"I never met him, but then, a lot of people who have never actually met me hate me" - this from my academic advisor years ago, after I showed him what was, to this date, the nastiest rejection letter I had ever received from a journal editor. Since I had mentioned that I was his advisee in the cover letter (something I never did again), I wondered if the guy was taking his dislike of my advisor out on me. The above quote, which I have never forgotten, was his response. And his advice was simple - academic publishing can be nasty. If you are going to stay in it, grow a thicker skin. I have, and I still publish - in online journals, here and even on paper occasionally.
But publishing takes all kinds, even more now that there are so many fora out there for expressing oneself in virtual print, if not physical. I have heard from colleagues in martial arts/academic publishing of potential authors who seek to grind whatever axe they have, along with the occasional threatening reactions when their masterworks are rejected as being in some way unsuitable for publication. Generally speaking, these overreactions have been, as one of my Texas friends puts it, "all hat and no cattle," but unfortunately, there are times when martial arts could be said to deserve its violent reputation. I know of no one in martial arts publishing who does not take these threats seriously. A little paranoia beats complacency when you are talking about people who train themselves, however metaphorically, to hurt other people.
About 15 years ago, I published an article in an academic martial arts journal. It was my first major article on the meaning of martial arts practice, and it summarized what I had learned in grad school about performance theory which I applied to the practice of traditional (i.e. non-sport) budo. It being a small journal and all, there was not much in the way of recognition for awhile, but eventually it was reprinted several times. I am still somewhat proud of it in essence (though I cringe at some of the actual writing - was that me?) - it was my first effort at putting some organized thoughts on paper on the subject, and though my thinking has become more complicated, I think, on the whole, that it still holds up.
About 5 years ago a colleague got in touch with me that a grad student somewhere had written a "rebuttal" to my then 10-year-old article. The colleague, the editor of a set of on-line journals dealing with martial arts, combat sports and stage fight choreography, wanted to publish the piece, but he wanted to publish it alongside a response from me. Since I had not really looked at my article since preparing it for its last reprint, I agreed. He sent me the grad student's essay.
Let me say at this point to the uninitiated that academics often relish fights in print, and while the print stuff is often fairly sedate and entertaining to readers, it often stands in for real antipathy between the authors. I have worked at academic conferences where the organizers would go through lists of potential invitees, noting that if so-and-so was invited, then another so-and-so would refuse the invitation, and so on. They would then try to decide which of the two was more germaine to the proceedings, and invite accordingly (inviting both would inevitably mean that both would refuse). It sounds trivial, but it's not. Academics invest a great deal of themselves in their work. Like budoka with big egos, the professional frequently becomes personal. Combine the two together and the situation can become truly combustible.
It was this relishment that spurred my colleague on this project, and I knew it. Fight! Fight! Fight! At the outset, I thought it was funny that the grad student, whom at this point I will call "KG" (not even his real initials, but it is easier to write), would consider his article a "rebuttal" since I had really couched my article as an investigation into whether performance theory could be laid on to budo. In fact, as a more ethnographic writer at the time, it was a little out of my usual ken to write something that dealt with theory at all, but sure. Some of the writer's points were okay, as far as they went. One of the sources he charged me with not consulting had not actually been published until years after my article had appeared (which I pointed out). One of his big points was an error in my transliteration of exactly one proper name, a point I conceded, except to point out that other writers frequently took transliteration liberties. Mine had been based on the way that people in Tokyo had actually pronounced the name, was all. Had I based my transliteration on the actual spelling of the name, I would have probably come to his same conclusion, but in the context of the entire article, it seemed an extremely small nit to pick. I concluded by more or less thanking KG for prodding me into a second look at my earlier work. I also suggested that he should write more about his own ideas rather than spend time trying to make his reputation by pulling down someone else's, but this is a not uncommon tactic (however tiring) in academia.
The two pieces were published side by side. I figured end of story. I figured wrong. KG wasted no time in sending an email blast, saying my response was "wrong," and that he was going to continue to prove me "wrong" by writing yet another follow up (leaving aside the idea of "wrong" in a theoretical article once again was an oxymoron). What bothered me was not so much the content, as the tone. I don't believe I was "wrong" in sensing that there was menace in his response, an implied physical threat. It concerned me enough that I did a search to figure out that at least he did not live in my neighborhood. For his part, the publisher decided he did not want to print a "response to a response to a response," as he put it, so he told KG he was not interested in the follow up piece.
The feeling that I got from this exchange, and subsequent ones, was this: not only were my ideas "wrong" in KG's eyes (everyone's entitled to his opinion), but that somehow my even being here was wrong. KG is not by any means the first man I met or heard from who felt that women should not practice budo, let alone teach, or have something to say about it. In my dating life (ancient history at this point) I met my share of clods who did not like women - thought there was something strange about them, "they're not like us," or that women should, in the words of a (very) former colleague of mine, "know their place." So for me, as a woman, to have an actual opinion, published in an actual journal on martial arts, was simply beyond an affront - it was an insult to budo manhood. The implication was that in stepping out of my "place," someone should push me back in.
To make a long post a little shorter, KG went to several colleagues, including the publisher of the original article, all of whom declined his piece. In several cases, the publishers emailed me to ask what the guy's problem was, to which I really had no answer, since I did not know. Every time he was rejected, I would be sought out, first by email, then, most recently on Facebook, by KG, to let me know the latest, accompanied by a challenge of some sort that we should have a discussion on why I was "wrong." This has gone on - no kidding - for five years.
He sent me a copy of his piece at some point, which I did not read. He's entitled to write it, but it is (ahem) not my place to actually have to read it unless I feel like it.
Finally - success! An FB post last week to let me know that he had finally found an online publisher willing to put his piece up, in spite of "efforts by [my] cabal" to prevent it (this amused a colleague: "you have a cabal? Cool."). This happy news was accompanied by yet again another demand as to why we cannot communicate "like adults" so I can hear firsthand yet again why I am "wrong." A challenge to respond! (And again, an implied threat).
So I responded - I blocked him on FB. You attempt to strike, I block - should be easy enough for even KG to understand.
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