Every now and then, someone in my sphere of acquaintances asks if I would ever be interested in teaching (or why I never have taught) a class just for women. I bring this up because another colleague gave me a book of essays by martial arts teachers on teaching which I have just started to read. The first essay was by a male teacher, describing his arc of learning and eventually becoming a teacher; of dealing with the disappointment of students who first learn, and then leave, and how he came to realize that whatever way he touched the lives of his students was beneficial, both for him and for them.
The next essay, by a female teacher, described her experience teaching at a martial arts academy that was solely for women and children. The essay was filled with warm fuzzy stuff about teaching as an expression of love, and a harkening back to some ancient group of female priestesses who are somehow women's forbears in the martial arts.
The woman was the better of the two writers, which is probably why my reaction to the second essay was stronger than the first. But of course it was the content of the second essay that was so concerning to me as a teacher and practitioner. The female author described, at the start, being approached by some beginning instructors about a problem they were having with some students. The students were questioning the authenticity of the teachers' methods and opining about them to others in the class. Our author had agreed to teach one of the classes, in the hope of assessing the problem and trying to determine how to help her junior instructors resolve it (after all, it was their class). Great. But by the end of the essay, she never tells us how the problem was resolved. Instead we are treated to a long ramble on love, and women's martial solidarity through history, all of which had me gritting my teeth as I read. While the first essay was sort of predictable, the second one was more dissatisfying.
However, this essay, annoying as it was, brings me to the crux of the problem of women in the martial arts, at least in the US (I don't know about other places). The author began by expressing her concern with her beginning instructors' class, then embarked on a long ramble about women's empowerment and how they have tried to structure their academy to be non-hierarchical. Fine, as far as it goes. Hell knows everyone brings their own political stuff to what they do - some people are just more pronounced about it than others. But all groups, no matter how non-hierarchical they aspire to be, must deal with issues of power and how it is used (or abused). There is simply no remedy for it. In my other life, I used to belong to a (non-martial arts) group that does not specifically exclude men, but has very few involved. The women who occupy the senior positions in this group would do Machiavelli (or maybe the Borgias) proud. The violence does not consist in being punched in the face during a grudge match after regular training; instead, it's all psychological. And it's devastating. Of course, on the surface, everything is lovely. Needless to say, after years of trying to negotiate a path through the highly political currents of the group, I left, as many others have done before me, and continue to do now.
So spare me your universal love thing. Everyone who teaches martial arts should repeat this mantra: It's the technique, stupid. Teach the technique. If a student decides for some reason that your approach is somehow inauthentic or does not suit her in some other way, politely suggest she look elsewhere. It's a free country. And defend your instructors! Always.
As for me and the all-female thing, if I was invited to teach a seminar for an all-women's group, I would not hesitate to take part (in fact, I have already done this at least once). But I would never teach an all-women's class on a regular basis. I have no interest in attempting to create a "safe" bubble for women to practice. A bubble is a bubble - what good will the bubble do you once you emerge from it to go home? Moreover, and more importantly to me, nearly all of my teachers have been male. They could have made it extremely difficult for me to learn, but instead they welcomed my interest (I can't say the same for some of my male, American colleagues, but that is another, and rather tiring, story). I would consider it a betrayal to my teachers if I arbitrarily excluded men from my class and hid in the all-female bubble. My teacher, Otani Sensei, once told me, "If you can play with the boys, you can do anything!" something I always used to take as being brave, stepping up, and doing what needs to be done.
I do wonder about the women and children's academy, though. What do they tell the boys when they get to be 16 (or is it 18)? Yeah, this dojo has been your martial arts home since you were five years old, now go elsewhere? Maybe it's just tough love (or tough luck).
