WHAT HAPPENED TO REAL GONG-FU?

 By Yang Shuangxing

Although many contemporary practitioners of traditional Chinese martial arts are able to provide us with enviable demonstrations, many (perhaps most) of them are not really practicing the genuine, traditional arts and when it comes to fighting, they often resemble kickboxers. Rarely do we see them employing the classical techniques for which their arts are renowned. How did this come to be? And when did it happen? Is it a fairly recent development? The answer(s) to these questions are rather complicated, so bear with me.

The first time I met Sifu Robert Allen Pittman, we become good friends and his dogged interest in answering these questions motivated me to do some digging into the misty and confusing past of Chinese martial arts. I have found some answers, which include societal and cultural elements, as well as political reasons.

Most of the deviations (from the authentic, traditional ways) occurred prior to the advents of WWII in China, which began in 1937. According to Sifu Wang Xianghai (renowned founder of Yiquan , November 26, 1885 - July 12, 1963) in an interview conducted shortly before the war, “In the Warring States Period (475-221 BC) there appeared forms of competition, where competitors were fighting with horns attached to helmets which they wore on their heads. Martial arts were gradually changing and developing. During the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD) there were various schools. During the Yuan (1279-1368), the Ming (1368-1644) and at beginning of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911/12) martial arts were flourishing. There were many practitioners. Because different people had different levels of skill and knowledge, different schools were established and each of them maintained that they had the truth.”

However, the government was concerned about their popularity. According to Wang, “The emperors feared that the martial arts would be used against the government, therefore they wanted to destroy them for good and so that they could never recover. Therefore, they started to influence the people to think highly of the civil arts and look down upon everything martial. On one hand they advocated flying immortal swordsmen as we see in modern wushu and martial arts movies even today, with “flying” sword thrusts) and taught the mystical on purpose, on the other hand they praised the boxing forms and fixed techniques in order to lead the martial arts astray. The middle road and the great Tao could not be asked about, and they used opera and storybooks to serve as their tools of propaganda. Furthermore, they made the people who practiced martial arts to be despised by the scholarly-bureaucrats, so the situation went from bad to even worse. All kinds of ugly performances emerged, what a great pity and tragedy!”

Even so, many famous martial arts practitioners developed highly effective forms. And then, according to Sifu Wang, “During the reign of Kangxi (reigned from 1661-1722) and Yongzheng (reigned 1722-35), who were emperors of Qing Dynasty, guns were not popular yet. The rulers were afraid of the power of people practicing martial arts, so they tried to destroy it. Civil education was propagated and martial arts were looked down upon. At the same time writers who wrote fantastic stories about sword masters flying in the air were favored, and the result was that it influenced the imagination of most people who came to believe that martial arts were something magic and mysterious.”

There were very, very few martial arts teachers who made a living by teaching their arts. Only those who had been hired by the Imperial Court to teach troops or who had been retained by very wealthy businessmen to teach their progeny could make a living through teaching. Yang Luchan, the founder of Yang Taijiquan, was one such instructor hired by the Court...this would certainly indicate that his Taijiquan was very effective in combat. Most martial arts practitioners, if they wanted to eke out a living with their skill, would do so by hiring on as convoy escorts or bodyguards. Others, less skilled, turned to providing demonstrations in the streets (kind of a form of begging).

After the collapse of the Qing Dynasty, the history of the Republic of China began. When the Qing Dynasty faded into oblivion in 1912, the formation of the Republic of China as a constitutional republic put an end to 4,000 years of Imperial rule. The Republic, led by Sun Yat-sen experienced many trials and tribulations after its founding, which included being dominated by elements as disparate as warlord generals and foreign powers (who had been involved in the infamous Boxer Rebellion). In 1928, the Republic was nominally unified under the Kuomintang (KMT)—Chinese Nationalist Party—after the Northern Expedition, and was in the early stages of industrialization and modernization when it was caught in the conflicts among the Kuomintang government, the Communist Party of China, (founded 1921), which was converted into a nationalist party; local warlords, and the empire of Japan.

It was a time of great confusion and civil unrest; of demonstrations and even violent protests. Many citizens demanded societal/cultural change; for instance, they demonstrated against the inequality of women. They wanted to modernize. Following the Boxer Rebellion, many people had no use for “old-fashioned” ideas and institutions. Martial arts were seen as being basically worthless in a modern, upbeat world.

