The Sickle Cuts Both Ways by Antonio Tony Ramirez PDF
Introduction:
I sat outside the hospital wrapped in a blanket. My face lit up red by the flashes of the ambulance. I could see my breath billow out and fade into the night, over and over. It was so, so cold.
23 years ago, on that September night a killer had struck. A killer who had before him two choices. The life of me, or the life of my sister. He could have taken both, he could have taken neither. He could have taken me. For some reason though, he took my sister. And he left me.
It’s hard to express the guilt you feel when you and your sister face the same killer and one survives and one does not. You never get over the “why” that leaves behind.
The killer’s weapon wasn’t a gun. It wasn’t a knife. Like the Reaper, the killer wields a sickle.
The killer doesn’t break in, he doesn’t stalk you from afar. The killer is inside you from the moment you’re born. The blood that keeps you alive, is also the very thing that kills you in the end.
It’s been 23 years since that night, and my mission, my crusade to avenge the death of my sister, to strike a blow to her killer, still continues. And this paper is a small glimpse into that mission.
I hope you’ll enjoy this small history, of what got me started, and what keeps me going.
Chapter 1: Washers & Dryers
The movers’ small silver radio played rap music for hours. Finally, I heard the door of the trailer slam shut. Moving day was over. After my sister had passed, the house just wasn’t the same. Everything was really quiet. If there’s one thing I know from experience is the quiet can drive you mad. We decided it was time to pack up and start over somewhere else.
There was a small problem though. We used a moving company to load up the truck. And they were unhappy. They were very unhappy.
The movers demanded more money from my mother. They insisted the job was bigger than they were told.
We didn’t have any money. But my mother, being the kind person she was, offered them a solution. They could take our washer and dryer as payment. They agreed.
That small act of kindness helped to forever change the course of my life. And would help set me on my crusade to beat my sister’s killer.
Without a washer and dryer, we would have no other choice to take our clothes to a laundromat. That’s where all this kicks off. At a sweaty laundromat in Linden New Jersey.
We’ll come back to that laundromat momentarily, but first, we’ll take a short detour to a particular day in my childhood that I’ll never forget.
We eventually got settled into the new duplex after the move. About three or four blocks from the new place was this little tiny bodega. And for some reason, I still am not sure why, despite being in a really dangerous neighborhood, my mother decided to walk us there instead of driving.
The walk was probably 10 minutes each way. My mother would buy cigarettes and my other sister and I cheese danishes. I still remember those danishes, they were the highlight of my week.
This one sunny, mild day, we came back to the house after walking to the little convenience store, and we found this piece of paper taped to our door knob.
It was a notice from the Linden Police Department. This was before police stations had Twitter to notify the township, the police used to go door to door with written notices if crime was bad enough.
The notice informed us that there were a total of eight home invasions on our block within one week.
My mother, being a single parent with two young kids in the house, was rightfully worried. In the same plaza as the laundromat we were now frequenting, was a small karate dojo called “Osu Karate.” It was ran by a young, muscular Japanese fellow whose name still escapes me.
Had we had no need to use that laundromat, and see that dojo every week, I think it would have been highly unlikely martial arts would have even registered on mine or my mother’s radar, but we had to and it did. And so here we are today.
Chapter 2: Osu Karate
I attended classes at Osu Karate for about a month or two. I finally found something I really had enjoyed. I remember this one day, my mother sat me down in our kitchen. She broke the news to me that we could no longer afford classes. Our financial situation was pretty much the same as everyone else in that city. Going from bad to worse.
I remember that was the first time I shed tears since my sister passed. I loved going to that dojo, and it was taken away from me so soon.
I wouldn’t resume training for another six years. The whole time though I never let myself forget it, I never let myself drop it.
About six years later, my sister was working now. My mother’s graphic design business had started taking off. We wound up moving out of that hell hole city. We were, for the first time, in a more suburban setting.
Things were starting to look up, and of course I used this as an opportunity to find another dojo. There was one local dojo we passed every day in our travels. It was a tiny red brick building, and they advertised their Kempo system was designed “For the street”.
