Localism in France
In Hawaii, Tahiti or Reunion Island, where mixed martial arts are very popular, localism is often expressed through physical violence. In France, it’s more akin to intimidation or tire-piercing: shouting, throwing water in each other’s faces, it’s closer to the hysterical hen defending her eggs. Where, since the dawn of time, visionaries have imagined ways of living together harmoniously, the local hottie, with his guenon cries, deconstructs in 15 seconds the hope of a spiritual elevation of mankind.
However, it’s important to distinguish between those who are actually local surfers, and have nothing to be ashamed of, and those who spend their time trying to prove it, against all odds, through territorial behavior. Those who fall into the latter category are very often patchworks, and the most authentic locals don’t spend their time celebrating themselves.
Of course, surfers, whether local or occasional, deserve a modicum of respect, and when human pressure coupled with unsportsmanlike behavior becomes too great, the surfer has no choice but to protest.
But this is also where the genesis of localism lies. Of course, it’s absurd to imagine that on the one hand, there are locals who respect the rules of surfing, and on the other, surfers passing through who do whatever they please. Unfortunately, it’s easy to stigmatize the foreigner, just like our politicians, who blame the weak for the failure of the corrupt system that brought them to power.
Take Hossegor, for example, where almost everyone seems to surf, across all social classes, ages and professions. The number of local surfers is such that they don’t all know each other, so in 90% of cases, a clash in the water will pit two locals against each other. The argument of geographical proximity is all the more pathetic. Since we can’t take on the foreigner, the tourist who deserts the Landes beaches in winter, we have to deal with several types of behavior:
Parochialism: the surfer from the neighboring village is not welcome. Inherited from the village rivalries of the Middle Ages, when people were a bit rough around the edges? Some Thrumps babies would like to erect Lilliputian borders around their sandbanks to prevent intrusion from their neighbors.
Incivility: the surfer doesn’t say hello anymore. The surfer who doesn’t respond to your greeting may have traffic jams. It can also be a passive way of expressing hostility. On a beach in the south of France’s Landes region, a few locals recently institutionalized the practice: “Since that’s the way it is, we won’t say hello anymore, will we? It may sound childish,… but in reality, it is indeed childish, but without the excuse of youth!
The Jon Wayne: the surfer sulks and says hello with a taciturn nod. Ask him to play the harmonica for you, it’ll relax him!
The droit de cuissage: Lord in his fiefdom, the so-called local arrogates to himself the right of priority over all waves, and other passes, allowing himself the same behaviors he criticizes others for, and ends up being a source of nuisance for everyone, including other locals.
Homage to Neanderthal: where a friendly discussion, with subject, verb and complement, would have been enough to settle a dispute, the sandbox local prefers to scream.
Surfer, the imaginary adversary
The grumpy local can’t stand the increase in the number of surfers, and goes so far as to deny the usefulness of tourism, which has improved his quality of life: jobs, cultural life, direct and indirect economic spin-offs, access to varied, high-quality surfing equipment. It’s true that property prices are rising as more and more people settle and invest in the region.
But what’s his solution – pout when he goes surfing, slash a tire, tag a beachside sign? Localism, while it aims to police the spot, generally ends up dispensing one-sided justice, a source of sweeping judgments, xenophobia, misunderstandings and unnecessary tensions.
Of course, traveling also means respecting the locals. More generally, surfing means respecting a certain number of rules common to all surfers, whether they’re French or Brazilian, from Seignosse or Capbreton. Flouting these surfing rules helps to create the conditions for a latent conflict, which won’t necessarily create localism, but is nonetheless a first step in the escalation of violence: by sowing incivility, danger and tension, surfers sometimes reap what they sow.
I see the local villain more as a bogeyman for adults, an imaginary creature for immature surfers: in order to share the cake and be nice to his little friends, this surfer sometimes needs a little tugging on his ears.
My advice, given the increase in the number of surfers, is to embrace the basic rules of the civilized world: be polite, respect the surfing discipline and its practitioners, and prefer communication to ranting!
