In recent weeks, the controlling interests of the Chilean salmon industry have once again asserted themselves forcefully. They are now attempting to restrict access to justice for those who hold a different vision for the future of the southern coastline. Their representatives are no longer content with monopolizing multiple spaces—the Regional Government of Aysén, coastal municipalities, academia and research centers, producer organizations—but also seek to silence any voice that does not align with their agenda.

The evidence is clear.

When the Aysén 2024 Regional Barometer Report “Chile Seen from Its Regions,” prepared by the University of Aysén, finds that the sector ranks seventh in community assessment regarding the region’s future, its president, Arturo Clement, claims in the seminar “Salmon Farming Under Tension: Balancing Science, Regulation, and Nature” that “we conducted surveys that differ from that.”

When the Universidad Austral de Chile study “Seasonal Migrations and Global Exports: Dynamics of Temporary Employment in Southern Chile” (2025) questions the job insecurity of the aquaculture (and blueberry) industry, the Salmon Council calls for the data to be contextualized and rejects the concept of “precariousness”—as if the opinion of a trade association carried the same weight as scientific research.

 

When The Guardian informs its readers that those who consume Chilean salmon cannot imagine “how much human blood it contains,” the president of the Magallanes Salmon Farmers Association, Carlos Odebret, responds by asserting that “you can't generalize” based on specific cases. In a tragic turn, the local disrtrict attorney office of Puerto Cisnes is currently investigating the death of a diver at the Australis salmon farm north of the province of Aysén.

 

In a recent letter to the editor published in several southern media outlets, SalmonChile's corporate affairs manager, Tomás Monge, addresses the Regional Coastal Use Commission's second rejection of two Indigenous Coastal Marine Areas (ECMPO) in Aysén. He questions the fact that the indigenous communities involved appealed to the courts, stating that they “once again took this second vote to court with a new appeal before the Aysén Court of Appeals.”

What the executive conveniently omits is that the request had to be voted on again this year because the Supreme Court overturned a similar rejection on February 29, 2024—a decision in which Monge himself participated and which the highest court deemed illegal. The minutes document this.

Therefore, when he points out that “administrative sloppiness” in various ECMPO processes generates “a climate of mistrust in institutions that must be corrected as a matter of priority,” it would be beneficial if he looked beyond the interests of the industry he represents. If there is one thing that damages his sector, it is precisely doing things wrong—and today, aspiring to total control.

 

Any activity, economic or otherwise, that seeks legitimacy in society must take responsibility for its mistakes: first, by acknowledging them; second, by bearing the cost of compensating for them; third, by creating the conditions to prevent their recurrence.

None of this is happening with the salmon industry in southern Chile. On the contrary, it insists on imposing its own narrative thanks to the power granted to it by institutions and certain political actors. Any independent study, research, or report contrary to its interests is dismissed, because the only thing deemed valid is what aligns with its particular interests—even if it is merely an opinion.

 

It is legitimate for some to feel comfortable living under the wing of Mr. Burns, the sinister owner of the Springfield nuclear plant in The Simpsons. It is equally legitimate to disagree with those who control the town—whether through freedom of expression, organization, research, or simply by exercising a fundamental right such as access to the courts.