Full Contact: Sexual Assault,Combat Sports,and the Myth of Self-Defense

Surviving Victimage in Self-Defense

Conventional approaches that advocate combat sports as a means to self-defense are rooted in a victimage ritual that puts the burden for the assault on the survivor. Burke (1954) argues that communities such as combat sports are guided by orientations that are created and maintained through public discourse (p. 179). When the orientation fails to function as it should, rhetors seek ways of offloading their disappointment and frustration either by punishing themselves or blaming others. Communities often engage in the latter, sacrificing another member as a scapegoat to remove “unwanted evils” from the community (Burke, 1973, pp. 39–40). The scapegoat serves as a vessel for the community’s unrighteousness, and the people are cleansed by its symbolic or literal destruction. In sexual assault terms, this is most often manifested in some sort of blame being placed on the survivor instead of the assailant.

What is compelling about the scapegoat is that its destruction doesn’t actually have to remedy the ills the community faces to be considered acceptable. Burke (1954) notes, the scapegoat is a “sacrificial vessel upon which [they] can vent, as from without, a turmoil that is actually within” (p. 191). Carlson (1986) extends Burke’s observation, noting, “Sacrifice purges the guilt from the social order, at least until new problems arise,” meaning that the ritual may be repeated ad nauseum without producing any material changes in the community’s modus operandi (p. 447). In essence, the sacrifice of the scapegoat “brings about symbolic resolution without turning the event into a lesson for those involved” (Ott & Aoki, 2002, p. 496). Previous research shows how the process of guilt, destruction, and catharsis is simply recycled as new stores of guilt are created (Rueckert, 1982; Genter, 2002; Butterworth, 2008; Ivie & Giner, 2009; Lavelle, 2016; Milford, 2014). In the literature on sexual assault, this is manifested in a rhetorical shrug when it comes to altering orientations that perpetuate misogyny and rape culture.

In combat sports, the victimage ritual is perpetuated in self-defense discourse that locates responsibility on the survivor’s capacity to fend off the attacker. These rhetors point to examples like the assailant in Rio De Janeiro who was beaten so badly by a female MMA fighter that he asked bystanders to call the police for his own protection as proof that such advice holds up (Banim, 2018). However, such examples are outliers that use traditional notions of victimage to obscure the need for comprehensive changes in the combat sports orientation. Sexual assault is more than a physical act; it often involves emotional and psychological grooming and abuse. However, despite good intentions, the majority of the advice extended to women regarding combat sports centers the community’s attention on the physical aspects of sexual assault. Too often the good recommendations that women receive, such as removing yourself from the training area or speaking up and out against your attacker, does not address these issues (French & Brown, 2011, p. 9). Instead, such admonitions work to implicitly perpetuate dominant discourses because they locate the agency for the assault in the survivor. As Carlson (1986) discerns, scapegoating “reinforces belief in a social order, thus ending all doubt and easing the pain of guilt,” which in the combat sports orientation means putting the culpability for assault on the survivor (p. 448). For example, in considering the sexual climate of a training center, Rener Gracie, of the first family of BJJ, advised that if a proper training environment isn’t present, “get out. Don’t wait until you get injured or assaulted” (quoted in Rossen, 2015, para. 33). Similarly, Kirtley (2018), a BJJ and MMA instructor with a large online following, provided an excellent series of suggestions on how women may deal with stalkers and potential assailants, including advice from well-respected voices on personal security and sexual assault, but all of it was directed to the survivors; none of it was, nor could it be in the current orientation, addressed to the assaulter. These admonitions follow what Searles and Berger (1987) describe as a “victim-prevention strategy” that locates the agency for self-defense outside of the survivor (pp. 61–62). And though self-defense training in combat sports may give women some sense of agency, the rhetorical trend in the orientation is to situate their readiness as the determining factor in their assaults.

