Friendly reminder that when we describe shark finning as “indescribably cruel” we are also describing people who fin sharks as “indescribably cruel” and this has worrisome racial, class, and power dynamics.

Miami-based marine scientist Catherine Macdonald has slammed the British government for calling shark-finning “indescribably cruel”.

Shark finning involves removing the dorsal fin from sharks before tossing the still living body back into the ocean.

Shark can’t swim, they sink, get eaten or suffocate.

It ain’t pretty, but fishing rarely is, the lil creatures flapping around on deck or killed in nets or hook.

The animals lose the fins to fulfil a robust demand for shark fin soup in China, the delicacy real popular around Chinese New Year. It’s a cultural thing.

Around seventy to a hundred mill sharks are killed each year via finning.

Anyway,

Animal Welfare minister Lord Goldsmith said, “Shark finning is indescribably cruel and causes thousands of shark to die terrible deaths. It is also unforgivably wasteful. The practice is rightly banned in UK waters, but the trade continues, with serious implications for the future of these magnificent creatures. “That is why we are now banning the import both of detached shark fins and shark fin products.

“Our action will not only help boost shark numbers, it will send a clear message that we do not support an industry that is forcing many species to the brink of extinction”.

Pretty standard stuff.

And, you would think, right up the alley of progressives.

Well, it ain’t, not when hurt feelings now occupy the apex of the Woke pyramid.

See, hacking fins off sharks is an Asian thing ergo if you call it “indescribably cruel” it ain’t any less toxic than getting up in yellow face, taped eyelids, conical hat etc.

Responding to Goldsmith’s comments Macdonald writes,

Friendly reminder that when we describe shark finning as “indescribably cruel” we are also describing people who fin sharks as “indescribably cruel” and this has worrisome racial, class, and power dynamics.

The discourse around shark finning is frighteningly problematic. It lacks important specificity (almost always conflating the process of finning and the trade in fins). It actively dehumanizes fishers and consumers.

I care a lot about shark conservation. But it cannot be predicated on the idea that the lives of sharks are more important than the lives of people who depend on fisheries, or on arguments that other cultures bear all responsibility for a complex global conservation problem.

Dunno, what do you think?

A glorious history of the surfing Flim-Flam man!

Last month, Moroccan-born Ahmed Erraji posted a tightly-edited YouTube clip of himself wiping out somewhere in the Canaries. He gets swept shoreward, pushed into a cave, and is trapped for over two hours before the tide drops and he is literally ejected back to open ocean and safety. 

Erraji’s GoPro survived the tumult and allowed him to film the ordeal from inside the cave, and the money shot is a selfie of his zinc-covered worried-but-not-panicked face as a wave rushes into his rock-ceilinged cravasse and turns the screen black. 

Too black, maybe? 

Watch the clip here.

I’m 96% sure the whole episode is bullshit, and the number goes up each time I watch. Surf-world opinion is divided. Tracks thinks the clip is legit. 

BeachGrit readers do not, for reasons listed in the comments section here. 

(It may not be the biggest tell—nobody else brought it up—but watch for a split-second shot at 3:23 of Erraji supposedly riding a backwash off the cliff and erupting missile-like from the far side of the next wave.)

I’ve given some thought to the difference and confluences, in a surf-world context, between the prank, the scam, and the hoax.

The prank is the fun-forward member of the trio. The prank is 15-year-old Roman Emperor Elagabalus not only inventing the whoopie cushion but also sneaking full-grown (tame) lions into the bedrooms of guests who were sleeping off the previous night’s orgy. 

“Indeed,” the Historia Augusta noted, “for him life was nothing except a search after pleasures.”

The print version of Encyclopedia of Surfing was fragged by this amazing prank from 20 years ago when a sandboarding expert in Oregon spread the word that his sport began in ancient Egypt on clay pottery fragments, and I printed that in the book.

In turn, I have written about noteworthy surf-world pranks, and three of the best are featured here. 

Great hoaxes age well, and my favorite will always be “A Surfer’s Nightmare,” in which Doc Ball not only superimposed a shot of “Nellie Bly” Brignell in full crucifixion stance atop a photo of a massive pre-WWII Long Beach storm wave, but sold it to Look magazine—and yes, I suppose that means that Ball himself, while deeply religious, wasn’t above a bit of lightweight scamming, and good for him.

“This picture has caused more controversy than any other I possess,” Ball later said, and I for one detect a hint of pride in his voice.

The scam by nature is not fun—unless you are Paul Newman or Robert Redford, in which case it is very fun indeed. The scam is conceived and deployed to enrich the scammer. Scientifically defined, the scam is three-quarters of whatever Miki Dora did when he wasn’t riding waves. (Dora of course dabbled elsewhere, and it might be said that he pulled off a scam-prank-hoax trifecta with his 1974 “Winner Take All” competition scheme.)

While I appreciate our flimflamming pioneers, I also cheer those who push forward, and this brings us to a final point.

Apart from working in a different medium, has Ahmed Erraji bring anything new to the game? 

Yes. He previewed the hoax. He called his shot. Scroll Erraji’s Instagram, and look for the April 7, 2021, post.

 There it is, all teed up in the caption.

“Find what you love and let it kill you.”

(You like this? Matt Warshaw delivers a surf history essay every Sunday, PST. All of ’em a pleasure to read. Maybe time to subscribe to Warshaw’s Encyclopedia of Surfing, yeah? Three bucks a month.)

Echoes of WH Auden’s The Platonic Blow… 

A little light relief from the desk of Joan Duru, the prematurely weathered French surfer who won the Olympic qualifying event in El Salvador but not enough, perversely, to get him onto the French Olympic team. 

Now, in a saucy post to his retiring countryman Jeremy Flores, Duru has, in a metaphorical sense, opened his fly, a ten-inch monster lunging from the lair as Flores’ bottom lip trembles uncontrollably.

Writing on Instagram,

Félicitation pour ta carrière incroyable !
T’as gagné les meilleurs compets pipe teahupo et à la France 🇫🇷 !
Bravo et merci d’avoir poussé toute une génération française en arrivant avec un niveau de fou!
Bravo le fou va falloir fêter ça maintenant

Hit the translate button and,

Congratulations on your amazing career! You won the best blowjob Teahupoo competitions and France! Well done etc.

Accidental? A coded message? Freudian?

Very reminiscent of Auden’s The Platonic Blow, which you can, and should, read here.

A sample passage,

By soundless bounds it extended and distended, by quick
Great leaps it rose, it flushed, it rushed to its full size.
Nearly nine inches long and three inches thick,
A royal column ineffably solemn and wise.

I tested its length and strength with a manual squeeze,
I bunched my fingers and twirled them about the knob,
I stroked it from top to bottom. I got on my knees.
I lowered my head. I opened my mouth for the job.

More as the story grows…