Wrestlers in Tainjin, 1930. Source: http://fightland.vice.com/blog/shuai-jiao-chinas-indigenous-wrestling-style

Greetings from Germany!

I am current attending the 5th Annual Meeting of the German Society of Sport Science’s Martial Arts Commission at the Sports University of Cologne.  I will soon be delivering my keynote address (titled “Creating Wing Chun: Towards a Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts.”)  This paper discusses my approach to writing social history, explores why scholars should pay attention to this area of martial arts studies, and finally make an argument as to how this sort of research might be relevant to non-academic instructors and practitioners.    I plan to post all of that, as well as a full report on the conference, after my return to the United States next week.

In the mean time I thought that I would share with you the text of Paul Bowman’s keynote which he has been kind enough to post on his blog.   I don’t have a schedule in front of me, but I believe that Paul’s address comes a bit before mine in the batting order.  As astute readers may have already gathered from his title, this paper constitutes an intervention into the ongoing discussion of how to define and conceptualize the martial arts.  Rather than wading into the details of those conversations, it instead argues that such efforts may be premature at best, and misguided at worst.  One concern is that such exercises are too frequently put at the service of a sort of “naive empiricism.”  Paul goes on to argue that what is necessary at this point in the development of the field is a more sustained engagement with the basic insights of Critical Theory.

The paper that I will be presenting tends towards the historical and empirical, where as Paul’s is deeply engaged with post-structural and post-Marxist problems.  Yet when sitting down to look at each others essays, we were surprised to see that they touched on a number of shared themes and concerns.  One can even find some of these (albeit in a more empirical mode) in my recent post engaging with (and critiquing) Jeff Dykhuizen’s work on the culturally mediated nature of experience in the global Aikido community.  Hopefully I will have more to say on this after returning from the conference.  But until then, click the link to get a head start on the conversation!

What Can a Martial Body Do For Society? – Or, Theory Before Definition in Martial Arts Studies

Taijiquan being demonstrated at the famous Wudang Temple, spiritual home of the Daoist arts. Source: Wikimedia.

Greetings from an Airport Somewhere in Europe!

I am currently in transit, returning from my recent visit with the 5th Annual Meeting of the German Society of Sport Science’s Martial Arts Commission at the Sports University of Cologne.  I hope to post a full report on the conference, as well as the text of my paper, sometime next week.  In the mean time I thought that I would share one of the Keynotes that was delivers at the Martial Arts Studies Conference held this July at Cardiff University.  Best of all, you can now watch this (and most of the other keynotes) on the Martial Arts Studies youtube channel.  Just click the link below.

In this paper Daniel Mroz attempts to tackle some of the fundamental questions that underlie the ubiquitous, but still mysterious, practice of Taolu (or set forms) within the Chinese martial arts.  One suspects that the framework that he advances here might also be helpful in thinking about a range of other Asian martial practices.  Enjoy!

Taolu: Credibility and Decipherablility in the Practice of Chinese Martial Movement

Illustration from Meyer’s Longsword.

Greetings!

If all has gone according to plan, I am now back in the United States and recovering after my recent trip to Germany.  As such, I would like to share with you another keynote addresses from this summer’s Martial Arts Studies conference in Cardiff as I work on on my report for next week.

This was an interesting talk for a number of reasons.  To begin with, Daniel gave it while wearing armor, which is something that one does not see every day.  Secondly, I have been hoping to get some discussion of the Historical European Martial Arts movement (HEMA) onto Kung Fu Tea for some time now.

In this paper Daniel asks whether it is possible to reconstruct a lost fighting system from existing books.  The answer seems to be that this sort of exercise is much more difficult than we often assume.  And while this talk is specifically discussing the reconstruction of Western fight books, I suspect that many of these issues might also be applicable to those thinking about Chinese or Japanese manuals.  As such, this paper may be of interest to a wide range of readers interested in the historical martial arts.

As Daniel is a younger scholar who we have not discussed before, a few words of introduction are in order.  He is a medievalist with a background in literary studies as well as the history of science and the material culture of the early modern period.  He received a PhD from the University of Geneva in 2013, is the co-editor of the Acta-Periodica Duellatorum (which you should definitely check out) and he just co-edited a new volume on Western fight books.  Lastly, if you are curious as to what he can actually do in that armor, be sure to check out this clip!

Lost Embodied Knowledge: Experimenting with Historical European Martial Arts out of Books

Introduction

I recently had the good fortune to attend the 2016 Martial Arts Studies conference held at the German Sports University of Cologne, sponsored by the German Society of Sport Science’s Martial Arts Commission.  The theme of this year’s gathering was “Martial Arts and Society.”  Over the course of three days (October 6th-8th) I saw dozens of papers and posters on a number of fascinating topics.  I am happy to report that the future of Martial Arts Studies in Germany looks very bright.  In my next post I hope to be able to offer a complete report on the conference.

In the mean time, I would like to post the text of my keynote, delivered on the morning of October the 8th.  When I was initially contacted about this conference the organizers asked me to reflect on the process of writing my recent book on Wing Chun, to discuss why this style makes a potentially interesting case study, and to explore the process of writing good, engaging, martial arts history.  The following paper is a result of my reflections on those questions.  But, just to keep things interesting, I have also tossed in a couple of new discoveries uncovered during the course of my recent research at Cornell.

On a more personal note I would like to extend a special note of thanks to three individuals.  Prof. Dr. Swen Korner (and family) for the great hospitality and stimulating conversations that they offered over the course of these meetings.  Next, Leo Istas for all of his hard work in helping to bring this conference together and making it possible for me to attend.  And lastly Sixt Wetzler, who generously introduced me to some priceless treasures at the German Blade Museum (more on that later).  It was a great conference, and I highly recommend that anyone who has the chance to attend in future years do so.

Creating Wing Chun: Towards a Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts

Why should scholars be concerned with the history of the Asia martial arts?  And why is social history, in which we seek to understand the practices of ordinary people by situating their involvement with these fighting systems against a broad range of factors, particularly useful?  This paper addresses these questions as they related to my recent book, co-authored with Jon Nielson, The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts (SUNY Press, 2015).  It begins with two stories.

The first is a well-known legend within the TCMA community.  I am sure that there are people in this room who know it well.  It is the creation myth that is taught to every student within the Ip Man branch of the Wing Chun system.

Ip Man (1893-1972) was a master of a Chinese martial arts style called Wing Chun.  He became a prominent figure in the hand combat community after he fled to Hong Kong from his native town of Foshan in 1949, just ahead of the Communist advance.  Once in Hong Kong, economic necessity forced the aging Ip Man to open a martial arts school from which he promoted what had previously been a local art.  One of his best known students, the American actor and martial artist Bruce Lee, transformed his art into a global phenomenon.[1]

Our second story comes from the pages of the July 13^th, 1872, edition of a now forgotten newspaper called the North China Herald.  Published in English, this newspaper was popular with Western expatriates living in Shanghai and other parts of China.  I have never seen this account discussed in any publication on the Chinese martial arts.

In some respects these stories will be quite different, yet shared concerns and themes echo between them.  Taken as a set they help to illustrate the questions that emerge when we attempt to write social history.  Let us begin by attempting to imagine two competing visions of the Southern Chinese martial arts as they may (or may not) have existed at some point in the past.  The first of them comes directly from the brush of Ip Man.
The Burning of the Shaolin Temple and the Birth of Wing Chun

“The founder of the Ving Tsun Kung fu system, Miss Yim Ving Tsun was a native of Canton China. As a young girl, she was intelligent and athletic, upstanding and manly. She was betrothed to Leung Bok Chau, a salt merchant of Fukien. Soon after that, her mother died. Her father, Yim Yee, was wrongfully accused of a crime, and nearly went to jail. So the family moved far away, and finally settled down at the foot of Tai Leung Mountain at the Yunnan-Szechuan border. There, they earned a living by selling bean curd. All this happened during the reign of Emperor K’anghsi (1662-1722).

At the time, kungfu was becoming very strong in Siu Lam Monastery (Shaolin Monastery) of Mt. Sung, Honan. This aroused the fear of the Manchu government, which sent troops to attack the Monastery. They were unsuccessful. A man called Chan Man Wai was the First Placed Graduate of the Civil Service Examination that year. He was seeking favour with the government, and suggested a plan. He plotted with Siu Lam monk Ma Ning Yee and others. They set fire to the Monastery while soldiers attacked it from the outside. Siu Lam was burnt down, and the monks scattered. Buddhist Abbess Ng Mui, Abbot Chi Shin, Abbot Pak Mei, Master Fung To Tak and Master Miu Hin escaped and fled their separate ways.

Ng Mui took refuge in White Crane Temple on Mt. Tai Leung (also known as Mt. Chai Har). There she came to know Yim Yee and his daughter Yim Ving Tsun. She bought bean curds at their store. They became friends.

Ving Tsun was a young woman then, and her beauty attracted the attention of a local bully. He tried to force Ving Tsun to marry him. She and her father were very worried. Ng Mui learned of this and took pity on Ving Tsun. She agreed to teach Ving Tsun fighting techniques so that she could protect herself. Then she would be able to solve the problem with the bully, and marry Leung Bok Chau, her betrothed husband.

So Ving Tsun followed Ng Mui into the mountains, and started to learn kung fu. She trained night and day, and mastered the techniques. Then she challenged the local bully to a fight and beat him. Ng Mui set off to travel around the country, but before she left, she told Ving Tsun to strictly honour the kung fu traditions, to develop her kungf u after her marriage, and to help the people working to overthrow the Manchu government and restore the Ming Dynasty. This is how Ving Tsun kung fu was handed down by Abbess Ng Mui.”[2]

After this point the Wing Chun creation myth becomes a more standard lineage genealogy.  It relates how the art was passed first to a group of traveling Cantonese Opera performers, then to a prominent Foshan pharmacist named Leung Jan and his student, Chan Wah Shun, and finally to Ip Man himself.

It is difficult to establish the date of this story with precision.  The version that I just read to you was written down by Ip Man in the Hong Kong period of his career in anticipation of the creation of an organization called the “Ving Tsun Tong Fellowship.”[3] For whatever reason, that group never materialized and this hand written account was found in his papers following his death in 1972.

The popularity of this story in other Wing Chun lineages strongly suggests that it was something that was in general circulation by the 1930s.  As we argued in our book, this myth, in its current form, probably dates to the Republic period as it relies rather heavily on the figure Ng Moy who in older versions of the Shaolin myth was actually a villain.  She was not reimagined as a hero until a group of novels were published in the 1930s.[4]

Leaving aside specific arguments about the origin of the Wing Chun system, this story is of interest because it paints a vivid picture of the world of the southern Chinese martial arts during the 18^th and 19^th centuries.  Consider some of the major themes that we find in this legend.  First, the martial arts occupy a lawless environment in which the state is powerless to enforce order.

Still, the situation is anarchic (as that term is defined by political scientists) rather than purely chaotic.[5]  There is a certain code of conduct that contains and shapes the expression of violence within the community.  This is exemplified by the challenge fight with the marketplace bully, rather than a resort to private war.  Lastly, there is just a hint of romance wrapped in a large dose of social propriety.[6]  We see this expressed when Yim Wing Chun fights off an unwanted suitor to preserve the honor of her childhood fiancée, whom she has probably never seen before.

All of this happens in an undeniably romanticized Chinese landscape.  The actions starts when the Yim family flees the known world of the Pearl River Delta and heads for a far off mountain in Western China complete with mist covered temples and a mysterious Buddhist recluse.  It all sounds oddly like the plot of a kung fu movie.[7]  By the conclusion of the story the reader has no reason to doubt the inherent virtue of the southern Chinese martial arts.

Our second story, published under the title “Chinese Boxing,” also revolves around a life-defining challenge fight.  This event took place in a much more mundane environment, totally lacking in mist covered temples. Yet it also echoes many of the same themes found in the first story.

Image taken from a vintage french postcard showing soldiers gambling in Yunnan province. Note that the standing soldier on the left is holding a hudiedao in a reverse grip. Source: Author’s personal collection.

A Death in the Marketplace

“If there is one particular rather than another in which we might least expect to find John Chinaman resemble John Bull, it is in the practice of boxing.  The meek celestial does get roused occasionally, but he usually declines a hand to hand encounter, unless impelled by the courage of despair.  He is generally credited with a keen appreciation of the advantages of running away, as compared with the treat of standing up to be knocked down, and is slow to claim the high privilege the ancients thought worthy to be allowed only to freemen, of being beaten to the consistency of a jelly. 

