A still from The New Masters.

Introduction

Sascha Matuszak is a friend and occasional guest author here at Kung Fu Tea.  Regular readers may remember his report on recent developments in the socioeconomics of Taijiquan.  As a China based journalist he has written a number of stories on the martial arts for publications like VICE’s Fightland, the Economist, The South China Morning Post, and Roads and Kingdoms.  Recently he helped to launch a Kickstarter campaign for a new documentary titled “The New Masters.”  Sascha, Christopher Cherry (the films director) and Kira Leinonen (the producer) have been kind enough to stop by and tell us a little more about their project.

Kung Fu Tea (KFT):  Can you tell us a bit about yourself? How did all of you become involved with the Chinese Martial Arts, and at what point did you join “The New Masters?”

Sascha Matuszak (SM/Writer and Producer):  I first became involved in the CMA when a friend of mine introduced me to a master in Chengdu, back in 2003. My friend had already been studying under this master, Li Quan, for a few months, and he wanted to bring us together. I became very close friends with Li Quan over the past 10 years. He is an erudite scholar, kung fu master and Sanda champion, and a good soul. His struggles really were the impetus for everything I have written on the CMA. He is, in my mind, a treasure house of martial skill and knowledge, and yet he lives on the border of poverty, with just a few students. It seemed as if everyone paid him respects, but no one paid him, and that was for me a conundrum that I wanted to unravel, and help change. That journey led to a blog, The Last Masters, and the beginnings of a book about the CMA today in China.

While researching this book I started veering off into the mixed martial arts, as MMA in China seemed alive, vibrant, and at least to my eyes, profitable. That branch of the journey brought me into contact with filmmakers Chris Cherry and David Dempsey, who were at the Shaolin Temple filming an MMA veteran who was showing Shaolin students the basics of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. We found that confluence fascinating, and we agreed on the spot to collaborate on a film project that could bring these stories to life.

Christopher Cherry (Director): I was fascinated by the idea of how a country modernizes without becoming “westernized.” It seemed obvious that telling the story of the emergence of China, the Grand Narrative which every writer/photographer/creative type here was trying to tell, should be done by studying an aspect of its past in conflict with the present. So many of China’s traditions, while seeming to disappear, echoed somehow in the modern context….that whole Mark Twain quote about history ‘rhyming’ rather than repeating. The bound feet phenomenon, for example, which once forced women to appear fragile and in need of support, had become the ’empowering’ tottering high heels of today which seem obligatory on young women in Beijing. But I wasn’t going to make a documentary about high heels (maybe later). Somehow, I became particularly interested in how the dusty ‘Warrior Codes’ found in the manuals of traditional martial arts had been appropriated into the commercialized behemoth of modern MMA. All that philosophizing about Paths and Sacrifice. The bowing to an opponent after victory. Was it just a transparent attempt to legitimize what was ultimately a brutal sport with some quasi-spiritualism? Or was there indeed a numinous element to the life of the fighter which linked them back through centuries to gladiators, and the samurais and kung fu heroes of myth? What exactly made someone spill blood and sweat every day for months just to fight for 15 minutes in a cage, often for little money?

The topic had the added promise of allowing us to truly find out what was useful from the past, with everything being rigorously tested. The MMA cage is the ultimate proving ground not just for athletes, but also for cultures, countries, and their ability to adapt to the challenge of modernity.

I also realized fight movies are excellent vehicles for studying what is happening in a society because everyone understands the struggle. And we want those who struggle the most to win, beyond cultural sympathies or anything else. There was also the obvious attraction of this being incredibly visual material. China is such a dynamic place to live. Every day you see something new. But so much of the media coverage is dry and distanced, with stories that are just repackaged and resold….when will China become like us? This film gave us the chance to explore actual lives-hanging out in sweaty gyms with teenage cage fighters, climbing lush mountains searching for the old masters of myth, standing on the Great Wall with arms raised, all the while chasing individuals themselves trying to make sense of China and their place in it.

Kira Leinonen (Producer): My love of film, documentary or otherwise, is partly due to the beauty of the medium, but perhaps more so the power it has to expose vastly different demographics across large geographic areas to new ideas. A film can shed new light on ideas. I worked for an environmental organization for three years making videos because I believe that people have the right to know what is happening in the world around them, particularly when it is happening in their backyard and even more so when it directly effects their health or well being. I also believe that information is power, and an informed public, on the whole, makes better decisions, whether on a personal or larger social level. One of the romances of film is its ability to whisk the viewer away to another world for a couple of hours.  The power of the documentary lies in the fact that this ‘other world’ is still a very real one, a world we can identify with no matter who we are or where are living. Those insights, during which apparently disparate communities discover unlikely intersections of interests, practices, or outlooks on life, are where connections are made and greater understanding flourishes.

As for martial arts, I developed an affection for Bruce Lee in college, during a semester-long Hong Kong action cinema class. I then immersed myself in all the kung fu classics, from both Mainland and Hong Kong, and also took in a lot of films influenced by the genre. This film meets my criteria for an important story that needs to be told, and it allows me to indulge my interests outside of social justice and environmental protection.

KFT: What is the basic premise of “The New Masters?” What sorts of stories and locations can your audience expect to explore in this film?

SM: A new breed of Chinese martial artist is emerging, and with that person new institutions that will have far reaching effects on martial arts in China, and on CMA’s influence abroad. We are documenting this process on film, through characters that span the strata of the community: MMA fighters, kung fu masters, middlemen and businessmen, managers and officials.

MMA and cage fighting has had an impact on the TCMA across the board. Chen Taiji has staged fights, Sanda fighters are now moving into wrestling and MMA, kung fu masters are dipping their toes into the competition pool again, and even Wushu performers are making the transition in some way or another, either as businessmen, fighters, or some sort of recruiter and middleman. A lot of this is driven by the current mood that pervades China generally, that which forces everyone to leap onto anything that may be of some profit. We’ve seen a lot of tents go up and come crashing back down in the years since MMA first arrived in China (a little over ten years ago) and there are still a lot organizations that will collapse before the new facade of CMA is established. What we are seeing is a churning transformation within the community, as international training methods, martial styles, competitors, and business models penetrate into what was once a completely untapped, uniformly Chinese market. That is changing, but the actors are still in large part Chinese, which makes this all the more important, in that whatever does come out of the current melting pot and slightly chaotic mixing right now, will be determinedly Chinese in character.

A still from The New Masters.

KFT: You have had the opportunity to live in China and interview a number of martial artists for your various writing projects. What is your impression of the state of the traditional Chinese martial arts today? Taijiquan? Kung Fu? How much do things vary by region or income level?

SM: I recently interviewed a very prominent Taijiquan master in Qingcheng Mountain, outside of Chengdu, and he reiterated what I see here: the CMA community is sundered. Each element has its own trajectory, community, goals, adherents, and there is little that brings them together. This is both the cause and result of the demise of the traditional kung fu master. There is an overall trend toward profit making, because everyone wants to avoid the fate of the traditional master, who has been unable to position him/herself in the modern Chinese socio-economy as a valuable commodity. Taiji has been especially effective, by using health and the Dao as major branding tools to attract the old, the rich, and the overworked.

MMA and Sanda are also effective, in that everyone all over the world still likes to see a fight. So that branch of the CMA world is also moving forward, developing, refining events and training methods, and generally becoming more and more “healthy” as a martial art and profitable arm of CMA.

Having said that, the martial arts community in China numbers in the several millions of people. Sanda alone has around 500,000 people involved in that community: universities, fight camps, national teams, events, etc. Wushu has well over a million people, with a similar structure and a very long legacy that goes back to at least the turn of the 20th century. Kung fu, although clearly on the downturn in terms of numbers and market share, still counts dozens of major schools and thousands of masters and students. So when we speak of “demise” we are really talking about a relative process that will take a long, long time to play out. The Shaolin Temple, for example, is busy re-branding itself, from a kung fu centric temple for disciples to something more cultural, more inclusive of events. And the schools around Shaolin include wrestling, wushu, boxing, and Sanda as well. It’s a huge community with immeasurable potential, but as with many things in China, its mired in an old, stagnant way of doing things that is now being poked and prodded by international trends, such as MMA.

KFT: What are some of the barrier that prevent kids from developing an interest in the traditional martial arts, or actually taking up their practice?

SM: Money. For poor families, sending your kid to a Wushu school makes some sense, because of the discipline, the relatively low tuition fees, and the security of a job at the end of the line as a coach, guard, police officer, or something along those lines. But even for the poor, the idea of a life as a martial artist is losing out to the lure of the city, technical schools, white collar jobs … tracks that provide a real boost up from the farm, and not just a small step up. Of course, the numbers of children going to Wushu schools number in the hundreds of thousands still, and many children I spoke to loved their school because they loved Wushu and that is something that is important to remember. Martial artists often do it for the love, and worry about money later.

I think there are a lot of other things that can attract people, or options that are more attractive to parents than martial arts. But I still see a tremendous interest, and the numbers are still huge. There really is little difference between the economic realities of a martial artist in China and in the US – all of them struggle to make a living. It is just that now, in the US for example, martial artists come from all walks of life. It can be a hobby. Whereas in China economic necessity still rules many decisions for a family.

KFT: What about other combat sports, specifically MMA and the various styles of kickboxing? How have things changed for these pursuits in the last five years?

SM: Combat sports have definitely seen a dramatic uptick in the last five or six years. I think combat sports tap into an ever-present reservoir in human societies, the pool of those who love to fight. In China we are talking about incredible scales, so any competent gym would have the opportunity to support itself, as long as there are events and fights that can draw in income. A lot of gym owners still make it month to month, because the infrastructure around them isn’t that strong. Again, there are many gyms in the US that barely make it, so I think the distinction is not as much national. The difference lies in which stage each martial community is in: in the US an explosion has led to somewhat of a saturation, although not too extreme from what I gather. In China, the system is slowly reacting to combat sports as a viable economic force, and the Wushu and Sanda systems are adapting slowly.

A still from The New Masters.

KFT: Is there just one sort of person who takes up MMA in China today? What sorts of variety do we see in current Chinese schools and training camps?

SM: There is a dominant majority of people who come from lower incomes, especially in the TCMA such as Sanda, Wushu, and Kung fu. In MMA and Brazilian Jiujitsu however, the demographic is much more diverse. That is a function of exposure – small town kids may have never even heard of these two martial arts, and also systemic, in that the existing martial arts system doesn’t offer these martial arts on a large scale.

Taiji has a very broad, diverse demographic. Chinese are very big on health and longevity as a matter of course, so Taiji is a big deal with anyone older than 45, in general. Not that everyone of that age practices, but that is a strong demographic. White collar workers, as I wrote above, also see Taiji as very beneficial. One Taiji master explained it to me like this: in the West, you have yoga. But yoga is a very Yang style, whereas here in the East, we prefer Taiji and qigong, which are much more Yin.  I’m not sure how much I agree with that statement, but it seems to be a relatively common one.

KFT: What are some of the elements of Chinese fighting culture that are propelling MMA forward at this moment in history?

SM: China actually has a thriving fight culture, despite the fact that the streets are very safe, nary a fistfight to be seen. By fight culture I mean the events, and specifically events held at the village, town, or small city level. At this level, the combat sport (and MMA) acts as a bread and circuses tool to bring people together in a way that is safe for the authorities, makes money for sponsors, and allows viewers to get a bit of aggression out. So far the Chinese authorities have shown a distinct indifference to blood, broken limbs, the presence (or lack thereof) of doctors, and other things which made MMA something of an outcast in the US for a few years.

KFT: At what point do you think that China will begin to produce world class MMA athletes?

SM: Soon, but it may take a lot longer than with other countries, say Dagestan or Ireland.  To be honest, I am not exactly sure why. Are the training facilities here that much worse than in Russia or Dagestan? Is it really a “martial spirit” thing at play?  I find that to be a weak argument.

I think the strongest argument I heard was that the Communist sports system cultivates athletes, especially in the fight game, who are more interested in comfort and money than fame and glory. And that does seem to be the case. Fighters here get paid to train, whereas in the US, fighters usually pay out of pocket for the best training. That type of difference does mean that, in the US, only the very best will rise to the top, whereas here not so much. That is changing very rapidly, and there are fighters right now in the UFC who look very good. Li Jingliang, Wang Sai, and Zhang Lipeng are all second generation Chinese MMA fighters, and although Li lost by decision in his last fight, he looked great. All three of these guys, as well as Ning Guangyou, one of the main characters in our film, have a chance to make a name for themselves. Honestly though, it may be the next generation of “New Masters” who really shine.

KFT: Obviously the quality of Chinese MMA fighters has been improving. I think that a lot of people assume that this is simply because they are abandoning the influence of traditional Kung Fu and turning instead to Jujitsu and Muay Thai. The traditional Chinese arts have been exposed as being useless and they are being abandoned. Yet you argue that a powerful synthesis of traditional and modern arts is developing in China. Can you tell us a little more about this?

SM: I think I have argued that a synthesis could be powerful, but not that it is actually happening on any large scale. I don’t want to lead anyone astray: kung fu still plays zero role as a brand in mixed martial arts. I think what is lacking is the recognition that certain techniques used today in MMA are straight out of Chinese kung fu. Headkicks, sidekicks, oblique kicks, elbows, centerline strikes … all of these are very prominent and basic features of Chinese kung fu. It is actually kung fu’s inability to define itself, and brand itself as an effective martial art in combat sports that is, I believe, the larger problem.

Our premise is that the arrival of MMA is forcing kung fu out of its slumber and into the wider world of martial arts. In our documentary Xingxi, a Shaolin trained kung fu master, helps guide us through that process.

A still from The New Masters.

KFT: Do you think that the Chinese mixed martial artists of the future will look and fight just like their western counterparts, or will they develop their own approach to the game?

SM: I think the martial artists of the future will look very similar to each other. They will all be able to move through different transitions easily, employ all of the weapons the human body has effectively and fluidly, and be able to adapt quickly to the same type of skills in an opponent. Whether or not regional or national styles remain, I think that’s very hard to say. Russian MMA fighters are still the best at suplexing people, Brazilians tend to be masters of the submission game .. but more and more we are seeing the very best martial artists develop into something like comic book heroes, with a vast array of moves and techniques gleaned from all manner of styles and arts. It’s exciting to see.

KFT: Can you tell us about some of the traditional artists that will be featured in your film? What do they bring to the story, and what do they reveal about the state of the traditional arts in China today.

SM: There are two in particular. One a young Shaolin trained martial artist named Xingxi, who is entering the world of MMA, represents the naiveté of the kung fu world in many ways. His kung fu is solid, and he carries himself like a Buddhist monk with martial skills, like the figures of old. We show the process of Xingxi realizing he may be something of an anachronism, and his steps to change that. The other is a fascinating character, and perhaps the complete opposite of Xingxi. Zou Fan is a martial artist living in the mountains of southwest China, practicing Taijiquan and seeking the Dao. Before that though, she was a renowned bare knuckle fighter in Sichuan. She knocked people out! So her journey is the reverse of Xingxi in many ways, and she represents the true value of the CMA, the philosophy and greater truth behind the self defense training. For me, she is the closest to a true martial artist that we have met on this journey.

KFT: Earlier this week you launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for the project. What has the response been like? Are there any giveaways that you are especially excited about?

SM: The response has been very good. We made 40% of our goal in the first five days, but we still have a long way to go. There are a few giveaways I like: the large size Mamiya photo prints are going to be amazing, as are the printed photo books and digital photo books. We also have a week at Zou Fan’s school which is a top tier reward, but also includes Mamiya prints, signed MMA gear, and a great hoodie. What we have seen though is that people are supporting us for the project, more so than for rewards. Which is great, but we still want to offer the best possible rewards we can to our backer.

KFT: Where will this film debut, and how did you select those cities?

SM: Not sure where it will debut, but we chose those cities (Glasgow, Berlin, Beijing, Shanghai, San Francisco and Montreal or NY) because we could all make those screenings happen – those cities are where we all grew up, lived and worked, and have many friends.

KFT: Great.  I can’t wait to meet you and the rest of the production team in New York City.  Thanks for dropping by to discuss your project.  This sounds like a fantastic exploration of China’s evolving martial culture.

Readers interested in learning more about “The New Masters” can check out the Facebook group or click here to watch the trailer.  Of course the film also has its own webpage.

oOo

If you enjoyed this interview you might also want to see:  Nick Hurst Talks to Kung Fu Tea about Writing, Research, and Curating the Memory of a Shaolin Grandmaster.

oOo

Three Qilin heads, at a 2006 Monkey God festival in Hong Kong.  Dr. Amos’ own research includes an excellent ethnographic study of a Qilin dance troupe in Hong Kong during the 1970s. Photo credit: Sam Judkins.

 Introduction

We are very happy that Dr. Daniel M. Amos has been able to take the time to visit Kung Fu Tea.  In the following interview he discusses his research and shares some of his many insights on the modern development of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts.  In 1983 Amos completed a doctoral dissertation in Anthropology at UCLA titled “Marginality and the hero’s art: Martial artists in Hong Kong and Guangzhou.”  This unique work provides an invaluable window onto a critical period in the development of Kung Fu in both Hong Kong and Guangzhou.  Elements of this dissertation have subsequently been published as articles, but the original study is well worth reading. Few individuals within the academic community have been watching the Chinese martial arts for as long as Dr. Amos, or are as well positioned to address the fundamental shifts in the social underpinnings of these practices that have occurred in the last few decades.  Enjoy!

oOo

1. Kung Fu Tea (KFT):  Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?

Daniel M. Amos: Officially an elder, having turned 65 a few months ago, I am a native of southern California and of European-American heritage. My mother was an oil painter, a potter, and high school art teacher. My father, a combat veteran of WW II, was a track star, and a builder of homes and apartments. My spouse, a scholar who focuses on critical race theory, is a college professor. My elder daughter is a third year student in economics and politics at Penn, and my younger daughter is a lively fourth grader.

I played on school basketball teams, and was an intercollegiate golfer at Cal State Fullerton. My MA and PhD degrees are from the University of Chicago and UCLA. For eight years, over a span of three decades, I have been a visiting faculty member or scholar in the social sciences at five Chinese universities, including the Chinese University of Hong Kong, Zhongshan University, Beijing Normal University, Northeast Normal University and Wuhan University. In the United States, I have been a faculty member and/or administrator at Pacific University, Clark Atlanta University, the University of Washington, Washington State University, and the Oregon University System.

In addition to studies of Chinese martial artists, I have done ethnographic studies of alcoholism and the cultural uses of alcohol in China. In the U.S., I have studied substance abuse treatment and prevention outcomes, undergraduate engineering education, systems of care for the elderly and social services for people with disabilities, especially developmental disabilities.

Currently, a researcher of Washington State government-funded health and social programs, I have a unique role in the sense that I primarily use qualitative methods, while practically all of my colleagues are quantitative researchers and rely upon surveys and administrative databases. For the Washington State Department of Health I study the approaches of state agencies, local health jurisdictions, and non-governmental organizations to chronic disease management, education, prevention, and treatment.

2. KFT: How did you first encounter the martial arts, and what attracted you to them as a subject for academic study?

Amos: In July 1976, I arrived in then the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong to begin a U.S. State Department Teaching Fellowship and serve as a visiting half-time anthropology instructor in the Department of Sociology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK). Shortly after I arrived in Hong Kong the Great Tangshan Earthquake struck northern China. Many Chinese in Hong Kong and elsewhere interpreted this terrible natural disaster, which killed upwards of 650,000 people, as a sign of impending dynastic change. During the preceding 18 months leading Chinese political figures such as Chiang Kai-shek (Jiang Jieshi) in the Republic of China, and Kang Sheng, Zhou Enlai and Zhu De in the People’s Republic of China had passed away. Mao Zedong died on September 9, 1976. The Chinese political world was shaking, and residents of Hong Kong were anxious and excited about impending changes on the mainland.

In early autumn 1976, I began studying a form of Southern Style Praying Mantis martial arts from a master who lived in the same small market town that I lived in the New Territories, which was then a more agrarian region of Hong Kong. My motives for beginning Chinese martial arts were not academic; I simply liked sports and physical activity, basketball and swimming, hiking and weight training.

After practicing martial arts in Hong Kong for several months, I mentioned to one of my doctoral committee members at UCLA that I was thinking of studying Chinese martial artists. He responded that I was “following my nose,” and asserted that dissertation research should from the beginning be based on testing a social theory, rather being constructed from the ground up by following around an interesting group of people. I didn’t agree, and wanted to imitate Howard S. Becker, a sociologist who has always followed his nose to wonderful effect, letting the people he is working with take him along for the ride, instead of trying to hijack the car and steer it. So many fascinating things were going on at my master’s martial house such as Chinese religion, kinship, medicine, gender and ethnic identity development, play, performance, competition, combat, caste and class. I only began to use social theory in my research when I began to understand what I was dealing with.

3. KFT: Do you have a favorite style?

Amos: I love the southern Praying Mantis style that I have practiced now for nearly forty years. For someone who is fairly tall like I am, the combination of low, but not high kicks, defensive moves, grappling, and punching techniques seem to fit my body and personality.  It’s fun to do the high kicks of Taekwondo, which I am not expert at, and practiced for just a year in Beijing. Aikido masters are wonderful to watch, and all styles of martial arts seem to be effective when performed by competent practitioners.

As far as the rule-bound sports that have martial components, I closely follow boxing. Sumo is breathtaking for the manner in which it integrates power and balance, and I enjoy watching Freestyle and Greco-Roman wrestling. Mixed Martial Artists are superb athletes, but their sport has not won my heart, perhaps because it’s new and I’m old.

Dr. Amos, wife Yukari and daughter Himiko, at the 10,000 Buddhas Temple in Hong Kong, standing in front of Guan Yin (Goddess of Mercy), one of the gods worshiped by our martial house. Source: Amos’ personal collection.

4. KFT: What was it like to study Chinese martial arts and martial artists in late colonial Hong Kong and post-Cultural Revolution Guangzhou?

Amos: In Hong Kong the “brothers” and “sisters” in my master’s martial house were from the lowest social classes, marginalized by society at many levels. Although I come from an ordinary U.S. family, with both my parents having working class roots, in Hong Kong I benefited from the privileged position I found myself in. Hong Kong had been run by the British for a century and a half, and like the rulers of the place I was white and a native speaker of English. Further, I worked at a university. At the time there were only two baccalaureate granting universities, Hong Kong University and the Chinese University of Hong Kong, with undergraduate admission limited to several hundred places per year for a society of five million people. Although I frequently explained to my martial arts brothers and sisters that I was only a half-time, visiting instructor, they introduced me to strangers by the prestigious term “Professor” (教授).

Barbara Ward, a senior visiting scholar at the Chinese University of Hong Kong from Cambridge University, became my mentor and provided me with ideas and moral support. Friends, lower ranking Chinese colleagues at the university, graduate students, and undergraduates introduced me to a variety of martial artists, including martial arts movie stars, former “brothers” of Bruce Lee, and disciples of Yip Man. In short, I had a marvelous time studying martial arts and martial artists in Hong Kong, and retained my visiting faculty position at CUHK from 1976 to 1980. Decades later, during a visiting martial arts practice session at the martial house, my master would remark that my sparring technique was fairly good, but my form would be a lot better if I had studied Kung Fu harder while living in Hong Kong.

While residing in Hong Kong I twice traveled to Guangzhou in 1978. During these early visits I met a “Public Park Style” martial arts master of Hong Quan (洪拳), and corresponded with him. In the late 1970s UCLA and Zhongshan University (中山大學) began to set up an academic exchange program, and in June 1980 I went directly from Hong Kong to Guangzhou for a fourteen month stay as a Zhongshan University – UCLA Doctoral Fellow. The Guangzhou public park master that I had been corresponding with for a couple of years accepted me as one of his followers, and later informed me that his unit leader had approved contact between us.

Compared to Hong Kong, studying martial arts and martial artists in Guangzhou during the post-Mao, post-Cultural Revolution period was more difficult. Few foreigners lived in the city, and citizens of the United States were distrusted and often assumed to be spies.

Four months after arriving in Guangzhou, my situation became more difficult. The change in my conditions coincided with an international incident provoked by a Stanford anthropology graduate student. During this student’s stay in China he met several women who had been forced to undergo involuntary abortions. He wrote an article about them for a Taiwanese news magazine and published their photographs. Having their faces published in a Taiwanese journal hostile to the mainland Chinese government put these women at great risk. The student was expelled from China, and eventually was dismissed from Stanford’s anthropology program for unprofessional conduct. The subsequent treatment of the women who were endangered by this person’s actions is something that I would like to know, but never learned.

Soon after this incident, the reasonable official at the university foreign affairs office that I dealt with on a daily basis was replaced with someone less reasonable. During our first meeting this new official let me know that her condition for cooperating with my research project was that I would need travel to Hong Kong and buy her twelve air conditioners. Having little capital and no inclination to perform this task, I was unable to comply with her demand.

A few months later, while I was on a brief visit to Hong Kong, this same official found an opportunity to gain revenge for my failure to provide her with the gift she had asked for. During a game of basketball at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, I severely sprained my ankle. I could move by hopping on my good foot, but was unable to travel. Recovering at my Hong Kong master’s martial house, where he used Chinese medicine to treat my injury, in a few days my ankle had healed to the point to where I was able to travel. My re-entry permit to China had just expired, but I still had a valid visa. Hoping that it was a mere formality, I phoned the Zhongshan University foreign affairs office to get approval for another re-entry permit. The difficult official in question spoke to me directly and told me that she would not approve another re-entry permit for me. I would have to return to the United States. I phoned the program contact person at UCLA, but she was unable to help.

Not easily dissuaded, I decided to talk my way back into China. Taking the train to the border, I approached two Chinese armed guards at the border crossing, explained to them in Cantonese that I had injured my ankle during a game of basketball, and my re-entry permit expired when I couldn’t travel. Then I showed them my valid visa, and said, “I am Deng Xiaoping’s nephew. There will be big trouble for you unless you let me in!” They laughed and laughed; asked me to repeat what I had just said to their superior, everyone laughed some more, and then they waved me on in.
The official in question from the university foreign affairs was shocked to see me back on campus. She continued to give me trouble for the next few months, but then a well-known UCLA professor in East Asian studies intervened. He had dealt with the same official, knew that those doing research through her office were having a difficult time, and demanded cooperation. As a consequence, things improved.

During my stay in Guangzhou, ordinary Chinese people (老百姓) were generous towards me. My martial arts master in Guangzhou was extremely kind; I frequently took meals with him and stayed overnight at his home. My martial brothers and sisters in Guangzhou, university students, martial arts educators and scholars, provided me with invaluable support.

A year after I returned to the United States, the difficult official I dealt with in Guangzhou was criticized for corruption by the provincial first party secretary and expelled from her positions.

5. KFT:  Marginality and strategies of inversion were major theoretical topics within your dissertation. Are Chinese martial artists today still a socially marginal group?

Amos: I think the short answer is: probably not as much as before. A good many Chinese martial artists are still socially marginal, but a number of my Kung Fu brothers and sisters in both Hong Kong and Guangzhou have had successful careers. There are many more opportunities for Chinese youth now than there were four decades earlier. The number of places for university students has exploded in both places. When I first went to Guangzhou the “five luxuries” were a watch, a bicycle, a tape recorder, a camera, and a washing machine (or some would say a T.V). In Hong Kong, where I lived in the New Territories, many people in the mid-1970s did not own a watch or a camera.

My Kung Fu “younger uncle” in Guangdong province now owns a four story apartment house, several S.U.V.s, and runs a string of Chinese medicine shops. My most talented Hong Kong martial arts brother emigrated from Hong Kong to Europe, set up a martial house there, and then a restaurant and hotel. Unfortunately, he died in his early fifties from the affects of alcoholism, as did my seventy year old Guangzhou martial arts master years earlier. Heavy drinking and alcoholism seems to be associated with contemporary martial artists, a theme that has long been depicted in classic Chinese novels and popular martial hero fiction.

6. KFT: You have had the opportunity to closely observe the Chinese martial arts for 40 years. We frequently hear warnings that Kung Fu is dying as young people refuse to take up the practice? How valid are these fears?

Amos: The death of Kung Fu is, of course, highly exaggerated. In Hong Kong and Guangzhou social and economic life are much richer than before, there are vastly more opportunities to attend technical schools, colleges, and universities, and after graduation find well-paid employment, or pursue business careers. There are also many more leisure attractions and distractions but the transmission of martial skills to the younger generation still occurs.

Years ago many of the martial arts youth I knew in Hong Kong were unemployed or underemployed. In Guangzhou great numbers of those practicing martial arts were “youth waiting for employment.” Some of my brothers and sisters in Hong Kong and Guangzhou who stopped studying in lower middle school have sent their children to university. These same children have also practiced martial arts with their parents, with periodic instruction from masters. However, for these children the martial house is usually a less vital part of their social life than it was for their parents. They have been more occupied with study and preparation for social advancement; and tempted by the vast array of entertainment that now exists. Nevertheless, in spite of the greater opportunities for education, career, and amusement, good martial artists steadily appear in both Hong Kong and Guangzhou.

Martial sister (with arm on my shoulder) and martial brother (tallest person standing in the rear of the photo), consuming seafood with their and my family members and friends. Both have followed the master since childhood, and my martial sister is a member of the master’s patriline. My martial brother in the photo serves as the master’s teaching assistant. He is a policeman, a common occupation for someone from Hong Kong’s New Territories with little education. Although he did not receive much education, his son is a graduate of an Ivy League school in the U.S. and currently works for an international banking firm in Hong Kong. His son is also a capable martial artist, and considered a follower of the master. Source: Amos’ Personal Collection.

7. KFT: Issues of popularity aside, what are the biggest changes that you have seen in the Chinese martial arts community over the last few decades?

Amos: It’s not certain how much can be generalized from the following single observation, but my Hong Kong master is now much more willing to teach the subtleties of his style of Praying Mantis Kung Fu than he was years ago. Any sincere, dedicated learner will be taught all the master knows. This contrasts to decades ago, when only members of his kinship group were taught everything.

8. KFT: How has the flow of individuals and commerce across the border between Guangdong and Hong Kong affected the fighting arts?

Amos: Up until the 1980s many people in Hong Kong were afraid to travel to the People’s Republic of China. Many had family members who were killed in the wake of the revolution, and their families had fled to Hong Kong. Most people knew of travelers from Hong Kong who had been arrested while traveling in mainland China. Thus, when I first visited China in the late 1970s my Hong Kong martial arts brothers and sisters believed I was risking incarceration.

In 1980, I witnessed a freestyle wrestling match in a Guangzhou auditorium between the Guangdong provincial team and a visiting Hong Kong team. The Hong Kong team lost every match until the final match, when the Hong Kong heavyweight pinned his opponent. The last match looked phony. A friend connected with the local sports scene told me that the Guangdong heavyweight was asked to throw the match in order to give face to the Hong Kong visitors.

During this time the Guangdong wrestlers behaved like wrestlers elsewhere in the world, they made physical contact with their opponents during competition; but participants in state sponsored Chinese martial arts competition were judged on form alone, because contact was not allowed. Boxing and other contact sports were also prohibited. In the early 1980s one of the major attractions of Public Park Style martial arts associations and other more secretive martial arts associations was that practitioners of martial arts in these settings learned how to fight. Now, of course, contact sports are permitted at officially sanctioned settings in mainland China.

Another important change is that martial artists from mainland China and Hong Kong are able to visit one another. Martial houses have martial arts “relatives” on both sides of the border, and during the 1980s martial artists from Hong Kong began visiting their martial arts relatives more frequently. By the late 1990s visitors from mainland China had the opportunity to more freely travel to Hong Kong, and they currently contribute greatly to local economy. My Hong Kong master has a close relationship with his younger Kung Fu brother in Guangdong province, and there are regular visits by both sides.

9. KFT: Can you talk a little bit about recent trends that you may have seen in the academic study of Chinese and other martial arts traditions? Is this research area headed in a productive direction?

Amos: In mainland China there is a lively body of Chinese martial arts researchers. Many research specific styles, recount the life histories of certain masters, and analyze martial forms, weapons and fighting techniques. Those who research the history of Chinese martial arts sometimes bind themselves to the framework of 19th century Marxist anthropology, especially the works of Frederick Engels, as well as current Chinese Communist Party perspectives on historical events. However, for more than a generation a number of mainland Chinese martial scholars have not closely followed the party line on Chinese history. They have discussed, for example, how there were positive aspects to Chinese martial arts even during officially “dark” periods of Chinese history, such as the rule of the Kuomintang Party between the years 1927-1949.

Every Chinese scholar of Chinese martial arts that I have met has been a practitioner of Kung Fu. As someone trained in the anthropological tradition of participant – observation, I like the fact that so many scholars strive to acquire martial skills, and if they are non-native speakers, study the language of the people they are working with. These are essential tools for the field of martial arts research.

When I first entered the field of martial arts studies in the mid-1970s, video tape equipment was bulky and expensive. Back in the 1970s my dissertation committee members were at a loss on how to make use of video recordings, although Michael Moerman, who I took a few classes from at UCLA, was an early pioneer in this field. To a limited extent I was able to make use of videotape in my early fieldwork, because I convinced the leaders of the anthropology section at CUHK to make an investment in the equipment. Today video equipment is comparatively inexpensive and available with I-Pads and a variety of other common electronic devices, which has made it possible to record and conduct microanalyses of ritual and ordinary social interaction. The development and availability of video technology has provided us with a powerful tool for academic studies of the performances and interactions of martial artists.

