[This post has been quite revised, relatively speaking. That's what happens when one serves two masters - Mammon being one of them.]
This is a follow up from the previous post, and also to a certain extent, from Budo Bum's comment -wonderful idea, that - a dojo with a group of committed, senior students with experience training in Japan. What serious budo teacher here has not dreamed of that? But, to paraphrase a now-disgraced defense secretary, you go to okeiko with the students you have. I have lowered my expectations to the point where I am just happy happy happy to have people to train with - it's my major motivation as a teacher.
What does it mean for a non-Japanese person not living in Japan to become part of a koryu tradition? Is such a thing possible? Some would say no, or give a qualified yes - it's possible to join a tradition, but like the anthropologist deciding to take membership in the group she is studying, her presence will alter the dynamic of the group in ways it has never seen before (and probably make her resarch obsolete). Rather than relatively slow generational change, a tradition that opens itself up to foreign students will experience a change in dynamics.
After years of seeing and observing traditional groups become more involved in the non-Japanese world, I would have to say the phenomenon is a mixed bag. It's been a real blessing for sumo, apparently (which is not budo, but it is definitely a tradition). The entry of foreigners into competition has raised the profile of what was a hidebound sport form, raising its profile internationally in a way that would never have happened otherwise, and providing more entertainment value for Japanese and international audiences. (Though as I said in a previous post, attempting to export sumo has not worked out so well).
On the other hand, another koryu budo tradition that I have seen become established in the United States has suffered, I think, a sense of an Americanized idea of what it means to belong to a tradition. I am not sure what the Japanese honbu's ideas were when it gave permission to establish this particular branch here (and I hope readers can understand my reluctance to name names), but I believe part of the plan was for the style to spread throughout the US. The leaders of the US group apparently studied some "how to grow your franchise" type books and implemented a branding plan. Everyone who studied the style had to wear the same keikogi, with variations that indicated rank in the ryuha (beginners had to wear judo gi, ikkyu and above could wear hakama with white keikogi, sandan and above could black keikogi, etc.). Everyone wore patches. When visiting the old country, everyone in the group had to wear uniform shirts when appearing in public.
Needless to say, when training in Japan, the US students were objects of curiosity. In a country that is much more into uniforms than anyone here is, the lookalike shirts nevertheless created murmurs on public transportation - uniforms were for work, or for a sports team, but for a bunch of US budoka on a training vacation? The keikogi uniforms created interest on the dojo floor also, where the standard black, patchless keikogi and hakama are considered normal for iai practice. (Some groups are more motley, and there are no particular rules.)
One of my ex-colleagues remarked that the leaders of the US group were "more Japanese than the Japanese." I always thought this was insulting to everyone concerned - what it was, was budo as interpreted through a corporate America lens.
We don't have much here in the way of traditions - Thanksgiving is really our only American holiday, and immigrant families bring their own traditions to bear (a harvest festival is one of those things that's very close to universal). The US as a nation exists on borrowed traditions from different places and times. Sometimes our parents' and grandparents' traditions (ex football), sometimes traditions adopted from other times and other cultures.
In fact, the alacrity with which some of us put on the personae of other cultures is surprisingly, and I think distressingly, eager. One person, whom I know slightly, found out that one of his forbears was Native American, and went all out adopting what he thought the dress of his ancestral band must have looked like. Once he was just a white guy, now he's Leaping Sparrow, or something. (Should it go without saying that, unless they are involved in a ceremony of some sort, Native Americans dress pretty much like the rest of us?) Another I know slightly better has decided that Japan is a place where women walk elegantly in kimono and everyone is very, very nice to each other - all the time. He and his wife sprinkle Japanese words into conversations (she is European, he is Hispanic). The image they hold is charming, but inaccurate.
