Photo: John Seaton Callahan/surfEXPLORE
Every surfer has seen, or at least heard of, Bruce Brown’s seminal film The Endless Summer. The film follows two surfers on what can only be described as an epic surf trip around the world. It not only went on to define a genre of surf films, but also introduced ‘surfers’ to mainstream audiences. No doubt part of the reason the film resonated so well with surfers was because of how the surfers in the film were depicted: they’re portrayed as fun-loving, carefree, adventurous, and sometimes mischievous. It’s a kind of global character assessment that we’re all too happy to run with. However, if the film successfully cataloged our positive traits, by omission, it also highlighted some traits that are less positive.
I’m speaking of its misleading narrative of South Africa in the mid 1960s, which was ironically the highlight stop on their tour. At the same time the surfers were sampling the best of what the region had to offer blacks and other minorities were being systematically discriminated against and marginalized in society. Under the racial segregation laws of apartheid, South Africa was not only home to the kind of waves we dream about, but also the home of institutionalized racism. The fact that the film – apparently intentionally – omitted to make any observations about apartheid mirrored what must have been the prevailing view of many surfers at the time: that surfing and politics don’t mix. But as Nobel Peace Prize Laureate and staunch anti-apartheid activist Desmond Tutu has remarked, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”
Looking back, it is clear that the international surfing community’s response to apartheid was less than ideal. As Scott Laderman illustrates in his book Empire in Waves: A Political History of Surfing, many surfers were entirely indifferent or ‘neutral’ to apartheid. Some professional surfers agreed to travel to South Africa – on trips paid for by the regime itself – seemingly oblivious to the fact that by doing so they’d be legitimizing the government’s systematic oppression. Other surfers, and some prominent figures in the surf industry, maintained views that were explicitly racist and supportive of racial segregation. Fortunately, however, there were some notable exceptions. Both Surfer magazine and Tracks were critical of the system of apartheid and, in 1985, Australian surfer Tom Carroll sent shock-waves around the surfing world by announcing that he would be boycotting the South African leg of the ASP World Championship Tour. His announcement and leadership encouraged others to do the same: Tom Curren, Cheyne Horan and Martin Potter quickly followed suit. However, despite the commendable actions of these surfers, the ASP continued to hold events in South Africa, long after many other high profile sports had decided to boycott what had come to be regarded as a pariah state. In short, the response of the international surfing community – as a whole – often conflicted with or at least lagged behind the broader anti-apartheid movement.
This brings us to Indonesia, the archipelago nation on the southern fringe of South East Asia. It’s a country that is held in high esteem by many, many surfers on account of its wave-rich southern coastline. However, like apartheid-era South Africa, it has a much darker side. The Indonesian provinces of Papua and West Papua were first inhabited by brown-skinned Melanesians, people who are ethnically, culturally and often linguistically distinct from Indonesians. In other words, these people are as different to Indonesians as black South Africans were to their white colonizers. In the early 1960s, Indonesia forcibly annexed the region and began a reign of terror that, according to Amnesty International, has resulted in between 100,000 and 400,000 West Papuans being killed by Indonesian security forces over a period of five decades. Many others have been beaten, tortured, raped, unjustly imprisoned and dispossessed of their land. And to ensure this conflict remains one of the most forgotten, access by foreign media and human rights organizations is heavily restricted.
Like the white colonizers in South Africa, Indonesian colonizers often view West Papuans as primitive, uncivilized and inferior. In 1988 Australian biologist and writer, Tim Flannery, noted on one of his visits to West Papua that, “To a Muslim Javanese soldier on duty at a guard-post… the black man before him is a demonic and deeply abhorrent human being. He is a caricature of humanity, from whom the soldier withholds all contact, except violence”.
Summing up the similarities between apartheid-era South Africa and the continued oppression of West Papuans, Desmond Tutu said that, “For many years the people of South Africa suffered under the yoke of oppression and apartheid. Many people continue to suffer brutal oppression, where their fundamental dignity as human beings is denied. One such people is the people of West Papua. The people of West Papua have been denied their basic human rights, including their right to self-determination. Their cry for justice and freedom has fallen largely on deaf ears.”
In 1997, just a few years after apartheid in South Africa had been abolished, the late Nelson Mandela visited Australia and met with Tom Carroll. He thanked Carroll for the leadership he had shown in the 80s. The people of West Papua are facing their hour of need and up until now we have been repeating the mistakes of our past. In our defense, it has been the broader international community that has been slow to act but we, as surfers, have an opportunity to learn from our past and be leaders this time around. Let’s take that opportunity.
You can start by simply telling someone about the conflict in West Papua today.