Appreciating the value of technology in enabling studies of micro-interaction, I remain interested in the interpretation of culture at the most abstract level. Decades before Clifford Geertz explored Balinese cockfighting, Ernest Hemingway wrote “Death in the Afternoon,” a study of Spanish bullfighting. Hemingway discusses the honor of the bullfighter and the tragedy of the bull, and explains that the sport serves as a metaphor for Spanish life. Influenced by both novelists and interpretive anthropologists, I reflexively contemplate what a particular sport or ritualized activity may signify about the culture of the people who perform it.

10. KFT: What are your current or future research plans? Put another way, what should readers be watching for in the future?

Amos: In a couple of years, my wife, younger daughter and I plan to spend some time in Hong Kong and Guangzhou, where my wife will take a sabbatical, and I will undertake another year of ethnographic field research of martial artists. My plan is to collect data which will provide a comparative perspective to the ethnographic data I collected decades earlier.

Currently, I don’t know if the ruling elites of Hong Kong and Guangzhou are troubled by the independent voluntary associations of martial artists, like they were 40 years ago. I can’t confidently confirm that martial arts brotherhoods are still places where ideological, social and political inversions are acted out. I’d like to find out, and study how Kung Fu in south China has transformed over the past 40 years. It may be that the motives for studying Kung Fu are nearly the same as decades ago, and it has remained the hero’s art for those who practice it.

KFT: Thank you for stopping by to discuss your research.  I speak for many readers here at Kung Fu Tea when I say that we are very excited to see where the next stage of your exploration of the southern Chinese martial arts leads you.  Please keep us posted on your discoveries.

oOo

If you enjoyed this interview you might also want to read: Professor Thomas Green on the Survival of Plum Blossom Boxing, Martial Folklore and the State of Martial Arts Studies

oOo

Chinese Crickets. Source: Wikimedia.

The following essay is a guest post by Jared Miracle, who recently completed his doctoral training at Texas A&M University under the supervision of Prof. Thomas Green and is currently on the academic job market.  Dr. Miracle has conducted extensive research on Japanese and Chinese martial culture, cataloged much of the Robert Smith Collection housed at Texas A&M’s Cushing Library, boxed professionally in Japan, studied aikido and “old school” kenjutsu in Japan and speaks both Japanese and Mandarin.  His dissertation research focused on the question of how East Asian martial arts came to occupy their present place in American society and culture.  In this post he will be exploring another one of his research topics, exploring an idea that he calls “proxy violence.”  I am very excited to be able to host this essay here at KFT and we hope to be hearing more from Dr. Miracle in the coming months.

Introduction

I have a friend who deplores the fighting arts. She doesn’t begrudge my awe at the aesthetic beauty of the more elaborate practice forms, nor does she seem to particularly care that I spend so much time mulling over the complex history and politics of a given lineage. What sets off her ire is the very thought of physical violence. Boxing, she says, is disgusting and should be illegal. MMA is nigh unthinkable. Even video games in which one character strikes another are anathema. And so, she argues, no one should engage in martial arts because their only purpose is to cause harm. This raised the question of what, precisely, we mean when discussing the astonishing variety of “martial arts.” In order to find that line, I began to pose hypotheticals. What about robots fighting? That would be alright. Insects? No, because they are alive. Digital humans? Absolutely not. Digital insects?

…she wasn’t sure.

This discussion brought up a topic that has been on my research plate for some time now: what I have termed “proxy violence.” By this I mean any physical antagonism in which the violence is carried out via mutual intermediaries. This includes the idea of medieval knights championing their superiors, but also cockfighting, video games that simulate arena combat, and any other activity that offers one or more levels of remove between the combatants and the parties in social conflict. It need not be argued that the martial arts have had an extraordinary impact on every culture, and most certainly on popular culture, however I would like to pose that they have played an especially large role in shaping one of the present day’s most enduring and globalized franchises and, in the analysis, that manifestation reveals a number of underlying associations, assumptions, stereotypes, and desires. This franchise, worth over $50 billion as of 2013, is the Japanese product called Pokémon.

Martial Culture’s Influence

Pokémon operates on multiple levels simultaneously, making significant use of metanarrative to flesh out its imaginary universe. I’d like to discuss two broad categories in which finer definitions are contained: the in-game (internal) and of-game (external) elements. With regards to the of-game features, I’ve established elsewhere that Pokémon is really just the most recent manifestation of cockfighting. For those not already familiar, the concept behind this franchise is that there are hundreds of species of special creatures in the world that can be captured and trained to fight with one another in ritual combat, but that are also lovable companion animals. While Western cockfighting culture tends to emphasize the bellicose nature of the contest, its Chinese-derived analogue follows the opposite pattern—treatises on cockfighting and cricket fighting that date back to at least the thirteenth century focus on the amiable relationship between master and creature.

A chart of the relative strengths and weaknesses by elemental type. Source: http://i.imgur.com/kCDNASj.png

In China, cricket fighting was already big business in urban centers by the Tang dynasty (roughly 618-907 CE) as it was accompanied by gambling, community, and a swath of attendant commercial interests, such as people who sold stylized cricket cages, breeders, publications, and libations. The Tang period was also a time of heavy foreign exchange and it appears to have been around this time that the Japanese aristocracy took to keeping song insects as companions. It wasn’t long, naturally, before the masses caught on and the cycle repeated, with professional insect peddlers appearing in the written record around the seventeenth century. With the difference in available fauna on the Japanese archipelago, beetles came to be the favored fighting insects. “Beetle sumo” is still a very common practice in Japan, although, unlike in China, it is usually associated with childhood, the countryside, and a sort of general nostalgia. This prompted the creation of a digital version in the form of Pokémon, first as a video game, then a graphic novel, television show, and card game.

A number of of-game derivations from martial culture are quickly apparent in the Pokémon narrative. Each creature has an elemental type with comparative strengths and weaknesses in combat, which is clearly culled from the five elements (wu xing) philosophy. This also goes along with the classic popular culture trope that styles of kung fu are inferior to some and superior to others, such as those on display in the much-loved 1983 film “Shaolin and Wu Tang.” The idea that the creatures are a proxy for the trainer harkens back to the notion of a single combatant representing his school, clan, or leader, and Pokémon’s stories always revolve around the protagonist’s ability to overcome numerically superior opponents by forcing them to accept defeat within the contest rules. These situations are reflective again of Chinese martial culture and resemble cases such as Huo Yuanjia’s (1868-1910) bouts with foreign champions.

Black belt trainer from the card game, art by Kanako Eo. Source: http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/Black_Belt_(Trainer_class)

In-game, the connections with martial culture are sometimes even more explicit. One of the “elemental” types of Pokémon is termed simply “fighting.” These include characters such as Hitmonlee (a long-legged creature after the mold of Bruce Lee), Hitmonchan (a similar species with boxing gloves for hands, named for Jackie Chan), Throh (a red humanoid in a judo uniform), and Sawk (a blue humanoid in a karate outfit and with a striking resemblance to Mas Oyama). While the diversity of Pokémon’s species includes such homages, it’s interesting to note, too, how stereotypes of martial artists come into play. Rival trainers within the narrative are usually classified by a single descriptor. Some opponents are “black belts,” for instance, and are depicted as zealous karate practitioners who wear their uniforms at all times and train exclusively fighting-type Pokémon. Others include “battle girls” (dressed in a form-fitting MMA outfit), “ninja boys” (predictably costumed and specializing in poison-type Pokémon), and “experts” (in the garb of classical Japanese martial arts, often assuming an aikido stance).

Other connections are less obvious, perhaps originating in the subconscious minds of the artists. Take, for example, Hariyama, a fighting-type Pokémon modeled after sumo wrestlers. Its signature techniques are, of course, throws and palm strikes, however without some experience with both the world of sumo and some knowledge of Japanese, one may miss out on the meaning of its name. A popular open hand technique in professional sumo is the harite, or “needle hand.” In Japanese, the creature is known as Hariteyama, combining the sumo maneuver with the word for mountain. After having spent some time looking over the shikona, or ring names, of professional sumo wrestlers, one begins to notice a pattern: Miyabiyama (elegant mountain), Takanonami (wave of nobility), Kabutoyama (helmet mountain). Sumo names are frequently epic, perhaps to emphasize the formidability of the owner. So Hariteyama sounds like a wrestler’s name, but even more intriguing is its appearance. The character is styled with a design that looks quite Hawaiian, from the tropical colors to its grass skirted waist and even a pair of hands shaped like hibiscus flowers. Why converge sumo and Hawaiian imagery? Hawaii happens to be something of a sumo hotbed, producing champion wrestlers like Akebono and Konishiki. In the Japanese mind (to the extent that anyone may generalize), one connotation of Hawaiian aesthetics is, in fact, sumo.

Hariyama. Source: http://www.pokemon.com/us/pokedex/hariyama

Analysis

The above certainly makes for interesting trivia (to those of us who enjoy martial arts and popular culture, at any rate), but how is it relevant to scholarly discussion now known as martial arts studies? First, it illustrates the extent to which martial arts continue to shape global, economically vibrant brands, trends, and practices. It is unlikely, given Pokémon’s target demographic, that an inordinate number of martial artists can be found among its fans. Rather, the depth of connection between the franchise and martial culture is highly indicative of that between martial and general culture. The narrative features several stereotypes of the fighting arts and their exponents, which points to their prevalence in at least the society from which it springs, if not globally.

Second, the Pokémon narrative as it applies to spectatorship causes us to question where the line rests between personal physical involvement in a fight or match and abstracted emotional involvement. As far back as the ancient Olympics and gladiatorial combat and as recently as professional boxing and MMA, Roosevelt’s “man in the arena” has been a subject of much discussion. On one hand, the combatant is physically alone in his fight. On the other, he has a team of trainers and assistants, a supportive practice community, and a yet greater community of fans and fellow practitioners. Spectators may identify in a powerful and very meaningful way with those they’re watching, often projecting a sort of mythologized self onto the bodies of the fighters. This is the basis for building a cogent community, as Joyce Carol Oates contemplates in On Boxing:

Strangers to boxing’s eerie combination of violence and childlike affection are invariably startled by such gestures, as by the abruptness with which, after the final bell, boxers often embrace each other in mutual gratitude for the fight. But such behavior, as spontaneous as it is traditional, and as natural as it is apparently contradictory, lies at the very heart of boxing. (pg. 123)

Third, acknowledging that the organized battles taking place in Pokémon’s imagined universe are essentially a fantastical form of cockfighting or insect fighting invariably compels us to consider why much of the literature on arena combat compares human and nonhuman participants on equal footing. Even Epictetus sees little difference between a gamecock and a wrestler: “Only do not through a habit of doing the same thing [renouncing the combat], begin to do it with pleasure, and then like a bad athlete go about after being conquered in all the circuit of the games like quails who have run away.” Gamecocks, crickets, and beetles must be trained for their fights, just as humans. Their psychological state is as important as that of human fighters in achieving victory, and the consequences of a defeat can be just as severe. Are martial arts purely a human phenomenon? I don’t have an answer to this question, but I would argue that any definition thereof must include, as Green and Svinth (2010) do, the notion of nonhuman or “extrahuman” allies.

Let me be clear: I am not claiming that animal combat should be considered a martial art (although the number of systems and styles in imitation of or supposedly descended from nonhumans is astonishing). Rather, my goal has been to illuminate the fuzzy lines between human and nonhuman combat as well as those between participants, trainers, and spectators. This is an established matter, as Geertz (1973) wrote about in his Deep Play. He argues that the Balinese cockfight is a drama so intense, economically (men will bet their entire life’s savings on a match), socially (the amount of prestige won or lost on a particular gamecock can make or ruin its owner), and psychologically (depression and elation), that it can only be called “deep play,” a form of play so dangerous that involvement is illogical, and yet people continue to do so. In the narrative of Pokémon, this is certainly the case. For the real-world people who participate in it’s tournament structure, fortunes and lives may not be on the line (although a surprising number of my informants have disclosed the formidable sums they’ve accrued over years of playing), but the games are just as intense socially and psychologically, as a boxing match may be for an avid spectator, and just as Huo Yuanjia’s matches with foreigners were for much of the Chinese population at the turn of the last century.

The point, as I have tried to relay time and again to my friend who abhors the martial arts, is not the combat itself, but the communities that are built by and around it. People and their nonhuman companions, real and imaginary, require communities in order to become stronger, and that strength derives not just from physical training, but from the bonds we form with one another. This is something I’ve found iterated time and again by martial artists and Pokémon players alike, and suspect that it rests at the core of any endeavor to improve self and society.

oOo

Further reading

Japanese economic report from 2013

A scene of Pokémon applying martial arts in the television show

Cricket Behavior and Neurobiology, which features some wonderful work on cricket fighting

Cockfights, Contradictions, and the Mythopoetics of Ancient Greek Culture

oOo

An illustration from Hans Talhoffers “Fechtbuch” von 1467. Source: Wikimedia (public domain).

The following is guest post by Sixt Wetzler, dvs-Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport (sixt.wetzler@gmail.com).  While Martial Arts Studies is, by its very nature, an international and interdisciplinary subject, we generally see relatively little discussion of the scholarship that is happening in languages other than English.  Due his academic background and research interests Sixt Wetzler is well positioned to discuss some of the exciting developments that are currently underway in the German language literature, and I am very happy that he agreed to write the following review to share with the readers of Kung Fu Tea.  I think that anyone who is interested in the development of Martial Arts Studies as an academic field will find his essay to be just as interesting as I have.

Introduction

In March 2011, the first German conference for martial arts studies was held at the University of Bayreuth. Initiated by Prof. Peter Kuhn (University of Bayreuth) and Prof. Harald Lange (University of Würzburg), this conference also marked the beginning of the ‘Commission for Martial Arts & Combat Sports’ (Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport) within the German Association for Sports Science (Deutsche Vereinigung für Sportwissenschaft – dvs). With their interdisciplinary approach, the conference of 2011 and the newly founded commission can be seen as a turning point for the German speaking literature on martial arts studies.

However, the following research projects are far from being the first ones in Germany, Austria or Northern Switzerland to deal with the various aspects of martial arts and combat sports. This article will shed light on several of the roots of German language martial arts studies, before discussing the topics, approaches, and protagonists of the Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport in detail. Furthermore, relevant, ongoing activities outside the Kommission are included in the review.

I will try to draw a complete picture of the current situation of the field. Of course, I am fully aware that this is a difficult task to set for oneself. I hope the readers will forgive me if this article fails to name all important authors or works. The reason is not ill intent, but the dispersed and heterogeneous character of the relevant literature. Only recently has the Kommission begun to compile a bibliography on martial arts studies, and the work is far from being completed.

An Old Tradition

In a way, Germany is one of the earliest hotspots for the composition of martial arts literature in Europe – although this early literature, of course, was not written from an academic, but from an instructional perspective. Manuscript I.33, supposedly written around 1300, is the oldest exiting European fencing manual. Its Latin text is interspersed with Middle High German termini technici of the art of sword fighting (Forgeng 2003). It was soon followed by a vast corpus of fencing manuals, describing and also illustrating all kinds of techniques for close quarter combat.

It may therefore be no surprise that the oldest German works on what we could call ‘martial arts studies’ are texts on this German tradition. With a historical perspective, several authors of the late 19th century aimed to analyze and describe the technical properties and settings of the Medieval and Early Modern German martial arts: There is, for example, Karl Wassmannsdorf’s Sechs Fechtschulen (d. i. Schau- und Preisfechten) der Marxbrüder und Federfechter aus den Jahren 1573 bis 1614 […] (Wassmannsdorf 1870; “Six ‘fencing schools’ (i. e., fencing for show and competition) of the Marxbrüder and Federfechter, from the years 1573 to 1614 […]”), Hans Kufahl’s and Josef Schmied-Kowarzik’s Duellbuch. Geschichte des Zweikampfes nebst einem Anhang enthaltend Duellregeln und Paukcomment (Kufahl & Schmied-Kowarzik 1896; “Book on the duel. History of personal combat, with an attachment containing rules for duels and for students’ fencing“), or Gustav Hergsell’s edition of the famous fencing manual of Hans Talhoffer (Hergsell 1887, original from 1467).

Research continued in the 20th century. Karl Lochner, a fencing teacher in Vienna, wrote about Die Entwicklungsphasen der europäischen Fechtkunst (Lochner 1953; “Stages of development of the European art of fencing”), and Martin Wierschin’s work on Meister Johann Liechtenauers Kunst des Fechtens (Wierschin 1965; “Master Johann Lichternauer’s art of fencing”) paved the way for Hans-Peter Hils’s seminal book Meister Johann Liechtenauers Kunst des langen Schwertes (Hils 1985; “Master Johann Liechtenauer’s art of the long sword”), both texts dealing with the 14th century fencing master Liechtenauer. Rainer Welle’s “… und wisse das alle höbischeit kompt von deme ringen.” Der Ringkampf als adelige Kunst im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (Welle 1993; “’…and know that all courtesy comes from wrestling.’ Wrestling as an aristocratic art in the 15th and 16th century“) deals exclusively with the various systems of unarmed combat and sports wrestling of the period, and with their social implications, while Heidemarie Bodemer discussed the corpus of European fencing manuals from an art historian’s perspective in her dissertation Das Fechtbuch.Untersuchungen zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der bildkünstlerischen Darstellung der Fechtkunst in den Fechtbüchern des mediterranen und westeuropäischen Raumes vom Mittelalter bis Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts (Bodemer 2008; “The Fencing Manual. Research in the historical development of artistic depiction of the art of fencing in the fencing manuals of the Mediterranean and Western European area from the middle ages to the end of the 18th century”).

Editions of medieval/early modern fencing books usually discuss some of the cultural contexts of the martial arts depicted, for example Johannes Giessauf’s and Ute Bergner’s Würgegriff und Mordschlag. Die Fecht- und Ringlehre des Hans Czynner (1538) (2006; “Stranglehold and killing blow. The teachings on fencing and wrestling of Hans Czynner (1538)”), Matthias Johannes Bauer’s Langes Schwert und Schweinespiess. Die anonyme Fechthandschrift aus den verschütteten Beständen des Historischen Archivs der Stadt Köln (Bauer 2009; “Long sword and boar spear. The anonymous fencing manuscript from the buried archives of the City of Cologne”), or Rainer Welle’s …vnd mit der rechten faust ein mordstuck (Welle 2014; “…and a killing blow with the right fist”), an edition of the famous Codex Wallerstein manual. Besides the occupation with medieval martial arts, researchers have also worked on understanding and reconstructing Roman martial techniques, both from the military and the gladiators. Marcus Junkelmann is internationally recognized as an expert in this area.

In the last years, the Deutsche Forschungsgesellschaft has funded the ongoing research project Der mittelalterliche Zweikampf als agonale Praktik zwischen Recht, Ritual und Leibesübung (“Medieval one-on-one combat as agonal practice between law, ritual, and physical exercise”), headed by Uwe Israel; the title of their publication Zweikämpfer. Fechtmeister – Kämpen -Samurai (Jaser & Israel 2014; “Combatants. Fencing masters – judicial fighters – samurai”) indicates an opening of the perspective towards the Asian martial arts.

As we can see, academic interest has shifted over the decades from phenomenological questions to the socio-historical surroundings, the personnel, and the cultural sub-texts of European martial arts. Both these older and newer studies provide valuable information that can be compared with material from Chinese or Japanese contexts. Often the similarities are striking – not only when it comes to the physical techniques of combat, but also where question of the (secretive) transmission of knowledge, didactics and medialization of movement, teacher-student-relationship and the sociodynamics of martial arts are in question. In other words: The research on European combat systems that began in the middle of the 19th century is a small but well established branch of German martial arts studies, and one that should not be neglected once our attention shifts to other – mostly Asian – cultural contexts.

An illustration from Hans Talhoffers “Fechtbuch” von 1467. Source: Wikimedia (public domain).

The Discourse on the Asian Martial Arts

From ca. 1900 on, Germany became increasingly aware of the existence of Asian martial arts. German troops fought the so called Boxer of the yitehuan-Movement, and the first Jiu Jitsu practitioners brought their system to the German Empire. In 1933, Kano Jigoro held Judo seminars in Berlin and Munich. In 1954, F. K. Mathys, head of the Swiss Museum for Gymnastics and Sports, uttered his doubts about the Japanese origins of these wrestling systems in the weekly newspaper Die Zeit, in what could be called a first attempt on comparative martial arts studies (Mathys 1954). Being familiar with the European tradition of fighting manuals, he concluded that the art of wrestling for sport and self-defense was brought to Japan by European sailors in the early modern age; this opinion was adopted by some of the German Jiu Jitsu protagonists, namely Erich Rahn, one of the – albeit rather controversial – founding fathers of German jiu jitsu. Extremely influential, not only in Germany, but also in the English speaking world and even Japan, was Eugen Herrigel’s Zen in der Kunst des Bogenschießens (Herrigel 1948; “Zen in the Art of Archery”) written in 1948. His linkage of Zen and Kyudo is now disputed, but it served as the model for the commonly postulated semi-religious qualities of the Asian martial arts in general.

The second half of the 20th century in Germany saw a growing number of instructional martial arts handbooks. Often, these books on Judo, Karate, Kung Fu would be introduced by a short history of the respective martial art. In general, such introductions duplicated widespread martial arts myths, like the monk Bodhidharma and the beginning of Asian martial arts at Shaolin, the empty handed Okinawan rebels, or similar fables. Several martial arts encyclopedias collected these amateur approaches (Velte 1976; Weinmann 1991; Lind 1996), and the translation of Dolin’s Kempo. Die Kunst des Kampfes (Dolin 1989; “Kempo. The art of fighting”) from Russian contributed greatly to the solidification of legends as true history among German martial artists.

A – rather recent – exception was the magazine cultura martialis. Das Journal der Kampfkünste aus aller Welt (cultura martialis; “The journal for martial arts from all over the world), published by Dietmar Stubenbaum and Marc Pion. In beautiful layout, the magazine tried to establish an educational yet entertaining forum for martial arts related topics; unfortunately, only 8 volumes were printed, between 2004 and 2006.

Other researchers investigated martial arts systems and communities with an ethnological/anthropological interest. But even an in-depth study like Hiltrud Theresia Cordes’s Pencak Silat. Die Kampfkunst der Minangkabau und ihr kulturelles Umfeld (Cordes 1990; “The martial arts of the Minangkabau and their cultural context”) did not succeed in starting a wider academic discussion on the martial arts.

In 1988, Colin Goldner criticized blind faith in the myths and pedagogical capabilities of the martial arts in his book Fernöstliche Kampfkünste. Zur Psychologie der Gewalt im Sport (Goldner 1988; “East Asian Martial Arts. On the psychology of violence in sports”). Goldner became notorious for his general critique of all martial arts as a transport means for fascist ideologies. He received widespread media coverage, but his work on martial arts must be understood as a polemic motivated by a clear ideological agenda.

Ten years after Goldner, Axel Binhack presented the book Über das Kämpfen. Zum Phänomen des Kampfes in Sport und Gesellschaft (Binhack 1998; “About Fighting. On the phenomenon of combat in sport an society”), in which he tried to develop a phenomenological understanding of fighting in general, in respect to sports, and as codified form in the martial arts. His approach is psychological and philosophical; being a long-time practitioner of Karate himself, Binhack divides “good” (budo) from “bad” (e.g., MMA) martial arts.

In the following decade, in 2004, Ulf Neumann, Matthias von Saldern, Ralf Pöhler, and Peter-Ulrich Wendt edited the book Der friedliche Krieger. Budo als Methode der Gewaltprävention (Neumann et al. 2004; “The peaceful warrior. Budo as a method for preventing violence”). The collected articles argued for a philosophical, post-combative approach to the martial arts – necessarily operating with a distinction between socially “useful” and other, “undesirable” forms of martial arts.

The book represents a very strong branch of German martial arts studies, the educational approach. After Ringen und Raufen (roughly: ‘wrestle and scuffle’) was incorporated into school physical education programs, the need for a pedagogical discourse on the subject became evident. Between 2003 and 2007, three conferences were held at Hannover University that discussed Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der Kampfkunst in der Gewaltprävention (“Chances and limits of martial arts in preventing violence”), Ringen & Raufen im Unterricht (“Wrestle and scuffle in school education”) and Boxen als gewaltpräventives Angebot in Schule und Jugendhilfe? (“Boxing as an opportunity for violence prevention training in schools and youth care?”). The work of the Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport reflects the educational approach, but also goes beyond it.

Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport

At the 2011 conference in Bayreuth, which saw the birth of today’s Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport, a position paper was passed that defined the academic interest, theoretical approaches and organizational outlines of the commission:

“Even though the phenomenological description of the martial arts is well developed, such descriptions are often strongly affected by legend, taboo and cliché. Reasons include the low number of translations of Asian martial arts literature, and a tendency of martial artists not only to exaggerate, but to even mystify their arts. Since the original – combative – aim of the martial arts is no longer legitimate outside self-defense, the martial arts are in a (yet to be studied) phase of searching for meaning and self-definition. Also, the educational possibilities of the martial arts are presently being discussed in sports science, from where the educational field ‘fighting’ has developed in a school-didactic context. […] The multitude of martial arts and combat sports is the result of diverse aspects and influences, e.g. geographic origin, area of application, competition formats and their rules (if existing), movement system, repertoire of techniques and their interpretation, (pseudo-)religious undercurrents, and club etiquette. This leads to a wide perspective of research, which includes questions of history, sociology, economy, law, psychology, physics of movement, training theory, biomechanics, medicine, philosophy, pedagogy, didactics, media and information sciences, and art. Against this background, the need for the founding of the Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport arises from three systematic demands […]: To describe, to explain, and to interpret. In doing so […], we will not only enter fruitful new grounds for the sports sciences, but will also help society to understand itself.”

The initiative to found the commission came from sports sciences, and this defines the outlines of its work. Nevertheless, under this umbrella, a great variety of disciplines have gathered in the last years to contribute to German martial arts studies. The conferences held in 2011, 12, 13, and 14 included key notes and shorter lectures, round table discussions, poster presentations, and practical training sessions. At the risk of simplification, these contributions could be divided into three main branches: a) educational perspectives and health care, b) historical and anthropological perspectives, c) movement and training theory.

Many of the contributions resulted in articles in the conference proceedings. So far, three volumes have been published (Kuhn et a. 2011; Happ & Zajonc 2013; Liebl & Kuhn 2014). Their titles and their contents are listed at the end of this article.

The topic of the 2014 conference was martial arts from the perspective of gender studies. Obviously, German martial arts studies felt the same need that Channon and Jennings formulated:

“[W]e consider several substantive issues to be particularly conspicuous in their absence from the literature. First, research has rarely focused on martial artistry and sexualities, and given recent attention among wider sociology of sport scholarship to the interplay of sport, the body and sexuality, this is a pertinent area for further investigation.” (Channon & Jennings 2014, p. 10)

The respective volume is not yet published; a list of the presentations can be found at the end of this article.

An illustration from Hans Talhoffers “Fechtbuch” von 1467/ Source: Wikimedia (public domain).

German Martial Arts Studies outside the Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport

Since German martial arts studies are still in a phase of institutionalization, not all researchers in the field could be contacted and asked for possible collaborations. Two examples may help to demonstrate the academic work being done outside the Kommission.

At the 2013 conference of the Deutsche Vereinigung für Religionswissenschaft (“German Association for the Study of Religions”), a panel on martial arts in the context of Religion in Bewegung (“Religion in movement”) was organized by Horst Junginger. The presentations were:

Esther Berg: Media, martial arts, and material religion. Shaolin Kung Fu as a (religious) practice of self-actualization and self-improvement.

Markus Wagner: Taijiquan. One martial art, many traditions?

Horst Junginger: The way of doing things: Martial Arts “forms”, using the example of the kata in karate.

Wolfgang Fanderl: Jigorō Kanō (1860-1938). Education politician and founder of modern Judo.

Another research group is the bunbu-Forschungskreis (‘bunbu Study Circle’) founded by Julian Braun. It has gathered scholars from the field of Japanese studies working on various aspects of the Japanese martial arts. According to their homepage, the bunbu members aim to “provide reliable and authentic information on the Japanese martial arts […] and to better connect researchers in this field.” Recent bunbu publications include the Bibliography of Japanese Karate and Kobudo Literature from Andreas Quast (2013), Henning Wittwer’s Karate – Kampfkunst – Hoplologie (Witwer 2014; “Karate – martial arts – hoplology””), and Julian Braun’s Samurai und Kriegskunst. Kompendium aus klassischen Texten der Tokugawa-Zeit (Braun 2012; “Samurai and the art of war. Compendium of classical texts from the Tokugawa period”).

Finally, the research conducted at the Institut für angewandte Trainingswissenschaft IAT (“Institute for Applied Training Science”) should not be omitted. The Leipzig-based institute supports professional athletes from the Olympic combat sports and shotokan karate to optimize competition performance, and works hand in hand with their national organizations. Members of the IAT consult during the training process, do performance diagnostics and accompany German athletes to international tournaments. There, the results of the research in technical and tactical aspects of the combat sports are directly applied.

Future Outlook

The Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport is now in the fourth year of its existence. The 2014 conference has demonstrated both the achievements made so far, and the (mostly methodological) problems that have yet to be dealt with. During the first three conferences, the aim was mainly to gather the individuals and institutes that are working in some branch of martial arts studies in Germany, Austria and German-speaking Switzerland. Although this is, of course, an ongoing process, the Kommission was successful in building an active and productive network of researchers from a wide range of academic disciplines.

Occasionally, very different underlying concepts clashed – no wonder, with so many academic and martial arts backgrounds coming together. The martial arts world being a marketplace in which both money and social prestige are dealt, the Kommission is at the same time painfully aware of the danger of being abused as an advertisement platform for certain systems, schools, and individuals. The important task ahead is therefore to develop a clear, scientifically sound and, if possible, unified methodological approach which includes all serious research and excludes exploitation.

Consequently, the topic for next year’s conference (to be held at Mainz University, September 29th – October 02nd 2015) will be “German Martial Arts Studies: Defining and Crossing Disciplinary Boundaries” (working title). The Kommission wants to strengthen the collaboration with international researchers; thus, participants will be encouraged to hold their lectures in English.

As the first joint publication (besides the annual conference volumes) members of the Kommission are starting work on a volume of martial arts and martial arts studies for an online handbook of sports and sports science. Further publications are planned.

As in other parts of the world, martial arts studies in Germany is an extremely lively, energetic, academic field, with highly motivated researchers. We look forward to the work that lies ahead, and the contacts still waiting for us within and outside the German scientific community.

An illustration from Hans Talhoffers “Fechtbuch” von 1467. Source: Wikimedia (public domain).

oOo

Literature & websites

(Bauer 2009): Matthias Johannes Bauer. Langes Schwert und Schweinespiess. Die anonyme Fechthandschrift aus den verschütteten Beständen des Historischen Archivs der Stadt Köln. Graz.

(Bayreuther Autorengruppe 2011): Bayreuther Autorengruppe. Positionspapier zur Gründung einer dvs-Kommission “Kampfkunst & Kampfsport”. 07.04.2011, S. 1-3. URL: http://www.sportwissenschaft.de/fileadmin/pdf/HV2011/KommissionKuK.pdf [23.10.2014].

(Bergner & Giessauf 2006): Ute Bergner’s and Johannes Giessauf (Ed.). Würgegriff und Mordschlag. Die Fecht- und Ringlehre des Hans Czynner (1538), Universitätsbibliothek Graz MS. 963. Graz.

(Binhack 1998): Axel Binhack. Über das Kämpfen. Zum Phänomen des Kampfes in Sport und Gesellschaft. Frankfurt/Main et al..

(Bodemer 2008): Heidemarie Bodemer: Das Fechtbuch. Untersuchungen zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der bildkünstlerischen Darstellung der Fechtkunst in den Fechtbüchern des mediterranen und westeuropäischen Raumes vom Mittelalter bis Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart. URL: http://elib.uni-stuttgart.de/opus/volltexte/2008/3604/pdf/Fechtbuch.pdf [23.10.2014].

(Braun 2012): Julian Braun. Samurai und Kriegskunst. Kompendium aus klassischen Texten der Tokugawa-Zeit. Schmitten.

(Channon & Jennings 2014): Alex Channon and George Jennings. Exploring embodiment through martial arts and combat sports. A review of empirical research. In: Sports in Society, 2014. URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/17430437.2014.882906 [23.10.2014].

(Cordes 1990): Hiltrud Theresia Cordes: Pencak Silat. Die Kampfkunst der Minangkabau und ihr kulturelles Umfeld. Köln.

(cultura martialis): cultura martialis. Die Zeitschrift für Kampfkünste aus aller Welt.

(Der Spiegel 1989): [anon.}. Nackte Gewalt für den Straßenkampf. Brutale Sportarten aus Fernost wie Kickboxen haben in Deutschland Konjunktur. In: Der Spiegel 1, 1989. URL: http://www.spiegel.de/spiegel/print/d-13493300.html [23.10.2014].

(Dolin 1989): Aleksandr A. Dolin. Kempo. Die Kunst des Kampfes. Berlin.

(Forgeng 2003): Jeffrey L. Forgeng. The medieval art of swordsmanship. A facsimile & translation of Europe’s oldest personal combat treatise, Royal Armouries MS I.33. Union City, Calif..

(Goldner 1988): Colin Goldner. Fernöstliche Kampfkünste. Zur Psychologie der Gewalt im Sport. München.

