Reflections by Vu Ha

These blogs are transcribed and edited conversations held between Vu Ha and BA members in 2023. They represent his memories and experiences.

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Blog 1: Finding a Home on the Mat

My first experience doing aikido was in fourth grade. There was a Vietnamese guy in Lubbock, Texas, who was teaching. I did it for a couple of months. I got good at taking falls. I was the only kid in a group of these adult students. But then the TV show, Shogun, came out. I didn’t want to go to aikido. I wanted to stay home and watch Shogun. My dad said, “Well, if you stay home and watch Shogun, everyone else will advance in aikido, and you’ll miss out.”  So that was it. Shogun stopped my aikido career in the fourth grade.

In college, I had a friend who practiced aikido and through him I joined the club. The instructor was a Japanese guy from Canada, Hiroki “Rocky” Izumi. He was a bit eccentric. He wore a cowboy hat and cowboy boots with his hakama. He invited Tohei sensei from Chicago to come down to teach a seminar. I remember being on the mat; everyone was chattering, and all of sudden the mood just got quiet. I wondered, “What’s going on?” And then this little Japanese man walked onto the mat. And for some reason, I was intrigued. I had always liked martial arts. I liked Bruce Lee. Bruce Lee was my connection to something. I was the quiet kid. I had always wanted the student-teacher relationship. All of a sudden, there was this little man with this certain kind of authority, and I thought, “I like this.” Tohei Sensei taught class. He spoke broken English. He was very serious. He took aikido very seriously.

I found out later that he was a kamikaze pilot during World War 2. When he trained to become a kamikaze pilot, his family had a ceremony to say goodbye to him. It was like a funeral for him. They considered him dead. But the war ended before he flew his mission. When he went home, his family had already written him off. They didn’t really acknowledge him anymore. But he found aikido, and he took it to heart.

His seriousness appealed to me. It gave meaning. It made sense. It had purpose. When you’re an aikido instructor, there’s no clear product. But there’s a meaning. And he took it to the highest level. It gave him purpose.

As an immigrant kid, I never felt a part of U.S. society, but aikido gave me a reason, a purpose. Tohei sensei made it clear that aikido is not Japanese culture; it is martial arts culture. What matters is the culture of the dojo. He made me feel like even though I’m not Japanese, I could set foot onto his mat.

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Blog 2: Tohei Sensei’s Most Important Lessons Were Off the Mat: “Wake Up!”

Tohei sensei was so serious. He was very rigid but in a (mostly) good sense. One time, in an interview, someone asked him if he liked Japan or America more. He answered, “When I eat rice, I like rice.” He always talked in that cryptic way. And I loved that. Because it was up to you to take what you want from it. He communicated the idea that aikido is a mindset, a thinking process. 

I didn’t go to Tohei sensei for his technique. I went for his character. On the mat, he didn’t teach mechanics. He put more emphasis on acting correctly. He wanted us to take care of the dojo space. The highest ranking person at the dojo cleans the bathroom. 

Tohei sensei’s aikido was not flamboyant; it was very clean cut. Sometimes, he would throw me, and he would put power into it, and I would feel that little bit of magic. But he didn’t correct me on the mat. Sometimes he would make a subtle gesture. He would put his palms together so they were parallel, which was a signal that I was too far out of line and I should pull it back. But that was it. Just come back.

I became his kenshusei (close student), assistant. I used to drive to his house and pick him up to take him to the dojo. Sometimes, if I arrived 15 minutes early, I would take a nap in the car. Then he would have to bang on the car window to wake me up. We’d go to the dojo, he would teach, and then I would drive him back home. When we got to his house, I would grab his bag and run it up to the porch. It was this kind of game – trying to stay one step ahead of the sensei. 

When I messed up, he took me to his office and closed the door, and told me privately what I had done. I think he knew I had a softer shell at that time. I could take a physical beating on the mat. But he knew a sharp word from him would make me crumble. He took care of me.

One time, I was driving him somewhere, and I fell asleep at the wheel, and the car hit a road divider. I said, “Sorry, sensei.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Not people.”

Someone brought him a gift. I showed him the package: “Look, sensei. Someone brought you some fancy tea.” I pointed at the package and pronounced the name of this fancy tea. “See here,” I said. “It’s called `a-wok-ay tea’. Want to try some?” I was thinking it was a Japanese tea. He looked at the box, then at me, then back at the box. “You mean Awake tea?”

He would always say, “Eat more rice. More grow up.” I think he saw that I had aikido potential, and he was trying to nurture that. I didn’t have confidence though. He was always encouraging me to take more leadership. 

