Yesterday, I braved the oxymoronic late March NYC chill (you would have to live here to understand that point fully) to go to a concert at Columbia University. The music on offer was not the usual fare: it was the 10th anniversary performance of a group that specializes in ancient Japanese music. The first half of the concert featured ancient music and the second half featured both modern pieces written for ancient instruments, and a modern piece inspired by ancient music (specifically, an abreviated version of John Cage's "Ryoanji"). The first half of the concert was definitely the less popular half, as evidenced by the restless audience. In the most annoying of New York fashion, people straggled in during the introductory talk; then left in the midst of the first, second or third pieces - not even waiting for the musicians to finish playing. Add in the simultaneous lighting of smartphone screens between every piece and the effect was positively maddening, especially among people who should know better.
To be sure, gagaku and hogaku - the two featured forms of Japanese ancient music - are acquired tastes. My appreciation of ancient Japanese music stems from going to a Shinto festival years ago. The festival featured almost 100 musicians playing the small, hand-held mouth organ, called a shoh, which produces a dreamy and unusual sound, sometimes rich, sometimes just a thin tone, and the hijiriki flute. The two instruments together sometimes create a disharmonized but somewhat hypnotic effect. The resulting performance was exactly what one might want for a Shinto ritual, but maybe not suitable for a cold spring afternoon on the Upper West Side.
So there I was, while everyone else was squirming, being carried back to Nara one very cold weekend in December when I enjoyed 3-1/2 days of just that type of music, only with a much larger and louder presence. I vividly remembered the ritual in the dark, when a group of chanting priests, accompanied by a large number of singers and musicians, carried a small, wooden box carrying the essence of the Shinto god from his home to a temporary shrine, there to be feted and fussed over before being lovingly returned to his usual abode, several days later. I felt both nostalgic and a little as though I was about to be drawn into a trance.
But the Columbia audience, in this case, though rude, was correct. Even my companion remarked that the second half of the concert was better than the first, and I had to agree. The context for the ancient music was all wrong. This small, but dedicated group of students, augmented by some Japanese professional musicians, did a competent, even surprisingly good, job, but the music was falling largely on uncomprehending ears. (People who don't live in NYC may wonder how something like a group formed for the appreciation of ancient Japanese music might even get off the ground, but this used to be a fairly common occurrence. I once met Isaac Asimov at a regular meeting of the Gilbert and Sullivan Society. He was conducting the sing-along - from "Patience." I mean really - who knew?)
Context is important. When I teach budo, I try to throw in what I know of the era in which a given practice evolved. Most important to me is what people wore, and how they moved generally. We can know some of this from illustrations on scrolls; but Japan is a unique place. Just as gagaku and hogaku have been passed down through centuries, movement styles have been passed down via noh, kabuki and dance. I try to get people past chambara movies and anime, and into some more realistic historical sense of how people moved and behaved. Since I study Japanese dance, I am able to convey some of this sensibility, even if in a truncated fashion. I even brought my dance teacher in one time to teach suriashi footwork.
Do I succeed? Not always. And an argument can be made in regard to what a "realistic historical sense" is. After all, kabuki lives for exaggeration at least some of the time (but I'll bet you didn't know that there are some surprisingly realistic kabuki dramas out there) and noh has evolved over time to be more stately than it once was. And the dance both echoes and bounces off of these genres, along with others. But it's the best we have; and honestly, it's much better than nothing.
And I mean that. Some years ago, I was at a seminar for tanjo - a 19th century genre consisting of partner kata which pits a defender wielding a walking stick against an attacker with a sword. The kata are fairly vigorous for both attacker and defender. About halfway through the session, someone remarked that they just could not see how someone who used a cane could handle a swordsman in the way the kata required. He was completely oblivious to the fact that 19th century gentlemen (AND ladies), both in the West and in Japan, carried walking sticks as a proper accessory. Without knowing that, the kata meant nothing to this particular student. He could dismiss them out of hand, based on his ahistorical assumption about what people wore and how they moved. In his mind, there was no difference, historically or culturally, between the people of 150 years ago, and himself.
Modern budo is adaptive, and that's fine. It was created to fit in with the shifting contemporary world. But traditional budo is a different thing altogether. And one thing I know about context - if the teacher doesn't furnish it in some way, the students will come up with a way to fill in the knowledge gap on their own. We may think, as teachers, that we are teaching organized systems of attack and defense, but really that is only the start of what we are doing; or, at least, it should only be the start. The wonderful thing about our practice is the many layers of context that can be peeled back, and the richness that lies beneath.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Thursday, March 12, 2015
The Old Masters
Do you know an old master?
I'm not talking about someone who has trained for 30 years, or some 40-something TKD teacher who started when he was six. Hell, I've trained for almost 30 years (more if you count my western fencing training), and I know I'm not a master. Old, maybe, sorta, but a master? Nope.
The old masters I'm thinking about have trained twice as long, at least - 60, 70, years. They're in their 80's or 90's, in varying states of health. They have more understanding of technique in their little fingers than the rest of us do in our whole bodies. Even better, they understand what they are doing, and why.
Some time ago, I looked at a very old video tape of one of my first demonstrations, which was held at a small dojo in New Jersey, in the 1980's. I remember we had a hell of a time finding the place (in the days before GPS) but I don't remember what the occasion was. In looking at myself on video (something I find uncomfortable even now) I noticed that I was trying very hard to do everything correctly as I had been taught, and, as a new student, I don't look too bad. At that time, I considered the sempai, who had about 3-4 years' seniority over me, as the "big kids." They certainly talked and acted like big kids, and, since I was new to this whole koryu budo thing, I believed them.
Only my teacher did his part in the demo with quiet grace and dignity. While the guys used to talk about him with great respect, none of them seemed to know him very well. It took some time for me to get to know him as more than the man who came in to okeiko, somewhat irregularly (his job kept him very busy), who told stories and sometimes made us repeat the same waza over and over again for a half hour or longer at a time. He never seemed happy with our progress, though he would let us stop after awhile, whether it was because he got tired of our relative mediocrity or decided we had hit our training wall for the night, I was never sure. I just knew I hated to disappoint him, so I kept trying.
