2023-24 Absolute Fencing Gear All-Academic Team#

After meticulous evaluation of essays and applications, Absolute Fencing Gear has chosen its four scholarship recipients — two at the $4,000 level and two at the $1,000 level.

The 2023-24 scholarship recipients are:

• $4,000: Zoe Eveland, Nashville Academy of Fencing
• $4,000: Masanobu Miyasaki-Castro, South Bay Fencing Academy
• $1,000: Maia Campbell, Charlotte Fencing Academy 
• $1,000: Samuel Tong, Academy of Fencing Masters

Essays were written in response to this prompt: "Fencing is a sport rich in honor and tradition. Using specific examples from your own fencing career, share a time when your integrity was challenged and you were forced to make a difficult choice. Describe the scenario, how you arrived at your decision and how you feel about your choice in."

Read the winning essays below.

Integrity is often reduced to simply being honest, but it encompasses much more. The Cambridge Dictionary defines integrity as "the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles that you refuse to change," a definition that underscores the depth of integrity beyond honesty. My adherence to strong moral principles was put to the test during a close DE bout last November.

I was competing in Cadet Women's Foil at a regional tournament and was fencing my Round of 16 DE bout. I was up 14 - 10 at the end of the first period, but I began to struggle after the break. I felt like I just could not hit her, and as the seconds ticked by, I grew increasingly frustrated. Eventually, both my opponent and I were issued P-yellow cards. At the time, I was fairly confident that if another minute passed without a touch or off-target, we would both receive a P-red card and a touch against, and I would win the bout. However, I was not positive if this was the case, so I asked my referee. He responded by saying that if another minute passed, I would not receive another point, and I would not win the bout. So, instead of waiting and trying to get another P-card, I rushed and tried to finish the bout. This decision resulted in me losing the bout.

Afterwards, I was very upset because I had lost the bout due to a decision I made based on false information. I thought that bout was mine, and it felt like I had been robbed of a top eight or even podium finish. This frustration could have easily led me to become angry and rude towards my referee, but my moral principles stopped me.

One of my moral principles is to always be kind and understanding. Referees often choose to referee because they care about the sport. Their job is exhausting, and they frequently face angry fencers who think their referee cost them a bout. Refereeing is challenging, and mistakes are inevitable, so I decided to choose kindness over anger.

Because he was refereeing another bout, I spoke with the head referee and explained to them my situation. Instead of being angry or spiteful, I asked if the head referee could simply explain his mistake to him after he was done with his bout. This would ensure that he would be able to learn from his mistake and prevent my situation from occurring again in the future. The head referee confirmed that my understanding of the rules was correct, made sure they knew which referee had refereed my bout, was appreciative of my feedback, and said that they'd talk to the referee that day.

In hindsight, I am proud of my decision. This experience reinforced my belief that maintaining integrity, by being kind and understanding, is paramount. It demonstrated that true sportsmanship and personal principles are more valuable than any victory.

I was fourteen when I first felt my integrity tested.

I swept pools, winning all six of my bouts and I was delighted when I saw the tableau. My first DE was a kid I had fenced several times before and beaten every time. I'll call him "Johnny." Johnny was out of shape and slow, and probably more than a foot shorter than me. I was patting myself on the back before the bout even started. This was going to be an easy win.

That day, Johnny was determined. Johnny wasn't fencing like the Johnny I had fenced all those times before. He was fitter, and quicker, and he lunged longer than I had ever seen him lunge. He was somehow holding his own against me. We went back and forth, touch for touch, but soon the point gap between us became wider and wider as he took the lead. And then, the unthinkable happened: he won.

I lost it. My mask went flying one way, my saber another. I stormed out of the convention hall and to my bag, where I erupted in a whirlwind of emotions. This was the first time in my fencing career that I felt so much anger towards my opponent. Though my anger towards him soon faded, as I had made a startling realization.

I had just thrown a tantrum.

Sitting in the empty hallway, the reality of my outburst dawned on me. I had not only lost the bout but also my integrity. I had disrespected my opponent and also the values that I was supposed to stand for.

That's when I made a decision. Even though I was embarrassed at my actions, I trudged back into the venue, where Johnny was basking in his well-earned victory. His mother was there, too, probably wondering if I was coming back to throw another fit. The referee gave me the side-eye. I took a deep breath and approached Johnny and extended my hand. "I'm sorry," I said. "You fenced really well, and my behavior was out of line." Johnny blinked, probably surprised that I hadn't come back to challenge him to a duel or something. I also apologized to the referee, and to his mother.

In hindsight, this experience was a masterclass in humility. I had lost control of my emotions and completely embarrassed myself. But in coming back to apologize, I had managed to salvage some shred of integrity.

