But the single biggest factor in the piracy explosion has been the ever-deteriorating security situation on the Somali mainland. The largest and most active gangs are based out of the semi-autonomous region of Puntland, notes Hansen, where the local government has been unable to pay the police and army for months. As a result, security forces are more inclined to join the heavily armed pirates than take them on.
The crews have also cannily recruited from many of the country’s powerful militias and clans, and seem willing to kick some of their new-found wealth “upstairs” to politicians and community elders. For example, it is widely believed that Abdullahi Yusuf, a native Puntlander and president of the Western-backed Transitional Federal Government, Somalia’s notional authority, receives “goodwill” contributions from the ransoms. And there are reports that an entire pirate economy has sprung up in towns like Eyl, with accountants, drivers, home builders, technology suppliers and even restaurants that cater meals for the hostage crews.
For the moment, at least, shipping companies seem willing to accept the relatively small risk of piracy in the region (60 attacks, however spectacular, mean that 99.999 per cent of ships still pass through the Gulf unscathed) as a cost of doing business. Taking the much longer, and stormier, Cape of Good Hope route between Europe and Asia can add US$20,000 to $30,000 a day in fuel and crew costs. In fact, the growing piracy problem has spawned a whole parallel industry of specialized insurers, risk analysts and crisis management firms. Seacurus, a Gateshead, U.K.-based insurance broker, has been offering kidnap and ransom policies for both shipowners and crew since 2005. “We realized there was a gap in standard marine coverage,” says Capt. Thomas Brown, the firm’s managing director. The Lloyd’s of London-backed policies cover not only the ransom, but associated costs like negotiators, interpreters, public relations specialists, rest and rehabilitation expenses for hostage crews, and “reasonable costs of plastic surgery.” Business was slow at first, but as of late, the phone has been ringing off the hook, says Brown. He declined to discuss the cost of such policies (some media reports suggest the going rate is now $9,000 per transit of the Gulf of Aden), but acknowledges that the premiums have seen a tenfold increase in recent months. Given the region’s unique challenges, it is still good value, says Brown. “You’ve got 1,000 pirates patrolling the water, so delivering $1 million cash in a rubber boat off the port of Eyl is a pretty scary prospect for those who have to do it.”
It was the Malaysian navy that reportedly performed the delicate task when the Malaysian International Shipping Company paid a rumoured $4 million to liberate two of its ships and 79 crew late last month. But most shipowners are turning to private firms to handle the logistics and safely retrieve their hostages. Gray Page, an Oxford, U.K., maritime security and investigations group, is one of several companies offering up pirate expertise. James Wilkes, the managing director, won’t talk specifics, citing confidentiality agreements, but allows it is a difficult business. “These guys are by no means chancers or amateurs. They are competent and hardened, and they know what they are doing.” Wilkes says the ransom demands that are reported in the press are often far different than the sums that end up being paid. But negotiations are almost always lengthy, complicated by the many governments—representing the interests of multinational crews and owners—that want to be involved. However, he defends the security firms as essential and experienced go-betweens. “We’re not in this to profit,” says Wilkes. “You’d have to be very hard-hearted and cynical to say we’ve got a good business here.”
If there is an upside to being captured by Somali pirates, it is that they too seem to attach a value to human life—albeit a strictly monetary one. Unlike their “sea mugging” counterparts in other parts of the world, they are rarely violent with their prisoners. (Two hostages have reportedly died, but it appears both succumbed to pre-existing medical conditions.) When French commandos captured part of a gang that had seized a luxury yacht this past April, they found a rule book that banned the mistreatment of captives, and specifically forbade sexual abuse.
In that aspect, these modern-day pirates seem to have reached some of the same conclusions as their 18th- and 19th-century forebears, who developed complex codes to govern their business and interactions. Peter Leeson, an economist at Virginia’s George Mason University and author of the forthcoming book, The Invisible Hook: The Hidden Economy of Pirates, says there are other similarities, including evidence that the Somali gangs have also come up with a set formula for dividing the loot, and even a compensation scale for industrial injuries—US$15,000 to the families of those killed “in action.” (Blackbeard-era pirates paid 600 pieces of eight for the loss of a right leg, 400 for the left.) “I think the closest comparison might be the privateers, or Barbary pirates,” says Leeson, noting that the Somalis also enjoy at least some state backing and external financing. The chief difference, says the economist, might be in their strong links to shore. “It seems these modern pirates are integrated into society in a way that their 18th-century counterparts were not. After plundering, they go back to their regular lives.”
It’s a connection that isn’t lost on Fred Parle. Even after his seven weeks in captivity, the Irishman maintains a measure of sympathy for the men who held him at gunpoint. The long, dull days gave him plenty of opportunity to converse with his English-speaking captors and delve into their motives. “The piracy money goes to feed hungry children and send kids to school. Maybe buy a camel,” says Parle. “Somalia’s a mess.”
Being captured by pirates was both the scariest and most exciting experience of his life, he says. And despite the lingering effects of his ordeal, the 68-year-old is considering putting back out to sea. He’s in overdraft at the bank, and with only a small government pension, has just sold his house to pay the bills. “I’d just like to slide into retirement and forget the whole thing,” says Parle. “But if somebody came to me with a job, I’m in a situation where I wouldn’t say no.”
Pages: 1 2
