Brexit's Bitter Catch: A Decade On, Fishing Dreams Drowned in Red Tape
A decade after the EU referendum, the resounding call to “save the British fishing industry” has curdled into an “absolute nightmare, shambles, and still is to this day,” according to Tony Rutherford. Once a staunch Leave voter and even featured on a Ukip poster, Rutherford, who has run a fish buying and selling business in Appledore, north-west Devon, since 1979, now encapsulates the widespread disillusionment felt in bellwether constituencies.
Rutherford’s initial optimism, fueled by the belief that his vote would liberate the British fishing fleet, has given way to the stark reality that Brexit has been a “disaster from day one.” Despite the promises, he notes that under Johnson’s deal, the UK fishing fleet experienced “barely any increase in fishing opportunities.” The sentiment of being “sold down the river” now defines his view, a direct contradiction to the pledges made during the 2016 campaign.
The immediate economic fallout was palpable from 1 January 2021, when “huge additional export costs” materialized. Rutherford vividly recounts the shock of discovering that “folders after folders” of preparatory information proved “useless.” His first post-Brexit shipment, a £47,000 consignment of ray and dover sole, encountered an immediate hurdle: the requirement to be VAT registered in France. This necessitated employing a French accountant at a cost of “£2,000 a month,” leading to the shipment being held up for five days and subsequently ruined. Though the government offered an “£11,000” compensation, it barely covered a quarter of the loss from that single incident.
The bureaucratic labyrinth extends further. Each shipment now requires a health certificate costing “£85 a go” and import documents handled by a transport company for “£245 a go.” Cumulatively, this means an extra “£330” per shipment. For a small operation like Rutherford’s, shipping three times a week, these additional costs tally up to a staggering “thousand quid” weekly, translating to “£70,000 right out of my back pocket” annually for his husband-and-wife team. The complexity is compounded by French customs scrutinizing 16-sheet health certificates, where a single digit error in a 10-digit code can result in the “whole shipment [being] condemned.” Such stringent checks have led to Rutherford losing “about eight loads – anything from £15,000 to £50,000.”
This operational burden has significant market implications. Rutherford reports that “A lot of merchants in the south-west of England say: ‘I just can’t do it – it is not worth exporting.’” The ongoing stress of ensuring customs clearance for every consignment underlines a fundamentally altered and more precarious trading environment. The palpable regret is clear, with Rutherford unequivocally stating, “One hundred per cent – anybody would” regret his vote, a sharp contrast to the confidence expressed by figures like the then Liberal Democrat MP for Ceredigion, Mark Williams, who campaigned for remain in an area once deemed the “most pro-EU area in the UK.”
The decade since the referendum has thus exposed a chasm between the aspirational rhetoric and the punishing reality for sectors like fishing. What was promised as an opportunity to reclaim sovereignty and bolster domestic industries has, for many on the front lines, devolved into an incessant battle against unforeseen costs, insurmountable bureaucracy, and diminished market access. The experience of Appledore’s fishing merchants serves as a stark economic parable, demonstrating how intricate trade relationships, once taken for granted, can become a significant fiscal and logistical liability, redefining the viability of long-standing businesses.