The point is not that combat sports are or aren’t appropriate means of self-defense but rather that they function as a rhetorical shrug as to why women are assaulted. Advice from well-respected and well-intentioned sources locates the responsibility for the assault on the preparedness of the survivor. These sources echo the best practice models from popular sites and instructors, from lifestyle blogs like Livestrong (Halse, 2018), to respected martial arts proponents like Black Belt magazine (Muir, 2014), to personal security firms (Holland, n.d.), to media outlets like The Independent (Hosie & Sandu, 2017), and even the National Women’s Martial Arts Federation (2019). One school sold its women’s training by noting women “must also be equipped and prepared to defend themselves” (Women Living, n.d., para. 10). These sources promote combat sports as a means of self-defense against sexual assault. And each also typifies how the victimage ritual structures the way the combat sports orientation views sexual assault as it locates the blame for the assault on the survivor. This approach locks a survivor into a cycle of helplessness, transforming her into a “victim because the person cannot avoid suffering his or her fate” (Christiansen & Hanson, 1996, p. 159). Goldberg (2019), for example, provides an excellent look at the boom in women’s self-defense and combat sports training businesses that “capitalize on women’s feelings of vulnerability” (para. 9). Such recommendations highlight the tendency of the victimage ritual to address guilt without creating change in combat sports.

Interestingly, there was little to no discourse on how the women in the high-profile cases should have used their combat sports training to protect themselves. Rather, there was an enthymematic presumption with combat sports instructors and practitioners, as well as law enforcement and self-defense promoters, that combat sports training was the best protection against assault. For instance, an article on a home security site encouraged combat sports training for women’s self-defense, listing BJJ as the number one option (Whalen, 2019). The language championing combat sports training was remarkably similar to that on a women’s fashion site that called some training in a martial art/combat sport “imperative” for women’s safety (The 6 best, 2016). Others were more overt, such as one BJJ school that listed statistics for sexual assault and rape on its website as a selling tool, commenting, “with proper awareness, you can reduce your risk of falling prey to an attack. Don’t be a victim” (Women’s Self-Defense, n.d., para. 28). Another MMA school included this comment with a list of similar statistics; “Women must have the tools and knowledge to defend themselves at a moment’s notice, as they will often be put into these situations with attackers that they know and might not expect” (Women Self-Defense, n.d., para. 4). These and many other examples demonstrate that averting assault through combat sports training is a consistent theme across the combat sports orientation, along with putting the responsibility for fending off the assault on the attacked instead of the attacker.

However, as the aforementioned cases demonstrate, proficiency in combat sports is no predictor of a survivor’s ability to avoid assault nor does it serve as a means of addressing the conditions in the orientation that encourage it. Kayla Harrison’s case serves as a clear demonstration of these concepts. Harrison is one of the most accomplished combat sports athletes in the business. Her entire career was built around exuding power. When she won gold at the 2016 Olympics, she was contending in the highly competitive 78-kg division, hardly a group that one would consider easily overpowered (Robertson, 2012). She was known for her upright fighting stance, often considered more appropriate for stronger male competitors, but one she was able to use deftly in her bouts (Baxter, 2012). If there were any candidate which one would assume would be able to successfully enact traditional applications for self-defense, it would be Harrison, yet she was still assaulted. Examples like Harrison’s suggest that the conventional approach viewing combat sports training as the singular deterrent to sexual assault is more about alleviating the orientation’s guilt than it is making meaningful modifications.

The result of this mindset is a mixed bag of responses. After one of the Lopez brothers assaulted an athlete, her response was to blame herself for “drawing attention to her body,” -- such mortification being a common reaction from sexual assault survivors (Starr, 2018, para. 5). Conversely, Harrison commented that she was tired of “being the tough one…tired of being the strong one,” but ultimately decided that she was “only a victim” if she allowed herself to be (Powers, 2012, para. 24). At the other end of the hierarchy, the orientation’s leadership is protected by a pose of powerlessness in the face of accusation. This is a common tactic used to protect a powerful orientation from facing its deficiencies. Thamel (2008) reported on Fletcher Thorton, a USA Judo official and coach, who was accused of sexual assault for nearly 40 years, but despite extensive legal documentation faced no consequences from the USOC or USA Judo. During the investigation, the head of USA Judo, Jose H. Rodriguez, stated that he offered to let the accusers confront Thorton in person but all declined. Similarly, despite decades of accusations, SafeSport recently reinstated the Lopez brothers because the victims were reluctant to testify against them in person (Thompson, 2018). On the amateur level, female combat sports athletes repeatedly mentioned instructors who brushed off reports of discomfort with male students because of their sexual comments and conduct when the students were reluctant to confront their assailants (Kirtley, 2018). Each of these cases demonstrates how the responsibility for addressing the assault was placed not on the assailant or the orientation but on the survivor, allowing the orientation to appear helpless because of the survivor’s alleged inactivity.

