For our end-of-term assessment in my Year 11 English class, we were told to write an argument on
anything that we had strong feelings or opinions about. Having discovered (to my horror) the quality
of teaching in karate schools in Australia, I decided to write this.

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Laws. Laws are good. They maintain order, stabilize society and keep everyone happy. There’s a
law against knives, against guns, against robbery and against doing an impression of Adam or Eve in
public.

All well and good. These laws all help to keep the peace.

But tell me this: When a karate teacher wants to whip his army of slithering amoebas into shape, why
is there a law that prevents him from giving them a good old-fashioned smack on the backside?

I’ve been a karate student for two and a half years. One year of my training was spent in the
Philippines before I came to Australia, in the school of an internationally renowned martial arts
champion named Ricky Lim.

“Sensei” (Japanese for “teacher”) Ricky was more than a teacher. He was a father figure, brother and
friend. But he didn’t spoil us -- oh, no. Training sessions were two hours long, the first 45 minutes
consisting of twenty laps around the area, hundreds of push-ups, sit-ups, stretching and other
activities that would make an asthmatic (like myself) want to just lie down, die and get it over with.
Then would come the lesson. If we performed like the sapped, drained, weakened things that we
were, the consequence was simple.

Sensei would be royally ticked off. And believe me, that wasn’t pleasant.

For instance, if we showed signs that our strength was ebbing, he’d fill the hall with a yell that would
give a banshee a heart attack. If we complained, he’d complain louder. If our stances were bent, a
kick in the offending leg or knee would fix everything. For absolutely stupid mistakes, a knock on the
head. And to test our durability, he’d aim punches or kicks at our midsections to see who’d go down
and who’d remain standing.

Not that he was trying to kill us. It was all in the name of tough love. We all knew that. Sensei’s
blows built character. What could match the feeling of taking one of his punches and being able to
walk away with a grin on your face? The feeling of simply learning something new, however hard it
was? The results of Sensei’s teaching were amazing. Many of his students became state or
international champions. I’m proud to be one of them. Above all, he taught us obedience, disipline
and respect.

It was hard to say goodbye to Sensei and start my new life here. Even harder was the shocking truth
that confronted me when I enrolled in a nearby karate school.

What was this? A karate class, or a B-grade zombie movie?!

I watched in horror, and most probably disgust too, as the students went through their motions like a
legion of the undead. I could swear that they were suffering from rigor mortis.

And what did the teacher have to say about it?

“You’re doing fine, guys.”

Sensei Ricky, where are you when I need you?

No yelling, no reprimands, just a few, gentle little corrections here and there. Then I understood why.
If you hit someone, you get your backside hauled to court on assault charges. You yell at someone and
you’re up to your neck in doggy-doo for verbal abuse.

I wanted to disappear, to leave this house of horrors forever, but my mother had already paid my
lifetime membership fee. Who was I to offend my dear mom?

Laws, laws, laws. Don’t kill people. Don’t steal. Don’t break into houses. That’s fine. But why is
there this law that says, “Don’t discipline your students”?

Maybe laws do make this country a better place. They do, however, put it at a small disadvantage.
Because instructors here just aren’t tough enough, we foreigners can literally kick Australia’s karate
fighters' butts anytime.
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The story has a happy ending. I finally found an excellent karate school in which to continue my
training: Zanshin Shotokan, Baulkham Hills branch, run by Sensei Paul Fenech. Domo arigato
gozaimasu, Fenech-sensei.