A plate of fish sticks in Berlin and salted cod in Lisbon share a troubling common ingredient: Russian-caught whitefish. Despite years of war in Ukraine, vessels flying the Russian flag still haul in much of the seafood that lands on European dinner tables, channeling money into Moscow’s economy while the EU hesitates to pull the trade lever.
The bloc’s reliance runs deep and wide. Frozen blocks of whitefish feed a processing industry that stocks supermarkets and restaurants across the continent. Earlier this year, the European Commission floated a fresh sanctions package that would have upended that arrangement, including an outright ban on cod. Those measures evaporated after negotiations with member states. The outcome underscored an enduring tension at the heart of EU decision-making: national economic protection versus collective solidarity with Kyiv.
Germany dominates the import landscape. It purchased as much Russian fish last year as the next four importers combined, fuelling roughly 60 percent of the EU’s fish finger output. Berlin officials cautioned that import restrictions would endanger jobs in processing and hit structurally weak regions especially hard. France, Portugal and Poland also pushed back against a ban, according to media accounts.
The EU has not stood entirely still. In 2024, it stripped Russian-caught seafood of duty-free access. Brussels also blacklisted two major suppliers, Norebo JSC and Murman Sea Food, citing maritime espionage and sabotage. Those firms lost access to EU ports, finance and insurance. Beyond those steps, however, the sector operates largely unhindered.
Numbers tell part of the story. The bloc imported €739.8 million in Russian-caught seafood last year, with cod and Alaska pollock representing €631.5 million of that total. Cod anchors Portugal’s salted fish tradition and fills supermarket shelves across the continent. Alaska pollock, cheaper and abundant, feeds the processed food pipeline: breaded fillets, ready meals and fish fingers. Pollock also presents the stiffest barrier to sanctions. Only the United States produces comparable volumes, yet domestic demand absorbs that supply, especially after Washington banned Russian seafood imports in 2022.
Processors applauded the decision to shelve the ban, arguing it protected jobs, small businesses and affordable protein. Meanwhile, researchers point out that fish imports do not bankroll Russia’s war machine the way energy exports do. China alone imported over €3 billion in Russian seafood in 2025, dwarfing the EU’s purchases. Banning imports would likely inflict more economic pain on European consumers than on the Kremlin, pushing up prices while Moscow redirects sales elsewhere.
Europe’s ability to fill the gap with local catch faces hard ecological limits. Some stocks remain too depleted for higher sustainable harvests. Long-term solutions hinge on rebuilding those populations, a slow and politically fraught process. In the near term, diversifying suppliers offers partial relief: more cod from Iceland, perhaps more pollock from American fisheries. Yet that path carries its own risks, including shifting pressure onto other fragile stocks or forging new dependencies.
For now, political will lags behind economic entanglement. One sanctions expert noted that smaller trade restrictions still matter as bargaining chips for future negotiations. Another observer from a German fisheries institute predicted the industry cannot dodge sanctions forever. The question remains how much longer European plates will host a meal that helps fund a war.
