The Schism

I can’t get too far into this blog without talking about the split with my long time Sensei. It’s been a few years now, but it is the defining event of my martial arts training, at least recently.

First, let me provide a bit of context for what this relationship looked like –

This was a nearly 30-year relationship, spanning my early childhood through to my adult years. It revolved around one of my truest passions in life (karate), but devolved into something I was no longer comfortable with and that began to truly depress me. The martial arts world is abound with notions of loyalty (to the teacher, not to the student), periods of endurance and testing, and secret or hidden knowledge. I think I fell prey to my hopes and imaginations as much as anything else.

I began training when I was 4 years old. In my younger years, this Sensei was really the main instructor. That changed when she took a leave of absence from the dojo after having her first child. This leave coincided with very formative years for me, say ages 10-14, and I had a few key black belts in the dojo doing most of my training. The Chief Instructor returned full time just before my black belt exam and took over most of my training.

The year after I earned my black belt, Sensei closed the dojo. The training moved to a dance studio down the block and was severely curtailed – class was only on Saturdays and children and adults were combined in one class. I continued training regularly throughout high school, but it was a major adjustment to go from training (and teaching) several days a week to having a single Saturday session.

I maintained ties when I was in college, always training when I was back in town. When my Sensei began offering Thursday night classes I would drive the 75 minutes from school to train then drive back to campus the same night (ah to be 20 again…). This continued through my Junior and Senior years.

When I moved across the country for graduate school, I committed to opening my own karate club at my new university. With my Sensei’s blessing, I opened a Shibu dojo. I had 3-4 regular students over the 3-4 years the club was active, maybe 3 times that passed through the club at some point – not too shabby for a side gig during my PhD studies.

When I moved to the DC area, again I kept regular contact with Sensei. Visiting her when I was in the area, calling her a few times a year, emails and Christmas cards… basically what you would expect. Even though I was training in a different Goju-ryu dojo that was close to my apartment, I always tried to keep my ties with my old Sensei. I never got a strong signal that she wanted to be more involved in my training after I closed the club down. We never had any conversations about my training.

When the pandemic hit, she closed down her dojo and, presumably, the organization. I never heard anything official and she just mentioned it offhand in one of our phone calls. A few years into the pandemic, I tried to train with her again…. But I had just reached my limit.

Instead of showing up for a black belt test, I showed up and told her I would no longer be training with her.

I am sure I will think about why I severed this relationship for many years, but it really boils down to four interconnected reasons:

• I was no longer interested in what this Sensei was interested in. Our focus had diverged. Dramatically.
• Poor communication and teaching style made me very hesitant to continue in a teacher-student dynamic. This seemed to be getting worse as time went on.
• Negativity, arrogance, and a host of other character issues that exposed deep philosophical differences in the nature of our training. You can learn a lot from people you don’t respect… but to be their senior student? To work to carry on their legacy? Not likely.
• Lack of engagement with me or effort to take “ownership” of my training. Especially after I closed down the club and moved back East.

I realize probably any one of these would be enough to send someone running. Indeed they SHOULD send someone running! Frankly, I am still embarrassed at how long I stayed and how hard I tried to stay.

Ok so let’s go through these one at a time -

I was no longer interested in what this Sensei was interested in

For years, I had been investing my extra training time in studying bunkai. I think this is the heart of karate and was dissatisfied with what and how I had been taught. I’m really happy with the progress I made on understanding bunkai and think there is plenty of path left for me to explore in this direction. I’ve also experimented with traditional Hojo Undo implements and did some fun cross training with boxing and a few other arts.

Over this same length of time, this Sensei had moved further and further into the metaphysical world. I love mysticism as much as the next guy, but I’m not making internal energy the focus of my training. I’ve enjoyed chakra meditations very much, but I think chakras are just a visualization tool. I don’t think they are real and I think they are very far from what I consider to be medicine. During this time my Sensei fell very ill before eventually recovering. I suspect she attributes her healing to whatever yogic chi swirling she was doing. (I attribute it to being relatively young and in great physical condition.) It’s not for me to dissuade her from what she is interested in exploring… but it is not a path I am interested in following her down. Especially not at the cost of the many real and tangible requirements that remained in the organization’s curriculum. Why practice chi swirling when we could finally finish the nunchaku kata we started 8 years ago?

Poor communication style

Even if I did want to learn chi swirling, this second point would’ve redirected me – I don’t think she would have been able to teach me even if she was interested. Over the years we have had multiple miscommunications as student and teacher. She often had expectations that weren’t verbalized. Sometimes she would assume prior knowledge that didn’t exist, or that I was privy to prior information that I was not. She was also not one for any back-and-forth conversation as that often led to challenging her authority.

