Recently I read an article by Italian fencing master Giancarlo Toran about the importance of the salute in fencing. His reflections on tradition, respect, and what the salute reveals about character deeply resonated with me. I’ve borrowed some of his ideas here and added my own perspective about this small but crucial ritual.

Every fencing bout, in pool or direct elimination, ends the same. Two fencers have just spent one to three periods trying to score touches against each other. Maybe it was close. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe one of them is heading to the next round and the other is eliminated from the tournament. No matter the result, they both remove their masks, salute and shake hands (or tap blades). And only then they walk off the strip.

Except sometimes they don’t. Sometimes the losing fencer rips off their mask, gives the most perfunctory salute imaginable – weapon barely lifted, no eye contact – and either refuses the handshake entirely or offers a hand so limp and resentful that it’s worse than not offering one at all.

I’ve seen this countless times. The frustrated fencer whose body language screams “I’d rather throw my weapon at you than salute you properly.” The winner who’s so focused on their next bout they barely acknowledge their opponent. The fencer who just goes through the motions because the referee is watching and they know they’re supposed to do something.

And every time these fencers are missing something fundamental about what fencing actually is.

The Salute Isn’t Just a Formality

The salute isn’t a formality. It’s not bureaucratic red tape that gets in the way of the “real” part of fencing – the competition, the touches, the winning.

The salute IS part of fencing. It’s as essential as your lunge, as important as your parry. It’s the frame around everything else we do in this sport.

You know how in my recent post about motivation I wrote that discipline means showing up even when you don’t feel like it. The salute is one of the physical embodiment of that principle. It requires you to demonstrate respect and composure regardless of how you feel in that moment.

Lost 15:14 after being up 14:10? Salute properly anyway.

Your opponent fenced in a way you considered cheap or unsportsmanlike? Maybe they even cheated on some of the touches? Salute properly anyway.

You’re frustrated with yourself, devastated by the loss, angry at the referee who made a critical mistake in your opponent’s favor? Salute properly anyway.

This is discipline. This is self-control. This is what separates fencing from just hitting people with swords.

Where It Comes From

Fencing has roots that go back centuries. Not just as a sport, but as something that mattered in ways we can barely imagine now – when blades were sharp, when duels determined honor, when your skill with a sword could literally determine whether you lived or died.

The salute comes from that tradition. Before dueling, opponents would introduce themselves, acknowledge each other’s presence and worth as adversaries. The dueling knights would lift the visor of their helmet – a gesture military personnel still make today when saluting, often without knowing its origin.

That gesture said: “I see you as a worthy opponent. I acknowledge you as someone deserving of respect. Whatever happens in the next few moments, we are equals in this.”

Now, obviously we’re not fighting duels to the death. We’re competing in a sport with electronic scoring and safety equipment and referees who stop the bout every few seconds.

But the principle remains. The salute says: “You are my opponent, not my enemy. This bout matters, but it doesn’t define either of our worth as people. Regardless of who wins, we’re both part of something bigger than ourselves.”

What Proper Salute Actually Looks Like

A real salute – not the lazy version so many fencers default to – has 4 specific elements that matter.

Stand upright. Head up. Not slouched, not turned away. You’re acknowledging another person, not checking a box on a to-do list.

Look at your opponent when you salute them. Then at the referee. Then at the audience if there is one. These aren’t abstract concepts you’re saluting – they’re actual people who deserve acknowledgment.

Raise your weapon and fully extend your arm. Whether you follow that specific form that your coach taught you, or adjust it a bit in your flavor, the weapon should be raised with intention, not just halfheartedly waved in the general direction of your opponent.

Smile slightly, or at least look with a neutral, composed expression. Don’t scowl or throw a dead-eyed stare at your opponent. You’re demonstrating that you’re in control of yourself and your emotions.

And then – critically – shake your opponent’s hand (or tap their blade, which we’ll discuss below).

The Handshake Situation

Before COVID, the salute always ended with a handshake. You’d remove your mask, salute, extend your hand, shake firmly while making eye contact, and say “thank you” or “good bout.” Often you’d add “Good luck in the next bout.”

COVID changed that. For health reasons, blade tapping became an acceptable alternative to the handshake – you’d tap your opponent’s blade with yours instead of shaking hands. And it still exists, nobody at the FIE canceled it.

Here’s where it gets complicated. Some fencers now use blade tapping as an excuse to avoid the handshake even when there’s no health concern. They lost, they’re angry, and tapping blades lets them maintain more distance, less human connection.

