Notes on being an instructor

If you spend any time practicing kendo, you will be called upon to start teaching.

Some people relish the thought of finally becoming an instructor. For me all the gloss came off when faced with a class of people looking expectantly at me awaiting direction and maybe even (gasp!) advice as to how to they should improve. The sense of responsibility was massive. “I can hardly perform basics myself, how can I seriously teach others not that much less experienced than myself?”

When you think about it, if you end up spending 50 or 60 years of your life practicing kendo, only about 10 of those will be spent as a full-time student. After that you will spend the rest of your kendo career teaching (and learning too of course).

This article is an attempt to write down a few things that perhaps would have made my life a bit easier back then. I hope they will be of value to those who themselves are just starting out on the instructor’s journey.

Following the pattern

In the beginning it is enough just to run the class. Follow the pattern, you’re just a supervisor. Warm-ups, suburi, kihon, uchikomi, kakari, jigeiko: it’s a time-honoured sequence that does not need much fiddling with. If my sensei asked beforehand to add in some time practicing some specific technique, I realised it was OK just to repeat sensei’s teaching method even down to his exact phraseology. In a sense the junior instructor is a cypher for their sensei and is not expected to display any personal flair or skill. They certainly are not expected to have an interpretation of waza based on their own experience.

As time went on I was called upon to decide on the actual content of the class. This started with taking care of the lower kyu grades and then on to planning and teaching beginners’ courses. This is where a junior instructor starts to bring their own take on how to perform basics. However in my opinion the gap between a junior instructor’s actual grade and the level of the techniques on which they can instruct should be quite large. Here is my own personal metric for an ideal world: shodan should not express an opinion on any techniques but simply announce them and call “hajime/yame!”; nidan/sandan can instruct footwork and suburi, basics of kamae and wearing of dogu. Kihon and other waza should only be taught in depth by yondan/godan and above.

Issues of teaching

There are a number of reasons for the gulf between technical proficiency and teaching ability:

• it is one thing to be able to perform an action with one’s own body, it’s quite another to be able to explain it effectively
• recognising that different people learn at different rates and often require completely different kinds of instructions to reach the same goal is a diagnostic skill that takes much practice
• kihon, although ‘basic’ are fundamental and can lay a good or bad foundation, depending how they are taught
• teaching is about observing and fulfilling the needs of others, not displaying one’s own skill for personal gratification

Japanese versus ‘Western’ teaching methods

As I gained the experience to be able to run an entire class unsupervised, I realised I needed an overall approach as to how to teach. In kendo, two conflicting methodologies operate side-by-side in many dojo, very often without the conscious knowledge of the instructors. For argument’s sake let’s call them the “Japanese approach” and the “Western approach”.  Typically the Japanese approach is to make the student perform repetitive drills with little or nothing in the way of advice. Historically, even high-level waza were not explained and it was left up to the individual to observe closely and imitate. The rationale for this approach was that once the student could see a waza, they would also be ready to do it.

The Western approach is frequently characterised as being more analytical. Students usually have the waza explained to them verbally first, then demonstrated, then more verbal explanations follow. Often the waza will be broken down into its component parts, and each one of those practiced, before reassembling them back into sequence. This is seen as being a more time-efficient and student-focused approach, as it allows students to question the instructor and get clarification on specifics of the waza that are pertinent to their individual needs.

Which path is best?

The big disadvantage with the Western analytical approach is that it encourages over-thinking. Students will often mistake a superficial grasp of the main concepts for real understanding. One indicator of this is the ability to perform the waza momentarily but not later on. On the other hand, few ‘Westerners’ have the patience for the old-school Japanese approach of “three years kirikaeshi, three years uchikomi”. There’s usually insufficient cultural conditioning to be able to stay with the apparent neglect of this teaching style. In other words, many ‘Westerners’ will get pissed off and leave because they think the sensei is ignoring them or is not aware of their ‘needs’.

Perhaps in spite of their conflicting nature, a hybrid methodology is possible. How to combine these two approaches will differ according to individual instructors and their students. My personal opinion is that it is a continuum: that in the beginning most foreign instructors start off with an excessively Western approach and over time, as their experience grows, they are able to teach more effectively while doing (and talking) less. How to achieve that makes up the last part of my notes.

Learning to observe

As the old saying goes, “God gave us two ears but only one mouth so that we should listen twice as much as we speak.” As a guideline for teaching kendo I think this is hard to beat.

When I was in doubt about what to tell my students, I gradually realised it was best to tell them nothing. Not being sure about what to say was, in fact, a sign that I had nothing worth saying. So I learned to kept my mouth closed and my eyes and ears open. Actually, I’m still learning how to do that…

The very best instructors, the ones who really reflect on their teaching and sincerely seek to improve, avoid giving advice to themselves when speaking with their students. If you know what I mean then you know how hard that is. If you don’t know what I mean then you’re likely doing it without realising.

