Why Seafood Independence Is a False Promise

Since the COVID-19 pandemic, “local” production has become one of the loudest talking points in food system conversations, and for good reason. Shorter supply chains, community resilience, and supporting local fishermen, farmers, and food producers all matter. But in the years that followed, and especially in the political climate shaped by the Trump era, that conversation has increasingly blurred into something else: a fixation on domestic self-sufficiency that starts to resemble nationalist ideology more than practical food policy.

At what point did a well-intentioned push to strengthen local seafood systems morph into a utopian fantasy of total independence?

I’ve been sitting with this debate for a long time, but a June 2024 paper finally pushed me to respond. This paper argues the U.S., despite being the world’s second-largest seafood importer by volume, could become fully independent of seafood imports if Americans completely overhauled everything about the seafood culture and shifted consumption exclusively to domestically available species.

On paper, seafood independence may be possible. In reality, it is culturally unrealistic, economically irrational, and strategically misguided. And more importantly, it distracts from the real work of building a resilient seafood system.

A food system people won’t eat isn’t secure

As a social scientist, one of the core flaws in the seafood independence argument that I take deep issue with, is its treatment of consumption as a technical problem rather than a social one.

Food security is not just about calories or micronutrients. It explicitly includes preferences, affordability, reliability, and cultural relevance. Which is something the paper largely glosses over when it suggests that Americans simply need to realign their diets with what is available domestically.

That’s not how food systems work.

Americans do not eat seafood in a vacuum. They have preferences for certain species, cuts, and preparations - many of which are tied to global cuisines, immigrant foodways, and long-standing trade relationships. Which is completely normal and expected in the globalized world that we live in.

American consumers also have expectations around what they can buy, when they can buy it, and what quality it will be when they do. They have been conditioned to expect year-round availability of the seafood they love and a relatively consistent eating experience every time they purchase it. Those expectations have been shaped by decades of global trade, modern cold chains, and international supply networks.

Asking consumers to accept new species, substitutions, unpredictable availability, and differing quality is not a minor behavioural tweak, it’s a fundamental restructuring of how most people in America eat.

The paper itself acknowledges that achieving seafood independence would require a dramatic shift in consumer preferences. In practical terms, this means moving away from many of the products Americans currently rely on and enjoy—affordable imported shrimp for cocktails, sushi-grade bluefin tuna, farmed salmon and tilapia, and other globally sourced staples—and instead centering diets around locally available species with limited domestic demand. In other words: for seafood independence to work, Americans would need to fundamentally change nearly everything about how they buy and eat seafood.

This framing also ignores who loses in a “seafood independent” America. An all-American seafood system would almost certainly be more expensive. That means the communities the authors claim to care about, low-income and marginalized populations, would be the ones priced out.

Accessibility is a core component of food security; if American seafood is priced at an inaccessible price point, Americans are not food secure. And the authors quietly admit another inconvenient truth: if Americans actually ate seafood at recommended levels, domestic production could not meet demand.

So who exactly is this system for?

Because there already are people who know, love, and are willing to pay for American seafood.

Today, U.S. seafood commands a premium precisely because of its quality, reputation, and production standards. That value is recognized not only by a subset of American consumers, but by buyers around the world. Preferences and willingness to pay do not stop at national borders. In many global markets, consumers actively seek out U.S. seafood and are willing to pay more for it than domestic buyers.

A seafood independence framework treats those preferences as irrelevant. It assumes that redirecting supply inward is a net good, without asking who loses access in the process. Do American consumers, many of whom already underconsume seafood and balk at higher prices, suddenly become the primary beneficiaries? Or do seafood producers lose access to export markets where their products are better understood, more valued, and more highly compensated? And what about the international consumers who prefer U.S. seafood and are willing to pay for it, are they simply out of luck in the name of U.S. independence?

Which raises the next question the paper never fully grapples with: what do seafood producers actually want and who benefits when their markets are artificially constrained?

Seafood independence doesn’t align with how most seafood producers actually make money

The assumption that keeping seafood domestic automatically benefits American seafood producers is not necessarily true.

U.S. seafood often rely on export markets because other countries have both a stronger seafood culture and a higher willingness to pay. Wild Alaska salmon is a prime example: it commands premium prices abroad, while U.S. consumers frequently opt for cheaper, farmed imports from Norway or Chile.

If seafood independence undermines fishermen’s ability to earn a living, then it is not a pro-fisherman policy.

If the goal is to support harvesters and coastal economies, forcing seafood into a domestic market that doesn’t value it at the same price point makes little sense.

To the authors points: we could just overhaul everything about the way Americans eat seafood to solve this problem.

But to my point: can we really?

Seafood independence raises uncomfortable questions the paper doesn’t really grapple with:

• Are seafood producers better off selling for less at home than earning more abroad?

• Do American consumers actually want to pay premium prices for domestic seafood?

• What happens to international consumers who value and rely on U.S. seafood?

Exports are not a failure of the system. They are often what makes seafood production economically viable in the first place.

Independence is not resilience, diversity is

The most troubling claim in the seafood independence argument is that it would make the U.S. seafood system more resilient to shocks like climate change or future pandemics.

This fundamentally misunderstands how resilience works.

Resilient food systems are diverse, redundant, and interconnected. They rely on multiple species, production methods, geographies, and trade relationships. Concentrating supply in one country does not reduce risk. It amplifies it.

The paper itself also admits that Alaska would play an outsized role in any seafood-independent future, producing roughly two-thirds of domestic seafood. That means the plan for national resilience hinges on a single region and three primary species: pollock, cod, and salmon.

If climate change, disease, or ecosystem shifts disproportionately impact U.S. waters (as they already are) imports provide a buffer if and when domestic production is impacted.

This mirrors what I found in my own graduate research: local and alternative seafood networks are critical components of a resilient food system, but they cannot replace large-scale production or global trade. The system only works when both exist together.

A fully domestic seafood system is no more resilient than a system fully dependent on imports.

TLDR; We’re arguing about the wrong thing

I agree with the authors call for stronger domestic processing, storage, and distribution infrastructure. Those investments matter. I also agree that COVID-19 exposed real vulnerabilities in global supply chains.

But seafood independence is not the answer and frankly this entire narrative feels like a massive waste of intellectual energy.

It ignores how people eat, how markets work, and how resilient systems function. And increasingly, it echoes a broader “America First” isolationism that undermines the very resilience it claims to protect.

We should invest in fishermen, processors, infrastructure, and regional capacity. But when support for domestic seafood is recast as a zero-sum project that requires fewer imports, fewer trade relationships, and fewer choices, it stops being pragmatic and starts being reckless.

If the goal is to feed people well, support domestic seafood producers sustainably, and build a food system capable of withstanding climate change, economic shocks, and geopolitical instability, then independence is the wrong north star.