(Hergsell 1887): Gustav Hergsell (Ed.). Talhoffers Fechtbuch aus dem Jahre 1467. Gerichtliche und andere Zweikämpfe darstellend. Prag.

(Herriegel 1948): Eugen Herrigel. Zen in der Kunst des Bogenschießens. Konstanz.

(Hils 1985): Hans-Peter Hils. Meister Johann Liechtenauers Kunst des langen Schwertes. Frankfurt a. M./ Bern/ New York.

(Jaser & Israel 2014): Christian Jaser and Uwe Israel (Ed.). Zweikämpfer. Fechtmeister – Kämpen – Samurai. Berlin a. o..

(Kufahl & Schmied-Kowarzik 1986): Hans Kufahl and Josef Schmied-Kowarzik. Duellbuch. Geschichte des Zweikampfes nebst einem Anhang enthaltend Duellregeln und Paukcomment. Leipzig.

(Lind 1996): Wener Lind. Das Lexikon der Kampfkünste. Berlin.

(Lochner 1953): Karl E. Lochner. Die Entwicklungsphasen der europäischen Fechtkunst. Wien.

(Mathys 1954): F. K. Mathys. Ursprung des Jiu-Jitsu. Die japanische Verteidigungskunst eine europäische Erfindung. In: Die Zeit 49, 1954. URL: http://www.zeit.de/1954/49/ursprung-des-jiu-jitsu [23.10.2014].

(Neumann et al. 2004): Ulf Neumann, Matthias von Saldern, Ralf Pöhler, and Peter-Ulrich Wendt (Ed.). Der friedliche Krieger. Budo als Methode der Gewaltprävention.

(Quast 2013): Andreas Quast: Bibliography of Japanese Karate and Kobudo Literature. From the First Karatebook to the 21st Century. More Than Six-hundred Most Important Sources. Self published.

(Velte 1976): Herbert Velte. Budo-Lexikon. 1500 Fachausdrücke fernöstlicher Kampfsportarten. Wiesbaden.

(Wassmannsdorf 1870): Karl Wassmannsdorf. Sechs Fechtschulen (d. i. Schau- und Preisfechten) der Marxbrüder und Federfechter aus den Jahren 1573 bis 1614 […]. Heidelberg.

(Weinmann 1991): Wolfgang Weinmann. Das Kampfsport-Lexikon. Von Aikido bis Zen. Berlin.

(Welle 1993): Rainer Welle. „…und wisse das alle höbischeit kompt von deme ringen“. Der Ringkampf als adelige Kunst im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert. Pfaffenweiler.

(Welle 2014): Rainer Welle. …vnd mit der rechten faust ein mordstuck. Baumanns Fecht- und Ringkampfhandschrift, Edition und Kommentierung der anonymen Fecht- und Ringkampfhandschrift Cod. I.6.4º 2 der UB Augsburg aus den Beständen der ehemaligen Öttingen-Wallersteinschen Bibliothek. Pfaffenweiler.

(Wierschin 1965): Martin Wierschin. Meister Johann Liechtenauers Kunst des Fechtens. München.

(Wittwer 2014): Henning Wittwer. Karate – Kampfkunst – Hoplologie. no place.

Attachment: Articles of the Kommission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport conference volumes.

Martial Arts and Combat Sports in Research and Teaching 2011

Key note

Sigrid Happ: Single Combat (Zweikämpfen) – a phenomenological inspection of the sphere ‘in between’

Psychology

Martin Johannes Meyer: Motivation in shotokan karate
Jens Niepagen: The concept of flow in the context of eastern notions of self-regulation for a different consciousness

Holger Vos: Asian martial arts and movement systems – eastern methods of self-regulation

Medicine, training science and movement science

Janina Burschka, Peter Kuhn, Uwe Menge & Patrick Oschmann: Taijiquan and multiple sclerosis

Jens Bussweiler, Hans-Dieter Heinisch, Ronny Lüdemann & Dirk Büsch: Recent research projects in combat sports at the Institute for Applied Training Science

Kerstin Witte & Peter Emmermacher: Spirometrics in karate kumite in respect to competition activity

Martin Hofmann & Kerstin Witte: Bio-mechanical diagnosis of the gyaku tsuki technique in karate kumite in respect to different variations of execution

Cultural history and philosophy

Sixt Wetzler: Blow and thrust. On the impact of culture on combative movement, exemplified by the European art of fencing.

Nils Baratella: Why we fight. On the performance of the agon.

Education

Stefan Käser & Arwed Marquardt: Boxe Éducative. Light contact boxing: “Developing feeling.”

Uwe Mosebach: Comparative perspectives on different forms of combat sports and their impact on school sports.

Thomas Leffler: Fighting in school sports.

Sebastian Liebl: Does judo make children strong?

Cornelia Rieder, Sandra Kaltner, Katharina Dahmen-Zimmer & Petra Jansen: Changes in disposition for violence, self-consciousness and empathy in children via karate training

Matthias Huber & Marija Sklizović: Protect yourself from violence. A project of the German Ju Jutsu Association.

Christoph Ritz: Socius project. The city of Würzburg getting rid of violence.

Olaf Zajonc: Preconditions for martial arts as a tool to prevent violence.

Martial Arts and Combat Sports in Research and Teaching 2012

Key notes

Jürgen Funke-Wieneke: Thoughts on the educational intentions connected with martial arts.

Larissa Schindler: Combat skills. An ethnographic approach.

Olaf Zajonc: Martial arts as a tool to prevent violence. Conditions, requirements, and perspectives.

Cultural history

Marcus Coesfeld: Martial arts in the Third Reich. Tools of ideology.

Jan Christoph Rödel: Combat sports in Olympic tradition? Classical pankration and modern Mixed Martial Arts.

Christian Weinert: An epilogue from the 17th century and its role as a source for the Chinese Martial Arts.

Sixt Wetzler: Myths of the martial arts.

Sociology

Gero Goroncy: What is kalarippayatt? Inscribing meaning in a South Indian martial art.

Arwed Marquardt: On discipline in martial arts. Pedagogical remarks.

Christian Peter Oehmichen: Karate-dō as a tool for social integration?

Michael Staack: Generating knowledge by going native? On the ‘interaction ritual chains’-theory as a topic and tool for the ethnography of martial arts.

Michael Staack: Sport or spectacle? Approaches to a sport-sociological reflection on Mixed Martial Arts.

Jan H. Winter: Culturally embedded martial arts as a didactic problem. The example of Chinese Martial arts.

Psychology and Medicine

Günther Bitzer-Garvonik & Human-Friedrich Unterrainer: Karate-do and resilience.

Janina Burschka & Peter Kuhn: Taijiquan and multiple sclerosis. An explorative survey.

Katharina Dahmen-Zimmer & Petra Jansen: Karate training in late adult age. Impacts on cognitive functions and emotional situation.

Tobias Hawelka, Janina Burschka & Peter Kuhn: Impacts of taijiquan as a movement therapy on the subjective life quality of patients suffering from multiple sclerosis. An interview survey.

Pedagogy and Didactics

Florian Hertnack: Developing social-emotional competence via combat sports games and exercises at school.

Markus Klein & Monika Frenger: Martial arts rich in content. Thoughts on the pedagogical potential of combat sports and martial arts.

Peter Kuhn, Eva Beurer, Magdalena Finzel & Christopher Landgraf: Expectations of parents towards martial arts.

Thomas Leffler: Combat sports at school from a students’ perspective.
Sebastian Liebl, Peter Kuhn & Ralf Sygusch: Facilitation of psycho-social resources in judo. A project concept.

Julia Zeyn & Sigrid Happ: Qualifications for trainers of violence prevention programs. The development of modular tool kit.

Others

Dominique Brizin & Keith Ronald Kernspecht: Movement principles of WingTsun. The ‘system of levers”-model of K. R. Kernspecht.

Helmut Gensler: Blow guns as an introduction into martial arts for severely handicapped people.

Martin Johannes Meyer: Martial arts in the cinema. Genres of martial arts movies.

Karl Sören Michaelis: Malícia. Cunning in capoeira angola.

Human Beings in Martial Arts. Martial Arts and Combat Sports in Research and Teaching 2013.

Key notes

Matthias von Saldern: The term ‘master’ in the martial arts.

Ralf Sygusch, Sebastian Liebl & Ralf Lippmann: Development of personality and team spirit. Facilitation of psycho-social resources in judo.

Petra Schmidt: On the philosophy of the term ‘ki’. Rather Bohr than Newton as a model for explanation of ‘ki’?

Fundamentals

Sixt Wetzler: Comparative martial arts studies as a cultural-historical discipline. Possible objects, required sources, applicable methods.

Martin Johannes Meyer: Martial arts as a catalyst and instrument of social ideologies.

Pedagogy and didactics

Mone Welsche: ‘Wrestle and scuffle’ as a seminar for development-facilitation in curative pedagogy. A survey among students on the outcome and relevance of the course.

Hans-Joachm Schröder: Budo pedagogy. Exemplified by a recent project with socio-emotionally conspicuous children.

Uwe Mosbach: Black-belt kata with white-belt beginners.

Anja Marquardt: ‘Martial Arts Arena’. A field of research.

Alfred Richartz: Video sequences in the schooling of judo trainers. How can they help to improve the educational quality?

Dania Lippitz & Mone Welsche: How do children experience school classes on ‘wrestle and scuffle’? Analysis of a survey concerning the requirements for a positive experience.

Hans-Joachim Schröder: Budo pedagogy in practical application, using the example of the project ‘father and kid wrestling’.

Helmut Gensler: Approaches for a better understanding of disabled persons in self-defense training.

Psychology and health related topics

Peter Kuhn & Sabrina Macht: Fascination karate. First results of a qualitative survey.

Björn Pospiech: Developing competences in curative education, using the example of traditional Tae Kwon Do.

Björn Pospiech & Anna Brechtel: Situational fighting competence and the role of the teacher.

Ansgar Gerstner: Healing aspects of Chinese Wing Chun. A preliminary explanation, using the example of siu nim tao, the first form of Wing Chun.

Sociology and gender studies

Christian Peter Oehmichen: The (inter-)cultural dimension of martial arts and combat sports. The handling of foreign body concepts, using the example of Karate-Dō.

Michael Staack: Practices of violence? Randall Collin’s concept of ‘confrontational tension/fear’ in analysing martial arts training.

Florian Hartnack: Fighting genders – constructing genders? ‘Feeling gender’ in combat sports at school.

Mone Welsche: How do girls and boys experience ‘wrestle and scuffle’? A qualitative survey via gender specific group discussions.

Trainings science and movement science

Ronny Lüdemann, Hans-Dieter Heinisch, Roland Oswald, Jens Bussweiler & Dirk

Büsch: Recent research projects at the Institute for Applied Training Science.

Markus Klein, Monika Frenger & Thomas Sommer: Inter-rater reliability of point judge decisions in Taekwondo form competitions.

Mario Staller: Teaching fighting in a police context. On the necessary competences of deployment trainers.

Mario Staller & Axel Racky: Structure of competition in Ju-Jutsu Fighting in the perspective of time. An analysis of world class athletes.

Alexander Bochenek & Mario Staller: Violence against police officers. On the need of a model of competence for the defense against violent attacks.

Gero Goroncy: Fighting against one self. Empty hands forms in South Indian Kalarippayatt.
Others

Michael Andres: In search of Mr. Miyagi.

Martin Johannes Meyer: Control, search for, and commercialization of risk and injury in UFC events.

Male and female fighters. Martial arts and combat sports in the perspective of gender studies. Martial Arts and Combat Sports in Research and Teaching 2014.

(the practical workshops have not been listed)

Key notes

Heike Tiemann: Combat sports as a subject for gender studies. Selected perspectives.

Hans-Dieter Heinisch: Different forms of ‘male’ and ‘female’ combative behavior in the perspective of training science.

Silke Andris: ‘Female Boxers Inside the frame’: Audio-visual Methods in Research about
Body Techniques.

Stephan Yamamoto: Reception problems of traditional martial arts in the Western World, using the example of Karate.

Lectures

Ralf Pfeifer: Punches: stopping = pervading.

Mario Staller: Fight like a girl. Self-defense for women in the Israeli self defense system Krav Maga.

Sebastian Liebl & Sigrid Happ: Which training opportunities for whom? Motives in Judo in a gender perspective.

Florian Hartnack: Girls fighting boys? Coeducational combat sports in school from the children’s perspective.

Viola Dioszeghy Krauss: Undoing gender in Aikido.

Georg Endler: Automatized recognition of Kung Fu movements via magnetic field and acceleration sensors.

Jeannine Schröder: Banzai-Budo. Facilitation of self-competence for 4-6 year old children.
Hans-Joachim Schröder: Budo pedagogy for the children of imprisoned fathers.

Martin Meyer: Conflict and fight management of doormen.

Christian Peter Oehmichen: Transmission of positive male role models. Analysis of sensei, trainer, and sempai in Karate-Dō and their function as models for boys and young men.

Leo Istas: “Boxing is not part of school sports.” The paradox development of the school syllabus for North Rhine-Westphalia.

Jeannine Schröder: ‘Moving strong girls.’ A project in budo pedagogy for social work.

Ralf Pfeifer: Forensic chi research. Strategies to debunk deceptions.

Frauke Mutschall: Gender competence among sport students. Social construction of gender in the field ‘Fighting with and without partner.’

(All book and lecture titles throughout the article translated by Sixt Wetzler)

oOo

About the Author: Sixt Wetzler studied religious studies, Scandinavian literature, and medieval history at the universities of Tübingen, Reykjavík, and Freiburg, and is currently finishing his PhD on “The Martial Arts of Medieval Iceland: Literary representation and historical form.” He is a member of the board of spokesmen of the commission Kampfkunst & Kampfsport (Martial Arts & Combat Sports) in the DVS (German Association for Sports Sciences) and works for the German Blade Museum in Solingen, with a focus on the European fencing tradition.

His focus of research lies on the comparative study of martial arts as a cultural-historical discipline, European martial arts, and blade fighting systems in general. Wetzler has published on martial arts issues both in German and English. He has trained in various martial arts since childhood, received a black belt in Enshin Karate, and is among the highest ranked European practitioners of Pekiti Tirsia Kali, a Filipino martial art.

oOo

If you enjoyed this article you might also want to read: Will Universities Save the Traditional Asian Martial Arts?

oOo

Donny Yen reprises his role as Ip Man.

Introduction

There are a number of different ways of observing a community.  One of the most frequently overlooked is to pay attention to their physical culture.  What sorts of objects do individuals invest their scarce time and resources into?  How has this changed in recent years?  Of course no object better captures the flavor of the Wing Chun world than the iconic wooden dummy.

We are very fortunate that Aaron Cantrell, the owner of Everything Wing Chun, has been able to stop by and chat with us about the evolving market for wooden dummies as well as their increased visibility within popular culture.  His company is a major supplier of Wing Chun training gear and sells a number of different styles of dummies.  All of this makes Aaron ideally situated to discuss the current state of the market.

oOo

Kung Fu Tea (KFT): How is the market for dummies doing in general?  Does it seem like more “average” Wing Chun students buy dummies today?

Aaron Cantrell (AC):  The market is steady.  It does not seem like more students are buying full wooden dummies today, no matter what their level.

There was an increase in sales at one point, but that came years ago.  I can’t even remember when, but I did notice an increase in Wing Chun popularity, around the time of the Ip Man movies.  It is kind of hard to tell as it probably started to increase just before and then peaked sometime after that first movie.  But for the most part, sales volume does not change much.  That’s true not just of dummies, but of all of the products that have been established.  Advertising doesn’t even seem to increase sales.  The other vendors that I talk to all seem to have a steady business as well. From my point of view the Wing Chun market seems to stay about the same size.

(KFT): How has popular culture (especially the Ip Man movies) affected the market for dummies?

(AC): I think that popular culture, the Ip Man movies in particular, affected the market as a whole as it brought more people into Wing Chun.

Somewhere along the line wooden dummies became something that the general population equated with being a bad-ass in martial arts.  i.e. If you train on a dummy then you can really destroy your foes in devastating fashion. You see dummies everywhere now. We sold some dummy pads to ABC’s Revenge (in Episode 8 of season 4 you can see them used when the heroine is hitting on a dummy). Although the intent is comical, in the Mr. Bean Snickers commercial he is playing on a dummy.  The other day I saw a dummy in the training gym on the TV show Nikita or something like that.  You just see them everywhere now. It is like “the thing” to have in the background when martial-arts training is happening on-screen.

I think this is cool.  It means that in popular media Wing Chun is in some way associated with being a bad-ass.

But as far as the market for dummies or their sales… I don’t think that anyone that doesn’t know how to use a dummy or take wing chun is running out to buy one any more than they have in the past.  They are too expensive for that.

Pan Nam demonstrates the wooden dummy form. Source: Leung Ting, 2004.  Note that this dummy is constructed from a solid log, the base of which is burried in the ground.  This was the most common type of dummy used in the Wing Chun community from the late 19th century until the 1950s.

(KFT):  Do you think that there is a growing market for dummies outside of the Wing Chun world? 

(AC):  I do, but it is very limited. I find that people outside of the Wing Chun world don’t want the full dummies.  They want flat board dummies, half dummies—dummies that they can strap on their heavy bag—they don’t want the real thing.  A lot of JKD guys obviously have dummies, but I consider them part of the Wing Chun world to a degree.

Occasionally we will get people in other martial arts that want to play around on a dummy or who are looking to buy one, but it is not what I would call a “growing market”.

(KFT): It seems that there are basically solid wood, PVC and laminated dummies.  Which are the most popular?  Have you seen a move in one direction or another in recent years?

(AC):   The solid body dummies are the most popular.  They are the most beautiful and the most traditional.  They are also the most difficult to take care of.  If people are in an environment where they can’t care for a solid log dummy then they will go for laminate or PVC.

PVC tends to be an economic consideration rather than a preference.  That is one of the reasons why we try to provide quality PVC dummies. Buying a PVC body is a way to own a dummy useful for training at an economic price for most people.  The solid body dummies can be $1,000-$3,000 dollars, and that is out of the price range for most people – those are the dummies that most Sifu’s or senior students buy. PVC (top quality ones) are $350-$550 depending on the shipping and configuration.

Laminated dummies are really good when made in America (We have not had luck with any overseas manufacturer to date).  They are really solid dummies and they last. If there has been a move in any direction it is towards them… however I think this mainly is due to the mounting that can be done with the laminate dummies, specifically the “freestanding” versions, which you cannot make using a solid-log dummy.

Because the “freestanding” designs are now the most popular mounting system, we actually end up selling more laminated dummies than anything else.  But they are still not the “popular” type of dummies with buyers, if that makes sense. If solid-log dummies could be mounted well on a free-standing stand without breaking, then that would be the most popular item.

Also, what we call “laminated” is simply a dummy with a solid core (usually a 4×4) that has other wood glued and or screwed into it on each side (usually kiln dried ash or red oak) and then lathed down into the round body.  So you have maybe 7-9 pieces of wood that makeup the trunk.  This is not particle board or plywood, or other types of cheap glued/laminated wood. At least this is true for the dummies we sell – it is quality stuff.  The advantage of this is that the wood reacts better to humidity fluctuations and won’t develop checking (or cracks) as easily as a natural log.

The wooden dummy making another cameo appearance on American network TV (ABC’s Revenge Season 4 ep. 8).

(KFT):  Lets talk about mounting systems.  In some ways I have always considered that to be the more interesting question as it has such an impact on how the dummy feels and reacts when you use it.  Have you seen a move away from hanging dummies to “pillar and post” freestanding models have we seen in recent years?

(AC):  Absolutely yes.  The freestanding dummy is now the most popular dummy.  We definitely do not sell very many laminated wall mount dummies.  I would say that 99% of the models that we sell that you can mount on a wall are the Buick Yip dummies—those are solid body traditional dummies that Sifu’s want or that they use in schools.

Since it is difficult for most people living in apartments, or who want to move, to put a permanent fixture in their place of residence, the freestanding models are very popular.  You can pick them up and easily move them.  That is what I use myself because I move a lot.

You do sacrifice a little bit of that springy energy, but that is something that Ip Man brought in with the wall mount, and it didn’t exist before him. The freestanding dummies do have some energy, it just plays differently.  So people are going for portability and the fact that they don’t have to drill holes in the walls of their apartment over the exact springy energy found on a wall mount.

Also, this mounting system allows you to move more than 180 degrees around the dummy.  A lot of Sifu’s these days are teaching techniques that you cannot do on a wall mounted dummy.  These include some of the older techniques from when the dummy post was buried in the ground.

Ip Man demonstrating the wooden dummy form. Photograph was taken in 1967 by Tang Sang and is currently the property of Ip Ching.  This type of dummy was developed for use in Hong Kong apartments where it was no longer possible to use a buried Jong.  The wooden slats that support the dummy also give it a vital springy energy.  This was the dominant form of dummy from the 1950s-2000s.

[KFT]: Are we going to see a laminated bamboo dummy in the future?  What would the advantages of that material be?

[AC]: We do have one vendor who will soon be introducing a bamboo dummy.  It is actually made from bamboo flooring, so it is laminated bamboo.  It appears to be a very solid dummy.  We haven’t completely tested it out yet.  We have just seen a prototype and are waiting for the first ones.  I don’t know if there are any advantages to this material over normal wood but it is definitely very cool.  We will have to see.

[KFT]:  What about smaller, half-sized or flat board dummies?  How popular have they been and what sort of feedback have you gotten on them?

[AC]: Believe it or not, they are actually very popular.  The flat board dummies are the most popular because of their price.  They take up very little space and allow you do some drill work or work on your form.  They are definitely popular with the JKD guys and people who do not need the rounded body for positioning work.

The half sized dummies definitely have their place.  They are for people who have a small space yet need the rounded dummy body to practice their Wing Chun structure and positioning.

[KFT]: Do you think that the greater availability of dummies (as well as greater selection in styles, materials and mounting systems) is generally a positive thing within the Wing Chun community?

[AC]:   I do.  I am not really a traditionalist.  I respect it, and would not arbitrarily change anything, but I am open and very creative as well.  I like seeing new products and new ways to train harder.  I like seeing people thinking of ways to evolve the training of the art.  Having more variety is a great thing so long as it improves the training.

I don’t know who first invented the freestanding dummy.  I have heard several claims.  I think that James from Warrior Martial Arts supply was the first individual to make this mounting system that I am aware of.  If he didn’t invent it, and was just the first person to put it out there, it doesn’t really matter.  Look how popular that has become. It changed the entire landscape of dummy mounting systems.  That kind of thing is great for the Wing Chun world.  Someone who could never have a dummy before (because they lived in an apartment and couldn’t mount it on the wall) can now get a freestanding jong, keep it in a very compact area and really train properly with it.

It is great for the students.  And it is great for Wing Chun in general to have more people be able to practice it.  I am all for innovation and greater selections of unique training equipment, dummy materials, mounting systems, etc, etc.

This dummy has a laminated wooden body and is mounted on a freestanding base. This is currently the most commonly purchased style of (full sized) wooden dummy. Is this the next step in dummy evolution? Photo: Everything Wing Chun.

[KFT]: Do you have any general advice for someone thinking about buying a dummy?

[AC]: The most important thing that I look for when evaluating a dummy are the specs. A lot of people claim that they have “Ip Man” specs, but I have seen so many of these dummies that just have awful specs. A lot of these guys are copying copies or they never understood Wing Chun in the first place. They are just making something cheap that looks like a dummy. I think all dummy carpenters should first be Wing Chun practitioners that have trained beyond the dummy level. (And as a side note, every carpenter we work with has done this).

The few companies that we work with, including Buick Yip who is in Hong Kong, know what they are doing. Take a look at a Buick dummy, or some of the other ones that we sell on the site. You don’t have to buy from us, but just take a look at them and see how the specifications of the arms and legs are formed and compare it to the dummy that you thinking of buying. If it looks close and you don’t need exact specs, then go for it. If it is too far off – stay away.

I see some people training on dummies which have arms that are way too close or too far apart, or not spaced correctly vertically, and it makes me think that their training is going to be quite poor. Their footwork is going to be messed up, their arm positions are going to be messed up, their posture poor as they reach or etc. Look – you can train on any dummy once you know what you are doing. Heck I LIKE training on all sorts of dummies no matter what the specs because it forces me to adjust my footwork and arm positions. But if you are just learning, you need one made properly or you’ll develop bad habits. That is my first piece of advice.

My second suggestion is to know your humidity. If you have a fairly stable humidity level you can buy a solid-body dummies. If you don’t, you should go for laminate. That is probably the second major thing that people need to consider after thinking about the specs. Which wood and which body style? It is all going to depend on your humidity.

Wood will always adjust its water content to the surrounding air. It will absorb moisture and it will release moisture. If it does it too fast your dummy will crack. That is true of laminate dummies as well, it is just a little bit harder for them to crack. It does not matter how long you have had your dummy. If it has been stable for 10 years and then it is moved to a low humidity environment too quickly, the wood will shed its moisture quickly and develop cracks. And BTW, cracks are mainly a cosmetic issue. I’ve never seen a dummy crack so bad it can’t be used. 45-60% relative humidity is a good range to keep a wooden dummy in.

So know your humidity, know your specs and then think about the mounting system that you prefer. These three things are something that you should know before digging into your hard-earned money to buy a dummy. If you have any questions about dummies, feel free to stop by everythingwingchun.com and shoot us an email. We’ll be happy to discuss your situation with you.

[KFT]: Last question, who should not buy a dummy?

[AC]:  That is an interesting question.  I think they are great for everyone to have [laughs].  I’m not sure that I can answer that one.

I actually think that everyone should have a dummy if they are serious about Wing Chun.  You might not need it for a couple of years, but you are going to want to have one.  Same for JKD guys.  I have seen Mixed Martial Artists use dummies effectively in a completely non-Wing Chun manner.  When you are training by yourself, or working on something specific, you have got to have something to practice on… and of course it is also a very important part of the Wing Chun System.

[KFT]: Plus Mr. Bean has one, which means they are now officially cool!  Thanks for taking time out of your schedule to stop by and tell us about some of the recent developments in the market for wooden dummies.

Mr Bean wins the Wing Chun Dummy, courtesy Snickers and Youtube.  Readers should also note that he is clearly quite the traditionalist given his use of a 1920s style buried dummy.

oOo

If you enjoyed this you might also want to read: The 19th Century Hudiedao (Butterfly Sword) on Land and Sea

oOo

Introduction

I am currently pulling my keynote together for next week’s Martial Arts Studies conference which will be held at Cardiff University in the UK. (There is still time to register if you are in the area).  My address is titled “Imagining Ip Man: Globalization and Growth of Wing Chun Kung Fu.” It is loosely based on the concluding chapter of my soon to be released book, The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts.  As such I already have a pretty good idea of what I am going to say, though figuring out the slides always takes some time.  I am really looking forward to meeting a number of you and hearing a number of papers that I have marked in the program.

Since I will be traveling for most of the next week I won’t have an opportunity to update Kung Fu Tea.  Luckily Sascha Matuszak, a friend and occasional guest author here at Kung Fu Tea, has been kind enough to offer some help.  As many of you know Sascha edits The Last Masters and has been working on a great series of posts over at Fightland.  A number of his more recent essays have tried to bring an informed discussion of the traditional Chinese martial arts into a realm that usually focuses on the mixed martial arts.  I think that some interesting cross-fertilization is possible with this sort of writing, and its fascinating to see authors and arguments from Chinese martial studies working their way into the popular discourse.  But beyond that, Sascha’s posts are often thought provoking and a lot of fun.  I am very happy that he has agreed to share a couple of them here during my absence.

Obviously once I get back I will be providing a full account of the conference.  But in the mean time it is great to be able to host a short series of guest posts.  Enjoy!

Kung Fu and the China Dream by Sascha Matuszak

The death throes of the Ming Dynasty coincided with systematic attempts to link martial arts with the three major faiths of the region (Taoism, Buddhism, Confucianism), medicine, cosmology, spiritual transformation and the quest for immortality. By the middle of the 1600s, just before the fall, martial arts in China had become an integral part of a Grand Unifying Theory of Chinese Culture.

The critical text that rolled all of these elements into one system was the Sinew Transformation Classic, written in the first half of the 1600s. The Classic is a manual for attaining enlightenment through religious and physical exertion and it was the first text to claim Bodhidharma as the founder of Shaolin kung fu. The author, a mysterious person who called himself the “Purple Coagulation Man of the Way,” fabricated prefaces from one famous general who lived 1000 years prior and another from a quasi-mythical figure, Yue Fei, who supposedly learned the secrets of the Classic from a wandering monk-magician.

The ideas set forth in that text helped create a hyper-real cult of kung fu that has survived mostly intact into the present day. Kung fu defined as internal qigong practices and the quest for spiritual immortality through martial techniques passed down from an ancient Buddhist monk has become canon for generations of martial artists. This despite the fact that the Classic is an obvious work of historical fiction.

Click here to read the rest!

General Qi Jiguang. Source: Wikimedia.

Introduction

This is the second guest post contributed by Sascha Matuszak to help keep things interesting here at Kung Fu Tea while I am in the UK attending the Martial Arts Studies conference at Cardiff University.  Like the first post in this series, it draws from his writings at Fightland.  This particular post also tackles a critical topic for anyone looking to build a basic understanding of what the traditional Chinese martial arts were actually like during the late imperial period.  It is difficult to understate how important the contributions of General Qi Jiguang are for coming to terms with boxing during the late Ming dynasty.  His writings open an invaluable window onto events during this period.  Sascha’s essay helps to both situate him and his contributions to our understanding of the modern Chinese martial art.  Enjoy!

“The Practical Isn’t Pretty”: General Qi Jiguang on Martial Arts for Soldiers by Sasca Matuszak

In a previous essay, I mentioned an old Ming general named Qi Jiguang, whose works on martial arts and military strategy had a large influence on later writings, including the Bubishi, Karate’s bible.

The story of Qi Jiguang is sadly familiar to anyone who has studied Chinese history. A scion of a loyal military family—his grandfather served with the first Ming Emperor—Qi was one of China’s greatest generals and tacticians, a brilliant reformer, and author of one of the most influential manuals on warfare and training in Chinese history. But he lived out the last years of his life in semi-exile, slandered by corrupt courtiers, with all of his patrons either dead or removed from their posts by political infighting.

China’s ingrained tendency to destroy its most talented people while they live and then immortalize them in verse posthumously is a topic that could fill a few tomes, but today we’ll stick to Qi Jiguang’s New Book on Military Efficiency.

The manual was first written in 1560, less than 100 years before the fall of the Ming Dynasty. Qi had already helped fight off the Mongol siege of Beijing while still a cadet, and had put a big dent in the piracy that plagued China’s coasts for generations. He was on his way north now, to shore up the Great Wall and begin training a new army. Meanwhile, the Emperor was frolicking about while the court enriched itself and foreign enemies were at the gates. The generals around him who weren’t corrupt princelings enjoying hereditary posts knew that the Ming Dynasty was teetering on the brink of collapse. Once-feared Ming armies were weak and demoralized, skilled generals were subject to court politics, and no one seemed to be able to turn the ship around.

Qi’s response was to write a no-nonsense manual for organizing farmers and miners into disciplined units capable of defending the realm. Interesting for us is his chapter on the martial arts and the practical application of boxing and martial art training methods to a regular army. The New Book on Military Efficiency consists of 18 chapters and the 14th is the “Chapter on the Fist Canon and the Essentials of Nimbleness.”

Click here to read the rest of the story!

A promotional poster for the Japanese release of “Shaolin Temple” staring Jet Li.

Introduction

Greetings from the University of Cardiff where I am currently attending the 2015 Martial Arts Studies conference.  This is the third guest post by Sascha Matuszak in his ongoing series here at Kung Fu Tea.  I thought that for this update we would do something a little different.  While his first two essays looked at historic figures and texts, this piece examines one of the most important popular culture events in the modern history of the Chinese martial arts.  Indeed, its hard to imagine what the 1980s and 1990s would have been like for folk martial artists in mainland China without Jet Li’s hit film, The Shaolin Temple.  Why?  Read on….

‘The Shaolin Temple’ and the Cultural Significance of the ‘Star Wars’ of Chinese Cinema” by Sascha Matuszak

Right when Return of the Jedi was about to hit theaters across America, bringing the epic Star Wars trilogy to a resounding close, China was experiencing its own Star Wars-esque craze following the 1982 release of The Shaolin Temple.

Chinese had been force-fed propaganda screeds for decades, featuring impossibly brave Communists and sneering, evil Japanese invaders, or at best kitschy musicals on the resplendence of Mao Zedong and how gloriously red the east was, and always would be. By the 1980s, Chinese were glassy-eyed followers of a defunct cult. Mao had died in 1976, taking the insanity of the Cultural Revolution with him. Suddenly, a short Sichuanese veteran of the rebellion, Deng Xiaoping, was talking about opening up and reform, about making money instead of weaving together red sashes and smelting pig iron in a backyard furnace.

Right at that critical point in time, a classic kung fu flic was released, and it blew a billion minds. The Shaolin Temple was filmed in and around an ancient Buddhist temple, the cast were almost all national wushu champions or opera troupe vets, and the director hailed from Hong Kong, an adventurous territory flaunting shiny, once-forbidden baubles. It was a raucous plot, thick with violence and rebellion and religious undertones. There was dog meat, righteous drunkenness, and every kung fu move you could dream of. Not a single red flag, Communist trope, or ode to Mao.

It hit China like a Super Star Destroyer into a beleaguered Death Star.

Click here to read the rest!

