Authoritarianism. Fascism. Totalitarianism. Communism. Alcoholism. Pessimism (and for that matter, sparkly-eyed unbridled optimism). Acne. Yup, you get the point, right?
This author is seldom a fan of any “ism”. The ‘ism of just about most things often indicate some force, movement, or crackpot ideology has unfortunately gone astray and far surpassed the draconian threshold. So okay, not acne – sure, but still, acne is kak.
Local is lekker – localism is kak.
Locals are lekker.
At any virtually surf spot globally, its local surfers have their place. Stewards of the ocean, gentle, noble enforcers of the lineup’s rule and order, guardians of the surf. Men, women, young and old, custodians beyond race and creed, they’re usually a merry bunch, like hobbits hopped up on nitrous oxide. Sure, some of them went way too hard on the acid trips back in the day, and can often be found talking to lampposts or trying to wax up their own face in their cars. So although each spot will have its eccentrics – for the most part – locals are cool.
No locals at a surf break have to share their knowledge/insights of the local break. However, just to share the stoke, they sometimes do. These kinds of okes know what surfing is about. Appreciation of the ocean and its natural beauty, the marine life and respect for your fellow surfers and general ocean lovers. Occasionally these guys even wave white flags at SUPers. Also, they often display no apparent bigotry towards delusional beginner surfers holidaying from the Vrystaat or Gauteng. Locals are lekker. Check out some of Trident’s previous Top 5 lists of quirky kinds of locals here, here and here.
Then there is the locals’ evil twin. Simply add the dreaded “ism” and of course you have – localism.
Localism is kak. Kak, I tell you. KAK! Grunting leather-skinned, glassy and/or shark eyed orcs with an underbite grimace and an aura so dark that it could drown out the sun, these disciples of localism can be found in lineups worldwide from Bells to Bellville. They follow one basic and fascist belief: “I was here first, therefore this break is mine.” The Yosemite Sam-like rednecks of the surfing world’s narrative is that they own their piece of the ocean. Invariably they feel they own the whole ocean, and their general bad behaviour extends far beyond their own local break. You may see them aggressively headbutting some middle aged mid-lengther * in a crappy San Diego beachbreak for instance.
(* Ed’s note: The spellcheck wanted to change “mid-lengther” into “Neanderthal”. Read into that what you will. True story.)
How does one fall into such a delusional state of being, you might ask? Apart from decades of in-breeding perhaps?
Spoiler alert – the answer is power.
It all boils down to trying to exert some form of power. Followers of localism are often small-minded, petty, weak and impotent (in the sense of being powerless, for gosh sakes, this isn’t the Lifetime channel) in other aspects of their life. Perhaps they were once productive, valuable members of society. Although this seems like the most hackneyed, far fetched science fiction. More than likely, by joining the localism clan, will be the only way that these individuals will ever experience some sense of control and might. Like joining a gang, cult, extreme political party or the local branch of the Girl Scouts. The deep routed insecurity most adherents of localism feel also shows its ugly face when they pick on often physically smaller individuals. Adherents of localism tend to be small, pathetic and insecure bullies, who in all likelihood, probably cry-wank themselves to sleep every night.
How should one deal with localism then?
That is for you to decide, but it’s best to stand up against it. (Full disclaimer, Trident will not be held liable for any loss, damage, death or disability, that may result from the reading of this article):
- Be Ungovernable. Fill an old school surf van full of groms and overthrow them. Drop in on their every wave.
- TP their house.
- Secretly marry their wives/girlfriends/moms and adopt their kids. Show them a better life, folks.
- Surf with a knife and cut off their leash
- Watch, point and laugh as they get old (and fast too). Time is a cruel mistress and Karma’s a bitch.
- Start flirting with them. (This is risky as although it may freak them out – it may have the undesired effect of them reciprocating. Although, it may mellow them out so you never know.)
- Chloroform them, then put them in a crate and ship them to the Philippines.
- Volunteer them for the mission to Mars without their knowledge.
- Cover their car in bread crumbs and let nature and the seagulls will do the rest.
