HAS IT ALL CHANGED?

 By Phillip Starr

How many times have I heard, “That traditional stuff doesn't work in a real street fight!” And all the blather about “reality based” methods, as opposed, I guess, to the methods different from theirs which, I guess, are based on “unreality?” Oddly enough, I've never heard one of these alleged combat authorities explain just WHY they don't work, or if they ever did, just exactly WHEN did they become obsolete...? As nearly as I can determine, many of the critics of the “traditional stuff” believe there was a time in the hazy past when the bad guys fought with perfect reverse punches and side kicks, and the good guys defended themselves with textbook blocks and counter-attacks. These “reality critics” must believe that the “street fight situations” of the past looked much like a modern karate class. When was this?

If we follow the logic of the aforementioned critics, we must suppose that around the mid-1970's (when “full-contact fighting” came into vogue), someone woke up and realized that “real fighting” involved things like head butting, gouging, and multiple attacks. Wow...! How brilliant of these innovators to have discovered this hidden truth and to set out to rectify matters.

It is typical of many people (especially nowadays) – mostly those of adolescent mentality – to believe that nothing really important has happened unless it has been in their lifetimes. Apparently, they believe that until the advent of grappling (using the worn-out adage that “all fights go to the ground”), contact-type combative SPORT fighting arts consisted of dorks attired in pajamas throwing jerky punches and kicks and, of course, “judo chops” at each other. And we'd have to conclude that all these “traditionalists” were either involved in a massive cult-like deception or that the bad guys of the past were just really, really stupid and easily defeated by such methods.

The truth is that people engaged in hand-to-hand fighting – whether on a battlefield or a tavern – tend to go about it in the same way that they always have. Physiologically, we haven't changed much in a rather long time. It's true that culture plays a role in how we fight; I remember when I was a youngster, anyone who kicked in a fight was a “sissy” and striking to the groin was unthinkable (I even saw a WWI hand-to-hand manual that instructed soldiers that such a vicious tactic was to be used only when one's life was at stake!). Nowadays, everyone from citizens to criminals and even police officers are apt to kick an opponent. A schoolboy in old England could expect his foe to accept defeat if his nose was bloodied. City gangs of the 1950's often had elaborate rituals of approaching each other, stalking, and even posturing. Nowadays, such rituals have vanished and business often starts with a drive-by spray of gunfire. Although gang members are often criminals, they aren't stupid (for the most part); they adapted their behavior to meet a change in combat.

But these are actually secondary considerations in most cases; when it comes down to people engaged in personal combat hand-to-hand, we haven't suddenly discovered anything new. This is why it's silly to speak of “traditional” ways of fighting. Rather than comparing “traditional” and “reality” disciplines, it's more appropriate to think of distinctions in APPROACHES to learning to fight. Certainly, there are superior and inferior ways of teaching and learning this skill. The karate/taekwondo/gong-fu school where forms are perceived as a rote exercise, performed robotically and always against an imaginary assailant is NOT engaging in traditional training. More accurately, it is engaged in inferior training, probably led by someone who never learned correctly in the first place and is now passing down his bad habits and training methods to his pupils. The grappling school wherein students immediately go to the mat and students are taught in a haphazard way that doesn't teach fundamentals, always hoping to “find what works” in the heat of the action, isn't really doing anything new or revolutionary. It's just poor training, like tossing someone out of a boat to teach them how to swim.

Oftentimes, what passes for traditional training - even in Japan and China – is no more than a stylized pantomime in too many schools/groups. Just because my gong-fu, karate, or judo doesn't work is no indication that these arts are unrealistic. If I'm doing some diluted form, it's my APPROACH to them that's unrealistic. To believe otherwise is to embrace the crooked logic that these ancient arts have been an enormous fraud; to believe that judo has been little more than 150 year-old delusion. It worked in the past. If it doesn't work now, it isn't because people have learned to fight differently. It's more likely that you're simply not doing it right.

Nearly all the problems we have with martial arts today can be traced back to poor teaching. I'm not necessarily speaking of those teachers who pretending to have skill that they don't really have, or who teach because it fills a need in their egos (although there are plenty of those), but there are also teachers who are honest, well-meaning, and truly dedicated...but they're still poor teachers.

Let me posit this...first, it is very, very difficult to teach the martial ways. Second, there are few who are really qualified to do it. Many of us feel that the martial ways aren't too difficult to learn so long as you have the physical and mental stamina for it. There are many thousand of martial arts schools and clubs around the country with many more thousands of teachers who lead them. The truth, however, is that the authentic martial ways are enormously, dauntingly sophisticated. They are ferociously hard to learn and even harder to teach. Most people just don't get that.