This incident has stuck with me, reminding me to approach every bout with humility and to respect every opponent. It taught me that the mark of a good athlete is not just in knowing how to win with enthusiasm but knowing how to lose with dignity as well.

No one likes ethical dilemmas. Particularly those that leave us agonizing for days over what path to take. My experience in fencing has been, thankfully, free from the sorts of misconduct typically managed through FenceSafe or Safe Sport. I'm so grateful that USA Fencing, along with the US Center for SafeSport, keep the safety of fencers front and center to ensure that the sport remains a positive experience for all participants.

Having said all of this, I have had a fencing experience that presented me with an ethical dilemma which both challenged my integrity and forced me to make hard choices. My sister and I started fencing roughly three years ago and began regular lessons at a fencing academy in Charlotte with a brusque coach who was very open with my parents that he didn't feel his time was best spent training me. I was 15 at the time and the coach made it clear that he would have more success training my younger 12-year-old sister for the national stage. Since my parents were primarily interested in developing our love of athletic competition, they pressed to have me continue forward with lessons. After the initial few lessons though, it became clear that the coach would not be working with me individually as he spent little to no time correcting my form and focused on other fencers, including my sister. As she and I began to compete in regular novice events, it was easy to see our asymmetrical growth as my sister's skills improved rapidly, clearly distancing herself from my own within only a few months. This situation left me to wonder whether I had the right to complain to either the coach or my parents or if this was just the nature of fencing for those late to the game.

As the oldest of four siblings, I can tell you that the pressure to remain dutiful to the wishes of your parents looms large. My parents' pride in my younger sister's progress was not something that I wanted to blow up. However, I was hurting inside. This was unfair treatment and I felt invisible. I felt like I was being asked to ignore some of my family's key values - namely standing up for fairness and one's own self-respect. I didn't feel comfortable raising my concerns directly to the coach so I instead raised it up to my parents. I couldn't help feeling embarrassed as the words came out of my mouth. I was sure my parents would just think of me as a whiner or possibly jealous of my sister's progress. I was so relieved to see that my parents understood and were equally concerned. They spoke with the coach and, while the coach disagreed and professed to be fair and unbiased, the situation continued. After some long discussions within my family, we ultimately agreed to move to another fencing academy where both my sister and I would be equally supported to succeed. We've never looked back.

14-14. It was the third period in the final bout of a B2 tournament. Winning would upgrade my C23 to a B24, and I would enjoy a higher seeding at national tournaments and more respect among my teammates.

As my opponent pushed me toward the end of the strip, I prepared my parry six riposte to entirely deflect his blade and allow mine an easy entry into his open shoulder. However, as I performed this action, responding to his extension toward my chest, he dropped his point, completely avoiding my blade, and flicked my foot. I had lost what I considered the most important bout of my life.

Looking up with tears beginning to form, I saw that the referee annulled the touch, claiming that he had hit the ungrounded rubber floor instead. My opponent protested, but the referee replied with utter rejection, stating that: "It's the rule. I call what I see." When she reset us to an appropriate distance to continue the bout, unease replaced sorrow because I knew that the referee's call did not accurately reflect the action: she had made a mistake, and I did not deserve a second chance. Coming back to en garde, I raised my hand in objection, and the referee glanced at me, choking because of fear of losing and the knowledge of irreversibility. As she awaited the reason for my halt, I reluctantly recited what I perceived to be the true series of events.

"He hit me," I said. "He did his feint, and I missed." "Are you sure?" she replied.

I knew that I could have revoked my claim and perhaps later executed an attack into his preparation to win the bout, but I remained adamant. The future guilt I may experience repelled me from dishonesty. Responding with a feeble “yes,” I watched the referee make an adverse hand gesture, which represented his touch, his victory, and my loss. To my surprise, my opponent made no jubilant celebration nor a triumphant shriek: he walked toward me and thanked me for my honesty as I sobbed, wondering if I would ever come so close to a B rating ever again.

During the car ride home and through the following week, I felt no happiness even by watching my favorite television shows or eating my mother's food. The only thought on my mind was a constant replay of my demise and gratuitous selflessness. Ultimately, as time washed away my depression, a sense of contentment prevailed: it was because of my correction that the merited one emerged victorious. Additionally, I reflected that I had not lost to someone of poor sportsmanship, but to someone kind and empathetic of my brave honor.

Although winning is the objective of every fencing match, the emotions and character growth obtained from sacrificing my own success in favor of upholding personal values are indispensable to living as a courteous human. I still wish that I had won, but by strength, not by lies.