The One-Two Punch of Hegemonic Masculinity and Hierarchy

Instead of making consequential alterations to the orientation, traditional approaches reinforce the orientation’s preoccupation with physical power as a means of self-determination. Counsel on avoiding sexual assault through combat sports training exposes the orientation’s reliance on hegemonic masculinity as an organizing principle. This concept “refers to the social ascendancy of a particular version or model of masculinity that, operating on the terrain of ‘common sense’ and conventional morality, defines ‘what it means to be a man’” (Hanke, 1990, p. 232). Trujillo’s (1991) foundational research on the subject considers how cultural ideals of masculine character are exhibited in a sports setting. Central to hegemonic masculinity is a sense of “physical force and control,” which is often seen as the sole property of men in sports (Trujillo, 1991, p. 291). He argues that “the male body comes to represent power, and power itself is masculinized as physical strength, force, speed, control, toughness, and domination” (p. 291). Research shows that sports media coverage reinforces hegemonic masculinity through overt and abundant references to physical strength and control in men’s sports as opposed to women’s (Hardin, Kuehn, Jones, Genovese, & Balaji, 2009; Mocarski & Billings, 2014; Smith & Bissell, 2014). The visceral nature of combat sports makes them welcome ground for such presumptions. Messner (2012) notes that the “rise in popularity of men’s combat sports” bolsters traditional gender roles, noting the prevalence of “glorified images of massively built and violent male bodies” as their central currency (p. 120). So central is hegemonic masculinity to MMA that despite the intense physicality of the sport, participants still engage in a number of strategies to ensure that they exhibit “manhood” in an appropriate fashion (Vaccaro, Schorck, & McCabe, 2011). When women are introduced to that orientation, Weaving (2014) argues, they are stuck between challenging and affirming traditional stereotypes of femininity, particularly as it pertains to submissiveness. The preoccupation with power and dominance that are necessary components of combat sports fertilize a mindset in which the survivor bears the responsibility for losses both inside and outside of the octagon (Weimer, 2017). As Mierzwinski, Velija, and Malcolm (2014) summarize, “it is clear that gender relations in sport, due to sport’s emphasis on the physical body, are subject to specific social power dynamics,” which in combat sports means a preference for masculinity that rationalizes and dismisses sexual assault (p. 71).

I argue that on top of the preoccupation with physical dominance, combat sports also have a unique hierarchical dimension that exacerbates the issues central to sexual assault. Combat sports are most often derived from martial arts that have a strict belt-rank system, typically from white to black with varying degrees along the way, that allows students to measure their progress while also indicating those participants to which one should defer. The sports mentioned here, judo, taekwondo, and BJJ, are normally exacting in their expectations for securing a black belt, and many students, teachers, and coaches carry this mindset into their schooling. Achieving a black belt in these sports takes years of dedicated training, and students are expected to defer to instructors and higher ranked students out of respect for their accomplishments. This stringent hierarchy plays a prominent role in the cases explored here. Brackenridge (2000) argues that the hierarchical struggles facing women in combat sports aren’t unique to that environment, showing that the “grooming process” of coaches and trainers is common across a number of sports, but in combat sports those forces are intensified (p. 187). Many survivors reported that presumed deference to a black belt instructor was a conspicuous factor in their assaults (Rossen, 2015). Even MMA schools that claim to eschew the belt system as a relic of a bygone era still have a rank scheme of sorts that carries with it a presumed deference. The aforementioned issues at Lloyd Irvin’s gym largely stemmed from higher ranking students taking advantage of the lower ranking members. This hierarchy with its accompanying expectations of deference is the perfect petri dish for sexual assault.

Because of the overpowering reverential atmosphere of combat sports and the persistent influence of hegemonic masculinity, it is not uncommon for survivors to be reluctant to report or even fight back against their assailants. Commenting on the role the black belt instructor plays in combat sports, Rener Gracie stated,

[an] instructor’s influence on a student is stronger than a doctor, psychologist or lawyer.… They put students in impossible scenarios where they have no answer and then teach them the solution. It puts them in a position of being a purveyor of absolute truth and effectiveness. And if this instructor has this degree of truthful knowledge, they must have the same answers for life. (Rossen, 2015, para. 12)