Over time I learnt to observe, to really notice my students, letting their actions tell me what I needed to do in order to teach them what they needed to know. This is an active process that, like kihon men-uchi, is never perfected but always revealing new insight into the shortcomings of your present ability. What looks to an outsider to be aimless wandering around the dojo can be quite hard mental work. And then other times it is in fact aimless wandering. Sometimes it is necessary to focus intently on what individuals are doing, other times it is best to ‘browse’, letting the important points jump out at you. Sometimes you look at the trees, sometimes you look at the whole forest. Like meditation, to observe effectively one must be in the moment, free of self-absorbed internal conversations about your crappy day at work or what awaits you when you get home.

Some sensei, Japanese in particular, are observing machines. They rarely feed back to their students but when they do, it is worth the wait. Their methodology is to observe for very long periods of time, piling up information whilst resisting the urge to spill it. I have a suspicion that the amount of time you spend observing is directly proportional to the depth of the insight you gain. Eventually when the time is right, they talk. An old Japanese analogy is that of an oil lamp: if the wick is high it will provide light but will also produce a lot of black smoke, too low and it will go out completely. The optimum is to produce light without smoke.

Whatever the outcome for their students, the result is they become masters of observation as much as masters of kendo.

Q&A

I do believe in being available for questions from students. However I am frequently struck by how technically unhelpful not only the questions are but more especially my answers. It is rare that I feel that I ever get it so right that the student has a light-bulb moment from something I’ve said. On the other hand the discussion can serve an important social function. Interaction between teacher and student is important and your demeanor as instructor, and the fact that you are open to questions can, in and of itself, be a valuable learning and motivation tool for your students.

Mohan 模範

Mohan means an example or a model which students should copy. This is a really tricky part for those of us whose own kendo is somewhat short of hanshi level. How can we perform an example of a particular waza for our students and do justice to it? How can we do that time and time again without mistakes? How can we avoid the nervousness that comes with being in front of an entire dojo? How can we avoid stuffing up?

The short answer is, we can’t.

And we shouldn’t. One day you will fluff a seemingly simple waza in front of all your students. You will see them knot their eyebrows in puzzlement. You may even feel a little sick as you try to work out how far you have just slipped in their estimation. Best thing you can do is apologise and try again.

But the thing to realise is that these moments are not to be avoided. When you have the ego knocked out of you in front of your students it is good for your kendo, and for you as an instructor. Why?

• It shows you are human.*
• It shows that the techniques are difficult.
• It shows you are striving to improve just like everyone else.
• It shows that striving for improvement is a process that doesn’t end.
• It shows that you are a decent bloke/sheila because you don’t take yourself too seriously.
• It makes the technique look even better when you nail it next time.
• It gives you instant feedback on what you did wrong – when you do it wrong in front of a crowd, you know.
• It gives you the motivation and focus to improve that waza.
• It forces you to perform under stress, just like a grading or shiai.

Eventually you will get used to it and these moments will become less stressful… at least until the next time you have to demonstrate a technique that you can’t do very well! But keep doing it, stuffing up now and again, and trying again. Your students are watching you for a whole lot more than just how you perform a technique. After all, you were a 模範 to them as soon as you entered the dojo.

Conclusion

The secret to being a worthy instructor is, I believe, to keep in mind at all times that you are first and foremost an example. You never know what your students are taking in and what they aren’t. Certainly you can rest assured that they are checking to see if you can “walk the walk”**. When I started kendo, I remember the first time I visited the dojo and saw Nagae sensei I knew I wanted to do kendo. He was Japanese and he looked like a sensei. But apart from fulfilling my basic cultural assumptions, he was also a whole lot of other things I couldn’t have known at 14. Something about his unhurried confidence, his relaxed command of the dojo gave me a glimpse of everything kendo could and should be. He didn’t teach me any technique, didn’t even speak to me. Yet here I am, 27 years later, that example he provided on the first day has remained true and continues to guide me.

* Probably the best example of this was at an iaido enbu in Melbourne by the late Nakakura sensei (Iaido hanshi 9-dan). Upon doing noto he failed to check the position of the kurigata with his left hand and attempted to replace the sword into an upside-down saya, only realising his mistake when the sword became jammed. If a 9th dan can make a beginners mistake like this… well, that’s a “get out of jail free card” for everyone I reckon.

**For those whom English is not their first language, the full saying is “Walk the walk, don’t just talk the talk.” In other words, can you really do all the things you’re telling your students to do?