There is an old saying that actions speak louder than words. This isn't the case, however, when it comes to resolving conflict. Actions can make conflict worse, especially if they are violent. The most productive way to solve an argument is through words of love and actions of patience.
On a drowsy spring afternoon, the train clanked through the suburbs of Tokyo. Our car was relatively empty. At one station, the quiet was shattered by a big, drunk laborer staggering in, bellowing curses. He swung at a woman holding a baby, sending her spinning. Passengers froze in terror. I stood up, ready to use my Aikido training.
I was young and strong, having trained daily for years. Yet, my teacher's words echoed: "Aikido is the art of reconciliation. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it." Despite this, in my heart, I secretly longed for a "legitimate" fight to save the innocent.
"This is it!" I thought. Seeing me stand, the drunk roared, "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!" I gave him a look of disgust and blew an insolent kiss, provoking him to charge.
A split second before he moved, a joyous "Hey!" rang out. We both turned to see a tiny, elderly Japanese man in a kimono. He beamed at the drunk and beckoned him over. "C'mere and talk with me."
Belligerently, the drunk demanded, "Why should I talk to you?"
"What'cha been drinkin'?" the old man asked, eyes sparkling.
"Sake! And it's none of your business!" the laborer bellowed, flecks of spittle hitting the old man.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" the old man said. "I love sake, too. Every night, my wife and I warm a little bottle, sit in our garden, and watch our persimmon tree..." He shared a simple, heartfelt story of his evening ritual.
The drunk's face began to soften. His fists unclenched. "Yeah... I love persimmons, too..."
"And I'm sure you have a wonderful wife," the old man smiled.
"No," the laborer replied. "My wife died." Swaying with the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got no wife, no home, no job. I'm so ashamed."
Standing there with my youthful righteousness, I felt dirtier than he was.
The train reached my stop. As I left, I saw the laborer sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man's lap, who was softly stroking his filthy hair.
I sat on a station bench. What I had wanted to accomplish with muscle had been achieved with kind words. I had just seen Aikido in action, and its essence was love.