What’s Being Sensei Mean?

When I started teaching, I became “sensei.” Whatever doubts I may have had about my skills became irrelevant–to my students, I was the expert. I had always thought that being a sensei meant being a master in some way shape or form. I had no idea what was expected of me as a sensei–after all, I knew I could not be the martial artist that Sensei Bannister was. There was no way I could, in my mind, be one of those all-powerful, secretive teachers that I had seen in the movies. I had no idea what to expect as a sensei, but I did know what I did not want: I did not want to be all-powerful. I did not want to be some rock on which people hopelessly adrift could cling when life got too rough. But my students expected something from me, so I began by going with the most literal translation of sensei that I knew of: teacher, or, even more literally, “one who has gone before.”

Now that I’ve been teaching for a few years, running my own club, I have a greater understanding of what it means to be sensei. A sensei is, first and foremost, a teacher. Not an expert, not even a professional, just a teacher. Any student who walks into my dojo understands immediately that I am not an epitome of all things Kokikai. I am simply the one with the greatest amount of experience in our art. Someone could, in theory, walk into the dojo with more experience than I, and they would then become sensei.

Except being sensei is not just about being a teacher. Being sensei is also about being a community leader. You, as sensei, are the one who not only leads class, but also helps keep the dojo acting as a cohesive whole. It is my responsibility and duty to ensure that everyone at least tolerates each other. It is my job to see that we, as aikidoka, do not just train together, but also have occasional social interactions with each other. I make sure that help is available when someone in the dojo has a need–whether it is moving to a new home or being able to afford a seminar fee. Were I just a teacher, I would not have these responsibilities.

But there is more. As a sensei I am the community liason. It is my job to be the face of the dojo. As a result I must be very diplomatic when dealing with the “public.” Sometimes the public is the rest of the YMCA, sometimes it is a person on the street. Sometimes it’s someone from another dojo. It doesn’t really matter who they are–as the sensei, I am the one that represents our club as a whole. If I am polite and friendly, with luck that helps people realize that our dojo is polite and friendly. (That’s true, by the way.) Conversely, if I am rude and disrespectful, well, the best behaviors of my students will not change the damage I will have caused to our reputation.

Most importantly, I have learned that being sensei is to be constantly reminded that you are not perfect, that you have much to learn. Being sensei is just a facet of your practice–it makes you neither great nor weak, neither better nor worse. I do not know if this is the correct translation of the title, but it is the only one that I will use.

Honor and Respect

Aikido is a Japanese martial art. At least, its history is Japanese, and many of the most respected practitioners of this art are Japanese. As a result, much of our behavior is designed to follow Japanese language and customs. Following Japanese (or, really, Japanese-like) behavior accomplishes several things:

• It provides some measure of comfort for sensei, provided that this sensei is Japanese himself.
• It causes non-Japanese students to become a little more aware of themselves and their actions, because they are adapting to customs that are not inherently theirs.
• It encourages everyone to remember the history and ancestory of the art–after all, where we have been is often just as important as where we are going.

Kokikai Aikido is, I have been told, one of the most lenient in regards to adhering to Japanese customs. This theory has, so far, been borne out by my visits to other clubs and discussions with practitioners of other Japanese martial arts. Even so, I find that there are two traits in which adherence to culture becomes difficult: honor and respect.

Of course, honor and respect are highly important to our martial arts training. You could easily argue that, without them, our training is worse than useless. However, the Japanese treatment of honor and respect are very different from those found in the United States. I make no judgement calls here: by “different,” I do not mean to imply that any one system is better than the other. The system of honor and respect inherent to Japanese culture and the one found in the United States can each provide the practitioner the satisfaction of knowing they act with dignity.

Honor and respect, in a dojo setting, usually manifests itself in three ways:

• The sensei is Japanese, while the students are not. In this case, following a more Japanese-oriented honor system makes sense, as it is inherent to the teacher, and provides a means of teaching the students.
• The sensei is American and the students are American. In this case, following a more American-oriented honor system makes sense, as it is common to both teacher and student.
• The sensei is American, yet wanting to follow the Japanese tradition, and the students are American.

It is this last item that causes problems. Instead of the instructor following a system of honor and respect that both he and his students can understand, a hybrid system is creating that is a conglomeration of Japanese and American behaviors. This is not inherently bad; it is inherently confusing and frustrating to the students. The instructor, however good his intentions, will tend to pick and choose which aspects of each system he finds important. Often, the instructor will change his mind–what was a crucial point of honor per the Japanese system is unimportant today, while tomorrow it may become important again. The students, as a result, find themselves in a tailspin–forever attempting to guess what behavior is correct and what is not. While they might succeed well enough to please their instructor, they do learn very little that can be applied to other dojos or other situations.

It is my opinion that honor and respect are middle grounds. The instructor and students must agree (in some way) what is considered correct behavior and what is not. This is why I, personally, try to follow an approact that I call “conservatively modern.” In other words, I expect that I and my students treat each other the way we would treat an elder, respected member of our family. Honor and respect are too important to be guessing games–and it is too easy to create a maze of behaviors that leave students frustrated, because their best efforts still are not considered correct.

A final note: if you are a new student to Aikido, or any martial art, I offer the following: infuse each action with best intentions and humility. If your behavior is “disrespectful,” leave your ego alone and treat it as a learning experience. If your instructor fails to treat you in the same way–well, there are many places one can train. Your agreement to be a student implies a willingness to learn–not a willingness to break your own spirit.

Other Martial Arts

I’ve been thinking a lot about other martial arts styles. On the one hand, I’ve always bought into the more “secretive” aspects of practice. What your sensei shows you is his or her best technique–and it is easy to argue that such teachings should not be doled out lightly to anyone. However, lately I’ve found this perspective to be more limiting and more unrealistic than I had thought.

First, the notion that you should keep technique “secret”–especially in Kokikai–seems out of place. I do not hide my “best technique” from new students who step onto the mat. Nor did Sensei Bannister, my teacher. Granted, I don’t show advanced versions of technique to new students, but that is more out of respect for the student. After all, you do not start teaching Calculus to a student who is just beginning to learn math.

Second, the best technique, I feel, is tempered by exposure to alternate perspectives. Professors and scientists, skilled and knowledgeable though they might be, do not take a concept or finding and proclaim it truth. They subject their results to vigorous peer reviews to ensure that their findings are accurate. The same is true for technique. I may not agree with everything another instructor says or does, but I know that, in most cases, their skills are enough to provide solid feedback to my own abilities and interpretations. Perhaps more senior instructors do not require this sort of feedback–but I do.

Third, I think a secretive atmosphere lends to the notion that one is fearful of competition. I do not worry that my students might find another instructor’s style “better” than mine. If they do, then so be it. I trust my technique and training. If people wish to share in that trust with me, I am grateful. If they chose a different path, I sincerely hope they find what they are looking for.

All this results in a simple decision: I will always take the opportunity to learn and share with others–whether they are a part of Kokikai or not. So long as we share ideas in an forum of mutual respect, we have much to gain.