At 11 am in the port of Kraten, on the north-eastern edge of the Kerkennah archipelago in south-eastern Tunisia, fishermen are untangling heaps of fishing nets piled along the waterfront as they prepare for the next trip out to sea.
Head lowered, Salah*, 35, uses a knife to loosen the tightest knots. Without looking up, he says, “Many people are forced to consider irregular migration because life in this country has become suffocating.”
Salah has worked at sea for 19 years. He attempted to reach the Italian island of Lampedusa in 2022 and again in 2023. Like most people in Kerkennah, fishing was once the natural livelihood to devote oneself to, but in recent years, that reality has changed.
He adds: “You work, you exhaust yourself, and then the Maritime Guard shows up to inspect your boat, when all you are trying to do is earn a living and live with dignity.”
Those inspections, he says, serve a dual purpose. First, they are meant to verify that his boat complies with regulations. However, since his attempted journeys to Italy, he has faced repeated obstacles in registering the vessel with the relevant authorities and completing its official administrative registration process.
At the same time, the ministries of interior and fisheries asked him to change the vessel’s classification. When he submitted the request, it was rejected once again.
His frustration is evident as he asks: “Is this a situation that encourages people to work? How am I supposed to support my family with all these difficulties?”
Alongside routine regulatory checks, the National Guard also carries out maritime inspections to intercept boats suspected of transporting migrants to Italy.
In recent years, the Kerkennah archipelago has become one of the main departure points for crossings to Lampedusa, just 120 kilometres away, with departures peaking during the summer of 2017. Kerkennah on high alert That period marked a turning point. According to Italy’s interior ministry, around 6,000 Tunisian nationals arrived on Italian shores that year. Then, on 8 October 2017, a deadly shipwreck saw a fishing boat carrying 87 Tunisians sink after colliding with a naval vessel.
In the aftermath, during a surprise visit to the archipelago on 5 June 2018, then prime minister Youssef Chahed announced the creation of “a security complex on the Kerkennah islands to prevent illegal immigration.”
Since then, National Guard pick-up trucks have patrolled the archipelago’s beaches, as the security presence across the islands has steadily expanded.
That growing security apparatus has relied heavily on external backing. Since 2015, Tunisia has been among the beneficiaries of the EU Emergency Trust Fund for Africa , established at the Valletta Summit to curb irregular migration and used to finance border management programmes.
In addition, Tunisia has received direct support from Italy towards the same objective, first in 2011, and again in February 2017, when both countries signed a joint declaration establishing a framework for migration management.
Rome has since played a central role in what the Tunisian NGO Avocats Sans Frontières describes as a “logic of conditionality” — resources and equipment in exchange for stronger commitments to migration control.
A major development in Europe’s border externalisation policy came in July 2023, with the signing of the EU–Tunisia migration partnership, strongly backed by Italy. Following the agreement, arrivals on Italian shores fell sharply, from 97,667 in 2023 to 4,861 in 2025.
Against this backdrop, local voices say the impact on livelihoods was already visible. “Before 2017, you did not see boats from the Kerkennah islands being used for migration attempts, because fishermen were still able to make a decent living,” says Ahmed Souissi, president of the Kraten Association for Sustainable Development, Culture and Leisure ( AKDDCL ). Money over marine life However, economic pressure has also been compounded by environmental decline. Over the past 15 years, bottom trawling in shallow waters has spread across the Gulf of Gabès, where Kerkennah is located.
Locally known as 'Kis' — Arabic for 'bag' — the practice takes its name from the shape of the nets, which drag along everything in their path, devastating the marine ecosystem.
Kis trawlers tear through the striped Posidonia seagrass meadows, a marine plant that, according to marine ecologist and assistant professor Rim Zakhama-Sraieb of the Higher Institute of Biotechnology in Sidi Thabet, “acts like an underwater forest.”
“It is a biodiversity hotspot where fish and crustacean species live and reproduce,” she explains.
According to a recent investigation by the Tunisian Forum for Economic and Social Rights (FTDES), most fishermen in Melitta — the main village on Gharbi, the archipelago’s second most populated island — practise Kis fishing using unnamed and undocumented motorboats, with no administrative or health oversight.
