Mapping Memory: The Reuse of Sicily’s Tuna Fisheries, Part 1
This is the first installment of a three-part series on Sicily’s historic tuna fisheries. Click here to read Part 2.
Pulling off the main road, I parked the car and stepped out into a seaside landscape of dried grass and prickly pear cactus. A narrow trail wrapped around the side of the promontory before me. I walked down the trail and stopped beneath the shade of a carob tree. Spread out below, glittering like beads upon a patchwork quilt, was the building I had come to see: the Tonnara del Tono, in Milazzo, Sicily (Figure 1).
A tonnara, as it’s known in Italian, is a tuna fishery. Tuna fisheries were once scattered all throughout Southern Italy, sited in strategic locations to intercept schools of tuna as they traveled annually to the warm waters of the Mediterranean. For Sicily in particular, tuna fishing has been an important part of its cultural, economic, and industrial heritage. On this tricorn-shaped island in the center of the Mediterranean, tuna consumption has played a significant role in the local diet and economy since the time of the Phoenicians, if not earlier.[1]
Visiting family in Sicily almost every summer as a child, I was only vaguely aware of the local abundance and value of tonno rosso, or tuna as it’s called in the Mediterranean. Yet it was not until recently, as I commenced my graduate studies in architecture, that I learned of the existence of an entire class of proto-industrial buildings scattered throughout Sicily that were dedicated not only to the processing and storage of tuna, but also to the housing of fishermen. They were often monumental, ornamented structures that incorporated elements of Arabic and European decorative motifs, exemplifying the importance of the Mediterranean tuna industry (Figure 2).
Tuna fishing served as the economic and social backbone of many coastal communities that still celebrate its legacy. In many ways, tuna fishing was more than an industry or source of income: it was a way of life centered around a culture of collaboration, skill, and living with the sea.
As early as a thousand years ago, perhaps more, hundreds of tuna fisheries lined Sicily’s northern and eastern coasts (Figure 3). Scholars agree that by the time the Ancient Greeks populated Sicily, tuna fishing had become a widespread and established practice.[2] With the arrival of the Romans, tuna became even more prized, as it was used to create garum, the fermented fish paste that they so highly prized. It was the Arabs, however, who developed new techniques, including the use of massive, interlocking fishing nets fixed to the ocean floor (Figure 4). These new methods allowed the industry to grow.
The reason there were once so many tuna fisheries in Sicily is that the waters around the island are the site of Atlantic bluefin tuna’s spawning grounds. Every year, during a period from March to September, these massive fish—which can be as large as 400 pounds—travel thousands of miles to return to their birthplace and spawn. They follow a path that fishermen have classified as having two parts: all’andata, or “on the way out” to their spawning grounds, and al ritorno, “on the way back” (Figure 5). This path initiated at the Strait of Gibraltar and proceeded along Sicily’s northern coast (all’andata), then returned through the Strait of Messina and along Sicily’s eastern coast on the way back to the Atlantic (al ritorno). The consistency of this migration path allowed fishermen to predict the arrival of the fish and establish fisheries at strategic points along the coast to capture the tuna on their yearly trip to these waters.[3]
All’andata and al ritorno not only described different segments of the tuna’s migration, but they also characterized different types of fisheries. All’andata fisheries were located along the western and northern coasts of Sicily, whereas al ritorno fisheries were positioned along the island’s eastern coast. All’andata operations were typically larger and more successful: they brought in more tuna than eastern fisheries and the fish they captured were larger and meatier, especially the females who hadn’t yet deposited their eggs. For this reason, fisheries tended to concentrate in western Sicily. The Tonnara di Favignana, for example, located on the small island of Favignana off the coast of Trapani, was Sicily’s largest and most successful fishery: in the nineteenth century, it had 800 employees and, in 1853, brought in 6828 tuna (Figure 6).