Localism in France
In Hawaii, Tahiti or Reunion Island, where mixed martial arts are very popular, localism is often expressed through physical violence. In France, it’s more akin to intimidation or tire-piercing: shouting, throwing water in each other’s faces, it’s closer to the hysterical hen defending her eggs. Where, since the dawn of time, visionaries have imagined ways of living together harmoniously, the local hottie, with his guenon cries, deconstructs in 15 seconds the hope of man’s spiritual elevation.
However, it’s important to distinguish between those who are actually local surfers, and have nothing to be ashamed of, and those who spend their time trying to prove it, against all odds, through territorial behavior. Those who fall into the latter category are very often patchworks, and the most authentic locals don’t spend their time celebrating themselves.
Of course, surfers, whether local or occasional, deserve a modicum of respect, and when human pressure coupled with unsportsmanlike behavior becomes too great, the surfer has no choice but to protest.
But this is also where the genesis of localism lies. Of course, it’s absurd to imagine that on the one hand, there are locals who respect the rules of surfing, and on the other, surfers passing through who do whatever they please. Unfortunately, it’s easy to stigmatize the foreigner, just like our politicians, who blame the weak for the failure of the corrupt system that brought them to power.
Take Hossegor, for example, where almost everyone seems to surf, across all social classes, ages and professions. The number of local surfers is such that they don’t all know each other, so in 90% of cases, a clash in the water will pit two locals against each other. The argument of geographical proximity is all the more pathetic. Since we can’t take on foreigners, the tourists who desert the beaches of the Landes region in winter, we have to deal with several types of behavior:
Parochialism: the surfer from the neighboring village is not welcome. Inherited from the village rivalries of the Middle Ages, when people were a bit rough around the edges? Some Thrumps babies would like to erect Lilliputian borders around their sandbanks to prevent intrusion from their neighbors.
Incivility: the surfer doesn’t say hello anymore. The surfer who doesn’t respond to your greeting may have traffic jams. It can also be a passive way of expressing hostility. On a beach in the south of France’s Landes region, a few locals recently institutionalized the practice: “Since that’s the way it is, we won’t say hello anymore, will we? It may sound childish,… but in reality, it is indeed childish, but without the excuse of youth!
The Jon Wayne: the surfer sulks and says hello with a taciturn nod. Ask him to play the harmonica for you, it’ll relax him!
The droit de cuissage: Lord in his fiefdom, the so-called local arrogates to himself the right of priority over all waves, and other passes, allowing himself the same behaviors he criticizes others for, and ends up being a source of nuisance for everyone, including the other locals.
Homage to Neanderthal: where a friendly discussion, with subject, verb and complement, would have been enough to settle a dispute, the sandbox local prefers to scream.
Surfer, the imaginary adversary
The grumpy local can’t stand the increase in the number of surfers, and goes so far as to deny the usefulness of tourism, which has improved his quality of life: jobs, cultural life, direct and indirect economic spin-offs, access to varied, high-quality surfing equipment. It’s true that property prices are rising as more and more people settle and invest in the region.
But what’s his solution – pout when he goes surfing, slash a tire, tag a beachside sign? Localism, while it aims to police the spot, generally ends up dispensing one-sided justice, a source of sweeping judgments, xenophobia, misunderstandings and unnecessary tensions.
Of course, traveling also means respecting the locals. More generally, surfing means respecting a certain number of rules common to all surfers, whether they’re French or Brazilian, from Seignosse or Capbreton. Flouting these surfing rules helps to create the conditions for a latent conflict, which won’t necessarily create localism, but is nonetheless a first step in the escalation of violence: by sowing incivility, danger and tension, surfers sometimes reap what they sow.
I see the local villain more as a bogeyman for adults, an imaginary creature for immature surfers: in order to share the cake and be nice to his little friends, this surfer sometimes needs a little tugging on his ears.
My advice, given the increase in the number of surfers, is to embrace the basic rules of the civilized world: be polite, respect the surfing discipline and its practitioners, and prefer communication to ranting!