How the race must rise in the estimation of foreigners, therefore, when we mention that the noble art of self-defence and legitimate aggressiveness flourished in China centuries probably before the “Fancy” ever formed a ring in that Britain which has come to be regarded as the home of boxing.  Of course, like everything else in China, the science has rather deteriorated than improved; its practice is rough; its laws unsystematized; its Professors of the art, called “fist-teachers,” offer their services to initiate their countrymen in the use of their “maulies,” and, in addition in throwing out their feet in a dexterous manner…

…Boxing clubs are kept up in country villages, where pugilists meet and contest the honours of the ring…

We are not unused to hearing of fatal encounters in the Western ring, where the brutal sport is hedged about with restrictions intended to guard against its most serious eventuality, but in China homicide in such affairs is made more frequent by the admission of kicking.  A case of the sort has just occurred at Tachang, a village about eight miles due north from the Stone Bridge over the Soochow creek. 

In a teashop where gambler and boxers were wont to meet, a dispute arose between two men about 18 cash, and it was arranged to settle it by fight.  After a few rounds, one man succeeded in knocking over the other, with a violent kick to the side.  The man sprang to his feet, exclaiming “Ah! That was well done,” and as he advanced to meet his antagonist again, suddenly fell back, dead. 

Consternation fell on those concerned in the matter, and every effort was made to evade a judicial enquiry.  The relatives of the deceased, however, come forward to make the usual capital out of their misfortune.  They seized the homicide, put him in chains, and bound him for two days and nights to the body of the dead man, which had been removed to the upper part of the teahouse. 

An arrangement for a pecuniary salve to their lacerated feeling was made, by which the people in the neighborhood paid $150, the teahouse keeper $100, and the dealer of the fatal blow $50.  But gambling and fighting had drained the resources of the latter, he was an impoverished rowdy without a respectable connection in the world, except the betrothal tie, by which the fate of a young lady was linked with his, before either had a will to consult or the wayward tendency of his character had appeared.  Glad of an opportunity to break off the engagement, the young lady’s friends came forward and offered to pay the sum if he would surrender all claim to his fiancée. 

The offer being accepted, the whole affair was settled; the sum of a Chinese boxing match being thus one combatant killed, a teahouse keeper ruined, a neighborhood heavily fined, and a marriage engagement broken off.  Probably such incidents occur very often, but if the parties can settle it among themselves, the magistrates, for their own sakes, are only too glad to have the matter hushed up.”[8]

One could write an entire paper analyzing, deconstructing and investigating this short news item.  Period accounts of actual challenge matches, and their social aftermath, are extremely rare in any language.  Yet consider the major themes shared between the two stories.  Unlike the previous legend, this one can be dated with a fair amount of precision.  It is an account of events that probably happened sometime in the summer of 1872, reported to the English reading public on July 13^th of that year.

That is significant as it makes this fight roughly contemporaneous with a critical stage in the development of Wing Chun.  Leung Jan, the pharmacist from Foshan who we just mentioned, may have been instructing his friend from the marketplace, Chan Wah Shun, as all of this was happening.[9]  Nevertheless, this description of the 19^th century martial arts lacks the exotic orientalism and romance of its predecessor.

Still, the martial arts are once again associated with economic marketplaces and the types of ruffians one might find there.  That is an important clue for historians of the Chinese hand combat systems to contemplate.

In the first, more romanticized, story the martial arts are seen as the means by which social norms are upheld.  The second case demonstrates the opposite possibility as the fight leads only to death, financial ruin the dissolution of an engagement.  Yet in both instances individuals seem to believe that keeping the state out of the matter is a good idea.

The thematic differences between these accounts are also interesting.  In the first story Yim Wing Chun and her family are very much alone in a hostile world.  Yet the second account reminds us that in reality the Chinese martial arts, and social violence more generally, occurred in villages that were dominated by strong clan structures.

In fact, most villages of this size would contain between one and three surnames, being dominated by a few large clans.  While the author of the article chose not to go into detail on this point, taking a male who has wronged your clan hostage and holding him until a hefty ransom was paid was not an uncommon way of settling inter-village disputes in the late Qing.

Tone is perhaps the most important difference between these stories.  The account of Yim Wing Chun emerges from within the world of Chinese boxing.  It is an emic explanation of these fighting systems which views them as a fundamentally positive means by which individuals address pressing personal and community matters.

The second story is etic in nature, presenting us with an outsider’s perspective.  Moreover, the anonymous author of the account of the fight in Tachang Village held the world of the Chinese martial arts in low regard.  In other portions of this account that I omitted due to the limitations of time it seems possible that he does not think all that highly of the English sport of boxing either.  One wonders whether his criticisms of people who practice the Chinese martial arts should be read as a subtle jab at his Western readers who may well be fans of their own forms of boxing.

Still, this air of disdain is quite accurate in some respects as it reminds us that, even in the volatile second half of the 19^th century, most respectable individuals in China were not interested in the martial arts.  They found these practices, and the individuals who took them up, to be socially marginal.  Nevertheless, once we control for questions of tone, the author’s outsider perspective yields a number of interesting historical and ethnographic observations.

An interior picture of the renown library at Shaolin prior to the 1928 destruction. Prominently displayed in the center are copper plated Buddhist scriptures. Researchers on the expedition also noted that this library contained illustrated manuscripts and a collection of staffs from historically important monks.

My Method of Social History

We now have two competing accounts of the Southern Chinese martial arts.  One is a period account of an alleged event that was likely recorded a few weeks after the fight in question transpired.  The other is a legend, an example of folk history, which purports to reveal the origins of an increasingly popular regional fighting tradition that was already a century old.

There is also the matter of social memory.  One of these accounts is still known, believed, taught and enacted in communities around the globe.[10]  Individuals look to it for inspiration and technical guidance as they seek to transform themselves through the practice of the martial arts.  The other story, while probably much more factually accurate, has been totally forgotten.  Its service as a cautionary tale ceased to be relevant when the community that it sought to inform dissolved in the 20^th century.

When faced with two differing accounts, the first question that we often ask is in many respects the least helpful.  Students will look at these two contrasting descriptions of the Southern Chinese martial arts and want to know, “which one is true?”  Which vision most accurately captures “reality?”[11] On some level the answer must be neither.

The problems with the Wing Chun creation legend are more obvious.  The Southern Shaolin Temple, as it is described by the region’s martial artists, likely never existed.  And the Shaolin Temple of Henan province (specifically referenced in the Ip Man version of the story) was never burned by Qing.  Nor did they slaughter its monks.

These are established facts, not up for historical debate.  It is quite suggestive that some of the figures in this account show up as characters in late-Qing kung fu novels long before they appear anywhere else.  Likewise, the resemblance of the heroines of the Wing Chun legend to central female figures in the creation accounts of White Crane Boxing (from Fujian) is probably not a coincidence.

Our second account also has some serious problems.  It is in no way a shining example of investigative journalism, even by 19^th century standards.  The author makes no effort to hide the fact that he is far from neutral observer.  Nor does he include some very basic facts in his account, such as the names of the two fighters, or even the date on which these events took place.

The level of descriptive detail in this account leads me to suspect that it is basically credible.  Yet the way in which it is written strongly suggests that the point of this article was never to teach readers technical or sociological facts about Chinese boxing.  Rather, it was a transparent attempt to convince them to imagine China in a certain way.  It is basically an exercise in the construction of ethnic and national “mythologies” by other means.

The correlation between the socio-economic status of our authors and the ways in which they discussed the martial arts is probably not a coincidence.  As one reads the various accounts of the martial arts that appeared in the popular press in China between the 1870s and the 1940s we see competition between groups who viewed the personal empowerment promised by the martial arts in positive terms, those who wish to reform these practices and put them at the disposal of the state, and lastly a large group of relatively elite voices that viewed the martial arts as a backwards waste of resources that had no place in a modern China.  The crafting of accounts supporting these different positions is highly reminiscent of the process that James C. Scott described in his classic study, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday forms of Peasant Resistance.[12]

In many respects the preceding accounts are fairly representative of the sorts of data that scholars discover throughout the course of their research.  Faced with such narratives, all of which have been shaped by other hands, what is a social historian to do?

First we must step back and think carefully about research design.  What is the actual object of our analysis?  What puzzles are we attempting to solve?  Is our goal really to understand the technical development of a hand combat system?  Or are we instead interested in the community that developed and transmitted these practices at different points in time?

Good social history is concerned with the production of sound descriptive and causal inferences.  My approach to these questions is probably a result our background in the social sciences and training in the case study (rather than the area studies) approach.  As such, both Jon Nielson and I were interested in moving beyond purely interpretive exercises.  We wished to develop a framework that could speak directly to a range of sociological theories.[13]

Without denying the fruitfulness of the “embodied turn” that we have seen in fields like sociology and anthropology over the last few decades,[14] we would suggest that students of martial arts studies think very carefully about their linked methodological and theoretical assumptions.  The hand combat systems are said to be “arts” precisely because they exist only as social institutions.   They differ from pure violence in that these techniques exist within a framework of ideas and identities which are meant to be conveyed from teacher to student.[15]  Questions of community involvement are not superfluous to the development of the martial arts.  Rather, they are central to the entire enterprise.

The author of the 1872 article was absolutely correct to identify the individuals most likely to invest themselves in these systems of practice and knowledge as being socially marginal.  Nor is this pattern isolated to China in the Qing or Republic periods.  Modern sociologists and anthropologists have noted a link between many hand combat traditions and social marginality in a wide range of cultures and settings.[16]

This is precisely why historians interested in questions of social history and popular culture must take note of the Chinese martial arts.  As in most places, the history of China was written by educated elites.  This makes the day to day realities of most people’s lives very difficult to reconstruct.

The Chinese martial arts are interesting in that they offer a unique window into the hopes and concerns of a large segment of the population that might otherwise be overlooked.  Further, the lineage based nature of these fighting systems means that modern organizations and practices continue to look to the past for legitimacy.  These fighting systems have sometimes preserved information, usually stories but in other cases actual documents, that historians will find useful.

More importantly, members of the local community tend to regard martial art traditions as being ancient and the guardians of certain types of values.  While most of the Asian fighting systems that people actually practice are very much products of the modern era, they are nevertheless closely tied to critical discourses about identity, community violence and history.

There are other social organizations that share many of these same traits.  I actually began my research on community organization and violence in China before I ever became personally involved in the practice of kung fu.  Initially I was conducting research on new religious movements and their association with violent uprisings in the late Qing dynasty in an attempt to test a general theory of the relationship between religious communities and the generation of social capital.[17]

After giving a paper on social capital and the Boxer Uprising at the 2009 Midwest Political Science Association meetings, one of the commentators suggested that I take a look at some of the events in southern China.  He was attempting to direct my attention to the Taiping Rebellion.  As I began to investigate the issue I was surprised to find a number of martial arts schools still in existence that claimed a heritage going back to those events.  This memory of revolutionary action, whether real or imagined, would arise again within these groups at later moments of historical crisis.[18]

At that point I became quite interested in the development of the martial arts associations of southern China.  Other sorts of social organizations, like trade guilds, clan associations or new religious movements might occasionally become involved in community violence.  Yet martial arts societies often viewed themselves as specialists in this realm.[19]  While the trade guilds of Beijing and Yihi Boxers of Shandong have ceased to exist, many of southern China’s martial arts movements are still with us today.  As a student of globalization, I was also fascinated by the degree of success that these groups had enjoyed in spreading themselves throughout the world.[20]

Shortly after coming to these realizations I began a personal study of Wing Chun with Jon Nielson, who at the time also taught at the same university where I was employed.  He was interested in many of the same historical and theoretical questions and had been planning a more limited historical research project of his own.  At that point we began to discuss the possibility of putting together a broadly based, theoretically informed, study of Wing Chun.

This seemed like an obvious topic as my co-author is a direct student of Ip Ching, one of Ip Man’s surviving children.  We were assured of getting access to certain resources that would be helpful in understanding the evolution of this particular system.  Yet basic research design questions still required serious thought.  Making a contribution to the social scientific literature requires more than just access to good data or an interesting story.  Specifically, one needs a theory.

We began our investigation with a simple premise.  We proposed that increased instances of community instability would lead, in time, to the development new martial arts organizations.  Rather than simply providing self-defense training on an individual level, these organizations should be seen as expressions of the community’s self-interest and would be tolerated by local elites (who might otherwise fear their rebellious potential) to the extent that they provided a degree of stability.  In short, while martial artists often posture as outsiders who flaunt societal conventions, in fact they played an important role within traditional Chinese communities.

Further, the impulse to create and fund such groups is basically rational in nature and it varies with the level of demand.  A purely cultural explanation of the martial arts might, on the other hand, see them as relatively constant over time as cultural factors change more slowly than political or economic ones. If the martial arts are simply an expression of timeless patterns in Chinese culture, then there would be no reason to expect that their popularity would decline in times of peace.  In fact, with extra resources to dedicate to non-essential activities, their practice might even increase in popularity. As the idiom goes, constants cannot explain variables.

In order to test this theory we developed a few implicit hypotheses.  The first of these was that factors that decreased community stability would lead to an increase in martial arts activity.  Given my academic background in international relations, one of the variables that we were immediately drawn to was globalization, meaning rapid increases in the flow of goods, capital, individuals and ideas across previously closed borders.

