I was 16 when I first became disillusioned with one of my martial arts teachers. Not because of something he did, but because of something he didn’t do.
At the time I was deep into Kung Fu training. Legs shaking in low horse stances, punishing the air with punches, hopping around like a monkey, pouncing like a tiger, pecking like a crane. (At the time everyone knew that Kung fu was the ultimate fighting technology, and I was super determined to get my hands on it).
Anyway, at one point we were playing make-believe in the training hall when a domestic brawl broke out in the apartment next door.
First came the raised voices. Then the thrown objects. And then it sure sounded like a woman was getting beaten.
Naive Stephan thought we would intervene. Maybe the head instructor would round up his eager posse of students and we would swarm to the rescue.
Pick me, pick me!!!
Instead we did…. nothing.
Nobody mentioned it, nobody stopped and certainly nobody went to stop it.
We all bravely continued our quest to become lethal kung fu killing machines, and nobody even picked up the fucking phone on the fucking desk to call the cops – what an incredibly small ask that would have been!
I knew this silence was wrong at the time, but it’s hard to overstate the social pressure that I felt in that moment to conform.
“If the head instructor isn’t doing anything and the senior students aren’t doing anything then I should probably keep my mouth shut,” I thought.
I had dedicated a significant portion of my life to this, and I didn’t want to risk the promised breakthrough that was sure to come at any moment (spoiler: it never did). I also didn’t want to mess up my chances of making the aloof instructors like me (spoiler: they never ended up caring about anyone other than themselves).
But the reality is that this event began a slow-motion shattering of my faith in the idea that martial arts training inherently made people better.
It can make you fitter, faster, and a better fighter. It can make you more confident, but if you were an amoral asshole who didn’t care about other people before then you’ll just be a more confident amoral asshole.
It’s easy to puff your chest out and say you’d stand on principles, protect the weak, and stare down bullies.
It’s important to decide in advance whether you’re willing to pay the price for certain stances.
Putting yourself between a bully and his victim, can definitely put you in physical danger, but it can also incur a social cost. It may not be popular to stand up for someone weaker, someone different, or someone less fortunate. You could get mocked, called out, and belittled – are you OK with that?
And you could lose friends.
Imagine a scenario where it’s your friend doing the bullying? Are you OK with speaking up against him, even if that could potentially end the friendship?
I hope the answer is yes.
After all, it’s only a principle when it costs you money
Stephan
P.S. Speaking of standing up to bullies, here’s my response to Gordon Ryan, a great grappler and a terrible human being (at least so far) who has sent his mob of fans after me multiple times.
For how can a man die better, than facing fearful odds
Defending the ashes of his father, and the temple of the gods?
Thomas Babington Macaulay.