Intrigued, my mother signed me up and the journey finally resumed after six years.
Unfortunately, as time set in, the overwhelming sense of dread that what you’re learning has no practical utility for a real life hand to hand combat scenario began gnawing away at my 13 year old mind.
Though I was young and inexperienced, I wasn’t a naive suburbanite like the rest of their student base. For the better part of my young childhood, the harsh reality of violence was a regular part of our everyday experience. It infested our city, our schools, our streets, even our homes.
I tried hard to ignore the feeling that what they were teaching me was less than useful. This one day though, we were going through knife disarms.
I’ll never forget both the insanity and yet the admirable honesty of one of the instructors there. After having us drill a knife disarm repeatedly, he flat out told us it would not work in a real fight, but it was a “cool party trick”.
That was the end of my Kempo experience.
If my memory serves me correctly, we tried about three different Tae Kwon Do schools. The first two were Tae Kwon Do schools, the last one was a school that taught Tae Kwon Do. If you catch my drift.
In the upstairs of this old business complex was a small space that was half apartment, half Dojang. The instructor there was a short little Korean man who was probably one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met in New Jersey. Him and my mother hit it off so well I thought they were long lost siblings.
I thought this was it. This guy was teaching Tae Kwon Do as a legit fighting art. No trophies, no competition, no flashy dobok, just the way of the hand and foot. I was in there. Training had finally resumed.
As I kicked and punched my way across those sweaty blue mats on the second story of this man’s apartment, an old foe came back from the past.
The Reaper and his sickle. My health couldn’t sustain the rigors of legit Tae Kwon Do. I was struggling, hard.
The gentleman who taught me also had experience in the Chinese martial arts. Namely, Tai Chi Chuan.
Chapter 3: Tai Chi
He knew Tai Chi not only as a health exercise, but as a fighting system. When we found this out my mother and I were ecstatic. We figured, the gentle nature of Tai Chi and it’s many health benefits, taught as a fighting art, would have suited me perfectly.
I remember excitedly asking “Master Jeong, could you teach me Tai Chi instead of Tae Kwon Do?”
For some reason though, he refused. To this day I’m still not sure why. Although I see now everything has a purpose. However, at the time, it made no sense to me. We would have payed him the same amount. Classes would have been on the same day. He just… Refused. He flat out said no. Even though he was well aware of my health situation, and how much of a strain Tae Kwon Do was putting on me, he wouldn’t budge.
My mother was sorely, sorely disappointed. She got it in her head though that, due to my health, Tai Chi was the way to go. After exhausting every school in the area, and having some of the worst luck in history, we found a Tai Chi school another few towns over.
Here we go, this is it. I thought. Just as I started training again, a new enemy came forth.
Chapter 4:
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Stage two.
Training, once again, was put on the back burner. The stress, noise, pollution, and misery of New Jersey was getting to be too much for my mother.
A few years prior, my aunt and uncle had relocated to a little town in Florida for my uncle’s work. A little town called Palm Coast. My mother’s health was not looking good.
After a little convincing, my aunt got my mother on board with the idea of moving to Palm Coast. That way, if something happened, me and my sister wouldn’t be without family.
We moved. After we got settled in, for a short time, my mother’s health began to stabilize. Me and her talked about trying to resume my training in martial arts again.
I would like to take the opportunity here to give credit to my mother. She never gave up on my training, only until the bitter end did she change her mind.
Anyway, there was a small local casino that my aunt frequented with my uncle from time to time. She told my mother, “Hey I think there’s a karate school over by the casino, you guys should check it out.”
And she was right. There was a school there. We popped in there one day, and to our amazement, they taught Tai Chi as well.
We couldn’t believe it. This is it, I thought. Here we go, after all these years I’m going to get the chance to train!
My mother signed me up for Tai Chi trial classes, and I took my first one.
My only one.
What happened to my health that day was unprecedented. It never happened before and it never happened since.
Class began with me and a group of others standing in kiba dachi, holding the stance to work on muscles and rooting to the ground. I wasn’t throwing, I wasn’t striking, I was just standing.