Japan is definitely one of those places where pretty much no matter what you ever do, you will always remain something of an outsider. I don't consider this a problem, really, but it makes me uncomfortable to meet foreigners in Japan who don't understand that point. One of my former sempai who has lived in Japan for many, many years also says he still does not think he fully understands the culture, and he is surprised when he sometimes meets foreign visitors who are convinced they (as they put it) "get it."
We cannot shed our original cultural trappings. I sometimes tell curious people that I am a "Presbyterian Buddhist" (and the reactions range from one person's snorting with laughter to another's solumn look of essentially ignorant acceptance and respect). I was raised protestant, and now I am - not sure. And since I find it incredibly rude that anyone would make assumptions about another person's faith (not just my own) I have come up with that confounding rejoinder. Whatever else it conveys, it shows that I do not feel I can entirely escape my background, and furthermore, I don't want to.
As for our involvement in traditional ryuha, I think we must tread carefully to respect the training we have been admitted to, but to pay attention always to our unique place in it. When we go to another culture for training, we will adapt, but we will also be adapted to. We will have an impact by our presence and there is no way to avoid it. And that can be a good thing. In spite of the silliness I mentioned above, the ryuha with the US franchise has yielded some benefit for the Japanese honbu. And the US students are getting a strict, if slightly slanted, training in a very old tradition, a win for them that cranky thinkers like me don't make much difference to.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Traditions and beyond
I had a great time in Japan over the past two weeks. It is hard to believe I came back a whole week ago. I miss the old country - the cheap food, the deep sense of history, the toilets with heated seats that spray your butt on request (especially since at least half the time the weather was really pretty cold).
One of the things I really enjoyed while I was there was watching the Kyushu Sumo tournament every afternoon on TV if I happened to be near one at that time of day. When I lived in Japan in '92, I was able to catch three separate basho (spring, summer and fall) and got familiar with the wrestlers (especially the brothers at the time called Takahanada and Wakahanada). At that time there were a few foreigners. Konishiki was still wrestling (and complaining), as was Akebono. I am no longer so familiar with the wrestlers, but it was good katakana practice to read the origin countries of many of the top competitors this time around. And of course, I was intrigued by the idea that one of the most traditional sports in Japan has become, if not dominated by, then at least significantly enhanced by, a foreign presence. Is there a metaphor here for koryu budo practice?
Some people would definitely say yes. I have a colleague who has maintained for years that the only way to really learn koryu budo is to learn it in Japan. (We should leave aside for a moment that he actually teaches people in New Jersey now.) There is a strong case to be made for this argument. Look at the sumo tori on TV - physique-wise and technique-wise, the training, traditions and rituals have made them the same in every possible way (ex actual plastic surgery to alter facial features and skin tone). If I was not trying so hard to read the names at the beginning of each match, I would have a hard time figuring out where most of these guys are from - they're just wrestlers. My colleague has argued that the same thing can happen to foreigners who move to Japan to train in koryu, and there are some nice examples recently of Donn Draeger training in jodo on the web that help bear this idea out as well. Except for his size, it's not just his technique, but his whole bearing in the kata. He moves very similarly to his Japanese training partner.
Sumo also provides examples of what can happen when people attempt to train outside its traditional culture. Some who have taken up sumo outside Japan are seeking to make it an Olympic sport. They have stripped it of its rituals and even, in some cases, from its traditional wrestling gi, subbing the stretchy leotards that western wrestlers wear instead. There are even some women who train in sumo. But is sumo without the rituals and traditional lifestyle still sumo?
I would have to agree with my colleague if he was to say that sumo without its rituals is not sumo. Sumo outside Japan is some form of wrestling, but really we should give it some other name.
On the other hand, sumo is not budo; and in spite of its age, it is not koryu budo either. People who practice koryu budo in Japan are pretty much like the people who practice it outside Japan; i.e., they have jobs, and families, and obligations. They do not live in an intensive training-camp environment. What they do have, that most American would-be koryu budoka do not have is a deep sense of history. At least a certain percentage of practitioners can point to some samurai lineage. And they have other advantages, of course, such as regular practice in a koryu budo style with high-level practitioners.
