Chapter Two: Welcome Home

Once upon a time, a man wrote a book called Sapiens in which he suggested that women can’t get ahead because we aren’t good at cooperating with one another (presumably because we are too busy fighting over the best mates…). The second IDEA Focus Group meeting (held online on April 14, 2024, with twelve Valkyries in attendance) opened with a heartfelt expression of gratitude from one of the participants: a “thank-you” for proving this dude to be wrong.

We do have a sisterhood. We can relate to each other. We’ve been there, lived the repeating stories, and can empathize. We can connect. In fact, we’re pretty good at it. It might even be our superpower.

If you read or hear words cloaked as fact or constructive criticism that upset you, make you feel sad or hurt, sometimes it’s because a part of you believes it to be true. There’s nothing wrong with this reaction. Don’t close the door and shut down, sitting in the pain. Instead, look within and ask yourself, “Why am I feeling this way?”

Sharing those painful feelings can be an important step in discovering the answers to your questions. And knowing that you are a member of a sisterhood or larger community that will support you when an arrow strikes and makes your wings falter is, indeed, something to be grateful for.

Welcome home, Valkyries. We’ve got your back.

Now, let’s start taking small steps forward. Together.

Let’s talk about consent. And once we have a better grasp of all the factors impacting this topic, let’s create visual and verbal reminders to help educate others about what the expectations surrounding consent should be. If we have the words to express how we feel about this topic, then we will be prepared for opportunities when those words can and need to be expressed.

Let’s talk about the hakama. What are the policies surrounding its use in other groups and associations around the world? If “it’s tradition to cover up women earlier than men” is the only reason for a very clear, visual disparity between male and female practitioners of aikido, then perhaps some questions need to be voiced. Like, “What are we going along with here?”

It's not uncommon to feel that to be treated equally, we need to act in a manner that inspires equality, in a manner that demands respect.

This is the “Suck it up, buttercup” mentality. But telling ourselves, “I’m not good enough” is an extremely heavy anchor for anyone intent on flying.

What does good aikido look like? What does it feel like? What standard are we trying to live up to? Beauty is unlimited in our natural environment: sometimes it’s lovely, sometimes it’s powerful, sometimes it’s quiet, sometimes it’s transformative. Sometimes, it’s terrifying.  But it can also be imperfect. If we want to promote diversity, then maybe we need to broaden our definitions and expectations of what constitutes “good aikido”.

In ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arrangement, beauty and a sense of balance are typically achieved through asymmetry. Individual flowers and branches are placed with attention to detail so that separate elements can be presented in a manner where their DIFFERENCES are utilized to create an overall effect that is “just right” (insert audible sigh of appreciation).

Maybe we should try looking beyond the hakama. When you bow to a partner, you should take notice of who they are: a human being. Practicing with them in an attentive manner will help you get to know their actual capabilities without relying on superficial assumptions. What assumptions, you ask? Well…

Wearing a hakama seems to have gotten all tied up with “status.” But this is not the case in Japan, where students often start wearing a hakama after a much shorter period of training than what is typically required in Canada. Wearing a hakama has a functional aspect that has nothing to do with status: a functionality that can help to improve one’s aikido by promoting fluidity, awareness of one’s centre, a feeling of being grounded. These are functionalities that can benefit one’s aikido and help a person attain the skills that are needed to become a blackbelt and move to that next level of training.

But along with status, wearing a hakama also seems to have gotten all tied up with “responsibility”. Especially in small dojos. If you are wearing a hakama, then off-the-mat expectations can begin to pile up. If you have a desire to fulfill those expectations, then fly at it and thank you very much! But the potential for unwanted responsibilities circles us back to the topic of consent. Hakama or no hakama, sometimes it’s nice to just be able to go to practice, sweat it out, and leave without having the mantle of “leader” draped across your shoulders. Or, in some cases, the mantle of “assistant who does most of the work.”

And wearing a hakama is also, rather unfortunately, all tied up with “assumed capability.” Ideally, when someone is practicing with a new-to-them partner, a bit of time should be spent “feeling out” that individual’s capabilities and energy level (because everyone has good days, and everyone has bad days). However, wearing a hakama can sometimes cloud this exploratory period. It can lead to this step being skipped; and instead of approaching the practice with an open mind, assumptions can be made, and wings can get cranked beyond their normal wingspan. Yes, if a sempai is sufficiently sensitive, they can pull you into the threshold of your capabilities where you can make real gains in your training. But even for the most sensitive of sempai, this knowledge is probably not gained with the first throw. And this, of course, and again, circles us back to consent. Wearing a hakama should not be an invitation to rough practice.

So. There’s a lot more going on here than just a swooshy skirt.