View this post on Instagram
Well, here was a banner headline that I just couldn’t resist clicking on:
“IVANKA TRUMP SHARES VIRAL VIDEO LEARNING TO SURF WITH ‘INCOMPARABLE’ SURFING LEGEND.”
This, on Sports Illustrated’s “Adventure” site, along with the aforementioned New York socialite’s Insta-posting of herself creditably trimming ahead of the pocket of a clean, shoulder-high wall at the Kelly Slater Surf Ranch, being “short-roped*” the entire length of the ride by the “incomparable” Raimana van Bastolaer, Tahiti’s legendary “King of Teahupo’o.”
“Wrapped up an epic trip to Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch in Lemoore, California,” gushed Ivanka. “The perfect waves, incredible vibes and unforgettable experiences made it the adventure of a lifetime.”
With few exceptions, comments pretty much amounted to a big shaka from the many thousands of Ivanka followers, including “Love this!” from @islandlaker, “She’s amazing!!” from @stephanie and, most significantly, “Look at you!! Wow incredible” from none other than Kim Kardashian, no doubt setting up the enticing possibility of a future Surf Ranch session that tabloid dreams are made of.
SportsIllustrated.com, on the other hand, skipped the triple flame emojis (plenty of Ivanka fanboys out there apparently), presenting a more pragmatic perspective on the viral response to this remarkable Surf Ranch “adventure.”
“Regardless of political beliefs, this type of press and exposure is a great thing for the sport of surfing, as it is currently riding the wave of unparalleled international attention it has scant received before.”
I’ll save discussing the merits of this particular statement for another time. I will, however, address some of the comments Ivanka’s epic trip to Lemoore elicited from a very different quarter: actual surfers, whose pattern of response took an unexpected turn. Instead of cherry-picking the low-hanging fruit (Her “poo stance?” Use of the term “epic?” Full wetsuit, mid-summer in Lemoore?), I was taken by the responses focused on Raimana himself, whose seasonal employment as the Surf Ranch’s celebrity surf host apparently led many to actually feel sorry for him.
“He must be getting an insane paycheck to be willing to leave paradise and live in Lemoore to be a servant for kook billionaires…” tapped out one self-proclaimed cultural expert on Reddit, portraying the beloved and much respected Tahitian as a mere menial. A fellow commentor continued the theme:
“I highly doubt he’s making enough. He’s literally one of the only people on the planet with the skill and size to do what he does. He’s worth at least $500K to the Surf Ranch during peak season and he probably makes less than a fifth of that.”
Others made earnest attempts to examine Raimana’s presence in Lemoore from a historical perspective. For example, one particular site better known for dick jokes saw a spirited thread compare the imminently affable Islander to two Native American historical figures — Pocahontas of the Powhatan and Sacagawea of the Shoshone — two remarkable young women whose cooperative interaction with early European colonists and American explorers has become the stuff of legend. Bios of both are well worth looking up, yet if one does, it immediately becomes clear that neither serve as accurate cultural comparisons to van Bastolaer, at least not in the context presented by the site’s ersatz academics. That of exploited indigenous peoples. Better would’ve been to dig into our sport’s own distinctive history, where one would find that not only does Raimana’s Surf Ranch session with Ivanka not represent any sort of exploitation, but actually casts the estimable Tahitian waterman as the modern incarnation of a time-honored, traditionally Polynesian role: the beachboy.
“The dictionary describes a beachboy as someone whose livelihood is derived from surfing instruction and outrigger canoe rides,” wrote author Grady Timmons in Waikiki Beachboy (1989), the definitive book on the subject. “But even this is a limited definition. There is a larger sense of the word, one that suggest a way of life. Men like Duke Kahanamoku, who was not a professional, were beachboys in the truest sense. They lived for the ocean and for a lifestyle centered on the beach.”
Intrinsically linked with the history of Waikiki and the birth of modern Hawaiian tourism in the early-to-mid 20th century, the beachboy’s role as surf instructor was perhaps the most evocative, with images of bold, bronzed Islanders treating hapless haoles to the thrills of the surf proving an essential element of the successful marketing of Hawaii as a vacation paradise. Yet it wasn’t just for tourist posters — those early beachboys were the real deal. Colorful characters like Dude Miller, Blue Makua, Panama Dave Baptiste, Turkey Love, Kahanamoku, Steamboat Mokuahi, not to mention the “incomparable” Rabbit Kekai, were all consummate watermen, equally adept at all manner of Polynesian ocean expression: fishing, diving, canoeing, sailing and, most demonstratively, surfing. For the island-born, these cultural activities came naturally, their deep connection with the sea that surrounded them evident in every endeavor; for what they got to do every day, whether being paid for it or not. Which is perhaps why they saw no contradiction in sharing their love of the sand and the surf and the sea with those who, in their estimation, might be a whole lot wealthier, but much less fortunate.
“What’s important to remember about the beachboys,” asserts former world champion Fred Hemmings in Waikiki Beachboy, “is that it wasn’t really a business for these men. It was a lifestyle. Taking tourists surfing was incidental to the fact that they were men who had a lifelong love affair with the ocean.”
That affair continues. Contemporary Island beachboys like Clyde Aikau, Titus Kinimaka, Brian Surratt, Tony Moniz, Hans Hedemann, Aaron Napoleon and the late, great Dane Kealoha, all made the transition from dominating the surf to sharing their love of the surf with everyone from Mainland kindergartners and famous actors to corporate titans and budget holiday makers; carrying on an honorable tradition that, while born over a century ago in the accommodating billows of Waikiki, has led to the phenomenal growth of surf schools, where beachboys and girls of all nationalities ply their skills in waves around the globe, unknowingly with the sweet scent of plumeria in their DNA.
As in Lemoore, California, for example. Where Raimana van Bastolaer, an undisputed Polynesian alii, master of waves from shoulder-high Surf Ranch to five-story Teahupo’o, escorts the scion of a well-known political family on the ride of her life, smiling the whole time at the good fortune of being able to do so; for the opportunity to share something he very obviously loves so much.
Forget feeling sorry for him.
I say be like Raimana.
*Short-roping” is a mountaineering term in which a certified guide actually ties themselves to a less-experienced client with a (you got it) short rope on the way to the summit.