Despite regional differences, fisheries across the island had similar origins, configurations, and functions. A tonnara needed to be located as close to the coast as possible so fishermen could conveniently lug boats, fish, and other supplies back and forth from the sea. Tonnare were often established in former seaside military outposts, as such structures were in easily defensible, strategic positions along the coast (pirates were a significant concern in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Sicily). All fisheries, moreover, provided similar spaces and facilities for their workers. Each had a central, quadrangular courtyard, which functioned as a crucial gathering space as well as a large, unimpeded area to lay out and mend fishing nets. All had internal storage spaces for stowing boats, fishing tools, and food conservation materials including salt and ice; vast production areas for processing and canning tuna; a residence for the proprietor, who stayed on-site while visiting and supervising work at the tonnara; a chapel, where fishermen prayed to the Virgin Mary for good luck at sea; and, in many cases, living quarters for fishermen (Figures 7—9). The fishing season lasted from March to August, during which the fishermen worked and often lived full-time at the tonnara. Sometimes the workers were allowed to bring their families, but typically women were not allowed within the tonnara: they were considered bad luck.
While the tonnare buildings supported and were central to the fishermen’s activities, the most important work occurred, of course, at sea. At the beginning of the fishing season, workers fixed a system of nets in the sea a few hundred yards from the coast in an orientation that would intercept the schools of tuna. These nets, together known as the isola, created a series of connected “rooms” with “doors” that funneled tuna into sequentially smaller spaces (Figure 10). The last “room,” called la camera della morte (the chamber of death), was where the fishermen performed the mattanza, the process by which they killed and hauled aboard the tuna using harpoons.
Tuna fishing in Sicily is probably best known for the quasi-ritualistic mattanza. Translated as “slaughter,” it is indeed a bloody spectacle: as videos on Youtube show, and as many fishermen have described, the water is literally red with blood. Yet while some may be quick to characterize the mattanza as an inhumane bloodbath, in reality it was the culmination of a reverential and hierarchical, yet highly collaborative, process suffused with centuries-old traditions. This process began early in the morning, where designated “spotters” used artisanal “water goggles”—essentially a metal bucket with a glass bottom—to determine if tuna were entering the isola. Once spotted, the fishermen rowed out to the isola in long, wooden rowboats called muciare, singing call-and-response folksongs that provided rhythm to their activities while also dispelling bad omens (Figure 11).[4] Once at the isola, the fishermen, directed by the rais, or head fishermen, arranged their boats around the camera della morte—now full of tuna—and slowly began pulling up the nets. The fishermen then used their harpoons, as well as other knife-like tools, to grab hold of the fish, which weighed at least several hundred pounds, and pull them aboard (Figures 12 and 13). Once all the fish had been harpooned, the fishermen brought their catch back to the tonnara, where the tuna were brought into the fishery’s production area and prepared for conservation and transport.
“Tuna fishing was more than an industry or source of income: it was a way of life centered around a culture of collaboration, skill, and living with the sea.”
Throughout, the fishermen’s activities were regulated by a strict hierarchy. At the top was the proprietor, who in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Sicily was typically an upper-class figure like a merchant. Intriguingly, every tonnara had designated residential quarters for the proprietor where he stayed when visiting the fishery. These were often ornamented, stately structures, distinguished from the adjoining factory buildings. Next in importance was the rais, the head fisherman (the word is derived from the Arabic word ra’is, which signifies “boss” or “chief”), whose authority went undisputed among the workers. He acted as the fishermen’s representative to the proprietor and directed all activities regarding fishing and tuna processing. The rais was regarded almost as a mythical, god-like force: as Helena Russo, a tour guide at the Tonnara di Scopello, told me, fishermen were forbidden to speak directly to him or look him in the eye (Figure 14).