They also tend to have a deeper sense of commitment. While several of my American colleagues (as well as myself) consider budo to be a part of our identity, most Americans never have a very deep sense of commitment. Many drop in and out, or study until they get bored, until they think they have "mastered" the technique, or until something cooler comes along. Not that one does not find similar people in Japan - I do, but the number of truly committed people seems to be higher.
So the question gets down to koryu tradition, and whether someone who does not live in Japan can actually become a part of that tradition. One of my colleagues says yes, and says that even for foreigners, koryu budo training makes us a part of that tradition. Others say no, it's not possible unless you live there. I tend to agree with the first colleague, but I often wonder what that means.
One of the things I really enjoyed while I was there was watching the Kyushu Sumo tournament every afternoon on TV if I happened to be near one at that time of day. When I lived in Japan in '92, I was able to catch three separate basho (spring, summer and fall) and got familiar with the wrestlers (especially the brothers at the time called Takahanada and Wakahanada). At that time there were a few foreigners. Konishiki was still wrestling (and complaining), as was Akebono. I am no longer so familiar with the wrestlers, but it was good katakana practice to read the origin countries of many of the top competitors this time around. And of course, I was intrigued by the idea that one of the most traditional sports in Japan has become, if not dominated by, then at least significantly enhanced by, a foreign presence. Is there a metaphor here for koryu budo practice?
Some people would definitely say yes. I have a colleague who has maintained for years that the only way to really learn koryu budo is to learn it in Japan. (We should leave aside for a moment that he actually teaches people in New Jersey now.) There is a strong case to be made for this argument. Look at the sumo tori on TV - physique-wise and technique-wise, the training, traditions and rituals have made them the same in every possible way (ex actual plastic surgery to alter facial features and skin tone). If I was not trying so hard to read the names at the beginning of each match, I would have a hard time figuring out where most of these guys are from - they're just wrestlers. My colleague has argued that the same thing can happen to foreigners who move to Japan to train in koryu, and there are some nice examples recently of Donn Draeger training in jodo on the web that help bear this idea out as well. Except for his size, it's not just his technique, but his whole bearing in the kata. He moves very similarly to his Japanese training partner.
Sumo also provides examples of what can happen when people attempt to train outside its traditional culture. Some who have taken up sumo outside Japan are seeking to make it an Olympic sport. They have stripped it of its rituals and even, in some cases, from its traditional wrestling gi, subbing the stretchy leotards that western wrestlers wear instead. There are even some women who train in sumo. But is sumo without the rituals and traditional lifestyle still sumo?
I would have to agree with my colleague if he was to say that sumo without its rituals is not sumo. Sumo outside Japan is some form of wrestling, but really we should give it some other name.
On the other hand, sumo is not budo; and in spite of its age, it is not koryu budo either. People who practice koryu budo in Japan are pretty much like the people who practice it outside Japan; i.e., they have jobs, and families, and obligations. They do not live in an intensive training-camp environment. What they do have, that most American would-be koryu budoka do not have is a deep sense of history. At least a certain percentage of practitioners can point to some samurai lineage. And they have other advantages, of course, such as regular practice in a koryu budo style with high-level practitioners.
They also tend to have a deeper sense of commitment. While several of my American colleagues (as well as myself) consider budo to be a part of our identity, most Americans never have a very deep sense of commitment. Many drop in and out, or study until they get bored, until they think they have "mastered" the technique, or until something cooler comes along. Not that one does not find similar people in Japan - I do, but the number of truly committed people seems to be higher.
So the question gets down to koryu tradition, and whether someone who does not live in Japan can actually become a part of that tradition. One of my colleagues says yes, and says that even for foreigners, koryu budo training makes us a part of that tradition. Others say no, it's not possible unless you live there. I tend to agree with the first colleague, but I often wonder what that means.
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