For instance, learning how to perform a proper side thrust kick, hip throw, or wrist twist and understanding their mechanics AS THEY APPLY TO YOU doesn't necessarily mean that you can reproduce it in someone else who's built entirely differently than you. Acquiring the understanding of the technique on a level where you can deal with these situations takes years of training, experience, and insight. In the same sense, being able to execute the technique while practicing in a comfy environment with a cooperative partner is one thing, but learning to do it under more difficult conditions and in conjunction with other techniques is another. Some people have learned because they possess the natural talent to teach themselves. They learn not BECAUSE of the teacher, but IN SPITE of the teacher.

Moreover, the teacher needs to learn more than just how to perform his techniques; he needs to understand the underlying principles of his art so thoroughly that he can see how they are embodied in it's techniques (each one). In this way, he can teach the foundations of the art as a whole instead of in disparate, unconnected techniques. This is really a widespread problem in the martial ways. It's why so many teachers actually just instruct a mishmash of disparate techniques and tactics, hoping to cobble them together in a sort of “best of” collection of the different arts they've learned. They fail to understand that viable fighting arts must be based on coherent principles that organize body and mind in a way that's dependable and capable of being integrated as a whole into the individual.

Imagine, in a crisis, a shooter who's been taught by one instructor to use the weapon's front sight to aim and taught by another how to shoot instinctively. He's going to be confused when the cards are down. The same is true of the martial arts student.

The person who would be a teacher has to climb to a point where his view is sufficiently broad in order to show others how to get where he is and to go beyond. Even with such a teacher, it isn't easy. Without one? No way...

THE FOUR LEVELS OF APPLICATION

 by Phillip Starr

Back in the day, China didn't have training halls such as those we enjoy in the West. They still don't; most training was and still is, conducted outdoors. And the teachers of those bygone years were very concerned about people hiding in the bushes and watching them teach and practice; they feared that the secrets of their style might be learned by others who might then find ways of defeating them. I'm quite sure that they didn't plan to “spoon-feed” their students; they wanted and expected them to train hard to learn the entire system. Those who were in a hurry or who just didn't want to bother with it weren't worth the trouble of teaching beyond a certain level, anyway.

And so it was that they began to “camouflage” certain techniques in the forms. The veils were several, which I refer to as “levels” of breaking down the information contained in various forms. I'll cover them briefly here:

The first level I call “Obvious” because what you see is exactly what you get. A punch is no more than a punch and a kick is just a kick. Not every technique or posture contains hidden breakdowns and too many people, in their enthusiasm for unveiling these things get carried away and start “seeing a wolf behind every tree.”

The second level I call “Concealed” and it involved hidden joint techniques and/or chokes as well as holding techniques. These can be rather difficult to uncover; an extensive knowledge and understanding of such techniques is necessary. If you're not familiar with a variety of such techniques, you're not likely to spot them.

The third level is the “Mysterious” level and involved hidden takedowns and throws that are concealed within the form(s). Like the previous level, finding them requires familiarity with such techniques.

The fourth level is the “Dark” level, wherein certain types of blows are applied to certain vital points. The points are mapped out in the form. But most forms do not contain this level of information; only a few do. You must learn to “decode” certain movements as you “read” your form.

To find levels 2 and 3 also require that you recognize certain “red flags”; that is, movements that don't seem to make sense in the form. For instance, in the first form of most karate styles as well as taekwondo -heian shodan (some call it ping-an shodan, and Okinawan styles refer to it as ping-an nidan) and known in taekwondo as chon-ji, there are several red flags right out of the gate:

1. You step to the left in a forward stance and do a left low block. RED FLAG!

2. You advance the right foot in a forward stance and execute a right lunge punch. RED FLAG!

3. You pivot on the left foot, moving to the right. The right foot steps around 180 degrees to a forward stance and do a right low block. RED FLAG!

That didn't take long, huh? Why are these movements red flags? Well...

Movement #1: We're usually told that we're blocking a low level attack coming from the left. WHY would you ADVANCE into an attack to block it? If it's a kick, it'll certainly reach you before you get halfway through your step!

Movement #2: We're often told that following the block, we advance to punch the bad guy. Nah. If you're close enough to block, you're much too close to execute a lunging thrust! WAY too close!