When my parents came to visit, he had the class turn and bow to them. For him, he felt like my parents had sacrificed their son to move away and come to Chicago. 

Tohei sensei had lung cancer. When he was sick, I would go to his house to sit with him and keep him company. Sometimes, I fell asleep, and he would catch me sleeping and yell, “Wake up!”

The day before he died, I had picked up his son from the airport. He had just flown in from Japan. Sensei had been hallucinating about seeing his son. I got his son to the hospital, and as I was leaving, sensei put his hands together and nodded to me. I believe now that he was thanking me for bringing his son.

There was a Zen priest who would visit sensei at the hospital a few times. He said to me, “This is a great teacher: someone who shares his life and his death.” That made an impression on me.

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Blog 3: Twice an Immigrant in the Dojo

After Tohei sensei died, I looked for a new sensei. I traveled to seminars. I went to USAF summer camp. I tried to figure out where to go. I could have gone to practice with Yamada sensei, but New York seemed too big. Chiba sensei – I didn’t think I was ready for or wanted that kind of austerity. I wasn’t ready to move to Japan. Somehow, things led me to Boston, and I began to study with Kanai sensei.

One of the things that drew me to New England Aikikai was that I wanted to learn iaido. Once, I saw Kanai sensei demonstrate a form (Eishin Ryu, Koteki Gyuakuto). It’s the most beautiful movement I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like seeing a shooting star. He cut in the back and then in the front – and it happened so fast. I saw it, and it was gone. I fell in love with that movement. I was drawn to the question: what does it take to achieve such a movement? I thought, “I want to be able to do something like that.” Here I was at a weapons seminar with all these high level people. The energy was amazing. Kanai sensei was part of that, plus he had this calmness about him. He was calm, but then there was lightning. I had lost Tohei sensei, I was still reeling from that. This flash of movement – of light – gave me direction. 

For Tohei sensei and Kanai sensei, I felt I was both immigrant and student to them. I was in Chicago with Tohei sensei, but I was not from Chicago. I was in Cambridge with Kanai sensei, but I was not from Cambridge. This feeling was more pronounced with Kanai sensei because I had been practicing for a longer time when I became his student.

When I moved to Boston, I remember I went to his office to talk to him, and it didn’t go well. I think I was feeling mixed about joining his dojo. I felt like I was betraying Tohei sensei by coming to study with Kanai sensei. So I didn’t ask to be his student. Instead I just said “How do I sign up?” His face showed his disappointment. His expression said, “Why are you wasting my time with that question? You sign up like you sign up anywhere.”

Kanais sensei was very astute. He could tell my struggle. I was having a hard time adjusting to the transition from being Tohei’s student to being Kanai’s student. And he told me, “A teacher can’t choose their student.” That’s always stayed with me. It would be up to me to choose him as my sensei.

Kanai sensei was kind, but he had a serious look that could stop you in your tracks. His aikido was powerful and supple. When Kanai sensei threw me, I felt the power and the softness. Many people are able to imitate his power, but it’s harder to master the suppleness. That’s the challenge of aikido. 

I learned from Kanai sensei that “soft power” comes from being in control. Controlling your posture, knowing where the movement comes from, reading your partner’s ability – your partner’s body. Giving your partner direction and support and release at the right time. It’s about timing and placement.Suppleness helps your body and your partner’s body survive. As uke, you’re being guided. The movement is not harsh or jarring. Nage is in full control. Aware.

It’s hard to do though.

Kanai sensei’s style was different from Tohei sensei’s. I was adept enough to make the switch, but I still wasn’t fully in the new style. The turnaround came when he promoted me to fourth dan. I said, “Are you promoting me because of my longevity? Or because you think I’m overdue? Or because you see me as your fourth dan.” He answered, “Well, you’ve put in your time.” 

I said, “Then I don’t want it.” I was concerned he was promoting me due to my longevity and not due to me being fourth dan level according to his standard.

He said, “No, take it. Accept it.” 

And from there, it became more of a nurturing relationship. It was more of a conversation between us. He gave me a compliment, which I still remember. He said, “I like the way you think about aikido.” He asked me what my principles of aikido were, and I said I didn’t know. And he told me to think about it. 

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Blog 4: Tenkan Means to Change

We start class by doing a simple move – tenkan. One meaning of the word is “to change.” I like the idea of uke (the person who attacks) and nage (the person who responds to the attack) approaching each other at this stage in the practice and just noticing each other. I want them to say to themselves, “I feel you. This is what you feel like at this moment.” 