The blood cells in the small vessels in my eyes began to sickle. They cut off blood and oxygen to my eyes. I lost about 50 percent of my vision for two days
The only way I can describe it is, take both your hands, make the letter C with your fingers and your thumb. Now close the C so you have a small hole and put that over each eye and look through it.
That’s all I could see, for days. My mother was so spooked she pulled me out of that class and finally, after years of trying and failing, told me it wasn’t meant to be. She wouldn’t hear another word about martial arts. It was over. Our bad experiences with different dojo lasted years. She was beyond tired of it.
Or so I thought.
My mother knew though after she was gone, I wouldn’t give up. She left me with these words
“One day, when I’m long gone, you’ll be standing at my grave a black belt. And you’re going to say, look mom, I made it.”
Those words have been ringing in my head ever since. They won’t let me rest. They won’t ever let me rest.
And so I knew two things at that point. Number one, this disease was stopping me from doing what I needed to do. From truly living. Like it stopped my sister. I had no choice but to beat it. To avenge my sister, and prove it wouldn’t win.
And two, I had to honor my mother’s prophecy.
After my mother passed, I moved back into the house she died in after about five months of living with my aunt. The horrors that awaited me in that lonely, empty house are a topic for another day.
Let’s just say, the grief, the emptiness was starting to take it’s toll. I lost sight of everything. All I knew was how horrible things had gotten and I couldn’t see a way out.
Final:
I put my shoes on. I got my keys, and I got in my car and drove. I had a destination in mind.
A brick wall.
I was going to end it. That was it for me. Everything, at the moment, seemed to have ended in despair. I didn’t want to live anymore, so I got in my car and was headed for the first solid wall I could find.
Something in the back of my mind that night, said “Try one more time.”
That’s ridiculous I thought. Everything failed me. Nothing worked out. And now I was alone and in misery. I had nothing to live for, I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
But the words my mother spoke wouldn’t leave me alone. “Try one more time” my head said again.
I didn’t commit suicide that night.
I drove to the hospital. After I was discharged, a few days later I called a man by the name of Master George Rego with Jukido Academy… A man today I call Sensei. A man today I call friend.
And now I write this as I test for black belt.
Obviously, this story has a happy ending. Sometimes, in the midst of our darkest moments, when we don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, we take the spark inside of us, and with enough grit and friction, create the light.
And going full circle, today, the Reaper still stands in the corner, holding his sickle. I know one day, he’ll be back for me. He let me live that cold September night, and he’ll be returning for me soon, to collect what he should have taken 23 years ago.
But when he does come for me, he’ll realize something. That his sickle cuts both ways. He cut me mortally, but the Reaper looks down and sees he’s bleeding too. I got my licks in. He shot me down countless times….but…
I didn’t let him stop me….. I didn’t let him win.
For my mother… for my sister… for my Sensei.
At the end of this whole thing, I can say, that yes, look mom, WE made it.
I can’t stress sufficiently that I couldn’t have done any of this, and didn’t do any of this without my amazing Sensei and my dojo family.
Sensei, when all around me seemed lost, you gave me a reason to keep fighting. You gave me hope and a light in the darkness. You saved my life. No words can express my gratitude. I am indebted to you both in this life and in the life to come.
My dojo family, I have never met more kind hearted, inspiring people than you. Without you all in my corner I would have surely failed.
And of course, my God. Thank you for giving me the strength to do all of this in the first place. Thank you for keeping my feet on the straight and narrow. Thank you for my dojo.
I fought the good fight…I finished my course.
I kept the faith.
– Tony
The mission of our school is to be the highest possible expression of the 
Sadly, this is the norm. Innocent people think of martial arts as interchangeable with self-defense. In signing up at a martial arts school the overwhelming majority of the people expect that their child will be learning realistic self-defense. In some cases they are introduced to a sport version of martial arts. In worse cases, they are introduced to schools that are little more than centers designed to entertain children in a karate-themed daycare. In honest schools they just say they teach combat sports or martial arts for health purposes and aren’t truly focused on self-defense. Fair enough.
I study all martial arts. Intensely. Deeply.