Movement #3: We're told that a second bad guy attacks from the rear, so we turn and block his low-level attack. Then I ask, WHY are you stepping the long way around? It'd be much faster and more efficient to cimple reverse your stance, wouldn't it?

Red flags such as these indicate that the movements are not as they seem. To be brief, the first movement isn't a block at all...it's a pre-emptive thrust. The 2nd and 3rd movements show a peculiar throw, not another block and punch.

Forms are replete with such red flags. You must learn to recognize one when you see one, and then work diligently to figure it out (this is why familiarity with various throws and joint manipulations is so necessary). It is also why each movement in a form is to be done exactly so and why, if you don't understand a particular movement, you mustn't just go ahead and change it.

ENJOYING THE MEAL

 by Phillip Starr

Most group activities (such as meetings of almost any kind) in China involve various foods. And the Chinese truly love their native cuisine. It's the same in Japan. Unlike many Western barbarians (I say that with a smile), they take time to truly savor each mouthful while they also appreciate the aroma and even the appearance of the food. So many of us slug down our food with such zest that we often miss many of the subtleties, which add so much to the meal.

It is often the same in our martial arts practice; we tend to gobble down the meal without taking time to experience every part of it. While visiting Japan with my senior student, Hiro Misawa ( a guide of inestimatable value), we stopped in at a local sushi restaurant just a few blocks from the room where I was staying. It was a traditional eatery and Hiro started us off with two bowls of miso soup. Before I tried it, he told me that the cook had used a very subtle fish stock to cook the dish and I tried a spoonful. Instead of simply gulping down the soup as is my wont, I took time to gently savor it. Yes, the hint of fish was there; it was veiled and delicate rather than overbearing... I very much enjoyed this special soup.

It has occurred to me that this should be done with our techniques and especially, our forms. If we simply go crashing through them with hurried enthusiasm (what my teacher called “youthful enthusiasm”), we miss out on so much that is shrouded and difficult to see or feel. Such seemingly nebulous details will, once experienced, add so much to the technique or form! That which we once regarded as rather bland suddenly becomes a magnificent feast!

Go back to your first form, your first technique and taste it again. Savor it carefully and look for subtle flavors.

DOWN THE THROAT

 by Phillip Starr

In United States military terminology, a torpedo aimed at a directly approaching ship was said to be aimed “down the throat.” This 0-degree bow angle (AOB) was usually used against attacking destroyers or anti-submarine craft. A "down the throat" shot would be any shot in which the target craft, or simply put, it was heading straight toward the submarine. These were extremely difficult setups from which to launch torpedoes, and usually it was only the skilled or desperate boat skippers who attempted such attacks. One such skipper was Cmdr. Dealey, who became known as “Down the throat Dealey”...

A direct, “down the throat” attack in martial arts is equally risky but frankly, it is often the approach the I prefer. The timing must be just right; the attack must be delivered at exactly the right moment, when the distance is just so and the opponent's mind, spirit, or posture leaves a small opening through which the attack can be successfully delivered.

Such an attack must be sudden, without warning. And it must overwhelm the opponent so that he has no chance of escape. You mustn't hesitate for even a microsecond. Bear in mind the words of Japan's “sword saint”, Miyamoto Musashi - “When you confront an enemy, your only thought is to cut him.” Notice that his words stress that our ONLY THOUGHT must be focused on cutting down the opponent; not winning, not even surviving, and certainly no thoughts about what we'll do if he does this or that.

All such thought affect the clarity of our minds, which should be like still pools of water. Still water gives an accurate reflection of what is placed before it, If the surface of the water should become disturbed, the image becomes distorted. Any and all emotions act like pebbles thrown into the pool. Your ONLY focus is on destruction of the enemy; you must have no thoughts about your personal safety or survival. Such thoughts/fears will cause you to hesitate for a micro-moment and that hesitation will result in your failure which is, remember, the destruction of the enemy...NOT your survival).

This is often a difficult concept for Westerners to grasp but I believe that it's essential to the correct practice of the martial ways.

CONDUCT

 by Yang Shuangxing

Back many years ago, there was a form of Japanese martial arts competition that was considerably different from what we see today. Known as kachi-toru (to win through successive victories) or kachi-nuke (win or be left out) worked like this:

The contestants (usually judo practitioners) lined up according to rank and experience. At the head of the line were the senior black belts and those of lesser rank or experience lined up. Those of lesser rank or experience lined up accordingly. Starting from the lowest end, the contestant with the least experience was paired off with the one next to him. Whoever lost the bout would sit back down and the winner would take on the next person in line. He would continue to do this until he was defeated...then he would sit down and let the victor go on.

