I arrive on campus early: a necessity. I’ve done this trip a
few times now – the bus stop for intercity travel is here and I’ve had a
job interview and when we first encountered the feminist initiative – https://www.facebook.com/ocacnic/?fref=ts
– Kate and I met the planners in the shade of a palm tree. The group is a
student-run initiative whose organizers, Noelia, Estrella, and Leda, champion
the unpopular cause of women’s equality in Managua. Prompted by the
International Day of Elimination of Violence Against Women on November 25th, the
women’s self-defense class is but one of a number of initiatives they’ve
masterminded.
There are no maps of this university online, and none
posted. A few signposts dot the occasional corner, but the auditoria I need is not listed. I have the name of the auditorium
on a piece of paper. My routine is to approach one of the students and say, perdon, senor/senora, donde es la auditoria and then hold up the piece
of paper. The first has never heard of it; the second leads me astray as far as
the parking lots. The third tells me to go west, pointing north. The fourth
literally walks me to the front door of the auditorium and pushes me up the
stairs.
Room locked and chained; I’m fifteen minutes early. A student is sitting on the only bench and has her lunch all over it, so I stand on a little breezeway to cool. In another ten minutes a lady arrives with a bag of martial arts pads; I follow her into the impromptu dojo, and help stack fifty or sixty chairs and line them against the walls. The sensei arrives shortly thereafter, and I try to ask him if he’s teaching the lesson Tu es la professor por la lecion por las mujeres? He stares uncomprehending. Yo soy un voluntario. At which point, he calls for the organizer, Leda, who has a handle on English and can facilitate.
Along with the sensei there are three young men dressed in
traditional karate garb: the gi. The housecoat-looking thing with the belt that
signifies rank. The sensei is a black belt, mid-forties, maybe, and the rest
are student-age, two greens and a yellow. Tall, wiry, fast. While the lads
practice kicks and banter, the sensei stands imperious with his arms across his
chest. We’re well past the start time but this is normal.
Eventually several women arrive, probably early twenties.
There are four in total. Looking at the sensei and karate kids, I worry I won’t
get a chance to help. But when the girls and ninjas start circling their arms
and necks Leda nudges me – go warm up with them. We jog around the room a few
times, hopping over small pylons the sensei set up. Then he lines up the
training dummies: the two green belts, one yellow belt, and me in my gym clothes.
The four girls cycle through, pausing at each of us to punch us twice in our
bellies. http://daleclicnica.com/mujeres-aprenden-defenderse/
There is a shyness about doing violence to people which I
think most non-psychopaths possess. Lots of people work through the shyness or
have the shyness worked through for them. But not these four. They were giggles
at the start, unwilling to hurt us. The sensei had to encourage them, muy fuerte! One of the girls looked
frail but punched like a brick. And this actually goes on for some time, and I
think it’s smart. Get the students used to the idea of actually hitting someone.
And at the same time figure out that if you ever need to hurt a man it’s best
if you try really hard.
From here, each dummy is paired with a girl. I don’t think
my new friend is particularly happy about this as she is petite; I’m
about four times her size. The sensei gets one of the green belts to grab his
arm, and practices wrenching his hand free. Then the men/women pairs practice
the newly-learned move over and over. We follow this pattern for dodging
punches, chokes, bear hugs, and disarming an assailant with a gun.
I worry I am discouraging my partner. It is extremely difficult
for her to wrench her hand from mine. I am not easy to
trip. Pushing is ineffectual. Many many times in that two hour lesson the sensei
came by as we were practicing and got me to grab his neck, or squeeze him in a
bear hug, or throw a punch at him, so that he could nimbly dodge, twist my hand
behind my back, kick the legs out from under me, wrench the gun from my hand. Yes,
he is strong, but you can beat him. Make sure to strike fast and don’t let him
take a swing at you. After you strike, run. Ojos
y genitales. Eyes and genitals.
But she is still discouraged. During the choking drill I
place my hands around her neck and her eyes widen. She yells out, in English,
“I will die!” and the sensei swaps her with another lady, who elbows me very
enthusiastically during the bearhug escapes, and trips me onto my back a few
times, laughing at me.
At the end of the lesson the sensei calls us all to the
centre of the dojo and speaks. He says these strategies are for desperate
situations only, that it is best to avoid confrontation and run. He tells the
women the importance of fast strikes, of hitting vulnerable areas, of surprise.
He says even a backpack or laptop can be used to deflect a knife. No man is
invincible. Ojos y genitales.
After, Leda asks me, did you understand when the sensei
thanked you? He said it was important to know that men can be very strong and
to know what to do. I said that was why I was there; there are many men who are
much stronger than me and some are predators: A horrifying thought.
The next day, at an anti-harassment photography exhibit
where Kate and I were volunteering, I showed her my war wounds. A few scrapes
on my hands from having the wooden gun torn out of my hand and my fingers bent
back. Kate puts a band-aid on my finger and asks me to show her the moves I
learned. As the gallery is closing we spar with the photos watching. When we
practice the bearhug she squirms a bit to the side and swings her fist down
like a club and strikes me square in the beanbag. Coughing, gagging,
hunched-over, limping. Cramps running through lower intestine. Trying to walk
it off despite the swelling. “You’re a natural, Kate!” I croak.
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