Looking forward to driving Arab cars

No, this is not an Arab car. It's the Toyopet. But read on.

I am really looking forward to the day that I can drive an Arab car. Or maybe a Muslim car, if there is such a thing.

Not literally, I mean, I don't really know anything about the state of the auto industry in the Middle East. I'm completely ignorant to that aspect of their local economies.

What I mean is, in light of the Paris attacks last week; the return of 9/11-level anti-Arab/anti-Muslim/anti-anything-that-resembles-an-Arab-Muslim rhetoric spewing from the vacuum-brained and toxic-mouthed pit of Fox News and the current crop of Republican presidential hopefuls, plus the attempts to outdo each other in Ebenezer Scrooge-levels of non-sympathy regarding Syrian refugees being paraded across Facebook from conservative-leaning friends and relations (God bless you all, insofar as you are still members of the human race . . . genetically anyway), I've now decided that the best way to stave off the indignant rage-induced headache creeping up my spine is to look towards the future.

And that is a future in which we are driving Arab cars.

Think of it this way. Back during that little skirmish known variously as World War II or the Pacific War or the Second Sino-Japan War, the then-Empire of Japan was engaged in what truly was an existential conflict with the West and its Asian neighbors between 1937 and 1945. According to Professor Rudolph Rummel, the civilian death toll alone was 5,424,000.

In the United States, it'd be safe to safe that a pretty sizeable dollop of the national stockpile of hatred was reserved for Japan, especially after the December 7, 1941 surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. Admiral William "Bull" Halsey, the legendary American naval commander, certainly didn't mince his words.  “Kill Japs, Kill Japs, Kill More Japs!” he told his troops. “The more of the little yellow bastards you kill, the quicker we go home!” And he certainly wasn't one for half-measures, no siree. “Before we’re through with ‘em, the Japanese language will be spoken only in hell.” he extolled. He, and a lot of his fellow Americans, were not interested in mere military or political defeat. He was talking extermination.

And that hatred was so virulent, so extreme and so blinding, the U.S. government ordered the rounding up and imprisonment of over 127,000 Japanese American men, women and children because of their unfortunate geographical and ethnic connection to the nation's enemy. An "internment" they called it; a "relocation," in which homes, businesses, fortunes, lives these people had built up over decades were shattered, along with any semblance that the flag, the constitution or any of the promised freedoms in this country mattered.

(And by the way, as of writing, the news is circulating about that the Mayor of Roanoke, Virginia, David A. Bowers, in an act of mind-boggling galactic stupidity, has invoked the internment as grounds for rejecting the taking in of Syrian refugees).

But I digress; back to cars! Anyway, after the war ended, an ending in which the Allies were victorious and Japan was in ruins, followed years of U.S. military occupation, reconstruction, the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, the Showa era Godzilla films, and Mach Go Go Go on TV (that's Speed Racer for the rest of you), and then something happened: The Japanese car!

Seemingly out of the blue (though not for anyone paying attention), Japan's automakers (You know the names - Toyota, Honda, Nissan, etc.) broke onto the scene and by the 1980s overtook the U.S. as the world's leading car producer.

And not just that, suddenly, Japanese stuff was cool and hip and trendy. Back in the 1940s, U.S. propaganda films mocked Japan's traditional rice-based diet; the idea of eating raw fish was considered barbaric. Sure, some things were acceptably exotic, like purchasing paper parasols or picking up Japanese bar maids if you were a soldier during the occupation (just don't bring her back home to mother).

Now, sushi restaurants were springing up left and right, American businessmen were reading copies of the classical samurai strategy guide The Book of Five Rings to gain insight into their overseas competitors, little kids were taking karate and judo at the YMCA (uniforms to be repurposed into Luke Skywaker costumes at Halloween), and the television event of 1980 was NBC's mini-series adaptation of James Clavell's novel Shogun.