In the lower ranks, winners seldom made it through more than three bouts before being defeated. But in the brown and black belt grades, conditioning and the ability to execute technique was often quite high and a skilled judoka might burn through four or five opponents before being bested.

Now, this whole thing seems a bit unfair, right? They were...just like real life. That's one of the lessons competitors would take with them afterwards. But if you look closely at it, it wasn't as unfair as you'd think. Sure, the victor would be warmed up – but he'd also be tired and sucking wind when his next opponent entered the ring. BUT...the new opponent had just risen up from sitting in seiza; there was no call as to who was “on deck”, or time to stretch out and loosen up before the bout. So he'd walk in cold and a bit (maybe a LOT) stiff. It'd be akin to a mugging in real life; there's no time to get warmed up first...

Yes, the “last man standing” was the winner, but don't get your panties in a twaddle about that; if you'd won the last match, you'd probably bested a guy who has already put away four or even five guys. The whole concept of a “winner” was changed. You might have won, but everyone was talking about the brown belt who put away six opponents before he was finally defeated. The goal of such competitions wasn't to produce “champions”, but to allow everyone to conduct him or her self in a manner that displayed, under very difficult circumstances, the kind of conduct that would make one successful in a real encounter or life in general. Proper etiquette wasn't named as the goal, but it was certainly a by-product of these events.

Looking at it from the angle of personal behavior and the constant maintenance of a strong spirit were considered to be more valuable attributes than the more easily measured qualities of success or failure. Martial arts ethics came to the fore. The childish tantrums we often see in professional sports (ie., tennis, and numerous others) might be tolerated in a modern setting, but they're in opposition to what the Martial Way emphasizes in so far as conduct is concerned. For instance, many years ago, a young judoka scored a point in a competition with a clean, textbook-perfect hip throw. When the center judge announced “Ippon” (full point), the young man raised his fist in joy. Then the official shouted “Hansoku-gachi” (loss by forfeit). The youngster was shocked but knew better than to EVER argue with a referee, so he sat down at ringside. The referee walked over to him and told him to save the celebrations for later. Congratulating yourself like that on the battlefield could very easily get you killed.

At a different event, the two contestants struggled against each other for some time, but they were getting nowhere. As is the custom, the center judge stopped the match and told them to return to their starting positions (for a short 30 second break). One of them turned around and walked back to his starting position and the judge immediately called his opponent the winner of the bout! Why? Had this been an actual combat situation, turning one's back on the opponent leaves a potentially lethal gap in one's awareness. A gap in proper conduct.

Yes, of course, the contest arena isn't a real battlefield and regardless of how serious the contestants may be, it's a world away from the real thing where one's life is on the line. But what we're trying to reinforce is an ethos; a state of mind that, although we're not engaged in a real life-and-death struggle, emerges with a sense of that spirit. The perfect place to see proper conduct is in the viewing of a sumo match. When the action is halted by the referee, the sumotori don't lose their focus at all. They don't jump around or pump their fists in the air when they win. They are relaxed before and after the action of the bout. Their attention never goes slack. Their conduct isn't one of pomposity or machismo...it's a kind of quiet awareness, sober and steady bearing.

While it is true that the values of the martial ways transcend culture, it is equally true that the same values are based upon the tenets of a parent culture. Those who feel this in unimportant will never grasp the true nature of these arts. Because these arts and their ethos are so different from many of the prevalent attitudes that we have in the West and the modern world in general, they present a real challenge to those who are able to overcome some of their own prejudices and expectations to try and understand them on their own terms. They were created as integral parts of the cultures that bore them and to attempt to separate them from their parent cultures is, for the most part, a waste of time. To ignore the dimension of proper conduct that runs so deeply through them is a destructive error.

CHICKEN FEET

 by Phillip Starr

One of my senior students who had his own gong-fu club employed a rather unique method to help him determine the sincerity of a prospective student. He didn't advertise at all; so those who came to him for instruction had learned of his group by word of mouth. Of course, most of them were quite certain that they REALLY wanted to learn his art in depth and if they were insistent about it, he'd invite them to lunch.

When they arrived, he'd drive them to a very traditional Chinese restaurant (the area in which he lives has quite a number of such places; they serve authentic Chinese cuisine as opposed to the “made for Americans” version, which is what is usually found in most cities). Once seated, they'd peruse the dim sum delicacies being pushed around on small carts and offered to customers. He'd select (for both of them) something like chicken's feet or other unusual dishes and watch the prospective student's reaction.

