The Painful Reality of Self-defense
by Razel Wolf

I grew up an unusual child with a genius IQ and extremely sensitive. The
injustice and violence that I read about in the newspaper paralyzed me. I
decided at about age 8 that I would never read the newspaper again. I could
not bear to hear of the horrors that humans perpetrated against humans. I
remember my dad and I had a rip roaring fight about it. But I was adamant. I
felt I could do nothing about it and therefore, I did not want to torture
myself with reading about it and being helpless.

As I grew older, as a teenager, I began to look for alternatives to what was
described as a good life in the U.S. I sought out other teachings, other
approaches. My brother put his heart into becoming a C.O. for the Vietnam
War. And I favored his choice. I began to study the ways that Mahatma Gandhi
proposed – nonviolent action. I found him to be made of steel, a man of
absolute conviction, a man of his word, a man unafraid to confront
injustice – in a way that was absolutely affective and without the use of
violence. I chose this approach as my approach.

When I was 23 I lived in Malibu, CA. My husband was away a lot. I was
working as a bookkeeper at a new health food store. We had a phone system to
install and had a worker in from the phone company. He and I struck up a
conversation. He invited me out. He invited me to go sailing. He invited me
to have dinner with him. He invited me to go shopping. He offered me money.
I turned down all of these offers, citing that I was a married woman and was
not interested in pursuing any type of male/female relations. On the third
day of his pursuit of me, he sat before me weeping. Telling me that I was
the only person he knew who could tell him about what he really wanted to
know – spirit. (I was studying a spiritual path at the time.) Well, BINGO,
he hit the one nerve I would respond to. Against my gut feeling, I agreed to
go with him for dinner. I clearly defined that the time together would be
for talking only about spirit.

We took the car I was driving – it was a car that belonged to a friend of
mine – an older model Mercedes Benz (he was driving a company truck). We
drove down the PCH into Santa Monica. And as we drove I began to realize
what a mistake I had made. He immediately directed the conversation to
realms I found uncomfortable. He threatened to throw himself into oncoming
traffic if I would not grant him the favors he wanted. He raged like a crazy
man.

We never made it to a restaurant. He drove to a motel. Before he strode in
to to get a room, he saw my glance at the car keys in the ignition and he
snatched them, and said, “You weren’t thinking of going any where were you?”

As he got the room key, I was free to leave. Leave the car there (my
friend’s Mercedes) and run. I had an eternal moment of consideration. Was my
safety, my sanctity worth my friend’s car? Sadly, I decided no. And I went
up to the room with this man.

I am not a woman that is afraid of sexuality. And I was able to negotiate
myself and this man inside the space of this rape with very little harm and
very little time. The details of the event are still too painful, too
embarrassing and too personal to fully recount. As we drove back to Malibu,
he forced me to take money. I did not know at the time that this would make
him impervious to charges of rape.

The aftermath is another story. The fallout that happened with my husband
and me. The crumbling inside of myself of my own sense of my ability to
protect myself. The war that raged and the sides that were picked by my
“friends.” Suffice it to say that I am a strong and resilient woman and did
the healing that I needed to do and I moved onward.

Many years later, when I began to study a different spiritual path from the
Shamanic Tradition, I encountered a strong man who was adamant about self
defense. I took my first self defense weekend taught by Dawn Callan. To
graduate from the class, each of the women had to “take down” a man three
times successfully. This man was a black belt in five different martial arts
and happened to be a twin in his looks to the man that raped me. I don’t
know if I have ever been so terrified in my life. But I hung in there and I
proceeded to take this man down, three times. He was 6’3″. I’m 5’5″. He
weighed 220, I weighed 110. I had never fought a single person in my life -
that was his profession. To this day, I give many thanks to this man, who
allowed himself to be used as a “punching bag” so that we ladies might
discover our hidden strength. He was a sorry sight by the end of the day.
All the padding and covering he wore was not protection enough from the rage
of the 10 women in that class…. I am sure I was not the only there that
had been a victim before.

Over the next few years, I dabbled in martial arts. But despite my
successes – something inside of me warred against having to take this kind
of approach.