I believe that many gong-fu teachers sought to make their respective styles more appealing so as to attract students. Some movements were made more “eye-appealing” and numerous training routines, which were uncomfortable or even downright painful or boring, were dropped. Moreover, many of them were primarily interested in gaining “face” and making money...above and beyond maintaining the arts that had been passed down to them. To this end, they taught very few students the true art; most learned only the outer shell. That made these instructors seem very special as “keepers of secrets.” At the same time, they often basked in the rumors and storybook legends of high-level martial arts masters possessing near-superhuman powers and alluded to possessing such powers themselves.

The changes that were made affected the northern styles much more than those of the south...probably because communication in those days was very difficult and the people in the south weren't always necessarily aware of what was going on in the better-known northern areas (such as those around Beijing and even Shanghai). In any case, the southern forms were rather homely when compared to those of the northern disciplines; no high or jumping kicks, no spinning, no “long fist” postures. Southern forms weren't nearly as eye-appealing as those of the north.

Sifu Wang mentioned that as early as the mid-19^th century, Shaolinquan (and many of its offshoots) had lost its essence and become sterile and ineffective. At about the same time, newer forms were developed (these became known as the “internal schools”). Sifu Wang recalled, “In my childhood I met Mr. Cheng Tinghua (a practitioner of Baguazhang), and I remember he seemed to be like a divine dragon roaming in the sky, changing infinitely, it is hardly possible for the modern person to reach such skill and strength. I wish that the people practicing ‘Bagua’ would concentrate on the double and single ‘chuanzhang’ (“turning palms”, the original name of baguazhang), paying special attention to intuitively perceiving every movement, doing their best to take a more advanced course of training, and earnestly enter into the theory, putting it all into practice for a long time. Then they could get close to approaching its essence.”

As for Taijiquan, he said, “As masters of the original ‘Taijiquan’, I should recommend the Yang brothers Shaohou and Chengfu. They are also old friends of mine, thus I know that this boxing really has some knowledge of mechanics, but out of one hundred persons not even one gains its essence, and even if one can gain it, it is still one-sided, because the basic skills of intuitive perception already died out a long time ago, thus their lower bodies have no real strength to speak of, and even if one can gain it, it is still one-sided, because the basic skills of intuitive perception already died out a long time ago, thus their lower bodies have no real strength to speak of. Originally this boxing consisted of three fists, also called the "old three cuts", Mr. Wang Zongyue changed it into thirteen postures", and it was later changed into as much as one hundred and forty or fifty postures, this is the major reason for the distortion.

So Taijiquan was already in decline back in the 1930's. Of Xingyiquan, he stated, “One should know that the original ‘Xingyi’ completely lacked the training method of the twelve forms, but the whole body was meant to express the essence of all these twelve forms. It did not have the theory of the mutual promotion and restraint of the five elements, there were just the five elements representing five kinds of forces. It did not have any fixed techniques, boxing routines or forms of movements, either.”

During WWII, there was little development or further changes made to Chinese martial arts. It was difficult enough simply to survive. Immediately after the war, Mao Zedong and Chiang Kai-shek again locked horns. In the end, Mao's forces took over mainland China and Chiang established the Republic of China on Taiwan. The communist regime was born on the mainland in 1949. And the practice of martial arts was forbidden...

Prior to the end of the horrific Cultural Revolution on the mainland (it lasted from 1965 to about 1975), the government sponsored work on what eventually became known as “contemporary wushu.” Until the end of the revolution, practice of traditional martial arts was strictly outlawed and anyone caught teaching or practicing them would suffer a terrible fate. Wushu, which combined martial arts with gymnastics and Chinese opera (bear in mind that Chinese opera had, for centuries, utilized martial arts movements) was intended for demonstration only – not actual combat – to appease the masses. It has a very distinct military bearing to it, which is something that is not normally seen in the traditional forms.

To learn fighting, students were relegated to practicing “sanda”, which was/is a form of kickboxing. Regardless of what style one practiced, sparring was taught via sanda, so everyone looked the same and used the same kickboxing-style techniques (rather than utilizing the techniques of one's own particular style). The traditional arts were rendered sterile.

Fortunately, many instructors had fled to Taiwan and Hong Kong, where they continued to teach. Their students would eventually make their way to the West and a few Westerners would travel to study under them directly. This helped preserve some of the essence of the traditional arts, although they had been in a decline for a long time.

Is it possible to determine just what the original versions of various styles of gong-fu were like originally? In some cases, yes...and in many others, no. People such as sifu Pittman have been very fortunate in meeting and learning from some of the “old school” instructors who trained back in the 20's and 30's, and they can show us what the original versions were. But for most styles, this isn't possible; the older teachers passed away without ever meeting a foreigner who had an interest in learning such things.

