By Patricio Segura
An allegory that has not been very popular in recent years suggests that it is not wise to put all your eggs in one basket. This maxim applies to many aspects of life, both personal and social: families depending on a single income, an energy matrix based on a single source. Even the AFPs, stalwarts of the system, advocate for spreading contributions across different funds.
This message resonates even more strongly in uncertain times like these, when unpredictability has become the norm. Whether due to global political, trade, and military decisions—driven by countries such as the United States, Israel, and Russia—or the climate crisis, the only certainty is uncertainty itself.
The economy is no exception to this rule. One of the best ways to adapt to global disorder is through diversification at every level.
Yet, despite the evidence, some sectors insist on doing the opposite: concentrating production—or, more accurately, creating a productive monopoly.
The salmon industry in southern Chile exemplifies this trend. Beyond its well-documented environmental impacts, it continues to push for rapid growth in close alliance with decision-makers—spreading like an octopus, devouring everything in its path like a school of piranhas.
Industry representatives claim production could double within a decade—a goal now backed by the incoming government of José Antonio Kast and regional authorities, who are betting on turning all of Chiloé and Patagonia 'orange.' “We can become the world’s leading salmon exporter,” the president-elect has declared far and wide. The unspoken subtitle: No matter the cost.
In a modern world that often mistakes unchecked growth for virtue—rather than pathology, as it is in biology—such words may sound promising. But for a society that values planning and foresight, they are a warning sign.
Single-product economies are highly vulnerable—a fact repeatedly demonstrated by crises in the sector.
The ISA virus crisis (2007–2010), triggered by overcrowding and overproduction, devastated southern communities through mass bankruptcies and plant closures—over 15,000 jobs were lost. Operations dropped by 50%, forcing the government to introduce sweeping regulatory changes and act as a guarantor for recovery loans.
Then came the 2016 crisis, known as “Mayo Chilote” (Chilote May), marked by islanders’ protests against a severe socio-environmental and economic emergency—fueled by an increase in red tide and the mass dumping of rotting salmon by companies.
And these are just a few examples.
Clearly, staking everything on a sector so dependent on nature and climate is poor public policy. This is even more problematic given the irregular—and sometimes illegal—practices reported by the press and confirmed by courts and regulators. And what about the concentrated power that undermines internal democracy due to a lack of checks and balances?
There is another vision for regional development, one that aligns with the common sense of Aysén’s people. According to the Aysén 2024 Regional Barometer Report, “Chile Seen from Its Regions,” prepared by the University of Aysén, the population ranks the salmon industry only seventh in perceived value for the future.
The worst-case scenario for Aysén would be for the entire region to falter if the salmon industry stumbles. In today’s world, diversification isn’t optional—it’s essential.
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