During the 19^th century China’s once isolated and protected markets were forcibly opened to global trade on a massive scale.  As the country’s economy adjusted to new patterns of imports and exports some people discovered windfall profits.  Many more found themselves trapped in dying modes of handicraft production and agriculture.  In short, shifts in trade always create waves of winners and loser.  Unless carefully managed this contributes to social instability.[21]

When viewed in this context, the development of Wing Chun suddenly begins to look very interesting.  The practice originated in the Pearl River Delta region of Guangdong province, home to Guangzhou (Canton), Foshan and Hong Kong, three major economic centers of trade and production.  This was also the first region of China to be opened to foreign trade and missionary work on a massive scale.

As Jon Nielson and I discussed possible research and writing strategies we realized that in addition to providing a window onto the popular culture of ordinary Chinese citizens, our project suggested ways in which a large number of additional theories could be tested or explored using the Chinese martial arts as a data source.  Unfortunately, there were very few known historical facts about these systems.  And most of the work that had been done focused on systems coming out of Shanghai or Northern China.[22]  In some cases their findings had been extrapolated, we felt incorrectly, to make generalizations about all of the Chinese martial arts.

The nature of the existing literature thus helped to shape our research design.  Rather than focusing exclusively on Wing Chun (which would remain our major case study) we would attempt to provide a detailed social history of the martial arts in a single region in Southern China.  It would involve the exploration of economic, political, social and cultural factors within the Pearl River Delta.

Since our subject of analysis was now geographic in nature, we would be free to examine a number of the leading styles rather than focusing only on a single art. Given our personal backgrounds in Wing Chun, the inclusion of other systems (such as Choy Li Fut, White Eyebrow or the Jingwu movement) was also important from a research design standpoint.  It ensured that we would not test our ideas about the relationship between the martial arts and their social environment on the exact same body of insights that we used to derive our basic theoretical model.

Further, these other arts tended to have different relationships with the main economic, social and political variables that we discussed.  So while we presented our readers a single case study, a rich reading of the area’s martial history allowed us to multiply our observations in ways that we hoped would allow us to avoid issues like tautology and selection bias.[23]

Inevitably many of our findings had to be left out of the final manuscript.  Even with the amount of space that we dedicated to Wing Chun, it was impossible to go much beyond Ip Man’s lineage in a single volume.  Other southern arts, such as Hung Gar, certainly deserved more discussion than they received.  Yet our hope was that by providing a comprehensive social history of the region’s martial arts community, students of these other lineages and styles would be able to discover the sorts of forces that had an impact on the development of their own practice.  Likewise, social scientists interested in a wide variety of theoretical questions would be able to turn to our book as a reliable source of description and data.

This brings us back to the questions posed by the two stories introduced at the start of this paper.  If we focus only on a technical history of the Chinese martial arts, seeking to verify the claims of various lineage myths, we are bound to be disappointed.  The historical record is simply too thin in most places.  And as Foucault reminds us, a high degree of caution and introspection is necessary whenever scholars find themselves striking out to discover, rather than to question, the “origins” of a revered practice.[24]  Martial arts studies must not become an apologetic exercise.

Nor, on a more practical level, is the question of “ultimate origins” of much interest to scholars who approach these fighting systems from an outside perspective.  Indeed, the most interesting question is not whether Ng Moy really created Wing Chun, but rather why that specific story became so important to groups of teenagers living in Hong Kong in the 1960s.  Why does that image still resonate with so many Western martial artists today?

When approached through the lens of social history, the stories that introduced this discussion reveal a wealth of information about the communities that composed and passed them on.  That, in turn, suggests something important about the nature and purpose of the southern Chinese martial arts themselves.  The social history of these fighting systems gives us a way to better understand the intersection of these folk narratives with a vast variety of economic, political and cultural variables.

Why Should Readers Care About the Social History of the Martial Arts?

Finally, why should the general reader care about the social history of the Asian martial arts? It may be cliché to say, but explorations of history are rarely concerned only with the past.  Ideally such works speak also to the concerns of readers in the present.  I second D. S. Farrer’s call, first made in his keynote address to the 2015 Martial Arts Studies meetings at the University of Cardiff: our field must tackle socially relevant questions and present actual solutions.[25]

Wing Chun, and the other Chinese martial arts, are fascinating precisely because they offer us an opportunity to investigate many pressing issues.  At this moment there is more interest than ever in the development of Chinese regional and national identity.  The evolving situation in Hong Kong is particularly relevant given Wing Chun’s current status as a powerful symbol of that city’s local, and increasingly independent, identity.[26]

Yet beyond such geographically focused concerns, do these systems, many of which were tied to specific moments in the 20^th century, still have something to teach us today?  I would like to argue that they do.  This message comes in the form of both a warning and an opportunity.

Nothing demonstrates the continued social relevance of the Chinese martial arts more quickly than an examination of our current multi-media environment.  Simply turn on the television.  The Asian martial arts have come to be an expected element of film, tv programing and even major sporting events.

They are dramatized in novels and comic books.  An entire subsection of the internet seems to be dedicated to both instructional and comedic videos featuring martial artists.[27]  Indeed, most of us got our first exposure to the martial arts via some sort of mediated image, and not through direct exposure to actual physical practice.

This state of affairs is actually less of a historical departure than one might think.  Residents of southern China in the Qing and Republic periods also lived in an environment saturated with entertainment based visions of the martial arts.  They came in the form of Cantonese operas, marketplace performers, professional storytellers, serialized newspaper stories, collectible cigarette cards, kung fu novels and later radio dramas and films.[28]

It was through these routes that many residents of Guangdong and Hong Kong first developed an interest in these fighting systems.  To fully understand the social work that the martial arts have done in various times and places, one must give careful thought to social discourses, mediatized images and the economic markets that surround them.[29]  First impressions are a powerful force.

Consider the portrayal of the Chinese martial arts in current film.  Audiences seem to be attracted to the unapologetic violence in many of these stories.  The fight choreography of the Xu Haofeng’s recent film The Master (2015) is likely to appeal to modern Western Wing Chun practitioners given the abundant use of Butterfly Swords (the style’s signature weapon). Or consider Donnie Yen’s dojo fight scene in Wilson Ip’s 2008 biopic Ip Man, in which he wipes out an entire room of karate students.  While watching these sequences one cannot help but take note of the sheer body count that the various protagonists manage to rack up.  At times I am reminded of the Bride’s blade work (minus the copious blood) in Quentin Tarantino 2003 homage to the kung fu genre, Kill Bill.

Nor are these the only places in the current media landscape where viewers might find such images.  Scenes of unskilled, nameless, and thoughtless attacker being cut down by the dozens bring to mind the exaggerated action and martial arts stylings of the Resident Evil franchise, or the grittier violence of The Walking Dead.  I suspect that on some level there is a shared language of violence in these two genres (the kung fu film and zombie thriller).  In both cases spectacular portrayals of violence are placed in the service of a “world creation” exercise.

These images of violence underscore the break with the conventional social rules that govern the audience’s mundane lives.  Thus they are a primary aspect of the story, and not simply a stylistic flourish. The martial arts epic and the post-apocalyptic zombie adventure offer us a world that does away with the “decadent” comforts and conventions of the current environment.  They present a stage on which only the “awesome” will survive.

Who are these heroes?  Among their ranks we find the awesomely strong, the skilled, the cagey and sometimes the evil.  Every new world, it seems, needs an iconic villain.

In short, the subtext of many of these stories seems to be that those who will survive and thrive in these new realms are individuals who are “like us,” because they embody precisely the traits that we like to imagine in ourselves.  There is an unmistakable air of wish fulfillment in these secondary creations.  As we watch our heroes fight their way across the exotic landscapes of a fantasy Oriental past, or the post-apocalyptic future, they embody and project back to us our own love of masculinity, rugged independence and stoic resilience.

Perhaps we should not be surprised that the sense of looming social and economic crisis that has helped to popularize such stories over the last few decades is also thought to have contributed to the rise of various types of extremist movements around the globe.  Rather than the inevitable triumph of globalization and liberal democracy envisioned at the end of the Cold War, we are seeing the rise of violent (and media savvy) non-state actors, illiberal democracies, and both populist and rightist movements.  Nor, as Jared Miracle reminded us in the conclusion of his recent study of the global spread of the Asian martial arts, should we forget that in the past these political movements were sometimes associated with these fighting systems.[30]

The ethno-nationalist turn in certain martial arts, pioneered in Japan and China during the first half of the 20^th century, provided a mechanism by which their symbolic association with physical strength, national heritage and masculinity could be marshalled and placed at the disposal of both extremist political movements and the state.[31]  We would be unwise to ignore the fact that there is much in the popular culture of the martial arts, in both the East and West, which continues to make them a tempting target for appropriation by such groups today.

Are these traits part of the essential nature of the Asian fighting arts?  Or were they instead epiphenomenal and historically contingent, a relic of the particular circumstances under which these systems achieved momentum as mass social movements?

This is another area where a better understanding of the social history of the southern Chinese martial arts might provide us with models for thinking about the current situation.  Consider again the stories that introduced this paper, the myth of Yim Wing Chun and the fight in Tachang Village.  From the final decades of the 19^th century to the current era many of the region’s Wuxia novels, and other types of martial arts storytelling, have focused on the lives of impossibly talented wandering heroes in the Jianghu, or the realm of “Rivers and Lakes,” not unlike Ng Moy and her student.

This somewhat unsettling territory (imagined as an alternate social dimension, ever present yet just beyond the edge of our own life experience) seems to suffer from a lack of effective central governance.  What government exists is often seen as corrupt and in the process of oppressing the people.  The protagonists of these stories, frequently the inheritors of ancient martial arts lineages, are thus forced to seek their own solutions to pressing problems.  As one would expect in novels feature a colorful array of wandering monks, corrupt soldiers and hidden kung fu masters, this often involves an enthralling resort to arms.  These stories actively sought to create a sense of nostalgia among their readers for a type of past that never existed.

At first glance the rough and tumble realm of “Rivers and Lakes” would seem to bear more than a passing resemblance to the ultraviolent fantasy worlds of Kill Bill or Resident Evil.  It too seems to have an established hierarchy of awesomeness based on one’s strength, fighting style and the “martial virtue.” What use do wandering swordsmen have for village life and its many restraints?

Yet first impressions can also be deceptive.  While it may not always be apparent, the wandering swordsmen of the Rivers and Lakes are often quite concerned with questions of both social organization and justice.  Far from being only violent escapist fantasies, many of the most popular stories were rooted in easily identifiable debates about political ideals and social modernization.

Two scholars of the Wuxia literary genre, John Hamm and Petrous Liu have examined these stories from slightly different perspectives.  As Liu argued in his study of Chinese martial arts literature, Stateless Subjects (Cornell EAP, 2011), when understood in their original context such novels were often obsessed with political questions.[32]  Nor did they view traditional society as a mediocre mass that the martial hero fought to escape.

Rather than attempting to establish a hierarchy of social organization based exclusively on martial strength, the real controversy in many of these narratives seems to have been the preexisting forms of social order inherited from the late Qing, the Warlord period and even the Communist eras.  In short, internal imperialism and the teleology of western models of modernization were the problems that demanded a solution.

By demonstrating possible ways that society could address serious, even existential, concerns without recourse to a coercive state apparatus, these stories sought to argue for a social model that was essentially horizontal in organization, drawing on the strength of what current Western scholarship calls civil society.[33]  These authors advanced a model that placed authority in the hands of society and not in an externally imposed hierarchy emanating from a far off center.

While we tend to imagine these stories, and even the creation myths of the various southern martial arts, as reflecting the values of ancient China, it is probably no coincidence that the giants of the genre, individuals like Xiang Kairan (1890-1957) and later Jin Yong (born 1924), wrote in moments of social and political upheaval.  All of these stories, like the martial arts of Southern China themselves, emerged from a period of when the character of “modern China” was being actively debated.

During this period the traditional martial arts argued for a specific vision of the future by creating an idealized past.  Within it the holistic nature of Chinese culture need not give way to teleological dreams imported from the West.  As Liu observed, and Jon Neilson and I attempted to document in the area of physical practice and social organization, they crafted a vision of Chinese modernity in which action would be organized according to the principals of Minjian “between people” as opposed to the universal, centralized and always state dominated frameworks inherent in the idea of Tianxia, or “all under heaven.”[34]

Liu suggested that this was the real reason for the May 4^th Intellectuals opposition to the supposedly “feudal” Wuxia genre.[35]  Similar concerns also seem to have motivated much of the Central Guoshu Institute’s anxieties about the China’s thriving local martial arts marketplaces in regions like Guangdong and Fujian.[36]

It was not that these stories and practices, as they came to exist in the 1920s and 1930s, accurately represented China’s ancient past.  Rather they represented an alternate view of the future.  It was one in which the state would serve the interests of a diverse and robust society, rather than an artificially homogenized society being placed at the disposal of a technocratic and highly centralized state.  Other intellectuals, deeply invested in models of modernization that privileged a strong state, found these (extremely popular) notions threatening.

