PC, Woke, Or Genuine Connection And Respect?

What do surfers think when they see short social media clips of Indigenous ceremonies at surf comps from across the world, such as those shared by the WSL, Olympic events and national, state, or local comps?

I don’t have to wonder for too long, as comment sections fill up with quotes reflecting sentiments like “tokenism,” “go woke, go broke,” and “leave politics out of sport.” Equally, I wonder what Indigenous communities think when they see such comments, including many that are overtly racist, when these photos and videos are often sharing a process that has been happening for thousands of years.

This should be a proud moment that is celebrating and sharing culture with the world. These powerful welcoming ceremonies in countries like Hawaii, Fiji, Tahiti, and various locations in Australia follow significant cultural and spiritual practices led by Elders, community leaders and knowledge holders. As a proud Yindjibarndi man and surfer, I have had the privilege of being a part of these ceremonies over the last few years, and had an insight into the behind the scenes from both sides of the story.

I try hard not to get triggered by online trolls and instead let their racism and hate go along with them. What does motivate me to share this story is to give a balanced perspective on aspects of surfing culture that are rarely discussed. It connects all of us to Indigenous cultures across the world, in particular, the hundreds of First Nation’s Countries we now call Australia.

Surfers on this continent know that when we travel, the culture of a place is often the highlight of surf trips, right after the waves, of course. What is often overlooked is the world’s oldest continuing cultures in our own backyards. As these welcome ceremonies are shared, local surfers and communities learn alongside visiting surfers, as timeless cultural practices are introduced to new audiences. Elders describe critically endangered languages that are in the process of being reawakened by the Country. It’s a different kind of “woke.”

Surfing is an Indigenous sport. This statement is not meant to disrespect non-Indigenous surfers or give preferential treatment to Indigenous ones. Rather, it acknowledges the roots of the sport — or rather, the art form, activity, process, lifestyle, passion, and culture, or whatever term one chooses to describe the act of catching waves. It is widely known that surfing originated in Hawaii and Polynesia, while new evidence continues to emerge about the ocean-faring traditions of other Indigenous Peoples worldwide.

When surfing is recognised as an Indigenous sport, it also strengthens the relationship and deep connection to the Country, grounded in Indigenous knowledge. I grew up learning to surf on Wadandi Boodja, saltwater Country, in the Margaret River area. Like most groms, I was mostly unaware of the complex knowledge systems, such as the six Noongar seasons, the dreaming stories of the flora and fauna, and the creation of the coast and surf breaks. The Elders and community have been attuned to the healing power of saltwater for millennia as they travelled across Country.

Just as surfers wait for all the elements to line up perfectly for a great session, Aboriginal people listen to Country and have done so for over 3000 generations. This depth of knowledge is impossible to squeeze into a one-minute Instagram clip without appearing tokenistic. I understand the criticism for not presenting the full story, but if you visit Wadandi Boodja throughout the year, you will learn that these ceremonies are not made up for the purpose of making videos. There is a myth that they were created recently to satisfy a broader audience, which is simply untrue. Culture has evolved and changed over time, but this learning has occurred since creation.

In mid-2020, amid all the uncertainty, fear, and confusion of COVID, a global movement that was thrust into the spotlight was Black Lives Matter. Although it had existed for years before the death of George Floyd, suddenly, there was a global, national, and local uprising advocating for equity and social justice. In Australia, national protests erupted as the movement resonated with issues related to Black deaths in custody — an issue that has been a major focus in Aboriginal Australia since the death of our family member, John Pat, in my other hometown of Roebourne in 1983. Many Aboriginal deaths in custody have resulted from minor offenses, such as unpaid fines, embodying a long history of the criminalisation of Aboriginal people in Australia. Painfully, not one person has ever been charged over these preventable and ongoing deaths. And while, of course, all lives matter, this movement is about shining a light on structural racism and the inequalities faced by First Nations Peoples.

I can hear the typing now: “What the fuck has this got to do with surfing?”

At a comp on the Tweed Coast in September 2020, Tyler Wright dropped to one knee for 439 seconds — one second for every First Nations person in Australia who had died in custody since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody in 1991. As of April 2025, that number has almost reached 600. As an ally, Tyler asked Aboriginal people how she could use her platform to support the cause. With their direction and blessing, she took a stand. The Aboriginal surfing community was deeply grateful for her support and efforts to raise awareness. Parts of the online community were not.

The central themes that ran rampant (apart from personal threats and attacks) were “virtue signalling,” “leave this out of surfing,” and “politics has no place in sport!” One lone ranger offered a simple, powerful rebuttal: “Muhammad Ali disagrees!”

Rewinding to a world long before social media and shortboard surfing, I wondered: if Ali were boxing in 2025, would he be ripped to shreds online the same way Tyler is for surfing? Ali is universally regarded as one of the greatest sports figures of all time — not just for his boxing skill, but for his stance on major social justice issues. I can’t help but wonder: if this Ali quote were posted online today, would it be dismissed as woke and met with the same hate-face emojis that get thrown around so freely?

“Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go 10,000 miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on Brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights? … I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality… If I thought the war was going to bring freedom and equality to 22 million of my people, they wouldn’t have to draft me — I’d join tomorrow. I have nothing to lose by standing up for my beliefs. So I’ll go to jail, so what? We’ve been in jail for 400 years.”

Cue the passive-aggressive laughing face emoji. “Shut up and stick to boxing, mate. Stay in your lane!”

I wonder if this would have made him stop inspiring millions with both his boxing and his stance on injustice.