That’s not what blade tapping was meant for.

If you’re using blade tapping for legitimate health reasons, fine. But if you’re using it to avoid acknowledging your opponent as a person, you’re missing the entire point.

The handshake matters. It’s the final confirmation that despite everything that just happened on the strip, we’re still two people who respect each other. The firmness of the grip, the directness of the eye contact, the clarity of the “thank you” – all of this communicates something essential about who you are as a fencer and as a person.

The exception: There are rare situations where refusing to shake hands carries its own moral weight. When Olga Kharlan refused to shake hands with Russian fencer Anna Smirnova at the 2023 World Championships – in the context of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine – that refusal was a statement about something larger than the bout itself.  But that was an extraordinary situation and hopefully there wouldn’t be many of such in the world and sports. For 99.9999% of bouts, refusing the handshake is just poor sportsmanship.

Why This Matters Beyond the Strip

The salute teaches something that extends far beyond fencing.

It teaches you to maintain composure and demonstrate respect even when you don’t feel like it. Especially when you don’t feel like it.

If you think about it, life itself requires mastering this exact skill. The job interview after a series of rejections. The professional interaction with someone you personally dislike. The dispute with your neighbor about late night party noises. The need to remain civil during a difficult family gathering. The ability to lose gracefully, acknowledge the winner, and move forward without resentment eating away at you.

The fencer who can’t salute properly after a loss is practicing a pattern that will show up everywhere else in their life. The inability to acknowledge when someone else succeeded. The refusal to demonstrate grace in defeat. The need to make everything about their own feelings rather than being part of something larger.

Conversely, the fencer who salutes well – win or lose, frustrated or satisfied – is building something valuable. They’re learning that their emotional state doesn’t have to control their actions. They’re demonstrating that respect isn’t conditional on outcomes. They’re showing that they can be part of a community even when it’s uncomfortable.

These practical life skills that show up in college, in careers, in relationships, in every situation where things don’t go the way you wanted them to.

Teaching the Salute

Every private lesson or bout in a class begins and ends with a proper salute. Not rushed, not perfunctory, but done with intention.

This gives coaches the opportunity to teach not just the mechanics but the meaning. It’s when they explain the history, correct the posture, the eye contact, the expression and make it clear that this isn’t optional or decorative – it’s fundamental.

In his article Toran talks about the Italian fencing master Renzo Nostini, who recounted that his coach told him during his first lesson: “Now you are a gentleman and you must behave like one.” That was after teaching the salute and putting the weapon in Nostini’s hand.

That’s the right order. The salute comes first. Everything else builds on that foundation.

The same applies to the final handshake. How you shake hands reveals something. A firm handshake, direct eye contact, a clear “thank you” – this demonstrates respect regardless of the outcome. A limp, resentful handshake or a refusal to shake at all? That reveals character too, just not the kind you want to be developing or be known by.

What the Audience Sees

Think also how this ritual at the end of the bout looks like to everyone watching.

Two fencers have just competed intensely. Maybe fought for every single touch. Maybe the bout was decided at 15:14. And then they remove their masks, salute each other with genuine respect, shake hands firmly while making eye contact, and walk off the strip with dignity regardless of who won.

That image – that moment – captures what fencing should be. It tells the audience that this sport is about more than just scoring touches. It demonstrates that we can compete fiercely while maintaining respect. It shows that winning and losing are both handled with grace.

Compare that to the fencer who throws their mask, barely salutes, refuses to shake hands, and storms off the strip in visible anger.

Which image do you want representing our sport? Which fencer would you want your child to become?

The Small Gesture That Matters

The salute takes maybe five seconds. The handshake takes another five.

Ten seconds total out of a bout that might last nine minutes or more.

But those ten seconds often reveal more about a fencer’s character than the entire bout that preceded them.

Can you maintain composure when you’re frustrated? Can you demonstrate respect when you don’t feel like it? Can you acknowledge your opponent even when you lost? Can you be part of something bigger than your own immediate emotional state?

The salute asks all these questions. How you answer them – every single time you step on and off the strip – shapes who you’re becoming as a fencer and as a person.

So salute properly. Stand up straight. Make eye contact. Raise your weapon with intention. Shake hands firmly. Say thank you like you mean it.

Not because the rules require it. Not because the referee is watching. But because this is what it means to be a fencer.

The bouts you won will be forgotten. The ranking points will fade. The medals will gather dust in your drawer. What lasts is the person you’re becoming through these small moments of discipline and respect.

Photo: © Marie-Lan Nguyen / Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY 2.5