When I did get to know him better, I was impressed by his humility. One time I came to see him on dojo business and before I could say anything he said, "Here, watch this. You've never seen anything like this before," and started the VCR. We watched an old, grainy film-to-video transfer of Nakayama Hakudo (a cleaned-up version is available on YouTube). In the film, Hakudo Sensei, clearly around 80 years old, both demonstrates and riffs (for lack of a better word) on Muso Shinden kata. I learned more about the meaning of practice in that one video than I had by studying for 10 years with my American sempai (and I realized later that it was not really their fault - 10 years is a literal drop in the bucket where koryu budo is concerned).
There were many other times like that. Once, when I visited him in the hospital, I noticed some books by his bedside. I asked him what he was reading. He said it was an account of the Ako Ogishi story (the story of the 47 Ronin). I knew the story in general, of course, but, thanks to sensei, I learned a great deal more after that. At his request, I went to Sengakuji, the temple in Tokyo where they are buried, to pay my respects. I still go there every time I go to Japan, and I have taken any number of hapless friends and students along with me. I go to honor him, and to try to give others a sense of what he taught me. And I go because I would still hate to disappoint him even now.
When he died, I spent over an hour on the phone with one of his daughters, whom I had met once or twice but did not know well. There we were, united by our grief, telling funny stories and laughing while we cried at the same time. She told family stories, I told training stories. Sensei didn't mix the dojo and his family life, so we were each hearing the stories for the first time. But we were clearly talking about the same guy - the stern family man with the goofy sense of humor and brilliant intellect.
My teacher, and others of his generation, began their budo training in the years before the Pacific War. Though the Edo period was a distant memory in Japan by the time they were born, the extraordinary changes in Japanese society after the mid 1940's created a clear separation in how people trained in koryu budo, and what it meant to them. More western influence and especially notions of competitive sport, along with a real and understandable concern for the survival of old art forms, has changed training. I'm not judging, I'm stating a fact. Good things may have been gained, but some good things have definitely been lost.
The problem with old masters, though, is they don't stay old masters for very long. They disappear. And a little piece of the world they were a part of disappears along with them.
So if you know an old master, whether of budo or something else, pay attention. Take him/her out for dinner, have coffee, sit and talk. Ask questions, and listen to the answers. You may realize how fortunate you are. Do it while there's still time.
I'm not talking about someone who has trained for 30 years, or some 40-something TKD teacher who started when he was six. Hell, I've trained for almost 30 years (more if you count my western fencing training), and I know I'm not a master. Old, maybe, sorta, but a master? Nope.
The old masters I'm thinking about have trained twice as long, at least - 60, 70, years. They're in their 80's or 90's, in varying states of health. They have more understanding of technique in their little fingers than the rest of us do in our whole bodies. Even better, they understand what they are doing, and why.
Some time ago, I looked at a very old video tape of one of my first demonstrations, which was held at a small dojo in New Jersey, in the 1980's. I remember we had a hell of a time finding the place (in the days before GPS) but I don't remember what the occasion was. In looking at myself on video (something I find uncomfortable even now) I noticed that I was trying very hard to do everything correctly as I had been taught, and, as a new student, I don't look too bad. At that time, I considered the sempai, who had about 3-4 years' seniority over me, as the "big kids." They certainly talked and acted like big kids, and, since I was new to this whole koryu budo thing, I believed them.
Only my teacher did his part in the demo with quiet grace and dignity. While the guys used to talk about him with great respect, none of them seemed to know him very well. It took some time for me to get to know him as more than the man who came in to okeiko, somewhat irregularly (his job kept him very busy), who told stories and sometimes made us repeat the same waza over and over again for a half hour or longer at a time. He never seemed happy with our progress, though he would let us stop after awhile, whether it was because he got tired of our relative mediocrity or decided we had hit our training wall for the night, I was never sure. I just knew I hated to disappoint him, so I kept trying.
When I did get to know him better, I was impressed by his humility. One time I came to see him on dojo business and before I could say anything he said, "Here, watch this. You've never seen anything like this before," and started the VCR. We watched an old, grainy film-to-video transfer of Nakayama Hakudo (a cleaned-up version is available on YouTube). In the film, Hakudo Sensei, clearly around 80 years old, both demonstrates and riffs (for lack of a better word) on Muso Shinden kata. I learned more about the meaning of practice in that one video than I had by studying for 10 years with my American sempai (and I realized later that it was not really their fault - 10 years is a literal drop in the bucket where koryu budo is concerned).
There were many other times like that. Once, when I visited him in the hospital, I noticed some books by his bedside. I asked him what he was reading. He said it was an account of the Ako Ogishi story (the story of the 47 Ronin). I knew the story in general, of course, but, thanks to sensei, I learned a great deal more after that. At his request, I went to Sengakuji, the temple in Tokyo where they are buried, to pay my respects. I still go there every time I go to Japan, and I have taken any number of hapless friends and students along with me. I go to honor him, and to try to give others a sense of what he taught me. And I go because I would still hate to disappoint him even now.
When he died, I spent over an hour on the phone with one of his daughters, whom I had met once or twice but did not know well. There we were, united by our grief, telling funny stories and laughing while we cried at the same time. She told family stories, I told training stories. Sensei didn't mix the dojo and his family life, so we were each hearing the stories for the first time. But we were clearly talking about the same guy - the stern family man with the goofy sense of humor and brilliant intellect.
My teacher, and others of his generation, began their budo training in the years before the Pacific War. Though the Edo period was a distant memory in Japan by the time they were born, the extraordinary changes in Japanese society after the mid 1940's created a clear separation in how people trained in koryu budo, and what it meant to them. More western influence and especially notions of competitive sport, along with a real and understandable concern for the survival of old art forms, has changed training. I'm not judging, I'm stating a fact. Good things may have been gained, but some good things have definitely been lost.
The problem with old masters, though, is they don't stay old masters for very long. They disappear. And a little piece of the world they were a part of disappears along with them.
So if you know an old master, whether of budo or something else, pay attention. Take him/her out for dinner, have coffee, sit and talk. Ask questions, and listen to the answers. You may realize how fortunate you are. Do it while there's still time.