During the height of Black Lives Matter, Jack Robinson reached out on social media, expressing his desire to listen to First Nations surfers and surfers of colour. I grew up surfing with grommie Jack (to clarify, at Rivermouth, not The Box!), and I was stoked when, true to his word, we reconnected. While he was locked in a Sydney hotel room for his two-week quarantine, we had long yarns about history, culture, and the ocean.

I sent him videos about Aboriginal history and the river where he grew up. Like most people in Australia, he had some knowledge gaps about the true history of this country, but he was eager to learn. That commitment has never wavered. To this day, he continues to show respect — at home and around the globe — which I believe is the foundation of his strong mana: a light energy and spirit that guides him through the craziest bodies of water on Earth.

A pretty awesome role model for young surfers from all backgrounds, but especially for young Aboriginal surfers like Leihani Zoric, whose Mum and Pop grew up in Margs and have strong connections to the area.

Jack, Tyler, and the WSL community didn’t have to wait long to apply their learning. As surfing comps were cancelled worldwide due to the pandemic, a new event emerged in May 2021 on Wadjemup/Rottnest Island in WA — a site of deep cultural significance for the Noongar People. It is also one of the largest Aboriginal deaths in custody sites in Australia. Almost 4,000 men and boys — lore men, song men, magic men, leaders, and warriors — were imprisoned there as part of a deliberate divide-and-conquer strategy. Tourists slept in their former cells until just a few years ago, and over 370 of these first patriots remain buried in unmarked graves.

The surfers were welcomed to the island and given the chance to sit, listen, and learn about this complex history — all while scoring fun waves and enjoying the island’s natural beauty. Aboriginal people took great pride in seeing the surfers and staff engage meaningfully with the true history, language, and culture of the place. On the live broadcast, Elder Uncle Professor Len Collard recounted the story of the frontier wars — what should rightfully be called the Australian Wars — and encouraged everyone to keep learning.

Wadjemup’s history also has links to the moment Tom Carroll opposed apartheid in South Africa, boycotting contests in the ‘80s and potentially missing out on a world title. What many people don’t realise is that apartheid was modelled on the 1905 Aborigines Act from Western Australia — a blueprint for segregation, assimilation, and genocide, of which Rottnest is a part. Tom’s truth-telling and activism were supported by then-Prime Minister Bob Hawke, yet few acknowledged the parallel atrocities in Australia’s own backyard. Fast forward to 2021, and enter dude in basement: “Fuck, I’m changing your name from TC to PC — this has no place in surfing!”

The Wadjemup search event was a one-off. As focus returned to the event at Wooditchup (Margs), a decision was made to walk together more meaningfully, embedding cultural engagement throughout. Daily Acknowledgments of Country became more than a formality. Language signs were placed around the site. Culture was shared on the broadcast. Beautiful artwork by Aunty Sandra Hill, symbolising the building of respectful relationships, was gifted to the surfers. More genuine welcome ceremonies for all surfers and staff were held and as discussed earlier, some of them packaged up for the broadcast.

These heartfelt celebrations of culture were met with mixed reactions online. I found this curious, given that surfers have been painted up in ochre at Djarrak (Bells Beach) for decades, alongside some terrific initiatives with the Slabb family from Fingal at the Snapper event. All Australians should be proud of these cultural celebrations, as well as the stories of our Aboriginal sports heroes — Ash Barty, Cathy Freeman, and Soli Bailey, to name a few. We should all be stoked that a proud young Aboriginal surfer won the Volcom Pipe Pro and is now taking the freesurfing world by storm. Yet his choice to put the Aboriginal flag on his jersey was again met with mixed responses.

“Mate, can’t you just be a proud Aussie? Why does it always come back to race? Make your choice — are you a proud Aboriginal or a proud Aussie?”

Mate, he can be both.

We can all agree that virtue signalling and tokenistic activism — whether in surfing or beyond — don’t genuinely help anyone and, in some cases, achieve the opposite of what they claim to support. Quick and simple gestures made in isolation, like changing your social media profile picture, don’t mean much without genuine learning, engagement, and action. Donate time and money if you can. Talk to your friends and family. Take your kids to events. Ask how you can support various causes.

The problem with using terms like woke and PC to dismiss all forms of activism is that it discourages people from learning and walking together to create real change. Online racism and bullying will always exist, but the fear of being labelled woke and choosing inaction instead only makes things worse — real people suffer in real ways. Aboriginal people experience some of the highest rates of suicide, incarceration, and negative indicators in the world due to the ongoing impacts of colonisation. We need everyone’s support to turn that around — including celebrating the great parts of culture and sharing them with the world.

John John is often the first person sitting on the sand, listening and learning at Welcome Ceremonies. He once asked me a simple question, for which I was very grateful: “What can I do to help?” I gave him a straightforward answer: “Bro, you’re doing it. Just being here, giving your time to listen and learn from brother Zac Webb, Uncle Wayne Webb, Aunty Sandra, and the Wadandi community is significant. Slowing down and sitting on the Boodja is walking the walk.”

So when you see a ceremony shared in an Insta reel or some clips fusing surfing and culture online, pause and think about what it represents — an outstretched hand to sit, learn, reflect, and connect. With truth-telling comes truth-listening and a reciprocal relationship to continue learning together. In the Yindjibarndi Nation, we call this Nyinyart — the laws of reciprocity to care and share. These knowledge systems from this country enrich our connection to land, ocean, skies, and waterways.

Imagine a world where our future surfers are even more connected to Country and to each other. You don’t have to dream about it — wake up and make it a reality.

Now, time for me to read the comments calling me woke. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll disconnect and go for a paddle instead.