CHIVALRY: Kindness to the Defeated

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CHIVALRY: Kindness to the Defeated

One of the points which British people notice when they enter into Japanese life is: there is often a big difference between the conduct of an individual, and the conduct of a group.  Of course, it is true all over the world that the herd instinct, a purely animal instinct, can rise in an excited group of human beings, and drown the humanity in them.

But in Japan I think there is a special difference between the individual behaviour and the herd behaviour. It is more marked than in many other countries. Why is this? I believe it is because the Japanese individual so often has a keen sense of compassion; when that compassion is submerged in the herd instinct, which is mainly primitive and destructive, the loss is more apparent.

When I first went to Japan, in 1939, I was a fairly strong Judo man of the Third or Fourth Dan rank. But I had trained only in London, under an old teacher who was himself Fourth Dan grade. I became expert at all the techniques which he taught me. But he had left Japan in his youth, and Judo had developed. So, there were certain throwing techniques which he did not know, and therefore could not teach me and I had no knowledge of them at all.

So, I arrived in Japan with a good knowledge of most of the Judo technique, but with a few “blind spots”.  A couple of weeks after arriving, I went in for a contest at a big public meeting. I think many of the Japanese had never seen a foreign Judoka, and they were watching with great interest.

There were hundreds of contests, and I had to wait for a couple of hours. The winner of each contest received a little medal, as a trophy.

Finally, my name was called, and I went out and faced my opponent, who was I think a student – at any rate he looked like one. He certainly was a good strategist. He knew, I suppose, that I had just come to Japan – because there had been some articles in the Japanese newspapers. He probably guessed that my experience of Judo would be rather narrow. So, he came out towards me and at once tried a very unusual form of the throw called Ko-uchi-gari. I had never seen anything like this in my Judo career, and I was thrown completely. I did not know how to defend against it, because I had never experienced it. As a matter of fact, the defence is rather easy, and this attack will not succeed against an experienced Judo player. But I was ignorant of it and could be thrown easily by it.

I was out on the tatami only about 30 seconds, and then I bowed again to the opponent, and went back to the changing room. I felt very depressed.

I went back into the audience, to watch the rest of the contests. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my arm. I turned, and recognized my opponent, the man who had just thrown me so easily. He did not know a word of English. In his other hand, he was holding the little wooden box with the small medal. He smiled at me, and pressed it into my hand. I felt quite bewildered, but he made me take it. He closed my hand over it, then bowed, and disappeared quickly in the crowd. I never saw him again.

I was enormously impressed by this act of sympathy to a defeated opponent. It would be unthinkable in any country other than Japan, I am sure. In Britain, the winner would certainly say, “Oh, you were unlucky. I suppose you had never seen that trick.” And he would give some words of sympathy and encouragement. But to pass on to the defeated man the winner’s medal – No. I don’t believe anyone but Japanese would be as kind as that.

And yet, look at the other side. At the big university Judo team events, there is no public sympathy for the defeated. There is no consideration for their feelings. The winning university team stay on the contest area, and all the students of the university gather round, and they all shout in triumph and sing the university song, flushed with victory. This would never happen in amateur sport in Britain. (I exclude professional sports like football, because they are not really sports at all, but entertainment, like professional wrestling). Some of them, individually, I know do give some sympathy and encouragement to the losers; but that is afterwards. As a group, there seems to be no sympathy at all.

There is something similar when a Japanese company “captures” another company. The members of the captured company are treated without any respect: they are losers, group losers. So, they are crushed, and they find it very difficult to get promotion, however great their ability. The winning company makes it clear that members of the “captured” company are not really trusted.

I believe that the principle of chivalry, namely giving some concessions to the defeated, is in accordance with the true feelings of the Japanese people. The group ruthlessness is a manifestation of herd instinct, to some extent. The members of the group are not showing themselves in their true nature as human beings, when they follow the herd instinct.

In defeat, a man is very grateful for a chivalrous gesture from the victor. If the student who gave me his little Judo trophy reads these lines, I hope he will realise how I have always kept that memory in my heart. I have had innumerable Judo contests, some won, and some lost. But that memory, of my first contest in Japan, which on the outside was such a humiliating defeat, is in fact one of my sweetest memories of Japan.

© Trevor Leggett