For more than a century, the Maine lobster industry has survived and thrived more by respect for tradition than by reliance on law. That this natural, preferred order of things is about to be reversed in these litigious days is inevitable. That this upheaval would occur on tiny, remote Monhegan Island is tragic.

Unless something happens soon — a sudden influx of common sense would be the preferred something — Monhegan’s 12 lobstermen and six rivals from mainland Friendship are about to become combatants in what many say will be the mother of all trap wars. And, other than make the arrests and clean up the mess, there seems to be little the state can do about it.

Recognizing the unique difficulty that comes with living 12 miles offshore, the legislature in 1905 created a two-mile conservation zone around Monhegan, and the islanders took conservation from there, imposing upon themselves a short fishing season and a trap limit, long before the state got on board such measures.

It worked pretty well until a few years ago, when Friendshippers, recognizing greener grass when they saw it, began encircling Monhegan with more traps and their longer season. A gentlemen’s agreement reached two years ago eased tensions a bit; new Department of Marine Resources regulations last year codified the agreement — anyone with a state license could fish Monhegan as long as he or she obeyed local rules and fished nowhere else during the closed season. In short, if you wanted to fish the island, you had to fish like an islander.

It was a legal option no one expected to see exercized, but now it is. Six Friendship men have applied for Monhegan permits and plan to set their traps when the season opens this winter. Six isn’t a large number, but a 50 percent increase in fishing effort is.

In the world of statute, it’s allowed. In the real world, it’s unthinkable. Beals Island does not set its traps in Boothbay. Tenants Harbor does not encroach upon Stonington. Friendship should stay the heck out of Monhegan.

Monhegan is not entirely blameless here. Earlier this year, as the ink on the new regs was still damp, islanders asked that their season be extended by moving the opening day from Jan. 1 to Nov. 1. While the request, now scaled back to Dec. 1, makes sense economically — lobster has become a holiday favorite and fetches a premium price during the season — the timing was imprudent; it only added to Friendship’s perception that Monhegan gets special treatment.

Now, both sides are making threatening noises. Law enforcement is gearing up for some long days and even longer nights. Given the history of bad blood between the two communities, it is likely that lines will be cut and boats will be sunk. Perhaps worse.

And Marine Resources Commissioner Robin Alden has a tough decision to make — she can either move Monhegan’s request for a Dec. 1 opening along to her advisory board for approval or she can give it the pocket veto and delay the opening until Jan. 1. She can either let Monhegan enjoy the same holiday market others do, or she can cut the opportunity for violence down by one month.

“I hate the thought of it,” Alden says, “but right now I’m leaning towards putting this in my pocket and keeping these two sides apart for as long as possible.”

Alden’s desire to head off mayhem is entirely understandable, her willingness to take heat for it is commendable, but the threat of violence should not be the basis for public policy. Friendship has the law on its side. Monhegan has tradition. Given that Maine’s lobster industry was built upon the latter long before the former, given that the industry will be destroyed if fishermen begin muscling their way into the harbors of others, we prefer tradition. Friendship should stay home, take care of its own backyard and let Monhegan do the same. That’s the way it’s always been done and it’s the right way.