Source: http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com

Introduction

Within the field of International Relations Stephen Chan (OBE) needs no introduction.  He is a Professor of Global Politics in the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) at the University of London. He also served as a diplomat and was involved with several important initiatives in Africa, helping to pioneer modern electoral observation. Prof. Chan has twice been Dean at SOAS, has published 29 books and supervised many successful PhD theses. He won the 2010 International Studies Association prize and was named an “Eminent Scholar in Global Development.”

Less well known in academic circles is his lifelong involvement with the martial arts.  Chan has been awarded many senior grades and titles in various styles of Karate.  He has taught on multiple continents including while posted as a diplomat in Africa.  In 2012 he established his own martial arts organization which currently boasts thousands of students in many countries.

I first had an opportunity to meet Prof. Chan at the recent Martial Arts Studies conference in Cardiff where he offered the opening keynote address.  I was struck both with the importance of his remarks and how closely his own family history mirrored the development of the Asian martial arts in the 20th century.

We are very fortunate that Prof. Chan has agreed to take a few moment from his busy schedule to delve a little deeper into a couple of topics which he touched on in his keynote.  In this interview he shares some family history surrounding his Grandmother, Chan Wong Wah Yue, a swordswoman and member of a village militia, who saw action in Guangdong during the turbulent years of the Warlord Era.  While martial arts fiction is full of images of female boxers, relatively few women actually took up these pursuits.  Prof. Chan’s genealogy is fascinating precisely because it allows us to identify one such individual by name, to contextualize her involvement with this aspect of the martial arts, and to trace her subsequent life history.

Since this interview builds on the account already provided in his keynote, readers who have not yet had a chance to review the recording of this address should start here.  Prof. Chan’s presentation is full of interesting observations and stories.  Your efforts will be well rewarded!  Following that he offers some additional discussion below.  Enjoy!

Prof. Stephen Chan, scholar, diplomat and martial artist.

Kung Fu Tea (KFT): Can you begin by giving us some information on your Grandmother? What was her name? Where (and when) was she born?

Prof. Stephen Chan: My grandmother’s name was Wong Wah Yue, and she married Chan Hong Ling of Sungai village, then outside metropolitan Canton. No birth dates were recorded for her or her first child but she died at age 78 [circa 1906 – 30th April 1982].

I know nothing of her ancestry, although her husband’s ancestry can still be traced in records back some 800 years.

KFT: What can you tell me about her husband’s background and occupation? And what did he think of her martial arts activities?

Chan: Her husband was a greengrocer/fruiterer. I think that he admired her fighting youth. He was a placid man and it was she who was the aggressive person in the relationship.

KFT: How did you come to hear her life story?

Chan: She would tell me her stories when I was a child, before I went to school. Shortly after starting school, my parents moved into their own house and my contacts with my grandmother decreased.

KFT: Can you tell us a little bit about her introduction to the martial arts?

Chan: This is the stuff of grandmotherly legend. The entire community was caught up in the warlord and brigands era of the early 20th century. Sungai had outer fortifications of two watchtowers, with two more planned, mounted with machine guns financed by remittances from the diaspora in the foreign gold rushes of the period. These were built in 1902. As late as 1920, the village was attacked by an ‘army’ of 300 brigands. Guns were everywhere, but so were swords. My grandmother studied the sword.

KFT: Did she identify with any particular style or teacher?

Chan: If she did, I didn’t understand as a child. But I gather a lot of her sword work was inspired by necessity. As a foundation, there would almost certainly have been the rudiments of what we today call ‘Peking Opera’ basics.

KFT: What do you think motivated your grandmother to take up the sword, both in a personal and more political sense?

Chan: As I said, it was a heavily securitized environment. There was no ‘official’ law and order, so citizens had to defend themselves. It was like the Chinese version of the Wild West.

KFT: Did she ever mention any literary works, stories, radio programs or movies associated with the martial arts that she particularly liked or disliked?

Chan: She would take me to the only Chinese cinema in Auckland, New Zealand, the State Theater, which was hired by the Chinese community on Sunday nights. It was a pretty seedy and desperate place, and the Chinese films shown were also pretty badly made as the post-war Hong Kong cinema industry spluttered into existence. The sword work in them was also pretty awful, a very early and primitive form of what the Chinese state has now officialized and standardized into the Wushu syllabus. I hated them. And she didn’t seem overly impressed either.

There was, however, a Chinese comic, with very fine inking in something like traditional style, of a one-legged hero who was a swordsman. Miraculously, when he needed to do a high side kick, a supporting leg would appear! I thought this was ridiculous, but I liked the inking. And I liked the idea of a high side kick.

KFT: You mentioned in your keynote address that your Grandmother led followers in the field. What sorts of people supported her, and what types of goals did they have?

Chan: They were members of her village – the local militia. She was sufficiently prominent so that, as a rather young mother, her eldest son was kidnapped and tortured to death (and his totally mutilated body returned – crushed and jellied, apart from the head, so he could be recognized) as a warning to her.

KFT: What sorts of weapons (swords, sabers, spears, handguns, rifles, knives, grenades….etc) did her group carry in the field? What sort of opposition did they encounter?

Chan: She used a sword (gim or jian). Guns, as I said, were everywhere. She gave up fighting, and the sword, when her militia unit was strafed from the air. She realized then, she told me, that modernity had overtaken them.

A rare period snap shot showing Chinese swords captured by Japanese during WWII. Source: Author’s personal collection.

KFT: Historians have noted that a number of martial arts militias in China during the 1920s practiced invulnerability techniques as part of their training (Golden Bell, Iron Cloth Shirt, other forms of spirit possession…..). Did your Grandmother ever mention any of this?

Chan: She believed in magic and in forms of Chinese medicine. I had to swallow from time to time all manner of obnoxious potions. But I don’t think she practiced magical techniques. As I said, being attacked by aircraft pretty much knocked the stuffing of traditional methods out of her.

KFT: Did your Grandmother teach the individuals that fought with her, or did they get their training somewhere else?

Chan: I don’t think so. I sort of gather she was like a female village ‘rowdy.’ My grandfather loved her very much. And she was certainly a VERY strong and independently-minded person.

KFT: Did she ever describe/talk about the larger world of Chinese martial artists at the point in time at which she was active?

Chan: No. She did talk about how terrible war was, and our family was a refugee family from war. Neither the brigand armies nor the Nationalists could stand against the Japanese.

KFT: At what point did your Grandmother “retire” from the martial arts?

Chan: She had given them up by the time she got off the refugee boat and set foot in New Zealand in 1941.

KFT: Did your grandparents ever discuss their journey from the Pearl River Delta to New Zealand during WWII?

Chan: Yes. The privations were extreme. This was particularly note-worthy in the separate flight of my mother’s family, which was described graphically to me. But none of my ancestors on her side were, as far as I know, martial artists. I do have as heirlooms the child’s suitcase my father carried, not much bigger than a satchel; and one of the remaining gold coins my mother’s mother stitched into her coat to use as bribes whenever they came across marauding soldiers or bandits on their flight. By the time of their flight, there were dead bodies pretty much everywhere lining the route to Hong Kong, which they did on foot from the village neighboring my father’s.

KFT: What was life like for her in her new home country after leaving China?

Chan: She refused to learn English and set up a Chinese gambling syndicate and circuit. We called her the Dragon Lady. She sort of remained an outlaw for the rest of her New Zealand life.

KFT: I am curious about your Grandmother’s turn to professional gambling in New Zealand. As I have been looking at the social history of the southern Chinese martial arts I have been struck by how closely connected these professions often were. Even small town gambling houses would hire crews of martial artist. One of the few female boxers I have been able to identify by name from the early 19th century had a very similar career trajectory.

Chan: Auckland, New Zealand, was not big enough then for Triads or other well-articulated criminal organizations. They came later. Gambling groups were just small time, small scale, businesses and social enterprises. Some, like the one my Grandfather frequented (different from Grandmother’s) were also opium dens.  But these were all male affairs. Grandmother’s were all female. As a toddler I went to both from time to time. I’m sure I enjoyed the secondary inhaling…it would probably explain a lot…

KFT: How did your Grandmother’s example or stories influence you either as a martial artist or as a person?

Chan: Oh she influenced me alright – along the lines of “I am not going to do it like that!”

KFT: I understand that your father was also a martial artist. Can you tell me a little bit about his practice? What did your Grandmother think of his decision to take up Southern Mantis Kung Fu in the 1950s?

Chan: Dad just found a good (Chinese) teacher. Similarly, his younger brother found a good (Chinese) Wing Chun teacher. Grandmother could not have cared less. This sort of thing was just normal.

KFT: Many discussions of martial arts history focus on continuity with the past, but I have always found the breaks and disjoints to be even more interesting. Given your family’s multi-generation background in the southern Chinese martial art, why did you choose to dedicate yourself to Karate as a youth? How did your family (and Grandmother) react to that decision?

Chan: Everyone hated it, but I just went to the best martial arts teacher in town, Karl Sargent, and it was a wonderful and very tough dojo with a structured and modernized syllabus. I also, of course, wanted to be tougher than my father. Typical youthful rebellion.

Karl was a very young Sensei, so we got on very well personally, and he attracted weird and wonderful students. One was John Dixon, who had fought with Mao in the Communist victory.

Most of my classmates were Maoris, Polynesians, truckers, bikies and the like. Karl called it an ‘experimental’ class. For a young intellectual like me, it was wonderful. But the style did have Chinese Malaysian influences. It was a JKA Shotokan style overlaid with quite a large number of Chinese principles.

KFT: In your opinion as a scholar, when telling the story of the Asian martial arts should we continue to focus on “lineage” and “system,” or are there other critical concepts that we should be paying more attention to?

Chan: I don’t pay overmuch reverence to lineage. I know from my many visits to Asia how things change, miscegenate, and cross-cut. Systems change all the time. These ‘traditional’ arts came to us by the most ‘postmodern’ routes. The one thing about being Asian, achieving some rank, AND building social rank and capital OUTSIDE the arts (in my case in the diplomatic and scholarly worlds), is that the old teachers will treat you as an equal. That’s a very rare privilege. They also tell you the truth. The number of times I got the answer ‘I just made it up’ in response to queries about how a technique originated and developed was wonderful and just honest.

KFT: Thanks so much for taking the time to drop by Kung Fu Tea! Clearly your family history is a great case study in the development of the traditional martial arts.  We look forward to your future research and writing with great enthusiasm.

oOo

If you enjoyed this interview you might also want to read: Dr. Daniel Amos Discusses Marginality, Martial Arts Studies and the Modern Development of Southern Chinese Kung Fu

oOo

James Cagney – Oscar-winning Judoka (ca. 1943)

Introduction

Upon the gracious invitation from Dr. Judkins, I thought about what I could add to a historical perspective on the martial arts. After considering various topic ideas, I settled on the topic of martial arts in the context of American cinema, in particular the classical Hollywood cinema. In academic film studies, classical Hollywood cinema refers to the period of time from the late-1920s/early-1930s (when synchronized sound replaced the practices of silent filmmaking) to the late-1950s/early-1960s (when the fallout from the infamous 1948 Supreme Court case known as the “Paramount Decree” led to changes in the way films were produced, distributed, and exhibited).  At this time Hollywood studios controlled all aspects of the filmmaking process and these efforts were conducted in accordance with a standardized “mode of production” (the standard academic text on this period remains The Classical Hollywood Cinema by David Bordwell, Janet Staiger, and Kristin Thompson).

This was the era of Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, It’s a Wonderful Life, Singin’ in the Rain, and 12 Angry Men. It was also the era of ‘G’ Men, Behind the Rising Sun, Blood on the Sun, Tokyo Joe, and Pat and Mike. If most people haven’t heard of the films on the second list, that’s to be expected. They haven’t been canonized in the academic literature nor have they managed to secure a place in the popular cultural imagination. The history of cinema has for the most part lost track of these films, while the history of martial arts cinema has yet to even recognize them, but thanks to TV, DVDs, and the Internet, history is always a mouse click or channel change away from being (re)discovered.

In typical historical accounts of martial arts cinema, Hollywood tends to be either ignored or denunciated on the basis of a confirmation bias which precludes the possibility of there being an American inheritance of cinematic martial arts. In the first issue of the Martial Arts Studies journal, I will attempt to counter a number of theoretical claims against American cinematic representations of the martial arts throughout Hollywood history, but here, I would like to show on historical grounds that there is, indeed, an American inheritance of cinematic martial arts with a lineage that can be traced back nearly a century through a number of intriguing and ambitious films.

James Cagney. G-Men

‘G’ Men

The first film I want to discuss in this post is ‘G’ Men. Made in 1935 at Warner Brothers studios, the star of ‘G’ Men is James Cagney, the unique and iconic Hollywood figure who was part song-and-dance man, part gangster tough guy, and part martial artist (though the third part is the aspect that often gets overlooked). Following his star turn a few years earlier in the gangster classic, The Public Enemy, Cagney was one of the most in-demand stars in Hollywood. He also ended up being something of a savior for the Hollywood studios following the institution of the Motion Picture Production Code and the moratorium on gangster films (for information on the history of and the consequences stemming from the censorship battles fought in the early-1930s over gangster films, see Fran Mason’s American Gangster Cinema, Jonathan Munby’s Public Enemies, Public Heroes, and Kendall R. Phillips’ Controversial Cinema).

Amidst this controversy, Hollywood studios were scrambling to figure out a way to continue to produce stories involving the violent and seductive criminal underworld without offending the sensibilities of groups such as the Catholic Legion of Decency, the Protestant League, the Daughters of the American Revolution, and the Police Benevolence Association, just a few of the many groups that had started protesting the continued production of such “dangerous” films. Their solution: Give the most popular and recognizable cinematic gangster a badge and let him use his gangster tactics in the name of law and order.

I have discussed elsewhere the ideological implications of this transitional period in gangster films for the formation of the contemporary American action movie, but for the sake of historical context, this was the turbulent climate in which ‘G’ Men was produced, and it ended up being one of the biggest financial successes for Warner Brothers in the 1930s and a huge turning point in cinematic depictions of law enforcement and criminality. For my purposes here, however, the importance of ‘G’ Men has less to do with its depiction of cops and criminals and more to do with its depiction of the martial arts. In the film, Cagney’s character (a lawyer who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks but who fought to make an honest living for himself) trades his law books for an FBI badge to avenge the death of his childhood friend at the hands of a notorious gangster. In an early scene upon Cagney’s acceptance into the FBI, he receives instruction in self-defense, first with a boxing lesson and second with a Jujitsu lesson.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTBozSkd9So

I consider it quite significant that the very first lines spoken during the Jujitsu scene involve the agent teaching Cagney (played by Lloyd Nolan) talking about how the utilization of leverage in Jujitsu is “practically the same as in wrestling.” This idea of relating wrestling to Jujitsu speaks to the neglected historical legacy of grappling in the Western (especially American) context. While there is one historical (but not necessarily teleological) trajectory for striking that proceeds from the UK/US boxing heritage to the incorporation of kicking-inclusive styles such as Karate and Taekwondo, there is also a historical (and again not necessarily teleological) trajectory for grappling that proceeds from the UK catch-wrestling tradition and the UK/US professional wrestling tradition (not to mention the illustrious histories of US high school, collegiate, and Olympic wrestling) to the incorporation of the throws, trips, joint-locks, and chokes from the more elaborate groundfighting arts of Judo and Jujitsu (both the Japanese or, as is more prevalent today thanks to MMA, the Brazilian variety).

While by no means a comprehensive history of grappling, this rough sketch does shed light on the conditions of possibility for the American fascination in the first half of the 20^th Century with grappling. In addition to introducing the existence of Jujitsu, though, ‘G’ Men also attempts to introduce the techniques of Jujitsu, and the method for shooting and editing grappling devised by the filmmaking team on ‘G’ Men showcases a uniquely American action aesthetic I have previously termed (in an essay entitled “Action Aesthetics: Realism and Martial Arts Cinema”) martial suture. As a way to explain the importance of ‘G’ Men for my conceptualization of martial suture, we can look at Cagney and Nolan’s “live drills” from near the end of the scene.

We enter the Jujitsu scene after Nolan has already had Cagney drill a couple of techniques, at which point he encourages Cagney to try employing them while facing active resistance. The two grappling sequences that follow establish the aesthetic blueprint of martial suture in relation to cinematic grappling. On the basis of what, in my “Action Aesthetics” essay, I call the attack-defense-counterattack pattern, grappling sequences in film typically follow a pattern where the first step is an attacker trying to grab, throw a punch or kick, or strike with an object; second, the grab is neutralized, the punch or kick is blocked or caught, or the strike is slipped or blocked; and third, having committed to and missed an offensive attack, the attacker is thwarted with a counter grappling technique.

We can see the attack-defense-counterattack pattern at work here in ‘G’ Men. Consider the first grappling sequence:

http://i1028.photobucket.com/albums/y344/MichaelAnthonyHunt/Bullitt/G-Men-Ba1_zpsd073328f.gif

In Shot A, Cagney attacks with a wristlock but Nolan successfully defends himself, after which, in Shot B, he flips Cagney with a counterattack (in the interest of increasing the visceral impact of the scene, a third shot is added to cap the sequence to emphasize Cagney’s rough landing on the mat). Utilizing a two-shot AB dyad, the attack-defense-counterattack pattern is rendered clearly and expressively via martial suture. The second sequence follows a similar pattern:

http://i1028.photobucket.com/albums/y344/MichaelAnthonyHunt/Bullitt/G-Men-Ba2_zps10b2f10e.gif

Once again, in Shot A, Cagney attacks with a wristlock but Nolan successfully defends himself, after which, in Shot B, he throws Cagney across the mat with a counterattack, the impact of which is registered once again in a third shot as Cagney comes to rest on the other side of the mat.

As I maintain, martial suture is a conceptually rigorous yet aesthetically flexible method for shooting and editing sequences of grappling action in martial arts cinema, and these two examples by no means exhaust the aesthetic variety of martial suture. They do, however, provide a solid foundation for the concept and highlight the intuitive visual schema for cinematic grappling still in use today, from the films of Steven Seagal (e.g. Above the Law, Marked for Death, and On Deadly Ground) to the Bourne trilogy and Donnie Yen’s Flash Point among innumerable others (see my “Action Aesthetics” essay for a more detailed discussion). ‘G’ Men thus exemplifies an element of martial arts cinema history lost to the passage of time but available to us today to be restored to its rightful place.

James Cagney. Blood on the Sun

Blood on the Sun

Ten years after Cagney first showed off his martial arts prowess in ‘G’ Men, he would once again incorporate the martial arts into one of his films, this time in a political thriller entitled Blood on the Sun. For years prior to (and for years after) this film, Cagney practiced Judo in his day-to-day life. His instructor was a former LAPD officer named John Halloran, who also appears in the film as the villainous Captain Oshima with whom Cagney battles in a climactic fight scene near the end of the film (Halloran appears in yellowface the offensiveness of which is hopefully mitigated by Cagney’s pragmatic decision to cast a known Judo expert and someone with whom he was very familiar for the sake of the integrity of the fight scene similar to the decisions made by Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan to cast real martial artists like Bob Wall, Chuck Norris, and Benny the Jet in their films).

Even though ‘G’ Men includes sequences of martial arts action, Blood on the Sun is the film with the best case (although, if anybody knows of other candidates, I would love to hear about them) for claiming the distinction of being the first American martial arts film (with Cagney thus having the best case for claiming the distinction of being the first American martial arts star). The plot of this film involves Cagney (here playing an American newspaperman in 1920s Japan) stumbling upon an evil plot by the Japanese military to take over the world (the story was inspired by the infamous Tanaka Memorial).

Blood on the Sun was one of a number of films (including, among many others, Dragon Seed, The Purple Heart, and the film I will be discussing next, Behind the Rising Sun) made in Hollywood during World War II which encouraged a pro-American sentiment against the evil machinations of the Japanese. However, despite its reactionary politics, Cagney strove to be pro-America without being too anti-Japan, and his disciplined practice of Judo gives his character in the film sympathy for and insights into Japanese culture distinct from most treatments of Japanese characters and culture from that era. I feel I should also call attention to the fact that the trope of an American mastering a martial art and, by extension, learning about and appreciating the culture responsible for the art has, of course, since become a hallmark of American martial arts movies, which is yet another plus for Blood on the Sun and its heraldic position in the history of martial arts cinema.

In any case, while I believe the politics in this film and the cultural representation of the Japanese are far from indefensible, my interest here is not to defend the film on political grounds. Rather, I am more interested in Cagney’s continued efforts to push American cinematic representations of the martial arts forward. It is interesting to note that (in a move that points towards the way Seagal would introduce himself in Above the Law) Cagney’s character is first introduced while he attends a Judo class.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAvuYnFhUkM

This introductory scene serves a number of different functions. First, it introduces us to Cagney; second, it introduces us to Cagney as a Judoka; and third, it introduces us to Cagney as someone familiar with and respectful of Japanese culture and customs. Despite being an American, Cagney is by no means an outsider in this country/culture, and the key to his survival over the course of the film is his reliance on both his cultural and martial savvy. A good example of this is in a scene where members of the Japanese police (led by Captain Oshima) have entered his home in search of the film’s version of the Tanaka Memorial and intend to take him in for questioning. Aware of the fact that the police will not hesitate to turn his place upside down and inside out looking for the document, Cagney hides it behind a picture of the Emperor, which he knows is the one thing the police would dare not disturb in their search.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1J9tdjDm_U

Added to which, when Cagney realizes the seriousness of the situation, he is prepared to fight and takes on a number of police officers in a fight scene that anticipates many later scenes from the likes of Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal, and their martial arts movie peers. Half a century before Austin Powers, the all-powerful “Judo Chop” also appears as the technique that ultimately brings Cagney down, with the dastardly Captain Oshima showing his masterful skill by virtue of his ability to incapacitate Cagney with a single strike. Cagney would get his revenge, though, in the climactic one-on-one showdown

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlejMy9zLdI

Today, this fight scene appears rather crude, but the ambition is commendable. Firstly, there are a number of skillfully sutured sequences of grappling, in particular the early sequence of Oshima countering an attempted punch from Cagney with a throw. Also of note beyond the standing throws and the martial suture is the choreography of the groundfighting. A lot of films even up to the present day have struggled to depict groundfighting in a manner both realistic and exciting (a dilemma discussed by Paul Bowman in his recent excursus on groundfighting), but Blood on the Sun is remarkable for its willingness to experiment with an aspect of cinematic martial arts still troubling to contemporary filmmakers.

Early in the fight, Cagney scores a big hip toss on Oshima and lands in kesa gatame (an alternative side mount position also known as the scarf hold). This sequence of action may be familiar to MMA fans who witnessed Ronda Rousey defeat Alexis Davis at UFC 175:

http://oi58.tinypic.com/sqgjtk.jpg

Cagney is able to keep Oshima pinned while the latter struggles to strike Cagney with his free arm, but eventually, Oshima hits an escape by bringing his hips in tight to Cagney’s body, grabbing him around the waist (sometimes referred to as a “seatbelt grip,” although this is not quite the grip used by Oshima here), and rolling him over in the opposite direction with the added leverage and momentum created.

Back on the feet, Cagney hits another takedown and then goes for a straight armbar. Oshima’s ability to kick Cagney in the face to escape the armbar is questionable at best, but lazy counter aside, the presence of an armbar attempt in the first place highlights once again the sophistication of the grappling choreography on display here. They continue to struggle, and in a scramble, Cagney dives for Oshima on the ground and manages to take his back. Cagney is only able to get one hook in, though, and while Oshima is fighting to escape the position, Cagney is struggling to secure a one-arm lapel choke from the back.

With reference to MMA again, this submission attempt on Cagney’s part calls to mind Royce Gracie’s victory over Remco Pardoel at UFC 2.

http://oi62.tinypic.com/4lm78y.jpg

All of the throws and groundfighting, despite a certain aesthetic crudeness, speak to a choreographic sophistication decades ahead of its time. Added to which, Cagney’s ability to mix punches and kicks in with his takedowns and submissions is what enables him to ultimately overcome Oshima, who is unable to deal with Cagney’s combination of striking and grappling. Not only was Cagney a movie martial artist before Hollywood knew of such a thing, he was a mixed martial artist, at that. Still known as one of the great actors and icons of the classical Hollywood cinema, Cagney deserves far more credit than he has received for his pioneering efforts in the realm of movie martial arts.

Behind the Rising Sun

Behind the Rising Sun

Shortly before the release of Blood on the Sun, famed filmmaker Edward Dmytryk (at the time an unknown B-movie director who would go on to achieve fame for his low-budget film noir classic Detour as well as more prestigious films such as The Caine Mutiny and Raintree County) released a film entitled Behind the Rising Sun. Compared to Blood on the Sun, Behind the Rising Sun is decidedly more ambitious with its politics; whereas the former was content to focus primarily on the crime and thriller elements of its plot, the latter by contrast focuses entirely on the political atmosphere in Japan immediately before and then during World War II. Like Blood on the Sun, though, my interest in this film is less to do with its politics and more to do with its inclusion of the martial arts. In fact, Behind the Rising Sun is one of the most remarkable films I’ve ever seen in terms of American representations of the martial arts in classical Hollywood, as it features a bona fide “style-versus-style” match-up between a Japanese representative of Judo and an American representative of boxing.

Of course, the style-versus-style conceit is familiar to anyone who knows the history of the UFC, but even before the first UFC in 1993, style-versus-style match-ups had been fought by the likes of Benny the Jet, Gene LeBell, Helio Gracie, and innumerable others. Indeed, martial artists have for ages pitted their styles against the styles of others. Behind the Rising Sun warrants attention due to the new visibility it gave this martial tradition, and although the context of this propagandistic narrative not surprisingly allows the American boxer to vanquish the Japanese Judoka, there is still an abundance of combative salience throughout the scene.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6R70m0JRAI

Upon entering the gym where the fight is to take place, the Americans are told of the proposed rules for the fight where it is suggested they either fight to one fall or best two out of three. To this, the boxer (played by film noir legend Robert Ryan) exclaims, “I’m no wrestler. I’ll fight any man hand-to-hand, but I’m no grunt-and-grapple guy.” Contrary to ‘G’ Men, where wrestling is used as a positive point of comparison with Jujitsu, in Behind the Rising Sun, both wrestling and Judo are equated with an inferior, less “manly” form of pseudo-fighting. The combative distortion in the name of patriotism was hardly unfamiliar at the time; however, as Joseph R. Svinth noted in an essay entitled “Judo Battles Wrestling”, such nationalized martial arts matches, while based on real events during the war between Americans and Japanese, actually led to the incorporation of Judo into U.S. Navy and Marine training as early as 1944.

A different narrative trajectory is seen in the fight in Behind the Rising Sun, however. After expressing his disdain for the “grunt-and-grapple guy,” the American boxer receives a rude awakening to the strength and skill of the Japanese Judoka. The actual choreography leaves much to be desired, and the Judoka’s strategy of engaging in a slug fest (or, more accurately, a chop fest) with the boxer rather than just moving in for clinches and easily taking him down (which he does on several occasions) raises a few eyebrows, but it’s easy to forgive these aspects of the fight considering how ahead-of-its-time the sequence is in other respects, in particular with the various grappling techniques. At one point, the Judoka hits a scissor leg takedown which Dmytryk visualizes with a skillful editing pattern in line with martial suture, while at another point, the Judoka attacks the boxer with a proper rear-naked choke (even going so far as to sneak the far hand behind the head to keep the opponent from pulling down on the hand and alleviating pressure on the choke).

In the end, the boxer emerges victorious, and unlike Blood on the Sun, it is entirely due to his boxing prowess as opposed to the fluidity of his attacks between striking and grappling (though it’s worth noting that, right before he delivers the knockout blow, he traps one of the Judoka’s arms to allow the administration of a flurry of punches, perhaps highlighting a certain in-fight adaptability). Even so, this fight is remarkably prescient vis-à-vis the boxer showing up to a mixed-style fight wearing his gloves (though it must be stated that the boxer in this film fared much better than Art Jimmerson did when he showed up to fight Royce Gracie at UFC 1) completely ignorant to his opponent’s style as well as the frequency with which the combatants hit the ground and are forced to scramble for positions rather than contesting a straight-up brawl.

While the late-20^th/early-21^st Century explosion of MMA into the popular consciousness would change the texture of movie fight scenes and see the incorporation of far more groundfighting, Behind the Rising Sun is yet another example from the era of classical Hollywood where styles like Judo had already started to change the way Americans conceptualized and experienced hand-to-hand combat.

Humphrey Bogart. Tokyo Joe

Tokyo Joe

Like other Hollywood stars such as Cagney, Cary Grant, and Spencer Tracy, Humphrey Bogart did not serve his country in World War II in military combat (it was reported at the time that he tried to enlist but was turned down because of his age, although he did still go to Africa with the USO) and instead served in cinematic combat by using his star power to fight celluloid bad guys in such films as Across the Pacific, Action in the North Atlantic, Sahara, and, of course, Casablanca. In my opinion, the most interesting film of Bogart’s that deals with World War II is the post-war occupation film Tokyo Joe. Set during the American occupation of Japan in the immediate post-war years, Tokyo Joe is an astonishingly blunt treatment of American involvement in the reconstruction of Japan.

Bogart’s character in the film is the former proprietor of “Tokyo Joe’s,” a famous nightclub (similar to the immortal “Rick’s” from Casablanca) that operated in the heart of Tokyo prior to the outbreak of World War II. Similar to Cagney’s character from Blood on the Sun, Bogart’s character was completely at home with the Japanese culture and customs, but returning after the war, he finds that American-Japanese relations have been transformed. Early in the film, he meets up with his old friend and business partner (played by Teru Shimada) in what used to be Tokyo Joe’s. They are thrilled to see each other after so many years, and in their interactions, there does not appear to be any cultural divide much less a cultural hierarchy. Yet, when Shimada realizes he is being observed with Bogart by other Japanese, he reverts to a stock deferential disposition. Bogart is confused by the change in attitude, and in an effort to break through the cultural barrier that seems to have been erected in his absence, he reminds his old friend about the bond forged over his teaching Shimada “the best Brooklyn English” while Shimada taught him Judo.

https://vimeo.com/135176758

The sparring session that follows is vastly inferior to Cagney’s efforts (indeed, Bogart’s health would not permit him to do much of the Judo, so much of the sequence features a horrendously obvious stunt man doing the lion’s share of the work) but its role within the narrative is salutary nonetheless. Pushing things even further than Cagney’s participation in the Judo class at the beginning of Blood on the Sun, Bogart’s horseplay with Shimada (during which they also have a conversation where they get caught up with what they have each been up to in the intervening years) transcends combat itself and becomes the means by which they reinstate their friendship.

By learning Judo, Bogart came to know another person; beyond the nationalistic pride to be felt by witnessing American representatives like Cagney and Ryan defeating Japanese Judoka in Blood on the Sun and Behind the Rising Sun, there are no propagandistic stakes in Bogart’s and Shimada’s encounter. The stakes are entirely interpersonal and the emotional tenor is friendly rather than competitive. Rather than a means by which to assert American supremacy over the Japanese, Judo is used in Tokyo Joe to counter precisely that kind of cultural logic. Similar to the bonds that would be forged in the student-teacher relationships depicted in, among innumerable other films, The Karate Kid, Kickboxer, and Only the Strong, the relationship between Bogart and Shimada points towards the possibility of mutual acknowledgment and friendship between America and Japan, a possibility that necessarily begins on the personal level in interactions with those who are different but not necessarily evil.

Pat and Mike

Pat and Mike

The final film I would like to discuss is one of the famed pairings of the real-life couple and super-acting duo Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Made in 1952, Pat and Mike (the seventh of an eventual nine pairings between Tracy and Hepburn) is a romantic comedy set in the world of female athletics. In the film, Hepburn plays Pat Pemberton, an exceptionally skilled athlete who, at the start of the film, is working as a physical education instructor at Pacific Tech in California. Engaged to a man who serves as the embodiment of old-style patriarchal rule, Hepburn is struggling to find avenues to express herself athletically. In an effort to get out from under her fiancé’s thumb, she impulsively enters a women’s golf tournament. She nearly wins, and were it not for her fiancé being in attendance, she would have won. Even in losing, she has the good fortune to meet up with Tracy’s character, Mike Conovan, athletic manager and promoter extraordinaire and the man with the potential to foster Hepburn’s athletic expression.

Over the course of the film, Hepburn’s character shows off her talents in golf and tennis while also boasting expertise in skeet shooting, archery, basketball, baseball, and even boxing (strictly 16 oz. gloves, though, as she specifies to the astonished Tracy). In fact, during one scene where two of Tracy’s less scrupulous business partners are trying to “convince” him to fix a golf tournament by having Hepburn lose (the first of whom is played by George Mathews and the second of whom is played by a young Charles Bronson, here credited under his real name, Charles Buchinski), Hepburn even shows off her martial arts prowess.

https://vimeo.com/135174189

The two scenes in the above clip, first with the fight and then with the reenactment at the police station, offer a different take on the martial arts compared to most of the previous films I’ve discussed (in fact, Pat and Mike connects back to ‘G’ Men in an interesting way). Here, the martial arts have taken the form of athletic exercise and self-defense. Indeed, Pat and Mike actually anticipates the cultural status of the martial arts in America today where they’re predominantly culture-less. If, for example, someone in the U.S. wants to study Aikido, they can learn from anyone who has a gym, and instructors are not only frequently not from Japan, their “lineage” also frequently has nothing to do with any Japanese “roots.”