As I continued to study, my teacher spoke again and again ad nauseum about
firearms. Finally in 1997, I could no longer stand to hear his ranting about
becoming firearm savvy and I signed up for a week long course at GunSite. My
teacher insisted that I shoot a 1911A and I borrowed one of his. The gun was
too big for my hand. And I spent the week struggling with a firearm that was
too big for me – without knowing it.

I remember when we first stepped up to the firing line. I held this .45 in
my hands. (I had been shooting a 357 magnum before fairly regularly.) And
the instructor had us fire off a round. Bulls Eye! Then he wanted another
shot. And I was paralyzed. I could not for the life of me pull that trigger.
I stood there on that line and wept, small tears that I hoped noone would
see. I was so ashamed of myself for being a wimp. But I could not fire that
gun again.

One range officer came to my side, he stood with his mouth right at my ear
and he told me that he knew that I could do it. He talked to me until the
confidence that he expressed became my own and I was able to shoot again.
This man stayed with me for the whole week. Whenever I felt I could not move
forward – he was there with words of encouragement.

I had a very hard time that week. I know it was all in my mind. But at every
break I would disappear into the bathroom and cry. Somehow – learning how to
shoot, taking the authority and responsibility for saying my life was more
important than another’s was tearing me apart. Then I would return after
break and shoot for many more hours.

By the end of the week, we discovered that a major part of my shooting
problem was that the gun was too big for my hand and we replaced it with a
streamlined grip. From that moment on my shooting became utterly accurate -
one shot, one hit. I stunned myself and all my instructors (except for my
benefactor of course – he knew somehow all along).

I even had an involuntary discharge on the last day (due to a wardrobe
issue) and decided under no uncertain terms that I was going to continue -
to finish no matter what. The instructor of the course was more impressed
with my nerve and my will to go on – than the fact that my clothing had
gotten tangled up in my grip….

I graduated Marksman. I was very surprised and very proud of myself.

How have I carried that into my every day life? I have tested, passed and
renewed my CCW license. I have a loaded fire arm under my bed that I am
competent to use. I have a fire arm and ammo in a “survival pack” should I
need to hit the road for some reason. I have a third firearm that I use for
shooting on the range when I go (very infrequently).

But honestly I would have to say that I still struggle with this. This issue
of the state of our world today. It is not so much that I am angry that I
might have to protect myself. I am angry that we as humans fight with each
other. That the only ways we can find to resolve some of our problems with
each other is to see who can be the more physically forceful. That is what I
am angry about. I feel we are capable of so much more. And I hate that I am
forced by the state of affairs amongst us to have to consider killing one of
you for my right to live.

I am of the mind now, that if push came to shove, I will stand up for my
life or a friend’s rather than some “baddy’s” life. I have definitely made
peace with that. But I am remiss. I do not practice enough. And that is
because of my underlying conflict as I have expressed above.

I have many friends who are so adamant about guns, about the right to self
protection, about the conviction to take another’s life if necessary. I have
friends that almost seem to relish in the possibility of such an
altercation. I do not judge my friends for this. I am glad for their
adamancy, their clarity, their dedication.

But I feel I am another breed of person. I do not know exactly how to
balance these two aspects of myself. The side that is fierce and utterly
committed to the preservation of our rights. And the side that yearns to see
other ways to accomplish this than force.

I am very active in my world in making a good impact on the people around
me. I am a teacher, a counselor, a performer. I infuse everything that I do
with honesty, commitment and integrity to the best of my ability. Although I
may sound like it from what I have written, I am not a wimp. But I am torn.

I continue to face this challenge. I was requested by Angel Shamaya to write
an article since last May, 2000. I finally decided after looking at his
request every day since May that I could not write an article because of my
lack of clarity. He insists that this is exactly the reason why I should
write it.

I have acted on his request and sincerity. I do not know if this will reach
anyone of you. It is a hard choice to make. But I do continue to make it. I
do hold and shoot and own guns. And I will protect myself. I have no doubt
of that.

In honor and respect of all that we can truly be as humans, I close