The social history of the Southern Chinese martial arts matter because they reveal moments when these institutions, practices and reformers stood at a crossroads.  A close examination of any of the Asian martial arts will show that these things never existed in a vacuum.  Nor have they been motivated by a timeless and inscrutable morality uniquely their own.

Our account of Wing Chun demonstrated that the region’s martial arts have always functioned in conjunction with other social, economic, political and even aesthetic impulses.  For instance, it is just not possible to tell the story of this style without also exploring its relationship with Guangdong’s yellow unions, or its close alignment with bourgeois social interest within a landscape marked by class struggle.[37]  In China, but also in other places in Asia, individuals have become involved in the martial arts precisely because they have sought a voice in ongoing debates as to how we should react to the ongoing challenges of globalization, modernization and rapid social change.[38]

As we review these debates, or examine the life histories of masters like Ip Man, we are reminded that many aspects of these practices, and the values that seem to underpin them, are radically historically contingent.  The traditional Chinese martial arts could have evolved in many ways over the course of the 20^th century.  And the changes have been striking.

Rediscovering this history is important as it reminds modern martial artists that they also have choices to make.  They must choose, just as their predecessors did, where to innovate and when to adhere to tradition. In social and political discussions, they must choose how these fighting systems will be presented to the public.

What sorts of values will the modern martial arts advance?  Will they be governed by the principal of Minjian, attempting to reach out horizontally, creating broad based coalitions of cooperation within civil society?  Or will the martial arts put their resources at the disposal of those seeking to rebuild the hierarchies of awesomeness by supporting violent, illiberal or simply exclusionary ethno-nationalist ideals?

I do not pretend that a study of the past can offer definitive guidance in the present.  As we read about the actions of those who came before we are reminded that the choices made now will have consequences.  Likewise the ways in which scholars chose to write about the martial arts may have important implications for our understanding of not just these practices, but of ourselves as well.

Works Cited

Almond, Gabriel and Sidney Verba. 1989. The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy In Five Nations. Sage.

Amos, Daniel. 1983. “Marginality and the Heroes Art: Martial Arts in Hong Kong and Guangzhou (Canton).” PhD Diss.,University of California.

Bennett, Alexander C. 2015. Kendo: Culture of the Sword. Los Angles: University of California Press. 123-162.

Berg, Esther and Inken Prohl. 2014. ‘“Become your Best”: On the Construction of Martial Arts as Means of Self-Actualization and Self-Improvement.” JOMEC Journal 5.

Boretz, Avron. 2011. Gods, Ghosts and Gangsters: Ritual Violence, Martial Arts, and Masculinity on the Margins of Chinese Society. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Bowman, Paul. 2016. Mythologies of Martial Arts. New York: Rowman & Littlefield.

Bowman, Paul. 2015.  Martial Arts Studies: Disrupting Disciplinary Boundaries. New York: Rowman & Littlefield.

Cass, Vitoria. 1999. Dangerous Women: Warriors, Grannies and Geishas of the Ming. New York: Rowman & Littlefield.

Channon, Alex and George Jennings. 2014. “Exploring Embodiment through Martial Arts and Combat Sports: A Review of Empirical Research.” Sport in Society: Cultures, Commerce, Media, Politics. 17:6. 773-789.

“Chinese Boxing.” North China Herald. July 13^th, 1872.

Farrer, D. S. “Efficiency and Entertainment in Martial Arts Studies: Anthropological Perspectives.” A Keynote Address Presented at the June 2015 Martial Arts Studies conference held at Cardiff University. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4t6WXYukHQ.

Farrer, D. S. 2015 (b). “Efficacy and Entertainment in Martial Arts Studies: Anthropological Perspectives.” Martial Arts Studies 1. 43.

Farrer, D. S. and John Whallen-Bridge. 2011. Martial Arts as Embodied Knowledge: Asian Traditions in a Transnational World. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.

Foucault, Michel. 1977. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” In Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Frank, Adam. 2006. Taijiquan and the Search for the Little Old Chinese Man: Understanding Identity through Martial Arts. New York: Palgrave.

Gainty, Denis. 2015. Martial Arts and the Body Politic in Meiji Japan. Routledge.

Garcia, Raul Sanchez and Dale C. Spenser. 2014. Fighting Scholars: Habitus and Ethnographies of Martial Arts and Combat Sports.  New York: Anthem Press.

Hamm, John Christopher. 2005. Paper Swordsmen: Yin Yong and the Modern Chinese Martial Arts Novel. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press

Henning, Stanley. 2003. “Martial Arts in Chinese Physical Culture, 1856-1965.” In Martial Arts in the Modern World, edited by Thomas A. Green and Joseph R. Svinth. London: Praeger. 13-35

Hurst, G. Cameron. 1998. Armed Martial Arts of Japan: Swordsmanship and Archery. New Haven: Yale UP.

Ip Chun and Michael Tse. 1998. Wing Chun Kung Fu: Traditional Chinese Kung Fu for Self-Defence and Health. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin.

Ip Man. “The Origin of Wing Chun.” http://www.vingtsun.org.hk/history.htm accessed 9/18/2017.

Judkins, Benjamin N. 2016. “The Seven Forms of Lightsaber Combat: Hyper-Reality and the Invention of the Martial Arts.” Martial Arts Studies. 2. 6-22.

Judkins, Benjamin N. “Does Religiously Generated Social Capital Intensify or Mediate Violent Conflict? Lessons from the Boxer Uprising.” Presented at the 67th MPSA National Meetings in Chicago, IL, April 2-5, 2009.

Judkins, Benjamin N. and Jon Nielson. 2015. The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.

Kennedy, Brian and Elizabeth Guo. 2010. Jingwu: The School that Transformed Kung Fu. Berkeley: Blue Snake Books.

King, Gary, Robert Keohane, and Sidney Verba. 1994. Designing Social Inquiry: Scientific Inference in Qualitative Research. Princeton University Press.

Lee, James Yimm. 1972. Wing Chun Kung Fu: Chinese Art of Self Defense. Santa Clarita, CA: Ohara Publications.

Liu, Petrus. 2011. Stateless Subjects: Chinese Martial Arts Literature & Postcolonial History. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, East Asia Program.

Lorge, Peter. 2012. Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century. Cambridge UP.

Miracle, Jared. 2016. Now with Kung Fu Grip! How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented the Martial Arts for America.  Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland.

Morris, Andrew. 2004. Marrow of the Nation: A History of Sport and Physical Culture in Republican China.  Berkley: University of California Press.

Putnam, Robert D., Robert Leonardi, Raffaella Y. Nanetti; Robert Leonardi; Raffaella Y. Nanetti. 1994. Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton University Press.

Rogowski, Ronald. 1989. Commerce and Coalitions: How Trade Affects Domestic Political Alignments. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Scott, James C. 1985. Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Shahar, Meir. 2008. The Shaolin Monastery: History, Religion, and the Chinese Martial Arts. Honolulu: Hawaii UP.

Vaccaro, Christian. 2015. Unleashing Manhood in the Cage: Masculinity and Mixed Martial Arts. Lexington Books.

Walkman, Frederic Jr. 1997. Strangers at the Gate: Social Disorder in South China, 1839-1861. Los Angles: University of California Press.

Waltz, Kenneth N. 1979.  Theory of International Politics. New York: McGraw-Hill.

Wacquant, Loïc. 2003. Body & Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer. Oxford University Press.

Wert, Michael. 2016. Review of: Alexander C. Bennett.  2015. Kendo: Culture of the Sword. UC Press. The Journal of Japanese Studies. 42:2 (Summer). 371-375.

Wetzler, Sixt. 2015. “Martial Arts Studies as Kulturwissenschaft: A Possible Theoretical Framework.” Martial Arts Studies. 1. 20-33.

Wong, Doc Fai and Jane Hallander. 1985. Choy Li Fut Kung Fu: A Dynamic Fighting Art Descended from the Monks of the Shaolin Temple. Burbank CA; Unique Publications.

Zhao Shiqing. 2010. “Imagining Martial Arts in Hong Kong: Understanding Local Identity through ‘Ip Man’.”  Journal of Chinese Martial Studies 1, no. 3. 85-89.
Endnotes

[1] Judkins and Nielson 2015, 179-186; 211-263.

[2] Ip Man. “The Origin of Wing Chun.” http://www.vingtsun.org.hk/history.htm accessed 9/18/2017.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Hamm 2005, 34-36.

[5] Waltz 1979, 102-116.

[6] Cass (1999) provides an excellent discussion of the inherent social tensions within Chinese images of archetypal female warriors.

[7] Adam Frank (2006, 35-36), among others, has discussed the tendency towards self-Orientalizing within the Chinese martial arts.  It is not hard to imagine some of the motives behind this development.  Once the martial arts came to be linked to the project of building a robust sense of Chinese nationalism in the 1920s and 1930s, the Central Guoshu Association and other actors showed a strong tendency to link these fighting systems with supposedly “essential” and “primordial” Chinese traits that they wished to promote.  Authors of Wuxia novels also marshaled idealized visions of the past to support their own vision of China’s future.  Nor has this project ever been totally forgotten.

[8] “Chinese Boxing.” North China Herald. July 13^th, 1872.

[9] Judkins and Nielson 175-176.

[10] Practically all of the basic guidebooks on the Wing Chun system relate this story.  Chun and Tse 1998, 16-21.  Even James Yimm Lee’s notoriously taciturn manual, Wing Chun Kung Fu: Chinese Art of Self Defense, produced from Bruce Lee’s class notes, includes a brief summary of the story.

[11] The concept of “reality” plays an important part in popular discussion of the martial arts.  Bowman (2015) 109-135.

[12] Scott 1985.

[13] King,Keohane and Verba 1994.

[14] Key contributions in this literature include Wacquant 2003; Farrer and Whallen-Bridge 2011; and various contributors in Garcia and Spenser 2014.

[15] The definition of the martial arts (and whether focusing on the topic is even a good idea) is contested: Channon and Jennings 2014; Wetzler 2015; Judkins 2016; Bowman 2016. Nevertheless, all of these authors share points of agreement regarding the fundamentally social nature of these practices.  That is likely the proper place to beginning a historical exploration.

[16] Amos 1983; Boretz 2011. Perhaps the best known statement on marginality and the combat sports in North America has been provided by Loic Wacquant (2003) who approached boxing as a way to understand life in the Chicago ghetto. All of these works touch on the interaction of social marginality and masculinity.  Those topics have been taken up more directly by Miracle 2016 and Vaccaro 2015. Collectively this literature suggests that the martial arts can be seen as an exercise in individual and community self-creation rising out of the experience of exclusion and self-doubt. Berg and Prohl (2014) note that this is how these fighting systems have self-consciously described themselves and their mission in the modern era.

[17] Judkins 2009.

[18] This tendency seems particularly well developed in the folk history of Choy Li Fut.  See for instance Wong and Hallander 1985; Judkins and Nielson 92-99.

[19] While most emic accounts of Chinese martial arts history seem to focus on lineage creation accounts and emphasize the “purity” of martial practice, contemporary etic reports indicate that one was most likely to find serious martial artists gainfully employed in roles that focused on the management of social coercion and violence.  Examples of such careers might include working as a tax collector for the Imperial salt monopoly, being an enforcer in a gambling house, working in law enforcement or traveling as an armed escort protecting merchant caravans.  Judkins and Nielson 73-74; 125-129; 205-206.

[20] Ibid 265-281.

[21] For a classic statement on how the expansion of free trade exacerbates social cleavages (sometimes to the point of violence) and effects political outcomes see Rogowski 1989.

[22] Shahar 2008. Kennedy and Guo (2010), in an otherwise fine work discussing the Jingwu Association, illustrate some of the problems that arise from universal extrapolations based on only a single city or region. The best introduction to the Chinese martial arts has been provided by Peter Lorge (2012). Unfortunately, for our purposes, this volume lacks a sufficiently detailed discussion of Southern China.  Much of Lorge’s work also tends to focus on earlier eras of military history.  More focused examinations of the modern Chinese martial arts have been provided by Stanley Henning (2003) and Andrew Morris (2004).  Yet again, the history of the martial arts in Southern China and Hong Kong has gone largely unexamined.

[23] For a discussion of the ways in which a single case study can be used to test progressively more complex theories see King, Keohane and Verba 208-229.

[24]Foucault 1977; Michael Wert (2016) has recently noted that scholars of martial arts studies who are also practitioners of the disciplines that they research are not immune to these traps.

[25] D. S. Farrer 2015, 2015(b).

[26] Zhao 2010.

[27] For a discussion of the importance of martial arts humor see Bowman 2016, chapter two.

[28] Hamm, in his study of martial arts fiction, noted that radio dramas (now a mostly forgotten genre) helped to bridge the worlds of early martial arts fiction and modern Kung Fu films. 39-40.

[29] Bowman 2015, 155-157.

[30] Miracle 163-165.

