‘Two stars and a wish’.

How to balance criticism and praise for teachers and students in martial arts.

Constant criticism will eventually grind down the most resilient person, and if it comes from someone in authority, one you are supposed to be learning from, it can be crushing and demoralising.

I know we have heard stories, particularly in the martial arts, where a savagely strict Sensei seems to cruelly and senselessly punish his acolyte or put him through endless, pointless silly tasks. It has become a movie trope; you only have to think of Mr Miyagi, ‘wax on, wax off’. We sympathise with Daniel san’s frustration, but we, the enlightened audience, know that Miyagi’s eccentricities hide a deeper wisdom, one that becomes apparent through revelation. But surely Daniel always has the option to walk away, but that would make for a pretty short movie.

This has been a concept that has been around for ever; brutal trials, harsh criticism, the often used (and abused) quote from Nietzsche, “That which does not kill me makes me stronger”, is supposed to be the ‘toughen up’ mantra, but you have to be careful.

I understand the spirit of Nietzsche’s quote, but taken at face value it doesn’t make much sense. A bit like when somebody says, “you have to try everything once”, what, like jumping from a high building or setting yourself on fire? It’s just ridiculous.

It’s different if the spirit of Nietzsche’s quote is a personal mantra for you, as a kind of self-imposed discipline, that’s all well and good, but the dynamics change when it’s forced on you from the outside.

To cut to the chase – the title of this piece, ‘two stars and a wish’ is one of many strategies used to cushion the blow when guiding young children in school, particularly relating to giving them feedback on their work (or behaviour).

The two ‘stars’ are to tell children two things they’re doing well, while the ‘wish’ is a bit of a Trojan horse, this is the steel fist in a velvet glove, this is the criticism (example; ‘but my wish is that you improve on your spelling’).

Psychologist Jordan Peterson has a version of this that is supposed to be more palatable to cynical teenagers, particularly boys; that is to tell them they are doing really well, but they have in them the potential to do better. It’s a nice one because, he often says that young people are nothing but potential, and this is so true.

How does this work in the Dojo?

How does the Sensei square this circle? It’s a difficult one.

In my working professional life I have been guiding teenagers in classrooms for over forty years, and I have to admit I haven’t always got it right.

It is not just the ‘wish’ that is tricky, but also the ‘star’.

If you are going to flag up the things that the student has got right, it has to be judicious and proportional and crucially, true. If not, a ‘star’ is a currency that can easily lose its value. If you overuse praise, for whatever reason, its potency decreases.

The same with ‘wish’, but too much criticism can become toxic; it will cause resentment, crush confidence and poison the teacher student relationship.

Encouraging and guiding students in the Dojo.

At one time, I had a whole bunch of students preparing for Dan grading.

Trying my best to critique their technique in a way that they could identify the things they really needed to work on I started to make individual notes; this eventually evolved into something more formal. It was a lot of work for me but I believed at the time it was worth it.

Over time it supplied some really useful information; particularly how the same errors happened over and over. But, this meant that the bulk of the feedback was criticism; I am not sure how healthy that was. I was aware of this but rationalised it by telling myself that they were adults and they would surely see beyond any potential harshness. I even said to them, ‘the negative points are the valuable points because they tell you what you really need to work on’.

In reflection, maybe that was too mechanical a model; a one-size-fits-all, that perhaps failed to take human sensitivity into account.

Maybe the focus on the ‘wishes’ should have been turned into a launch pad; the first part of a diagnostic and improvement process that takes you into direct action to remedy the problem. That way the errors wouldn’t have been occurring over and over.

Japanese methods seem to differ.

After many years of working under the guidance of Japanese karate Sensei, it became noticeable that the use of any kind of praise was incredibly rare (or maybe that was just me?). If praise came to you it was sometimes by the most circuitous routes; sometimes second-hand, a Sensei will say something positive about you to another person, and then it might find its way back to you – if you are lucky. I never quite understood that.

But, there’s another way of looking at it.

Inverse Japanese logic.

This used to be a thing a long time back.

I remember a week-long Winter seminar in London, where a buddy of mine was on the course hoping to take Shodan at the end of the weeks training.

We all found it hard going and Suzuki Sensei was in charge of putting us through our paces.

In the line-up, my friend was usually not far from me, often in front or behind, and I noticed that for some reason he became a magnet for Suzuki Sensei, who would be watching his technique and was really gruff with him, correcting him, shoving him roughly into position, kicking his leg if his stance was out and growling and shaking his head. It was a relief for him when Suzuki Sensei turned his attention to somebody else, I could see him visibly relax as the tension drained out of him; but it didn’t last long, Suzuki Sensei was back on him with more of the same.

My friend started to become demoralised.

Over a pint one evening half way through the course with the Dan grading looming, he declared that he was going to back out of the grading examination. We all said, no, don’t do it.

One of our most seasoned guys explained what he thought was going on. He didn’t say it exactly like this, but he told him that the reason Suzuki Sensei was so hard on him was because he liked him. Now, he didn’t mean ‘liked’ as in, ‘he’s a pretty nice chap’, he meant that Suzuki Sensei thought the guy was worth investing in, but to allow that investment of time, effort and attention to flourish, then the guy had better bloody well get his act together. Suzuki Sensei was indirectly making a statement about the qualities he would expect from someone worthy of a Shodan and wanted my friend to rise to the challenge.

“However, there’s a flip side to this”, the seasoned guy explained, “if you are actually being ignored, looked over and not pulled up about your technique, it could mean one of two things; either your techniques are perfect (highly unlikely), or you’ve been written off, not worthy of investing in”. Personally, I found that explanation a little cynical… surely not? What about the supposed pact, the contract between teacher and student? Maybe the pact only works if the Sensei sees effort, openness and a willingness to learn and improve on the part of the student?

The guy changed his mind about ducking out of the grading and gritted his teeth and for the remainder of the week weathered Suzuki Sensei’s continued relentless attention, and lo and behold, at the end of the course he passed his Shodan examination.

That conversation never left me, it just kept churning around in my mind. Since then I have had many casual conversations with Japanese Sensei, but strangely I have never found the opportunity to seek clarification on that one point. Cynical myth or something that only happened in the long distant past that no longer applies today? I don’t know.

Maybe ‘stars and wishes’ only work for kids in school and not martial artists in the Dojo?