And it has never stopped. Japanese stuff was (is) here to stay. Anime, sudoku, Pokemon, tamagochi, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Naruto, Ruronin Kenshin, Nintendo, Sony XBOX, ramen . . . the list goes on and on.

So what's my point? With all the loud-mouthed bile being shouted about Arabs and Muslims, with all the naked hate being propagated about the internet accusing every non-Jewish Semitic person of being a wide-eyed, suicide-bombing terrorist mongrel, I dream of a future where all of that is behind us. Where it is more than forgotten, it's been pushed aside by something different; a positive and possibly hipster embrace of all things Arab and Middle Eastern.

I'm imagining a reality with Arab restaurants of every size and shape dotting both metropolitan landscapes and far-off suburbs. A world where white college guys are studying up on Arabic in a desperate attempt to ask the cool Iraqi girl in class on a date. I see food trucks dispensing grilled halloumi, and dance clubs cranking out a fusion of hiphop and Berber or Moroccan melodies.

Sure, things won't be perfect. But wouldn't it be great if the only notes of overt hatred were past-tense reminisces of that old Arab/Muslim-hating relative?; "Yeah, my granddad use to say 'raghead' all the time, and now I drive an Arab car."

What if the only problems being faced were whether the right actor was being cast as that popular Arab or Muslim comic book superhero or whether that new Arab-themed Broadway musical was culturally authentic enough? That would be a giant Neil Armstrong-sized footstep in the right direction, if you ask me. Certainly a better direction than the antagonistic indifference and ignorance we see being bandied about online and on the airwaves.

And yeah, this is a reality I really, really, really want to happen. One because I can't stand what I'm seeing and hearing in the media, but also because of some personal encounters with the legacy of hatred.

Now, I've never been a refugee myself, nor had first-hand encounters with the terrors of war (thank God). But, as I'm half-Japanese and half-Korean, I've had a handful of unfortunate run-ins.

One that I remember is my first trip to South Korea. On Christmas Eve, my grandmother took me to the Methodist church in Seoul that my great-grandfather had founded as its minister. The current junior minister was introduced to me by my grandmother (he spoke English) and we had the following exchange.

Minister: "So, I understand you don't speak Korean."

Me: "No, I don't."

Minister: "But you do speak Japanese?"

Me: "Yes."

Minister: "And you are studying in Japan?"

Me: "Yes." (I was an exchange student to Waseda University at the time)

And at that point, the minister looked at me very seriously and sternly and said:
"I think the Japanese are the worst people in the world."

I had no reaction. And he continued.

Minister: "You see that girl over there."

I looked and nodded.

Minister: "That is my daughter. I tell her every day that the Japanese are the worst people in the world."

And with that he ended. Merry Christmas.


So, after that long-winded explanation, that's why I want to say, I dream of a day when we can be driving Arab cars.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again . . . "

Celebrating my 42nd by getting down (and up and down, and then down again) during a momentous week for the U.S.A.

Getting tossed around by my teacher, Joe Takehara

After an incredible week of events that saw the upholding of the Affordable Care Act (ACA), the legalization of same-sex marriage and reflection on the notorious legacy of the Confederate flag, I thought I'd kick off my 42nd celebrations early (actual date: June 30) with a round of birthday breakfalls at the end of class with the Chicago Aikido Club on Friday the 26th. 

My fellow aikidoka in attendance that night (Marlon Fadragas, Cyril Oseledets, Joe Takehara, Hai Tran, Nguyen Tran and Andrew Vitale) kindly obliged to toss me about the mat.

Age is All in the Mind

Getting tossed around by Joe Takehara

I've posted before about Joe Takehara, one of the fine aikido instructors I've gotten to know over the years, and my principal teacher for the last three or four at Chicago Aikido Club.

Takehara Sensei is 84 years old, lived through the wartime internment, boxed and was a competitive gymnast in his youth, married and raised three kids, is a retired dentist and had ankle replacement surgery two years ago.