With tenkan, you have the opportunity to do something well by doing less. When some people do tenkan, they do too much. Try doing less. As nage, just accept that someone has grabbed you and do less. Do just enough and no more. If you speak that message, you’re doing too much. If you take a walk in the woods, and you see a tree, the tree is not telling you, “Enjoy life, seize the moment, be present.” No. The tree is just there. You decide to make what you will of it.

When I’m teaching tenkan to beginners or someone who’s trying aikido for the first time, I feel like I should explain it. From the outside, it’s hard to see what the point is. But I don’t explain it. I want people to just feel it. Tenkan is fundamental to aikido: you’re taking energy and changing it.

Aikido is about change. Positive change. What I like is seeing people come into the dojo for the first time, maybe a little hunched over, and then they stand straighter, shoulders back. I like seeing that change in people. They take a fall with less fear. They know they’ll be okay. They know that they can’t force it. Everyone has limitations. So… when I see that self-awareness, I know they are growing.

We’re not changing the world. Maybe we’re changing ourselves.

Come in and bring your true self, and we’ll give you a good practice. We’re sincere. We’re not here to beat you up or impress you. Some people might criticize me for not focusing more on self-defense, but that’s not my goal. They say we should practice techniques we can use on the street. I say, “Yeah, but I don’t live on that street.”

This is what we do. We’ll give you a good handshake. We’re still martial. We value effectiveness. But I’d rather see good posture and position. I don’t do martial arts for self-defense. I do it for the person.

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Blog 5: On Teaching

I like being a student. I started the dojo so I could keep practicing. At Boston Aikikai, I like to consider that I have members of the dojo, rather than claiming them as my students. I’m providing you with a place to practice and grow. I don’t claim the role of teacher. I see people claim that role too early. It’s like listening to a millennial talk about their “life” experience.

My teaching style may be thought of as not very efficient. Other dojos communicate more and troubleshoot. But at BA we don’t practice via troubleshooting. We don’t see a problem and try to fix it. We’re not checking off lists. It’s more like we’re trying to take care of the whole picture – not first learn how to paint this tree, now the house, now the sky. You’re learning how to paint the whole scene at the same time.

It’s a layered, not a linear process. We’re doing everything at once. Little by little, more detail comes in. More colors… Sometimes, people think, “I’m not learning anything. I’m not advancing.” But I’d rather see slow and steady progress, which comes from mastering the fundamentals.

I find joy when the movement I demonstrate allows my uke to trust. Maybe I have a stiff uke or a shy uke, and I get them to stay connected with me. I also like it when my uke thinks they know me – they assume the movement – but then I surprise them. I want to be in that kind of conversation – not predictable but connected.

If you are my uke, I wonder, “Can I push you a little further? Oh, okay, maybe not. You bailed. That’s okay. You shouldn’t go further than you can go.”

When I started doing aikido, I thought that nage had to move around uke. But now I want nage to be the wave. Uke is the surfer. The wave is just moving, and uke is coming along for the ride. As uke, you try to ride it well; ride it until you need to get off. The wave doesn’t care. It’s just a wave. Ride it as long as you can. That’s compelling to me. That’s my expression – this is how I’m moving today. Is it rough because it’s stormy? Or is it a calmer day? Tohei sensei always said, “If nage feels good, then uke feels good.” Osawa sensei says, “Just move.”One of the pleasures of teaching is noticing people transform. I see someone finding their center, working on their axis turn, exploring their power. At the end of class, when we do jiyu waza (freestyle), I watch for it. And sometimes, I see it. “Oh, there it is!” It’s like when you’re listening to music, and you hear a nice note or combination of notes – you notice that. You feel something.

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Blog 6: On the Dojo

I love our dojo. I would love to see more young members joining – just to nurture aikido and because I think aikido is valuable. I want people to come into our dojo and say, “Oh, I see this is a serious dojo without having a stiff attitude.” You can have etiquette and tradition, and you can be sincere in it, but it’s communicated by the feeling of the place. When you walk into a church, even if you’re not religious, you are respectful because you can tell it’s a place that has meaning. When you walk into a library, you get quiet – just because you know it’s a place to be quiet. You can still be yourself, but you respect the space.

I think there’s something valuable in tradition. Aikido is a tradition that helped me improve my life. One teacher told me that aikido just makes you more of who you are. It helps you shed off layers, so that you can emerge more thoroughly as yourself. Aikido scrapes at your persona, at your ego. Some people get stuck at a certain stage because they’re comfortable at that spot.  Keep scraping. What’s your true essence? 

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