"I heard rumours Sarge turned pro surfers gay by raping them in their sleep, as if homosexuality is something you can catch, like a disease."
(Editor’s note: A decade-and-a-half ago, I commissioned the noted Fred Pawle to write a story about the surf photographer Paul Sargeant’s misadventures, which had included a sexual assault on a popular surf journalist. At one point the story stalled because a former Tracks editor said Sarge would kill himself if it ran. Sarge is still alive, although not exactly thriving it can fairly be stated. The story below poses the question: was his excommunication from the pro surfing scene a cruel and unfair punishment for a man whose life was based entirely around the tour’s orbit? Not an opinion I hold, if you wanna know.)
For around two decades, from the early 1980s to the early 2000s, the name Paul Sargeant was synonymous with surf journalism excellence, and, fittingly, given the times, he sometimes adopted the Gonzo style of writing to accompany his flawless photography. Sarge” was universally respected and had access to the world’s best surfers, something few other photojournalists achieved at the time.
Surf elites considered him “one of the boys,” unaffiliated to the corporations, but uniquely positioned to help young surfers deal with them. It was unimaginable that the surfing world’s affection for Sarge might ever wane. But 20 years ago, in October of 2005, it not only waned but also divided Australian surfing into those who continued to support him and those committed to destroying him; defending themselves as protecting others.
Sarge, who, like many creatives, battled his own demons, including bipolar disorder and alcoholism, also had the darkest secret. Something that many men in Australian surfing considered to be unforgivable. He was bisexual, or as some homophobes persecuted him back then, “a poofter”.
Working for Sarge in the early ‘90s was my dream job. He was super chill and let me do whatever I wanted. I filmed during the day and edited his surfing scrapbook video series at night. One of the most fun parts of the gig was travelling all over the place with great surfers who had no other desire in life than to ride waves. Another fun part was listening to lots of cassette tapes that bands had sent us, who let us use their music for free. Driving up and down the coast listening to new Australian indie music with a car full of juvenile reprobates was my happy place.
I was aware of Sarge’s same sex attraction and felt sorry for him having to work so hard to keep his sexuality secret. I wished for him that he could just be out and proud, but this was Old Australia, so well observed in the Monty Python “Bruces” skit. John Cleese’s character recites the seven faculty rules of the University of Woolloomooloo:
- No poofters.
- No member of the faculty is to maltreat the “Abos” in any way whatsoever—if there’s anyone watching.
- No poofters.
- I don’t want to catch anyone not drinking in their room after lights out.
- No poofters.
- There is no rule six.
- No poofters.
When, one drunken night in South Africa in October of 2005, Sarge was interrupted performing an unsolicited sexual act on a sleeping fellow surf media associate, the surfing world was thrown into chaos.
While the surfing world had previously buried any cases of male-on-female sexual abuse or assaults on the Pro Tour, this was a bridge too far. For redemption, restitution was required. Many believed Sarge never entirely made amends for his sins or comprehended the damage he had done, and after a raft of other allegations surfaced, he was banned from all non-public areas of ASP events. He disappeared from the Pro Tour and never returned.
He was, in my view, a living sacrifice.
Sarge as cultural sacrifice
In the 20 years since then, Sarge has been all but expunged from Australian surfing history. It was “cancel culture” in full swing. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the rumour mill has fabricated and promulgated a diabolical new Jekyll and Hyde-like version of him.
I heard rumours that he had somehow turned some pro surfers gay by raping them in their sleep, as if homosexuality is something you can catch, like a disease. I talked to a few of the guys this was supposed to have happened to, and they told me it was a lie. Within a few weeks, Sarge went from much-loved to mostly hated. It was one hell of a fall from grace.
The die had been cast, a generation keen to emerge unscathed from a sordid past into a more diverse, inclusive and equitable future had a ritualistic peace-offering to make, hoping for a better future for everyone.
Atonement was achieved.
Who better than one of the most loved photojournalists in the business? After all, ideally, it had to be a man, a flawed man.
But it couldn’t be one of the idolised surfers, who were God-like and beyond reproach.
When I asked Sarge recently if he would attend the funeral of a friend of ours, a famous surfer who fell on hard times and who Sarge helped unceasingly right up until the end, he told me he had been told not to.
He has, over the years, received innumerable death threats. Something far easier to give than receive.
“It’s incredibly painful,” he confided in me.
I told Sarge I thought he may have been sacrificed on the altar of political correctness so that Australian surfing could progress into its glittering, financially bountiful corporate future unimpeded by its problematic past.
He agreed. “Yeah, my minister pointed it out to me.”
I find it hypocritical that the far-from-perfect surfing world, something he worked tirelessly to support, would turn on him and remain so unceasingly unforgiving. I know many people in the surfing world, none of whom avoided making mistakes in their lives.
As it says in the Bible Sarge gave me, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
I’m not defending whatever Sarge did that was harmful to others. As the victim of childhood sexual assault, I know firsthand how damaging these unfortunate incidents can be. They affect our whole lives.
However, the way forward can only ever be forgiveness; the alternative, revenge, is too terrible to consider. It sets in motion untold damage for generations to follow.
Like the old saying goes: “He who seeks revenge should dig two graves.”