The looming threat of automation and economic displacement is not just a distant future concern—it's rapidly approaching, risking upheaval on a scale rarely seen before. But here’s where it gets controversial: what happens to millions of people deemed 'useless' by technological progress? To explore this pressing issue, let's take a deep dive into an unlikely history lesson—Australia’s relationship with the welfare system, or 'the dole,' and its surprising connection to surf culture.
Predicting the future is notoriously uncertain, but many experts believe that Artificial Intelligence (AI) will soon reshape our social fabric dramatically. Nobel laureate Yuval Harari, in his book Homo Deus, warns of the emergence of a ‘useless class’: individuals stripped of economic, political, and even artistic value, rendered incapable of contributing meaningfully to society’s prosperity. Essentially, they could become unemployed and unemployable at the same time—a frightening prospect that sparks fierce debates around possible solutions like Universal Basic Income (UBI). Are we prepared to pay people simply for existing, and what risks does that carry? Will it lead to a society of aimless, dispirited individuals? These questions are more urgent than ever.
Turn back the clock a few decades, and you find Australians—and their surfers—living under a form of UBI known affectionately as ‘the dole.’ This social safety net, surprisingly overlooked in surf history, provides clues to a future where those cast aside might find new purpose. During the post-war decades, Australia’s welfare system quietly supported millions, a system rooted in hard-won political principles.
World War II left behind technological innovations crucial to surfing, such as polyurethane foam, fiberglass, and polyester resins—materials developed from wartime needs like aircraft coatings and radar countermeasures. At the same time, the welfare state emerged from the 1941 Atlantic Charter, which proclaimed fundamental human rights including freedom from want and fear. By 1945, Australia had established a comprehensive dole system, funded by the Commonwealth government, embodying a societal commitment to economic security.
In the 1950s, surfing in Australia was still conservative—tied to surf clubs, with surfers living simple, workaday lives. It wasn’t until the late-sixties counterculture—shaped by anti-war protests, drug experimentation, and alternative lifestyles—began to influence the scene. Australian surfers, inspired by California’s burgeoning scene, began to break free from traditional norms. Prosperity in California, with its long-haired, moneyed youth, contrasted sharply with Australia’s more subdued coastal communities, often struggling economically.
Nevertheless, depopulation, flood-prone soils, and limited land fertility kept the North Coast of New South Wales economically stagnant well into the 20th century. Yet it was this backdrop of hardship that bred a resilient surf culture, driven by ‘surf peasants’—low-income workers who jumped trains or hitchhiked to find their slice of paradise at spots like Byron Bay and Angourie. Movies like Morning of the Earth romanticized these utopian coastal retreats, overlooking their economic struggles.
During the 1970s, Australia’s working-class surf scene thrived amidst economic depression and high unemployment, which ironically contributed to the affordability of surf lifestyle. Beachside shacks could be rented for minimal rent, and the low costs of living, combined with the indexed welfare, meant that many surfers managed to sustain themselves. As Phil Myers, a prominent shaper from Lennox Head, recalls, surviving on the dole was a matter of resourcefulness, occasionally pushing boundaries—sometimes even involving small-scale illegal activities like marijuana cultivation, which was commonplace.
The era’s surf scene was also deeply intertwined with cultural expression—bands, music, and creative communities flourished, often fueled by dole payments. Notably, Australia’s dominance in professional surfing emerged during this time, producing many world-class surfers and winning multiple world titles. While direct proof is elusive, it’s plausible that the benefits of funded leisure and community development—akin to modern youth sports and arts programs—played a role in elevating competitive standards.
The 1980s are remembered as the golden age of Australian surf and rock 'n' roll excess, despite beginning with a severe recession. High unemployment in 1983 saw waves of young surfers living on the dole, traveling to Indonesia, and making a living through a mix of legal and illegal means. Surfers could rent beachfront shacks inexpensively, often supplementing income with cash-in-hand work, including increasingly prevalent marijuana cultivation. This era saw Australian surfing ascend into the global spotlight, with brands and competitions gaining prominence.
Meanwhile, Byron Bay and other surf towns became hotspots for itinerant surfers living off the dole, traveling cross-country, camping, and constantly chasing surf dreams—all without the economic safety net we take for granted today.
Byron’s reputation shifted over time: once a symbol of dole-bludging and counterculture, it’s now a luxe destination for the wealthy. Yet, behind the tourism veneer, the legacy of Australia’s welfare-supported surf culture laid foundations for a uniquely Australian approach to surf and community life—one rooted in resilience, resourcefulness, and a collective identity.
As we face an uncertain future marked by technological upheaval, the big question is: can we learn from this history? Will widespread unemployment and a 'useless' class be tolerated, or will society adapt—perhaps through innovative programs like UBI or expanded welfare—to ensure that even those left behind can find purpose and community?
The Australian experience suggests that with the right support, community, and creativity, what once seemed lost—like surf, culture, and purpose—can flourish again. The challenge is whether we’re willing to rethink our economic models before the tides of automation wash us away. Do you believe society will embrace this change, or will resistance deepen? Let me know your thoughts below.