[31] Morris 195-228; Hurst 1998; Bennett 2015.

[32] Liu 2011.

[33] Almond and Verba (1989) and Putnam (1994) provide classic, social-scientific, studies of the concept.

[34] Judkins and Nielson 16.

[35] Liu 8-9; 29-38; 39; 59-60.

[36] Judkins and Nielson 160-163.

[37] Judkins and Nielson 116-124.

[38] Gainty 2015.

Introduction

One of the most exciting, and simultaneously frustrating, aspects of the academic study of the martial arts is their international nature.  Self-defense systems, combat sports or traditional martial arts can be found in practically every region of the globe.  Hence it is not surprising that the scholarly investigation of these fighting systems tends to be equally widely distributed.

This unending supply of observation and debate makes for an exciting field of investigation.  Yet scholars in different literatures and areas of the world have traditionally worked in isolation from one another.  This isolation has impeded the flow of ideas and the development of anything like a comprehensive scholarly literature on these practices.  Such a lack of engagement can be frustrating.

One of the main goals of Martial Arts Studies has been to move beyond the isolated “studies of martial arts” that have appeared in various disciplinary and nationally bounded literatures and to attempt to foster a more interconnected conversation.  Put slightly differently, it is time to bring the “globally connected” aspect of the martial arts and combat sports into sharper focus.

The Martial Arts Commission of the German Society of Sport Science took a major step in that direction earlier this month when they hosted their 5^th annual meeting at the German Sport University of Cologne.  From October 6^th to the 8^th they presented a set of meetings titled “Martial Arts and Society: On the Societal Relevance of Martial Arts, Combat Sports and Self-Defense.”

While always an important gathering of Martial Arts Studies scholars (especially for European students), this year’s conference was notable for its efforts to broaden the scope of the discussion in ways that would welcome the international academic community.  In addition to a number of German language presentations, this year’s conference provided English language panels in which a wide range of research projects and approaches could be discussed.  The conference organizers also graciously invited two foreign speakers (Prof. Paul Bowman from the UK, and myself) to present keynote addresses.

In the remainder of this post I would like to briefly discuss the background leading up to this year’s conference, the basic structure and schedule of the conference and some of the papers that were presented.  Finally I will offer a few of my own thoughts on both the lessons learned from this event and the future of Martial Arts Studies in Germany.

Paul Bowman, with coffee, walking through the poster session on Friday afternoon.

Three Days, Thirty Papers

As always, there is a lot going on at an academic conference of this size, and things can be a bit of a blur.  This is especially true when parts of the event are taking place in a language that you do not speak.  Surprisingly, that turned out to be less of an impediment than one might guess.  Germany is a relatively easy country for English language speakers to navigate, and the conference itself was remarkably accessible.

Still, a few words of orientation might be in order.  The relatively young Martial Arts Commission of the German Society for Sport Sciences has been hosting annual conferences for the last five years.  Each of these events proposes a theme that organizes the presentations.  For instance, the 2015 conference, organized by Martin J. Meyer, took as its subject “Martial Arts Studies in Germany: Defining and Crossing Disciplinary Boundaries.”

Unlike the annual UK based conference organized by the Martial Arts Studies Research Network (which seems to have found a permanent home in Cardiff), the locations of these meetings rotate from year to year.  Interested students should also note that the Martial Arts Commission publishes a set of proceedings for each conference which includes all (or most) of the papers presented that year.  Obviously most of these articles are in German, but when I was looking through the 2015 volume (which Martin was kind enough to give me a copy of), I was surprised to see a few English language entries as well.  These proceedings are a valuable resource and an interesting record of the evolution of the MAS literature in Germany.

Each conference also includes the annual working meeting of the Martial Arts Commission itself.  At this year’s meeting Prof. Dr. Swen Körner (head of the Institute of Pedagogy and Philosophy at the Germany Sports University of Cologne) was elected to be the commission’s new Speaker.  All of the scholars whom I spoke with afterwards saw this as an important indication of the increased respect that Martial Arts Studies as a field is garnering within Germany, and a sign that the next phase of institution building is about to begin.

I also had an opportunity to discuss some of these issues with Prof. Dr. Körner as he generously offered to host my visit.  As any of us who have been involved with academia know, “institution building” is always a challenge.  Yet it seems clear that he, and a number of other individuals, are working quite seriously to chart both an intellectual and organization pathway that will ensure the continued development of Martial Arts Studies in Germany.

The conference itself began at 2:00 pm on Thursday October 6^th.  After registration Prof. Dr. Körner opened the meeting with a short welcoming address.  He then introduced Prof. Dr. Norbert Finzsch of the University of Cologne’s Institute of History.  An expert on Anglo-American history (as well as an experienced boxer and martial artist) Finzsch delivered a German language keynote titled “On Style: Boxing and Intellectuals in the 20^th and the 21^st Century.”

While I was obviously unable to follow his talk in detail it was clear that he touched on the spread of not just boxing but also the globalization of other forms of martial arts in the current era.  His talk also seems to have framed at least part of this discussion in terms of the rise and fall of various discourses of masculinity.  Obviously this is a fascinating discussion and I had a number of opportunities to talk with Prof. Dr. Finzsch over the course of the conference.  He was ever kind enough to provide me with real time translations in a couple of the other German language sessions.  Needless to say, I will be asking for an English language version of his paper that might be shared either at Kung Fu Tea or the journal at some point in the future.

Following this first keynote the time was turned over for panel presentations from 4-6 pm.  Most panels at the conference seem to have had from 3-5 papers, each of which was allotted about half an hour for the presentation and discussion.  It appears that there were always two panels running simultaneously, so at best an attendee might see half of the papers that were presented in this year’s meetings.

The Thursday panels were all held in German, and I am afraid that I am simply unable to do the researchers who presented most of these papers justice.  But I will note that Martin Meyer did present what appeared to be a fascinating study of the interaction and overlapping development of wrestling in America and Sumo in Japan, particularly as they related to questions of national identity and rivalry.  This is another paper that I look forward to seeing an English language treatment of.

Later in the evening a set of “Open Training” modules were held in which various issues in pedagogy and practice could be explored in the more “hands on” manner that martial artists seem to find so attractive.  These included a technical demonstration of a new system of recording 3-D motion capture, a method for introducing middle school students to boxing, an exploration of emotional and psychological responses in self-defense situations, and lastly the demonstration of a karate system that is being used with students in wheel chairs (I still regret missing that one).

At 8:00pm we headed to a local restaurant for the first conference dinner.   The food was great, as was the opportunity for more informal introductions and reconnecting with old friends.

A helpful waiter at a small restaurant in the Munich airport suggested that this was a “real” German breakfast.  Apparently the mustard was for the sausages and the pretzel was to be eaten with butter.

Things resumed the next morning at 9:00 when Prof. Paul Bowman of Cardiff University presented an English language keynote titled “What Can a Martial Body Do: Or, Theory Before Definition in Martial Arts Studies.”  This address had a two-fold purpose.  First it expressed Bowman’s growing unease with the sorts of debates around the “proper” definition of the martial arts that have emerged within the literature in recent years.

Bowman noted that while such efforts seem to “stabilize” the martial arts as a mutually understood subject of study, they inevitably result in the creation of a Procrustean bed in which violence is done to complex and complicated real world practices to make them fit (or simply to dismiss them from) our preconceived notions.  The danger in defining a thing is the impulse to do away with any element of semiotic openness and disorder by simply “defining it all away.”  In so doing we often lose the ability to see what is most interesting in a case.  Bowman argued that scholars should focus instead on the moments of association and identification that happen prior to definition.

This introduced the second aspect of his argument.  Once we cease to approach these questions through strictly empirical or “scientific” methods, an opening is presented whereby the tools of critical and post-structural theory can become a key lens by which scholars make sense of the world.  Rather than asking what the martial arts “are,” he concludes that we should adopt these theoretically driven approaches to inquire instead what they have done, where they have traveled and what meanings they have carried along the way.

As one might expect this line of argument opened up the most sustained discussion that I saw during the conference.  Various members of the audience asked questions including the difference between “indication” and “definition,” how Bowman balanced this unease with the idea of “definitions” with his attempts to define a new field of study, and lastly, supposing that scholars adopt the tools of deconstruction in the investigation of the martial arts, how then should they go about explaining our findings regarding the history and nature of these systems to the general public.

After a quick break for lunch the conference resumed with another round of panel presentations.  These papers were presented in English.  The first paper in the panel that I attended was presented by Martin Minarik (“Tae Kwon Do as Cultural Performance: A performance oriented evaluation of norms and values in the practice of Taekwondo in South Korea.”)  In this paper Martin introduced his research topic and discussed the area in which he was doing his field work.  He also presented some initial findings regarding the varieties of social functions performed by Taekwondo in South Korea today and noted that simplistic frameworks focused only on questions like nationalism could not really explain the range of values that the art was passing on in local communities.

Next Henrike Neuhaus discussed her current fieldwork which is also concerned with the creation of norms within the Taekwondo community.  However, she is conducting her research in local martial arts schools in Buenos Aires, Argentina.  After noting the various ways in which individuals from a variety of socio-economic backgrounds were integrated into seemingly egalitarian social structures (in the form of martial arts training institutions), she became interested in whether these practices were becoming a pathway for the creation of norms of equality and community building within a society that was otherwise marked by growing inequality and subtle social barriers.  Her presentation was particularly impressive given the depth of her engagement with the theoretical literature (I even noted a couple of references to Victor Turner), and the richness of her ethnographic field work.  While watching her presentation it became evident that this is a dissertation which I will be reading in a few years.

Next, my friend Martin Wolfgang Ehlen presented a paper exploring more of his ongoing project to come up with a better translation of the Wing Chun rhymed formula as taught within the Gary Lam lineage (though other branches of the Ip Man system share much of this same material).  His paper appears to have had a three part structure.  The first explored the broader world of southern Chinese oral traditions and verbal expressions.  Secondly, it turned to an explanation of Ip Man’s sayings (or those that his students have attributed to him).  Lastly it sought to ask where the Wing Chun tradition falls within the larger cultural pattern of rhymed aphorisms.  While a fascinating topic, time ran short and we did not make it all the way through the second point.  But I look forward to reading a complete version of this paper at some point in the future.

Finally Wayne Wong (who has recently moved from Hong Kong to the UK and is working on a joint doctoral program at King’s College) presented a paper titled “Reinventing Chinese Kung Fu: Wing Chun and Combativity in Donnie Yen’s Ip Man series (2008-2015).”  In this paper (which will be of great interest to many Kung Fu Tea readers) Wayne takes a closer look at the recent Donnie Yen films and argues that they advance a fundamentally new paradigm in Chinese martial arts cinema.  Or in his own words:

“It is aided by a new paradigm of cinematic representation emphasizing what I call shizhan (實戰; Combativity), which privileges practicality over intricacy, efficiency over complexity, quick fight over extended “dance” performance. This shizhan paradigm adds a sense of practicality to the zhanshi (真實; Authenticity) paradigm of kung fu cinema, which has long been dominated by theatricality and operatic traditions such as Peking Opera.

Originally, I used the term “Combative authenticity” instead of combativity. But the notion of combativity can better differentiate itself from the existing models, such as Leon Hunt’s idea of “authenticity”. While kung fu cinema is built on the premise of “realism” since its conception through The Story of Wong Fei-hung (1949) (as opposed to the wuxia tradition), the genre has highlighted the didactic dimensions of kung fu, portraying it as a means to philosophical and moral enlightenment rather than as a lethal combat technique. In addition to the content, the theatricality and cinematic expressivity of the genre also undermines the ideas of practicality and efficiency (Hunt 24).”

Donnie Yen’s films are significant precisely because they upend what has become the traditional way of publicly discussing Kung Fu in an attempt to capture why Wing Chun is “different.”  Once again, I expect that we will be hearing a complete version of Wayne’s argument in the next few months.

Following these presentations a poster session was organized.  About a dozen researchers presented their work while conference attendees had time to explore the papers, mingle and grab a snack.  I noticed quite a few of these projects had been published.

Finally at the end of a long day, most of the conference attendees headed off for a “pub crawl” through some of Cologne’s better known beer gardens, followed by the second conference dinner.  I decided to sit these festivities out in favor of some last minute preparation and sleeping off my jet-lag, but I hear that a great time was had by all.

The Saturday morning session began at 9:00am with my keynote address, “Creating Wing Chun: Towards a Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts.”  This discussion began with a focused comparison of two different accounts of life altering “challenge matches” within the world of the late imperial Chinese martial arts.  The first of these was the relatively well known story of Yim Wing Chun, and her fight with the marketplace bully, as it was passed on by Ip Man.

This legend was contrasted with a recently discovered newspaper report on a real marketplace fight between two boxers that had taken place near Shanghai in the 1870s.  That account, describing the death of one of the fighters and the social fallout that followed, provided a much less romanticized view of the social world of the Chinese martial arts.

