Essay by Luke Donev as part of the promotion to Nikyu
Something that has struck me, and that I very much appreciate, about the Cornell Judo club is the sense of welcoming community. We meet for only three to five hours a week, with occasional e-mail contacts and sporadic tournament road trips. Yet there is a strong sense of concern and community for our fellow judoka.
I think the community really became apparent to me after the Empire Games I was disqualified from. I let someone use my pass to get in for free, he got caught, and I was disqualified from the tournament. I felt an incredible amount of shame for the stupidness of my actions. In terms of the tournament, I’d wasted all the time and effort we put in training by breaking a rule to save a few bucks. I don’t think that training in judo is ever wasted, but in terms of getting ready for the tournament I had wasted my time and the time of others. I deeply regret my actions.
After the tournament, I felt like I needed some time away. I literally did not want to show my face at judo. Competing and losing every match would have been fine, but getting thrown out was embarrassing. About a month later, after I’d thought about it several times and worked through things in my head, I came back to the dojo to start back up. Everyone was happy to have me back. There was no shunning or blaming. My skills had gotten a little rusty, but there was no having to work my way back into the fellowship of the club. Folks were glad to have me back on the mat. Folks agreed that my actions were not intelligent, or the best course of action; but they didn’t hold that against me as a permanent smear. It was more important I was back to play judo. That was when I really started to see the club as a community.
I’ve tried to put that feeling of welcoming back into my interactions with the club. When a judoka comes back after being away for a while, I want my “hey, where you been?” to convey “we’ve missed you and we’re glad you’re back” and not “you better have a good excuse for your absence.” Folk’s lives get complicated, priorities rise and fall. I’ve decided that judo needs to be a priority in my life for health and sanity. I want other folks to feel like they’ll be welcome when they come back, not worried about hazing or grief for being away. I may not always like playing with every judoka that comes on the mat, but if the club were only composed of my favorite judoka, there wouldn’t be enough people to give the club the energy to keep going. Despite the one-on-one nature of a judo match, and the heart of one’s judo being at one’s own core; the pursuit of better judo requires a group of people. So I have striven to make new members feel welcome, and let leaving members know they will be missed. I think that current members seeing the send off leaving members receive get the message that we appreciate all our fellow judoka.
I’ve noticed over the years that when folks come back to Ithaca, they often make a point of tracking down the judo club, even if most of the students they personally knew have moved on. I think they are warmed by the feeling that even if the faces have changed, the community they remember continues. That’s a sign of a healthy community that I’m happy to be a part of.
I’m not completely sure why the judo community is as strong as it is. There are certainly a collection of good folks who work at it, but we only see each other a few hours every week. But even in those few hours, we all have a common interest. Everyone who comes to the club does so because they want to work on judo. Whatever other overlap, or lack of overlap, we have, judo is a common interest for all of us. Judo also has the advantage of being something that, with care, nearly any two judoka can work on together. If your partner is bigger, smaller, stockier, different gender, much older, much younger, whatever; there are aspects of judo that the two of you can work on.
The common interest is backed up by the principle of mutual welfare and benefit. I can go to a bike race where everyone is interested in biking and winning the race. There will certainly be camaraderie and community, but if someone drops out, the race isn’t really effected that much. I think that most sports like racing where there is individual competition against a group have a lack of connection to other opponents that build a closer community. In judo, I have a vested interest in my partner being healthy and well and coming back to play next class, so that I can play with them directly, and learn with them directly. Empathy for ones partner is immediately enforced. If I play singles badminton, a one-on-one game, I can beat my opponent, but short of interesting rallies, the interaction is limited. With judo, I’m directly connected to my opponent, and if a technique is off, or is done with too much power, there’s a halt in the action as someone recovers. Even the least empathetic person will notice “doing my technique like this means this person can’t or won’t play with me, and I’m running out of partners,” which forces an awareness of others onto someone. I imagine there are badminton players who won’t play with some badminton players because they don’t have fun, but it’ll probably be a subtle avoidance instead of saying “no, I won’t play with you, you’re not safe.” The “my actions on others affect what judo I get to do” drives home the mutual welfare and benefit. I think that something I’m going to have to work harder on as a senior student is making it clear to newer students they have a right to enforce their own safety, and that doing so will help a better judo community grow. This can be taken to extremes, I don’t like being choked, but I accept it as a vital part of judo. Never doing anything uncomfortable would lead to stagnation, or never even taking that first awkward breakfall. But judoka should understand their right to safety, and how to enforce it.
Judo reminds me of dancing in a lot of ways, both physically and in its sense of community. I think a lot of the things that build community in judo also apply in dancing. I’ve noticed that dancers often form romantic partnerships with other dancers, but that it happens a lot less in judo. It might be that the gender ratio is usually sufficiently off balance that it’s never been practical. I’ve noticed for myself, that while I’ve been attracted to the occasional judoka, I’ve never thought “I really need to get the girl I’m dating involved in judo.” Whereas most of the girls that I’ve dated lately I’ve met through dancing, and we often get each other into other types of dancing; judo doesn’t seem to pair with pairs well. I’ve noticed the couples who take the beginning class together and won’t play with other folks don’t progress nearly as much. While switching partners in dancing is also important for learning and progress, dancers often end up having favorite partners and working on their most elaborate moves with them. I think, in part, it’s because dancers build a dance together. Having done a dance move already means you can work on the nuances and subtleties of it with your partner next time. You develop a body vocabulary with your partner, and repeated things become in-jokes or shared moments. In judo, at the end of the match I want to have thrown my opponent. While working on nuances and subtleties is important, there’s a moment where I want to have the advantage of surprising my opponent so I can throw them. In dancing, even with a lead and follow, two people have a conversation. If one person dominates that conversation, it lessons the enjoyment for both parties. In judo, that domination is what gives the play its spice. In randori and shiai, there should be a throw. At the moment of the throw, one person’s will becomes the defining drive. It’s what makes randori different from uchikomi. I’ve yet to meet anyone who would dedicate their life to uchikomi without doing the occasional randori. The techniques are, by design, intended to throw someone who resists or is surprised. Without randori, judo would be even closer to dancing. I think the contest, the feeling that your own skills can be sharpened by pitting them against someone else, is a fundamental part of judo. It’s not in dancing, and its something that would require exceptional care in applying in a relationship. I think an appreciation of that is part of what judoka have in common and helps build the community.
I could exercise in other ways besides judo (and probably hurt myself less often); there are other hobbies that build body awareness, coordination, strength, etc. The martial art of judo is not the most applicable in the field of beating people up in the real world (in my limited experience, that’s hapkido). I have other sources of friendship and camaraderie. But I feel that judo has a built in trend towards establishing a healthy community and encouraging individuals to develop their bodies, empathy, focus, and engagement in community. It does so with patience, open arms, and a joyful reception of every contribution. The physical activity seems to merely be the substrate to build on. I’m looking forward to continuing in the judo community wherever I end up, and helping it flourish.
