Surfing
Surfing
Surfing's global history inspires the next generation of wave seekers
In her own words, writer/director Siraad Dirshe discusses the history of surf, its true origins, and why the sport should be inclusive for all.
As a Black storyteller deeply curious about the origins of surfing, asking questions and building community with historians and activists helped me not only have a deeper respect for the sport, but an appreciation for its global legacy.
On the surface, the aquatic sport of surfing seems fairly straightforward––one does their best to glide with the powerful pull of the ocean. At least that’s what I thought when I found myself attempting to balance in the white foam at Rockaway Beach. Inspired by the women of my favorite childhood movie, Blue Crush, I’d long wanted to learn how to master riding a thick piece of foam. Spending the summer of 2019 wrestling with waves, I became enthralled with the glee and freedom that washed over me each time I found myself in the water.
Yet, as my comfort with paddling and popping up advanced, so did my curiosity. Questions of origin and ownership tugged at me, especially when I encountered confused and harsh looks from surfers who didn't look like me––something that happened more often than not. As I began to sift through and uncover answers to these questions, I developed not only a deeper sense of self, but a more nuanced understanding of the sport.
I capstoned my summer of surfing in New York with a trip to Accra, Ghana. Lured by the 80 degree November temperatures, I headed to the beach town of Busua on a mission to not only perfect my pop-up, but also on an anthropological one, of sorts: to develop a more holistic picture of surfing’s roots. As preparation for the trip, I watched and read anything that offered a counternarrative to the one I’d grown up hearing––that white people had “saved” surfing; and that they did so largely by going to Hawai’i, “discovering,” surfing, and then acting as the driving force that further carried the sport and lifestyle across the globe.
Siraad Dirshe
© Joshua Peters / @luckypeters
As a writer and director, I am unfortunately all-too-familiar with how Black and brown folks are erased from sports and cultural movements.
As a writer and director, I am unfortunately all-too-familiar with how Black and brown folks are erased from sports and cultural movements, so when I first read Kevin Dawson’s book Undercurrents of Power and learned that our roots were deeply entangled with the origin of the sport, it sparked a different type of curiosity. Knowing that my connection with surfing through my ancestors ran centuries deep propelled my quest of riding waves forward. Dawson’s book, which puts forth the theory that the people of Africa’s Gold Coast have a rich aquatic history, including surfing, transformed how I approached and understood the sport. Like him, I couldn’t help but to continue asking questions.
Growing up in Southern California in the eighties and nineties, Dawson was one of the only Black surfers that he knew. “There were these perceptions then that swimming and surfing were unblack, and so what drew me into it as a historian was actually finding sources of Black people swimming,” he shares. In college, Dawson found accounts of enslaved Africans swimming to freedom across the Ohio and Potomac River. “I eventually just stumbled upon some sources on Africans surfing, primarily Fante in Ghana and the Cape Coast Elmina area surfing,” Dawson says. It was these same accounts that helped me realize that Africans were surfing in the 1600s, long before they’d come in contact with people from Oceania or Polynesia. This discovery prompted him to investigate exactly how African people interacted with water. More specifically, in his own words, “Finding all this documented evidence of Africans surfing allows me to tell a story of a different point of origin for surfing,” Dawson explains. One that’s expansive and inclusive, rather than narrow and exclusionary.
Siraad Dirshe
© Joshua Peters / @luckypeters
It’s often very difficult to shake loose the tight grip we collectively hold onto origin stories, mainly because it forces us to call into question the ownership and entitlement certain groups have over a particular thing. When I discovered Dawson’s work it helped me begin to untangle many of the myths I held about who could ride a surfboard, and who couldn’t. Surfing’s history––from Africa to Polynesia to South America––is one that’s rich, diverse, and incredibly nuanced. So much so, that we are only beginning to scratch the surface and understand it. “I think that's a really important thing, that by recognizing these different origin points, it gives people access to say, ‘Look, our people surfed. And so, therefore, we have a right to these waves. This is our culture that we're celebrating,’” Dawson shares. Celebrating these varied legacies is something that became imperative for me as I continued my own journey.
Last year, I found myself desperately searching for community, both in and out of the water, after relocating to a new city. Armed with a new understanding and appreciation of surfing’s history, I yearned for a group that valued it as well. So, when I came across David Malana and his organization Color The Water, which aims to fight systemic racism by offering free surf lessons for BIPOC folks, I leaped at the chance to take lessons with him. “Color the Water merges the cultures I love into something that doesn't exist in prevalent culture, which is a surf culture with people of color in mind by design––who have been systematically removed, which is a deep irony considering surf origins,” he shares. He intentionally set out to pay homage to and reckon with the reality that surfing originates with people of color while also making sure that it operated in joy––one of the strongest forms of resistance.
Like Dawson, Malana wants to call into question surfing’s linear history. “I think that's where we have a unique chance to create a culture that's new, in its philosophy of being non-judgmental and being inclusive in ways that are not just lip service, but really want to find ways to have space for everyone. At the same time this reconnects back to some of the ancient practices that included consideration of space for everyone, reverence to nature as deeply spiritual, and a community space where we're sharing when we're not fighting for something that is not a scarcity,” he says. In between catching waves, he teaches surfers to question why certain groups have been regarded as the authoritative voice in surfing. And most importantly, that there isn’t a singular way to participate in the culture. He wants to use surfing’s colorful history to paint a future that’s inclusive and celebratory.
Since beginning my surfing journey I’ve had incredible revelations, with the generous help of folks like Dawson and Malana–something like an understanding that each time I surrender to the push and pull of the ocean, I am a part of something that stretches back for centuries, across the globe.
Now, more than ever, it's imperative that these stories and traditions be acknowledged; doing so reorients what’s possible and achievable, and inspires a new generation to fall in love with surfing, as it did for me.
About the Author:
Siraad Dirshe
© Joshua Peters / @luckypeters
Siraad Dirshe is a writer, video producer, and director whose work has appeared in The New York Times, Elle, Refinery29, and many others. She's deeply passionate about sharing and amplifying the often overlooked and dismissed stories of Black folks, particularly our contributions to sports, like surfing, and movements such as sustainability. When she's not writing or directing, you can find Siraad on the beach or reading a good book––ideally, both at the same time.