Furthermore, the connection between the martial arts and American athletics and self-defense anticipates the myriad cardio kickboxing and women’s self-defense classes that became such a huge industry in American martial arts, combat sport, and fitness circles. Indeed, it’s rather telling that, when asked where she learned to fight, Hepburn doesn’t respond with a story about how she visited the mysterious Orient and learned the secrets of the Shaolin monks or about how some old-school master taught her his deadly stuff in a Pai Mei scenario. Rather, she simply replies that she’d “been around physical ed. for years.” No Asian masters or cross-cultural literacy are required here. Just homebred American athletics.

As for the choreography, Hepburn eschews any flashy kicks or big throws. Instead, she is very direct and pragmatic with her attacks. She initially moves in behind Bronson, who is taken by surprise as Hepburn lifts him up by his pant legs and sends him crashing to the ground. She then strikes Mathews in the back of the neck with a backhanded Karate chop, grabs his collar and chokes him with a modified lapel choke, and then takes his glasses off and throws them away. Lastly, when the recovered Bronson comes in with a blackjack, Hepburn uses a forearm block to deflect the incoming strike – a defensive technique also favored by Seagal:

http://i.minus.com/ioLjtokUsYiQK.gif

After blocking Bronson’s incoming strike with her forearm, Hepburn proceeds to secure his wrist, disarm him, and then strike him with his own weapon. As it happens, Seagal is also fond of disarming people and then using their own weapons against them:

http://i1028.photobucket.com/albums/y344/MichaelAnthonyHunt/Bullitt/Marked-for-Death-Ba-st1_zps3dacf751.gif

http://i.imgur.com/T1lZc74.gif

The fighting in Pat and Mike may seem decidedly unspectacular even when compared to some of the other fight scenes I’ve discussed in this post (to say nothing of the more recognizable fight scenes of the Bruce Lee and Steven Seagal variety) but it’s precisely the quotidian nature of the combat as just another element of American sports and fitness that confers upon the scene its interest in light of subsequent developments in the American reception of the martial arts.

Conclusion

It goes without saying that my remarks over the course of this post by no means exhaust what can be said about these films and their depictions of the martial arts. Far more can be said about the aesthetics of ‘G’ Men and Blood on the Sun, about the cultural implications of the scenes in Behind the Rising Sun and Tokyo Joe, and about the gendered nature of the scenes from Pat and Mike. My efforts here have been solely to introduce these films to fans and scholars of martial arts cinema and to put them on the table to be opened up to further, more detailed discussion. In the interest of providing accurate historical assessments of the American reception and mediatization of the martial arts throughout history, I believe classical Hollywood cinema has much to offer historically-inclined fans/scholars interested in the history of American media representations of the martial arts, and the films that I’ve discussed here provide merely an introduction to previously uncharted territory in the vast and complex transnational history of martial arts cinema.

Statue with Sword and Wine Gourd. Another figure in China’s long tradition of eccentric warrior-sages. Source: Vintage German Postcard.

Introduction

Our essay for today is a guest-post of sorts, reblogged from Paul Bowman’s always excellent (and aptly named) Martial Arts Studies.   He sent me a link to this post and I have been giving it a fair amount of thought since then.  Readers of Kung Fu Tea, particularly those who are interested in the history of the Chinese martial arts, will enjoy his straight forward and refreshing approach the thorny issues that arise when we talk about the origin accounts of individual styles.

I was also interested in this essay as it began with a very generous engagement with a prior post that I published dealing with the problem of lineage, social organization and artificial kinship structures in the Chinese martial arts.  After reading through Paul’s argument I began to outline a post that would address some of the issues that he brought up as well as hopefully clarifying the competing ways that we think of “lineages” in conceptual terms.  Or perhaps it would be more proper to say I would like to make an argument about how we might want to unpack this term and go forward with it in the future.  I will also explore the nature of hyper-real history as it appears in lineage myths and how it tends to actually function on a social level.

Yet after doing my initial writing on that post I decided that it was not going to do justice to the conversation that is currently unfolding.  At least not yet.  Instead I have included Paul’s full remarks below so that readers can take the time to fully absorb his argument, on its own terms, rather than relying on my own summary of it.  For that matter, those really interested in this subject will want to start by going back and reviewing David Brown’s chapter “Body-experience Lineage in Martial Arts Culture” which appears in Keith Gilbert’s edited volume Fighting: Intellectualizing Combat Sport (Common Ground, 2015).  My own contribution to this discussion actually started off as a critical response to Brown’s argument.  Sometime next week I hope to explore the differences in Brown’s, Bowman’s and my own approach to the concept of lineage as a way of exploring some of the many things that this common concept denotes.  As Paul will remind us a simple word, such as “leaf,” can serve to conceal the infinite variety of specific leaves that one might actually encounter while walking through the woods.  But in the mean time, please take a few moments to enjoy an important essay which asks us to consider a martial artist’s relationship with history.

On Knowing Your Lineage

As part of a larger reflection on transmission and lineages in martial arts, Ben Judkins recently pondered two attitudes towards lineages in martial arts circles. His own discussion covers more ground and a wide range of themes and issues around community, identity and the transmission of martial knowledge, but I want to focus on the two issues he identifies early on in the article.

The first attitude is the one he has long been most familiar with: that of knowing at least something about the long linear narrative story of one’s martial art – the tale told by its practitioners, that starts from its origins, passes through legendary masters and sequences of teachers, and culminates in one’s own instructor. The second attitude was one he encountered only recently, when talking to a kickboxing instructor. The kickboxer knew nothing about the history or lineage of what he was practicing. He knew about his own instructor, obviously, but not about anything or anyone further back.

Because of his long involvement in traditional Chinese martial arts (TCMA), where lineage-narratives seem to matter so much to so many practitioners, Judkins evidently found this insouciant attitude towards history rather surprising. He certainly did not deem it representative of his own experience of traditional stylists’ relationships with their own martial arts.

As I say, Judkins’ discussion is not entirely structured by these two attitudes, but I want to reflect on them further. For, it got me thinking. I myself have tried my hand (and foot) at a range of martial arts over the years, and Judkins’ surprise at certain styles’ or stylists’ lack of reflection on their own history made me realise that I had never really thought about the topic of martial artists’ relationships to history. However, what jarred with me, on reflection, was my sense that, contrary to Judkins’ starting position, in my experience, many practitioners of traditional styles seem to have little to no awareness of either the actual or the mythological history of the style they study.

For instance, my first Shotokan karate instructor demonstrated next to no knowledge of either the history of karate, nor of the rationales underpinning many of its conventions. For example, when, as beginners, we once asked him why we had to bow on entering and exiting the dojo, he said something about keeping the ‘room gods’ happy. Worse, some of the other ‘knowledge’ he imparted – innumerable times, in every class – went on to have much more embarrassing consequences for me. What happened was this. For many years after my first foray into karate, I believed myself able to count to ten in Japanese. It was only when, quite recently, I was greeted by a confused look on the face of a Japanese child, in the company of her father, a visiting Japanese dignitary, his wife, and several fluent Japanese scholars, that I realised that none of the sounds coming out of my mouth made any sense to Japanese speakers.

So we should be careful what we take on trust. Of course, quite how we verify the status of the ‘knowledge’ being passed on to us is another matter – a huge question, which I will only be able touch on briefly and tangentially, below. For now, some questions about lineage will be foregrounded.

Many years after taking karate classes, while I was studying taijiquan, I did encounter the attitude that Judkins describes – the one he characterises as commonplace in TCMAs – in which teachers and students learn lineage narratives and certain selected anecdotes about famous figures in ‘their’ lineage. However, that attitude seemed to me to be particularly prominent only among certain sorts of practitioner: senior (male) instructors, some other men; but very few women, maybe none; and not many of my peers. In fact I was probably the most widely read of my peers on matters of TCMA and taiji history. But none of the names of the key figures in our lineage would ever stick in my head – not because they were Chinese names (although that didn’t help), but rather because most kinds of factual information don’t stick in my head. Principles, theories, arguments normally do; names and dates don’t.

My instructor was one of the few who certainly knew the official histories and characteristics of different styles of taiji, kung fu and Xing-I, etc., especially those of the styles he practiced. But other than him and the other senior instructors in the association, no one else seemed to know or care about taiji’s history. Indeed, whenever there were conversations about any aspects of taiji other than practical, technical and aesthetic matters, my classmates would often express the most vague and nebulous ideas about ancient misty mountains and mystical magic. (To be fair, had I not encountered the work of Douglas Wile very early in my studies, I would almost certainly have remained just as orientalist as my peers (Wile 1996, 1999).)

Anthropologists have termed this kind of attitude allochronism (Fabian 1983). Allochronism refers, ultimately, to imputing a timelessness to something, and thereby refusing to acknowledge that it has and is always within a history. History, in this sense, refers to a process of change, movement, modification, development, transformation, and even of huge tectonic shifts. Accordingly, allochronistic perspective do not allow the object to have a history, in this sense of having developed and changed.

My argument, then, is that a focus on lineage often functions as a force of allochronism. That is to say, allowing a martial art to have a history can be very different to knowing its lineage. For, this sense of history implies change, even massive and radical transformation and revolution. Lineage-thinking, on the other hand, does not as easily lend itself to an understanding of ongoing transformation.

In the case of taiji, Adam Frank (Frank 2006) argues that there have been massive changes in its form and content, even in comparatively recent history. As he observes, if one reads any of the ‘Tai Chi Classics’ (the nineteenth century taiji manuals that are often claimed to be very much older than they are), it is very difficult to recognise much about taiji as we know it or think of it today. If one were to try to reconstruct a martial art based on the evidence of these manuals alone, one would be likely to come up with a very different beast to anything walking the Earth called ‘taiji’ today. As Nietzsche argued, one word, one name – let’s say, to use Nietzsche’s own example, the word ‘leaf’ – covers over and denies an infinite array of differences between this leaf and that leaf (Nietzsche 2006). The same goes for the name ‘taiji’. One name; many things; and different things at different times.

The key point is, taiji has a history. In Adam Frank’s work, he presents the current shape and characteristics of the taiji forms currently practiced around the world as palimpsests of different additions and modifications that have taken place in different periods for different socioeconomic, ideological and political reasons. To cap it off, we might add, all of these historical residues of different versions of taiji have come to be elaborated and performed according to contemporary understandings of what taiji should look like and be like – and contemporary understandings are accompanied and in large part enabled by fantasy constructions of what the past ‘was like’. Taiji has been rewritten and can and will continue to be rewritten and transformed.

This kind of proposition is very different from focusing on the lineage of a contemporary style. For, most commonly, the attribution of a lineage goes hand in hand with the idea that its current form is a direct or pure transmission from some mythic founding father. Jacques Derrida rightly connected this kind of approach with a certain kind of valuation of ‘insemination’ (Derrida 1981). In other words, those who would make a massive lineage claim that invokes, say, Zhang Sanfeng or Bodhidharma, are strongly associating their current practice with that of a great founding mystical character.

Ultimately, the value of lineage is dependent on what we think happens in a teacher-student relationship. The simplest understanding of a teacher-student relationship would propose an image of something like the teacher passing an idea from his or her brain into the student’s brain, as if passing a baton in a relay race through history. The student is the successor or inheritor, who ideally goes on to pass the baton to the next student, and so on and so forth, through time. The baton is the knowledge, which moves intact from teacher to disciple. This is what Derrida would call the ‘metaphysical’ conception of pedagogy, or teaching and learning.

The fact that in martial arts the baton to be handed down largely takes the form of embodied physical propensities might refer us back to Derrida’s metaphor of ‘insemination’ (as the seed has to be put ‘into’ the student, and cultivated), at the same time as it might equally account for the long history in martial arts literature of the theme of the secret text or training manual (Liu 2011). The secret text is of course ideally only to be read by those qualified to understand it and use it wisely (the top student), for others will only misunderstand and hence misuse and abuse it.

Ushiwara Maru training with the Tengu, who were reputed to be masters of swordsmanship. By Yoshikazu Utagawa. Source: Wikimedia.

This is one common conceptualisation of pedagogical relations. But it is deeply problematic. An awful lot more goes on in teaching than perfect transmission. Derrida proposes that what is considerably more likely than insemination is ‘dissemination’ – the scattering of incomplete parts and parcels, picked up and understood and applied, used and abused, in myriad unpredictable and partial ways. For Derrida, everyone is in a way an impostor who’s stumbled upon a text that they then go on to use in their own improper and incomplete way. Inevitably, the ‘purist’ response is to regard such processes as far from ideal, and to reassert the value of the strictest methods of uncontaminated transmission (whether conceived as insemination, or as baton passing). But the Derridean contention goes further. Derrida argues that pure unmodified transmission (repetition) is an impossible fantasy at best, and that what always happens is the introduction of alteration, however slight (reiteration).

In this sense, Derrida proposes a theory of inevitable historical change. Some might call it ‘corruption’. But, in a sense, that’s what time always makes happen anyway: variation, drift, alterity, otherness, difference.

The idea of lineage is often deployed to try to insist that such change doesn’t happen – hasn’t happened – in order to confer a status on the present by an appeal to an ancient and mythological past; one that says ‘what we are doing now remains essentially identical to the way it was done at the moment of its pure and magical birth’.

In light of this kind of institutional politics (or policing), it seems to me that the attitude of Judkins’ kickboxer to his own history, or lack of it, is in a way a kind of liberation. After all, it evokes no creation myth, no mysticism, no sense of divine right. Certainly, Judkins himself appears to find it at once surprising and refreshing. So he asks us to reflect on the range of differing possible attitudes that martial artists may have to history and/or lineage (although his own interests are expressed in terms of learning about different types of martial arts community).

To reiterate, in my experience of TCMAs, it always seemed to me that the vast majority of practitioners had only a very vague and shaky relationship with the notion that their styles had either a history or a lineage. Rather, most practitioners seemed most inclined invoke vague allochronistic ideas, about ‘Nature’, ‘Taoism’ or ‘the East’. Those who did believe that they knew their history, those inclined to talk about it, discuss it, dispute it, had one thing in common. They were all (in my experience), universally, and ‘to a man’, men.

I also recall that, at the time I was regularly turning up at classes, the fact that I didn’t (and don’t) have an exhaustive working knowledge of the key figures that made up my own stylistic genealogy would often worry me. Why can’t I remember these Chinese names? Why don’t I study this genealogy and learn it properly? Am I not a proper martial artist? Am I not a proper scholar? A proper man? And so on. Such questions would vex me. But now it gives me pause for thought, raising questions not only of knowledge but also of its perhaps gendered character.

Yet I am ill-inclined to argue that such knowledge, such information gathering, collection, enjoyment, and so on, is essentially ‘masculine’. However, I have often quietly regarded this sort of interest as somewhat ‘nerdy’. But nerdiness is not an exclusively male preserve. For instance, in the past I have attended many film studies conferences, and film studies conferences are absolutely brimming with fact-stuffed film nerds, and the conversations are incredibly nerdy, and overwhelmingly organised by the competitive display of knowledge; yet film studies is a field populated at least equally in number by women.

So, in the end, I wonder whether it is because Judkins is a scholar that he was so surprised to encounter someone without any kind of scholarly relationship to their practice. As we know, Judkins always strives to establish a rich historical, political, economic, sociological and cultural understanding of any martial art. So his approach to kickboxing – or anything else – is always likely to start from the premise that kickboxing has a history: he may not know all of the main details yet, but presumably Judkins would also anticipate that kickboxing will have a comparatively recent and very Western history, at least in its current form and under its current name. Moreover, as a certain type of scholar – one who knows very well that ‘lineage narratives’ all too easily ignore or deny real histories, and all too often work mythologically or ideologically – Judkins will be able and inclined to situate both the practice and its attitudes within a complex history (rather than a lineage).

To my mind, this kind of scholarly engagement with history (especially when combined with a critical attitude towards lineage) is both liberating and immanently political. It is certainly better overall than either simply ‘knowing’ a lineage or, conversely, simply dwelling in ignorance and indifference.

But better for whom? I would propose: for everyone.

The knowledge that martial arts do not exist and develop in isolation but in a complex ecology; that their development is not subject to a linear chronological unfolding, but is much more subject to cross-fertilization in encounters with others and otherness in a spatial present; the iconoclastic revaluation of founders and masters as figures who have been transformed into myths; and the insistence that histories and lineages proceed according to forces of dissemination rather than simple communication, and that these histories and lineages are always worked up and worked over in the present imagining of the past; all of this is better than blind faith in linear history or lineage transmission.

Consequently, rather than either a simple knowledge of history or even a critical knowledge of lineage, I would prefer more people to have a better theory of history and understanding of cultural processes and logics.

In such a purview, we are definitely going to lose more than a few heroes and heroines, saintly founders and Taoist Immortals; we are also going to lose the supposed feminist origins of some arts, some dragon slayers, some drunken monks, more than one temple, and many gallant fighters of oppression. Some really important invincible figures will turn out to have been defeated, and others may never even have fought at all. But all of this remains infinitely better than believing in myths and legends that prime people to fall into traps of ethnonationalistic jingoism, or into believing myths about cultural superiority or uniqueness, or that this or that practice is historically and ideologically clean and pure.

Truly valuable knowledge of martial arts history and culture is essentially a knowledge of cultural transactions, hybridizations, grafts, mimicry, emulation, differentiation, call and response, ideological agendas, cultural management, political struggles, war-torn borders, and military, educational, sporting, police and consumer institutions, as well as the power of media myths and cultural discourses of all orders.

So, should we learn ‘our’ history, the history of our practices, and of what we involve ourselves in? In what way should that learning be carried out?

I will give one quick case to consider, in concluding. An old friend of mine – we used to train in taekwondo together – is now devoted to krav maga. Krav maga, as many will know, is often regarded as one of the most efficient and brutal martial arts available. Doubtless many of its own practitioners will not know or care or think much about its history; or, if they do, for many that history will boil down to one or two factoids: the one about it being devised for fighting Nazis in the Jewish ghetto, and the one about it being used as the basis for the hand to hand combat training of the Israeli military.

When I once asked my friend how he felt about training in a style so closely connected with the Israeli military, he immediately sensed my implication and launched into a quick pre-emptive counter: Well, how did you feel, he asked me, about training in taekwondo? Did you feel that you were being ideologically aligned with Korean nationalism?

At the time I thought, touché, and let it go. But thinking about it now I would have to answer: yes. The syllabus in taekwondo involved learning ‘the correct interpretations’ and ‘meanings’ of the forms (kata). These ‘correct meanings’, which we had to memorize and regurgitate verbatim in lessons and at gradings, all related to massively mythologized and ultimately nationalistic ‘facts’ and other fabulations about ‘ancient Korea’. These were things that I was entirely happy to believe. Indeed, I thought I was learning some pretty cool stuff. Outside of the formal syllabus, these ‘meanings’ were accompanied by what I now view as hilarious apocrypha, such as the one about taekwondo having developed into a jumping style so that heroic unarmed Koreans could kick Samurai off their horses, and so on.

We were all happy to believe it. To that extent, we were happily being inserted into ideological discourses via the ventriloquizing of beliefs disseminated by more or less unknowing disseminators.

To what ends? Politics and ideology are rarely, if ever, endgames. All that matters is hegemony in the realm of ideas, beliefs and discourses. And rather than perpetuating creation myths and narratives that are at one and the same time uncannily childish and eerily ethnonationalist, it would seem better to insist less on knowing a list of famous names and more about the ideological character of the present discourse, of where it seems to come from, what it seems aligned with, and where it would want to transport us.

References

Derrida, J. (1981), Dissemination, London: Athlone.

Fabian, J. (1983), Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object, N.Y.: Columbia U.P.

Frank, A. (2006), Taijiquan and the Search for the Little Old Chinese Man: Understanding Identity through Martial Arts, New York and Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Liu, P. (2011), Stateless Subjects: Chinese Martial Arts Literature and Postcolonial History, Ithaca, N.Y.: East Asia Program, Cornell University.

Nietzsche, F. (2006), On the Genealogy of Morality: A Polemic, K. Ansell-Pearson, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Wile, D. (1996), Lost T’ai Chi Classics of the Late Ch’ing Dynasty, New York: State University of New York.

——— (1999), T’ai Chi’s Ancestors: The Making of an Internal Martial Art, New York: Sweet Chi Press.

oOo

If you enjoyed this post you might also want to read: On Weapons Training by Paul Bowman

oOo

Prof. Maofu Gong of Chengdu Sport University. This photo is used by permission of the owner.

Introduction

Prof. Maofu Gong is an Associate Professor of Sports Culture at Chengdu Sport University.   He is also a visiting scholar with the Cornell University East Asia Program where he is working on a project titled “The Transmission and Development of the Chinese Martial Arts in America.”  I recently had the great privilege of meeting Prof. Gong and discussing his views on martial arts studies and the state of the folk martial arts systems in Southwest China today.  Luckily he agreed to stop by and talk about his background and some of his research with the readers at at Kung Fu Tea.  I suspect that we will be hearing a lot more about his work in the future.

Kung Fu Tea (FKT): Can you tell us a little bit about yourself? Where are you currently teaching?

Prof. Maofu Gong (MFG): I was born in Pizhou of Jiangsu province. As you know, my hometown is located at the hub of a militarily important area since ancient times. It was a warlike region. And most of the people have some interest in the martial arts.

I became interested in the martial arts when I was a child. Before 2004, I lived in my hometown. In 2004, I graduated from Xuzhou Normal University (Jiangsu Normal University) from which I received a degree in Chinese martial arts higher education. Then I was accepted by the Wushu department of Shanghai Sport University. After another 2 years of study, I got my Masters degree.

In 2006, I became a professor in the Wushu department of Chengdu Sport University. I then became attracted to the folk Chinese martial arts. So I decided to begin to research them. During my PhD research from 2008 to 2011, (completed at Beijing Sport University) I investigated the Qingcheng style. After that, I published my book “Inheritance, Development and Communication: Chinese Folk martial arts”.

KFT: How did you first become involved in the martial arts? And how did you later become involved in their academic study?

MFG: As you know, there was a Wushu Fever (from 1982 to the early of 1990s) in China when I was a child. At that time I saw some martial arts films, such as “Shaolin Temple”. I was deeply impressed by these martial arts performances. When I learned that there was a master teaching the martial arts (specifically Hongquan-one of the Changquan styles- Mantis Boxing, broadsword, spear, stick and nine section whip) in a village near my home, I went to ask him whether he could teach me. To my surprise, he agreed to do just that. I was so lucky!

However, I was only able to practice certain basic skills of Changquan and stick on some days because of my parents’ wish that I continue to pay my attention on my academic study. Although I followed my parents’ suggestion, I was still able to see my master on weekends when I had free time. I also tried to find some martial arts book for self-study. From that time on I have been involved with the martial arts.
As for my academic study of martial arts, that dates back to my university years. As an undergraduate I was able to major in martial arts. Later, I decided to pursue additional studies after obtaining the bachelor’s degree. Again I had to decide what I should study. I found that the martial arts were still my favorite subject. As a result, I was accepted by the Wushu department of Shanghai Sport University, and I started my academic martial arts career.

KFT: What Wushu disciplines or folk styles is your background in? What do you currently practice?

MFG: Many years ago I practiced some mantis boxing, nine section whip, changquan, stick, spear, sword, broadsword, taiji, and so on. More recently I am interested in taiji and baji quan.

Prof. Maofu Gong. Source: used by permission of the owner.

KFT: Can you tell us a little bit about the martial arts environment in Chengdu? What sorts of styles are most popular? What are the strengths or weaknesses of the martial arts in that area of China?

MFG: The martial arts environment in Chengdu is very strong. There have been many famous martial artists in Chengdu as it is the cultural, political, economic and educational center of Sichuan province. For example, Ma Zhenjiang, Liu Chongjun, Mabao, Houtan, Peng Yuanzhi, Zheng Huaixian, Zhu Guozhen, Zhang Yingzhen, Wang Shutian, Li Yaxuan, Lan Suzhen, Xiao Yingpeng, Lin Mogen, Zhong Fanghan and Fu Siqi all practiced here. There are also a number of popular styles (Menpai/Liupai) in the region, such as Huanglin pai, Sengmen, Zhaomen, Yang style Taiji, Xingyi, Bagua, Emei quan, etc.
Many of the Chinese martial arts have been practiced in Chengdu, but, undoubtedly, the Emei martial arts are the most prevalent and define the area’s strength.

KFT: Let’s talk a little bit about your academic research. What sort of field work have you been doing in Chengdu?

MFG: For the last six years I have mainly focused on the Qingcheng martial arts. I did my field work in Chengdu, Du Jiangyan and Luzhou. I then published my book titled “Inheritance, Development and Communication: Chinese Folk martial arts” (中国民间武术生存现状与传播方式研究) in 2012.

KFT: So what brought you to the USA?

MFG: As you know, the Chinese martial arts have been transmitted to all of the world, especially the USA, as part of the process of globalization. So, I wanted to see the state of the development of Chinese martial arts in America.

KFT: What sorts of research projects are you working on here?

MFG: My current project is: “The Transition and Development of Chinese Martial Arts in the US.”

KFT: Can you tell us a bit more about your current book project?

MFG: I am interested in the transmission and development of Sichuan folk martial arts culture. I am trying to conduct an interdisciplinary project looking at the history, culture anthropology, sociology and culture communication of these styles. Maybe, I will publish the book next year.

In that book I will show the cultural change of Sichuan folk martial arts, discuss the expression of the subjectivity of folk martial arts, the intervention of the state political power and the role of the folk martial arts culture. And I will try to pay more attention on the masters’ daily life.

Prof. Maofu Gong. Source: Used by permission of the owner.

KFT: What is your impression of the current state of martial arts studies as an academic project in China?

MFG: Martial arts study has a long history in China. And it involves many disciplines including history, philosophy, communication, aesthetics, cultural studies, sports training, biochemistry and so on. The current question for martial arts studies in China is how to break the stereotypes. I think that martial arts studies in China should increase its emphasis on the folk styles and interdisciplinary approaches.

KFT: What sorts of trends are we currently seeing in the Chinese language literature on the martial arts? Any trends that stands out as particularly important?

MFG: In recent years more and more Chinese scholars focus on the style (menpai/liupai), individual, group and village of the Chinese martial arts. They try to get a breakthrough by introducing some methods of cultural anthropology and oral history. I think the “逝去的武林：1934年的求武纪事”（Shi Qu De Wu Lin：1934 Nian De Qiu Wu Ji Shi）is one of the good achievements in this respect. From the dictation of Zhongxuan Li who was a master of Xingyiquan, the book described many little-known Xingyiquan’s facts having historical value for reader. Besides that, I think my book “中国民间武术生存现状与传播方式研究” (Inheritance, Development and Communication: Chinese Folk martial arts) should be one of the examples of the trend. On the basis of a considerable amount of fieldworks, in-depth interview and participant observations, I described the historical development and the contemporary living status of the Qingcheng Wushu. You can see the interaction of the master, media and the local government in the folk martial arts, the contradiction among the inheritors, the opinion coming from social elites and the cultural constructions of the Qingcheng inheritors in the book.

KFT: Who are some Chinese scholars of martial arts that, in your opinion, western researchers should be paying attention to? What sorts of work have they done recently?

MFG: In my opinion, many Chinese scholars have accomplished much in martial arts studies, including Ma Mingda, Qiu Pixiang, Dai Guobin, Cheng Dali etc. Their research mainly focuses on the history and cultural studies of the Chinese martial arts. Ma Mingda, a historian and a famous master of the Tongbeiquan, has published many papers and books on Wushu history. The book, “说剑丛稿” （Shuo Jian Cong Gao, of Professor Ma has an important value for the Wushu history.

KFT: Tell us a little bit about the current state of Wushu in China. I know there has been a big debate about the inclusion of Wushu in the Olympic Games. In your view, would that ultimately be good for Wushu? What does it need to do to continue to progress?

MFG: It’s a big question. As far as I can tell, in China the administrative institutions are still paying more attention on the competitive aspects of Wushu. Yet increasingly some people have realized that the Chinese martial arts are also a kind of cultural resource. And many ordinary people still love the Chinese martial arts.

I don’t think that the emphasis on Olympic competition is good for Wushu. Going down that road the Chinese martial arts will lose many things. I think that trying to make more people love and practice Wushu is really the most important thing.

KFT: Occasionally we see articles or blog posts claiming that the traditional martial arts are dying in China. Do you think this is the case? What sorts of challenges are the folk styles facing at this moment in time? What sort of hope do you see for the future?

MFG: I don’t think so. If you visit the Chinese folk societies, you will find that many martial artists practice the traditional styles. They love it. The most challenging question for the folk martial arts is how to adapt. As you know, people are very busy; they have to earn a living, and have to do a job. They need the time and the funding to develop the martial arts inherited from their master. Nevertheless, I think that the folk martial artists will keep the skills and cultural core of the Chinese martial arts alive.

KFT: The last time we talked you mentioned your interest in Bruce Lee. In your view, what is his continued significance for students of Chinese martial studies?

MFG: In my opinion, the Bruce Lee phenomenon suggests important puzzles for the Chinese martial arts and martial arts studies. It illustrates how the Chinese martial arts have melded with the western culture, the role of ordinary people in transmitting the martial arts to abroad and why did the western people accept Chinese martial culture.

KFT: So what sorts of project should we expect to see you working on in the future?

MFG: In the next year, I will publish my second book about the Chinese folk martial arts. After that I will mainly focus on the Chinese martial arts as culture capital and a type of the intercultural communication.

KFT: Thanks so much for stopping by Kung Fu Tea! We look forward to hearing much more about your work in the future.  You will have to keep us updated on your progress.

Prof. Maofu Gong. Source: Used by permission of the owner.

oOo

If you enjoyed this interview you might also want to read: Dr. Daniel Amos Discusses Marginality, Martial Arts Studies and the Modern Development of Southern Chinese Kung Fu

oOo

A detailed view of one of the 19th century murals at the Shaolin Temple in Henan. Original published source unknown.

Religion, Violence and the Asian Martial Arts
Tel Aviv University – Department of East Asian Studies Conference, November 23, 2015.

Introduction

Today’s post will introduce readers to some of the recent developments in the global field of Martial Arts Studies. This comes in the form of a conference report, submitted by Abi Moriya, on a recent gathering held at Tel Aviv University titled “Religion, Violence and the Asian Martial Arts” on November 23rd of 2015. Sponsored by the Department of East Asian Studies this one day conference featured some very well-known writers who will already be familiar to readers of Kung Fu Tea, as well as the work of a number of younger, up and coming, scholars.

The following report focuses most if its attention on the keynote addresses. While all of the topics are important I suspect that many readers will be most interested in the results of Prof. Zhou Weiliang’s research into the history and possible whereabouts of the “Southern Shaolin Temple.” Still, after reading through the conference program I admit that I am looking forward to seeing a number of these papers in print.

Increasingly we are seeing more gatherings dedicated to Martial Arts Studies and related topics around the globe. If you find yourself in attendance at one of these conferences please consider submitting a report of your own so that other readers can keep up with this ever evolving conversation.

Lastly, there is a news item that needs to be discussed before going on. The schedule has just been published for the upcoming conference titled “Gender Issues in Theory and Practice.” This event, sponsored by the Martial Arts Studies Research Network, will be held at the University of Brighton on February 5th, 2016. Attendance is free, but they need you to register anyway. Click here to see the list of papers and to find the registration details. Hopefully we will be able to get some reports from this event as well!

Conference Report: Religion, Violence and the Asian Martial Arts

The topic of this conference is timeless, yet it is also very relevant to the present situation in Europe and the Middle East. What is a photograph of a terrorist from the Islamic State, who decapitated one of his victims, doing in a lecture about Guan Yu? Israel, like other countries, is facing at this moment a wave of violence. Recently much of this has taken the form of knife and blade attacks. If we try to analyze the situation we will soon face its religious and ideological components. But still, trying to successfully weave together the numerous threads of the headlines is not an easy task.

As with most academic lectures, the chosen language of presentations at this conference was English. The exception was Prof. Zhou Weiliang who spoke in Chinese. I believe that most of the participants in this event had some familiarity with Asian culture. Nevertheless, translating ideas that are deeply rooted in one culture to another language is not that easy.

We try to describe our region, to formulate its rules and our thoughts through imperfect language. This is also a common challenge in the martial arts. Many times we describe in words feelings and movements only to discover the gap between words and deeds.

Popular Chinese terms, which may be understood by every educated Chinese person, have found their way to the western world through a different prism, sometimes trying to remain loyal to older translations. That reminds me of a saying of Bruce Kumar Frantzis: “When Taiji Quan terms were first translated to English there wasn’t a good Taiji Quan teacher who knew English well and vice versa…”

The first session of the conference had three distinguished guests, all well known to the CMA community, who gave short (20 minutes) lectures:

Professor Barend ter Haar – Oxford University
Professor Meir Shahar – Tel Aviv University
Professor Zhou Weiliang 周伟良 – Zhengzhou University

Since I was asked to give a Xingyi Quan demonstration at the opening of the conference, I had plenty of time to watch the whole event from the audience’s point of view.

A display of strength using a Wukedao, or heavy exam knife. Source: http://steelandcotton.tumblr.com/post/79458102847/i-dont-oppose-playing-ball-in-the-least-but-i#notes

Lecture 1: Prof. Barend ter Haar: “Guan Yu: Violent and Moral Deity.”

As far as I know, China never had a single organized pantheon of gods, so there is no universal “God of War” who is common to all the Chinese, like Mars in ancient Roman religion and myth, or Ares in ancient Greece. Guan Yu 關羽is a god of war who is associated with Confucianism while Zhen Wu is linked to the Daoist tradition, etc.

