Illegal wildlife trade spans continents and species, driving iconic animals toward extinction. It’s a multi-billion dollar black market (behind only drugs, counterfeits, and human trafficking) that entangles fishermen, cartels, consumers, and conservationists, sometimes called terrorists. I sat down with conservationist Zander Galli to help me paint a picture of this world, as he’s been following it for years.
This entire economy is put on display in a small part of the Gulf of California, at the very northern tip where the Colorado River Delta sits. Here, where a rich provision of nutrients used to flow that has long dried up, sits the heart of the totoaba fish’s swim bladder trade – a standoff where poverty, international crime syndicates, governments, and conservation groups standoff against each other, fighting for the species endemic to this corner of the world.
In Mexico’s Upper Gulf of California, struggling fishermen face a stark choice. The totoaba, a large endangered fish, can bring a windfall for those willing to break the law. A single totoaba swim bladder (also called “fish maw”) can fetch more than a year’s income in one night of illegal fishing. At peak demand, cartels paid $5,000–$8,000 per bladder – rivaling cocaine’s value by weight. Nets set for totoaba, however, also ensnare the vaquita, a tiny porpoise found only here. With an estimated 8 vaquita left on the planet, fishermen know each illegal net could spell the porpoise’s extinction.
Caught between poverty and conservation laws, some fishermen felt insurmountable pressure once legal fishing was restricted – especially when compensation programs failed to reach them. “I can earn more in one totoaba season than in years of legal fishing,” is the prevailing sentiment that the cartels exploit. But now, with increased patrols, many fishers are growing fearful. “It’s not worth the effort or the danger anymore,” some say, as recent crackdowns make them wonder if the quick cash is worth the risk.
Believed to improve skin and circulation, the totoaba’s dried swim bladder is prized in China as a delicacy and medicine. This demand fuels an international supply chain. At the bottom are the Gulf fishermen, some recruited by organized crime rings linked to Mexico’s Sinaloa cartel. These rings finance the purchase of boats and nets and pay about $2,500–$5,000 per bladder on the beach, a fortune by local standards. Middlemen then move the contraband. “Totoaba cartels” led by a few Mexican crime bosses partner with Chinese traffickers living in Mexico. The bladders – known as “the cocaine of the sea” – are hidden in coolers of frozen fish or luggage and smuggled north and overseas. Traffickers avoid direct flights, routing through cities like Tijuana and Mexicali, and then through air hubs in Asia like Hong Kong or Tokyo before reaching Chinese markets. These are the same routes used for the drug trade. For years, this network operated with impunity: local corruption played a role and cartel intimidation also kept many locals quiet. “It’s a criminal issue,” says Andrea Crosta, who led an undercover investigation, “The cartels signaled a period of volatility and insecurity. They corrupted or threatened officials and turned law-abiding fishermen into cover.” The result was a complex organized-crime operation that converged with the drug trade. By 2016, Mexican narco-traffickers were fully entrenched in the totoaba business, retooling their existing smuggling networks to export swim bladders for high profit at comparatively low risk.
One of the things that people often overlook is the origin of these systems, and it almost always starts with the demand. While certain fish parts and exotic animal organs have a historical precedence for being valued in many cultures for scientifically unfounded medicinal properties, oftentime these organs exist in many other common fish. The only common denominator is the species' rarity. Galli’s opinion is that given that there is a documented pattern where the strong opposition of one species within illegal trade will just lead to another trade to spring up, there are likely black market fixers who will artificially induce demand for an arbitrary species of animal organ by marketing its health benefits to a superstitious market (i.e. Asia). On top of that, they will often market certain species as status symbols, using the medicinal desirability front as a “scapegoat”. He states, for example, that the market in Vietnam for rhino horns is the biggest in the world, where 35-50 year old businessmen laude the keratin trophies for their impressive size on a mantel and their supposed aphrodisiac properties— which has also been scientifically disproven. All these factors seem to indicate that the majority of the black market animal trade is simply a genius marketing ploy by organized crime to create markets where there were few before.
Back in the Gulf of California, a coalition of Mexican authorities, naval forces, and environmental activists is striving to break this illicit chain. The Mexican Navy now actively patrols the vaquita’s refuge, often embarking with conservation groups like Sea Shepherd to pull illegal gillnets from the water. These patrols, dubbed “Operation Miracle” (Operación Milagro), have removed hundreds of nets and even come under attack from angry poachers, showing how high tensions run. International NGOs have also intervened. The Elephant Action League (now Earth League International) ran a 14-month undercover mission called Operation Fake Gold to expose the totoaba trade. Their investigators posed as buyers, identified kingpins, and shared intelligence with law enforcement on three continents. The evidence gathered has led to successful arrests of traffickers, tens of millions in dollars worth of shipments of swim bladders, and countless prosecutions of smugglers, brokers, and buyers across the world.