Friday, March 6, 2015
The shutdown
A couple of days ago, I put up something slightly unusual on Facebook - a rather personal rant on the state of some U.S. policy. One of my erstwhile colleagues, whom I have not even shared comments with in a long time, responded to my rhetorical query "What's wrong with us?" (meaning the country) by saying that the answer to the question was in my query; i.e., there was something wrong with me. So I attempted to clarify a little, suggesting that U.S. voters often vote against their own interests (when they vote at all). My interlocutor once again persisted that my first rhetorical question suggested again that something was wrong with me.
Okay - so I was a little clumsy in my post (it's Facebook, not a dissertation - duh). The guy is an established writer with a correspondingly large ego, so his criticism was technically apt, though his spirit was decidedly - well - grumpy. The other responders actually took my post in the spirit in which it was rendered and variously gave their opinions on the subject. Since I could not break the syntax police blockade, I told the Writer that I accepted his rhetorical point.
But what has given me pause was what happened next; or rather, what didn't happen. I did not contribute anything else to the discussion - a discussion which I started myself. I was concerned that *anything* I might have said subsequently on the thread would have been subjected to the same type of shutdown my initial post had incited. So I said nothing.
The meaning of my post was clear to everyone else; in fact, it was also clear to my critic. I could have jumped in and added more to my commentary in response to the others who joined in, but I did not. Meanwhile, the Writer went back to the lurker shadows he had come from (actually, I believe it's a coffee shop somewhere in Canada). Mission accomplished. By sidestepping the content of my post and instead attacking the way in which I stated it, he had publicly shut me down.
I'm not interested in motive here. I have not seen this person for about 10 years. He puts essays up on FB for (mostly fanboy) comment. His budo world is slightly different from mine, so I don't often read his expositions; and when I do I don't offer much comment one way or the other. Most of the comments he does get are from his students, with content like you might expect. I have a lot of respect for the guy as a writer and a teacher, and considered us colleagues, if not friends. So his comments surprised me. I was not posting on some vital aspect of our respective practices; I was not even talking about military policy; I was talking about access to healthcare, fergodssake.
We have lately heard stuff about a backlash against women's autonomy, from Gamergate to male celebs and politicians pawing women in public. A few electronic reams have been laid out about the frozen smiles from the women being pawed, and what the pawing means. With all of the hand-wringing over this boorish behavior, not one has suggested a way to make it stop. I have a way, and I have used it when some guy tries to put his hands on me: any convenient variation on the taiji roll-back-and-press technique. It works, not least because the pawer in no way expects it. And subtle it's not.
Additionally, there has been a rise in people (not all men, either) referring to grown women, once again, as "girls." This was something I had hoped had gone the way of the dodo in the '80s (thirty years ago!). But here it is again. I generally offer a firm but polite remark: "I am not a girl. Please don't refer to me as one." The response to my reply has been shock, shock, I tell you. "I didn't mean it as an insult," is the most common response, and if I say the response is common, it's because it comes up often enough. Seriously, how can it not be an insult? No one refers to a grown man as a "boy," unless it's definitely an insult. No one has yet adequately explained to me why I should consider being referred to as a child to be a compliment (which is the second-most common response).
But now here's the literary shutdown from the Writer, a you-can't-express-yourself-properly-according-to-me-so-your-opinion-has-no-value remark. I am embarrassed to say I was so surprised I didn't have an adequate comeback. And just like those smiling, pawed-on women, I affected the FB equivalent of the glassy stare and gave in, in order to make it stop. To their credit, everyone else involved ignored him, and no one missed him when he bowed out, having "won" his point. But, obviously, I am still thinking about this. And, sooner or later (I hope sooner), I will come up with an unsubtle, written, roll-back-and-press response to this too.
Okay - so I was a little clumsy in my post (it's Facebook, not a dissertation - duh). The guy is an established writer with a correspondingly large ego, so his criticism was technically apt, though his spirit was decidedly - well - grumpy. The other responders actually took my post in the spirit in which it was rendered and variously gave their opinions on the subject. Since I could not break the syntax police blockade, I told the Writer that I accepted his rhetorical point.
But what has given me pause was what happened next; or rather, what didn't happen. I did not contribute anything else to the discussion - a discussion which I started myself. I was concerned that *anything* I might have said subsequently on the thread would have been subjected to the same type of shutdown my initial post had incited. So I said nothing.
The meaning of my post was clear to everyone else; in fact, it was also clear to my critic. I could have jumped in and added more to my commentary in response to the others who joined in, but I did not. Meanwhile, the Writer went back to the lurker shadows he had come from (actually, I believe it's a coffee shop somewhere in Canada). Mission accomplished. By sidestepping the content of my post and instead attacking the way in which I stated it, he had publicly shut me down.
I'm not interested in motive here. I have not seen this person for about 10 years. He puts essays up on FB for (mostly fanboy) comment. His budo world is slightly different from mine, so I don't often read his expositions; and when I do I don't offer much comment one way or the other. Most of the comments he does get are from his students, with content like you might expect. I have a lot of respect for the guy as a writer and a teacher, and considered us colleagues, if not friends. So his comments surprised me. I was not posting on some vital aspect of our respective practices; I was not even talking about military policy; I was talking about access to healthcare, fergodssake.
We have lately heard stuff about a backlash against women's autonomy, from Gamergate to male celebs and politicians pawing women in public. A few electronic reams have been laid out about the frozen smiles from the women being pawed, and what the pawing means. With all of the hand-wringing over this boorish behavior, not one has suggested a way to make it stop. I have a way, and I have used it when some guy tries to put his hands on me: any convenient variation on the taiji roll-back-and-press technique. It works, not least because the pawer in no way expects it. And subtle it's not.
Additionally, there has been a rise in people (not all men, either) referring to grown women, once again, as "girls." This was something I had hoped had gone the way of the dodo in the '80s (thirty years ago!). But here it is again. I generally offer a firm but polite remark: "I am not a girl. Please don't refer to me as one." The response to my reply has been shock, shock, I tell you. "I didn't mean it as an insult," is the most common response, and if I say the response is common, it's because it comes up often enough. Seriously, how can it not be an insult? No one refers to a grown man as a "boy," unless it's definitely an insult. No one has yet adequately explained to me why I should consider being referred to as a child to be a compliment (which is the second-most common response).