In his lecture, professor ter Haar discussed briefly Guan Yu’s life. He claimed that he was an “unsuccessful historical figure” who was eventually decapitated. So, how did such a figure became worshiped and highly popular in Chinese culture?

According to ter Haar he was deified because he came to be associated with an admired quality: loyalty, and more specifically his loyalty to Cao Cao曹操; a warlord and the penultimate Chancellor of the Eastern Han who rose to great power in the final years of the dynasty. Ter Haar then made a great leap to the present, showing a decapitation by the Islamic State, and declaring that “This is how Guan Yu’s death would look today.” The audience was asked to turn their heads in case the modern version was too much to watch…

The second section of the lecture focused on Guan Yu’s figure in different temples and its evolving iconography: including his red face, unique beard and iconic weapon. My interest in this part did not last long as the Guan Dao 關刀 (yanyuedao 偃月刀) was not the focus of the discussion.

The third part of the lecture described a street performance by a local theatre company in Taiwan, which included Guan Yu’s figure. Ter Haar also discussed Daoist practices which are predominant in Guan Yu worship. Many temples dedicated to Guan Yu, including the Emperor Guan Temple in Xiezhou County, show heavy Daoist influence. Every year, on the 24th day of the sixth month on the lunar calendar (legendary birthday of Guan), a street parade in the honor of Guan Yu was held.

I was expecting that all these disparate strands of information would somehow be woven together into a single argument, but alas…. During a conversation with a doctoral student of the Department of East Asian Studies, I learned that this is how Professor ter Haar prefers to “slice the apple,” by chopping it into many sections.

Lecture 2: Prof. Meir Shahar: “Martial Gods and Divine Armies.”

My acquaintance with Professor Shahar goes many years back. He reviewed my own book, and kindly invited me to his CMA history course at the TLV University as a guest lecturer and for demonstrations.

Professor Shahar is currently focusing on the history of Chinese gods, especially Nezha. He has written a book awaiting publication titled the “Oedipal God: The Chinese Nezha and his Indian Origins.”

Many books have been written about symbolism in Chinese culture (1), but it is always a pleasure to discover some new facts. In his lecture, Shahar described divined armies who have a protective roll in Chinese culture and are worshiped by the common people. Most of the pictures he showed were taken during his trips to Taiwan.

One of the most interesting subjects in the lecture was the symbolism of different objects and their meaning. Five bamboo sticks in the grounds which surround the village represent these same divine armies. At times the direction they face correlates to the five elements.

The next picture was of a priest who carried a special prayer. Afterwards the townspeople marched around the village and entered into a collective trance. This allowed them to stab, puncture, and hit themselves in various ways. At that point I was amazed to see that along the parade route what Shahar described as “Mini Golf Carts.” Each of these carts contained various weapons, needles, whips, etc., which were selected and used by the people in trance.

The last part of the lecture was an explanation of the temple’s structure. Under the table at the front there is a statue of a tiger, named simply the “Black Tiger.” This is symbolic of the lower divine god. The statue on top of the table is usually of a martial god, such as the Diamond God (Jingangshou pusa 金剛手菩薩), which represent the middle divine god.

An image from the southern Chinese martial arts manuscript collection known in Japan and Okinawa as the Bubishi.

Lecture 3: Professor Zhou Weiliang “The Heaven and Earth Society and the Southern Shaolin Monastery”; Tiandihui Yu Nan Shaolin Si天地會與南少林寺.

Perhaps because my written Chinese is not fluent, I was not exposed to much of Professor Zhou’s writing prior to the conference. Some of his publications (2) were mentioned in Meir Shahar’s book (3), others in Stanley Henning’s article , who wrote:

“Professor Zhou left no stone unturned in his efforts, and has covered all aspects of the Chinese martial arts – historical, technical, and socio-cultural – in amazing detail. His writings, of which I have just mentioned a few, are essential reading for gaining an understanding of the full scope of activity that makes up the term “traditional Chinese martial arts.” Professor Zhou is, without question, one of China’s top martial studies scholars.”(4)

I had the opportunity to have lunch with Prof. Zhou and found him to be “not very Chinese.” Mr. Zhou is a great interlocutor, expressive and straight forward. Not the “beating around the bush” type of guy. I felt very comfortable talking with him. I found that he practices different martial arts, and that he had even made an appointment with one of the university’s doctoral students to practice Tan Tui 彈腿.

In his paper he focused on the question: “Is there a southern Shaolin monastery?”

The first part of the lecture described rebellious societies in Fujian province, especially the Heaven and Earth Society (Tiandihui a.k.a Hongmen 洪門) and their connections to the martial arts, since some of the founders came from that province. The Hongmen grouping is today more or less synonymous with the whole Tiandihui concept, although the title “Hongmen” is also claimed by some criminal groups.

The second part of his paper turned to a survey of three different monasteries in Fujian. All of these claim to have direct roots going back to the shaolin monastery in Henan, and call themselves the “Southern Shaolin Monastery.” Professor Zhou showed pictures and gave a short description of the three. His conclusion was sharp and clear: Even though there were some archeological discoveries at one of the monasteries, none of them is a “real Shaolin.”

At the conclusion of his lecture I asked him about the Fujian White Crane systems practiced in Taiwan. Specifically, does the fact that some of these groups use Buddhist terminology indicate any connection to the Shaolin Monastery? Professor Zhou’s replied that there is no such connection and, worse yet, some styles may use false names in order to claim a superior link to Shaolin.

I will speak more briefly about the second session of the conference. I guess that the way to become a professor is to spend endless hours standing in front of an audience. That was very clear in contrast to the first session starting with things like the flow of speech and ending with the body language and apparent inability to sit comfortably at the lecturers table. My heart and empathy goes out to the doctoral students of the second session, who all gave their best effort. Yet all in all, papers read directly from the page are not very interesting to me.

The material itself, such as a written document by A’de 阿德, which was provided to Professor Shahar, and from him to a doctoral student, has true value and deserves its own discussion. Professor Zhou saved the day in this case by noting that this document should not actually read fluently, but is instead a poetic verse which describes different styles, weapons and deities of the Shaolin temple.

To conclude this short review, I am sure that this conference has been another brick in the construction of the edifice of Martial Arts Studies both in Israel and abroad. This field, populated by both academic and independent researchers, is infinite, so it is no wonder that some prefer to focus their research on specific subjects. My personal hope is this experience and knowledge will influence my own point of view in my work at the School for Coaches and Instructors, Wingate Institute, where our team trains and educate the future generations of martial arts teachers.

oOo

About the Author: Abi Moriya is a professional teacher and researcher whose involvement in the CMA and FMA spans more than three decades. In addition, Abi Moriya is a teacher of Qigong, Shiatsu and TCM, and a senior member of the Martial Arts faculty at the Nat Holman School for Coaches and Instructors, Wingate Institute, Israel.

Published Works:
Lightened Tiger, Darkened Dragon: Chinese Martial Arts; A Cultural View. TLV: Madaf Publication, 2015 (Hebrew).
Krav Maga: Teaching With Doubt! Co-author with Dr. Guy Mor. TLV: Self publication, 2015 (English).

oOo

Notes

1) Williams, C.A.S. Chinese Symbolism and Art Motifs: A Comprehensive Handbook on Symbolism in Chinese Art through the Ages. NY: Dover |Publications, 1976.

2) Zhou Weiliang. “Ming-Qing shiqi Shaolin wushu de lishi liubian” (The historical evolution of the Shaolin martial arts during the Ming-Qing period). In Shaolin gongfu wenji (q.v.)
Zhou Weiliang. Zhongguo wushu shi中国武术史 (History of Chinese Martial Arts). Beijing: Gaodeng jiaoyu Chubanshe, 2003.

3) Shahar, Meir. The Shaolin Monastery: History, Religion, and the Chinese Martial Arts. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2008.

4) Henning, Stanley E. “Professor Zhou weiliang: Leaving No Stone Unturned. In China’s New Wave of Martial Studies Scholars”. Journal of Asian Martial Arts, Vol. 15 No. 2, 2006, pp.15-18.

Chin Woo crouching tiger quarterstaff stance, Singapore, 2007

Introduction
It is my distinct pleasure to introduce the first entry in a new series of guest posts titled “Doing Research.”  Compared to other fields of scholarly inquiry, Martial Arts Studies has a distinctly democratic flavor.  This stems from a number of sources.  Mostly obviously, the martial arts are widely practiced in both the East and West in the current era.  Many individuals were introduced to these systems while students at a college or university and are interested in seeing a more intellectually rigorous (or even academic) treatment of this phenomenon.  And certain practitioners want to go beyond reading studies produced by other writers and undertake research based on their own time in the training hall.   The emphasis on ethnographic description, oral and local history, as well as the methodological focus on community based collaborative research within Martial Arts Studies (itself a radically interdisciplinary area), makes participation in such efforts both relatively accessible and highly valuable.

There is also another class of reader who might find themselves embarking on their first ethnographic research project.  With the growing popularity of this field of study we are increasingly seeing classes in Martial Arts Studies offered at the undergraduate and graduate level.  Some of these courses include a “research component” in which students are encouraged to go out and join a class or school in the local martial arts community and then to reflect on their experience.

What ever their source, a new generation of novice researchers is likely looking at the challenges that lay ahead and asking themselves, what comes next?  To help smooth these first forays into the world of ethnography, a number of researchers (most of whom have taught these sorts of classes in the past or have conducted field research) have agreed to contribute to a series of short posts on this topic.  Each of these will attempt to pass on a single piece of advice, insight, research strategy or concept that the author wishes that they might have had when first setting out to begin their fieldwork.  Most of these posts will be released in the first few months of 2016, but after some discussion it was decided to launch this series over the holiday break.

D. S. Farrer has generously offered to open this series with a post titled “Fieldwork Methods in Martial Arts Studies.”  Farrer is an anthropologist and longtime student of the martial arts.  He has studied a number of systems and his contributions to Martial Arts Studies have been discussed on this blog both here and here.  For an added sense of depth readers are strongly encouraged to take a look at Farrer’s recent article in the Fall 2015 issue of Martial Arts Studies in which he further expands upon his anthropological approach to researching the traditional Asian fighting systems.

His essay below serves as an introduction to the upcoming series and advances a few of the considerations that novice researchers will need to take into account as they begin to plan their field work.  The list of references at the end of this post is well worth the price of admission and will be especially valuable for anyone wondering about the current state of the discussion or wanting more guidance in planning their own project.  We hope that this occasional series will give students of all backgrounds something to consider as they tackle the unique challenges inherent in doing field research on the martial arts and combat sports.

Fieldwork Methods in Martial Arts Studies

Since 2001 I have researched martial arts in Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Guam, Yap, China and Hong Kong (Farrer 2015). At the outset of my career, the indomitable prison anthropologist, Ellis Finkelstein (1993), said: “You don’t become an anthropologist by reading books, someone has to take you under their wing and show you the ropes.” To set up my research project on silat, we reviewed the essentials of anthropological research methods or ‘ethnographic fieldwork,’ including hypothesis (question) formation, the literature review, participant observation, language acquisition, gaining access, sampling, key informants, covert and overt approaches, subjectivity and objectivity, reflexivity, theory and practice, reliability and validity, induction and deduction, emic and etic concepts, informed consent, writing fieldnotes, description and explanation, triangulation, depth interviews, dangers, ethical concerns and publication (Farrer 2009). To cover ethnographic fieldwork requirements is a tall order for a short blog, so the novice researcher should seek a guide, just as they would seek out an expert to learn a martial art. That said, much of what Dr. Finkelstein relayed may be found in Michael Agar’s (1996) The Professional Stranger (see also Robben and Sluka 2006). Below I address the essential attributes of fieldwork methods, and the “who, what, why, when, where, and how” of participant observation.

Great insights may be gleaned from observing different cultural ways to solve common human problems. Therefore anthropologists recommended extended periods abroad learning about the ‘other’ to better understand the ‘self’ and their own societies (Agar 1996; Pelto 1970). Classical fieldworkers ideally spent eighteen months fully ‘immersed,’ learning the language and the rules associated with another culture and environment (Malinowski 1948). Nowadays, while the emphasis remains on “being there” anthropological fieldwork may involve travel to multiple locations, be of short or long duration, and be conducted at home and online (Davis and Konner 2011). The supposed distance between self and other, ‘us’ and ‘them,’ similarities and differences, may be regarded as an ‘ontological’ device, to contrast the lifeways, worldview, existence (‘being’) of self and other, where social anthropology is the study of social relations (how people relate to one another and their environment). ‘Epistemology,’ how to know, via experience, exposure, then, is intimately tied to ontology. Ontological assumptions concerning the subject, for example, whether societies are fundamentally moulded by economic structures or religious actions, condition epistemology—how to know—with scientific, positivist/realist/Marxist or phenomenological/interpretivist theoretical perspectives. Predominantly a sociological concern, ‘methodology’ is the study of methods; whereas ‘research methods’ are the actual tools employed— mostly, for anthropology this means ‘participant observation’ and ‘depth interviews.’ Training in methodology affects the ultimate selection of research method, using, for example, an experiment to test a hypothesis and/or depth interviews to generate a narrative account.

‘Performance ethnography’ is where the researcher joins in and learns a martial art from the ground up as a basis for writing and research (Farrer 2015; Zarrilli 1998). Similarly, Wacquant’s (2004) ‘carnal sociology’ of boxing is based in participant observation (and the occasional beating). Martial arts fieldwork may involve a higher degree of participation as compared to observation in regular anthropology. The ratio of participation to observation is something the fieldworker needs to periodically address. Too much participation may obscure observation making it difficult to write detailed in situ notes and record verbatim conversation. Observation without participation may leave the fieldworker with scant appreciation for what is really going on. Basically the researcher joins in with day-to-day activity and keeps an on-going written record or ‘fieldnotes.’ Notes may run into hundreds of pages. Good notes are written in first person, recording local concepts, using the active voice to “show” rather than “tell” (Emerson et al: 1995). Some ethnographers record as much data as possible in exacting detail to provide a snapshot of a culture at a particular time; others employ fieldnotes as an inspirational source of material from which to write. While ‘ethnography’ and ‘anthropological methods’ are often used interchangeably, more precisely ‘ethnography’ is descriptive recording, whereas anthropology engages social activity to formulate social theory (Ingold 2014). Ethnography seeks to describe (who, what, when, where). Social anthropology ventures to describe and explain, where explanation asks ‘how’ and/or ‘why,’ to relate the individual to the society, the particular to the general (induction) and/or the general to the particular (deduction). Explanation links theory to practice, testing a hypothesis, or tracing out lines of interconnections (multiplicities).

Participant observation provides a ‘primary’ source of data, where the information gathered is collected first-hand by the researcher, supplemented by ‘secondary sources,’ such as knowledge gained from existing literature. Participant observation has been considered too ‘subjective’ for the purposes of ‘objective’ or ‘positivist’ data collection in the social sciences, where ‘subjective’ choices, values, and preferences supposedly tarnished research findings, to ‘confound variables,’ obscure relations of cause and effect, and conjure up spurious correlations (Pelto 1970). The problem of objectivity and subjectivity in fieldwork was broached by notion of ‘reflexivity,’ where the researcher recognises, takes into account, and incorporates changes in the interlocutors and researcher as part of the research design (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992).

Primary data helps to ensure ‘validity’ (what is supposed to be measured is actually being measured), if not always ‘reliability’ (where another researcher may repeat the same measurement), because non-digital ethnographic studies were by nature bound in time and space to the presence of the researcher with the ‘informants.’ Nowadays ‘informants’ are called ‘interlocutors’ or ‘correspondents,’ but should never be referred to as ‘respondents’ (a term reserved for those ticking boxes on surveys). Gaining access to key informants and a (martial arts) group may be achieved by serendipity, introduction, or through a literature review followed by a formal request. A ‘key informant’ may provide an endless stream of valuable information (Whyte [1943] 1993); alternatively they may act as disruptive gatekeepers barring access to vital information (Metcalf 2002). Crosschecking findings with multiple informants is important to ensure reliability and validity (Babbie 2016). ‘Triangulation’ is further achieved by applying other methods such as depth interviews, extended conversations with occasional open-ended rather than closed-ended (yes/no) questions.

An adequate if not ‘representative sample’ may be collected through ‘snowball sampling,’ where one informant introduces another and so on. However, it may be difficult, dangerous, and even unethical to study two groups simultaneously, to test a hypothesis in a ‘field experiment,’ where one is the ‘control group’ and the other the ‘experimental group’ (Festinger et al 1964). ‘Field experiments’ occur in social psychology: anthropology may regard such procedures as simply generating other forms of narrative (Clifford and Marcus 1986). Nevertheless, comparisons are possible via a series of case studies either carried out longitudinally (over extended periods of time) or simultaneously by multiple teams of researchers. Distancing themselves from a colonial past, some anthropologists advocate ‘community based’ ‘collaborative research,’ where the community helps to investigate itself, and maintains control over the research outcomes (Barbash and Taylor 1997). Community participation is achieved by asking interlocutors to advise at every stage of the research process, from the formulation of the project right down to reading the final draft of the report to check for inaccuracies and produce a rounded, detailed, sincere account. Large-scale community participation is achievable given widespread contemporary access to digital and visual technologies in social media environments, spurring the development of visual anthropology and digital ethnography (Pink et al 2015).

Community based collaborative research, Ah Kin and Ah Feng, Hong Kong, 2012.

To some extent anthropologists differentiate internal, ‘emic’ attributions, concepts employed by the informants, from external, ‘etic’ theoretical concepts and constructs developed outside the field site (Pelto 1970). Dividing emic from etic may not be realistic where the researcher is ‘interviewing up,’ researching high social status people with advanced degrees, or conducting ‘dialogical’ research in an on-going conversation, where the anthropologist shares knowledge and expertise concerning problems at hand (Fabian 2014).

Signed permission slips should be obtained from informants prior to carrying out research, where a brief explanation or ‘cover story’ is provided to attain ‘informed consent.’ Informed consent and community participation necessitates an open, ‘overt’ approach to the research, rather than a ‘covert’ or secret investigation, to avoid ethical dilemmas and gain richer data (Alfred 1976). Publishers often require informed consent forms prior to publication, covering participant observation and interviews, and may insist on the consent of those filmed or photographed (unless the film or photograph is ‘public domain’), the photographer/filmmaker, and the owner of the photograph/footage. Names presented in ‘research outcomes’ (articles, chapters, books, blogs) may be their actual names, or pseudonyms, depending on the sensitivity of the data, whether obscuring the names is realistic, and taking into account the wishes of the interlocutors.

As a general ethical precept the researcher must “do no harm,” and protect the interlocutor’s identity and right to privacy, because the publication and dissemination of the research may result in negative unanticipated consequences. Correspondingly, the martial arts researcher may be a “vulnerable observer” subjected to routine violence as part of their fieldwork (Behar 2014). Martial arts are commonly entangled with shamanic, mystical, and magical practices that may involve murderous assault sorcery (Farrer 2014; Whitehead and Finnström 2013). Historically many anthropologists were thrown into the deep end to conduct fieldwork, but given the expense and time-consuming nature of this enterprise decent preparation is essential.

Pilot research on Yap, Micronesia, 2013.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dr. Douglas Farrer is Head of Anthropology at the University of Guam. His research interests include martial arts, the anthropology of performance, visual anthropology, the anthropology of the ocean, digital anthropology, and the sociology of religion. On Guam he is researching Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

REFERENCES

Agar, Michael H. 1996. The Professional Stranger: An Informal Introduction to Ethnography. 2nd ed. San Diego: Academic Press.

Alfred, Randall H. 1976. ‘The Church of Satan.’ Pp. 180–222 in The New Religious Consciousness, eds. Charles Glock and Robert Bellah. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Babbie, Earl R. 2016. The Practice of Social Research. 14th ed. Boston, MA: Cengage Learning.

Barbash, Ilisa, and Lucien Taylor. 1997. Cross-Cultural Filmmaking: A Handbook for Making Documentary and Ethnographic Films and Videos. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Bourdieu, P. and Loïc J. D. Wacquant. 1992. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Clifford, James and George E. Marcus. 1986. Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Davis, Sarah H. and Melvin Konner, eds. 2011. Being There: Learning to Live Cross-Culturally. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Emerson Robert M., Rachel I. Fretz, and Linda L. Shaw. 1995. Writing Ethnographic Fieldnotes. London: The University of Chicago Press.

Fabian, Johannes. 2014. Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object. New York: Columbia University Press.

Farrer, D. S. 2009. Shadows of the Prophet: Martial Arts & Sufi Mysticism. Muslims in Global Societies Series. Dordrecht: Springer.

Farrer, D. S. ed. 2014. ‘War Magic & Warrior Religion: Sorcery, Cognition & Embodiment.’ Social Analysis: the International Journal of Social & Cultural Practice, 58(1).

Farrer, D. S. 2015. ‘Efficacy and Entertainment in Martial Arts Studies: Anthropological Perspectives.’ Journal of Martial Arts Studies, 1: 34-45.

Festinger, Leon, Henry W. Riecken, and Stanley Schachter. 1964. When Prophecy Fails: a Social and Psychological Study of a Modern Group that Predicted the Destruction of the World. New York: Harper & Row.

Finkelstein, Ellis. 1993. Prison Culture: An Inside View. Aldershot, Brookfield: Avebury.

Ingold, Tim. 2014. ‘That’s Enough About Ethnography!’ HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory, 4(1): 383–395.

Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1948. Magic, Science and Religion, and Other Essays. New York: Doubleday.

Metcalf, Peter. 2002. They Lie, We Lie: Getting on with Anthropology. London: Routledge.

Pelto, P. 1970. Anthropological Research: The Structure of Inquiry. N.p.: The University of Connecticut.

Pink, Sarah, Heather Horst, John Postill, Larissa Hjorth, Tania Lewis, and Jo Tacchi. 2015. Digital Ethnography: Principles and Practice. Los Angeles: Sage.

Robben, Antonius C. G. M. and Jeffrey A. Sluka eds. 2006. Ethnographic Fieldwork: An Anthropological Reader. Malden, MA: Blackwell.

Wacquant, Loïc. 2004. Body and Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer. Oxford. Oxford University Press.

Whitehead, Neil L. and Sverker Finnström. 2013. Virtual War and Magical Death: Technologies and Imaginaries for Terror and Killing. Durham: Duke University Press.

Whyte, William Foote. [1943] 1993. Street Corner Society: The Social Structure of an Italian Slum. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Zarrilli, Phillip B. 1998. When the Body Becomes All Eyes: Paradigms, Discourses and Practices of Power in Kalarippayattu, a South Indian Martial Art. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

***It is my very great pleasure to present the following guest post by Maryam Aziz.  A doctoral student at the University of Michigan, I first had the opportunity to meet her at the 2015 Martial Arts Studies conference at the University of Cardiff where she was presenting some of her research.  Her topic is an important one that speaks to multiple conversations in history, cultural studies, sociology and anthropology.  As I have stated in other places, the martial arts studies literature needs more focused studies tracing developments within single communities, arts or even geographic locations. These provide us with both the data necessary to assess our theories as well as the empirical puzzles that will drive the development and newer and better one.  I look forward to hearing much more from her in the future.***

Our Fist is Black: Martial Arts, Black Arts, and Black Power in the 1960s and 1970s Urban North and West

Introduction

During the five years that I have been researching the history of African American martial atrial arts, I have noticed a curious academic pattern that appears in the scant scholarship on the topic. Generally present in Afro-Asian studies texts produced between 2001 and 2008, megastar Bruce Lee’s popularity is repeatedly used as the focal point for exploring the rise of martial arts practice in black communities, resulting in claims that African Americans’ fascination with martial arts began with the 1970s kung fu film craze (Cha-Jua 199). I argue such claims are ahistorical because the rise of the practice of East Asian martial arts in black communities can actually be traced to the post-WWII and Black Power Eras. Focusing on the latter in this paper, I use martial arts instructors in the urban West and North cities of Los Angeles and Newark to contend that martial arts schools served as critical sites for Black artistic production, resistance, and empowerment. By institutionalizing martial art spaces in Black urban geographies, instructors like Shaha Mfundishi Maasi provided Black Arts teachings that directly transformed community members’ lives. The oral histories and primary documents utilized here indicate that these instructors taught students self-defense skills as well as Black cultural knowledge. Thus, rather than continuing to focus on Lee, I propose we view Black participation in the martial arts through the lens of the Black Arts and Black Power Movements, thereby productively rethinking what counts as cultural production and how said production functions in social movements. Because the movements were distinct yet inseparable reflections of one another, Black martial arts instructors moved fluidly between both, and as their radical consciousnesses grew, they matched their philosophies and teachings to Black Power and Black Arts’ goals and ideologies.

Historical Framings

By the time Bruce Lee’s series Green Hornet hit television screens in 1966, martial arts were already being taught in black communities. In fact, if you drove a half-hour from the 20th Century Fox studios were the series was filmed in Los Angeles, you would have found yourself at a park near Manchester Avenue. There you would have spotted Grandmaster Steve Muhammad (then Steve Sanders), demonstrating a front kick for the youth who participated in his free karate classes. Also in the same year across the country in Newark, New Jersey, Shaha Mfundishi Maasi (born William Nichols), could be found teaching in his school the Hakeem Martial Arts Association. Both instructors cite that the period, a moment of “rising or broadening of consciousness,” strongly influenced their desires to teach and their pedagogies (Hinton 102). In the same year that Grandmaster Muhammad received his black belt and began his free classes, James Meredith was shot during his March on Fear from Memphis to Jackson. Kwame Touré and others continued the March on his behalf and at one of the rallies, Mukasa Dada, aka Willie Ricks, and Touré spoke vehemently of Black Power. Malcolm X’s death had already influenced many activists to shift their tactics. Many activists like Amiri Baraka were invested in both the arts and politics, unwilling to separate them as discrete forms of nationalism. A newly theorized Black Art emerged and burned as the coal that sparked the Black Arts Movement (BAM). In the poem “Black Art,” Baraka calls for art with power, art that produces change, and artists who are willing to write and affect that change it. Arguing that art arms people with the defenses necessary to combat an unjust system, Baraka believed that a true Black artist equipped his people to deal with individuals who were symbolic of a violent system. By figuratively bringing “fire…to whities ass” (Baraka 27-28), art could convince its audience that they could literally do so, being the offspring of warriors (Aziz 110). When Baraka speaks of warriorhood, he is making a tie between art and conflict and how a poet is both a groundworker and a warrior for Black Power, claiming that all activist-artists are inheritors of an Afro-centric warrior legacy. And though he never explicitly mentions martial arts, Baraka’s repeated usage of the term “warrior” suggests the intertwining of aesthetics, self-determination, and self-defense that martial arts practice creates. Martial artists are literally warrior-artists, aesthetically trained in combat arts meant to be defensive acts of defiance.

By 1969, a year after the publication of the crucial Black Fire anthology, Grandmaster Steve Muhammad had created a black martial arts community in Los Angeles along with seven other martial artists. They met to work out on Saturday mornings in South Central Los Angeles’ Van Ness Park and soon named themselves the Black Karate Federation (BKF). Muhammad and his cohort were influenced by older masters like William Short, who had begun training Los Angeles youth in the 1950s. Short owned the Kobayashi School of Karate on So. Western Ave in South Central. His own teachings paralleled those of his friend, Dr. Maulana Karenga, and in addition to martial arts, Short taught his students African American history (Muhammad 50).

Conscious Raising in Black Martial Artistry

The Black Karate Federation’s usage of martial arts allowed them to carve, with their closed fists and cocked limbs, both an unabashedly black identity and a black artistic consciousness. The Black Karate Federation derived many of their speedy kicks and hand strikes from Muhammad’s American Kenpo training, but they showed their identity through the logo that the founders conceived using cultural nationalist symbolism. The B.K.F logo blazed from the patch of students’ uniforms: a clenched, golden fist, its fingers facing away from the eye, covered by a red, black, and green banner, upon which a cobra calmly but dangerously hissed, all falling downward toward a scroll with the letters B.K.F written upon it (Muhammad 80-81). The patch went through other iterations, including one that wrote “Power to the People” over the cobra and another that was shaped like a globe with a black fist at the center. In all its usages, the fist’s meaning served two purposes. One, it represented the word “kenpo”‘s meaning, which is “Fist Law” according to Muhammad. Two, it stood as a symbol of “power and righteousness” (Muhammad 81). Inspired by the 1968 Olympic Games podium gesture by sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos, the BKF used the fist to demonstrate their desire “to fight injustice” and “to overcome racism” (Muhammad 82). The fist’s golden color signified its wealth and power (Muhammad 82). Its red, black, and green banner mirrored the Pan-African flag created by Marcus Garvey, serving as a “bold and powerful vision” for “all peoples of Africa, regardless of land and birth” (Muhammad 83). The cobra represented the swift movements of Muhammad and the BKF’s fighters but also carried a Pan-Africanist meaning for venomous snakes, i.e. cobras, are considered indigenous to many regions on the continent of Africa. The fist and Pan-African flag colors enjoyed increased usage among black radicals during the period that the BKF was started, placing their choices within a larger shift and conversation happening toward the middle and end of the 1960s. These symbols allowed the BKF to enter conversations about black cultural identity and empowerment through their artistic, stylistic choices. Hundreds of girls and boys would wear the insignia during the ensuing decade (Muhammad 64).

In addition to theorizing school representation and uniform, black martial arts instructors also explicitly tied their pedagogy to agendas being using by other contemporary activists. Shaha, or learned elder, Mfundishi Maasi was a cultural and martial theorist who would also teach hundreds of students during the 1960s and 1970s (Maasi 2013). Maasi taught them that life lies with the individual and stressed that “the art[s] can be utilized as an instrument for enlightenment” (Hinton 88). He imparted to his students the most valuable knowledge he gained through his own martial arts training, which was the knowledge of self (Hinton 87). It was clear to him early on that martial arts could take practitioners further than the “ability to beat somebody” (Hinton 91).

The particular style Maasi co-developed tied the search of the personal self to the search for the cultural self. Due to collaboration with Nganga Tolo-Naa, a Chicago martial artist who founded the All African Peoples Art and Cultural Center, the style became known as “kupigani ngumi,” a Kiswahili term signifying “the way of fighting with the fist” (Maasi 2013). The motive behind teaching kupigani ngumi was to provide an art that, though partly based in East Asian movements, integrated cultural reflections youth could identify with. Kupigani ngumi attempted to present art in a way that “our people who were in the midst of cultural struggle [at the time] could relate to” (Maasi 2013). He and Tolo-Naa chose Kiswahili principles, such as “kuzviata,” because they deeply engaged the young men and women in their classes (Maasi 2013). Kuzviata loosely translates to “reach out and touch yourself” and Maasi used it to teach students self-discipline (Maasi 2013). Using it in conjunction with kurimedza, which means “to enthrone with dignity,” Maasi created an educational atmosphere where students could see the cultural relevance of building both their fortitudes and characters (Maasi 2013). He found “these methods helped to bind the [students] in principle in a way that they would relate to each other not as…competitors but as [siblings] on the field of cultural battle” (Maasi 2013). Equipping the young artists with the tools to succeed on the front of cultural battle did not actually entail leading them into confrontation or physical conflict. It meant building up strong self and cultural images. Maasi’s students were his own guide toward self and cultural survival every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. They were his “young lions” or “Simba Wachanga” (Maasi 2013). They were his to lead past the contagious, quote “self-limiting thoughts, the sense of inferiority, and hopelessness, and the loss of heritage, dignity, and self-respect” (Maasi 2013).

Maasi’s teaching was a part of his role with Newark’s Black Community Defense and Development (BCD), a part of the coalition Committee for a Unified NewArk (CFUN) (Woodard 109-110). Maasi worked directly with Amiri Baraka, whose own transformation and shifting educational values influenced Maasi, as evident in his Pan-Africanist martial arts pedagogy.  As Baraka motivated ground workers through his call-to-action poetry, Maasi’s self-defense lessons allowed them to fight off racist attackers who sought to prevent them from advertising for meetings.

Conclusion

Both the personal and philosophical links between the Black Arts and Black Power movements and Black martial arts instructors forces us to expand our understanding of both movements to include martial artistry. Besides CFUN, there is evidence that other organizations such as the US, the East, the Republic of New Africa, and the Black Panther Party practiced martial arts for similar yet varying purposes. To talk about these arts as cultural formations will challenge us to look in new places for the evidence of the Black Arts Movements’ impacts. Furthermore, it will push Black art scholars to reconceptualization what they view as artistic production. In taking this challenge seriously, we can critically assess the ways in which scholars have reified traditional views of what qualifies as art through their chosen objects of analysis. Lastly, we can push the theoretical boundaries of who was a Black artist and who created Black art.

To conclude, I want to turn briefly to the moment when Bruce Lee’s legend was solidified if only to do the work of looking past him. What would happen if we paused the Blu-ray of Enter the Dragon at 24:58? We would find that Lee is no longer the object of the frame. Instead, the figures of Grandmaster Steve Muhammad and film star Jim Kelly replace him. Muhammad and an early version of the BKF patch are prominently displayed on screen as Kelly and Muhammad speak in the BKF’s “103rd Street School” (Muhammad 54). What would happen then if we relocate this moment in history and resituate Steve Muhammad and the BKF in the history of growing Black fervor for martial arts? What if we talked about Jim Kelly as a form of anti-colonial, anti-racist masculinity as he flips and defeats two racist cops? Would we stop using Bruce Lee as a mirror to imagine the masculinities of Black men who were present in their own struggle? Could we go a step further and interrogate why the scene is devoid of Black women’s presence, an illusion that incorrectly typecasts the BKF as male-only? All of these questions lead to the ultimate question: What does it mean to center narratives of Black martial arts pioneers when reliving and reviewing moments in American martial arts and cinematic history?

