Striving

to be a winner
By Maureen de Jager Ive often heard it said that the SA Shotokan Karate Academy kanji (the Japanese character in the SASKA logo) translates as Striving to be a winner. But what does this actually mean? What are the criteria that define one as a winner or as a loser, for that matter? Recently, these question were raised for me by an unlikely encounter with a gutsy performance artist, Anthea Moys. Moys joined East Cape Shotokan-Ryus Grahamstown dojo as a complete beginner in April this year; and in July she took on six of our toughest male karateka, challenging them to a very public kata and kumite showdown. With a mere three months training (and an Eighth Kyu / yellow belt grading) behind her, Moys would be hopelessly outmatched by her First Kyu, Shodan and Nidan competitors. From the start, she was all but destined to lose. Yet, for Moys, losing was precisely the point and the central idea in an ambitious performance art project conceptualised for the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown. Moys holds the coveted title of 2013 Standard Bank Young Artist for Performance Art. Being a performance artist, she uses her body as her primary means of expression, making artistic statements by orchestrating scenarios and events that defy audience-members to rethink their preconceptions. So when Moys was given the opportunity to create something unique for the Festival, her artistic vision was to take on the host city in a spectacular all-out challenge. Fuelled by the belief that the best way to learn about a place is to immerse oneself in its games, Moys joined six local sports teams and cultural groups, with the ultimate aim of pitting herself against them. On all fronts she came in as a total novice, giving herself a deadline of three months to learn the necessary skills from her eventual competitors. The culmination: Anthea Moys vs. The City of Grahamstown, a series of six dramatic contests for Festival audiences. In the space of a week, she single-handedly took up arms against a battle re-enactment group; stepped it up in a ballroom dancing extravaganza; tested her singing voice in a choral competition; made moves against the university chess team; kicked ball against a local football club; and donned her mitts against ECSR Karate. Predictably, she lost in everything. In battle, she found herself outnumbered by the enemy, shakily playing the bagpipes as they rounded her up. In ballroom, too many missteps saw her hastily banished from the dance floor. In choir, she was wholly out-sung by two resounding choral groups. In chess, her fate was quickly sealed by checkmate. In soccer, she failed to score a single goal. In karate, her Heian Shodan and Nidan kata were no match for the brown and black belts Bassai-dai and Empi; and her limited kumite experience left her wounded, winded and defeated, with a total of 2 hard-earned points to ECSR Karates 40. What made these defeats seem particularly brutal is the fact that Moys had been such a dedicated pupil. She had trained exceedingly hard in the months leading up to her performance: carefully dividing her time between battle, ballroom, choir, chess, soccer and karate; and practicing daily to a point of near exhaustion. As a karateka her standard improved dramatically so much so that she sailed through her Eighth Kyu grading. For a beginner she was incredibly good. In fact, had the challenge been Anthea Moys vs. the yellow belts of ECSR Karate she would have had victory well within her reach. But Moys had no interest in testing herself against fellow beginners. She wanted impossible odds.

In the run-up to her performance I often heard people ask: Whats the point? Indeed I pondered this myself on occasion. Why would Moys deliberately set herself up for public failure? What could she possibly gain? I doubted the merits of losing in such a spectacular fashion and I questioned the intentions of those who would buy tickets to watch. I worried that it bordered on the farcical. But something about Moyss attitude about the seriousness with which she embraced her karate training compelled me to keep an open mind. All I can say is that my doubts were assuaged completely when the day of our karate contest arrived, and I saw our rising star in action against the brown and black belts of ECSR. This was a genuine challenge, undertaken most sincerely by an earnest and devoted karateka. Moys gave it her all. And despite the points rapidly stacking up against her, she radiated triumph, carrying herself for all the world like a champion. She kept her resolve and focus through several rounds of nail-biting kumite at one point losing her breath when her black-belt opponent landed a solid gyaku-zuki (reverse punch), but never losing her nerve, her composure or her positive spirit. The effect was utterly captivating; the support from the audience electrifying. Spectators who had never even met Moys offered vocal encouragement, cheering her on when it looked like she might score and waiting in silent anticipation as she recovered from her injury. Notwithstanding the title of her performance Anthea Moys versus The City of Grahamstown it seemed to me that The City had come out in full support. Even the opposition recognised and honoured her bravery, symbolically giving her the victory when, at the end, one of the ECSR karateka presented Moys with his medal on behalf of his team. So, technically, Moys lost the contest, but she managed to galvanise a city. Why the overwhelming support for a loser? One possible reason is that we can all appreciate Moyss fighting spirit despite her defeats. In resolving to take on six formidable fighters, she demonstrated that the biggest obstacle is karate (as in life, perhaps) is not the size, speed or skill of ones opponent but ones self- imposed limitations the restrictive preconceptions that dictate what one can and cannot do. In this regard, Moys also got me thinking about the difference between being a winner and striving to be a winner (as in the SASKA kanji). Being a winner suggests a particular state of accomplishment, vindicated by titles, medals, trophies, a place on the podium. But striving to be a winner suggests something else entirely: an enduring fighting spirit; a Moys-like attitude of mind. For many of us, the prospect of actually being a winner remains sadly out of reach, despite our sincerest efforts. But striving to be a winner is a possibility open to everyone. And while being a winner is certainly commendable, it is also often short-lived: lasting just until someone better, faster or stronger comes along. But the rewards that follow from striving to be a winner can sustain one for much, much longer perhaps even for a lifetime. Just ask Anthea Moys.