But now here's the literary shutdown from the Writer, a you-can't-express-yourself-properly-according-to-me-so-your-opinion-has-no-value remark. I am embarrassed to say I was so surprised I didn't have an adequate comeback. And just like those smiling, pawed-on women, I affected the FB equivalent of the glassy stare and gave in, in order to make it stop. To their credit, everyone else involved ignored him, and no one missed him when he bowed out, having "won" his point. But, obviously, I am still thinking about this. And, sooner or later (I hope sooner), I will come up with an unsubtle, written, roll-back-and-press response to this too.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
More on Rei
My colleague, the Budo Bum, wrote several blog posts recently that, like many of his posts, gave me some things to think about. In one post, on the subject or Rei (礼), generally described as bowing, or etiquette more generally, he started with the dictionary definition, then elaborated on the meaning of the word and some of its significance to budoka. In his second post, on budo virtues, he brought the word up again, and included something that I thought he should have made more of: Rei as a means of self-restraint. This one aspect of Rei needs more elaboration.
To begin with, I know it's common for those of us involved in koryu budo to lament the lack of courtesy in Western (especially U.S.) culture. And we have a point. But before we get carried away by the idea that Americans are clods, let's roll it back and consider the role of courtesy in sporting events, and, more importantly, its function. Before a boxing bout, contestants, unable to shake hands, touch gloves. Sports teams line up at the beginnings and ends of games to high-five each other. Fencers salute at the beginning and end of a match. We are so used to seeing these rituals, we don't consider their meanings very much. In fact, in much of televised sports, broadcasters don't even bother to show them. But these are important gestures that have meaning that go beyond tradition.
The gestures of courtesy in Western sports don't signify that the event the players have taken part in is "just a game." Even though one can make the case that shaking hands, saluting or high-fiving shows mutual respect among opponents, and that everyone has learned something from engaging in the contest, I think there is something else at work as well, which is even more important. Those courteous gestures are mechanisms of self-restraint. They allow individuals to literally calm down after a contest. They acknowledge the mutual humanity of the players.
Most non-Japanese who study traditional budo are familiar with Rei. Rei goes beyond simple bows to opponents before and after bouts, and even showing of mutual respect to teachers and fellow students. Western-style sports teams in Japan also line up after a game to bow to their opponents in a way that would serve just as well after a kendo or judo match. Courtesy is not just tradition, and it's not just culturally-specific.
Many years ago (many, many years ago), when I first moved to NYC, I was steeped in the myth that New Yorkers were rude - to each other and everyone they encountered. Imagine my surprise when I found out that was not in any way the case. Being polite, whether it was to bank clerks, deli workers or fellow subway riders, resulted not only in the gesture being returned, but achieved better results in encounters. Even something simple like removing a pair of sunglasses signifies that you want to deal with someone as a fellow human being, and changes the tenor of an encounter. Politeness turns down the heat and results, very often, in an expression of mutual humanity.
The styles of budo I engage in are potentially very dangerous and deadly. Because these styles all involve weapons the stakes are much higher than empty-hand techniques (as dangerous as those can be). A gesture made in anger can result in something much worse than someone being knocked to a mat. It is no accident that the styles I practice are practically overwhelmed with polite gestures (at least, they seem that way to outsiders). As a teacher, I do not let students blow off Rei at the beginning and end of class. Rei at the beginning and end of an iai class in particular is meant not just to show respect, Reishiki is designed to reassure the other participants that no one in a given practice intends anyone any harm. It sets off the practice time as being special in the sense that it is a safe space in which to learn from each other. Likewise, as in other partner practices, our partner kata begins and ends with Rei. Framing a practice in that way reminds everyone that tempers must always be held in check.
Rudeness produces a shutdown. It suggests to the other person that you are hostile, and you get hostility in return. I have seen this happen often enough, including in Japan. I have more than one time seen a non-Japanese person begin shouting (shouting!) at a clerk for misunderstanding him. The response is generally a steely glare and no other response at all. While I may understand the shouter's frustration, I know, as a New Yorker if for no other reason, that rudeness will not produce a solution to the problem. At best, it will produce nothing at all. In spite of the interpretation of Hollywood, it would be impossible to run a budo practice where etiquette is not properly observed.
At its worst, rudeness can bring on violence, which is why, the more potentially dangerous a budo practice is, the more elaborate the etiquette rituals become. As my colleague the Bum pointed out, Confucius considered Rei one of the Five Constraints. As important as all of the other aspects of Rei might be, inducing self-control might be the most important.
To begin with, I know it's common for those of us involved in koryu budo to lament the lack of courtesy in Western (especially U.S.) culture. And we have a point. But before we get carried away by the idea that Americans are clods, let's roll it back and consider the role of courtesy in sporting events, and, more importantly, its function. Before a boxing bout, contestants, unable to shake hands, touch gloves. Sports teams line up at the beginnings and ends of games to high-five each other. Fencers salute at the beginning and end of a match. We are so used to seeing these rituals, we don't consider their meanings very much. In fact, in much of televised sports, broadcasters don't even bother to show them. But these are important gestures that have meaning that go beyond tradition.
The gestures of courtesy in Western sports don't signify that the event the players have taken part in is "just a game." Even though one can make the case that shaking hands, saluting or high-fiving shows mutual respect among opponents, and that everyone has learned something from engaging in the contest, I think there is something else at work as well, which is even more important. Those courteous gestures are mechanisms of self-restraint. They allow individuals to literally calm down after a contest. They acknowledge the mutual humanity of the players.
Most non-Japanese who study traditional budo are familiar with Rei. Rei goes beyond simple bows to opponents before and after bouts, and even showing of mutual respect to teachers and fellow students. Western-style sports teams in Japan also line up after a game to bow to their opponents in a way that would serve just as well after a kendo or judo match. Courtesy is not just tradition, and it's not just culturally-specific.
Many years ago (many, many years ago), when I first moved to NYC, I was steeped in the myth that New Yorkers were rude - to each other and everyone they encountered. Imagine my surprise when I found out that was not in any way the case. Being polite, whether it was to bank clerks, deli workers or fellow subway riders, resulted not only in the gesture being returned, but achieved better results in encounters. Even something simple like removing a pair of sunglasses signifies that you want to deal with someone as a fellow human being, and changes the tenor of an encounter. Politeness turns down the heat and results, very often, in an expression of mutual humanity.