These actions sent shockwaves back to Baja. “Chinese traders in Mexico are scared now,” reports one Sea of Cortez conservationist. As Chinese buyers go into hiding, the flow of cash to local poachers has slowed. Fishermen have begun complaining that totoaba no longer guarantees riches, and some are hesitant to set new nets as risks mount. This pressure is the most important step in the right direction in years – proof that targeting the middlemen and kingpins can in fact disrupt the entire supply chain.
Despite these efforts, systemic failures persist. For years, enforcement in Mexico was largely reactive, seizing contraband from low-level couriers but rarely dismantling the patron networks. Corruption and weak prosecution allowed the trade to rebound each season. International bodies grew frustrated; in 2022, CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora) took the rare step of sanctioning Mexico, recommending a suspension of all wildlife trade due to its inadequate protection of the vaquita. This was a wake-up call. Mexico drafted new action plans – tightening port inspections, funding alternative livelihoods for fishermen, and deploying more navy and police to the Gulf. The impact is beginning to show: officials have intercepted huge shipments concealed in frozen fish, and U.S. border agents in Arizona caught 242 lbs of totoaba maw in 2023 alone.
“This is an exceptional example of the job our officers do,” said Guadalupe Ramirez of U.S. CBP after one such seizure, highlighting how interagency cooperation led to the discovery of bladders hidden among legal seafood.
Perhaps most encouraging, the black-market price of totoaba maw has dropped by half since its peak. Reduced profit margins and the palpable fear of arrest are deterring would-be poachers. The Gulf case shows that when law enforcement, activists, and communities unite to target wildlife crime as organized crime, it can be disrupted.
Still, the vaquita’s fate hangs in the balance. Saving it will require sustained pressure on the totoaba cartels – a rare convergence of biodiversity conservation and crime-fighting. The lesson learned in the Gulf of California is echoing globally: to save endangered species, one must also dismantle the trafficking networks that put a price on their heads.
While the totoaba and the vaquita preside only in the Gulf of California, many species across the world face similar peril. Each case has its unique drivers – whether it’s poverty-stricken fishermen entangled with cartels, or wealthy buyers sustaining a black-market luxury – and each poses distinct enforcement dilemmas. What they all share, however, is the involvement of transnational organized crime and the imbalance between high profits and low risks that allows these illicit markets to thrive. The systemic failures – corruption, inadequate enforcement, legal loopholes, and slow international response – have pushed species like the vaquita, pangolin, and tiger to the brink.
Yet, recent investigations also shine glimmers of hope. Collaborative efforts across borders are starting to pay off: intelligence-driven operations have jailed wildlife kingpins, and multi-ton contraband seizures show that traffickers are not invincible. Importantly, local communities and former poachers are being engaged as part of the solution – from ex-fishermen in Mexico developing vaquita-safe fishing gear, to African villagers employed as wildlife rangers and community scouts instead of hunters. Technological advances – such as satellite tracking of suspicious fishing boats – are also giving law enforcers new advantages. And globally, we see a shift in attitudes: key consumer countries like China are strengthening laws (banning pangolin scales, maintaining bans on tiger and rhino products, while international agreements like CITES are imposing sanctions and compliance measures to hold governments accountable.
Perhaps most encouraging is the resilience of nature when given a chance. Wildlife can recover if we remove the pressures. The vaquita, though critically endangered, has shown some breeding in recent years – indicating that if gillnets disappear, this little porpoise could bounce back.
Stopping illegal animal trade is a daunting challenge that demands sustained political will, international cooperation, and community involvement. But the momentum is building. As awareness grows, consumers are beginning to reject “cocaine(s) of the sea”, undercutting the very demand that cartels rely on. Governments are recognizing that wildlife trafficking isn’t merely a minor offense – it’s a serious crime that warrants serious punishment and jeopardizes national heritage and security. In the end, saving these creatures is not only about biodiversity, but about justice and sustainable livelihoods.
The battle is far from over, but with each net removed, each shipment seized, and each law passed, the world moves a step closer to dismantling the cruel economies of illegal wildlife trade. There is hope in the many hands working to ensure that species like the vaquita do not vanish on our watch – and that future generations will inherit a planet where wildlife thrives far beyond the reach of illegal markets.
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Cyprien Fasquelle is an interdisciplinary designer and storytelling who loves telling stories that help us reflect on our own lives and get us to think more deeply about what matters most to us, and what kind of future we should aspire to build towards. Having grown up between France, China, and the United States, he tries to bring a diverse, empathetic lens to all his stories.
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