Those fucking retards at the New York Times were kinda cute when they screwed up every other article on surfing. But this time, the sensationalists over there keep trying to connect localism with the Bird Rock Bandits killing of Emery Kauanui Jr.
The first incident is in an otherwise well written article on the case. The writer had quotes from Tim Bessell and Richard Kenvin. She seemed on it, then she went over to Fox news to write the rest of it:
Violence had long been a part of the local culture at Windansea; one group, the Windansea Surf Rats, had for decades used physical violence to intimidate outsiders and tagged the group’s initials in surf wax on the sidewalk near the beach.
She couldn’t find a connection stronger than that because localism isn’t about beating someone to a death. It’s rarely even a fist fight. It’s telling them to go home. It’s paddling their carburetor out into the lineup and dropping it. It’s wax on windshields. I’m not condoning it, I’m just stating what it is.
In the rest of the article, she offers no thread of connection between the event and localism, other than the fact that Emery was a surfer. If he played hockey, and La Jolla was a hockey town, would she have written about fights in the rink?
The second instance appears in a freaking fashion article of all things:
“Although little about localism or surf territorialism is new, the public was mostly unaware of how violent the battles fought between locals and outsiders over popular breaks have sometimes become… …the well-publicized San Diego murder trial of one such alleged surf gang”.
Surf Gang? How many of them actually surfed? They played football, they spent more time on MySpace and in bars drinking than in the water. They were not a surf gang.
The NYTimes are using Emery Kauanui Jr.’s death to ramp up page views, and thus ad dollars through sensationalist tactics and shoddy journalism. The reality is any attempt to draw a line between some jocks with gang aspirations and surfing is just plain incorrect.
NYTimes, I hope you can find a big enough pry bar to get your writers heads out of your collective ass.