Progressive Change: Action, Motion, and Feminist Self-Defense

There are a number of voices who are working to change the orientation by addressing the rhetorical dimensions of sexual assault in combat sports rather than doubling down on its physicality. As McCaughey (1998) writes, the fear of sexual assault in combat sports is “subtly accepted as the norm…because the prevailing cultural models of sexuality and gender perpetuate men’s violence and women’s fear,” but those cited here are seeking to change that concept (p. 278). These rhetors are intuitively sensing that there is a serious rhetorical quality to sexual assault in combat sports that is indifferent to training and technique. Their admonitions demonstrate the tension between Burkean notions of motion and action. Motion, Burke (1978) argues, is grounded in the animalistic nature; it is the aspect of instinct that requires no reflective consideration of the propriety of acts based on larger symbolic notions of ethics (p. 812). Action, on the other hand, involves a reflexive choice that is rationalized symbolically (Crable, 2003, p. 124). Burke (1978) is careful to note that the distinction between action and motion is not a naturally occurring phenomenon but a symbolic construct that allows rhetors to delineate certain instances and motives from one another (p. 809). Where motion is rooted in the biological, “physical processes uncontrolled by human speech or intentional acts,” action is centered in the cultural, “the symbolic, including both ideas and materiality” (Crable, 2003, p. 123; French & Brown, 2011, p. 2). An agent may claim or be assigned motion as a means to escape responsibility for a despicable act, which is a common refrain in sexual assault narratives where the attacker asserts that the victim’s choices determined the outcome, that is, “Did you see how she was dressed?” Burke (1954) notes that these designations are critical as, “Such shifts of interpretation make for totally different pictures of reality, since they focus the attention upon different orders of relationship” (p. 36).

One of the ways this is manifested in combat sports is by proponents of feminist perspectives on self-defense. There are a number of organizations that use self-defense as a means to empower women and that focus on giving women agency over their own bodies as a pushback against traditionally misogynistic mindsets that blame them for their own assaults. They are seeking to redefine women’s agency in the orientation by combing physical training in combat sport techniques with empowering messages of self-determination. Follo (2017) writes, “Classifying violence and resisting attackers is consistent with a masculine ideology, but female self-defense challenges this assumption” by extending the discussion to a reformation of identity along feminist lines (p. 245). Cahill (2009) summarizes this position: “targeting feminine passivity as a problem to be solved is, in effect, yet another form of blaming the victim…and…such targeting inevitably reinforces and reiterates a gender binary that associates action with masculinity and passivity with femininity,” but, “feminist self-defense classes seek to denaturalize the threat of sexual violence” (pp. 365–370).

These programs address the underlying causes of sexual assaults by emphasizing a woman’s dominion over her physical self. Guthrie (1995) argues that resistance to patriarchy “requires a reconstruction of female identity that involves not only changes in the intellectual component of female socialization, but also the development of a physically empowered female self” (p. 109). Research conducted on a number of programs confirm this assertion. Hollander (2014) found that a year after taking a self-defense course, women reported not only feeling safer but also had increased feelings of confidence in non-physical encounters (p. 263). Rosenblum and Taska (2014) found a positive role for self-defense training in reducing shame and post-traumatic stress disorder in women who have suffered trauma. Follo’s (2017) research confirmed that women trained in self-defense “experience an increase in confidence, esteem, and empowerment” (p. 245).

In Burkean terms, these programs are using agency as a means to action. Cahill’s (2009) concept of feminist self-defense “transforms the meaning of the feminine body” by locating the problem of sexual violence in the external conditions rather than in the female body’s lack of preparedness or strength (pp. 371–372). Self-defense instructor Thompson (2014) argues that training focusing on female empowerment is a useful tool in reforming traditionally misogynistic mindsets about violence against women. Jordan and Mossman (2018) found that even rudimentary self-defense courses for women and girls yielded strong results in increasing a sense of bodily autonomy and agency. Likewise, Brecklin (2008) notes that according to a number of surveys, women who had some self-defense training, especially multi-year instruction in combat sports, were found to perceive more control over their lives than others (p. 62).

