Jersey fishing standoff: What was all that about?

Jersey, like all the Channel Islands, is not part of the United Kingdom. It is not even a member of the Commonwealth and was never part of the European Union. It is a Crown Dependency, reliant on Britain for its defence but not bound by British law. Lying off the coast of Normandy, within sight of Mont Saint Michel, it is primarily an offshore banking centre and tax haven, with one of the highest per capita incomes in the world.

Breton and Norman fishermen have worked the fishing grounds of what they call Les Iles Anglo-Normandes for at least 2,000 years. The 12 nautical mile-limit that accords states control of their offshore waters was not confirmed, as part of the Convention of the Law of the Sea, until 1982.

Brits with long memories will not need to be reminded that the Cod Wars with Iceland turned precisely on the UK’s refusal to accept that Reykjavik could ban them from what they regarded as their traditional fishing grounds. 

Jersey’s native fisheries sector is not large. Most of its registered boats specialise in shellfish intended for the French market. The French fleet in question is not much bigger – just 70 or so boats, most of which are small, under 12 metres in length. 

When Brexit was negotiated, it was agreed that Jersey (and Guernsey) would in future be responsible for the issuing of licenses to both local and foreign fishing vessels. The French, somewhat optimistically, understood that business would more or less continue as normal, allowing their nationals to continue a trade that had gone on for centuries. Jersey took the view that conservation of fish stocks – especially scallops – was more important and that, in future, foreign operators would have to conform to a strict set of regulations. 

The process is complicated – with applications having to be submitted, in English, to the relevant department in St Helier – and many were denied. At the heart of the dispute is the requirement that any skippers wishing to ply their trade in Jersey waters should be able to prove, on paper, that they and their predecessors had been doing so for generations. 

Remember, we are talking about working men in oilskins.  

The UK’s reacquisition of control over its territorial waters had already resulted in EU trawlers being denied access to what they regarded as their traditional fishing grounds in the Channel and the North Sea. Simultaneously, France barred British – and Channel Islands – boats from landing their catch in French ports. Both sides, in a zero-sum game, faced ruin. 

But this time it was personal. The stage was set for a confrontation. 

In geopolitical terms, what followed – firecrackers, sirens and shouted abuse in broken English – was unlikely to be picked up in Washington, Moscow and Beijing as anything other than a source of wry amusement. But in London and Paris, it was time to get serious. Reacting to a blockade of the Jersey capital St Helier by a flotilla of boats from Normandy and Brittany, Boris Johnson sent a brace of gunboats rushing to scene. In France, where the maritime minister Annick Girardin (born in St Malo) had earlier threatened to cut off Jersey’s supply of electricity, supplied from Normandy, President Macron promptly despatched a gunboat of his own, though one that, perhaps symbolically, lacked an actual gun. 

By nightfall, the French boats withdrew, muttering angrily. Their leaders were briefly granted an audience with Jersey’s external relations senator, Ian Gorst, that cooled tempers somewhat, but solved nothing. Next time, said the French skippers, it would be war. In the ramparts above the port, a member of a Jersey historical re-enactment group fired off a vintage musket to underline islanders’ support for their government’s tough line. 

In Brussels, which must have wanted this display of flag-waving like a hole in the head, a statement was rushed out that – inevitably – backed the French position as in line with what had been agreed during the Brexit trade talks. Whether the Commission’s heart was in it is hard to say. 

The reality is that a compromise will almost certainly be reached, probably one that simplifies the application procedure and allows a little more leeway to the French while still endorsing the necessity for conservation of stocks and, crucially, the indivisibility of Jersey’s sovereignty. It is possible that there will be more posturing by the two (or three) sides, accompanied by metaphorical and actual sabre-rattling. But I think we can be reasonably sure that Britain and France are not about to make this an impromptu casus belli. The gunboats have headed back to port. Time for the lawyers to step in.