, rubber, nuts and other products, benefiting thousands of small producers. It is an excellent example of the viability of local solutions to protect the forest and improve the quality of life of the rural population.”

In 2002, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva was elected the President of Brazil, and Marina became the Minister for the Environment when he assumed office in 2003.

“Marina invited me to join her team at the Ministry. At first I didn’t accept the invitation because I was very happy in Acre and saw many opportunities to expand the impact of the Secretariat’s work, since Jorge Viana had been re-elected and we had another four years of work ahead of us.”

It was in this moment Carlos had another strong spiritual experience, and he decided to move to Brasilia to work with Marina and Lula. Carlos worked as Marina’s advisor until 2008, when she resigned from her position in Lula’s government and in the Workers’ Party.

“We then decided to create a Marina Silva Institute, an organisation to promote awareness about the Amazon, climate change and protection of nature in Brazil, and I stayed as Executive Secretary of this Institute until 2017.”

During this time, Marina ran for the Brazilian Presidency three times and Carlos remained her advisor for each campaign.

“I had huge learnings about Brazilian society, about the politicians, about the institutions, because I was very close to her in those three campaigns, participating in the whole process. In 2018, when she lost the last election, when Bolsonaro was elected, I moved to the Senate to work as an advisor to five senators, including Joênia Wapichana, from the Sustainability Network’s Party, Marina Silva’s party.”

Carlos worked as an advisor until 2021, when he started his current role as the National Facilitator of the Interfaith Rainforest Initiative (IRI) in Brazil. Created with the United Nations, the IRI is an international, multi-faith alliance that works to bring moral urgency and faith-based leadership to global efforts to end tropical deforestation.

“We are working to help religious leaders have a clearer and deeper understanding of the seriousness of the climate crisis, the urgency of stopping the destruction of the Amazon rain forest, of protecting the rights of the guardians of biodiversity — such as Indigenous Peoples, Quilombolas and traditional communities — and the value of scientific and ancestral knowledge to overcome these problems.

“The absolute majority of the Brazilian population follows some kind of religion. Religiosity has a significant influence on personal values, the economy, politics and the functioning of the state. Caring for nature needs to become a civilising value above ideologies and political and economic interests. Religious leaders can make a fundamental contribution to this leap in civilisation, especially since all religious and spiritual traditions contain principles and teachings about human responsibility in caring for nature. For more than a decade, opinion polls have shown that the majority of the Brazilian population is in favour of environmental preservation, however this position has not yet become a generalised value in the hearts of most people. If it were, it would guide individual habits and choices and influence the quality of elected officials and parliamentarians, as well as the behaviour of companies.”

In an effort to help shape these values more quickly, the IRI invests in educating and training religious and spiritual leaders.

“If caring for the climate, forests and their guardians becomes a spiritual, moral and existential value for these leaders, millions of people could be influenced in the short term. They have the potential to educate and influence around 90 percent of the Brazilian population. This could drastically reduce resistance in political and business circles to strengthen socio-environmental governance in Brazil.”

The Initiative believes in working with all of the diversity present in Brazil’s social fabric. For this reason, it does not discriminate in any way and has managed to establish processes of dialogue and learning with leaders across the religious, ideological and political spectrum, supporting processes of dialogue and interaction with scientists, activists and public officials. 

“Here in Brazil, environmental issues face great resistance from economic and political power. We need to create an environment in which these issues can be understood as something of vital importance, which rise above political disputes, economic interests and ideological conflicts. We need to use the language of the heart, of emotion, of ethics and values so that we can all realise that we have no time to lose, that we cannot continue to repeat old ways that destroy the foundations that sustain life on the planet.

“I hope our work can help people develop a love for nature, for the forest, especially the Amazon rain forest, and for the Indigenous Peoples who have suffered for more than five centuries, who face a lot of prejudice. Most religious leaders, who defend laws and social justice, are not involved in protecting the rights of indigenous groups, so we are trying to create this link.

“I don’t want to do anything in the next few years apart from this work, I think it’s the most important work of my life. In June I turned 60, and I have at least 15 or 20 productive years ahead of me, and I’d like to dedicate those years to this mission.” 

Considering the incredible achievements throughout Carlos’ career, his belief in this initiative emphasises its importance.

“I could have opted for a stable job with the comfort and security it brings. I passed the exam for Embrapa, the agricultural research company when I returned from Costa Rica, but I resigned as a researcher because I felt that life was calling me to other missions. Every job I’ve chosen brings together what is important to me: contributing to reducing social injustice and conserving biodiversity, especially in the Amazon. Of course, not having stability means constantly living with risks, but for those born into the poorest strata of society, dealing with difficulties, threats and adversity are skills that are learned from childhood.”

Carlos’ story highlights the power of belief, in humanity, spirituality and life itself.

