Selema Masekela on artistry and activism. And how surfing is his fuel source for both

Selema Mabena Masekela is mind surfing. His shoes were discarded 10 paces ago, left in a sandy pile on LA’s Venice Beach. The rough location: Somewhere south of the skatepark and north of Muscle Beach gym. 

It’s mid-week and gray overhead, so the shore is fairly deserted outside of a bunch of kids in powder blue wetsuits. Some are kicking up sand as they practice goofy-footed pop-ups, others are paddling out on soft-tops firmly guided by surf instructors. In the water to the north, a couple of more experienced groms are catching waves. And Selema is in the line-up with them. Mentally, that is. 

To mindsurf is essentially a practice of visualization; mapping movements in your mind’s eye. It’s the same as when climbers mentally complete their route before clipping in. I might have met Selema for the first time only a few hours ago, but I already get the sense that his brain is constantly on the go—observing surroundings, turning over ideas, mindsurfing the next wave. It’s not a vigilance, and it doesn’t feel judgemental; he reads more like a person who is just innately curious.

“I think that in order to show up as your whole entire self, with an ability to be curious and to pay attention, requires radical presence,” he tells me. “The scroll is a motherfucker, and the irony is that we call it ‘surfing’.” 

Whether it’s surfing, trail running or skating, name an outdoor sport and it’s likely Selema is doing it. “Out there,” he says, pointing to the ocean, “my digital avatar cannot join me.”

In many circles, Selema is something of a legend. Some know him as an action sports commentator who has traveled the world hosting broadcasts for X Games, VICE and the Olympics. Others respect his advocacy in the surf world; the way he’s shown up, and spoken out on matters of diversity and inclusion within the community.

“I believe the creation of art that focuses on the magic, and the experiences, of the coastline creates stewards for the climate. You make art, people get fired up on it, they get curious and they become passionate. Now you’ve got soldiers.”

- Selema Masekela

Then there are people like me, who neither surf nor watch ESPN, but love the records of Selema’s late father—the iconic Hugh Masekela—one of South Africa’s most beloved jazz musicians and activists. I was in Cape Town the month that Hugh Masekela passed away in 2018, and the trip was scored by the sound of his trumpet playing through café and airport speakers. When I returned to Australia, I discovered Selema’s discography, and learned the artistry was inherited. 

From releasing R&B records under Alekesam, a musical collaboration with Sunny Levine, to hosting Umlando—Through My Father’s Eyes a 10-part series centered on his travels in South Africa with his father during the 2010 FIFA World Cup, it’s almost superhuman how many projects Selema seems to—successfully—juggle at any one time. The key to keeping all these creative endeavors in a flow state, he tells me, is maintaining a relationship with nature. And surfing was how he first learned this.

“Being able to sit and witness where you’re at, I think that’s my favorite thing as a surfer,” he says. “I always joke that we’re ‘going sitting’. Because sometimes not that much surfing takes place… We’re finding the alchemy with the water that we’re sitting in, floating in. And just being present and in awe of the magic of the environment.”

Selema discovered surfing as a teenager when his family moved from New England to Carlsbad, San Diego. Moving to a coastal Californian town introduced him to a different way of living—one where the community culture was woven around the ocean. 

But falling in love with surfing was eye-opening in more ways than one. “Kids openly said to me: ‘But Black people don’t swim, what do you mean you’re going to learn how to surf?’ And they said it to me as if they were delivering me a public service announcement.,” he recalls.

“And that lit a real fire in me to be like: ‘Oh, really? Watch this’,” Selema says. “The joy that surfing gave me only made me double down. I grew up not seeing myself in the reflection of this space that I loved… Over the course of my first eight to 10 years in the water, I think I literally  met three or four other Black people who surfed.”

Then a surfing event in Malibu, hosted by the Black Surfers Association, sparked the activist and storyteller in him. “It was the first time where I was on a beach and there were 30 other Black people surfing,” he says. “And what that did to me was really powerful.”