If I have learned anything over my lifetime, it is that I am a good student. I like to be a student! I like learning and I have learned different things in many different contexts and places. I’ve also worked with people from all over, of different backgrounds and ages, education levels and intelligence. This Sensei remains one of the most difficult teachers I’ve come across. I can’t imagine she would be effective in any way at communicating such nebulous and complicated topics as chi development or Zen meditation.

Of course, the ultimate example of this was my final black belt test – where it became obvious that we had completely different ideas of what the test would be and, instead of testing, I informed her I would no longer be training with her. (More on this in a follow up.)

Negativity, Arrogance, Paranoia, and other unwelcome guests

One of the root reasons I think she had foundered as a teacher was her own attitude. I have found that the best teachers have a mix of eagerness to share their knowledge and curiosity about learning more. I have tried hard to hold onto my curiosity because I think it is such a powerful positive force.

This Sensei was one of the most incurious folks I have ever met. I remember one instance where I returned home after a month-long trip to Istanbul and her only response was along the lines of “Oh I’d never want to go there”. No follow-up questions. Naturally this extended to any and all other martial arts styles and schools.

Perhaps all the negativity came from the condescending and dangerous attitude of “I’m an expert in this, so I’m an expert in everything”. I’ve seen it often in physics (easily the most arrogant of the sciences) and I’ve tried to work against that tendency in myself. It kills curiosity and eventually your ability to grow at all. I think my Sensei had a terminal case of arrogance. In the end I felt that I had grown so much in life and the art, while she had somehow shrunk and retreated.

The last negative emotion I’ll point out is nostalgia. This Sensei had descended deep into nostalgia, often going on at length about the Good Old Days (of which I was not a part I always wanted to say) and how Times Have Changed and People Are Lazy. I have nothing but scorn for this attitude because it enabled her to avoid any serious self-examination. It’s not my fault the dojo went under! People are lazy and times have changed! Nothing to do with my teaching or my failure to adapt….

Buried under all of these separate emotions was a fundamental difference in what we believed karate should be in your life. I did not realize we were so far apart on this, but, in hindsight, I supposed I developed these beliefs separate from her training –

I believe that Karate is a harsh battle with one’s self. We use the art to weed out our own weakness, our foibles, the things we want to let go of. Karate provides us a mirror to search for our weaknesses and the discipline to overcome them.

In my Sensei, I didn’t see someone walking that path. I saw someone consumed by those weaknesses.

Lack of “ownership” of my training

A part of this is my own ego speaking – it is nice to be acknowledged and wanted after all. And this lack of recognition made it easier for me to walk away in the end.

•  I was her highest-ranking student, or close enough to it. She told me she never promoted anyone to full sandan before.
• I was her last remaining student, or close enough to it. I was still actively training. She had closed her dojo, and possibly the organization as a whole.
• She knew how quickly I learned (she taught me Kururunfa in a single session). We had many private lessons over the years where I was able to learn and remember much of the material.
• She knew I was willing and interested in teaching – and that I produced quality students, given that I ran a small Shibu dojo for a few years.

If there was anyone available to pick up the torch, it was me.

But despite years of harping on the need to “propagate the art”, my Sensei never really walked the walk. I realize now she had no idea how to teach black belts. And, despite promoting dozens of them, never retained any of them.

Crucially, for me at least, she never let me do my part. Never let me in on it. Never let me pick up that torch.

This was an astounding lack of vision that is still painful when I think about it. She inherited a grand tradition from a true karate pioneer… and she squandered it.

The final knife in the heart on this? During my penultimate visit to her house, she gave me several back issues of karate magazines featuring interviews with her Sensei, our Founder.** The top issue had a feature story of how the Founder brought my Sensei to Okinawa on a grand tour to show her the art on the island and introduce her as his protégé.

Me? I never even got the nod to use “Dai-Senpai” (most senior student) as a title. Only once in the nearly thirty year relationship did she initiate contact with me (when I didn’t hold a rank test for my students on semester).

­­So yes, the lack of recognition and “ownership” was a blow to my ego. But it was also indicative of a broader lack of engagement from her that I just didn’t want to be a part of anymore.

Better to let my dreams of reviving that legacy die than keep it on life support.

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With all of that said, I still feel like a damn fool thinking about it. How did I fail to recognize the red flags here? What kept me at it for so long? Why did I feel like I needed this relationship? How do you carry on a tradition separate from an organization?

Well… maybe you can understand why I started this blog. I really need the space to sort through this.

 

** I had bought copies for myself on eBay years ago as part of my own studies, something which seemed to surprise her.