“I am the fruit of dreams, persistence, solidarity and faith. My family lacked food, but not examples of love thy neighbour, compassion and solidarity. God gave me some friends who helped me in critical moments. These people helped me in different ways, rarely with money, but by giving me affection, words of encouragement, inspiration, solutions and contacts. That’s why I often feel the heart of people who are suffering from invisibility, indifference and feelings of not belonging. The situations I experienced have given me this ability, and I’m very grateful to God to be able to be a support for someone, just like people have been for me.

“I think that’s why I’m here, life has given me the opportunity to experience suffering so that I can recognise it in other people and other creatures, to help eliminate or minimise pain. To contribute to someone’s happiness is one of the greatest pleasures I have in life. I know this is love, and it is this value that orientates my way of being in the world and the work I do.”

It is the essence of reciprocity, and the ever-present need to support and believe in life itself. 

“We are part of a web of life, and we can only enjoy a meaningful life if we love life in all of its manifestations.”

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer.

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Toitū te marae a Tāne-Mahuta, toitū te marae a Tangaroa, toitū te tangata.

This is a whakatauki, a Māori proverb widely known in Aotearoa (New Zealand) that means “if the land is well and the sea is well, so too are the people”.

The literal truths of this proverb are obvious: our lives are reliant on clean water, healthy soil, and fresh air. More and more research highlights how our mental health is connected to the natural world, as it reduces stress while inspiring creativity and joy. This reflects the spiritual beliefs of the Māori people, who have deep relationships with the land and the sea, as well as the plants and animals who also call these lands home. If our native species are threatened, so is the wellbeing of Aotearoa’s people. One of these species is the smallest and rarest dolphin in the world, the Hector’s dolphin, with one of its subspecies, the Māui dolphin, critically endangered with only 55 individuals left.

The Hector’s dolphin has different Māori names, depending on the region. Tutumairekurai and tūpoupou are common, while pahu is often used and has been adopted by Sea Shepherd New Zealand in their campaign to protect these dolphins. An old Māori belief is that spirits that have passed may come back as tutumairekurai, so they are viewed as extensions of the family, worthy of deep respect. Historically, these dolphins were so common that it was laughable to think that they would ever be classed as endangered. Now only 10,000 remain in the waters surrounding Aotearoa, meaning they are “nationally vulnerable”.

Naturally curious and highly intelligent, pahu are coastal dwellers, not known to travel more than 20 nautical miles from shore, so they are commonly seen by swimmers, kayakers, and recreational boaters. They live in small familial pods and generally remain in one region, a behaviour known as site fidelity. It is easy to see why they are viewed as spiritual creatures by the Māori and how they have become a national icon, known as the “kiwi of the sea”.

The first time I was lucky enough to interact with them, I was swimming at Waikuku beach as a child. The other swimmers around me evacuated the water having mistaken these dolphin fins for shark fins, whereas I felt like swimming out further to see if they’d play with me. It was a few years later when I finally got my chance to interact with them while on a friend’s recreational boat in Banks Peninsula, where there is a high concentration of Hector’s dolphins due to its many small bays creating protection for breeding and a range of fish species for their food. While the engine had stopped and we were enjoying the scenery in silence, we heard a soft breathing noise — which is where the dolphins get the name pahu — and we saw their distinctive black fins approaching us slowly. Up close, Hector’s dolphins often roll sideways underwater to get a good look at you while passing your boat, or they stick their heads up out of the water to watch you from a distance. When I saw one of those bright, intelligent eyes looking straight into mine, my love for these beings deepened. Now I relish every opportunity to get out on the water and spot them, while also helping to monitor their population and threats as a volunteer for Sea Shepherd New Zealand.

The curiosity and social nature of Hector’s dolphins make for a great tourist attraction, especially around Banks Peninsula. Companies offering dolphin tours are usually well-instructed in how to approach the dolphins, always careful to minimise the risk of striking them, and to not make loud noises or feed the dolphins when spotted. However, research has indicated that an increase in boat traffic over time has displaced the number of Hector’s dolphins in the Akaroa region. Furthermore, one company offers a “swim with dolphins” tour, despite the fact that swimming with the dolphins can disrupt their natural behaviours, and increase the risk of humans touching and damaging the dolphins’ sensitive skin. Although I believe that Aotearoa’s wildlife and natural beauty should be shared by all, and that tourism raises awareness of the plight of the Hector’s dolphins, if tour boats are part of the problem, I wonder whether we should cease their operation to provide safer and quieter habitats?

Swimming with Hector’s dolphins remains legal — unless there are calves in the pod — although many companies have ceased providing “swim with dolphins” tours due to concerns over the reduction of numbers of dolphins in particular areas. To combat the amount of marine traffic disturbing the Hector’s dolphin population, the government issued a moratorium on new permits and expansions for tour boat operators in Akaroa harbour in 2016, which is due to expire in 2026. Whether they will extend the moratorium is unknown.