The styles of budo I engage in are potentially very dangerous and deadly. Because these styles all involve weapons the stakes are much higher than empty-hand techniques (as dangerous as those can be). A gesture made in anger can result in something much worse than someone being knocked to a mat. It is no accident that the styles I practice are practically overwhelmed with polite gestures (at least, they seem that way to outsiders). As a teacher, I do not let students blow off Rei at the beginning and end of class. Rei at the beginning and end of an iai class in particular is meant not just to show respect, Reishiki is designed to reassure the other participants that no one in a given practice intends anyone any harm. It sets off the practice time as being special in the sense that it is a safe space in which to learn from each other. Likewise, as in other partner practices, our partner kata begins and ends with Rei. Framing a practice in that way reminds everyone that tempers must always be held in check.
Rudeness produces a shutdown. It suggests to the other person that you are hostile, and you get hostility in return. I have seen this happen often enough, including in Japan. I have more than one time seen a non-Japanese person begin shouting (shouting!) at a clerk for misunderstanding him. The response is generally a steely glare and no other response at all. While I may understand the shouter's frustration, I know, as a New Yorker if for no other reason, that rudeness will not produce a solution to the problem. At best, it will produce nothing at all. In spite of the interpretation of Hollywood, it would be impossible to run a budo practice where etiquette is not properly observed.
At its worst, rudeness can bring on violence, which is why, the more potentially dangerous a budo practice is, the more elaborate the etiquette rituals become. As my colleague the Bum pointed out, Confucius considered Rei one of the Five Constraints. As important as all of the other aspects of Rei might be, inducing self-control might be the most important.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Two stories
Here are two stories:
In one story, two budoka square off wearing oyoroi (Japanese period armor) in an online video. They perform some partner kata not really designed for budoka in oyoroi; i.e. the targets for the techniques are the most heavily armored areas. Real oyoroi techniques would seek to take advantage of weaknesses in the armor. Moreover, the spacing of the kata is too distant to really be effective. Members of a budo social media group puzzled over the video, but at length concluded that the it must be some form of advertising for the style. Perhaps the use of colorful armor was just intended to add some "flash" (to use the vaudevillian expression) to the presentation. Perhaps the exaggerated distance between the partners was because...? In any case, the group, made up of experienced budoka, decided to give the video a pass, seeing it as a ploy to increase attendance at a small, satellite dojo of an established style, rather than as a poor example of the style itself.
Second story - a puff piece in a small, weekly newspaper with a website. The article is about a local art gallery/cultural center that has a weekly Japanese sword class. One of the photos, which inexplicably made the cover of the issue, is of a beginner student. The article itself features a not very good photo of the instructor, in which the te no uchi (grip on the sword) looks not-entirely orthodox. One reader of the piece started in to snarking about the photos on FB, which, to his experienced eye, looked amateurish, even though he did not know the group or the instructor. He corrected himself somewhat after realizing that the photo of the beginner student was *not* a photo of the instructor, but all the same, he came just short of suggesting that the instructor must not know anything about swordsmanship. He finally backed down after some of the instructor's colleagues called him out on his rush to judgment based on a single photograph.
These two stories present a number of issues. One is certainly the race to judge based on essentially no evidence. Virtually every day, FB commenters confess they have derided a topic without reading the link to the article. Occasionally, someone even posts an article because they like the headline, not realizing the article itself is expressing a completely opposite point of view. And of course, that does not include the fake articles, fake quotes, fake photos - fake everything - designed as clickbait that makes it on to FB.
Story number one got a pass because a famous teacher of a famous style was involved in the production of the video. Story number two, featuring no one famous, needed some colleagues playing defense in order to get a basically anonymous troll to stop denigrating the people involved.
A few weeks ago, the comedian Chris Rock mentioned that some well known comics who do stand-up performances have banned smartphones at their concerts. Comedy either works or it doesn't; the only way to find out is to try out the material on a live audience. These comedians fret that jokes that backfire, videoed by audience members and posted on social media fora, could endanger their careers.
Fortunately, the audience for the snarker in story number two was limited to a small group of people, but the question remains: what if it had been larger? Instead of accomplishing its aim of increasing publicity for the class, the puffy little article could have had the opposite effect. And it would not have made any difference to the person who spoke irresponsibly. I have spoken to budo teachers who forbid photos or video of their classes. One person confided that he lives in fear that a video he made just so his students could have a reference to technique could make it to the web. Many years ago (before digi), I was taking photos of a budo demonstration by an experienced teacher. Afterwards he approached me and asked me to show him any photos before publishing them. He explained that a photo that showed any technique as being slightly "off" would reflect badly on his practice, and most importantly, might embarrass his teacher. I thought he was overly cautious, but obviously, he had a point. He was just ahead of the curve.
The point is, we all know we're not perfect, yet at least some of us are happy to rub other people's noses in their all-too-human imperfections. Even though everyone knows that judgmental voyeurism is unjust, we watch anyway. Hell, the entertainment journalism industry makes a living at it. And, with all of that support, it seems rushes to judgment are an inevitable part of online life. Our only consolation is that, somewhat like drunken bar patrons, scandals only last as long as anyone can remember them; which is to say, the memory is gone by the next trip to the bar. And being unable to remember something amid the tide of stimulus, real and fake, is the saving grace of well-meaning, but not well-done, stuff on the web.
In one story, two budoka square off wearing oyoroi (Japanese period armor) in an online video. They perform some partner kata not really designed for budoka in oyoroi; i.e. the targets for the techniques are the most heavily armored areas. Real oyoroi techniques would seek to take advantage of weaknesses in the armor. Moreover, the spacing of the kata is too distant to really be effective. Members of a budo social media group puzzled over the video, but at length concluded that the it must be some form of advertising for the style. Perhaps the use of colorful armor was just intended to add some "flash" (to use the vaudevillian expression) to the presentation. Perhaps the exaggerated distance between the partners was because...? In any case, the group, made up of experienced budoka, decided to give the video a pass, seeing it as a ploy to increase attendance at a small, satellite dojo of an established style, rather than as a poor example of the style itself.