You'd think after all that he'd just be slowing down, taking things easy and enjoying his retirement years. Instead, here he is tossing me around like a rag doll during a recent demo held at Tohkon Judo Academy as part of their New Year's festivities.

It may be hard to believe, but none of the moves you see above were pre-planned. And the apparent power is very real. My dojo has been performing a demo at Tohkon for New Year's three years in a row now, but this is the first time ever that Takehara Sensei participated.

Although the rest of us mapped out what we were going to do, we left a wide open slot for Takehara Sensei to do whatever he wanted. And if it looks like I'm surprised in the video, it's because I was. I had never seen or experienced him moving so fast or pulling such moves during regular class.

I'm very much a child of my time and generation. And I'm embarrassed to admit that as such I'm prone to easily feeling defeated or disappointed by petty setbacks as are much of my ilk. So, it's inspiring to be reminded of what someone is capable of when they simply do not stop trying, working or doing what they like to do with a full heart and spirit.

Oh, and by the way, Takehara Sensei was also pretty awesome at showing the rest of us up with his form and power when doing mochitsuki, the traditional making of rice cakes (mochi) for the New Year.

Helping Out an Old Friend

Kel tossing me around sometime in 2008

 Memories from Aikido Summer Camp in the Rockies, sometime in the late 1990s

Let me tell you about my old friend Kel.

Now Kel (full name Kelvin Kakazu) is not my best friend, maybe not even in my closest circle of friends, depending on how you define that. Aside from a few superficial similarities (we're both Asian, we're both half-Japanese, we both like Camus), we're quite different people.

In our younger days, he was the bane of my comparatively staid, common-sense impulses. A man capable of high-endurance hard drinking and hard eating, frequently goading me into staying out way later than a young would-be professional ought to during the working week. I remember the time we both accepted a challenge to eat some legendary Philly cheese steaks as large as human infants and ended up lying on our backs staring deliriously at the ceiling ("I can see through time!" Kel cried out in anguish). I remember the time we ended up together at Tai's til 4 in Wrigleyville, and . . . Wait, no, I actually don't remember anything about that night (hmmmm).

Kel was (and is) a mixture of various clashing traits and eccentricities. A dyed-in-the-wool liberal with a love of literature and old-school philosophers (Thomas Hobbes, Nietzsche, etc.) who is also fond of handguns and owns everal (maybe many). A couple of years younger than me, but possessed of tastes of man senior to me by decades: Frank Sinatra, cigars, scotch, wearing sport coats and jackets even when not required. One of the most literate fellow I know, who can also generate immature politically incorrect jokes so transgressive they would probably cause a nun's head to spontaneously explode.

But Kel and I have an odd little bond that's just between the two of us. It stems from our days training in aikido at the Chicago Aikikai, back when it was in Lakeview on Lincoln Avenue under the late Kevin Choate.

See, despite aikido being a Japanese martial art and both Kel and I being part Japanese (he being half Chinese and me being half Korean), we weren't particularly good at the start of those days. I had a slight advantage, having done two years prior to joining the Aikikai. But neither of us were the naturally athletic type. Though we didn't know each other as children, we were both the type more likely to be found hiding in the library than on the playground at recess. We were, to most appearance, the type of aikido students not expected to last.

But then something happened.

I'm not sure exactly what it was, or when it was, but at some point, we both went a little, well nuts. We became a bit obsessed about getting good at this thing called aikido. It's not like we planned it or discussed it with one another, but gradually two days of training a week because three, then three became four, then four became five.

And when a somewhat notorious episode occurred, when Choate Sensei instituted some special intensive conditioning classes allegedly because of something I supposedly blurted out impulsively, Kel and I made a pact to attend each and every one (The "honorable" thing to do, we thought). And if I recall, the only reason Kel missed one was because he became sick (following a session when he continued training despite feeling ill).

Now, as one would naturally expect, all this obsessive training did lead to a jump in our abilities. And we found ourselves testing our way up the ranks, attending seminars, getting to meet all sorts of noted instructors in the aikido world.