In traditional approaches to combat sports as a means of self-defense, survivors are tasked with a Burkean sense of action: They are responsible for altering their choices to change the outcome. Conversely, the assailant is imbued with motion, embodying a biological imperative and acting on instinct, rendering him essentially choiceless, and thus blameless, in his act. Other voices in combat sports amend that designation by knowingly or unknowingly incorporating feminist self-defense concepts into the combat sports arena. These agents, acting independently from one another but speaking in concert, are taking purposeful steps to shift the burden of action to fellow combat sports participants and especially leaders by targeting the symbolic dimensions of the orientation. Harrison, for example, has written a book that is a memoir of her own experiences, a guide for others who have survived assaults, and an instructional manual for coaches and officials on how to change the culture of combat sports. The highly popular martial arts online community Bullshido recently ran a five-part series on sexual assault in combat sports, which focuses on changing the culture as a means of removing sexual assault from the orientation. The series discusses how to change the environment so that survivors feel supported coming forward with their stories, addresses abuses of power by instructors and how to avoid taking advantage of students, and makes a final call to the combat sports community to hold abusers accountable for their deeds (Athletes at Risk, n.d.). They also maintain a running list of instructors and coaches who have been accused and convicted of sex crimes as a way to warn others away from schools that perpetuate toxic environments. For example, they frequently call out BJJ instructors who promote sexual predators to black belt, arguing that giving someone such notoriety in the community enables their predacious behavior (The Ongoing Shame, n.d.). They’ve also directly addressed the deference culture with a scathing article on why instructors shouldn’t seek romances with students (Enough is Enough, n.d.).

Others are following the same path in changing the culture of combat sports as it pertains to sexual assault, specifically targeting the deferential culture that exacerbates the problems. In an online letter to other instructors, one BJJ black belt argued,

Women should feel safe joining a martial arts school without needing to keep their guard up against being pressured into sex by instructors or other students. Women want to learn martial arts so they can protect themselves against predators, not surround themselves with more. (Kirtley, 2018, para. 66).

In Burkean terms, they are placing the burden of action on the ranking members of the community, using the culture of deference to leverage a shift in the orientation, and imbuing women with empowering concepts of feminist self-defense. Kirtley (2018) provided an insightful series of suggestions for instructors to ensure that they are providing a safe and responsible training environment for all students, including a discussion of the power relationship between teachers and students and how that connection may be unknowingly or intentionally abused. Similarly, Hall (n.d.), a BJJ black belt, instructor, martial arts school owner, and UFC competitor, penned an open letter to the combat sports community taking it to task for its insensitivity to these assaults, ascribing it to a “misguided sense of loyalty” to the traditional aspects of the orientation (p. 2). He admitted to rationalizing away assaults early in his career, noting that often combat sports can attain a cult-like atmosphere centering on hero worship, an example of how the hierarchical nature of the sports needed to be addressed in order to produce any meaningful change (Hall, n.d., pp. 2–3). At the same time, Hogshead-Makar (2018), a lawyer specializing in Title IX and civil rights issues, spearheaded an effort to make any coach in an Olympic sport, particularly those involved in combat sports, a mandatory reporter in the case of sexual assault, essentially removing the “not my job” defense. She also added statutes that disallowed private meetings between coaches and athletes. Each of these examples demonstrates a concerted effort to put the onus for change on those who perpetuate the faulty orientation. The survivors are no longer on the hook for the assaults; instead, the responsible parties are the instructors and athletes who turn blind eyes to their own corrupted culture.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the purpose of this study is not to vilify combat sports training as a faulty approach to self-defense. Quite the contrary, it is never a bad choice to learn self-defense. The National Women’s Martial Arts Federation, the Girls in Gis training organization run by accomplished BJJ competitor Shama Ko, as well as a host of other combat sports organizations, personal security firms, and law enforcement agencies encourage training in combat sports as a means of protection along a number of lines. A number of advocates specifically address the confidence gained from training as a deterrent for would-be assailants. As McCaughey’s (1998) exhaustive research shows, beyond physical defense women’s training supplies an “affirmative belief in one’s own capacities [that] enhances one’s abilities” (p. 284). Velija, Mierzwinski, and Fortune (2013) write that combat sports training “can help women to reject the position of subordinated body by rejecting weakness and becoming more physically powerful and confident,” all critical components of self-defense that are beneficial (p. 536). Rather, this analysis considers the role that the rhetorical dimensions of the combat sports orientation play in perpetuating a mindset that rationalizes sexual assault as a lack of preparedness on the part of the survivor and how that perspective may be contested.