Second story - a puff piece in a small, weekly newspaper with a website. The article is about a local art gallery/cultural center that has a weekly Japanese sword class. One of the photos, which inexplicably made the cover of the issue, is of a beginner student. The article itself features a not very good photo of the instructor, in which the te no uchi (grip on the sword) looks not-entirely orthodox. One reader of the piece started in to snarking about the photos on FB, which, to his experienced eye, looked amateurish, even though he did not know the group or the instructor. He corrected himself somewhat after realizing that the photo of the beginner student was *not* a photo of the instructor, but all the same, he came just short of suggesting that the instructor must not know anything about swordsmanship. He finally backed down after some of the instructor's colleagues called him out on his rush to judgment based on a single photograph.
These two stories present a number of issues. One is certainly the race to judge based on essentially no evidence. Virtually every day, FB commenters confess they have derided a topic without reading the link to the article. Occasionally, someone even posts an article because they like the headline, not realizing the article itself is expressing a completely opposite point of view. And of course, that does not include the fake articles, fake quotes, fake photos - fake everything - designed as clickbait that makes it on to FB.
Story number one got a pass because a famous teacher of a famous style was involved in the production of the video. Story number two, featuring no one famous, needed some colleagues playing defense in order to get a basically anonymous troll to stop denigrating the people involved.
A few weeks ago, the comedian Chris Rock mentioned that some well known comics who do stand-up performances have banned smartphones at their concerts. Comedy either works or it doesn't; the only way to find out is to try out the material on a live audience. These comedians fret that jokes that backfire, videoed by audience members and posted on social media fora, could endanger their careers.
Fortunately, the audience for the snarker in story number two was limited to a small group of people, but the question remains: what if it had been larger? Instead of accomplishing its aim of increasing publicity for the class, the puffy little article could have had the opposite effect. And it would not have made any difference to the person who spoke irresponsibly. I have spoken to budo teachers who forbid photos or video of their classes. One person confided that he lives in fear that a video he made just so his students could have a reference to technique could make it to the web. Many years ago (before digi), I was taking photos of a budo demonstration by an experienced teacher. Afterwards he approached me and asked me to show him any photos before publishing them. He explained that a photo that showed any technique as being slightly "off" would reflect badly on his practice, and most importantly, might embarrass his teacher. I thought he was overly cautious, but obviously, he had a point. He was just ahead of the curve.
The point is, we all know we're not perfect, yet at least some of us are happy to rub other people's noses in their all-too-human imperfections. Even though everyone knows that judgmental voyeurism is unjust, we watch anyway. Hell, the entertainment journalism industry makes a living at it. And, with all of that support, it seems rushes to judgment are an inevitable part of online life. Our only consolation is that, somewhat like drunken bar patrons, scandals only last as long as anyone can remember them; which is to say, the memory is gone by the next trip to the bar. And being unable to remember something amid the tide of stimulus, real and fake, is the saving grace of well-meaning, but not well-done, stuff on the web.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Mind of a warrior
So...it's been a busy couple of weeks. Here in the US, there have been protests over police shootings of unarmed black men, and then...the torture report. Weirdly, I have also just finished reading The Heart of Everything That Is, a biography of the great Sioux chief Red Cloud. All this stuff is combining in disturbing ways, and at the center of my thinking is: who are we that study how to wield weapons?
To go somewhat chronologically, let's start with the book. In the course of telling the story, the authors lay out, in graphic detail, the brutality of Sioux warriors. In the Sioux worldview, a man (or woman) who was not physically intact in death would be similarly maimed in the next world. Sioux warriors rarely left a dead enemy intact, whether members of rival Native American bands or later, white soldiers and settlers (men, women and children). The authors note, while citing grisly catalogs of atrocities (some committed while their victims were still alive) that the Sioux were no different from other warrior bands. Not surprisingly, US soldiers, towards the end of the war against the Sioux, while not sharing this worldview, inflicted similar atrocities in kind. Torturing and maiming enemies was a commonplace thing among the Sioux and other warrior groups, even the warriors of the US government.
Tellingly, the Sioux looked upon agricultural bands of Native Americans as being weak. They had a point of course, seeing as how the peaceful bands were herded off, and killed off, as America expanded west. At least the Sioux fought back, even though the end result was the same.
Next, the grand jury refused to indict the officer in the killing of Eric Garner, after a similarly convened panel did the same in the case of Michael Brown. The blowback I was seeing on FB by some of my more righty "Friends" was that if a cop felt the need to take you down, it must be because YOU MUST BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. I know, from some of my actual friends' experiences that you can be stopped, and held, by the police in this town for walking down the street on a Friday night, or sitting on a park bench in the middle of the day. Or for joining a legal (as in permits and everything) protest march. (That last one was me - punched in the chest by a cop who wanted to prevent me from joining an antiwar rally years ago. I give her credit for some restraint - it was enough of a punch to convince me she meant business but not enough to knock me down. On the other hand, if I had been a less-sturdy person, I would have been on the pavement, and she had no way of knowing which sort of person I was.)
The news of the torture report provoked a similar reaction from my righty FB Friends: they were terrorists, right? So they got what they deserved, right? Anything to "keep us safe," right? Except that some of those detainees were no more guilty than some of my friends, or me; i.e., they were in the wrong place while being the wrong shade, or simply going about their business. And, as has been shown time and time again, torture does not result in good intelligence. Torture is just torture. At least the Sioux had a cosmological reason for what they did. As much as I have kept some righty FB Friends because I think it's a good idea to see other points of view, I "unfriended" one (so far) for the perfect ignorance of his reaction ("torture is too good for the enemies of the US" - type thinking), and more could follow.
And, because of my experience in budo, I know a lot of people involved in, or retired from, law enforcement or the military. Not all of them are righties, though some of them are; and that has gotten me thinking: all of us who do traditional budo on some level are buying into some aspect of what it means to be a warrior of some sort. But what does that mean?
For some people, the codes of Chivalry or Bushido figure large. Those ideals (laid out here in a previous post) are not entirely similar, but did share certain ethics, such as caring respect for the weak; but we know that the ideals were just that. There are just as many stories of unchecked power and the harm it caused by marauding knights and samurai as there are stories of dignity and compassion.