About the Author

Maryam Aziz is a doctoral student in the Department of American Culture at the University of Michigan. Her work constructs a social and cultural history of martial arts practice during 20th century social movements, specifically the Black Power Movement. She holds a 2nd degree Black Belt in Goju Ryu Karate from the New Jersey State Black Belt Association and conducts self-defense workshops for populations targeted for hate crimes.  Readers interested in finding out more about her research may contact her at: maryamka “at” umich.edu.

Works Cited

Aziz, Maryam. “Finding the Warrior.” The Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowship Journal (2013): 109-12. Print.

Baraka, Amiri. “Black Art.” Black Fire: An Anthology of AfroAmerican Writing. Ed. Amiri Baraka and Larry Neal. Baltimore: Black Classic, 2007. 302-303. Print.

Cha-Jua, Sundiata. “Black Audiences, Blaxploitation and Kung Fu Films, and Challenges to White Celluloid Masculinity.” China Forever: The Shaw Brothers and Diasporic Cinema. Ed. Poshek Fu. Urbana: U of Illinois, 2008. 199-223. Print.

Enter the Dragon. Dir. Robert Clouse. Perf. Bruce Lee and Jim Kelly. Warner Bros, 1973. DVD

Hinton, William, and D’Arcy Rahming. Men of Steel Discipline: The Official Oral History of Black Pioneers in the Martial Arts. Chicago, IL: Modern Bu-jutsu, 1994. Print.

Maasi, Mfundishi. “Oral Historical Interview with Mfundishi Maasi.” Telephone interview. 28 Mar. 2013.

Muhammad, Steve, and Donnie Williams. BKF Kenpo: History and Advanced Strategic Principles. Burbank, CA: Unique Publications, 2002. Print.

Woodard, Komozi. A Nation within a Nation: Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) and Black Power Politics. Chapel Hill, NC: U of North Carolina, 1999. Print.

Introduction

I am happy to announce that a special guest has agreed to drop by Kung Fu Tea for a visit.  Andrea Molle is an Assistant Professor of Political Science and a Research Associate at the Institute for the Study of Religion, Economics, and Society at Chapman University.  He is also the director of Budo-lab, a new research center dedicated to advancing the fields of hoplology and martial arts studies (MAS).  His center is the first in the US (which I am aware of) to be dedicated exclusively to the interdisciplinary investigation of martial arts systems and other forms of combative behavior.  Prof. Molle has generously agreed to discuss his own research and the goals of this new center below.  But readers should feel free to submit some of your own questions in the comments section if you would like to delve a little deeper into the topics that we touch on here.

Kung Fu Tea (KFT): First off, welcome ot Kung Fu Tea. Can you begin by telling us a little bit about yourself? What is your academic background, and how did you end up at Chapman University?

Andrea Molle (AM): Sure, I was born and grew up in Italy 40 years ago. My undergraduate studies are in Political Science and I have a PhD in sociology with an emphasis in the Social Anthropology of Religion and Research Methods. My Phd thesis mainly dealt with Japanese New Religious Movements (NRM) and their expansion in Christian countries.

In 2006 I was appointed Fellow of the Japanese Society for the Promotion of Science and spent two years in Nagoya (at the Nanzan Institute for Religion and Culture) researching into the perceived and constructed spirituality of Gendai Budo – post WWII martial arts. I particularly focused on Aikido, which I started practicing in 1991, and Kenjutsu that I experienced for the first time in Japan being humbled to be admitted to the mainline Yagyu Shinkage Ryu lineage in Nagoya.

(KFT): When did you first start training in the martial arts?

(AM): I started with judo when I was a little kid, and transitioned to Aikido around the age of 16 along with Kendo. I’ve been practicing Aikido in the Buikukai lineage ever since. Our lineage is part of the Aikikai and was created by the late Kobayashi Hirokazu, a student of the Founder Ueshiba Morihei and before that of Takuma Hisa (Daito Ryu Aikijutsu).

Within Gendai Budo, besides Aikido (which I currently teach at Chapman) I also practice Atarashi Naginata and Jukendo (Bayonet fighting). I also have a fairly decent level of experience with Koryu mainly in Yagyu Shinkage Ryu and Meifu Shinkage Ryu Shurikenjutsu. Over the years I’ve had the pleasure to practice Shorinji Kempo and Taiji for brief period of times but I wouldn’t dare to say that I have an extensive knowledge of these styles.

(KFT): When did you first become interested in martial arts studies as an academic and professional project?

(AM): I would say right before applying to become a JSPS fellow. The project I wrote for the application, my research on the spirituality of Budo, was enormously influenced by this newly discovered interest. Being part of the MA milieu, as a practitioner, I’ve probably always experienced it but never really noticed how pervasive it was. Then, conducting my research in graduate school, I started to notice how often new members or postulants in these NRM were also involved in a recurrent set of activities including very specific martial arts: typically aikido and kendo.

(KFT): What prior research projects did you work on in Japan?

(AM): As I mentioned before I conducted almost 2 years of fieldwork as a “fighting scholar” where I was researching and practicing at the same time. My focus was principally into the way spirituality in the martial arts was constructed and diffused across practitioners networks of both native (Japanese nationals) and non-native subjects (non-Japanese nationals, typically Americans and Europeans).

Among the other topics I explored the main ways MA functioned as gateway to eastern spiritual traditions (more or less legitimately) as well as a complete surrogate to any established spiritual experience. It is of course more complicated than that but I would argue the former is more common in the case of Kendo and the latter in the Aikido milieu.

Military Accomplishments of Japan, slide 2. Photo by Tamamura. Source: Author’s Personal Collection.

(KFT): I notice that some of the literature on your webpage lists “hoplology” and “martial arts studies” together as related fields. In your usage, what is hoplology, and how does it relate to martial arts studies?

(AM): Hoplology is the study of combative behavior, technologies, and performance and by its own definition includes the martial arts as codified systems evolved in different civilizations and societies (it is quite a universal) to deal with violence, particularly from a warrior class/state perspective. I consider martial arts studies to be a subfield of hoplology that investigate a very particular nexus of combative behavior and society. I believe that hoplology, with its non-normative or moralistic approach to violence, could also give a broad and innovative contribution to the study of violence.

(KFT): Can you tell us a little bit about the BUDO-Lab at Chapman University? How did this project come about and what are some of its long terms goals?

(AM): BUDO-lab is an interdisciplinary research cluster within our college of arts, humanities, and social science. We are a group of social scientists, historians, language experts and scholars in the fields of cultural and critical studies. Currently, we have several research projects in the works and our main long-term goal is to establish a permanent research center at Chapman University. We would love to see it growing as a point of reference for all academics and independent researchers in the field. Our University, and particularly the College, is very supportive.

(KFT): I noticed that we have a couple of things in common. To begin with, we are both political scientists! Which is interesting as it seems that most of the academic work on the martial arts has previously been done by cultural and film studies students, anthropologists and historians. What tools or approaches does political science (or the social sciences more generally) bring to the table that might be useful for the future development of martial arts studies?

(AM): You are spot on! Many of the contributions to the field are coming more from the humanities. I for one did my first works as an anthropologist and the more I looked into that, the more I realized that it was yet one more field the social sciences were missing. Don’t get me wrong, these are all interesting works but I believe as social scientists we can bring about change in terms of methodological rigor, especially in terms of quantitative/comparative research which is still basically missing from the literature.

Additionally, with a socio-scientific framework we may be able to better interface with scholars in both the natural and physical sciences who are also researching the martial arts. As political scientists we are also well positioned to examine the role that governments play in relation to organized violence and social control.

(KFT): Paul Bowman (among others) has argued that martial arts studies is best understood as an interdisciplinary research area. Do you agree with that assessment? And if so, what does good interdisciplinary work look like within MAS?

(AM): Absolutely. Paul is 100% right. Let me tell you that I don’t think “interdisciplinary” means to create yet one more discipline nor destroy disciplinary boundaries. I like Paul’s suggestion of disrupting it instead.

I would say that good interdisciplinary work requires two things both within MAS but also in any other field. These are the capacity to engage in a dialogue with and understand disciplines other that yours and a firm and solid grounding in your own discipline(s). The metaphor of martial arts practice is very useful here for we all understand the limitations of our arts and expand out horizons but you can’t pretend to be an expert of too many styles at once!

(KFT): In addition to being political scientists we both share an interest in religion’s role in the modern world. What sorts of lessons might martial arts studies learn from religious studies? How does this background influence your own work?

(AM): My background influences my work mainly with respect of both its substantive and methodological aspects. On the methodological side I attempt to combine interpretative methods of data gathering such as ethnography with more structured ways to analyze it such as statistical and computational tools. I wouldn’t call it a mixed-method approach, because I have my doubts about that, but rather a deliberate triangulation. On the substantive side my focus on religion has been guiding me in the direction of researching religious and ritualized violence, legitimacy and costly behavior. If you think about it, studying religion prepares us to comfortably approach topics such as violence and death.

(KFT): Can you tell us a little bit about the projects that BUDO-lab is pursuing now (specifically, but not limited to, the current effort to make a database of martial arts schools)?

(AM): Our main project at this time is to try and map MA practice and interest in the US as thoroughly as possible. We started our 1st phase a month ago. Our study will collect openly available anonymous data on the geographical distribution of Martial Arts Schools in the United States. Data will be used to explore how the practice of martial arts connects to fear and actual existential threats. Our hypotheses is that the density of martial arts schools is positively correlated with the perception of existential threats, such as violent crimes and worsening living conditions, but negatively correlated with the reality of it.

(KFT): It seems to me that in some important respects the development of martial arts studies in the United States lags behind what we see in Europe (e.g., Germany and the UK) or Asia (China, Japan and Korea). In your opinion, why is this? What sorts of things need to happen to bolster the strength of martial arts studies in this academic environment?

(AM): The US is still very entrenched in an old way of understanding disciplinarity. Our entire reward system and research practice are not yet wired for interdisciplinarity despite the cheap propaganda of being fully open to it. At the end of the day we have our departments offering redundant programs and classes (this is particularly true in the case of research methods) and evaluating their faculty exclusively on the basis of publications in discipline-oriented journals or conferences. We need more synergies and cross pollination before thinking about additional development. I am actually happy MAS hasn’t been fully developed yet because I don’t think we should aim to replicate the existing method but instead look at what has been done in Europe. I hope BUDO-lab will start the revolution!

(KFT): What stands out to you as a good example of martial arts studies scholarship that other researchers may want to consider and emulate? Or maybe to put things slightly differently, what should I be reading, especially if I would like to learn a little more about the state of scholarship on the Japanese arts?

(AM): You should take a look at the works of Alexander Bennett. Alex has PhDs in both the fields of Anthropology and Japanese history. His last book on the development of Kendo (Kendo: Culture of the Sword. UC Press, 2015) should be on the reading list of any classes that deals with Japanese Budo as well as Japanese Politics in the Meiji up to the contemporary era.

I would also recommend following the Archives of Budo Journal and the works of the Japanese Academy of Budo. Another good resource is the anthology Fighting Scholars: Habitus and Ethnographies of Martial Arts and Combat Sports (Anthem, 2014). And of course I’d suggest some of my works you can find on our webpage.

(KFT): Thanks for the suggestions. And thank you for taking the time to discuss your research with us. We look forward to hearing more about BUDO-lab’s progress in the future.

oOo

If you enjoyed this interview you might also want to read: Roundtable Discussion on the State of Martial Studies with Paul Bowman and Ben Judkins, Part I-II.

oOo

Muay Thai Kickboxing match. Source: Wikimedia.

Conference Report:  Martial Arts Studies – Gender Issues in Theory and Practice
Brighton University (UK), 5^th February 2016

Introduction

On February 5th Brighton University sponsored the first in a series of specialized conferences and meetings funded by the Martial Arts Studies Research Network (MASRN). The title of the event was “Martial Arts Studies – Gender Issues in Theory and Practice.”  It was hosted by Alex Channon and Christopher Matthews, two recognized scholars in the area, and was attended by about 30 participants and observers.  By all accounts the event was lively with multiple papers sparking substantive discussions.   In short, I wish I could have been there.

Luckily for us, a number of individuals who attended the event have written conference reports, sharing some of the insights and conversations that these papers sparked.  Below I have reblogged Paul Bowman’s account which does a great job of introducing each of the presenters, reviewing the substance of their work, and telling us something of how the audience reacted to their presentation.

If, as you read through his report, you encounter a paper you might want to know more about, be sure to also check out this blog post on the event written by Kai Morgan.  She brings her own perspective and some additional details to the discussion.  Lastly, readers will also want to be aware of Luke White’s discussion of the event at his own blog “Kung Fu with Braudel.” His concluding thoughts on how these same questions may relate to martial arts studies are particularly important, and we will briefly return to them below.

A number of themes ran throughout this conference.  Obviously gender was the central organizing concern, but multiple papers looked more specifically at the possibility that the martial arts might be used as agents of positive social transformation.  From my perspective perhaps the most interesting finding to emerge from the conference was that researchers remain split on whether this actually happens in practice.  Dr. Jump’s ethnographic study of boxing and its impact on violent behavior and attitudes raised important (and troubling) questions about the social impact of youth involvement in combat sports in certain settings.

I look forward to reading her finished paper when its available.  Her findings are reminiscent of some of the connections between youth delinquency and the traditional martial arts which emerged in Hong Kong in the 1950s and 1960s that I noted in my own study of the period.  It seems that this is an area that might benefit from some additional comparative case studies.

By all accounts this first event in the MASRN series was a success.  It engaged a dedicated group of scholars and facilitated conversations that will continue for some time.  It has also generated deeper questions about the nature of violence, identity, consent and social transformation that may contribute to a wide range of research projects within martial arts studies.

Female martial artists (including Chen Laoshi) from the Jingwu Association.  In the 1920s this group sought to use the martial arts to reform traditional Chinese views on gender and pursue “national salvation.”

oOo

Martial Arts Studies – Gender Issues in Theory and Practice
by Paul Bowman

Friday February 5^th 2016 saw the first of our AHRC funded Martial Arts Studies Research Network events, at the Eastbourne campus of the University of Brighton. The organisers from the hosting university were Drs Alex Channon and Christopher Matthews. Professor John Sugden opened the event, entertaining the 30 or so people present with tales of his early research into boxing communities in the US, back when there was virtually nothing academic written about combat sports of any kind. I then gave a brief introduction to the research network and the emerging field of martial arts studies, before the conference proper began.

Chris Matthews gave the first paper, beginning from and overview of the history of various forms of exclusion in sports (the most glaring example being of course the fact that for a very long time sports have overwhelmingly been made for and played by men). However, there have recently been some significant social shifts, exemplified by the huge numbers of women in sports. Focusing next on his ethnographic research into boxing, Matthews introduced the idea of undoing the presumed essential link between boxing and men, arguing that a more nuanced understanding of exclusion is needed in order to have a clearer picture of the forces and relations of exclusion that currently operate in such environments. His own fieldwork in boxing gyms revealed a range of attitudes towards openness and closedness to non-hegemonic masculinities in these gyms, around different attitudes to women and gay men, as well as different attitudes to the question of trying to attract more women or more types of men into the gyms. The talk was too wide ranging to permit easy summary – however, the accompanying Prezi presentation is available here. And rather than reaching a firm conclusion, Matthews handed over to a local Eastbourne boxing coach who actively seeks to ‘practice inclusivity’.

The coach was Paul Senior, from Eastbourne Boxing Club, who gave a very interesting presentation on his outreach work, and the unique position that boxing seems to have as an activity that can appeal to and engage socially excluded children and teenagers. Unlike other forms of teacher or indeed adult generally, the boxing coach is often highly respected by the children and teenagers, and accordingly such figures can become the first real site of intervention into precarious and marginalised lives and social situations. To conclude the talk overall, Chris Matthews came back in with questions about how those who seek to ‘practice inclusivity’ might still inadvertently contribute to new forms of exclusion; after which a very lively discussion followed.

Professor Kath Woodward presented next, with a talk on gender and what’s changed in the discourses around women’s boxing since its first inclusion in the 2012 Olympics. Her animating question was that of how social change takes place, and her contention was that what happened around women’s boxing in 2012 illustrates the ways that boxing and martial arts can actually generate discursive change. Social and cultural change happens marginally and incrementally, she argued. But, at the same time, there can be events that essentially change the landscape in an instant. Referring to Foucauldian theory, Woodward suggested that the commentary around women’s boxing at that time demonstrated a dramatic transformation: beforehand, a lot of discourse had been sexist, focusing on the question of the risks to women’s bodies vis-à-vis child-bearing, their looks and their supposed fragility. But during the contests, this all evaporated and was replaced by commentary that demonstrated how seriously it was being taken. This, she suggested, evinced a cultural change in the way people think – a minor revolution that could contribute to the chipping away at patriarchal ideas about gender.

Anna Kavoura and Catherine Phipps presented their research into creating supporting environments for LGBT people in martial arts clubs. Phipps presented introductory and context-setting data on LGBT inclusion in and exclusion from sport generally. She defined key terms and discussed a range of different studies and surveys before proposing that, in her opinion, of all of the groups included in the term ‘LGBT+’, those who suffer the most exclusion are ‘trans’ people.

Anna Kavoura posed the question of why anyone would want to create supportive and inclusive environments in martial arts anyway. Legality was her first answer; followed by a discussion of the extent to which discriminative attitudes have negative effects and the extent to which prejudice can actually endanger is its victims’ health. Kavoura too proposed that the most excluded and overlooked group are the many kinds trans people – people who, as she reported one trans discussant said to her, are often terrified of leaving the house to go to the supermarket, never mind even thinking about participating in sports.

An interesting discussion about our encounters and relationships with various forms of prejudice as they occur in martial arts classes followed, which continued on in various ways throughout the day. But the next session was made up of group discussions of questions around engaging girls and women in martial arts clubs of all kinds. People suggested that role modelling seemed vital; Kavoura recounted a tale of how she had actively sought out new female training partners in order to broaden the pool of people she could spar with in class; others discussed the importance of having women in leadership positions; creating trusting environments; listening; questioning tradition; and trying to educate prejudiced people rather than simply confronting them directly or antagonistically; challenging preconceptions about motivations; and even renaming and de-gendering some of the different terms that are routinely used (‘women’s pressups’, for instance, was given as an example several times).

The criminologist Deborah Jump from Manchester Metropolitan University presented next, discussing her research into the narrative accounts of young men’s experience of violence, desistance from criminality and the place of boxing in these realms. Her research question was one of what impact boxing has on young men’s understanding of violence; and she had undertaken ethnographic studies using psychotherapeutic techniques rather than direct questioning. That is to say, her primary style of data gathering took the form of asking the question ‘tell me the story of how you got into boxing’. In interpreting the narratives, Jump found some regularly recurring themes: the denial of vulnerability, the attempt to compensate for a lack of social capital; the effort to try to embody masculinity, and specifically as a way to overcome vulnerability or lack of social capital. Jump discussed Wacquant’s notion of body capital and the received folk wisdom that the bigger you are, the more masculine you are.

Because in her findings the reasons given for taking up boxing always involved the effort to prevent repeat victimisation, Jump proposed that boxing is widely seen by its working class youth practitioners as a resource to command fear. Violence, in this regard, is seen as a resource. She then turned to the high incidence of the word ‘respect’ in so many young boxers’ narratives. Turning to Kant for a definition of ‘respect’, Jump observed that for Kant ‘respect’ refers to ‘being worthy of consideration’, and she tied this back to her findings and arguments about young men turning to boxing in order to gain some cultural prestige. Along with other terms that frequently recur (references to ‘respect’ and ‘disrespect’ as reasons for violence, and injunctions like ‘don’t be a pussy’, and so on), Jump proposed that the recurrence of these ‘street’ terms in the boxing gym demonstrated a problematic continuity of violent narratives. Specifically, given that there so often seemed to be a strong relationship between taking up boxing and the experience of prior domestic abuse, Jump proposed that it is problematic that the terms of street habitus are in effect reinforced in the boxing gym. Maintaining respect and avoiding shame is, she reiterated, a primary motivation for violence on the street – and this entire system of values and its logic is replicated in the gym. So, she concluded, boxing is perhaps good for primary desistance from crime (time spent training is time off the streets), but it doesn’t actually cause its young male practitioners to change their self-concept or their personal narrative.

Jump’s paper provoked lively debate, and set the scene nicely for the final paper: Alex Channon and Chris Matthews’ ongoing work into how to combat domestic abuse. Their project is called ‘love fighting, hate violence’ and their key question is that of how to decouple fighting and violence. Following on from Deborah Jump’s challenge to the idea that boxing can work against violence, Channon and Matthews proposed that fighting does not equal violence and that the mutual consent of sparring partners shows that there is no necessary violation and no necessary violence in martial arts training. From this position, they are currently seeking to explore how to leverage this moral distinction to good effect, and more generally how to do something as academics and researchers that will have an impact outside of academia. On this note, they turned the question over to the audience, and asked us all to assess their ideas and offer suggestions.

Several concerns were raised, such as the risk that this project either implicitly or explicitly risks falling into the trap of following normal gender assumptions, and also the idea that martial arts training does not involve violence was challenged. But in the end a series of suggestions was forthcoming too: educational workshops were proposed, film making, offering different narratives, etc. As Channon put it towards the end of this final session, their overarching aim is to try to initiate cultural shifts, or at least to generate discourse around these issues. This was an appropriate point to conclude, not least because it seems clear that this first martial arts studies research network event has already stimulated the thinking of those present, and undoubtedly begun to generate discourse. Indeed, this first martial arts research network event seem likely to be remembered as the start of numerous new endeavours, relationships and projects.

In conclusion, I would like to thank Alex Channon and Chris Matthews for their hard work in organising this event, and to all of the speakers and other participants, many of whom travelled significant distances to attend. I am now looking forward to the second network event, on contemporary debates in martial arts cinema, at Birmingham City University on 1^st April 2016.

Triva Pino (Left). The 2006 US Armed Forced Female Boxing Champion. Source: Wikimedia.

Conclusion: Gender in Martial Arts Studies

Finally, I would like to bring up one additional point.  In his own assessment of the meeting Luke White offered some additional thoughts on how these same concerns about gender, identity and inclusion might be playing themselves out in the conference halls and classrooms of martial arts studies as an academic discipline.  I encourage everyone read his report (which can be found here) but his concluding remarks are indispensable:

I also then found myself wondering about Martial Arts Studies itself as a gendered space. As part of our explorations in the day, we thought in some detail about the ways that women, or those from the LGBT+ community, are often excluded by aspects of the environment and ritualised behaviour of gyms and dojos. But what about our academic Martial Arts Studies events? How welcome do they feel there, and how deeply has that been considered by us? Though the event at Eastbourne – with a fantastic mix of people attending – felt very inclusive, my feelings about the conference in Cardiff last Summer were rather different. I spoke to a number of women attendees afterwards who pretty much all told me that they had found it a rather uncomfortably “male” space. And indeed, it struck me strongly that there was a certain machismo that surrounded a lot of the socialisation that took place around the conference. Often the first question asked was not (unlike most academic conferences!) what your paper is about or some such thing, but about whether you practiced a martial art, and if so what style. The effect of such a question can, perhaps, be a little like the aggressive questioning that Bruce Lee is subjected to by a white martial artist on the boat on the way to a martial arts contest: “What’s your style?” In the film, it wasn’t just a polite inquiry, it was also a challenge. In the conference, the question was clearly less intrusive, but I wondered how non-practitioners may have experienced this kind of question. Did it imply less of a right to be there? Some of the papers, too, seemed to include hints about “martial credentials” that came close at points to masculine “posturing”. One speaker (I shan’t name him), after an explicit denial of homophobia, followed this up, as evidence, with what was meant to be a joke but ultimately amounted to a homophobic comment. Were some of the gendered cultures of the training hall entering into the spaces of academic debate, too? It’s often small, banal, everyday, overlooked performances that inscribe gender on a space – often much more subtle than directly homophobic or sexist comments, often far more everyday than the spectacular examples of subproletarian boxing gyms discussed at Friday’s event, and often far more inscribed into the “normal” behaviour of “upright” citizens – and it seems to me that in order to safeguard not only the spaces in which we do martial arts, but also the academic spaces where we discuss them in this fledgeling discipline, we need a vigilance not so much on the “other” but on ourselves.

Obviously these are important concerns, and they deserve careful consideration.  The meaning of the question “What is your style?” at a martial arts studies conference seems particularly interesting, as does the place of personal experience in academic research.  Certainly much more can be said on these questions than can be inserted at the end of a conference report.  However, readers may wish to follow this discussion as it has unfolds at the Martial Arts Studies blog.

oOo

If you liked this conference report you might also want to read: “The Gender of Martial Arts Studies“

oOo

Master Chen Zhonghua and Daniel Mroz playing Tui Shou, Daqingshan, Shandong, China, 2007. Photo by Scot Jorgensen.

Introduction

Welcome to the second entry in our series of guest posts titled “Doing Research.”  If you missed the first essay by D. S. Farrer (which provides a global overview of the subject) be sure to click here.

Compared to other fields of scholarly inquiry, Martial Arts Studies has a distinctly democratic flavor.  Many individuals are introduced to these systems while students at a college or university and are interested in seeing a more intellectually rigorous treatment of their interests.  And certain practitioners want to go beyond reading studies produced by other writers and undertake research based on their own time in the training hall.   The emphasis on ethnographic description, oral and local history, as well as the methodological focus on community based collaborative research within Martial Arts Studies (itself a radically interdisciplinary area), makes participation in such efforts both relatively accessible and highly valuable.

Or maybe you are a student about to embark on your first ethnographic research project.  With the growing popularity of this field of study we are increasingly seeing classes in Martial Arts Studies offered at the undergraduate and graduate level.  Some of these courses include a “research component” in which students are encouraged to go out and join a class or school in the local martial arts community and then to reflect on their experience.

What ever their source, a new generation of novice researchers is likely looking at the challenges that lay ahead and asking themselves, what comes next?  To help smooth these first forays into the world of ethnography, a number of researchers (most of whom have taught these sorts of classes in the past or have conducted extensive field research) have agreed to contribute to a series of short posts on this topic.  Each of these will attempt to pass on a single piece of advice, insight, or research strategy that the author wishes that they might have had when first setting out to begin their fieldwork.

With that in mind, the following essay is designed to help students in the very first stages of their research project.  How should one go about choosing a teacher or school for research purposes?  And how should you approach the uncomfortable and awkward experiences that arise whenever you begin a new activity?  In particular, what are the dangers of maintaining an “intellectual distance” from your subject of study?  Prof. Mroz has some great advice for new ethnographers, but in truth much of what he has to say applies equally well to anyone beginning a new martial arts style.

Daniel Mroz playing Choy Li Fut’s Muy Fa Do “Plum Flower Sabre” form. Photo by Laura Astwood.

Three Ideas for Fieldwork – Daniel Mroz

Ben asked me what suggestions I might offer to students preparing for fieldwork that requires participation in some kind of studio class, be it martial arts, dance, theatre or music. Having re-read Prof. Farrer’s essay, I’m not sure there’s too much else to say! My proposal is to take what might be described as an existential approach to Ben’s request.

The late Liu Ming (Charles Belyea, 1947-2015), an insightful Daoist and Buddhist initiate about whom my friend Scott Park Phillips has written , offered his meditation students a fruitful description of the qualities of a student-teacher relationship. I propose that Ming’s three ideas might offer helpful parameters for students about to engage in fieldwork that requires the practice of martial arts. While Ming’s propositions are about teaching and learning, rather then about teaching, learning and reporting, reflecting on my own experience I think they cover some essential requirements in a novel and pithy fashion.

1. Affinity

For your study, seek out a teacher with whom you feel a fundamental affinity. My experience is that affinity with a teacher is more important than one’s appreciation for a particular martial art or curriculum. Beyond auditing a sample class as an observer it is not usually easy to acquire much experience of the teacher.  So auditing a first class is vital to seeing if one detects the potential for affinity.

The detection of this potential is both pragmatic and intuitive. When I went to watch a Siu Lum Hung Sing Choy Li Fut Kung Fu class in Montréal in September of 1993 I noted that the teacher, Sui Meing Wong, was very exacting but also patient and impersonal. To students balanced on one leg executing a low sweep followed by a knee strike then a snap kick he said simply ‘don’t fall over; lean slightly forward.’ He made no comment on their abilities or lack thereof, only on their application. I noticed that while there was hard body-to-body contact, the attack/defense combinations and the Da Sam Sing / Guk Sam Sing forearm and shin conditioning were also being done carefully, incrementally and with close supervision from the teacher. I responded well to this quiet, tacitly supportive but overtly exacting atmosphere. Sui Meing Wong became not only my first principal martial arts teacher but also a kind of older brother. He expected perfect attendance and constant practice from me but was always supportive and available if I needed help. Usually, as I was a starving actor and a graduate student, help meant food; he bought me lunch three to six days a week for 13 years. When I first went into his studio, I had no idea what Choy Li Fut was. My theatre teacher had suggested I study martial arts; a room-mate who was a Tae Kwon Do black belt had told me that Chinese martial arts had the most complex movements; another friend had told me that Monkey Style Kung Fu was cool – David Lee Roth, the singer for Van Halen did Monkey Style! All of that benevolent if sophomoric nonsense went out of my head when I actually saw Sui Meing teaching. ‘I can learn from this person’ I realized and I signed up.

This anecdote likely tells you more about me than it does about how to judge your own affinity with a particular instructor. It will be up to you to determine what your own affinities are. Can you learn and do fieldwork in a situation where you have little or no affinity with the teacher? Of course you can. However, choosing the engagements and commitments you make in terms of affinity, especially early on in your studies will give you an optimal position from which to branch out into more difficult research.

Master Jason Tsou and Daniel Mroz playing Jianshu after Master Tsou’s 2013 workshop in Ottawa, Canada. Photo by Rob Dominique.

2. Danger

In tandem with affinity, a sense of danger should accompany a fruitful relationship with a teacher. The academic and general culture in which I live and work never uses the term ‘danger’ with any positive connotation. Institutional preoccupation with liability and societal preoccupation with comfort have made ‘danger’ a challenging term to use when discussing teaching and learning.

I’m using it in two ways here: in the abstract one’s relationship with a teacher should be based on the risk that if one follows that teacher one will be changed in unpredictable ways. However, I also mean actual physical danger, the presence of which is often an amazing catalyzer for change!

While what I practice daily is from the vast curriculum of the Chinese martial arts and qigong, I’ve also cross-trained with individuals who interested me and in styles that appealed to me. The best of these experiences were great because of the danger involved.

A few years ago I visited London, England to meet Japanese sword expert John Maki Evans.  John is a very quiet, polite and thorough person and I remain compelled by his intelligence, insight and restraint . I also had the oddest of experiences with him. While he was showing me some very rudimentary actions with a Japanese wooden sword or bokken, I was quite convinced, terrified even, that he could use his blunt piece of wood to cut me in half! I’ve fenced with Chinese wooden swords or mu jian for a long time and I’ve worked with other teachers who insist on using ‘sharps’ or actual edged metal weapons during partner practice, all without undue dread. Every time I think back my studies with John I realize that I was definitely in the right place, because of the acute sense of danger I felt and how it led me not only to experience John’s rare fruition in the practice of Japanese sword but also to consider my own trained habits and preferences from a new perspective.

Daniel Mroz playing Choy Li Fut’s Ke Lung Ma or “Dragon Riding Stance” in Brussels, Belgium in the 1990s. Photo by Satyanarayanan Nair.

3. Compliance

The last idea is perhaps just as unpopular as ‘danger’! In order to get anything out of a relationship with a teacher, one must put their instructions into practice. This sounds innocuous, but the injunction is ‘compliance’ not just ‘practice’. ‘Practice’ may be just too neutral and lacking in the sort of obsessive taking-on that seems to have characterized the behavior of martial artists who have achieved impressive fruitions. In both academic thought and contemporary liberal ideology it is considered positive to relativize different approaches to any given subject, including methods of training. Further we can now watch excellent and diverse examples of martial arts on the Internet and read all kinds of books, articles and blog reports about these practices. I do this myself all the time but much as I love my ‘information-seeking-and-hoarding’ habit, relativizing one’s practice while it is happening can remove one from one’s own direct experience and sabotage one’s ability to learn.

In 2005 I moved from Montréal to Ottawa. I thought it might be interesting to try a completely different martial art from Choy Li Fut and I chose to take Brazilian Jiu Jitsu; Renzo Gracie has a branch school in Ottawa and it was offering the amazing introductory offer of ten private, hour-long lessons for $200.00! Much as I eventually loved learning to wrestle on the ground, my lack of compliance made it a very daunting experience. I thought of myself as a very trained and coordinated person. I had excellent endurance and flexibility. Rather than accepting immediately that this was a new experience for which I was not particularly qualified, I distinctly recall lying crushed beneath my instructor, unable to orient my body to produce force or leverage while actually thinking about how good I was at martial arts when I was standing up! I also considered how while meditating I could slow down to an amazing one breath per minute even though at that moment I was starting to ‘gas’ and pant for air! Of course I was ‘compliant’ in learning the different movements suggested to me by my teacher, but it took longer than I ever imagined to convince myself to ‘play Jiu Jitsu while playing Jiu Jitsu.’