I was pretty happy with what I was starting to accomplish physically, but all that time, I was also impressed by one particular aspect of Mr. Kel. You see, Kel was a pretty big guy (see the photo above). But when required to take a breakfall, roll or high fall, he positively flew through the air. During that period of craziness, he worked himself up to the point that he could really move.

However, like all cool things, this time eventually did pass. Today, I still practice aikido with the Chicago Aikido Club at the Japanese American Service Committee, but Kelvin hung up the angry white pajamas and followed a long-sought goal of going to law school (at Northern Illinois University). We've never stopped staying in touch and have lots of mutual friends, but the days of crazy training and crazy post-training drinks late into the night are a thing of the past.

Flashforward to the summer of 2013.

Kelvin messages me through Facebook, which has become our regular form of communication. Usually it's nothing much. Trading some jokes, comments on current events, etc.

But this time it's different. This time he's contacting me from a hospital.

He had already made a couple of earlier trips due to indeterminate pain. But this time the doctors had found something. Growths, coin-shaped, appearing in X-rays, on his spine. Surgery required. Absolutely no question about it.

I drove out to DeKalb to pay Kel a visit. We hadn't seen each other much in person for a while. I had done some crazy things like go off and get married and stuff like that. In the hospital, Kel told me the situation he was facing. Doctors told him that there was a 10% chance he would become paralyzed after the surgery.

For the rest of his life.

Geez, I thought. I couldn't believe it. I used to see this big guy charging across the mat like a mad bull or flipping through the air with the speed of a much smaller person.

But there it was. Inescapable, irrefutable reality staring him in the face.

-----------------------------------------

The operation was successful, but Kel is now paralyzed from the mid-chest down, and despite the best of efforts, the paralysis appears irreversible.

Luckily, he resumed his law school studies and has proven to be quite the tenacious character. Our Facebook conversations resumed, and now he is a model for me in many ways. Nothing quite makes me feel like any problems I'm having on a given day are petty and insignificant than getting one of his cheery messages (occasionally accompanied by a dirty joke - some things never change).

Anyway, Mr. Kelvin Kakazu is now seeking help to raise funds for a new wheelchair, and I'm all too happy to help. If you're interested in giving, please follow this link.




UPDATES/CORRECTIONS

Kel has informed me that he was very touched by my post, but there were a few inaccuracies. First of all, I had originally written that the cysts he had were life-threatening, but they actually were not (Seemed to have remembered my worst-case fears instead of the facts). Also, he reminded that those cheesesteaks were from Susie's Drive-In (4126 West Montrose Avenue, if you're interested).

Thought I'd give folks a glimpse of Kel in his prime by posting this video from my shodan (first degree black belt) test from 1999. Kelvin pops up as my uke (attacker/partner) during randori (three-man attack) at 6:42 and jo-dori (staff take-away) at 8:34. Enjoy.

Photos from Karate Meets Aikido Night

Erik Matsunaga at Ravenswood Shorin-Ryu Karate Dojo has kindly posted photos on their website from the joint training session on Monday, October 6 with members of Chicago Aikido Club led by Joe Takehara Sensei.

Exchange Training with Joe Takehara and Chicago Aikido Club

Posted on October 7, 2014

Joe Takehara sensei and Chicago Aikido Club at Ravenswood Shorin-ryu Karate Dojo.

On October 6th, we were honored to host Joe Takehara sensei, a charter member of the old Illinois Aikido Club. IAC, founded in 1961 by a small group of Nisei professionals in Chicago Police Detective Tony Muranaka’s basement, was the first aikido dojo in the Midwestern United States. Initially learning from a book by Koichi Tohei, then Chief Instructor of Aikido World Headquarters in Tokyo, the club would go on to host such luminary in-house instructors as Chester Sasaki, Francis Takahashi, Motokage Kawamukai, Isao Takahashi, Yoshihiko Hirata, Akira Tohei, and Shigeru Suzuki.