If the visitor balked and wouldn't even try the “delicacy” placed before him, he would suggest that the potential student go elsewhere for instruction; clearly, he would shirk trying something that didn't meet his expected “tastes.” He felt that such a person, who was unwilling to try something new in the restaurant, would very likely also be unwilling to “try something new” when it came to learning the art...especially concepts and training routines that didn't fit with his “tastes” and culture.

I experienced the same kind of “tests” when I moved to China some years back. Whenever we'd go out with friends for dinner, they'd see to it that I was offered some rather strange cuisine. My Chinese wife and a few members of her family as well as friends expressed concern that I, as a Westerner, would be unable to adapt to Chinese culture. They sought to test as well as teach me as I was served things like chicken stomachs and intestines in bowls of chicken soup, fish eyes (they're crunchy!), and other tidbits that were clearly foreign to me. And, of course, there were the hot and spicy dishes for which Guangxi Province is known. A couple were peculiar to the city of Liuzhou, where I lived.

A little extreme? Perhaps. But likely fairly accurate.

THE CATFISH AND THE GOURD

 by Phillip Starr

The depiction of a catfish swimming around a gourd is a common sort of decoration in the art of old China and Japan. It can be found as the subject of Zen-inspired ink paintings that are often artistic parables. Why is this? Even if I told you that a dried, hollow gourd was used to catch catfish – that still wouldn't explain why these two things (gourd and catfish) have been so popular among Zen artists. The answer lies in the way that the gourd is used to catch the fish and the meaning behind this story has meaning in both Zen and martial arts training.

If you gave many people a hollow gourd and told them there were catfish in the stream, they'd walk into the water and do their best to scoop up their unwary prey...and come up empty-handed. Catfish are slippery critters and you'd likely die of old age before you could get one into a little opening at the end of a dried gourd. At the very least, you'd get soaking wet and probably create some very colorful adjectives to describe your feelings about using such an idiotic trap.

Those who understand catfish would consider the problem, then wade into the water and gently sink the gourd to the bottom of the stream. Then they'd return to dry land where they'd wait and perhaps make preparations for cooking their fish dinner. They understand the nature of catfish, which are very curious critters. The fish would approach the gourd and examine it for a bit before giving in to the temptation of a quick meal (or perhaps an interloper) and the fish swims into the narrow neck of the gourd to see what's inside...and then he's trapped, unable to turn around in that narrow space and escape.

This has much to do with your approach to learning martial arts. I'm sure you've seen people like the first would-be fishermen I described; they jump in and start flailing around, trying to catch a catfish. They're fun to watch, Perhaps you're even one of them. They come to class with a furious inensity; if a new technique is shown to them, they're relentless and follow their motto - “I'm going to get this right if it takes all night!” And they puff and strain and turn beet red in the face.

This kind of “do or die” enthusiasm is certainly admirable but it doesn't help much in class. That's because even the most basic techniques of any martial art are not entirely (or even predominantly) physical skill. Like the horse-riding stance, which seems simple enough...you can be TOLD how to do it but your body needs some time to “fit in” to it and this isn't going to happen in just one class...or even a week or month. The catfish can't be forced into the gourd.

Another example is that of making wine. Assuming that you knew how, could you – within a couple of weeks – turn out a vintage wine even if you had the best grapes, the finest facilities, and an unlimited budget? No. Wine must age and mature. There are no shortcuts. This process can't be changed, regardless of how much “spirit” you put into it. The martial Way is often compared to a path, which is a fine analogy. But remember that his road has its own peculiar geography and it certainly is nothing like Kansas. Sometimes, the path is so steep that you can hardly raise your eyes. You may come to flatter areas where you can travel more easily and you have insights that provide a broader perspective. Then it'll get rocky and hilly again and there's no way you can see the destination before you've covered the whole of the route.

Now, I'm not saying that you should adopt a lackadaisical attitude. Far from it; you must train with total effort. You may be tempted to despair and think that you'll never be able to get it right – and that's hardly a good frame of mind for class or training on your own. Do your best and give it your total effort. The catfish will be trapped eventually, just as your techniques or forms will eventually come on their own.

You have to train hard but at the same time, you must be mature enough to understand that it's going to take some time. Although patience and time are essential ingredients, they can't replace hours, months, and even years of dedicated practice. You have to understand that there's a balance that must be struck. Like catching fish in a gourd, it may not be the most cost effective way of doing it but in the long run, it's better than chasing the fish all over the stream and ending up with nothing more than getting wet.