I write all this with a smile but in my experience the easy part of compliance is performing the modestly unpleasant task the instructor may have set. The difficult part is remaining in that experience when it reveals one’s inexperience, incompetence and reactivity.

To conclude, I hope that readers will consider how Affinity, Danger and Compliance can be functional principles in a student-teacher relationship.  If cultivated, they can allow the student to become a researcher who will wind up with something of depth and quality to report.

oOo

If you enjoyed this most you might also want to read: Will Universities Save the Traditional Asian Martial Arts?

oOo

Introduction

Welcome to the third entry in our series of guest posts titled “Doing Research.”  If you missed the first essay by D. S. Farrer (which provides a global overview of the subject), or the second by Daniel Mroz (how to select a school or teacher for research purposes), be sure to check them out.

Compared to other fields of scholarly inquiry, Martial Arts Studies has a distinctly democratic flavor.  Many individuals are introduced to these systems while students at a college or university and are interested in seeing a more intellectually rigorous treatment of their interests.  And certain practitioners want to go beyond reading studies produced by other writers and undertake research based on their own time in the training hall.   The emphasis on ethnographic description, oral and local history, as well as the methodological focus on community based collaborative research within Martial Arts Studies (itself a radically interdisciplinary area), makes participation in such efforts both relatively accessible and highly valuable.  Or maybe you are a student about to embark on your first ethnographic research project?

Dr. Jared Miracle has been kind enough to draw on his extensive research experience in both Japan and China to suggest some practices that can be called upon when facing the daunting task of learning a new martial arts system while also being immersed in a novel culture.  First time ethnographers will find much of value in this discussion, and even more experienced practitioners will likely discover some thought provoking ideas on how to better absorb and understand new martial arts material.

It’s My Way or the Wu Wei: A Note of Advice for Novice Field Researchers

Let us suppose you’re a student conducting fieldwork for the first time. You have a lot of questions.

Actually, no, you probably don’t.

As an educator, the most common issue my students have (other than not studying in the first place) involves coming to me for help only to realize that they don’t know what they need. You can’t find the answers to your questions if you don’t know what you don’t know. So rather than attempt to address frequent questions that you didn’t know you had, I would like to offer a set of solid practices for your first trip to the field. I hope this will be useful regardless of the project, but I write this with a specific set of circumstances in mind. This is essentially a letter to myself about ten years ago, when about to embark on research which called for learning both the lore and bodywork of an ancient Japanese sword system without the slightest idea what I was doing.

To begin with, let’s consider a far-too-neglected topic in the martial arts studies: choreometrics. The late, great musicology Alan Lomax was well-known for his recordings of traditional American music in an effort to preserve cultural heritage. Some of his later work led him to realize that music is often inextricably linked with dance. He began to question if lessons from folk studies and musicology may apply to the physical realm, as well. Lomax’s team conjured up an interesting notion called “choreometrics.” The idea was to take video recordings of movements in different cultures and then analyze them to find commonalities. Much like Draeger’s hoplology, unfortunately, it never seems to have hit the big time. There is something to be learned here, however, for our own endeavors: you need a system.

Dr. Miracle examining a set of traditional Japanese armor. Source: The collection of Dr. Jared Miracle.

The problem: why many Westerners can’t learn East Asian systems

One of the more popular topics in the early years of MMA forums was the lack of utility and student-driven pedagogy in “traditional” (read: East Asian) martial arts. This is not exactly true, but there is a very reasonable explanation for why a great many students struggle with especially foreign systems, such as my own choice of Japanese koryu. You see, Japanese, Korean, and Chinese pedagogy—among other cultures—has historically revolved around a pattern called shu-ha-ri or jo-ha-kyu in Japanese. First you must shu (守) or obey, then ha (破) or break away, and finally to ri (離) or separate and transcend. I’ve been a teacher and a student in both China and Japan and can personally attest that this ancient way of thinking is heavily embedded in the cultures, whether anyone wants to admit it or not. Contrast that approach with the Western European method of education in which students are challenged to become autodidacts, employ creativity, and think critically. If you want to acquire the martial arts skills of your interlocutors to a degree sufficient for analysis, you first need to understand how their brains are programmed, and this is a good starting point.

Next comes narrative structure. Martial arts training is nothing more than kinetic storytelling, but the means of doing so is markedly different in Western European cultures when compared with East Asia. Again, your teacher and fellow students may not be consciously aware of it, but they have been programmed from a young age to follow a certain way of developing narratives. In Japanese, the phrase is ki-sho-ten-ketsu. First comes ki (起), the introduction, then sho (承), the development, ten (転), a virtually unrelated turn in events, and ketsu (結), the conclusion. This is why storylines in films, novels, etc. that originate in places like Japan seem so convoluted to Western audiences. It’s also why so many Japanese exchange students can’t grasp why they receive poor marks on English-language essays. The concept even extends to the storytelling in video games. In your martial arts training, too, you can expect a slightly nonlinear road to your goal. Between the frustrating pedagogical structure and a confusing way to relate information, those who would conduct fieldwork in East Asia must steel themselves for something of a bumpy ride.

Hokey tricks and nonsense vs. a good blaster at your side

Like all handsome, athletic young men, I was on my school’s chess team. Thanks to the coach’s son being one of those rare prodigies who populate the chess circuit, we were in the final round of a very important state-level tournament. I sat fourth board, meaning I was the worst player on the team, but they didn’t have enough warm bodies to compete otherwise. I opened the game with an advance of the king’s pawn, then center pawn, knight, bishop, and then knight again. My opponent was in check and I thought I’d won with a handy little trick known as “scholar’s mate.” It’s a kind of indirect flank that ends the game quickly. As it turned out, the other boy was not a complete rube and I ended up losing a few moves later. The lesson: a bag of tricks is worth precisely one empty bag.

A lot of authors these days are offering “hacks” or “one simple trick” to do any number of things. The result, more often than not, is a complete waste of time. If you would be an effective and efficient field researcher, it behooves you to ignore these traps and focus instead on crafting your own system in a way that works for you. My first efforts to learn the Japanese sword were complete failures. The classical method of training in my style calls for memorizing lengthy and complex forms, each following a theme. The forms are then to be examined for years to learn the embedded lessons. The trouble was that I’m not particularly inclined toward memorization. The Japanese answer, of course, was to keep hammering away. After a couple months of this, I bought a video camera and started supplementing the official instruction with my own ideas to much greater effect.

Source: Photo by Jared Miracle.

Systematize, systematize, systematize

To make my teacher and cohort happy, I continued to do as I was told each day during training, but I also secured permission to set my camera up in an inconspicuous corner of the room. Upon returning home, I would slice up the video so that I had the complete forms in a single file. From there, I broke them into pieces of three or four movements that I could then rehearse on my own, retaining each piece by associating it with a story I invented. For each set of techniques I made up a childish narrative like those used to teach shoe-tying. Luckily for me, it still works as an adult. Within a week I had sufficiently absorbed the same form I’d been struggling for over a month to remember.

The point here is not that video recording is the ideal way to study, but to figure out what works for you and follow it regardless of tradition. I began my sword studies with the foolish mindset that you must learn in the same way as your forbearers. I was wrong. What I learned in the process was not just to act outside the established means of knowledge transmission, but to accept that I needed something different from what my population was willing to offer. In Western-style education we refer to this idea as “differentiation.” After your differentiated education has taken you sufficiently far to catch up with your peers, a good teacher will then institute “scaffolding” by setting up a roadmap to your end goal so that you aren’t stuck in the remedial class for the rest of your life. For more on how to improve your internal learning process, I highly recommend Josh Waitzkin’s The Art of Learning. Waitzkin was a world-class chess player as a child (see Searching for Bobby Fischer) before retiring to take national and international championships in taiji push-hands and Brazilian jiu-jitsu, so he knows what he’s talking about.

Be an idiot child

In order to make adequate progress in acquiring body skills (or any other kind of information, really) in a short amount of time, you need to revert to childhood. By that I mean you should approach your subject with an attitude of absolute ignorance. Take nothing as a given. This is a standard point of all good anthropological fieldwork courses, but it needs to be doubly emphasized in martial arts studies for two reasons. First, you will have a hard time synthesizing information and spotting nuances if you have preconceived notions. Second, people love to teach, and when they perceive that you need extra attention, they may reveal things of which you would not have otherwise been aware.

I managed to weasel my way into a very old-fashioned dojo to learn a five-centuries-old method of fencing. That was tough, and I naturally assumed that the training would also be a challenge. Then one of the senior students—a middle-aged man beset with the funkiest halitosis I’ve ever encountered—handed me my new trousers. Hakama are those many-pleated skirt-like garments worn in aikido and kendo. While I had worn them before, I suddenly noticed that everyone else tied theirs in a very particular way, forming a beautiful cross-shaped knot in the front. Rather than risk being called out during training, I asked for help. It took a fair bit of pride-swallowing to not respond when Mr. Mouthrot laughed a noxious cloud in my face while showing me how to put on my own pants. That knot turned out to be one of the countless unspoken transmissions of the art. And all it cost me was a breath mint.

Relax your way to success

There is a minor inconvenience of which you should be aware before traveling to Japan. Because of a powerful lobby benefiting the taxi companies, virtually every train in the country stops service around ten or eleven in the evening. The lack of trains isn’t much of an issue in metropolitan Tokyo, where you need only cough up a few more yen to catch a ride across town. When living in the boondocks, however, I soon discovered that one may find himself standing in an abandoned train station. On the top of a mountain. In the middle of the night. Alone.

Thinking that I was in for a lengthy hike down into my village in the dark, I zipped up my jumper, plunged hands into my pockets, and… realized that I had lost my house key. It must have fallen out while riding in a cab earlier that evening. Although I could recall the name of the company, I lacked any confidence in my language abilities, especially on the telephone. Not seeing any other way to return home, I picked up a payphone and dialed the taxi dispatch. Had I allowed nerves to overtake my thinking, I may have tried to force the unfortunate woman on the other end to speak what she could recall from her high school English class (always a bad idea). Instead, some special confluence of my exhaustion from a day of travel and passive absorption of daily conversation shone through and I managed to explain that I was a stupid, stupid man who was without his key. The kindness of the Japanese people was on full display as the operator contacted each driver working that night. Within ten minutes, that saintly gentleman pulled up in front of the station, handed me my key, insisted on driving me home, complimented my (atrocious) Japanese, refused to accept any pay, and then offered me a piece of candy as a parting gift.

The lesson? Your ability to absorb new knowledge and skills is quite prodigious if you just step out of your own way. Like a child learning to walk, don’t fear making simple errors or looking foolish. Martial arts field research demands that you lose all sense of pride and egocentrism so that you can do proper justice to your interlocutors. If you aren’t mindful to approach the situation with a sense of relaxed ignorance and trust your own intuitive learning process, you risk not only missing out on valuable knowledge, but also offending your teachers and fellow students by violating the social conditions. Be humble, be calm, and be a buffoon.

Photo of a training session in Shandong. Source: Field notes of Dr. Jared Miracle.

Learn to speedread

Speedreading is immensely useful, and not just because you can knock out over a hundred books a year like Theodore Roosevelt. Indeed, many of history’s great personalities were known to possess nearly superhuman reading abilities, sometimes on the order of two or three per day. Doubtless, this will prove useful to just about anyone. Graduate school more or less forced me to learn the skill. My mentor—who also happens to be a seminal member of martial arts studies since before I was born—instructed me to take all the courses offered by another member of the faculty whose interests did not appear to mesh with mine. After surviving the first of these, I spent the next two years trying to avoid the man, but to no avail.

The professor in question was known for being highly confrontational, racially and sexually offensive, and for assigning hundreds upon hundreds of pages of reading for homework each week. What graduate anthropology student has time to read all of The Brothers Karamazov, the complete collection of Skeptical Inquirer, and a dozen obscure research articles that you have to track down without the aid of a library (they pled “exhausted all resources”), all for a single class? In the end, my cohort and I did. I quickly learned the importance of speedreading, pre-skimming, and which parts of a scholarly book or article should be read in-depth or eschewed entirely. I have never looked back, either. I typically fill and empty my Kindle’s memory about once per month. Also, that nightmarish professor ended up on my committee and proved to be an incredibly valuable asset in the long run, as well as a valued friend and teacher.

But what else does one attain by mastering the ability to devour entire volumes in a day? There is a sort of unquantifiable skill to be found in relaxing the mind and flying through text. It almost feels the same as the much-touted “flow state” or one of those rare “Zen” experiences. When you attain true control over your reading speed, the world disappears, the pages pass by, and suddenly you’ve accumulated a mountain of data without realizing that you were trying. Because you weren’t. This skill transfers well to field research in the martial arts because many of us are learning the nuances of systems that take decades to grasp. Let me be clear: I’m not saying that the ability to apply speedreading-style cognitive methods to your training will equip you to suddenly learn entire systems and cultures instantly ala The Matrix. You will, however, see a notable improvement in your progress and feel less stress and frustration over the entire convoluted mess that is qualitative ethnographic research.

This has worked for me, personally, on a number of occasions. In a recent project, I studied the rudiments of taiji meihua tanglang quan (太極梅花螳螂拳), taiji plum blossom praying mantis boxing. This was part of the agenda during my year as an adjunct at a major university in China. Praying mantis is one of the local styles and one must strike while the iron is hot. In this case, the hard part wasn’t learning, but gaining access. More on that below. Once I connected with a willing master of the form, I ended up driving both him and the other students to no small amount of irritation because they only intended to share one movement with me at a time. When the combination of speedreading his technique and hours of practicing at home each night put me ahead of older students, a few became somewhat indignant. They asked if I was “cheating on” our teacher by attending lessons elsewhere. This is hardly to brag; any effort to demonstrate my meagre understanding of the praying mantis system would end in total embarrassment for me, my family, and eight generations of ancestors. The point is that you can learn how to learn more effectively than you currently do.

Transfer what you know

Whenever I give public talks about martial arts research, the first question from the audience is almost always the same, “So do you practice a martial art?” After some years of this, I still don’t see why that would be relevant for their ends. If a medical doctor were to make a study of dimple prevalence among conjoined twins, is it unlikely that someone in the audience will ask, “So do you have a former conjoined twin with dimples?” Either way, there are some aspects of the present concern that are directly affected by past martial arts study.

As I say, you need to have a system for acquiring body knowledge just as you do for intellectual knowledge. If you have past experience and interest in learning a combat system (and odds are you do, given how many of us got into martial arts studies for the money and fame), it can be quite valuable to determine that system’s approach to cognitive information transfer. One example of this may be the famous wing chun quadrant system. The body is bisected two ways to more easily get a handle on the style’s trademark intercepting maneuvers. In any event, it can greatly expedite the process of learning a new system when you have a solid grounding in another. The operative word here is “can.”

Many teachers will complain about students arriving with preconceived notions or ingrained habits. Those are definitely valid concerns (even Luke Skywalker was “too old to begin the training”), as they are in any kind of education. I would encourage any novice fieldworker to perform extensive reflection and self-examination in terms of prior experience. When you are aware of your habits and biases, they are both easier to overcome and you can leverage that experience to develop new habits. After all, if you already possess a habit then it is proof positive of a method’s effectiveness.

Dr. Miracle in the ring in Japan. Source: Collection of Dr. Miracle.

Done is better than perfect

In a perfect world, we would all have a wealth of time to spend with our interlocutors. The fact that you sometimes bite the inside your own lip indicates that the world is not perfect. Take into account the amount of time and energy you realistically have before even setting out on any field excursion. Whether at your neighborhood taekwondo academy or some remote temple in Shangri-La, the time from setting foot in the door to sending out your article for publication is finite, so plan accordingly.

To that end, I offer my own graduate school Prime Directive: Done is better than perfect.

Repeating that mantra on an hourly basis is one of the tools that helped me graduate from a rigorous PhD. program in seven semesters. It applies just as well in fieldwork. It is important to keep in mind that your own intimacy with the art and population about which you will be writing depends on time and access. Learn what you can, while you can, from whom you can and accept the rest as reality. Take notes and video if you can. Copy down every scrap of data that you collect before going to bed each night. Be appreciative of the opportunities that are presented, not the ones you wish for.

Think like a journalist

Finally, I would like to address the question of how to track down and make contact with individuals who may or may not be willing to spill the kung fu beans. In some cases it’s as simple as walking in and signing up, but I find that the most interesting and enlightening projects involve making good with people who are not interested in teaching. Case-in-point: Master Gu.

Looking for authentic Shandong mantis style, I set out to make connections. What I quickly learned upon arriving in Qingdao is that there are very, very few people actively practicing Chinese martial arts other than the ubiquitous morning taiji groups. Through those folks and a few personal contacts, I was able to find a group practicing plum blossom boxing, another highly regional style. That proved to be a dead-end, however, when a well-respected colleague and Chinese martial arts expert informed me that the club in question would be a waste of time. I visited them anyway, and their instructor demanded outrageous sums of money from the “wealthy foreigner.” It became obvious that I would make no headway on that front.

I told everyone I knew what I was looking for. I even began introducing myself with the usual name, rank, and whatnot, then immediately mentioning that I hoped to study mantis boxing. I dragged a few of my native speaker friends into the search and had them cold calling numbers of martial arts teachers from the public phone listing. Finally, after a couple of months, a friend of a friend told me about Master Gu, a taiji push-hands teacher who was also a master of mantis style. It involved getting up at some ludicrous hour every Sunday morning and committing to an all-day commute to a park where he teaches (sometimes, when he feels like it), but I did eventually get what I came for.

Other cases are more straightforward. Perhaps you know the teacher, have contact information, and maybe even know where to go, but he/she still refuses. Keep showing up. Keep calling. Don’t be annoying, but persistence pays off more often than not. Journalists are the best model for this kind of thing. If it works, it works, and no method should be put out of mind without trying it. With Master Gu, the key ended up being the use of social media. I canvased all of my online connections via the Chinese program WeChat.

Either way, it may be psychologically healthiest to view resistance as a test of one’s drive to learn. Personally, I always think about an atrocious 1991 film called American Shaolin in which the protagonist camps outside the eponymous temple for days until the monks agree to torture him. He does end up becoming a monk and getting the girl. I’m not quite sure how that is supposed to work, but it gives one hope.

So there you have it. The rest is situationally-dependent and may require a degree of creativity, but this should be more than enough to get you started. Below is a list of suggested resources for a more robust education on the topic. The key, however, is to get out and do the work, whenever, wherever, and however you can. Done is better than perfect. Best of luck.

oOo

About the Author

Dr. Jared Miracle is a social anthropologist who specializes in video games and education. He has a PhD (Texas A&M), he’s won tons of awards, and he wrote a book called Now With Kung Fu Grip!: How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented Martial Arts for America and has even given lectures on Pokemon. In short, he knows what he’s talking about. He has also been a regular guest contributor here at Kung Fu Tea.

oOo

Some Additional Reading and Sources:

Choreometrics:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cantometrics#Branching_out_into_Choreometrics

More on Josh Waitzkin’s work in learning and education:
http://www.joshwaitzkin.com/the-art-of-learning/

A nice primer of flow states:
http://positivepsychology.org.uk/pp-theory/flow/30-living-in-flow.html

I suggest “human guinea pig” Tim Ferriss’ thoughts on speedreading:
Scientific Speed Reading: How to Read 300% Faster in 20 Minutes

Some tips on getting started with investigative journalism:
http://www.icfj.org/sites/default/files/10_Steps_Investigative_Reporting_0.pdf

Some fun and terrible weekend viewing:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Shaolin

The best book available on ethnographic fieldwork methods is still Bruce Jackson’s 1987 classic:
http://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/catalog/64nyb2bz9780252013720.html

It is both enlightening and cathartic to read others’ virgin field experiences. I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend an edited volume of such tales called Dispatches from the Field:
http://www.waveland.com/browse.php?t=151&pgtitle=Dispatches+from+the+Field+by+Gardner-Hoffman

Earl White, chief instructor,
Ijo Ija Academy (left), and author (right),
Capoeira Batuque, Los Angeles, CA, 2008. Source: http://abcclio.blogspot.com/2010/08/author-guest-post-thomas-green-on.html

Introduction

Welcome to the fourth entry in our series of guest posts titled “Doing Research.”  If you missed the first essay by D. S. Farrer (which provides a global overview of the subject), the second by Daniel Mroz (how to select a school or teacher for research purposes), or the third by  Jared Miracle (learning new martial arts systems while immersed in a foreign culture) be sure to check them out!

Compared to other fields of scholarly inquiry, Martial Arts Studies has a distinctly democratic flavor.  Many individuals are introduced to these systems while students at a college or university and are interested in seeing a more intellectually rigorous treatment of their interests.  And certain practitioners want to go beyond reading studies produced by other writers and undertake research based on their own time in the training hall.   The emphasis on ethnographic description, oral and local history, as well as the methodological focus on community based collaborative research within Martial Arts Studies (itself a radically interdisciplinary area), makes participation in such efforts both relatively accessible and highly valuable.  Or maybe you are a student about to embark on your first ethnographic research project?

Prof. Thomas A. Green is no stranger to discussions of Martial Arts Studies.  Through both his publications and teaching he has demonstrated the importance of studying “traditional” fighting systems as a method of understanding current social and cultural conditions.  In the following essay he offers new researchers advice on the process of collecting folklore.  The Asian martial arts in particular are often said to be “oral traditions,” and gathering this material is a critical aspect of understanding any school or group of practitioners.  To help us better do this Prof. Green draws our attention to the importance of building the proper rapport while in the field as well as the need for flexibility and a healthy dose of respect.  Though critical advice for first time ethnographers, this essay also contains helpful hints for anyone wishing to get the most out of their time in the training hall.

Left to right Gurus Tony Valdez, James Leach, Maha Guru Clifford Stewart, Green, Guru Thomas Lomax, Los Angeles, CA. Source: Personal Collection of Prof. Thomas Green.

I’m Only in it For the Stories
Dedicated to the Memory of Zheng Xìujìng

“Doing ethnography is like trying to read (in the sense of ‘construct a reading of’) a manuscript—foreign, faded, full of ellipses, incoherencies, suspicious emendations, and tendentious commentaries, but written not in conventionalized graphs of sound but in transient examples of shaped behavior.”

-Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (1973)

I’ve always resisted the label of social “scientist.” Particularly since I focus on symbolic dimensions of folklore and characterize my approach as leaning toward the qualitative, I’m more comfortable conceiving of what I do as an art. After all, what I do is classified as ethnography: etymologically “writing a culture.“ How can we as outsiders write a culture? As ethnographers, we must keep a certain distance even when writing our native culture. Doing so is just as difficult as it sounds. Complicating matters further is an issue Bronislaw Malinowski addresses in his classic Argonauts of the Western Pacific (1922), “To study the institutions, customs, and codes or to study the behaviour and mentality without the subjective desire of feeling by what these people live, of realising the substance of their happiness—is, in my opinion, to miss the greatest reward which we can hope to obtain from the study of man”. Two points leap out: subjectivity has a place in the study of culture, and it is okay to practice our trade because we enjoy doing so.

I think it is fair, especially if we consider it reasonable to label qualitative field research as an art, to say that I’m just in this for the stories. That statement also has the advantage of being true. Who tells the stories? That can be a problem if the ethnographer refuses to tell the stories (beyond reading Geertz’ manuscript), but chooses to let someone else assume the role of narrator. To accomplish this one risks the possibility of falling into the narratives in much the same way that Alice fell down the rabbit hole (These tend to be the best ones, of course). In that situation, one cannot always know how (or if) a story begins, how it will develop, or where it will end. Returning to Geertz’ metaphor, I suggest that the ethnographer should stand behind the cultural interlocutors to read their stories over their shoulders as far as possible. If you listen closely and if you are lucky, they will tell you where to stand.

Let’s agree for the time being that we are “only in it for the stories.” In order to “ask” for a story, we must establish rapport. In my experience, establishing rapport in the field demands three qualities from the researcher. Two stories about getting the stories from the field illustrate these qualities.

My first real fieldwork took me to the town of Ysleta a few miles outside El Paso, Texas. I planned to write my dissertation on the ways that folklore, particularly folk history and festival, had facilitated social cohesion and fostered a Native American identity among the Tigua Pueblo of Ysleta del Sur. The Texas Tigua had become separated from their parent village in New Mexico following the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. A series of historical accidents and social injustices delayed their official recognition and enfranchisement by the federal government and the state of Texas until the 1960s. Nevertheless, the Tigua had maintained their identity for over 300 years, and a cultural revival followed in the wake of recognition.

I arrived armed with a cassette recorder (we are talking about the 1970s, after all), a notebook full of questions, and a head full of hypotheses drawn from the literature on cultural revitalization movements. After checking in with the local representative of the Texas Commission for Indian Affairs, I was taken across the central plaza to meet the Cacique, the Tigua spiritual leader and patriarch. At a little before noon, the June sun pushed the temperature toward 100 degrees F. We found the Cacique, José Granillo, standing by an adobe building in the early stages of being converted to a multipurpose community center. He was looking up at a small group of men repairing leaks in its roof. On hearing that I was on hand to begin, in the TCIA employee’s unfortunate choice of verbs, ”studying” his people, the Cacique gestured with an upward tilt of his chin to a weather-beaten twelve foot ladder leaning against the dusty brown wall. Mr. Granillo told me, “To know about the Indians, you need to work like the Indians.” To show that I accepted the advice (or was it a challenge?), I climbed the ladder and asked how I could help. I came back the next day and the next and the next, etc.–wearing a hat to avert further sunburn and work gloves to cover my blisters, and sans recorder.

Word travels fast in a village. That’s true all over the world. In Ysleta, people began to ask questions. Then they began to answer questions. After a while, some people began to tell stories and share exactly the kind of knowledge I had come to gather. I never became much of a roofer or mason or cook or chauffeur or any of the other odd jobs that materialized over the next year. On the other hand, by means of this genuine participant-observation I began to hear in a more or less natural context (after all, they did know who I am and why I was there) the narratives I had come to collect. I was not always having fun; I was not using the research protocol I had been taught, but I was getting the job done.

Prof. Green attending a performance at the Spring Festival in Hou Ma (Henan Province). Source: From the private collection of Thomas A. Green.

Forty years later I was in another village, this one in Henan Province, PRC. I had traveled to Hou Ma with my colleagues Li Yun and Zhang Guodong in order to document Liangquan (“Show Boxing”) performances held by the Meihua (Plum Blossom) Boxers during Spring Festival (“Chinese New Year”). We had arrived a few days before the actual performance to interview local Boxers who Guodong (himself a well-known Mei Boxer) had identified during previous visits and to record coinciding events such as traditional popular opera.

A few days before Liangquan I stood as a conspicuous Caucasian in the festival crowd watching an opera performance when I felt a tug on the sleeve of my coat. I turned to see an elderly, but extraordinarily animated, lady speaking to me in the local dialect. I later learned that her name was Zheng Xìujìng, and she was 84 years-old. Guodong’s sister, who had come along to help with the translation, explained that the lady wanted me to know she was glad I came to her village, and that she wanted us to visit her house. We had a full research agenda, but rather than offending her, the four of us agreed to visit.

We followed the directions she had given us and arrived at a modest older style house in the heart of the village. We entered directly into the largest room of the dwelling—a general purpose room upon whose walls hung a large portrait of Mao Zedong surrounded by framed calligraphy and a variety of traditional weapons of indeterminate age, but obviously very old. Some belonged to Master Zheng, who we learned was a 13th generation master of Mei Boxing, and some had belonged to her late husband. She explained the rugged condition of most of the weapons by telling us stories of their having been buried in the fields along with ancestral tablets and other traditional treasures to prevent their destruction during the Proletarian Cultural Revolution. She and her husband, along with other members of Hou Ma’s Mei Boxing families, practiced at night in the same fields in order to preserve the embodied treasure that was their art without detection by authorities charged with eradicating this alleged relic of feudalism.

When I told her I was puzzled that she hung a picture of the leader who was, in the Western view at least, the face of the Cultural Revolution among martial treasures and over an altar used for ancestor veneration. Her response: After Mao came to power she was not hungry every day as she had been before the establishment of the People’s Republic. Then, she shrugged her shoulders beneath her heavy quilted coat and added, “Even the best people make mistakes.”

That day and on other occasions during our stay in Hou Ma, Master Zheng shared history, her own and Mei Boxing’s. She read through with us the frayed pages of a hand-written book that chronicled the lineage and original history of Plum Blossom Boxing. From Master Zheng we began to become aware of two distinct streams of Mei Boxing: Wu (physical techniques) and Wen (non-physical techniques; ritual, metaphysics). Because of her mastery of Wen, people regularly called on her for help, including members of the visiting opera troupe I had been documenting. The performers came to her house to venerate ancestors and petition for her blessing. Although we never saw her skills at Wu, her grandson’s demonstration of the guan do (Chinese halberd) suggested that her command of the physical combative side of Mei Boxing was equally well-developed. None of this could have been anticipated before she tugged on my sleeve to tell us her story.

A snapshot of Master Zheng as she shares the history of her art. Source: From the private collection of Thomas A. Green.

CREDIBILITY: The first questions any ethnographer encounters in the field relate to: Who are you, why should I believe you, and why should we trust you with our stories? Researchers, the illusory role of participant-observer notwithstanding, are bystanders at best and potentially intruders. Credibility, even to stand by, must be earned. This can be especially true in situations in which inter-group relationships have been strained, as was the case with the Tigua who had been the victims of both racial prejudice and political malfeasance since European contact. Subordinating myself to village authority, engaging in manual labor that apparently had no relationship to my research goals, and doing both repeatedly clearly demonstrated that I wanted to “study” the Tigua badly enough to undertake the enterprise on their terms.

On the other hand, credibility may come at a comparatively low price. In Hou Ma, I accompanied a trusted member of the Mei Boxing brotherhood, and I was willing to listen to an elderly lady who seemed an unlikely bearer of Meihuaquan tradition. In both cases, I could not play the role I had prepared; the roles were assigned by the host communities, and a role of some sort always will be assigned.

A viable role is crucial to success. In other research situations, even when sweating and occasionally bleeding alongside other martial arts students, I invariably have been categorized as unusual. Early on, Maha Guru Cliff Stewart tagged me as “Professor” and “Doc,” in group contexts at least. This went a long way to establishing my bona fides when I began working with his martial associates, and that was his intent, of course. The use of those titles suggests no deferential treatment, however, only difference and usually license to ask questions that would have seemed odd or intrusive had they come from either insiders or outsiders.

FLEXIBILITY: Reading over our hosts’ shoulders can demand unexpected contortions, and not a little endurance to maintain that reading posture. Obviously I never intended to collect my information on the roof, but since that was the only option I was given I did it. The only genuine “textbook” recorded interview I attempted at Ysleta was unsatisfactory. It was stilted, and my narrator Pablo repeatedly responded to requests for stories with something like, “Oh, I already told you that one.” That was true. Most of the folk history I collected at Ysleta came “on the fly,” in the context of other conversations.

Fortunately, I took notes as soon after hearing a tale as possible, have a better than average memory, and recorded my own recreation of what resulted from the notes and my memory as soon as possible. The fact that the really important narratives were repeated more than once by Pablo and other gifted storytellers helped, too. Conversation, not interrogation, was the proper mode for this situation. A lack of flexibility would have left me flailing in the dark.

The research project in Hou Ma was carefully planned. Guodong is an insider, a Mei Boxer who is the disciple of one of the most highly respected masters in China, and the author of a dissertation on Meihuaquan. He had visited the village before, and during these visits had identified the best resource persons. These factors helped us target those persons in the village who were most likely to help us answer our research questions, or so we thought until Master Zheng tugged at my sleeve and pulled us in a new and extraordinarily productive direction. Fortunately, we had the flexibility to stand where she told us in order to read her texts over her shoulder.

Serendipity was the catalyst for the success in both of these stories about stories. Need I belabor the point? Here we are back where this story began, with Alice. My advice to you? When you see the White Rabbit pause to wink back over his shoulder, drop your preconceptions and follow him down the hole.

Thomas A. Green
TAMU

Prof. Green at lunch, where lots of good fieldwork happens. Source: From the private collection of Thomas A. Green

oOo

About the Author: Prof. Green (Anthropology, Texas A&M University) conducts research on African and African-descended martial culture in the Americas. The primary focus of this research has been the role of martial arts in African American cultural nationalism and the relationships among martial arts and expressive genres such as music, dance, games, and drama.

In 2012, he initiated fieldwork in northern China on traditional village martial arts with colleagues from the PRC. The projects in Hebei, Henan, and Shandong analyze of the use of vernacular martial arts in post-Mao northern China to confront the potential social fragmentation brought on by the rapid social change that characterizes modernization. Their current project investigates the Liangquan Festival of  the Plum Blossom Boxers of Hou Mazhuang Village as a vehicle to maintain group cohesion in the face of the social and economic pressures that encourage residents to move to urban locations. Following the recognition of Plum Blossom Boxing as an example of Intangible Cultural Heritage, local government entities intend to develop the shrine devoted to Zou  Hongyi, the patriarch of  this martial art,  into a tourist attraction. Future research will document the success of these efforts and the ways in which Liangquan and the performing community are affected.  

oOo

If you enjoyed this guest post you might also want to read: Professor Thomas Green on the Survival of Plum Blossom Boxing, Martial Folklore and the State of Martial Arts Studies

A lush hillside. Source: From the private collection of Thomas A. Green.