Cross-Shore: The Two Directions of Localism

Localism is a cross-shore impact. On one direction of the wave, it can be completely understood; on the other, entirely rationally refuted. These winds that influence the oceanic playgrounds offer a simultaneous realm: they do not completely untether a surfer's ability to ride a wave, but they do not allow them to fully find its potential either. Localism parallels this impact.

The voices of locals that echo these winds lead us into a line-up of questions.

Is localism a form of individual and community ownership over a wave? Does localism create a hierarchy in the water, where locals believe they are above other surfers and, in doing so, deny others the experience of the ocean? In this, does it strip bare the values of surfing that bring joy to every rider — those of equality, freedom, presence, and non-judgement?

Then we must ask: is it ever acceptable for any individual, or collective, to claim ownership over a wave and nature itself? Is nature not a universal, unbound, free environment to which every being should have equal right and access? We could argue that nature is not ours, and it never will be.

Everything we borrow for the privilege of lived experience will always be returned to the place it originates from. Should it not be that our ability, our state as human beings, our experiences, and our privilege are all regarded as equal — and do not determine or influence the rights we have? Is nature not the gift to humanity that allows us to remember and embody this through our union with it?

On the other side of the wave, there is a question that is not often brought into the arena of localism, yet it offers an expansion of perception that may be the very quality needed for harmonious line-ups — if carried with integrity for all. Are there positive outcomes of localism? Does its presence assist the sustainability of surfing, the preservation of surf etiquette, and the survival of surf culture and tradition?

Does localism have its place within surfing?

To see all faces of this prevalent behavioural ecosystem within the surfing world, we must understand what causes, increases, and motivates localism, as well as the perspectives of both locals and those at whom localism is directed. From there, we can decide the place localism holds.

To begin, let's attempt to define localism so that we can expand from a collectively understood foundation. Localism is territorial behaviour by locals at their home break that ranges from heavy to mild.

Heavy localism can include preventing others from surfing at a certain break through vandalism, violence, or physical threats — both in and out of the water. Mild localism can include verbal abuse in the water, dirty looks, mocking, dropping in, failing to maintain surf etiquette, or simply making people feel unwelcome and uncomfortable. There is also a monetised form of localism, where non-locals must pay to surf a break, where individuals or companies have bought beach access, or where land ownership is a prerequisite for entering the water.

Locals may also go against surf etiquette to display localism — snaking, dropping in, or positioning themselves in the line of other surfers — in order to express their dominance over the wave.

These behaviours are directed at non-local surfers with the intention of protecting and preserving access to the wave — a wave to which locals have built a strong attachment and do not wish to see impacted by those without the same lengthy connection to it.

An important distinction must be made here between localism and angry, unhealthy, rage-based behaviour in the water. The latter is a direct reflection of an individual's relationship with themselves and with surfing, and is not motivated by any definition of localism.

A definition that must also accompany localism is this: what makes someone a local? Are you only a local if you have lived at a break for the entirety of your life? Do you become a local once you have moved there and lived there for a certain period of time? Or does your understanding and connection to the wave determine whether you are classified as a local? And does a more skilful or experienced surfer avoid localism simply because of their level of surfing?

If so, this subtly insinuates that "good" surfers are respected and "not as good" surfers are not. If other surfers respect a surfer in the water, they will not direct localism towards them. Does this mean that if you are an intermediate or beginner, you are subject to localism purely because of your skill level?

I will not offer absolute answers to these questions, as I believe each case of localism varies depending on the individuals involved. However, they are questions worth acquainting ourselves with in order to see the larger picture.

Based on this definition of localism, we can look at what factors influence it.

The primary factor is the people in the water. If there were only locals at a break, localism — by the definition we have given it — would not exist. This points to crowding, the spread of knowledge about new breaks, and the growing opportunity for surfers to travel as the main driving forces behind localism. As a wave becomes crowded, locals' access to it diminishes, triggering attachment, protection, and territorial behaviour in an attempt to reclaim their home break.

Other factors connect to the personality of the wave itself: its difficulty, whether it breaks consistently or rarely reaches its potential, the number of take-off points, and what type of break it is — beach break, point break, or reef break.

An accessible, consistent wave with multiple take-off points may experience far less localism, whereas a wave that rarely works, is technically demanding, and offers only one take-off point may be far more susceptible to it.

The surf tourism industry may also be a significant factor. Through social media, surf resorts, and photographers, quiet, beautiful, and unique waves that were once known only to locals are being exposed to the wider world. In this, locals may not only be protecting their access to the wave but also expressing frustration at the broader impact surf tourism has on their communities. If not managed sustainably, the surf tourism industry can become a form of colonisation itself, stripping local communities of the lifestyle and culture they have built.

Surfer identity can also affect the intensity of localism. For many surfers, surfing becomes their identity — and therefore their local break, their surf community, and their connections all become part of that identity. Because of this, they are not simply territorial about access to a wave, but about the complete identity they have formed through surfing.

With all of this in mind, we must ask: is localism justified, is it necessary, and what impact is it having on the global surf community?

On the negative side, localism can breed qualities and perceptions of surfing that pull it away from the organic, beautiful roots it offers. It supplies surfers with mentalities built around ownership, hierarchy, insider versus outsider — and ultimately leads individuals to treat others unethically and inhumanely. It can scare surfers away from committing to the sport after a bad experience, or lead them to believe that a certain skill level is required before they are welcomed into the ocean.

And yet, localism does carry some quieter positive qualities — though we must consider at what cost. It can assist the sustainability of breaks by keeping them less crowded. It can help preserve the surf culture and community of a break, meaning that newer influences are less likely to dismantle the surf ecosystem that community has built.

Localism can also help enforce surf etiquette, with locals calling out those who are not respecting it. In this sense, localism positions locals as stewards of the water. However, as noted earlier, some locals use it to do the opposite — to go against etiquette rather than uphold it.

These are the two directions of the wave that localism has the choice to ride. Its cross-shore impact may not rest on an absolute verdict of acceptance or refusal, but on the way in which it is carried. If practised sustainably, with integrity for all, and through respectful and kind channels, it may yet serve as a stabilising force against the negative consequences of surfing's progression. Yet this possibility invites reflection: at what point does protection become exclusion, and belonging become division?

So perhaps the question is not whether localism is good or bad, but rather how it is practised.