“Locals have made their opposition clear. At a meeting with Saligao MLA Kedar Naik, residents warned of ecological damage and cultural erasure if Verem’s waters were handed over to casinos. To his credit, Naik assured them no vessel would be allowed to anchor there. But in Goa, where the casino industry wields disproportionate influence over policy, such promises are met with skepticism. The community has resolved to put their objections in writing to the Captain of Ports and government ministers, demanding immediate intervention. They know that without firm, written commitments, the lobby can push through its agenda quietly.”
In Verem, a riverside village on the Mandovi, the story of survival is written in shells. For generations, families have waded into the river to harvest tisryo—clams that form part of Goa’s food heritage and sustain hundreds of livelihoods. It is hard, humble work, but it has endured because the community’s relationship with the river is one of respect and balance.
That balance is now threatened, not by nature, but by the casino lobby. The sudden move to install anchors in the Verem stretch of the Mandovi is widely believed to be a bid to open fresh anchoring zones for casino vessels. For the fishing community, this would spell disaster. Anchors for giant vessels rip into the riverbed, turning clam beds into wastelands. Once gone, this traditional livelihood cannot be revived.
Locals have made their opposition clear. At a meeting with Saligao MLA Kedar Naik, residents warned of ecological damage and cultural erasure if Verem’s waters were handed over to casinos. To his credit, Naik assured them no vessel would be allowed to anchor there. But in Goa, where the casino industry wields disproportionate influence over policy, such promises are met with skepticism. The community has resolved to put their objections in writing to the Captain of Ports and government ministers, demanding immediate intervention. They know that without firm, written commitments, the lobby can push through its agenda quietly.
This confrontation is more than a local issue. It is a mirror to how Goa has allowed the casino lobby to dictate the use of its rivers. For years, casino operators have lobbied for prime spots along the Mandovi, often with scant regard for ecology or local rights. Anchoring rights, waste management, and relocation plans have all been shrouded in secrecy and political manoeuvring. Each time, the public learns of decisions only after protests erupt.
The casino lobby presents itself as an engine of revenue and tourism. But its footprint tells another story. Casino vessels have long been accused of polluting the Mandovi with untreated waste. Their presence disrupts river traffic, alters currents, and erodes riverbanks. Now, in Verem, they threaten a centuries-old practice that provides real sustenance to local families. Unlike the casino industry, clam harvesting requires no subsidies, no political favours, and no public relations campaigns. It survives because of the resilience of ordinary people.
The stakes, therefore, are stark. Do Goa’s rivers exist to enrich casino shareholders, or to support communities who have lived with them for generations? The casino lobby has money, influence, and the ear of policymakers. The clam harvesters have none of these. What they do have is history, culture, and the right to demand that their heritage not be sacrificed for private gain.
The government’s response will reveal much. If it caves in to the casino lobby once again, it will not just betray Verem but set a precedent that every stretch of river can be bartered away for commercial use. If, however, it chooses to protect Verem, it will be a rare instance of the state putting ecology and people above profit.
It is telling that the residents of Verem do not trust verbal assurances and are preparing to escalate the issue through memoranda and protest. Their vigilance is necessary because the casino lobby thrives on silence and backroom deals. Without resistance, Verem would likely have been turned into another casualty of Goa’s slow surrender to casino interests.
The clam beds of Verem are more than shells on a riverbed. They are a symbol of a community’s relationship with nature and an irreplaceable piece of Goa’s identity. To damage them in the name of anchoring casino vessels is not development. It is destruction disguised as progress. The casino lobby may frame its demands as inevitable, but Verem’s stand shows that there are still communities willing to resist the slow colonisation of Goa’s rivers.
The question is whether the government will listen to its people or to the casino bosses. The answer will determine not only the future of Verem but the future of the Mandovi itself.