And no matter how much philosophical veneer we put on our practice, we are all of us learning techniques that can maim or kill people. Last night, during the Daito practice, the students were practicing what in fencing we would have referred to as a "stop hit." The attacker throws a punch (with or without a knife) and the defender evades it. The defender then responds with a punch to the attacker's upper chest. Towards the end of the practice, the teacher pointed out that the target they were practicing was not the actual target. The real technique was to punch, and crush, the attacker's windpipe and kill him. While the timing was difficult, the technique itself was fairly simple. This technique was defensive (after all, the attacker was attacking), but I suspect that somewhere in that practice there are techniques for taking down someone when there are orders to do so. I know, in my practice, there certainly are.
My teacher used to say that swordsmanship was the study of philosophy. I suppose it is worthwhile to remember that philosophy is not a bunch of proverbs (or worse, Facebook aphorisms), but a series of questions and arguments. And no real answers.
The book:
The Heart of Everything That Is: The Untold Story of Red Cloud, An American Legend
by Bob Drury and Tom Clavin
To go somewhat chronologically, let's start with the book. In the course of telling the story, the authors lay out, in graphic detail, the brutality of Sioux warriors. In the Sioux worldview, a man (or woman) who was not physically intact in death would be similarly maimed in the next world. Sioux warriors rarely left a dead enemy intact, whether members of rival Native American bands or later, white soldiers and settlers (men, women and children). The authors note, while citing grisly catalogs of atrocities (some committed while their victims were still alive) that the Sioux were no different from other warrior bands. Not surprisingly, US soldiers, towards the end of the war against the Sioux, while not sharing this worldview, inflicted similar atrocities in kind. Torturing and maiming enemies was a commonplace thing among the Sioux and other warrior groups, even the warriors of the US government.
Tellingly, the Sioux looked upon agricultural bands of Native Americans as being weak. They had a point of course, seeing as how the peaceful bands were herded off, and killed off, as America expanded west. At least the Sioux fought back, even though the end result was the same.
Next, the grand jury refused to indict the officer in the killing of Eric Garner, after a similarly convened panel did the same in the case of Michael Brown. The blowback I was seeing on FB by some of my more righty "Friends" was that if a cop felt the need to take you down, it must be because YOU MUST BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. I know, from some of my actual friends' experiences that you can be stopped, and held, by the police in this town for walking down the street on a Friday night, or sitting on a park bench in the middle of the day. Or for joining a legal (as in permits and everything) protest march. (That last one was me - punched in the chest by a cop who wanted to prevent me from joining an antiwar rally years ago. I give her credit for some restraint - it was enough of a punch to convince me she meant business but not enough to knock me down. On the other hand, if I had been a less-sturdy person, I would have been on the pavement, and she had no way of knowing which sort of person I was.)
The news of the torture report provoked a similar reaction from my righty FB Friends: they were terrorists, right? So they got what they deserved, right? Anything to "keep us safe," right? Except that some of those detainees were no more guilty than some of my friends, or me; i.e., they were in the wrong place while being the wrong shade, or simply going about their business. And, as has been shown time and time again, torture does not result in good intelligence. Torture is just torture. At least the Sioux had a cosmological reason for what they did. As much as I have kept some righty FB Friends because I think it's a good idea to see other points of view, I "unfriended" one (so far) for the perfect ignorance of his reaction ("torture is too good for the enemies of the US" - type thinking), and more could follow.
And, because of my experience in budo, I know a lot of people involved in, or retired from, law enforcement or the military. Not all of them are righties, though some of them are; and that has gotten me thinking: all of us who do traditional budo on some level are buying into some aspect of what it means to be a warrior of some sort. But what does that mean?
For some people, the codes of Chivalry or Bushido figure large. Those ideals (laid out here in a previous post) are not entirely similar, but did share certain ethics, such as caring respect for the weak; but we know that the ideals were just that. There are just as many stories of unchecked power and the harm it caused by marauding knights and samurai as there are stories of dignity and compassion.
And no matter how much philosophical veneer we put on our practice, we are all of us learning techniques that can maim or kill people. Last night, during the Daito practice, the students were practicing what in fencing we would have referred to as a "stop hit." The attacker throws a punch (with or without a knife) and the defender evades it. The defender then responds with a punch to the attacker's upper chest. Towards the end of the practice, the teacher pointed out that the target they were practicing was not the actual target. The real technique was to punch, and crush, the attacker's windpipe and kill him. While the timing was difficult, the technique itself was fairly simple. This technique was defensive (after all, the attacker was attacking), but I suspect that somewhere in that practice there are techniques for taking down someone when there are orders to do so. I know, in my practice, there certainly are.
My teacher used to say that swordsmanship was the study of philosophy. I suppose it is worthwhile to remember that philosophy is not a bunch of proverbs (or worse, Facebook aphorisms), but a series of questions and arguments. And no real answers.
The book:
The Heart of Everything That Is: The Untold Story of Red Cloud, An American Legend
by Bob Drury and Tom Clavin
Thursday, December 4, 2014
You didn't write that (by yourself)
In a follow up to my consideration some time ago of Sheryl Sandberg's "Lean In" stuff (it seems like such a long time ago; I think of cultural ideas like this as a "mini trend" - not around long enough to become an actual trend, but anyway...), I have some follow up thoughts.
As I recall, I focused on the fact that, at "lean in" type forums, women have a tendency to credit others for their career successes, whereas men, asked to explain *their* business successes, tend to focus entirely on their own efforts. Why why why, the "lean in" people want to know, do women not want to give themselves credit?
I'd like to turn this thought around and ask, "How do men get away with ignoring the contributions others have made to their successes?"
To pick an ancient history example, when I was finishing grad school, my dad, who was career academic, kept hounding me to finish my final requirements. I was making steady progress, mind you, just not fast enough (I guess). Finally, in exasperation, I pointed out that even though I was (thankfully) living alone, I was also working full time and running my household. When he countered that he finished his Ph.D. while carrying a full teaching load, I responded, "Yeah, but you had Mom working full time, and YOUR MOM cooking, cleaning, and washing your socks for you."
I still remember his reaction: utter silence on the other end of the phone line. Oh. Yeah. Then he said, "You know, I never thought about it like that." Kudos to my dad for at least thinking about it once it was pointed out to him.