While the fishermen and factory workers were subordinate to the rais, becoming a tuna fisherman, or tonnarotto, was of the highest honor within fishing communities.[5] As the work was extremely demanding and required a high degree of collaboration, only the strongest and most skilled fishermen were selected. Given the seasonality of the work, however, tonnarotti often worked elsewhere during the off-season, many in agriculture. The fishermen’s agricultural experience often proved useful, for they applied this knowledge to the construction of their wooden fishing boats and other tools (Figures 15 and 16).[6]
Though perhaps obvious, it is worth noting that the tonnara was a man’s world. Women were often not allowed in or near the tonnara, as the fishermen worried that a woman’s presence would scare away the tuna or distract the workers. This superstitiousness is reflected in their fishing songs, which often comprised lengthy prayers to the Madonna, as well as their use of ritualistic symbols like a large wooden cross they would submerge in the ocean (Figure 17). Thus, some fishermen went for months without seeing their families, especially those in isolated fisheries that were miles from the nearest town. In one case, however—the Tonnara di Favignana—women were allowed within the complex, as workers themselves. By the turn of the twentieth century, this tonnara had an extensive canning operation, and women were hired to work within the cannery. Favignana’s female workers, most of them mothers, were provided childcare and were given ample breaks during the day to go home and check on their children.
By the middle of the twentieth century, many tonnare throughout Sicily were experiencing low yields and profit. By the 1960s, most fisheries had already closed. There are several reasons for the decline of the industry; some speculate that pollution and the proliferation of motorized ships drove the tuna further out to sea, making them more difficult to catch. Moreover, the rise of mechanized fishing practices had an impact on the tonnare.[7]
The Tonnara di Favignana was the last fishery to close, in 2007. Today, Favignana’s main industry is tourism, and it is a popular vacation spot for Europeans—as are other fisheries that have been transformed into tourism centers (Figures 18, 19, 20). The loss of the tonnara is still palpable within the community, however. Many shops and restaurants have names and products evoking the output and success of the fishery. Visiting the tonnara, which is now a museum, provides an understanding of the massive import of the industry for the little island: one exhibition features videotaped interviews with workers in the fishery, who describe with longing their experiences of working at the tonnara and the community of which they had been a part. Is it possible for these fishing traditions to be kept alive through the buildings?
Notes
[1] Fulvio Garibaldi, “Che Cosa Conosciamo Veramente del Tonno?” Le Ragioni del Tonno: Storia, Biologia, Pesca, e Tutela (Genova, Italy: Sagep Editori, 2013), 50, 52.
[2] Salvo Sorbello, La Pesca Del Tonno Nel Capolinea Del Sud (Syracuse, Sicily: Emanuele Romeo Editore, 2010), 9-10.
[3] The concept of tonnara is expansive, one whose meaning changes depending on the source. Some scholars identify the tonnara as simply the system of nets used to capture the fish. Others include both the nets and the land-based areas of production where the fish were taken after they were processed. While the nets are clearly essential components of the tuna fishing process, my research focuses on the land-based structures that supported this marine labor. The structures discussed here range in time period, from the 17th to 19th centuries.
[4] There is much excellent scholarship on these folksongs, colloquially known as the alamoia. Sicilian folklorist Giuseppe Pitrè, as well as ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax and documentary filmmaker Vittorio De Seta, have documented these songs, which are in Sicilian and contain many words of Greek, Arabic, and Spanish origin.
[5] Conversation with Alberto Bonaccorsi in Milazzo, Sicily.
[6] From exhibition at Museo Ryolo, Milazzo, Sicily.
[7] Many of my interviewees believed that Japanese fishing companies were to blame. Beginning in the ‘70s and ‘80s, when the Mediterranean tuna fishing industry was still unregulated, it was common to find Japanese fishing boats using radar and similar techniques to locate large schools of tuna and capture several thousand at once. Due to such practices, scientists worried that tonno rosso would soon go extinct; thanks to regulation, this was fortunately avoided.
Citation
Giuliana Vaccarino Gearty, “Mapping Memory: The Reuse of Sicily’s Tuna Fisheries, Part 1,” PLATFORM, April 24, 2023.
