How Black Surf Communities in Los Angeles Are Creating Safe Spaces for People of Color

One visit to the Venice Beach boardwalk and it's easy to understand the appeal of the Los Angeles coastline. The Pacific Ocean sparkles in the sunshine along stretches of white sand before dazzling oranges, reds, and pinks paint magical sunsets. Here, one can indulge in coastal bicycle rides, beach yoga, and sea moss-infused smoothies.

Another big draw to Los Angeles is the booming surf culture. Even in the colder fall season when the ocean is chilled, you can still see surfers bobbing on the water, waiting to catch a wave. And while it feels as though something as vast and impartial as the ocean should warrant inclusive space for everyone, the Los Angeles surf community is known for being exclusive — a very white space. Waves are territorial, marked if you will, and historically, have not been open to Black people.

Now, Black surf communities are creating spaces to change that.

In the early 1900s, Los Angeles beaches reflected the rigid racial segregation of the time. Black Angelenos were often relegated to a few small, contested stretches of sand.

One of the most significant sites in this history is Bruce’s Beach in Manhattan Beach. It was purchased in 1912 by Willa and Charles Bruce, a Black couple who established a resort catering to Black beachgoers. Despite its popularity, the Bruces' success was met with harassment and hostility from white neighbors and officials.

In 1924, the city seized Bruce's Beach under eminent domain, ostensibly for a park but likely to dispossess the Black owners. Decades later, the land was returned to descendants of the Bruce family and now Bruce’s Beach is an emblem of resilience and a painful reminder of the area's exclusionary past.

Over the past few years, however, there has been a rise in Black surf communities, groups of people who love to surf but have felt ostracized, or even unsafe, by California’s surf community.

“Black surf communities have been creating safe space for people of color to get outside and surf,” David Mesfin, the director of Wade in the Water, a documentary focusing on California’s Black surf community, told Travel + Leisure. “They change the image of what surfing looks like and give people the confidence to travel and surf on their own.”

While these communities are gaining international attention now, they are not entirely new to the L.A. area. In the 1930s and 1940s, Santa Monica's Bay Street Beach, often called “The Inkwell,” became a haven for Black beachgoers. While small, it was a crucial space where legendary Black surfers like Nick Gabaldón would pioneer the sport, despite facing discrimination in both the surf and local establishments.

In the 1950s and 1960s, the Ebony Beach Club emerged in Santa Monica, in a bold attempt to create a private beach for Black families and travelers. Facing strong opposition and legal challenges, this too became emblematic of the broader struggle against racial exclusion in outdoor leisure spaces.

“White surfers often live by the beach,” Mesfin said. “And they have a family member to teach them how to surf. There is a big disconnect with those living in the inner city and don’t have access to the beach.”

These historic areas are now openly accessible, but the legacy of segregation lingers, impacting diversity on L.A.’s beaches today. Black surfers and outdoor enthusiasts continue to push against subtle, ongoing barriers like accessibility, resources, and access.

“There are layers,” Mesfin said. “There are white surfers who can surf anywhere, then there are Black male surfers who have to be careful about where they surf but then there are Black women surfers — they have it the hardest.”

Cue Jessa Williams, the founder of Intersxtn Surf, an inclusive, judgment-free collective for women of color to learn how to surf. After discovering the healing and uplifting power of the ocean throughout the pandemic, Williams knew she had to share the joy of surfing with women who may not have had access to the ocean.

“We are creating an inclusive, curated safe space,” Williams told T+L. “We are learning from people who look like us, see us, and understand us. We are building a connection with other women and with the outdoors. Surfing is just the vehicle for that.”

Each meet-up consists of 25 to 50 women, who discovered the group through word of mouth or social media. They are under the tutelage of Williams and her partner, surfer and model Tre-lan Michael, one of the few Black big wave surfers in the world. In addition to beginner surf lessons, Intersxtn Surf has expanded to include international surf retreats, camping trips, yoga, and more.

“There are reasons why [Intersxtn] needs to exist but while we are out here [on the water], we don’t want to think about it,” Williams said. “We have so many things in our life that demand so much of our energy, a newfound hobby or joy through surfing will not be one.”

Through groups like Intersxn, the beaches of L.A. are attracting more people of color to the waves. And, in turn, the Black Surf community continues to foster a culture of inclusivity where beaches once stood as symbols of exclusion.