After introducing and comparing these accounts (neither of which proved to be totally reliable sources), I argued that students of martial arts histories are often presented with the sorts of puzzles found in these documents.  That provided a jumping-off point to briefly explore the process by which we might attempt to write more rigorous and theoretically informed studies of these fighting systems.  Finally I explored the social relevance of this type of academic discussion for martial artists and even general readers.

A number of questions also followed this keynote.  Perhaps my favorite, and the one that led to the most sustained discussion, came from Prof. Dr. Finzsch who also studies the history of photography.  He commented on a number of the 19^th and early 20^th century postcards and photos of martial artists that I had shown during the course of my talk.  We discussed some of the complex interpretive problems that these images raised, issues that in many respects mirrored those of the challenge fights discussed at the start of my paper.

The final round of paper presentations followed my talk.  These were once again in German.  Luckily my friend Sixt Wetlzer was able to provide me with some simultaneous translation, allowing me to better follow along with the arguments.  Perhaps the most surprising element of the last panel was its emphasis on virtual and gamic elements that touched upon the martial arts.

Much of this discussion also involved questions of pedagogy.  One paper in particular looked at ways in which games (often including the martial arts) could be used to encourage increased rates of physical activity among children.  Mario Staller (who offered at least three different projects over the course of this conference) presented his own study of whether (and to what extent) individuals could learn actual tactical concepts from the current generation of increasingly realistic first person shooter video games.  I will need to wait until I see an English language version of his paper before commenting on it in detail, but what I could make out from his discussion seemed very interesting.

Following this session there was a brief farewell address and we broke for the final lunch of the meeting.

Mario Staller presenting what must have his third paper at the last section of this conference!

Concluding Thoughts

Reflecting back on the conference, it is evident that some important trends were at play.  As I spoke with the organizers of previous meetings in this series it is clear that much progress has been made over the course of the last five years.  In many respects the success of this conference was the result of sustained efforts to move the German discussion of Martial Arts Studies in a more academic, professional and theoretically informed direction.

Obviously my experience of this conference will not be quite the same as anyone else’s (particularly as I do not speak German!).  Yet my impression was that the quality of work presented was generally quite high.  Further, many of the projects drew on the existing literature in interesting ways or posed new questions.  By any objective measure the efforts of the past conference organizers have started to bear fruit.

In addition to the meeting’s declared emphasis on social questions, a few other themes seem to have emerged from the papers presented during these meetings.  The interaction between martial practice, pedagogy and theory was a reoccurring element within many of the panels.  Likewise, a number of papers explored the boundaries of the martial arts, whether understood as firearms training for police officers, the connection between professional wrestling and national image, or even the virtual violence of video games.

I think that this speaks to an increased feeling of confidence among students of martial arts studies.  Rather than simply asking how social factors impact the practice or meaning of the traditional martial arts, we are increasingly comfortable taking concepts that we have learned from the study of these fighting systems and applying them as tools to understand larger social processes that might lay outside of the “martial arts” as they have been traditionally defined.  This is a good sign as it speaks to our ability to develop theories and insights that are relevant to core discussions that are currently happening in a variety of disciplines.

Martial Arts Studies in Germany clearly has a bright future.  At this conference I saw an entire generation of young scholars and graduate students making progress on important projects.  Serious thought is being given to the difficult task of securing resources and building institutions that will ensure both a continued supply, and demand, for this type of research in years to come.

It seems likely that Germany will become an important center for the production of martial art’s related scholarship in the near future.  Better yet, this conference demonstrated a notable commitment to ensuring that this literature will develop in dialogue with the best scholarship being produced in other areas of North and South America, Europe and Asia.  This is precisely what is needed for Martial Arts Studies to realize its full potential.  I left these meetings with a sense of enthusiasm for what is to come.

It goes without saying that I strongly encourage any international scholars thinking of submitting a paper to the next round of meetings to do so.  I personally found these meetings to be unusually productive, and Germany is a wonderful country to visit.  We all have a part to play in expanding the boundaries of our shared conversation.

Lastly a few heartfelt words of thanks are in order.  First off I must thank Leo Istas and Prof. Dr. Swen Körner for taking the time to organize this conference and making it possible for me to attend.  Prof. Körner’s entire family generously hosted my stay.  Lastly, I need to thank my good friend Sixt Wetzler for his efforts in translating a number of presentations and showing me around the area (more on that latter).  This experience once again illustrated the amazing ability of the martial arts to bring people together and create vital new communities.

Where the magic happens. The Speaker Council meeting of the commission at the German Sport University Cologne. From left to right: Mario Staller, Peter Kuhn, Leo Istas, Sebastian Liebl, Holger Wiethäuper and MartinMeyer with Sixt Wetzler in the foreground. Source: https://www.facebook.com/dvskommissionkuk

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If you enjoyed this conference report you might also want to see: Religion, Violence and the Existence of the Southern Shaolin Temple

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Students from Africa graduating from a three month training program at the Shaolin Temple, Henan.

Introduction

Welcome to “Chinese Martial Arts in the News.”  This is a semi-regular feature here at Kung Fu Tea in which we review media stories that mention or affect the traditional fighting arts.  In addition to discussing important events, this column also considers how the Asian hand combat systems are portrayed in the mainstream media.

While we try to summarize the major stories over the last month, there is always a chance that we have missed something.  If you are aware of an important news event relating to the TCMA, drop a link in the comments section below.  If you know of a developing story that should be covered in the future feel free to send me an email.

Its been a while since our last update so there is a lot to be covered in today’s post.  Let’s get to the news!

Motion capture technology being used to document the traditional Chinese Martial Arts. Source: Facebook group of the International Guoshu Association.

Chinese Martial Arts, Within China

By their nature, news roundups tend to be somewhat random.  Yet every once in a while a discernible pattern seems to emerge.  This last month has been one of those rare times.  In his excellent (and still underappreciated) study,Taijiquan and the Search for the Little Old Chinese Man, anthropologist Adam Frank noted (with reference to the increasingly globalized TCMA) that “identity moves.”  This statement is true on many levels.  But the news reports that have emerged over the last month seem intent on demonstrating both geographic shifts and chronological fading within these practices.  As such, these “movements” will organize the first section of our news update.

We begin with discussions of the TCMA within China.  Interestingly, stories in this category are vastly outnumbered by the plethora of pieces that focus instead on martial identities either entering, or being exported from, China.  Two of the three stories that we do have in this category seem to be concerned with issues of marginality (in this case the de-centering of the martial arts from mundane Chinese life), understood both ethnically and temporally.

Our first article (which includes a short video clip) reports on the ongoing efforts of Hing Chao and the Intentional Guoshu Association to document the Southern Chinese martial arts through advanced 3-D motion capture technology before they finally (inevitably?) vanish from social neglect.  The entire project seems to be pitched as a continuation of the early 20th century project of “salvage anthropology” (which should probably inspire a degree of self-reflection).

The next article asks what happens when Muslims and Chinese martial artists come together?  Apparently you get some really great hand combat practices.  This piece also looks at the martial arts in China, but once again de-centers them in a slightly different way.  And in the process it comes up with a short introduction to a couple of the major personalities within China’s rich Muslim martial arts traditions.

Shaolin’s famous bronze men, as re-imagined for a public performance. Source: The Daily Mail.

Of course no round-up of Chinese martial arts stories would be complete without an obligatory massive public performance being staged at the Shaolin Temple.  In this case the martial arts are once again reworked as a vehicle for nostalgia, this time more directly inspired by film.  The occasion for the public performance was 11th International Shaolin Wushu Festival.

My god it has finally come to this.  Taiji Softball, which apparently is a racket sport. Maybe there is something to all of that stuff about the “death of the martial arts in China” after all.

Martial Identity Moving Out of China

It is not hard to spot an interesting dichotomy in the way that the TCMA are discussed in these articles.  When examined in their home environment the focus is often on their struggle to survive, or to remain relevant, within the modern life of the nation.  Yet when discussed in a global context these same arts are often held up as vital ambassadors of Chinese identity and culture, and are seen as essential to the Chinese nation.   Note for instance the following article titled “Martial arts school in L.A. teaches traditional Chinese sports, delights students.  It recounts a visit by a group of coaches from China who introduced some young American students to a number of “traditional” Chinese sports….like Taiji Softball.

“The team including five coaches came from the Chinese Leisure Sports Administrative Center. It’s the first time they came to the United States to teach traditional Chinese sports. The two-day program mainly focused on three sports: dragon and lion dance, Chinese folk dance (Yangge) and Taiji softball (Rouliqiu).”

Another article in the Times of India recounted a somewhat similar story in which three Chinese Taijiquan instructors were invited to visit Kolkata.  While various Shaolin and “external” Chinese martial arts are already quite popular in India, the feeling seems to be that the internal arts have been under represented.  And so these instructors came with a mission to introduce local residents to the culture and practice of Taijiquan.  In both of these stories the TCMA are not only a central element of Chinese culture, but they are viewed as something that should be passed on to the global community as well.

Students from Africa who recently graduated from a three month training program at the Shaolin Temple. Source: Global Times.

The Global Times ran another story with this same theme.  This time rather than sending teachers abroad, a group of African students (already discussed in a previous news update) were brought to the Shaolin Temple in Henan Province.  After three months of training they staged a graduation performance.  In a separate story CCTV noted that many such student take it upon themselves to spread Chinese martial culture once they return to the West.  The following report profiles an individual (first introduced to Kung Fu while living in Macao) who now operates a successful school in Portugal.  The short video that accompanies the story is worth watching.

Bruce Lee is the most recognizable of all of China’s many martial ambassadors.  The San Francisco Examiner recently ran a short interview with Charlie Russo in which they discussed his new book, Striking Distance: Bruce Lee & the Dawn of Martial Arts in America.  The interview and the book are both worth checking out, especially if you are looking for a non-fictional discussion of Lee’s now legendary fight with Wong Jack Man.  Given George Nolfi’s imaginative treatment of this episode, it is sure to reemerge as a topic of conversation in the next few months.  You can see my review of Russo’s book here.

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu at the King Club in Beijing.

Martial Identity Moves Into China

Needless to say, identities rarely flow in only one direction, or along a single axis.  This is especially true within the global martial arts community.  Every month there is a fairly steady drumbeat of stories discussing the importation (or popularization) of new martial practices within China.  When looking at the stories, two such items stood out.  The Global Times ran a decent piece titled “Brazil’s Martial Arts Popular in Chinese Cities.”  In discussing the growing popularity of BJJ within China’s first tier cities, the author noted the importance of fashion and mediatized images.  Unlike many traditional form of Kung Fu, BJJ is widely perceived as being perfectly compatible with modern life.

“The influence of celebrities is one of the reasons jiu-jitsu has become so popular in China,” Ma said. Many models and actors play jiu-jitsu to keep fit, and this has introduced the sport to more people. “Another reason is that many office workers in big cities, especially males, are under huge living pressure,” Ma said. “Martial arts is an effective way for them to relax.”

The mixed martial arts (MMA) are also attempting to enter the mainstream of Chinese public life.  CCTV ran a story discussing a recent event sponsored by the Dragon Fighting Championship in Shanghai. While the article is ostensibly about fighters and combat sports from other nations coming into China, Bruce Lee is discussed at length as the spiritual father of MMA.  The end result seems to be the domestication of the event.  Both Western and Chinese discussions of MMA ask the memory of Bruce Lee to carry a lot of water.  At some point it might be useful to do a comparative study of how his image is being used in these emerging discourses.

Bruce Lee facing off against Wong Jack Man in George Nolfi’s biopic, Birth of the Dragon.

Chinese Martial Arts In the Media

George Nolfi’s recent Bruce Lee bio-pic has not yet hit most theaters, but it has already generated a notable degree of controversy regarding the “whitewashing” of Asian characters within their own stories.  After viewing the initial trailers for this film many fans were incensed by the idea that Bruce Lee was being relegated to a supporting role within his own life story.  With no apparent sense of irony, the movie appears to cast him as the exotic sidekick to someone who looks and sounds a lot like Steve McQueen.  Fan reaction has been swift and vocal.  And it just keeps on coming.

Given the quickly souring public narrative on this project its director has decided to respond to, and directly contest, the various complaints that are being launched.  The Guardian ran a surprisingly detailed article covering both sides of this story which is well worth checking out.  It also brought Dr. Felicia Chan (a films studies scholar at the University of Manchester) into the discussion to comment on Nolfi’s defenses of his work and creative choices.  She seems to have been unimpressed.

Do you remember Donnie Yen’s recent proclamations that he was done playing Ip Man, and might even take a step back from martial arts films?  Well, we can now collectively forget any such idea.  A large number of sources are reporting that Yen has just signed onto Wilson Ip’s 4th installment in the Ip Man franchise.  It look’s like the Master has at least one more epic battle to go!

