Save the Dolphins, but Remember Mexican Needs, Too : Environment: How do you balance Mexican families’ search for nutritious, cheap food--such as tuna--against the protection of dolphins?

MEXICO CITY —  For decades, Americans have been in love with dolphins. But lately their affair has reached new depths. Ecologists have transformed unfocused popular passion for the marine mammal into political action to protect it.

Last spring, the ecologists convinced canners to boycott tuna that involves dolphin killing. Then Congress took unprecedented action: allowing the United States to manage tuna fishing in its waters; to monitor the drift-net fishing that snares dolphins, and to set uniform labeling standards so that people could buy “dolphin-safe” tuna. Together, these actions already have reduced the number of dolphins killed by U.S. fishermen from 108,000 in 1976 to less than 20,000 last year.

Meanwhile, foreign tuna fleets--mainly Mexican--continue to account for 80,000 of the 100,000 dolphins killed each year in the Eastern Tropical Pacific, where much of the world’s tuna is captured.

The new moral standard in animal rights, established in the United States with the stunning campaign to save the dolphins, had to be learned in other countries. The nearest student, geographically speaking, was Mexico.

First, there were friendly recommendations and suggestions to Mexican tuna fishermen. They were ignored. Then stronger methods were used: a boycott by the three major tuna canners in the United States, followed by a unilateral decision by Congress to embargo Mexico’s tuna imports. A few weeks ago, the government embargo was temporarily suspended, although the long-term outlook remains unclear as Congress, the Administration and the courts throw the issue back and forth.

Many Americans believe their moral justification for such punishment is indisputable. But let’s see how this basic U.S. environmental concern touches a peasant housewife in Mexico:

“Tuna? It’s a fish, isn’t it?” asked one mother from the rural state of Hidalgo. “We eat some. It’s very nutritious, and it’s inexpensive. Dolphins? What’s that?”

The minimum wage in Mexico is equivalent to about $3.50 a day. Half the population earns that or less; 17 million-- 17 million --live in extreme poverty. Fresh fish, or any kind of meat, is a luxury many cannot afford.

Through a successful government campaign to stimulate its tuna industry, Mexico has developed an extensive domestic market for tuna--a food unknown here a decade ago. Last year alone, 300 million cans of cheap yellowfin tuna jammed Mexican supermarket shelves.

Unfortunately, yellowfin tuna and dolphins share the same waters off California, south to Chile and west to near Hawaii. When fishermen cast their nets, they snare the dolphins, maiming or killing hundreds at a time.

In the United States, consumers have learned to check the can for the dolphin-safe label. In Mexico, the label says nothing but “tuna.” Besides, consumers here don’t care about the precise contents. What they see is a can of food that costs less than 80 cents--meaning affordable protein.

Except for the weak ecology movement in Mexico that often mindlessly parrots the concerns of its U.S. counterpart, very few Mexicans are aware that dolphins suffer when yellowfin tuna are captured. And in any case, here--unlike in the United Sates--dolphins are not an animal close to the public’s heart.

Maybe a humane argument could be more effective. But compassion in Mexico has a different meaning than in the United States. Hungry street children mob virtually every major intersection in the big cities, begging for help. Most peasant adults and children suffer from malnutrition.

The middle-class and wealthy learn to be selective with their compassion. Indifference tends to dominate in countries where the need for help on too many levels is overwhelming. In short, dolphins are not the first priority.

Without intending to devalue either the good conscience or good works of Greenpeace and other environmental groups, it must be acknowledged that U.S. standards often simply don’t apply to Third World realities. Even if, as in the case of dolphins, their intentions and actions are laudable.

That’s why the tuna embargo imposed by the United States went so deeply under Mexico’s already irritated skin. Government officials reacted almost violently, insisting the embargo on tuna caught in Mexican waters is a violation of national sovereignty.

Their valid argument is that Mexico, like any country, has the right to use its resources however it wishes. It can accept suggestions, advice, recommendations, even the experience of others. But it shouldn’t have to accept any external pressure--especially when that pressure turns into unacceptable arm-twisting.

There is another ugly side to the tuna mess. During most of the 1970s, the vast majority of the dolphins killed lost their lives to the U.S. tuna fleet. In 1972, more than 368,000 dolphins were killed, compared with 55,000 by non-U.S. registered vessels. Since then, pressed by congressional amendments and boycotts by canners and consumers, many U.S. ships simply re-registered under foreign flags. So it follows logically that the number of dolphins killed by foreign vessels increased dramatically.

The well-intended campaign to save the dolphin has been tarred in Mexico. With the United States as one of the world’s greatest environmental predators--everything from creating acid rain to fouling the Colorado River--with what moral authority can it pretend to the throne of ecological protection--and impose official sanctions in its name?

The timing on this issue couldn’t have been worse. The embargo hit a Mexico desperate to develop new industries and expand older, profitable ones. In the words of one director of the country’s fishing industry, “We are obligated to take the most advantage we can of the resources of the country. We need to improve the nutrition of our people, increase the consumption of animal-based protein. We need to increase our foreign currency earnings and strengthen our exports.”

Within the framework of the current free-trade agreement negotiations between Mexico and the United States, a tuna embargo is seen by many here as the northern neighbor’s real spirit behind the talks. The specter of a previous U.S. tuna embargo against Mexico--protectionism plain and simple--returned to haunt the most recent discussions.

“The defense of economic interests is disguised by the flag of environmentalism, just as U.S. military intervention is disguised as a democratic crusade,” wrote one columnist in the daily La Jornada.

As the proverb goes, reality depends on the eyes looking at it. From the U.S. point of view, the campaign to save dolphins is a remarkable triumph of environmental conscience. From the Mexican point of view, it is pure interventionism. The image of the United States as an ecological hero in Mexico becomes something far different: the image of an ecological shark.