The Hardest Lesson

There is an issue in violence that everything we do in training points to, but very few people, if anyone, ever gets.  We have paid lip service to it, talked around it, and indirectly hinted at it.  Today is the day it gets dragged out into the open.

You’ve heard us say that the one doing the violence prevails, and you’ve probably seen this adage in action (hopefully only on video).  You buy the logic of it, see the truth of it stitched across the entire swath of human history.  But have you ever really thought about what that means for you?

In poker they say that if you sit down at the table and don’t know who the sucker is, it’s you.  If you find yourself there, as the sucker, it’s best to get out before the first card hits the table.  In violence, if you’re not the most dangerous person in the room, you’re the victim.

So really, the end-goal of all training, all the time on the mats, every last millisecond of leg dynamics—even reading this post—is to become the most dangerous person in the room.  Period.  Wherever you go, no matter who you’re surrounded by, you need to be the most dangerous person there.  The One person who, if you were to be caught on video doing violence, would stand out for directness, ferocity, and brutality.  The One obvious person in the frame who is in control, making everyone else want to get away from them—and breaking people at will.  The One who would make even a casual observer blanch and crap their pants.  You want to be the center of the storm.

Right now you’re nodding in agreement.  You got it, this is nothing new.  That’s you to a T.  It’s where you live, it’s how you roll, because you’re dedicated to living an embarrassingly long life and dying in bed surrounded by your geriatric great-grandchildren with your third baboon heart beating in your chest.

Here comes the hard part, the hardest lesson, because violence has nothing to do with being dedicated to living—it has everything to do with being dedicated to hurting, crippling, and killing people.  With being The One person there who wants to do those things more than anyone else in the room.

Who do we know of who pulled off this trick recently?  That’s right—the most recent mass shooter.*  His use of the tool of violence was stunning in its base utility—it was textbook.  So much so it is now your required reading.  He was everything I laid out above, the one you were nodding enthusiastically to just a moment ago.  Feels different now, doesn’t it?

If you really got it, if you really understood what we’re up to and up against here, it wouldn’t feel different at all.  You would nod, just not enthusiastically.  You’d do it with a grim determination.  See, it’s kind of cool to whisper to yourself, “I’m the most dangerous person in the room.”  It puffs you up, makes you feel like the protagonist in a spy thriller.

The reality of that statement ain’t so nice—or socially acceptable.  Because what you’re really saying is “I’m like the most recent mass shooter.”  The center of the storm, with unflinching intent, making everyone want to get away from you rather than go after you, delivering multiple injuries per person, dropping them and then making sure they don’t get up.  If you had read the preceding sentence before I mentioned mass shootings, you’d think it was pretty cool.  You’d think, “That’s me.”  But not now.  Now you’re wrestling with it.  Sickened by the idea.  That’s why it’s the hardest lesson.

It’s not only hard to learn—most people don’t want to learn it.  If you’re having trouble with it, then that’s your biggest problem with training for violence—not how good or bad your cross step is, or where exactly the spleen is or not knowing enough base leverages.  Because if you walk into the room and you don’t know who’s the most dangerous person, it sure as hell isn’t you.

— Chris Ranck-Buhr (from 2007)

*Virginia Tech shooting, April 16, 2007—32 dead, 17 wounded, with nothing but two pistols.