This continues despite a 1995 decree by Tunisia’s agriculture ministry banning Kis and bottom trawling in the Gulf of Gabès at depths below 50 metres.
As a result, traditional fishermen say the impact on catches has been severe. “We used to go out with 20 or 30 nets. Now we need almost 120 to catch the same amount as before — or even less,” says Nizar, 47, during a break inside the fish market office at Kraten port.
In sharing this, he notes that illegal fishing activities have depleted fish stocks, with catches often made in violation of biological rest periods intended to allow species to reproduce.
He adds, “Those who fish using non-traditional methods do not think about the consequences. All they care about is money.” Struggles to keep tradition alive Among the traditional fishing methods Nizar refers to is the charfia , a fixed fishing system unique to the Kerkennah islands and recognised by UNESCO in 2020. It consists of rows of palm branches and leaves planted into the seabed, forming long, triangular barriers that resemble a labyrinth. Using the movement of the low tide, these structures guide fish into capture chambers, where they remain alive until they are collected.
As Kis trawlers have spread, artisanal fishermen say they have watched these structures destroyed. The charfia also represents a form of maritime property, with each fisherman owning a “piece of sea” passed down through generations. Its decline has, in some cases, forced fishermen to adopt Kis methods themselves.
Many believe the practice was introduced from outside the islands by shipowners or businessmen who saw Kerkennah’s marine biodiversity as a profitable opportunity.
Combined with rising youth unemployment following Tunisia’s 2011 Jasmine Revolution , which overthrew the dictatorship of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali , and an increasing cost of living, illegal fishing gradually became one of the fastest ways to earn money.
Not all have followed that path. “It used to be rare to see women working at sea. Now, almost all of them fish and farm because of the difficult living conditions and the rising cost of living,” says Sarra, who has continued using traditional methods for 30 years.
However, she says she is now forced to travel further offshore, returning with increasingly small catches. Barred from returning home Back at the port, café owner Amor Belhassan watches the activity around the docks. Between customers, he jokes quietly, but the mood shifts when fishing is mentioned.
“We have reached the point where fishermen tell themselves: ‘The future of our profession is over’,” he says.
Meanwhile, tensions around enforcement remain. Several fishermen accuse members of Tunisia’s National Guard of being directly involved in illegal fishing activities — the very same officers tasked with enforcing the law.
While fishermen say they are harassed during inspections on suspicion of transporting migrants, some officers are also alleged to facilitate irregular migration themselves.
Surveillance extends beyond Kerkennah itself. It begins at the port of Sfax , where ferries depart for the islands and arrive at Sidi Youssef. Before boarding, National Guard officers carry out random checks, searching bags and luggage.
Without a Kerkennah residency card, access to the islands — particularly in summer — has become increasingly restricted. Authorities say they are trying to prevent irregular migration movements towards Italy.
“The impact has been disastrous. We lost tourist seasons and normal working seasons because young people coming from the outskirts of Sfax for work were no longer allowed to arrive,” says historian Abdelhamid Fehri, founder of the Abbassia Museum of Island Heritage .
These restrictions have also affected international tourists and sub-Saharan residents, who are often profiled as migrants because of racial prejudice.
Although Kerkennah is Tunisian territory, it is becoming harder for many Tunisians to access it.
For some, this reflects a broader restriction on freedom of movement, alongside the growth of harga — irregular migration — driven in part by tightening Schengen visa rules.
“We have always paid the price of isolation and the harsh natural conditions of the islands. But today, on top of all that, comes the weight of the security apparatus,” Abdelhamid says.
As the sea empties, so too do the islands, while the Tunisian state — backed by Italy and the European Union — continues to prioritise border control over local livelihoods.
For Sarra, the connection to the sea remains, despite everything. “If the sea can no longer provide for our livelihood, I will turn to agriculture. But because of the love I have for the sea, I will keep sailing, even if I return with very little,” she says. *Some names and identifying details in this article have been changed to protect the privacy and safety of individuals. Pseudonyms have been used throughout. Nadia Addezio is an Italian freelance journalist based in Rome, covering the Mediterranean region, as well as North and West Africa. Her work explores human rights in their many dimensions, with a particular focus on grassroots resistance practices. Follow her on Instagram: @nadjaddezio