However, my PRACTICE of martial arts is much more focused. I don’t physically practice all of the many arts I study, research, and investigate. Not even close. My physical practice is highly focused and much more narrowly filtered. I’m a student (first) and teacher (second) of the Jukido method of jujitsu. A traditionally based, modernly focused, complete system of jujitsu oriented towards realistic modern self-defense. A comprehensive system of the art of jujitsu developed by my own sensei, the legendary master and early pioneer for authentic martial arts in the United States – Paul Arel. This unique approach to jujitsu is what best meets both my goals and my needs. Although I’m incredibly open in my “study” of martial arts, I’m quite conservative in my actual “practice” of martial arts – i.e. what I allow to become a part of my physical practice (and instruction). What I actually infuse into my muscle memory. Understand the difference.
Remember parents 
Undoubtedly, the new enthusiastic student reads everything he can about Kokondo. As he opens up his copy of Sankosho or visits the various IKA websites he reads time and time again about these three principles and the preeminent role they play in defining Kokondo as a unique and powerful system of self-defense.
Let us consider one possible interpretation of basic reverse punch (seiken gyaku tsuki) in the context of In, Out, and At. The left hand is retracting and in doing so is pulling an attacker IN. The nature of the retraction which brings the attacker in to us is both linear and circular. The left hand retracts in straight line while corkscrewing circularly counterclockwise before “locking in and at” in its final position. The right hand is extending OUT and away from our body, also on a linear path with its force multiplied by the circular clockwise rotation which will provide speed and penetrating power AT the point of contact. His muscular tension was streamline but relaxed until the point of impact – at which point the body became tense (loose, loose, loose, TIGHT!). AT that “point” a circular ripple effect of transferred energy occurs “in” the attacker’s body. This energy begins moving “out” from the point “at” which impact took place. No different than dropping a pebble into a body of water. The pebble drops “in” the water “at” the point of impact. “At” point of impact between the pebble and the water, waves ripple “out” in perfect circular waves.
For example, in the Jukido Jujitsu double collar grab defense: The up and outward motion of your shuto stops at a point in space and drives in at another point (the collar bone). The “end” point of that shuto fully concludes that particular technique but AT THE VERY SAME TIME is the start point that allows you to move in and set up the attacker’s weight at another point (his right heel). The setting up of his weight at a specific point on his right heel “ends” that action (tsukuri) but it is also at the very same time the “start” point from where the kake or execution phase of our Osoto Gari can begin. The tori’s right leg in the kake phase of the Osoto Gari moves slightly out and then back in toward the uke’s leg and eventually connects at the attackers leg. The transfer of energy from our leg to his leg is the end of that point…this “end” point launches the uke’s body into the air and ultimately ending at another point…the ground. As the body impacts the ground a point of impact is created. At that impact point there is a ripple of energy sent into his body that has bone shattering potential. Again, like the pebble being dropped into the water.
One of the principal reasons that kata developed as the primary training method was largely due to the brutality of the many techniques contained within the various combat arts. There were no safe alternatives in most cases. A warrior practicing with a sword was not likely to cut down a fellow warrior for the sake of perfecting a technique when he could use that warrior to cover his back tomorrow in battle. In jujutsu schools, which emphasized empty handed fighting techniques for instances in which the warrior lost his weapon, was he to actually break his partners joints or remove his eye with finger for the sake of practice? If so, he would soon run out of training partners and fellow brothers to fight at his side. As such, for this reason and others, kata became a fantastic and highly evolved method for developing the fighting techniques, concepts, and control of focused mind & body that would become so vital when using his skills in battle.
The survival, evolution, and revolution of the fighting arts of Japan into the modern area can be credited without question to one man, Professor Jigoro Kano. Although there were many important characters that made very genuine and serious contributions to the fighting arts after the Edo period – none of them played the vital and revolutionary role that Kano did when he sought out and developed a new reformed approach to martial arts manifested by his new “way” – Kodokan Judo.