Kung Fu film buffs will also want to check out this article.  Titled “Dying art challenges the masters: As Hong Kong’s kung fu movie legends fade from limelight, they fear there is no one able or willing to carry on the tradition” it profiles Kara Wai Ying-hung as she retires from the genre.  Aspects of her interview read a bit like a diatribe about “the kids these days” (by which she means other actors and directors in the business).  Yet underneath it all is a discussion of the various ways in which the production of martial arts films have changed.  What I found particularly interesting is that she articulates a debate as to what “realism” in a Kung Fu film actually is.  Is it showing the audience authentic techniques actually done by a trained practitioner in a single take? Or is it instead invoking the feeling of “real” violence through the use of close shots and fast cuts that are emotionally intense yet visually obscure?  Achieving a sense of realism has always been central to the genre, but this article nicely illustrates the ways in which that concept has evolved.

Taijiquan.  Source: Wikimedia

A recent study in the Journal of Pain may be of interest to Taijiquan students.  A peer reviewed paper found that a sample of individuals with chronic, non-specific, neck pain who practiced Taijiquan for 12 weeks showed statistically significant levels of improvement.  They fared notably better than a control group which was prescribed no form of physical therapy.  However, a third group who practiced specifically formulated neck exercises showed results that were identical to those experienced by the Taijiquan students.  Still, if my choice was between learning a new martial art or practicing a set of neck exercises, I know which treatment I would choose!

Benjamin Judkins, presenting a keynote at the 2016 Martial Arts Studies meetings at Cardiff University.

Martial Arts Studies

There has been a lot of news within the field of Martial Arts Studies.  First, The Martial Arts Commission of the German Society of Sport Science just wrapped up their 5^th annual meeting which was held this year at the German Sport University of Cologne.  The title of the conference was “Martial Arts and Society: On the Societal Relevance of Martial Arts, Combat Sports and Self-Defense.”  It was a great event which you can read more about in my conference report.  Also, two of the keynotes are already available on-line, here and here.

The dates for the 3rd Annual Martial Arts Studies Conference have also been announced.  These meetings will be taking place from July 11th to July 13th at Cardiff University.  Professor Peter Lorge (Vanderbilt University), the author of Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century (Cambridge University Press, 2012) has already been confirmed as the the first keynote speaker.  Check out this post for more details and to review the Call for Papers (the deadline for submissions is the 31st of December, 2016).

Kendo club at a Japanese Agricultural School during the 1920s. Note the rifles along the back wall. Source: wikimedia.

I recently noticed two articles that may be of interest to the Martial Arts Studies community.  The first is “An Oral History of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Ben Penglase interviews Rolker Gracie” In The Rio de Janeiro Reader: History, Politics and Culture, Duke University Press, 2016, which can be found here.

Second, Jonathan Tuckett has just published a piece titled “Kendo: Between Religion and Nationalism” in the Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies (15: 44).  Unfortunately you will need to head to jstor or your local university library to get a copy of this paper.  But the abstract seems promising.

To date, the study of “religion” and “martial arts” is a lacuna of the field in Religious Studies in which the depth of association has long gone unrecognised. What little study there is, however, suffers from a practitioner’s bias in that those writing on martial arts are also attempting to promote the agenda of their own discipline. This paper attempts a more critical approach to show the study of martial arts can contribute to the ongoing problematisation of “religion” as an analytic category, particularly in its relation to “the secular” and “nationalism”. To do this I will draw on the philosophical phenomenology of Husserl, Sartre and Schutz to argue that “religions”, “nationalisms” and “martial arts” are all names given to modes of naturalisation. By this I mean they are means by which a person “fits” within their life-world and deals with the problems of surviving and thriving.

“London Sees Thrills Of Japanese Sport.” A self-defense demonstration by a female martial artist, choreographed to be humorous for the audience. Vintage Newsreel. 1932.

 
There have been a number of recent announcements for upcoming books.  While a few of these will not be out for some months, it is interesting to get a quick look at what we will be reading and discussing next year.  The first is Wendy Rouse’s Her Own Hero: Origins of the Women’s Self Defense Movement, due out in August 2017.  Hopefully this book will provide new perspectives on the role of gender in the global spread of the Asian martial arts.

The surprising roots of the self-defense movement and the history of women’s empowerment.

At the turn of the twentieth century, women famously organized to demand greater social and political freedoms like gaining the right to vote. However, few realize that the Progressive Era also witnessed the birth of the women’s self-defense movement.

It is nearly impossible in today’s day and age to imagine a world without the concept of women’s self defense. Some women were inspired to take up boxing and jiu-jitsu for very personal reasons that ranged from protecting themselves from attacks by strangers on the street to rejecting gendered notions about feminine weakness and empowering themselves as their own protectors. Women’s training in self defense was both a reflection of and a response to the broader cultural issues of the time, including the women’s rights movement and the campaign for the vote.

Perhaps more importantly, the discussion surrounding women’s self-defense revealed powerful myths about the source of violence against women and opened up conversations about the less visible violence that many women faced in their own homes. Through self-defense training, women debunked patriarchal myths about inherent feminine weakness, creating a new image of women as powerful and self-reliant. Whether or not women consciously pursued self-defense for these reasons, their actions embodied feminist politics. Although their individual motivations may have varied, their collective action echoed through the twentieth century, demanding emancipation from the constrictions that prevented women from exercising their full rights as citizens and human beings. This book is a fascinating and comprehensive introduction to one of the most important women’s issues of all time.

This book will provoke good debate and offer distinct responses and solutions.

Film studies scholars should look for Man-Fung Yip’s new work Martial Arts Cinema and Hong Kong Modernity: Aesthetics, Representation, Circulation from Hong Kong University Press, expected in July of 2017.

At the core of Martial Arts Cinema and Hong Kong Modernity: Aesthetics, Representation, Circulation is a fascinating paradox: the martial arts film, long regarded as a vehicle of Chinese cultural nationalism, can also be understood as a mass cultural expression of Hong Kong’s modern urban-industrial society. This important and popular genre, Man-Fung Yip argues, articulates the experiential qualities, the competing social subjectivities and gender discourses, as well as the heightened circulation of capital, people, goods, information, and technologies in Hong Kong of the 1960s and 1970s. In addition to providing a novel conceptual framework for the study of Hong Kong martial arts cinema and shedding light on the nexus between social change and cultural/aesthetic form, this book offers perceptive analyses of individual films, including not only the canonical works of King Hu, Chang Cheh, and Bruce Lee, but also many lesser-known ones by Lau Kar-leung and Chor Yuen, among others, that have not been adequately discussed before. Thoroughly researched and lucidly written, Yip’s stimulating study will ignite debates in new directions for both scholars and fans of Chinese-language martial arts cinema.

Sara Delamont, Neil Stephens, and Claudio Campos are expected release a somewhat pricey volume form Routledge just after New Years.  Their study is titled Embodying Brazil: An Ethnography of Diasporic Capoeria.  This sounds as though it will be worth a trip to the library.

The practice of capoeira, the Brazilian dance-fight-game, has grown rapidly in recent years. It has become a popular leisure activity in many cultures, as well as a career for Brazilians in countries across the world including the US, the UK, Canada and Australia. This original ethnographic study draws on the latest research conducted on capoeira in the UK to understand this global phenomenon. It not only presents an in-depth investigation of the martial art, but also provides a wealth of data on masculinities, performativity, embodiment, globalisation and rites of passage.Centred in cultural sociology, while drawing on anthropology and the sociology of sport and dance, the book explores the experiences of those learning and teaching capoeira at a variety of levels. From beginners’ first encounters with this martial art to the perspectives of more advanced students, it also sheds light on how teachers experience their own re-enculturation as they embody the exotic ‘other’. Embodying Brazil: An ethnography of diasporic capoeira is fascinating reading for all capoeira enthusiasts, as well as for anyone interested in the sociology of sport, sport and social theory, sport, race and ethnicity, or Latin American Studies.

Paul Bowman’s Mythologies of Martial Arts will be released by Rowman & Littlefield very soon.  This one should certainly be on your Christmas list, and given the publisher it will be reasonably priced.

What do martial arts signify today? What do they mean for East-West cross cultural exchanges? How does the representation of martial arts in popular culture impact on the wide world? What is authentic practice? What does it all mean?

From Kung Fu to Jiujitsu and from Bruce Lee to The Karate Kid, Mythologies of Martial Arts explores the key myths and ideologies in martial arts in contemporary popular culture. The book combines the author’s practical, professional and academic experience of martial arts to offer new insights into this complex, contradictory world. Inspired by the work of Roland Barthes in Mythologies, the book focusses on the signs, signifiers and practices of martial arts globally. Bringing together cultural studies, film studies, media studies, postcolonial studies with the emerging field of martial arts studies the book explores the broader significance of martial arts in global culture. Using an accessible yet theoretically sophisticated style the book is ideal for students, scholars and anyone interested in any type of martial art.

For readers who cannot wait, there are also two books to be aware of that have just been released.  The first makes a contribution to the growing literature on New World martial arts. Michael J. Ryan has just released Venezuelan Stick Fighting: The Civilizing Process in Martial Arts (Lexington Books).  Readers should note that this volume includes a forward by Prof. Thomas Green.

Ryan examines the modern and historical role of the secretive tradition of stick fighting within rural Venezuela. Despite profound political and economic changes from the early twentieth century to the modern day, traditional values, practices, and imaginaries associated with older forms of masculinity and sociality are still valued. Stick, knife, and machete fighting are understood as key means of instilling the values of fortitude and cunning in younger generations. Recommended for scholars of anthropology, social science, gender studies, and Latin American studies.

Lastly, Chris Goto-Jones promises to stretch the boundaries of what we consider to be martial arts in The Virtual Ninja Manifesto: Fighting Games, Martial Arts and Gamic Orientalism.

Navigating between society’s moral panics about the influence of violent videogames and philosophical texts about self-cultivation in the martial arts, The Virtual Ninja Manifesto asks whether the figure of the ‘virtual ninja’ can emerge as an aspirational figure in the twenty-first century.

Engaging with the literature around embodied cognition, Zen philosophy and techno-Orientalism it argues that virtual martial arts can be reconstructed as vehicles for moral cultivation and self-transformation. It argues that the kind of training required to master videogames approximates the kind of training described in Zen literature on the martial arts. Arguing that shift from the actual dōjō to a digital dōjō represents only a change in the technological means of practice, it offers a new manifesto for gamers to signify their gaming practice. Moving beyond perennial debates about the role of violence in videogames and the manipulation of moral choices in gamic environments it explores the possibility that games promote and assess spiritual development.

Chris Goto-Jones is Professor of Philosophy and Dean of Humanities at the University of Victoria. He is also a Professorial Research Fellow of SOAS, University of London.

Conventional Wisdom and its Discontents

Conventional wisdom holds that Bruce Lee represents the earliest opening of the mysteries of the Chinese martial arts in the West.  While others may have taught an Occidental student or two prior to him, it was the flood of interest that his TV roles and films unleashed that was responsible for making “Kung Fu” a household term.

It is not hard to defend this view.  While individual researchers may point to the occasional exception, such aberrations do not constitute a trend. A review of the pages of Blackbelt Magazine during the early 1970s reveals that whether individuals loved or hated Lee (and he did tend to be a polarizing figure), no one doubted the scale of the transformation that his “Kung Fu fever” unleashed on the Western martial arts community.

But there is a problem with “conventional wisdom.”  It is pre-theoretical, and at times even pre-conceptual.  It sounds reasonable and convincing, and so we often accept its findings as “obvious” without giving them a second thought.  Only later do nagging doubts arise, and we find ourselves wondering what exactly we know.

“Common sense” and “simple observation” seem to present pure facts that tell us something important about the world.  Yet can data ever exist independently of theory?  Can you know that an observation is significant without, on some level, already having a theory in your head that tells you why it must be so?

The issue with “conventional wisdom” is that it so often validates and reinforces our subconscious beliefs about the way the world works without ever allowing us to critically interrogate these notions.  So let us reconsider the notion that “Bruce Lee was the first individual to popularize the Chinese martial arts in the West.”

For the purposes of brevity we will begin by bracketing Lee himself and simply assume that we all know who he is, or could at least identify him on one of his many magazine covers.  Actually delving more deeply into the social meaning and conceptual construction of “Bruce Lee” would be an immensely interesting exercise.  But I will leave that to Paul Bowman and others who have thought more deeply on the subject.

Instead I would like to ask about the second part of this equation, “the Chinese martial arts.”  Are we confident that we can always identify them?  Do we understand their immense varieties, or the social work that they have done?  Can I know the “real martial arts” when I see them?

I suspect that the answer to these questions must almost certainly be “no.”  Note for instance that Western readers during the later 19th and first half of the 20th century seem to have had a truly uncanny knack for forgetting all about these fighting systems within a few years (or even months) of having been introduced to them.  This is all the more interesting given the strong hold that Japanese practices like Judo and Kendo exercised on the western imagination at approximate the same time.