Master Wang Xianghai, through his interviews, provided us with some valuable information. He decried the contemporary styles of his day emphasizing the practice of flowery forms over and above the practice of effective combative techniques with a partner via 1-step routines and even sparring, one way or another. He acknowledged that while forms contain a wealth of information that is extremely useful, practical applications should be practiced regularly and not always in a pre-rehearsed manner. Let's preserve what we have and pass it on, unchanged, to the next generation.

THE RIGHT MINDSET

 by Phillip Starr

The young karate student stood still, his fist chambered at his hip, staring at the board that he was supposed to break. An older student dutifully held it up in front of him, waiting. The novice did his best to remember what his instructor had told him, “Think PAST the board! Punch at something behind it!” Alright, then...he'd aim at his partner's chest. He closed his eyes as he took a breath, and then with a loud shout, he fired his punch. And the board split in half as if it were just papier-mache! The young man's spirit soared! He felt as if he'd just achieved the impossible.

And so he had achieved the impossible; impossible for him, anyway. But more than that, he had unconsciously learned an invaluable lesson – one that even his instructor may not have considered; that he can do whatever he genuinely BELIEVES he can do. And that goes way beyond breaking an inch-thick piece of pine!

If instead, the student had focused on the surface of the board, or is he was fearful of hitting it (because it might hurt a bit), or if he doubted his ability to break it, he would certainly have failed.

This lesson applies to life, not just to breaking pieces of wood.

THE ENDGAME?

 By Yang Shuangxing

I have been practicing gong-fu now for more than 65 years, and iaido for about 7....and yet, even after training for so long (although 7 years isn't long at all in iaido), I still haven't perfected anything; in any given practice session, I still find small flaws in my technique! More so since returning from China after suffering a stroke! So I continue to practice and polish my skill, enduring periodic setbacks that occur more frequently with the onset of age. However, such things are to be expected – “bumps in the road” – and I am not dissuaded from my continued regular practice. At least the flaws aren't as glaringly obvious as they used to be. They're getting smaller, but they're still there.

I recall discussing this topic with a student some time ago. He seemed a bit disappointed in the fact that after more than two decades of practice, he hadn't really “perfected” anything. He kept finding small flaws. I told him that he had indeed made significant improvement; after all, now he could finally recognize and acknowledge the flaws! I have had students whose arrogance prevented them from acknowledging their glitches and hence, their ability to improve.

At the same time, we must remember that although we seek and strive for perfection, it cannot be achieved in this life. There just isn't enough time. Many of our friends and associates surely regard us as odd indeed! We chase after something that we KNOW cannot be achieved and yet, we refuse to give up. Why don't we do something more “productive?”

And therein lies a good part of the rub; it is this continual striving (for something that we'll never reach) that makes the whole process “productive”! It is what makes us what and who we are!

STRIKING POSTS IN THE NEIJIA?

 By Yang Shuangxing

All too often, I have come across neijia (internal Chinese martial arts; taijiquan, baguazhang, xingyiquan) stylists who pride themselves on not having to use any kind of striking post, which they consider rather barbaric. The truth, however, is a bit different.

Back in the early days, taijiquan enthusiasts practiced striking crude heavy bags as well as wooden posts (which were really just posts that had been stuck in the ground). The idea was to strengthen and toughen the bodily striking surfaces, and to increase the density of the bones. No callousing...just strengthening and toughening.

The same thing holds true for practitioners of xingyiquan and baguazhang. Bagua stylists would plant several poles in the ground and then practice routines that involved manneuvering around them while “sliding” their arms against them (many current devotee still do this). They would also strike the posts in a variety of ways.

Most Chinese striking posts are bare wood. I think this is a problem. Striking bare wood is, if the blow has any “guts” to it, rather painful. Your subconscious mind will not permit you to strike with much power. It's protecting you from doing something that it regards as harmful (and probably very foolish). Don't believe me? Walk up to a solid post of some kind and give it a good whack...not a homerun punch, but a strong one. Just 50 reps. Odds are you'll barely be tapping it when you get to 50...if you even make it that far. Even if you place a pad on the immovable post, it won't help much.

When you strike a solid post or anything else that doesn't “give”, YOU will absorb almost all of the power of your own blow! That's because your target is more stable than you are. I have seen photos of well-known gong-fu and karate teachers punching a pad that has been affixed to a tree. Such practice is harmful and foolish. Period. The same thing goes for beating the hands against large rocks and concrete or steel pillars.