Takehara sensei demonstrates aiki principles with Ravenswood Dojo member Ryan Yokota.

As a special treat, the Chicago Aikido Club – where Takehara sensei occasionally instructs today – cancelled their scheduled Monday class to attend our dojo in support of this goodwill exchange. We shared a couple warm-ups and basics of karate, then handed the floor over to Takehara, who introduced some advanced concepts of applying technique through kimochi (feeling), relaxation, and proper breathing. A former boxer and gymnast, Takehara took up the practice of aikido shortly after starting a dental practice located across the street from Muranaka’s home. Like his contemporaries, he was not so much interested in the physical aspects of the art as the mental and spiritual side that would help him center and settle his energies for enhanced focus in his career and family life.

Special guest Jason Matsumoto, of Chicago-based Ho Etsu Taiko – “a collective of musicians with a fresh take on the art of Japanese drumming” – also happened to stop by the dojo for some training. Here he works with Chicago Aikido Club manager Dwight Sora.

At 83-years of age and plenty genki to join us for a post-practice hamburger and beer, Joe Takehara is an exemplar of traditional budo. The fact that his vehicle for expression is aikido and our chosen vessel is karatedo makes no difference. We are grateful for this rich experience and look forward to future such exchanges.

Post-practice pub grub at O’Shaughnessy’s Public House, around the corner. Most importantly, we all had fun.

BTW, Erik had mentioned to me that the original draft of his article at Nikkei Chicago on Takehara Sensei had included far more material than made it to the final version. Recently on the Chicago Aikido Club Facebook page, Erik posted a little snippet of what got cut out, which was about Takehara Sensei's time as a gymnast. I have reposted it below.

Erik Matsunaga

September 28 at 2:58pm

Joe Takehara sensei, the most senior aikidoka in the Midwestern United States, captained the 1951-1952 gymnastics team at the University of Illinois at Navy Pier. While attending Lakeview High School in Chicago, Takehara met Herbert "Herby" Vogel, a member of the Chicago Chapter of the American Turners - a nationwide German American gymnastics club.

Herby encouraged Joe to participate, and Takehara went on to practice gymnastics with the Turners from high school through undergrad, until he entered the University of Illinois Dental School. By that time, Takehara said, he had no more time to practice. His buddy Herby Vogel founded and led the Southern Illinois University at Carbondale Women's Gymnastics Team for 23 years, and went on to be regarded as "The Father of Women's Collegiate Gymnastics."

After his first dentistry job doing labs for Andrew Kambara, D.D.S. at 2561 N. Clark, Takehara opened a dental practice at 3355 N. Clark, a mile north (at that time, a mile in city terms was a world away) in a Japanese American neighborhood near Wrigley Field, and became a charter member of the Illinois Aikido Club - founded in Chicago Police detective Tony Muranaka's Clark Street 3-flat basement in 1961.

Little known fact: Joe Takehara, D.D.S. once gave the legendary Koichi Tohei, then Chief Instructor of Aikikai / Aikido World Headquarters, Tokyo, an emergency root canal during one of the latter's visits to Chicago.

Marvel Comic's The Nisei Squadron

On Tuesday, the wife and I watched the second season premiere of Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. TV series on ABC. The episode began with a World War II flashback featuring Agent Peggy Carter of the Strategic Scientific Reserve (the predecessor to S.H.I.E.L.D.) accompanied by Captain America's compatriots the Howling Commandos, represented by Dum Dum Dugan and Jim Morita.

Out of curiosity, I looked up further details on the Jim Morita character, played onscreen by Kenneth Choi (who coincidentally is also from the Chicago area and appeared in the Red Dawn remake I worked on, though we shared no scenes). To my surprise, I discovered here that Morita did actually originate from the classic Marvel Comic books, and even headed up his own group called the Nisei Squadron.

Jim Morita as he appeared in Marvel comics

Jim Morita as played by Kenneth Choi in Captain America: The First Avenger