Although not true in every case, many of these arts began to view kata as less important. Many provided lip-service to the importance of kata but the evidence was clear based on the training regimen. Little or no time provided to kata gave way to live training that was now designed with one purpose in mind, winning in the sport arena. Rather than being a combat art with a relatively small (occasional & optional) sport component, as envisioned by Kano, these arts eventually had little or no combat component. The sport was now the art itself. Eventually less thought is given as to how an actual technique or strategy might work in real life combative encounters and more thought was given to how to gain competitive advantages. Soon techniques with no real merit in fighting, but highly effective at scoring points based on tournament rules, began to crop up and become the norm. The “live” training was no longer used to develop various beneficial attributes and to test the effectiveness of combat techniques. Techniques were being performed in a manner that was designed to work solely in those competitive sport environments.
One example of a freestyle drill that is exceedingly restrictive is chi-sau. Chi-sau, sometimes referred to as “sticky hands” or “push hands,” is a sensitivity drill that is highly effective in learning how to truly feel the intent of a motion, redirection of energy, controlling someone without physically grasping them, and helpful in developing a dual physical nature which endeavors to have the student be both firmly rooted but also highly flexible with the ability to adapt to real-time changes in attack.
Randori is the classic example freestyle training. Within the framework of the session, partners are opposing each other with full resistance, full determination, and throwing techniques are performed with as much power as can be safely executed. Randori provides, especially when NOT done with any scoring or shiai (tournament) style emphasis, a lot of empirical data. Can you truly use your favorite throw effectively? How well and consistently are you able to throw someone who is doing EVERYTHING (within the framework) in their power to not allow that to happen and who, of course, is trying to do the same to you? If you and your partner randori for 20 minutes and you weren’t able to throw them a single time, it gives you objective data. If, on the other hand, you were able to consistently perform Tai-Otoshi on him a dozen times despite him doing everything in his power and knowledge to stop you – it also gives you empirical and very objective data. Chances are that if a resisting, skilled, and knowledgeable opponent can’t stop you from doing Tai-Otoshi – than the drunken guy who tries to rough you up and has no knowledge of what a jujutsu throwing technique even is, won’t be able to stop you either. However, if you were to stay exclusively in the category of cooperative, no resistance, pre-arranged practice with Tai-Otoshi – you might believe your technique is better than it actually is. It would be best to find out in randori sessions at the dojo than on the street!
Ground fighting or ne-waza has loads of potential for both very restrictive and highly free forms of live training. Training partners could, within an understood framework with safety build in, freely exchange techniques with opposing goals. For example, one student might be assigned to force his training partner to submit exclusively with the use of shime-waza (choking techniques). His training partner is given the goal of submitting his partner exclusively with the use of an armbar or shoulder lock. They may or may not be aware of the other person’s goal. Other times allow students to have all of the same techniques randori on the ground. Students learn how to control their body, the various advantageous and detrimental positions of ground work developed by jujutsu and judo masters, etc. In a restrictive but lively ne-waza drill that I had the pleasure of observing, Sensei Webster led a group of kids at the Connecticut 2012 Gasshuku. He had one student with the goal of simply holding the person down on the mat and the other student’s goal was to get up. You could only use osae-komi (positional control) – no joint locks, pressure points, chokes, etc. They were given 30 seconds. Although limited in technical scope, the kids had fun experiencing a real battle of technique and willpower. The drill produces objective results. Either you can get up or you cannot. Either you held your partner down or you didn’t. There are variations to these. Creativity and clarity of purpose, along with safety frameworks, is all that are needed.
When many of us, as beginners in the Kokondo system, learn of the Code of Bushido, we often don’t realize the significant role that it will play in our lives and how it will change and direct the person we become. I, myself, didn’t realize how much it played a part in the development of my own growth as a Kokondo-ka or in the growth of others around me. That is, until it directly effected my life. The one code in specific that gave me these new revelations is Justice.
You don’t know quite how to take comments that are sexist. Comments like, “…she’s good for a girl.” or, “…especially for a girl.” Some people don’t even realize they’re doing it or don’t realize that it’s wrong. I just learned to take these comments as signs of people’s ignorance to the topic and tried to, instead of getting mad, to be understanding to their circumstances and what they might have grown up believing.