Reality check

Last night in the Daito class, the teacher took a little time to show his students the reality of some of the techniques they were practicing. The students were practicing waza in which an attacker grabs the defender's arms, the defender does a sort of reverse and grabs the attacker's arms in turn, and then throws the attacker. The "attacker," or training partner in this case, knows, as he is being thrown, to roll out of the throw as he lands on the mat. The teacher pointed out that a non-Daito practitioner (i.e. an actual attacker, for example) will actually fall on his face, not having his arms available to catch himself as he falls, and in all likelihood not knowing how to roll out of a throw. In a second example, using a different technique, the untrained attacker fell to his back, hitting the back of his head. The defender ended up kneeling on the attacker's chest, which in reality would probably crush his ribcage. All this, the teacher pointed out, on a hard floor or concrete sidewalk or asphalt roadway, rather than a mat. "Be careful," he said, "if you ever decide to actually use any of this on someone. Here we train safe. There, the consequences could be deadly for the attacker."

I will leave the legal implications of countering an attack with deadly force to those who know the subject better (and it depends on the jurisdiction where the altercation takes place, as well as the surrounding circumstances). But I really appreciated the Daito teacher's point, because it is often lost on practitioners, especially a class for beginners. Generally speaking, this teacher is fairly light-hearted. As I have written elsewhere in this blog, I often hear laughter from the mat as people drill in the various techniques. But last night he ended the practice on this particularly serious note.

There is a reason why Japanese swordsmanship is surrounded by ritual and extreme politeness and why the techniques are done with extreme slowness. Behind all of the cultural, historical and aesthetic aspects, and the meditative aspects as well, the stark reality of what we are doing is this - we are learning to use a deadly weapon that kills people, and we are learning to do it in the most efficient way possible. Generally speaking, any good style (not the "show styles" of flashy moves that just look cool) does not mess around with maiming an opponent (though that might happen). Iai kata are brief for a reason - after two cuts to an opponent at most (and usually only one), the opponent is finished. Even if wounded, an opponent would likely die from infection or blood loss. A calm, cool environment is the only place where this type of thing can be taught, and simultaneously developing a mindset that emphasizes manners and judgment is the only responsible way to teach it. If a Daito teacher, whose techniques consist of empty-hand, use-the-opponent's-strengths-against-him tactics, warns his students that they may overdo it if a real opportunity ever presents itself (or if the practitioner decides to show off his technique to an untrained friend), how much more for those of us who teach the use of deadly weapons?

Well, you say, we don't carry swords around with us anymore. In most jurisdictions (including mine) just carrying a sword around in such a way that it could be drawn makes the bearer subject to arrest. True. But just like it seems all too often with firearms, accidents can happen. Recklessness or a cavalier attitude can set the stage for bad consequences. Moreover, it's been my experience that casual observers have a profound lack of understanding of the inherent dangers of swords, bows and arrows. When I was young and taking Western fencing, I acceded to a co-worker's request to show him my practice foil. The very first thing he did was point it in someone else's face. A foil tip is about 1/4 inch in diameter, made of dull-colored steel. It is very hard to see, and even harder for someone to judge the distance when pointed directly at him. And this was sporting equipment. I barked a stern warning at the guy and quickly took the foil away from him. Since then, I not only don't show my equipment to people, I don't tell them what it is, even if they are nosy enough to ask. I'd rather be thought rude than have something stupid happen.

When I perform demonstrations, I tend to become almost anatomical in my description of the damage that can be done by a given technique should we not be using wooden swords, or if the "imaginary" opponent in a solo kata happens to be flesh and blood. On more than one occasion, I have seen audience members wince at the idea. That's as it should be. Practice for any number of reasons, but the nature of the practice should always be serious. As my teacher used to say at demos, "What we do is real."