Aikido, non-violence and emotional intelligence

I have a wonderful friend called Brent who is passionate about aikido. He invited me to come along and see one of their trainings. It was a beautiful night where I saw discipline, human bonding, care for the body and mind, respect and joy. Of all the martial arts, it is probably the one which I identify most with. I love their thoughts and philosophies. Here is a short but good description of aikido which I found in one of the books I am reading at the moment “Emotional Intelligence” by Daniel Goleman (which by the way was the most influencial book in my life last year, a book that deserves and will eventually get its own blog entry):
“Aikido is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.”

As much as I enjoyed the aikido training I felt it still did not call to me. As many males say when trying to break off a relationship, “It’s not you, it’s me.” I wasn’t trying to squirm my way out of any commitment and there is nothing wrong with aikido. It is just that I live by a philosophy of non-violence. So even if the goal is right, that of resolving conflict, the method is not what I would choose. Although aikido is actually not violent (since by definition violence is aggressive and with the intention of causing harm), the physical strength and techniques used in aikido can be, of misuse or plain mistake, quite harmful.

A problem I have always had, is that in some situations where confronted with violence, I have maybe not really understood a better solution. But today I had one of those “Aha” moments of enlightenment. The tool I need to be able to solve violent situations and live by my philosophy of non-violence is emotional mastery.

Here’s the story Daniel Goleman tells that inspired this entry. A friend of his, Terry Dobson, who was at the time studying aikido in Japan, found himself in a situation where he was met by violence in a subway and was about to put his knowledge from aikido into practice and in some way physically dominate a big, drunk man, who was being violent towards fearful passengers on the train. Just as he was about to do use aikido in this situation, an older, wiser man taught us all a lesson in emotional mastery.

“Terry stood up slowly and with deliberation.
Seeing him, the drunk roared, ‘Aha! A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!’ and began gathering himself to take on Terry.
But just as the drunk was on the verge of making his move, someone gave an earsplitting, oddly joyous shout: ‘Hey!’
The shout had the cheery tone of someone who has suddenly come upon a fond friend. The drunk, surprised, spin around to see a tiny Japanese man, probably in his seventies, sitting there in a kimono. The old man beamed with delight at the drunk, and beckoned him over with a light wave of his hand and a lilting C’mere.’
The drunk strode over with a belligeren, ‘Why the hell should I talk to you?’
‘What’cha been drinking?’ the old man asked, his eyes beaming at the drunken laborer.
‘I’ve been drinking sake, and it’s none of your business,’ the drunk bellowed.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful, absolutely wonderful,’ the old manreplied in a warm tone. ‘You see, I love sake, too. Every night, me and my wife warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench…’ He continued on about the persimmon tree in his backyard, the fortunes of his garden, enjoying sake in the evening.
The drunk’s face began to soften as he listened to the old man; his fists uncleanched. ‘Yeah… I love persimmons, too…’ he siad, his voice trailing off.
‘Yes,’ the old man replied in a sprightly voice, ‘and I’m sure you have a wonderful wife.’
‘No,’ said the laborer. ‘My wife died…’ Sobbing, he launched into a sad tale of losing his wife, his home, his job, of being ashamed of himself.
Just then the train came to Terry’s stop, and as he was getting off he turned to hear the old man invite the drunk to join him and tell him all about it, and to see the drunk sprawl along the seat, his head in the old man’s lap.
That is emotional brilliance.”

I come from Colombia and the violent situation there is something I hurt for and feel very deeply about. I would not be able to handle a drunk on a subway as the elder man did. Someday I hope I could. I can not imagine having to face some of the horrors of violence that occur in my country on a daily basis, both physical and psychological, let alone have the peace and strength to be able to react with emotional mastery. Kidnapping is one of the most horrendous things that I can imagine, for both the person kidnapped and for all the loved ones left in that psychological horror of uncertainty.

I have met someone who has that kind of emotional mastery. He is the father of a friend of mine from school, a man of much culture and understanding, an actor by profession. He was kidnapped in the early nineties and was retained for almost two years. His reaction to the situation was to try to understand and love his captors in any way he could. After some time he made friends with some of the members of the guerrilla group who had him in captivity and realized that many of them did not know how to read or write. So he dedicated those two years of his life to teaching some of those who had kidnapped him to read and write. He was “miraculously” released unharmed and with no ransom paid. That is emotional brilliance.

I know that Colombia is full of everyday heroes, whose stories are never heard, since the media has an interest in publishing fear and horror. If you know of one, I would love to hear his or her story.

(The image I posted is my favorite picture about the war situation in Colombia, taken by Leon Dario Pelaez. It was published in the October 2007 issue of the magazine “Reporters without borders” that was given to me by my wonderful friend and mentor Malle. Thank you Malle!)