The United States has long celebrated its fishing fleets as symbols of resilience, self-reliance, and the enduring strength of coastal communities. From New England harbors to Alaska’s icy ports, commercial fishing is embedded in the nation’s identity. Yet behind the romanticized imagery of rough seas and heroic hauls lies a labor reality that should shock the conscience. Commercial fishing remains the most dangerous job in America, and for the thousands of men and women who make their living hauling nets and traps, the cost of a day’s work can be catastrophic. Year after year, fishermen die on the job at a rate far exceeding any other profession, often in circumstances that are not only predictable but also preventable. And while these fatalities are periodically noted in government reports or news briefs, the systemic conditions that produce them are rarely scrutinized with the urgency they deserve. Safety reforms are not only necessary but also crucial.
The fatality rate for commercial fishing workers routinely hovers between 30 and 140 deaths per 100,000 full-time equivalents depending on region and fishery, figures that dwarf those of firefighting, construction, law enforcement, or even logging. In Alaska, which boasts some of the busiest and most dangerous fisheries, the fatality rate has historically peaked at levels as high as 200 per 100,000. These are not the risks of war or criminal activity. These are men and women trying to make a living by feeding their communities, and too often, they pay for it with their lives. Unlike more visible workplace tragedies, the deaths of fishermen are usually considered a grim but expected cost of doing business, brushed off as occupational hazards. This is not just an outdated way of thinking; it is a dangerous one because it justifies inaction and ensures that the dead will be replaced by the next generation of equally unprotected workers.
These risks are not new, and they are not immutable. For decades, researchers, unions, and safety advocates have identified the causes behind these deaths with extraordinary clarity. Vessel disasters, most often linked to outdated equipment, poor maintenance, and inadequate stability measures, account for nearly half of all fatalities. Falls overboard, typically involving workers who were not wearing flotation devices, represent another substantial share. On-deck injuries caused by winches, cables, and heavy equipment claim limbs, cause permanent disabilities, and, in many cases, lead to death, especially when emergency medical help is hours or even days away. In nearly all of these cases, the difference between life and death is access to training, equipment, and a workplace culture that prioritizes safety. Yet these are precisely the areas where the system continues to fail American fishermen.
There have been moments in the past when meaningful progress seemed possible. In the 1990s, after a series of fatal sinkings in the Bering Sea, federal lawmakers and the U.S. Coast Guard partnered with health and labor officials to introduce mandatory safety gear and vessel inspections in Alaska. These efforts resulted in a significant and measurable decline in deaths. For a time, a new era of commercial fishing might take root, one in which modern safety standards would become as embedded in the industry as nets and buoys. But that momentum was never maintained. The safety reforms remained confined mainly to specific fleets and regions, and enforcement was inconsistent across states. And in recent years, even those hard-won gains have come under threat.
The National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, or NIOSH, has been at the forefront of research and training in occupational safety, including fishing safety. In partnership with regional nonprofits, it has provided thousands of fishermen with lifesaving skills, including how to deploy life rafts, operate radio beacons, fight fires at sea, and survive after going overboard. These programs are not theoretical. They have saved lives. Fishermen who once viewed safety drills as bureaucratic rituals now credit these programs with giving them the confidence and ability to respond when disaster strikes. Yet, despite their proven success, these programs have recently faced steep cuts. Under federal austerity measures introduced in recent years, safety training centers have lost funding, outreach efforts have been suspended, and many coastal communities now have no access to formal safety programs. The result is a patchwork of preparedness, where some crews are well-trained, and others are left to rely on outdated practices or informal knowledge passed down from one tired generation to the next.
This retreat from safety is not just a policy failure; it is also a moral one. When a government prioritizes budgetary convenience over the lives of workers, it reveals the proper hierarchy of values in its economic system. And when the industry itself resists mandates that would require life jackets to be worn at all times or regular inspections to be performed, it is not tradition or practicality that is being defended; it is profit. The idea that safety is too expensive is the most dangerous notion of all. The cost of a flotation device is less than a tank of gas. The cost of a stability assessment is a fraction of a boat’s earnings in a single good season. Yet the cost of losing a worker, a father, a daughter, or a partner is incalculable, not only in human terms but also in the long-term stability of the industry itself.
Fishermen are aging. The average commercial fisherman in the United States is now over fifty years old. Few young workers are entering the trade, deterred not just by the long hours and uncertain pay but by the awareness that they will be working under conditions that would be unthinkable in nearly any other sector. Without a radical shift toward valuing worker safety and dignity, the industry will not simply lose workers to injury and death. It will lose them to disinterest, retirement, and more stable forms of employment that do not require people to risk their lives every time they punch in. Some industry voices refer to this as a labor shortage. It is, more accurately, a labor revolt in slow motion. People are not failing to show up because they are lazy or entitled. They are failing to show up because the system has shown them that their lives matter less than their haul.
To correct this, we must start by affirming that fishermen are workers. They are not adventurers; they are not cowboys, and they are not mythical figures who transcend normal labor rights. They are working people, and they deserve the same protections we demand for factory employees, truck drivers, and construction crews. That means comprehensive health insurance. That means rigorous labor inspections. That means access to mental health care, addiction support, and time off when they are injured or grieving. It means investing in the modernization of the fleet, not solely for the sake of efficiency or sustainability, but because modern boats, built to modern standards and equipped with modern safety tools, will help keep people alive.
We need a federal safety infrastructure that is adequately funded, fully staffed, and given the authority to act without interference from political ideologues. We need union representation across more of the industry so that workers have a collective voice when demanding better conditions. We need real consequences for vessel owners who ignore basic safety standards or who retaliate against workers who raise concerns. We need a national commitment to honoring the labor of those who feed us, not with platitudes but with policy.
The image of the rugged fisherman braving the elements remains. But that image must not be used to justify his suffering or his death. There is no nobility in dying because your life jacket was locked in a cabinet. There is no honor in drowning because your radio beacon failed. There is only failure, our collective failure to protect those who provide us with one of life’s most essential goods. If we truly value the food that comes from the sea, we must start by valuing the people who harvest it. Their safety is not a luxury. It is a right. And it is long past time we treated it that way.
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