Earlier this year, the international sailing race SailGP took place in Lyttelton Harbour, the largest commercial harbour on the Banks Peninsula. Lyttelton Harbour is a marine mammal sanctuary and home to a pod of Hector’s dolphins. The organisers of SailGP knew this area was a sanctuary and that significant protection measures would be in place, however they chose to go ahead with the race despite pressure from environmental NGOs to hold it elsewhere. Protection protocol required that if any Hector’s dolphins were seen near the course the race would be stopped until the dolphin had not been seen for 20 minutes. This was agreed to by the SailGP representatives, yet when dolphins were seen in the race area on the opening morning, and the entire day of racing was subsequently cancelled, their response turned to calling the protection measures “extreme” and “disappointing” instead. It was inappropriate to hold a race with boats that travel at such high speeds within a marine mammal sanctuary, yet this is not the only threat the Hector’s dolphins of Lyttelton Harbour have experienced.

In 2018 the Lyttelton Port Company (LPC) wanted to build a new cruise ship berth so that bigger ships with more passengers could enter Lyttelton. The methods they proposed for construction involved noisy pile driving, which was expected to cause adverse effects on the wildlife populations over time. In particular, it would have decreased the dolphins’ ability to echolocate and possibly led to permanent hearing damage. The project was halted while the LPC continued research into the potential harm to the local dolphins, then construction began in 2019 with a “marine piling management plan” including fewer piles used, along with “soft start” construction that would give the animals time to leave the area, and a pause on work required when any dolphin was seen near the site. Construction continued in the face of extensive protest from local communities and the concern of scientists, who proved that the number of Hector’s dolphins dropped in areas with smaller-scale construction, which disrupted their normal breeding and feeding behaviours.

Despite the significant presence of boats, they are not the biggest threat to Hector’s and Māui dolphins. Every year, fishing nets kill between 100 and 150 Hector’s dolphins, the most common being set nets, while Hector’s dolphins have been bycatch in trawl nets and drift nets too. A threat management plan was introduced in 2008 outlining ways to minimise threats to the dolphins, and was most recently revised in 2020 with further bans on fishing gear at certain distances from the shore. 

Through my work with Sea Shepherd New Zealand, I have observed how using fishing gear further out to sea isn’t enough. I have seen vessels trawling in the middle of a large pod of Hector’s dolphins who were gathering to eat the fishers’ desired catch just outside the two nautical mile ban limit. If there is fishing happening anywhere within that 20 nautical mile habitat range, the dolphins are threatened and will be until there is no more commercial fishing in the areas they populate. It may seem like an extreme measure, but fishing nets pose the greatest risk to the dolphins, and therefore need to be a primary focus of regulation. Fishing gear is also a primary source of plastic pollution, another significant threat to marine wildlife. 

It is a legal requirement that commercial fishing boats report any accidental bycatch of Hector’s and Māui dolphins, with this information then published on the Department of Conservation website. However, this assumes that commercial vessels willingly and accurately volunteer this information. In the experience of most NGOs and individuals campaigning for Hector’s protection, this is rarely the case. To minimise the risk of misinformation, NGOs and dolphin researchers long suggested the use of cameras onboard fishing vessels, yet they were not implemented until the Labour government in late 2023. Since the cameras were installed, the number of “reported” deaths of Hector’s and Maui dolphins increased, particularly deaths due to bycatch. This indicates that dolphin deaths were not previously reported, rather than not occurring at all. 

Although the cameras were a positive step by the government to protect native marine species, Aotearoa’s most recent elections resulted in a new government that prioritises economic growth over the wellbeing of the environment. The Oceans and Fisheries Minister has indicated that although the improvement of fisheries’ sustainable practices was a priority, the use of cameras was not determined a necessary precaution.

Toitū te marae a Tāne-Mahuta, toitū te marae a Tangaroa, toitū te tangata. This whakatauki is used on the website of the Department of Conservation, in a section that talks about their desire for thriving ecosystems and a dedication to preserving our Aotearoa’s resources. If Aotearoa is to maintains its global image of being a clean and green country that prides itself on its natural beauty, difficult decisions and sacrifices need to be made to protect native species, which is both a governmental and individual responsibility.

Although there is generally a lot of education around dolphins in Aotearoa, many recreational boaters aren’t aware of the research around the protection of Hector’s dolphins, particularly in regard to safe boating behaviour. Constant reminders would be helpful, like warnings posted at boat ramps and marinas reminding boaters of safe speeds and the importance of keeping an eye out for dolphins. These are a few of many possible steps that could be taken by the government, but the ugly truth is that profit, pleasure and convenience are often put ahead of other species, native vegetation and thus collective interspecies wellbeing.

In my perspective, the sea is not well, and Aotearoa cannot be well until it protects  vulnerable marine species like the unique Hector’s dolphins. They deserve better. As individuals, we cannot control the government’s decisions more than passionately lobbying for what’s right, but we can make everyday choices to improve the wellbeing of animals and their habitats, and sacrifice our own pleasure for the future of a species. Is a sailing race, cruising around in a rental boat or having a piece of fish on our plates worth the risk of harming the Hector’s and Māui dolphins? For the curious and intelligent mammal that captured my heart all of those years ago, I say no.

Lauren Duke is a seafarer, activist and writer. She lives in Aotearoa (New Zealand) close to the sea.

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