Several writers I know rely on their wives' steady income in order to be freelancers. I hope these women love their jobs, though I don't actually know. Other male writers I know take the contributions of volunteer editors and helpful spouses, as well as the female colleagues they bounce ideas off of as being something that is just there, you know - like the air they breathe. Other men's contributions are more frequently acknowledged.
I recently commented (I believe helpfully) on a colleague's draft, and he thanked me. He did. But when the post was published and the fanboys started lining up, I admit to having been a little annoyed for perhaps, just perhaps not getting a little public acknowledgment (c'mon, published book writers always, ALWAYS publicly thank their editors and colleagues, and sometimes even their family members, in the Acknowledgments, even the female ones). He then publicly thanked me for proofreading his piece. Okay, but proofreading is checking a finished copy against a markup. I made substantial comments that helped clarify the thought process that went into the successfully finished post. That is not proofreading. That's a Sheryl Sandbergian nightmare.
I am not saying that the male writers I know are not hard-working, talented people, who in all likelihood deserve much of the credit for their brilliantly presented, I-wish-I'd-thought-of-that output. The abovementioned author has received a number of calls that he should turn his blog into a book, and I am happy for him; but the best ideas in the world will never be read unless they are stated clearly enough for readers to understand. And the women who wash, cook, clean and shush the children so the Great Men can concentrate don't get nearly the credit they deserve, either.
So, guys - you didn't get there all by yourself.
However, I might as well be shouting in the wind. Remember, during a recent presidential election, the Democratic trope aimed at Republicans - "You didn't build that"? The slogan was meant to raise the point that all of that entrepreneurial energy that gave rise to innovation that the Republicans were so anxious to protect with tax cuts could not have been done without infrastructure - roads, rails, bridges, the internet, that sort of thing. Their projects relied on public effort which, in turn, allowed so many of those individual ideas to come to fruition. Remember the reaction? The slogan died. Just because it was true didn't mean anyone who counted actually gave a rat's ass.
And the reason why is the answer to my rhetorical question above - How do the guys get away with blowing their own trumpets at the expense of the rest of us? We let them. Why do we let them? I need to give that one a little more thought.
I have been told that my blog is "too controversial" to be published as a book. Fair enough. It is not intended, really, for general publication. This is just stuff I write down to get off my chest. As for the "big ideas" that might be worth seeing in actual print (or, these days, e-print), I keep those ideas to myself, for now. But if that MS or a few others that are kicking around my desk, collecting dust, do ever see the light of day, or at least the light of a computer screen, I vow right here to give credit where it's due. I wrote it, but I didn't do it alone.
As I recall, I focused on the fact that, at "lean in" type forums, women have a tendency to credit others for their career successes, whereas men, asked to explain *their* business successes, tend to focus entirely on their own efforts. Why why why, the "lean in" people want to know, do women not want to give themselves credit?
I'd like to turn this thought around and ask, "How do men get away with ignoring the contributions others have made to their successes?"
To pick an ancient history example, when I was finishing grad school, my dad, who was career academic, kept hounding me to finish my final requirements. I was making steady progress, mind you, just not fast enough (I guess). Finally, in exasperation, I pointed out that even though I was (thankfully) living alone, I was also working full time and running my household. When he countered that he finished his Ph.D. while carrying a full teaching load, I responded, "Yeah, but you had Mom working full time, and YOUR MOM cooking, cleaning, and washing your socks for you."
I still remember his reaction: utter silence on the other end of the phone line. Oh. Yeah. Then he said, "You know, I never thought about it like that." Kudos to my dad for at least thinking about it once it was pointed out to him.
Several writers I know rely on their wives' steady income in order to be freelancers. I hope these women love their jobs, though I don't actually know. Other male writers I know take the contributions of volunteer editors and helpful spouses, as well as the female colleagues they bounce ideas off of as being something that is just there, you know - like the air they breathe. Other men's contributions are more frequently acknowledged.
I recently commented (I believe helpfully) on a colleague's draft, and he thanked me. He did. But when the post was published and the fanboys started lining up, I admit to having been a little annoyed for perhaps, just perhaps not getting a little public acknowledgment (c'mon, published book writers always, ALWAYS publicly thank their editors and colleagues, and sometimes even their family members, in the Acknowledgments, even the female ones). He then publicly thanked me for proofreading his piece. Okay, but proofreading is checking a finished copy against a markup. I made substantial comments that helped clarify the thought process that went into the successfully finished post. That is not proofreading. That's a Sheryl Sandbergian nightmare.
I am not saying that the male writers I know are not hard-working, talented people, who in all likelihood deserve much of the credit for their brilliantly presented, I-wish-I'd-thought-of-that output. The abovementioned author has received a number of calls that he should turn his blog into a book, and I am happy for him; but the best ideas in the world will never be read unless they are stated clearly enough for readers to understand. And the women who wash, cook, clean and shush the children so the Great Men can concentrate don't get nearly the credit they deserve, either.
So, guys - you didn't get there all by yourself.
However, I might as well be shouting in the wind. Remember, during a recent presidential election, the Democratic trope aimed at Republicans - "You didn't build that"? The slogan was meant to raise the point that all of that entrepreneurial energy that gave rise to innovation that the Republicans were so anxious to protect with tax cuts could not have been done without infrastructure - roads, rails, bridges, the internet, that sort of thing. Their projects relied on public effort which, in turn, allowed so many of those individual ideas to come to fruition. Remember the reaction? The slogan died. Just because it was true didn't mean anyone who counted actually gave a rat's ass.
And the reason why is the answer to my rhetorical question above - How do the guys get away with blowing their own trumpets at the expense of the rest of us? We let them. Why do we let them? I need to give that one a little more thought.
I have been told that my blog is "too controversial" to be published as a book. Fair enough. It is not intended, really, for general publication. This is just stuff I write down to get off my chest. As for the "big ideas" that might be worth seeing in actual print (or, these days, e-print), I keep those ideas to myself, for now. But if that MS or a few others that are kicking around my desk, collecting dust, do ever see the light of day, or at least the light of a computer screen, I vow right here to give credit where it's due. I wrote it, but I didn't do it alone.
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