OPINION: Brazilian Jiu-jitsu Rural Alaska Program

February 10th 6:11 pm | Dan Strickland    

The idea first came to me sitting at a friend's table in Homer, Alaska. His house looks out over the wide and spectacular Kachemak Bay, with ragged snow-capped mountains defining the far horizon. His wife, Bette, was talking about her recent trip across the bay. She's a diabetes nurse, and was describing the Native villages there and the lifestyle of the kids.

"They have terrible diets, with not really much to do physically, so it's easy for them to get into trouble, become overweight, slide into depression ... it's a mess," said Bette.

Statistics in Alaska bear this out. Native kids have the highest suicide rate in the US, five times higher than kids in the lower 48 States. One in four high school students is overweight or obese, and physical and sexual abuse has been on a steady rise since 2003. Diabetes rates are overwhelming. Villages are extremely remote, unemployment is high, and the harshness of the environment discourages much physical activity, especially in the winter months. Temperatures can reach - 70 F in some of the more northern villages, and daylight is reduced to a few hours a day. Alaska spends $477 million each and every year addressing illnesses associated with these conditions.

I knew this well from my time in Native villages in the late 1970s, when I worked for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. I had seen the cultural challenges first hand, and had never forgotten the tough conditions these kids faced.

I'd also been involved in Gracie jiu-jitsu for about 10 years. I first took a seminar with Royce in London, as I traveled about on business trips. I was able to train intermittently in Geneva with Anderson Viera, then attended another seminar with Royce and one with Rolker. I visited Rorion's academy in Torrance, Renzo's in New York, and I was hooked forever.

The idea that formed that night around the dinner table was to take Gracie jiu-jitsu out to remote Alaskan villages and introduce the Native kids, as well as the adults, to the art. I knew from my own experience that they would develop a special camaraderie, that studying jiu-jitsu would lessen aggression and give the girls as well as the boys an ability to defend themselves and feel confident in their own capabilities. If they got as hooked as I was, they would have an outlet for physical activity that fit perfectly with the long winter darkness.

I had been a commercial fisherman in Alaska for over 30 years, and somehow I knew that this was what I should pursue. My heart was in it, I knew it would be a great boon for the kids, and who can not be passionate about Gracie jiu-jitsu?

When I began exploring funding for this program, I met with immediate and positive feedback. Almost everyone I contacted, from health organizations to state non-profit foundations to Native for-profit corporations and political leaders thought this was a great idea. Some were concerned that the study of a martial art would lead to increased violence. Most thought the kids would love it, and were more concerned that sustainable funding could be found.

"The kids are always subject to new ideas, shows and demonstrations that pass through, but they are mostly here today and gone tomorrow," one legislator told me. "The key will be the ability to sustain the program."

So I kept on, searching and asking for the support I needed to get the program underway. And I found an open ear with Evon Peter, a young Native leader who had a program called Breaking Trails Wellness. With his guidance and the financial support of the Maniilaq Association, we targeted four villages in northwest Alaska, and began teaching jiu-jitsu in the high school during the kids' physical education classes. Usually we would stay for one week.

As I knew they would, the kids loved it. They had heard of the Gracies and recognized some of the basic moves, but when they tried them they were doing them incorrectly. Though I was just a four-stripe blue belt, I trained them to the best of my ability. My instructor, Ted Stickel of Gracie Barra in Anchorage, told me once to never underestimate my belt level.

"You are not just a blue belt, he told me with a firm look. You are a blue belt." I knew exactly what he meant. I felt the same pride in earning my belt that I wanted the kids to feel in whatever accomplishment they attained in studying the gentle art.

Other funding followed, and with the help of the Bristol Bay Economic Development Corporation, the Bristol Bay Area Health Corporation, Safe and Fear Free Environment, the Alaska Mental Health Trust, and the Northwest Arctic Borough, I visited villages around Bristol Bay in southwestern Alaska.

I was able to take a friend and purple belt instructor, Jordan Kontra, with me on some trips, and he showed a real sensitivity to teaching young children as well as the older high school students, not to mention a fluid and solid jiu-jitsu style that captivated the kids we rolled with.

And there were special moments. One teacher in the village of Naknek pointed out that one of the 4th grade kids had never participated in a physical activity, despite their entreaties for years, but he was out there rolling with the other kids.

Another child, Kyle, with Down's syndrome, watched all week, but couldn't be enticed to come out on the mat. The last day he came out and began rolling with another kid. He did move after move, fairly correctly, having only watched throughout the week. Afterward he walked over and gave Jordan a big hug and a kiss. The principal took me aside mid-week and told me he had called the sponsoring agency and thanked them profusely. He told them it was the best thing to come to the school in decades. 

The kids at the last village we visited, Naknek, asked if we could hold a tournament. Jordan and I obliged, and scored the kids in impromptu matches. I'm hoping that we'll be organizing tournaments between villages soon.

I've since given several presentations; at a conference of the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Anchorage in front of about 400 participants, to the Alaska Schools Activities Association, and several other gatherings. I've reached lots of parents and administrators who think the idea is fantastic and want to see it flourish.

Ted, who now teaches in Katy, Texas, at Gracie Barra, has been 100 percent supportive. Flavio Almeida of Gracie Barra in San Diego, has indicated potential support with Fundamental and Advanced DVD's, and is currently considering how his organization can further help these kids in the hard conditions they find themselves. Roy Dean, an Alaskan black belt who currently teaches in Bend, Oregon, has discounted his instructional DVD's, offered encouragement, and been a great moral support. Bob Grunder, of Gracie Barra Anchorage, too has been behind this project.

Getting this program "on the ground" has been, and continues to be, a challenge and an inspiration. It won't take much funding to raise this to a sustainable year-round program, but money is tight these days and grants are fiercely competitive.

In my eyes, if one kid can be reached with the power of jiu-jitsu, and guided away from being overweight and obese, prone to diabetes, drug and alcohol abuse, and can be lifted from depression, my idea will have been a success. I think I can reach hundreds of kids, if I can find the funds necessary to keep this program going.

I approach this like I try to approach rolling; diligently, regularly, and with passion. These are the lessons the wonderful art of Gracie jiu-jitsu has taught me, and with any luck I'll be able to spread this influence to the remote villages and kids of rural Alaska.

Dan Strickland is a long-time Alaskan fisherman and writer who currently lives with his family in Palmer. He and his family set net in Egegik for 10 years.