Taniguchi-sensei and I were in his shop the other day. He has a neat little business where he makes a Japanese snack called yakimanju. Yakimanju are small little doughy things, no bigger than a donut, that are somewhere in shape between a pancake and a baseball. Inside, they have a sweet bean paste filling. Despite the image of eating something made of beans for a snack, they are really tasty. Sensei also says that they are low in calories but after a half dozen or so, I start to feel a little doughy myself.
Anyway, Taniguchi-sensei can be found at his shop everyday, that is, unless his younger sister is filling in while he trains and coaches the dojo just a couple blocks away. It is a neat environment and a reminder that sometimes life in high-stress Japan can slow down, take a breath, and move at a small- town pace. Sensei's shop is also where I have learned the majority of my Japanese.
This town is also the place where my wife, the glorious Katie, and I spent our first two years of married life (I was there one year before we got married and the glorious Katie was preparing our wedding and finishing up university in Canada). Living in Terai-machi was a wonderful way for us to begin our life together. It has been an adventure ever since.
Some of my best experiences in Japan happen in Sensei's shop. We get to visit and talk. At the dojo we work, sweat, grunt, groan, rant, and rave ?. But at his shop we can just chat. Thanks to him I can speak Japanese. Have you ever taught an adult how to speak English from scratch? Thinking about how incredibly patient Sensei has been with my fumbling about, butchering his language, and making a total dork out of myself, I am astonished and deeply humbled.
Who does that kind of thing for someone else these days? The grueling hours I put that man through, the horrible contortions of language and expressions, the turning inside-out the heart of his culture, family, and world by some over-grown Canadian doofus must have been of nightmarish proportions. But he just waited me out, pushed me in the right directions, and did it all with unbelievable grace and poise.
Even though Taniguchi-sensei has no formal schooling in education methodology, educational psychology, or class-room management techniques at the local Department of Education at a university run by Birkenstock-wearing professors having Woodstock-LSD flashbacks in the middle of their dull lectures to students who would rather self-impale themselves than listen to how they can never measure up to the "greatest generation in the span of humanity", he is the best teacher I have ever met. And I have met hundreds, many of which come to lectures wearing socks with their sandals. Give peace a chance. Yeah, right.
But I digress.
As we were sitting there that hot late-summer day, and there was a lull in the stream of customers coming for yakimanju, Taniguchi-sensei was explaining to me the hilarity of civic election practice and custom in Japan. He was talking about how the politicians who run for office actually have no political agenda, policy, or platform. They just walk around during election time with their groupies trying to generate interest.
"Yamada desu! Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu! Ishou-kenmei ganbarimasu! Yamada-desu! Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu! Ishou-kenmei."
("I am Yamada! Please remember me favorably! I will do my best! I am Yamada! Please remember me favorably! I will.")
And on it goes. During our chat several different groups (not all named Yamada), walking alongside slow moving trucks with banners and loudspeakers blaring, knocked on Sensei's shop windows to say, "Yoroshiku-ongegaishimasu!," wearing "banzai" headbands and sweating profusely. Taniguchi-sensei just waves to them, smiles with all his teeth showing, bows and says, "Ganbatte kudasai!" ("Good luck! Do your best!"), and waves them onwards.
Laughing a little to himself, Sensei rejoins me at his counter and talks a while about some of the usual election practices, but more importantly, what goes on behind a lot of these things as well. He even goes so far as to say that Japan is basically just a nation of followers.
During our discussion I learned more about why politicians cannot have policies. If the leadership changes, the local level leaders have to follow the new agenda, whatever it is. Now, there are times when there is dissent and disagreement, but for the most part, the government structure is not a representative body of local interests gathering in one place, but rather, locally elected members simply join a bureaucracy. Issues cannot be really discussed, other than general concerns like, "We need to help Japan grow!" or "Japan is in a new century looking forward!" and the ever popular, "The economy needs to get better!"
But basically everyone knows that the election is like a big popularity contest. "Do you like me?" "Do you like my tie?"
Sensei was telling me also about town meetings and gatherings where "issues" are discussed. He talked about how it is easy to see, on a certain level who the blowhards are and who are the people who are really the brains behind the operations. Usually it is the loudmouth at the meeting, the guy with his hand flapping in the air, that irritating person at the front of the room with all the opinions, who is the real knucklehead. Sounded a little like most lectures in the Department of Education to me, mind you. But I digress (again).
The smart guy, the person who has the real power is usually the quietest in the group. He is watching, looking around a little, and just taking in the information.
"Karate is much the same way," Sensei continues, "the guys who really don't understand are the ones who want to start fighting right away. The smart ones, the men who are really dangerous, never do that kind of thing. It is usually the karate-ka who just say things like `Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu' (no, they are not running for election), and `please teach me more about your karate', even when they themselves have trained for years. They are the deadly ones. The Japanese say, `No aru taka wa tsume o kakusu' (The clever hawk hides his claws)."
Karate is a powerful thing. Sometimes that power, or the "sense" of power that some people get from karate makes them get puffed up, out of proportion, and over-confident. We have all seen the brown- belt swagger. When I was a beginner they scared the bejeezus out of me. But then again, it was kind of cool to see them get clobbered by a more advanced black belt during some of the sparring training. Part of the problem might also be that of youth, or people who have never really had power before trying to deal with it and not doing a good job so far. The reasons for some of the more brash behavior that goes on is not easy to account for, but try not to let that stuff rattle you too much. Especially if you are a beginner. Wherever there is a "tough guy", there is usually someone tougher, and you may not even know it.
One of the great things that I appreciate about karate is that accomplished karate-ka, people who are absolutely deadly, look just like regular folks. They don't usually have body-builder type physiques, with massive biceps that lift up your Volvo with out breaking a sweat. Karate-ka look like ordinary people in their clothes. They are like hawks that keep their claws retracted. Anyone who is on the receiving end of an attack by such a person doesn't see it coming until it is too late. Just imagine what rabbits see a moment before impact. That is what karate is too.
This is karate. Karate the Japanese way.
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