Finding My Way to the Coast (and the People Who Protect It)
By Yossi Cadan, Executive Director, Surfrider Foundation Canada
I’ve spent most of my life working on environmental issues—climate, oceans, forests, finance, and politics. But if I’m honest, what has kept me in this work for more than 35 years isn’t just the issues themselves. It’s the people.
The slightly stubborn, deeply committed, often creative (and occasionally mischievous) people who believe things can be better, and then decide to do something about it. That’s what drew me to Surfrider. When I first joined Greenpeace Canada many years ago as Programme Director, I was given a bit of advice before my first program retreat.
“Just so you know,” someone told me, “these meetings can get… emotional. People might cry. Don’t take it personally.” Not particularly reassuring.
I walked into that retreat expecting tension, maybe even conflict that couldn’t be resolved. And to be fair, there was a lot in the room: frustration, fatigue, a sense that things weren’t quite working the way they should. But something else happened.
We slowed things down. We listened—really listened—to each other. We named what wasn’t working, but we also started to see what could work. Piece by piece, we built something together: a shared sense of direction, clarity, and, most importantly, trust. By the end of the retreat, no one had cried.
Instead, people left feeling accomplished. There was energy in the room. A sense that we had turned a corner—not because everything was suddenly easy, but because we had done the hard work together.
That experience has persisted with me ever since. It shaped how I think about leadership: not as having the answers, but as creating the conditions where people can find them together.
Of course, not all moments in this work are quiet and reflective. Some are… a little unconventional.
At Greenpeace Canada, a group of volunteers once decided to deliver a message to Cloverleaf's headquarters, a tuna company whose sourcing practices were depleting vulnerable tuna populations. Their strategy? They showed up at the office and told security they were there to perform a Christmas gift song. And somehow, it worked.
The guards, thinking this was a festive gesture, gathered staff into a conference room. And that’s when our volunteers began to sing… about ocean destruction, unsustainable fishing, and the company’s role in it.
It was bold. It was unexpected. And it worked—not just because it got attention, but because it cut through in a way that no report or meeting ever could. Moments like that remind me that change doesn’t come from a single approach. It comes from strategy, yes—but also from creativity, courage, and a willingness to try something different.
Over the years, I’ve worked on campaigns that might seem far removed from the beach—engaging global banks, pension funds, and corporations to shift how billions of dollars are invested. But the truth is, it’s all connected.
The decisions made inside boardrooms shape what happens in our oceans. The health of coastal ecosystems depends on choices made far upstream—in finance, policy, and industry. What excites me about Surfrider is that it brings these worlds together.
It’s grounded in community, in surfers, volunteers, and local leaders who know their coastlines intimately. But it also has the capacity to connect those local efforts to wider change, influencing the systems that shape our environment at scale.
I live in Uxbridge, Ontario, with my partner, on the traditional and treaty territory of the Williams Treaties First Nations. And while I’m not next to the ocean every day, I’m fortunate that my two kids live in Vancouver, which gives me a very good reason to spend time near the coast. Like many of you, I’ve come to understand that connection to place isn’t just about geography. It’s about responsibility. About care. About showing up.
In the coming months, my focus will be simple: listening, learning, and building relationships across the network, staff, chapters, volunteers, and partners. I want to understand what’s working, where we see opportunities, and how we can strengthen what already makes Surfrider so powerful.
I also see my role as helping create closer connections between regions, making sure that great ideas, lessons, and energy don’t stay local but move across the network in ways that support everyone.
If you’re part of this community, I’d genuinely love to hear from you. Whether it’s a quick conversation, a challenge you’re facing, or an idea you’ve been wanting to explore, please get in touch. This organization is at its best when people feel connected, heard, and able to contribute.
And for those wondering about the shift in my work, from finance and policy into a more community-rooted organization, this actually feels a bit less like a change and more like a return. The work with institutions matters, but it only works when it’s grounded in real communities, real places, and people who care deeply about them. That’s what I see in Surfrider. And that’s what I’m excited to be part of.
As I enter this role, I don’t come with a fixed blueprint. What I do bring is a way of working: listening first, building together, and being willing to try things, sometimes carefully, sometimes creatively, occasionally with a bit of boldness.
I’m really looking forward to meeting you, staff, volunteers, chapters, and partners across the country and learning from the work you’re already doing.
And if history is any indication, I’m sure we’ll have a few unexpected moments along the way.
Warmly,
Yossi
