One Industry Died for Science. Another May Die for Optics

Canada once killed an industry to save a species. This time, it’s just killing the industry.

The 1992 Northern cod moratorium wrecked communities, erased livelihoods, and triggered the largest layoff in Canadian history. It was also the right thing to do. The science was clear, the ecosystem was collapsing, and Canadians understood the stakes. Now, B.C. salmon farming faces its own shutdown by 2029—and it’s headed for the same economic wreckage. But this time, the science is muddled, the national support is lukewarm, and the policy feels more like performance than necessity. In short: another rural industry is being sacrificed—but this time, not to save a species, just to win a narrative.

Introduction: Same Wrecking Ball, Different Justification

In the summer of 1992, cod disappeared from Newfoundland waters—and so did the livelihoods of 30,000 people. I remember the footage: John Crosbie being heckled, coastal towns shuttering, the stunned silence of an industry erased overnight. It was awful. It was also, as nearly everyone eventually admitted, necessary.

That memory came flooding back recently as I read yet another government news release about the 2029 shutdown of open-net-pen salmon farming in B.C. Same format. Same language of "transition" and "long-term vision." Same impending collapse of rural employment.

But one difference keeps standing out. In 1992, we shut an industry down to save a species. This time, it looks like we’re shutting an industry down to win a storyline.

Act I: Cod – Tragic but Necessary

In 1992, then-Fisheries Minister John Crosbie pulled the plug on the Northern cod fishery. The decision stunned Atlantic Canada. It instantly idled 37,000 harvesters and plant workers and brought centuries-old coastal economies to a halt. But it was also backed by something policymakers crave: clarity.

The science was overwhelming. Spawning biomass had dropped to 1–2% of historic levels. DFO assessments and the Harris Panel both recommended a stop. And Canadians, to their credit, understood the stakes—74% supported the closure, even if it devastated Newfoundland. Ottawa followed with $1.9 billion in adjustment programs.

In hindsight, the closure became one of Canada’s rare examples of “painful policy with purpose.” Brutal, yes. But grounded in data, consensus, and national resolve. (There were also years of mismanagement by Federal regulators but, in the interest of brevity, I will leave that for another day)

Act II: Salmon – Convenient but Contrived

Fast forward to today, and Ottawa is winding down another fish-based industry—this time, the open-net-pen salmon farms of coastal British Columbia. On paper, the playbook looks similar: sunset clause (2029), task force, transition plan. But this time, the foundation is far shakier.

The science isn’t conclusive. DFO’s own assessments say net-pen farms pose “minimal” risk to wild stocks. There is no biomass collapse. There is no spawning failure. There is only manufactured uncertainty—and an eager willingness to act on it.

The public mandate is fractured. Metro Vancouver polls well above 70% in favour of removing net-pens. But that support drops sharply in regions with actual farms. Nationally, most Canadians are ambivalent. The closure lacks the coast-to-coast buy-in cod had.

The policy momentum feels moral, not material. Anti-pen campaigns have been relentless, tapping into a wider environmental mood. But moral clarity is not the same as moral consensus. And unlike asbestos or cod, there’s no smoking gun. Just vibes.

This is policy by optics: a way to check an environmental box without needing a crisis to justify it.

Act III: Why Salmon Farmers Won’t See a Cod-Style Bailout

If the ban goes ahead, the impact will feel familiar: layoffs, lost community income, and economic trauma in rural B.C. But unlike cod harvesters or tobacco growers, salmon farmers won’t be getting generous federal cheques.

Why? Because legally, their licenses aren’t property. They’re time-limited, revocable instruments issued “at the pleasure of the Crown.” That means no constitutional expropriation risk—and no obligation for compensation.

When Ottawa shut down tobacco farming, it paid $300 million. When it ended cod, it poured in billions. Salmon? So far, just a vague promise of future “support.” And for those hoping for a payout, the most likely avenue isn’t a government program—it’s a courtroom.

Conclusion: If You’re Going to Break Something, Have a Damn Good Reason

The cod moratorium was a national reckoning. It was a brutal decision made with brutal honesty. The 2029 net-pen ban may deliver the same social and economic wreckage—but without the clarity or conviction to justify it.

You don’t need to love aquaculture to see the problem. Canada is poised to shutter an entire industry without a scientific crisis, without broad public support, and without the legal machinery to fairly compensate those affected.

That’s not environmental stewardship. That’s storytelling dressed up as governance.

If you’re going to break something this big, do it for the right reasons. Canada did, once. This time? We’ll be explaining it to coastal communities for decades.

Keywords: cod moratorium, net-pen ban, aquaculture, public policy, fisheries management, environmental regulation, rural economy, political optics