Ever since, Selema has been on a mission to use his platform to raise up diverse voices and find a path for action sports to empower the next generation. In 2004, he co-founded the non-profit Stoked. Stoked started in an NYC skatepark and, over the course of two decades, has expanded to offer surf, snowboarding and skate programs, internship opportunities and millions of dollars worth of scholarships to over 10,000 youth from underserved, underrepresented communities. 

As a Surfrider Foundation ambassador, Selema has broadened his change-making to include environmental causes alongside the fight for representation. “I believe that the creation of art that focuses on the magic, and the experiences of the coastline, creates stewards for the climate. You make art, people get fired up on it, they get curious and they become passionate. Now you’ve got soldiers,” he says.

“There’s documented experiences of surfing going back to the 17th century in Ghana, and yet we’ve been raised our whole lives to think that the surf story is solely one of the southern Pacific.”

- Selema Masekela

Surfrider LA’s One Watershed is a beach access equity initiative that brings young kids in LA county to their local beach for surf lessons. “A lot of times people think of surfing as just a hobby,” says Selema. “But for marginalized people who have been denied access to a space where they get to engage with and play with nature—it’s a shedding of trauma.” 

Surfrider is known for its climate and ocean advocacy, but equity is also a major part of the nonprofit’s mission. Programs like One Watershed serve to engender a sense of belonging—within all zip codes—to the ocean. A reminder that nature isn’t a privilege, it’s a right.  

“That’s the power of the ocean,” smiles Masekela. “You give everyone access, and in turn, those people become passionate and fired up to defend it. Sympathy takes place from a distance, but empathy—the type where we build connection to the point of community—that’s what terrifies power. That’s what terrifies the people who just want to exploit and plunder. They don’t have any connectivity.”

Walking the damp shoreline, his green shirt embroidered with white butterflies, Selema nods to everyone he passes and stops for a quick chat with a surf instructor. It’s a series of small connections with the people around him. 

“We’re actually like mycelium. We’re a network,” he says. “And when we bond together, we are undefeated as human beings. History shows that it’s taking place in micro-communities every day across the world.”

One of the connections Selema is particularly passionate about is bridging the gap between western surf culture and African surf culture. “Africa has more surfable coastline than any other place on the planet,” he says. “Unfortunately, most people within western society still think of Africa as a country and not 54 nations and the biggest continent in the world.”

Inspired by his surf adventures, from Senegal to Mozambique, Selema helped create AFROSURF, a hard-bound coffee table book sharing the stories of surfers from across the African diaspora. 

“There’s documented experiences of surfing going back to the 17th century in Ghana, and yet we’ve been raised our whole lives to think that the surf story is solely one of the southern Pacific,” he tells me. “And then you go to Dakar and you’re like, ‘oh shit, this is what ya’ll do’.”

Selema is no stranger to travel and he talks freely of tapping into “source power” in the islands of Fiji and getting spat out of a barrel in Indonesia. And while our conversation at times meanders from the Kuny Mountains of British Colombia to The Lijadu Sisters (twin singers from 1960s Nigeria), I find that everything circles back to surfing.  

“The most powerful travel moments for me are the ones where I get to sit in the most stillness,” he says. “Sitting in the middle of the ocean, all my friends have gone back to the beach, and it’s just me and the sunset and a foreign horizon. And I think, how can I simplify my life down to this?” 

For Selema, presence is the fuel source for both his artistry and his activism. It’s a timely reminder for us all as we navigate a society that champions distraction and prioritizes convenience. Do I want to buy a board and schedule a surf lesson? Not necessarily. But do I feel compelled to slow down, sit in stillness and spend more time with my toes in the sand? Absolutely.

To learn more and get involved, visit surfrider.org—because the ocean needs more friends

For more Artivist stories like Selema’s—head to Intersectional Environmentalist

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