The arguments presented here center on two elements. First, the traditional remedies for addressing sexual assault in combat sports are rooted in a Burkean victimage ritual. The survivors are made complicit in their own assault by underlying presumptions of training proficiency as a deterrent. Such advice reinforces the hegemonic masculinity that informs the combat sports orientation. As the stories of Kayla Harrison, Rhonda Rousey, and Andrea Lee demonstrate, even if a survivor is skillful in combat sports at a world-class level it is no guarantee of safety. Instead, such advice identifies a malfunction in the orientation but without making any meaningful steps to alleviate the problem. Burke (1937) writes that in such cases it’s easy to “condemn symptoms without being able to gauge the causal pressure behind the symptoms” (p. 41, Burke’s italics). This highlights the victimage ritual’s function as a guilt-remover rather than a problem-solver. In her extensive research on sexual assault in BJJ schools, Doyle (2013) asserts that scapegoating defines the essence of such attacks: “Sexual violence between members of the same community is engineered to either expel the victim from that community, or to make her sexual subjections a condition of her membership” (para. 21). The hierarchical nature of combat sports serves as both a facilitator for aggressors and a bulwark against meaningful change. Those who advocate combat sports training as the primary deterrent to sexual assault in the orientation become complicit in the maintenance of an ideology that excuses such behavior. In practice, it is still the responsibility of the victim to remove herself from the situation, which places her in a position of action and her assaulter in one of motion, a common communal tactic as evidenced in Tonn, Endress, and Diamond’s (1993) foundational analysis, particularly when women are viewed as encroaching in traditionally masculine spaces.

At the same time, this analysis also exposes gendered presumptions as to women’s physicality and aggression that feed victim-blaming rationales in combat sports. Summing up the underlying premises on the subject, Cermele (2004) writes,

If self-defense is possible, and even effective, as a means of resistance, then it might follow that women are responsible for the assaults against them by virtue of failing to act or failing to act effectively. Following this line of thinking, self-defense training for women might contribute to our culture of victim-blaming as well as increase the level of self-blame that victims or survivors may experience. (pp. 3–4)

Scholars reject such notions, arguing that presuppositions of weakness in women are one of the prime contributors to the problem. White and Kowalski (1994), for example, challenge what they term the “myth of the nonaggressive woman,” noting that, “perceived gender differences in aggression maintain women’s subordination to, dependence on, and fear of men” which undergirds the assertion that women, sans training, are victims waiting to happen (pp. 489–492). In contrast, Cermele (2004) argues, a transformational approach rooted in the concepts of feminist self-defense empowers women to slough off preconceptions of strength and weakness, aggression and passivity, to redefine their identities. These issues are highlighted in combat sports. Mierzwinski et al. (2014) observe, “When women compete in combat sports their involvement challenges perceived feminine ideals; specifically, traditional notions of the female body as weak and passive” (p. 68). Thus, any shift in the rhetorical dynamics of the combat sports orientation must begin by considering the prescribed qualities of women as participants.

Finally, it should be obvious that one of the contributing factors of sexual assault in combat sports is the perceived encroachment of women into an orientation that was presumed to be masculine. Jennings’s (2015) thorough history of women in combat sports reveals the nonsense of this presumption, in the process exposing the hegemonic influences of masculinity in combat sports. Meân and Kassing (2008) write, “in claiming membership of a male category, women’s athletic identity work has to manage the implications of contesting masculinity,” and this is certainly true, if not truer, in combat sports (p. 130). Guérandel and Mennesson (2007) documented the tensions female judoka face in embodying traditionally masculine qualities in order be successful, while still feeling compelled to exhibit traditionally feminine qualities to be accepted by the other judoka in their dojos. Velija et al. (2013) found similar tendencies in their interviews with women in martial arts in general. Because of the physical nature of combat sports, it is easy for adherents to naturalize hegemonic masculinity as the definitive quality of the orientation: Physicality is a compulsory component for participation. Challenges to the masculine undercurrents in the orientation may be read as attacks on the nature of the sport. In such cases, cries for reform are reframed as calls for destruction, which can inspire leadership to drag its feet when addressing misogyny in the orientation, or worse, ignore it all together. The cases mentioned in the introduction illustrate these tendencies. It took SafeSport 3 years of investigations before acting, during which the Lopezes continued to assault athletes (Axon & Armour, 2018b). Cases with USA Judo and the issues at Lloyd Irvin’s gym mirror this tendency. Previous research has shown how rhetors may work to change an orientation without dismantling its defining components (Milford, 2014). Based on the analysis conducted here, one can hope combat sports are headed for a similar reckoning.