I was teaching the Saturday morning Kenpo class – no, not the 7:30 am advanced Black Belt class – the 10:00 am one – the one with the wee beasties, the littles, the younglings. Four little girls showed up that day, a couple of 7-year-olds, and a pair of sisters ages 5 and 9. More than halfway through the class, we were running around the lava pit, (no stepping on the red mats, no pushing, no passing, please and thank you and ESPECIALLY NO PUSHING YOUR SIBLING I SEE YOU) and stopping periodically to do back falls. I was encouraging these little warriors-to-be to smack the mat harder when they fell, and I said something like, “If you fall during a fight, you need to hit the mat hard with your hands to protect your head and spine.” The word “fight” prompted the 9-year-old to ask, “Have you ever been in a fight?”  Kids ask this a lot. I tell them the truth, I’ve been lucky and have not needed to use my martial arts in a physical altercation.  Then she asked something no one’s asked me before, “Do you think I will get in a fight? Or any of us?” 

I looked around the room. Four girls. I know the statistics. I know the likelihood that one of these four will be sexually assaulted before she’s 18. I know what we learned during the “Me, too” moment,  that every one of them will face some sort of sexual harassment, and that it will start in just a few years for them. I know the likelihood that some of them may face violence from their boyfriends or husbands. I know the kind of threats they will get if they dare to express an opinion, or really just exist, online. I hear the news about what is happening to us as our rights are being stripped away, and that these little girls will grow up in a country where a goodly percentage of the population wants to deny them autonomy over their own bodies.

Four girls. Do I think they will ever get in a fight? Absolutely I do. They are already in one, just as I am, though they don’t know it yet. It’s not the playground bully (though some have already dealt with that).  It’s not even a physical brawl, not a sparring match where we can freely swing away at a bad guy.  Our fight is fraught with social expectations that tie one hand behind our backs, gaslighting that makes us question our own experiences, and now laws that would deny us our inalienable rights.

Four girls. Do I think they will ever get in a physical fight? Do I think that, in the new world that is being created, they will find themselves in a position where they will need to use not just their brains but their fists, elbows, feet, knees — hell — teeth to save themselves?

What can I say at this moment to these four little girls?  I hear the fear in the question. I don’t want to frighten them. At this age I want them to find the joy in martial arts. And I want them to come back, to continue to train and learn. But I don’t want to lie to them either. A couple of their mothers are there, I see them lower their phones and listen. I start with, “Well, we teach you martial arts in hopes that by doing so, you’ll never need to use it.”  Because of course we do; we hope the confidence they carry themselves with will drive away all the baddies.  But that platitude doesn’t feel sufficient today. I know it’s not sufficient. It will take years to build that confidence and to develop the self defense skills they seek. What can I give them at this moment, that might save them when they need it?

I feel entirely unequal to the task. Four girls. I think for a moment about avoiding altercations and what has helped me, besides luck (which truthfully is probably the biggest factor). I finally settle on a simplified idea from Gavin De Becker’s The Gift of Fear. 

“I will tell you this. If you are ever in a situation, or see a person, and your gut tells you something is wrong, that person is wrong, and you don’t feel safe, you don’t have to be nice and you don’t have to be polite. Your only job is to get yourself somewhere safe.”  I say it twice. Slowly. I explain that their amazing brains sometimes see danger that they can’t quite explain, but they can listen to that whisper of danger anyway. Then, before they can ask me another question that will send me into another existential tail spin, I send them running around the lava pit.

We do a few more laps and then we build an obstacle course.  A pair of them team up to build the worst house to crawl through ever (no future architects in this group) and I manage to bonk each of them on the head with the pool noodle because they didn’t block fast enough. They leave smiling, and I hope that means I will see them all next week.

I hope I’ve done enough.