OhIn the summer, about 150 people gathered with surfboards at Cowell Beach in Santa Cruz. California is just a step away. Under the midday sun, surfing enthusiasts, beginners and first-time surfers take to the water.
Paddle Out, an event where people gather in the ocean on surfboards to honor the life of a person who has passed away, is organized by Black Surf Santa Cruz. The rowing race has been held for the past four years to commemorate the death of George Floyd, a Black man killed by a white Minneapolis police officer in 2020, which sparked global protests. The event fostered a sense of community and served as an introduction to a sport (and culture) that many Bipoc feel excluded from.
Isabella Bonner, 28, is the founder of Black Surf Santa Cruz and had never gotten on a surfboard before summer 2020.
“I will never forget my first time [surfing]. Weightlessness,” while Isabella Bonner jumped into the crystal-clear water surrounded by dozens of fellow surfers. “It's like nothing.”
Afterwards, Bonner's only thoughts were: “What took so long and how can I enjoy the biboks?” That's why he founded the group Black Santa Cruz: so that others could experience what he had.
A 'return' to origins
The call to the ocean, especially surfing, is diversifying in America. A recent Diversity in Surfing report found that black and Latino individuals represent 40% of the total U.S. surfing population, now surpassing white surfers and making up the sport's largest growing population. This trend is expected to continue. While some may see this as a sign of “diversification” towards a new audience, it can be better described as a “return” to the game's old origins.
The contemporary practice of surfing derives from a fusion of indigenous cultures. The Polynesians, particularly those who settled in Hawaii, specialized in this sport and incorporated surfing into their culture. However, possibly predating the Polynesians, it was an African practice of riding waves using boards and boats that occurred in many places along the African coast.
This little-discussed history of black surfing in Africa and America is the central theme of Wade in the Water: A Journey to Black. Surfing and Aquatic Culture, a documentary by new filmmaker David Mespin. “I remember when I was a teenager how many people told me things like, 'Oh, black people don't surf,'” he said, recalling years of doubt about his place in the ocean. “They don't swim. I even heard this from black people and thought, 'Where does this idea come from?'
Mesfin, who is from Ethiopia and has lived in California for 28 years, said the inspiration for creating Wade in the Water came from those memories and discoveries of Kevin Dawson, a surfer, educator and author of Undercurrents of Power: Aquatic Culture in the African Diaspora. . “When I read his work on surfing in West Africa hundreds of years ago, I was fascinated,” recalls Mesfin, who is already working on a subsequent documentary. “I had to explore why black Americans have lost touch [surfing] I wanted to do something to encourage people to get it back.
The whitewashed history of surfing
If you've ever seen the canonical surf movie Endless Summer, you're witnessing Hollywood's whitewashed, Westernized view that surfing was introduced to West Africa by some blonde Californians in the 1960s.
Dawson, an African diaspora cultural studies scholar who appears heavily in Mesfin's film, doesn't hold back in his assessment of The Endless Summer. “That portrait is a myth, it's a myth, a white savior narrative that really became popular in 20th century surf culture and has been hard to undo ever since,” Dawson said.
In his work with historical archives, Dawson found the first written accounts of activities such as surfing in Africa. In 1640, a German merchant adventurer described Ghanaian parents “tying their children to boards and throwing them into the water.”
Later, in 1834, British explorer James Alexander wrote that “children swim in the sea with light boards under their bellies.” [come] It rolls like a cloud over him.”
Dawson's theory is that surfing originated in Africa for practical reasons. There aren't many inlets on the West Coast, he says, and “people, mostly young people, have to learn to wade through the waves to go fishing and come back.”
Neither Dawson nor Mespin's film attempts to make surfing an African invention; rather, they are trying to give the continent a place in the broader debate about the sport. It was taken by the “Polynesians.” [surfing] On a cultural and spiritual level,” Dawson added, “whereas Africa has had a connection with surfing for a long time, maybe for a long time.”
Divided beaches
Focusing on the history of surfing in the United States, Wade in the Water explores the perverse combination of slavery, violence, and segregation of the Jim Crow era that worked to diminish African Americans' relationship with the water.
In the late 19th century, Dawson said, “beaches became the center of entertainment. “You had a deep concern for black people's free time. Then there are these racist attempts to drive black people out of these entertainment venues, which resulted in the three pillars of discrimination at the time: “violence, the built environment, the law.”
In many places in the United States, people of color were banned from the best surfing beaches that were considered “whites only.” For example, in the early 1900s, the popular surf town of Malibu allowed mostly whites, but there was a beach 20 miles up the road south of the Santa Monica Pier that was a haven for blacks. It was pejoratively called “Inkwell.”
Racial practices prevented blacks from feeling more comfortable on certain beaches. Luxury hotels were built in a thinly disguised effort to block the development of successful waterfront block-owned establishments, including the addition of the I-10 freeway to Los Angeles from Santa Monica, near the so-called “Inkwell.”
History repeats itself as it crushes the once-thriving community of Black Beach in the current white, mega-rich enclave of Bruce Beach, Manhattan Beach.
“It worked to create a general impression that the culture of swimming or surfing was not a particular option for them,” Dawson said.
'The sea doesn't care what color I am'
Wade in the Water features interviews with many Black surfers and leaders who broke barriers and fought for greater representation in the sport. For example, Sharon Shaffer, the first black professional surfer, recounts her days in the surf scene, while Tony Corley recalls the founding of the Black Surfing Association in 1975, which brought together California's black surfers for 43 years. “It was amazing to bring these icons together,” Mespin said. “A lot of people don't know who they are,” he said. “Black surfing is very under-publicized.”
While exploring the past and paying tribute to pioneers, the documentary also looks to the future. He confidently observes the burgeoning surf industry in Africa and takes the time to listen to the progress of bibok surfers in the United States and the current generation of young leaders working to achieve diversity in the sport in the United States. Among those voices were Bonner and her contemporaries Liselle Jackson (Color the Water) and Kaita Johansson (Black Surfers), who launched similar initiatives.
“Unfortunately, people still face racism in the water, so part of our goal is not only to teach surfing skills, but also to help make our breaks more welcoming to them,” Bonner said. “However, to make a difference, we must be seen in the water, we must be shown.”
Johnson, 33, from the Bay Area, also took up paddling. He agreed with Bonner's sentiments as he led many into the water on boards. “There are still systemic problems,” he said. “Inheritance [of past policies] “It won’t go away.” Much of his future plans involve pushing for policy change, addressing things like “mandatory water and ocean conservation and skills programs in public schools,” which he plans to do through his organization, Black Surfers.
One of their charges was Keisha Browder, 46, a local who moved to the ocean a few years ago and is co-founder of Black Surf Santa Cruz.
“I've always lived in California, but for a long time I didn't think it was my water,” Browder said quietly. '”I know a lot of African Americans who feel that way. “I may not be a great surfer, it's a little late for me, but I'm here, having fun and claiming my place,” she added with a laugh.
He recently watched Mesfin's documentary and later, on land, said: “It reminded me how wrong I was about the ocean back then. No matter what color he is, he is blind to everything.