In my opinion, for what it's worth, there is no better striking post than the old Okinawan version. It is padded and “gives” a bit when struck. And that's a critical issue. The object in using this device is NOT to build callouses on the hands, but to increase the density of the bones in the hands and, to a lesser extent, in the arms. It also teaches, albeit sometimes painfully, how to execute technique correctly.

Striking a proper striking post should not be especially painful. Initially the padding (which is traditionally made of a type of rope derived from rice stalks) is a bit stiff, but with regular practice it gets much softer...kind of like using a new baseball mitt. Striking it then isn't painful at all and your subconscious will allow you to deliver strong blows because there is no fear of pain.

If you want to develop genuine martial skill with your taijiquan, baguazhang, or xingyiquan, make it a part of your regular daily practice.

STREET READY?

 By Phillip Starr

As practitioners of percussive martial arts such as gong-fu, karate, and taekwondo, there's a serious issue that we should all consider; in our practice of 1-step fight routines as well as the applications of parts of various forms, we are usually not being realistic at all. And that can cost us (and our students) dearly...

The problem is that we have the uke (person acting as the aggressor) attack with nice, straight lunging or reverse punches, and so on...strikes and movements that would be used by persons practicing our form of martial art. What we'll encounter on the street is considerably different, however.

This has resulted in many traditional martial art students and instructors believing that the traditional forms/techniques don't work “on the street.” I would answer by saying that that's rather shallow thinking. The truth is that they do, in fact, work – but just HOW they work may be a little different from what one might think (or have been taught).

The various forms created by our martial arts ancestors are extremely effective against various forms of attack – but the forms of attack against which they're intended to be applied and HOW they're meant to be applied may be rather different than what you think. Let's be realistic; “street fighting” hasn't changed much over the eons...and nobody probably attacked someone with a crisp lunging punch. As is the case today, haymakers were common and often preceded by a grab or push. Years ago, the FBI listed the most common forms of simple physical assault///#1 was the grab, and #2 was a push. Both were followed by a punch. And our traditional forms were designed to enable us to deal with these kinds of common “street attacks” rather than preparing us to fight other martial-arts trained people.

Moreover, the techniques may often work considerably differently from what you expect. For instance, your inside forearm block probably won't work well against a haymaker, and that low-level side kick works better as a leg throw! In breaking down your forms, work to see how movements work against street attacks instead of other martial arts techniques. You'll likely find numerous joint-twisting techniques, take-downs, and strikes you didn't even know were there. But you're going to have to work at it.

Bear in mind that disciplines such as karate were never used on the battlefield. Soldiers back in the day were attired in full armor (to go into battle without it would be tantamount to suicide), and performing karate techniques and body shifting would have been very awkward, right? Our percussive martial forms were intended for CIVILIAN self-defense (the revered martial arts historian and author, Donn Draeger, noted this). And the types of attacks that civilians encounter are a bit different than those experienced on the battlefield; the aggressor was rarely armed with a sword or spear…and attacks occur at very close quarters. Consider these things when you analyze and practice applications of your forms…

THE SNOWBALL EFFECT

 by Phillip Starr

I have very much enjoyed attending various seminars over the years. Many, if not most of them featured styles that were very different from those I practice. In some cases, they involved wholly different arts! For instance, different styles might include Fut-Ga, Praying Mantis (tanglang), or Changquan (long fist). Different arts altogether could encompass subjects such as judo, arnis, or aikido...

You might wonder why I would be interested in participating in such events. Well...first, I ensure that the featured instructors are highly skilled individuals who have practicd and taught their respective arts for a considerable time. Then I can be pretty well assured that I'll get what I want out of the workshop.

And what might that be?, you may ask. It isn't necessarily that I'm especially interested in learning any of their techniques or forms, per se... what I'm really keen to learn is PRINCIPLES. If I can pick up just one new principle, it often has what I call a “snowball effect.” So learning a single new principle is more than worth the effort (and the cost).

I look at it this way; we're all human and we're all built alike...we share the same skeletal and muscular structure as well as nervous systems. Techniques are performed in accordance with certain principles, and the same holds true for movement (of the body). I know of no one who can lay claim to knowing all of the various principles of both technique or movement, so I'm always ready to learn what I can.

Then when I learn a new principle (which I'll call “A”), I study it carefully... “If 'A' works for this kind of movement, would that hold true for 'B' (a different type of movement)?” And then that might give rise to “C”, and so on. It's very exciting but it's something that should be attempted only by those who have a couple of decades of practicing a given art under their belts.