To name just a handful of such examples, in 1900 the Yihi Spirit Boxers lent their name to a violent anti-Western uprising that terrorized the front pages of newspapers around the world.  Two decades later newspaper men found themselves compelled to write breathless articles when they once again rediscovered that the Chinese had a system of unarmed boxing and gymnastics which was being integrated into school curriculums.  And yet the sudden emergence of “Big Sword Troops” in the newsreels of the 1930s and 1940s once again came as a surprise to American audiences. And all of that had faded from the popular imagination by the time Bruce Lee donned his Kato suit and kicked his way onto the small screen.  In light of his performance Americans were once again astounded to discover that China had produced an entire genre of martial arts.

Or consider the following report, published in the pages of the North China Herald, but also distributed via Reuters.

CHINESE BOXING AT GENEVA

Well-known Actor Conducts Class at School, Peking, Mar. 3.

Mr. Cheng Yen-chiu, one of the most famous female impersonators in China, who went to Europe in the winter of 1931 to study dramatic art, is at present teaching Chinese boxing in a school at Geneva, according to private advices received here.

Mr. Cheng left Berlin for Geneva early in January.  One day when he was practicing Chinese boxing alone in his hotel, a Swiss friend came and saw it.  The news soon reached the president of a local school who called on Mr. Cheng and invited him to conduct a class on Chinese boxing in his school.  Mr. Cheng at first declined but was finally prevailed upon to give instruction for one month.

The class opened on January 24 when there was a large attendance of students and their parents.  Mr. Cheng gave an exhibition which was much appreciated by those present.  It is stated that he will return to China shortly. –Reuter.

 

“CHINESE BOXING AT GENEVA.” 1933. The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870-1941), Mar 08, p. 373.

There are a number of things that make this short account remarkable.  To begin with, we must consider the year when it was written.  While various factions debate which Chinese teacher first opened their door to Western students in North America, pretty much everyone accepts that we are discussing a post-war phenomenon dating to the 1950s or 1960s.  Here we have a clear example of a Chinese martial arts class being taught (as an official school function!) during the 1930s.  As such it predates the earliest such classes in the United States by a generation.  And all of this is happening in Switzerland, not generally known for its large ethnic Chinese community.

It is also interesting to think a little more deeply about the role of Mr. Cheng Yen-chiu in all of this.  While one must often take the claims of fame in pieces such as this with a grain of salt, in the present case the author does not exaggerate. Cheng Yen-chiu did achieve a large degree of celebrity throughout the course of his career.  Prior to the Second World War, opera was still the single most popular form of public entertainment in China (though even by the 1930s the coming ascendancy of film was on the horizon).

Critics of the time noted that Mr. Cheng Yen-chiu was among the most sought-after actors for female parts in romantic stories.  In fact, some critics ranked him as the second greatest living actor in all of Beijing Opera.  He was a recognizable celebrity in the capital, and accounts of his performances were often in the newspaper.

Mr. Cheng Yen-chiu was so well known that he even received a small measure of recognition in the Western press. Readers interested in learning more about his career would do well to track down the writings of the Chinese-American journalist Flora Belle Jan, who (while living in Beijing) published regular columns on the city’s opera scene.   A number of these reviewed Cheng’s plays during the 1940s.  These articles are particularly interesting as they offer translated summaries of the librettos and notes on the details of various performances.  Life magazine, when reporting on US forces entered Beijing at the end of WWII to accept the Japanese surrender, even mentioned Cheng’s radio addresses celebrating the freedom of the city.

It appears that like other opera celebrities, Cheng traveled and toured widely.  Yet he also studied Western modes of performance and made non-Chinese contacts.  It was this that led to his invitation to teach Chinese boxing in Geneva.

But Could they Fight?

Did Beijing Opera performers of the 1930s actually know “real” martial arts?  Cheng’s performances seem to have focused on romantic roles and songs.  That is not to say that he never played martial roles, but I have not run across a specific account of one.  And even if a performer did use the martial arts as part of their performance or training, can that actually be counted as a “real” martial art?  After all, the entire point of fighting on stage is to make sure that one’s movements are very easily seen while NOT making contact with the other actors.

Such objections lead to deeper questions about how exactly Chinese performers were trained, how they thought about the martial arts, and what Cheng imagined he was doing when he agreed to run a month long training class for a group of Swiss children?  This is not an easy line of inquiry as it requires us to reconstruct the social history of other people’s moral imagination (to borrow Clifford Geertz’s terminology).  Yet it is potentially fruitful for understanding some of the reasons behind the difficulties that the Chinese martial arts had in establishing themselves within Western consciousness.

Cheng would most likely have entered opera training as a very young child in the closing years of the Qing dynasty.  Martial arts training, among other disciplines (singing, music), was part of the basic education given to all of the children adopted or sold into servitude with an opera company.  Such training was very harsh and it was intended to fundamentally transform a potential actor’s bodily habits.  Around puberty the apprentice actors were moved into the roles that they would specialize in throughout the rest of their careers.  Cheng’s performances probably included very little martial work on stage.  Yet we know from this account that he maintained his personal practice of the martial arts.

The Wing Chun myth explicitly links the creation of this (now quite popular) system to a group of traveling opera performers.  As such most of my Kung Fu brothers have little trouble with the idea that certain fighting techniques and concepts could have been passed on in performance circles.  But this same acceptance is not shared in all quarters.  It seems that whenever this topic is brought up someone always incredulously asks, “But could opera performers really fight?”

The answer is probably yes.  Opera performers, even when quite famous, remained low status individuals in the eyes of the law during the Qing dynasty.  And they spent much of their careers traveling dangerous roads and rivers from one village to the next.  As such one would have to be a fool not to take certain aspects of your martial training quite seriously.

Yet why do we insist on asking this question?  Does it help us to understand anything about Cheng’s 1933 class?  Until we find a journal account, or a set of letters, detailing this class it is probably impossible to know exactly what Cheng taught the Swiss children.  But I think that we can make some safe, educated, guesses as to what he did not do.

First, he almost surely favored his European students with much more kindness (and fewer beatings) than how he would have been introduced to the martial arts.  Whatever the parents of Geneva were hoping that their children would learn during their month with Chinese boxing, it was probably not the notable degree of sadism involved in daily opera training.  Nor, for that matter, was he going to teach these kids “real-world self-defense techniques” of the kind that one might need when explaining to local gangsters that you were going to “pay a toll” to cross the street.  So what else might he have taught?

As someone who was actively practicing the martial arts in the 1930s Cheng would have had other, much more suitable, pedagogical models to draw from.  The Jingwu Association spent much of the 1920s insinuating their teachers into the physical education departments of elementary and middle schools up and down China’s east coast.  By 1933 the Central Guoshu Institute had done the same thing.  Both Chinese and English language newspapers ran frequent articles on the various efforts to use the martial arts in educational reform.  Occasionally they even reported on the displays and tournaments held at local schools.

If one was forced to guess, it was most likely this vision of the martial arts as a form of rationalized gymnastics training, suitable for middle class children, which found its way into Cheng’s classroom.  His instructional methods in Europe were doubtless different from the training he received.  And his techniques probably had little to do with the sorts of boxing and fencing that martial arts instructors were introducing to the Nationalist military during the 1930s.  Yet given the growing popularity of these approaches to the martial arts within many Chinese schools, one would be hard pressed to question the authenticity (or wisdom) of such a choice.  The first rule of teaching, like writing, is to know one’s audience.

The Martial Arts as a Blurred Genera

I was recently reading a short (forthcoming) essay by Colin P. McGuire in which he was commenting on a new edited volume on the fighting systems of Indonesia and their music.   Colin as is a great person to address this topic as he is both a student of ethno-musicology and martial arts studies.

He pointed out that one must only watch so many Youtube videos of practices like Capoeira in Brazil, wedding Silat in Indonesia or village Kung Fu in Southern Chinese festivals, to realize that music, martial arts and public performance are not three distinct things that keep coincidentally coming together.  In many cases are simply three recognizable aspects of the same thing.  Many individuals are resistant to the notion that traditional music and performance can be an intrinsic part of Silat (or Kung Fu), and yet Silat can, at the same time, be a “real” martial art.  Or from a more academic standpoint, can the study of such seemingly disparate fields be integrated?  To ease this transition in perception Colin suggested the usefulness of Clifford Geertz’s metaphor of the “blurred genre.”

The immediate problem in applying such a framework is that Geertz himself was not attempting to use it to understand anything about the techniques that he had encountered during his fieldwork.  Rather, his essay was concerned with the radical transformation that was afoot in the social sciences during the 1980s.  Over the course of that decade these disciplines would shed their mechanistic world views in favor of theories based on the metaphors of games (formal mathematical methods), the stage (Victor Turner’s work on social drama and new types of ethnography) and the text (deconstruction and critical theory).  In short, what become blurred was the boundaries between the humanities and the social sciences.  It was evident, even then, that neither branch of thought would emerge unchanged from this encounter.

Still, I think that there is something to be said for applying this model to our understanding of hand combat systems.  The Chinese martial arts always exist as a “blurred genre” precisely because those who practice and study them strive to find (or create) some sort of social meaning that frames and makes sense of the violence that they promise.

In our attempt to escape the banality of bruised flesh and broken bones we ask the martial arts to do social work.  On stage they are marshaled to provide morality tales in which order can be restored to the human realm.  In the classroom we turn to them to create students who are both physically and spiritually strengthened, yet humble.  In other areas we expect that they will impart hard-nosed military skills, unleash esoteric healing energies or awaken nationalist yearnings in previously apolitical peasants.

Before they were “martial arts,” a modern concept defined by western students, and assumed to be basically identical in all countries (China, Japan, the Philippines, Brazil, Russia, Mongolia, etc….), what existed were patterns of social behavior, belief and violence.  These went by many names and could be found throughout Chinese society.  The martial arts exist as “blurred genre” because they reflect the groups, practices and social tasks that shape and support them.

Rather than a single unified counterpart to Judo (itself a modern creation), visitors to China encountered marketplace sword dancers, Taoist gymnasts, acrobats, soldiers, gangsters, middle school students, opera stars and pharmacists, all of whom engaged in some sort of  martial practice.  Yet none of them were usually identified as martial artists in the way that we now use the term.  I suspect that Western audiences were forced to constantly “rediscover” the existence of Chinese martial practice as no single overarching category existed within the popular imagination that could unite (and also edit) these various practices.  No one had forcefully articulated the concept of a unified field of Chinese martial arts within the Western media.

This brings us back to Bruce Lee.  The notion of unified field of “Chinese martial arts” (or “Kung Fu”) as an analog to Japanese practices like Judo does not seem to stabilize in the English language until the 1950s and 1960s.  And even at that point there is competition as to which vision will win out.  Are the “Chinese martial arts” the self-defense systems of young toughs in Hong Kong, the elaborate sword dances promoted by the touring troupes from the PRC, or a medicalized and spiritualized notion of Taijiquan which resonated with Western counter-culture movements?

One suspects that what Bruce Lee actually accomplished was not so much to introduce the Chinese martial arts to the West.  Rather, after 100 years of conflicting visions and competing explanations, he provided a point of stabilization.  His TV appearances and movies brought a simplifying (but powerful) clarity to the issue.

Perhaps he was more successful than others in this regard because his writings and films forced a direct comparison between the Chinese Kung Fu (as he had learned it) and the Japanese martial arts.  Marketers have long known that a well-chosen rival, or a carefully developed comparison, is often the best way to establish a new brand.  Pepsi is “the choice of a new generation” precisely because its not Coke.  In dogmatically challenging the dominance of the Japanese arts in the West, Lee managed to create the illusion that we already knew what the Chinese martial arts were.  It’s a vision that a surprising number of people still carry with them today.

As this new paradigm established itself the earlier efforts of individuals like Sophia Delza or Cheng Yen-chiu to stabilize a different vision of the martial arts in the west faded.  They no longer fit the paradigm of “real martial arts,” and so they slipped from the public view (even if they continued to be remembered by specific students).  Indeed, it seems that much of what was once known about Chinese martial culture was forgotten (or simply not passed on), to make way for the new “conventional wisdom” of the 1970s.

Researching the social history of the martial arts, either in China or the West, begins (somewhat paradoxically) by acknowledging that we do not know what the martial arts actually were, or all of the purposes that they have served.  That knowledge is the goal of our research, not the starting point.  I do not subscribe to the position of total relativism, in which it is impossible for readers today to have any understanding of the martial arts as they existed in another cultural context.  Yet there will always be limits to our understanding, and we must strive to discover where they lay.  Rather than speaking in the broad generalizations, even our definitions of basic concepts must make explicit their claimed “scope” and “domain.”

After all, the term “martial art” is rarely used in Western sources to describe Chinese practices prior to the 1960s (or a little bit before).  And so we must cast a wider net in our empirical investigations. To discover Cheng Yen-chiu’s 1930s boxing class I had to begin by searching for information about the travels and meaning of Beijing opera in Europe, not the TCMA.  This is what is gained when we let go of the notion that the Chinese martial arts have ever been just one thing, and instead see them as a blurred genre.

oOo

If you enjoyed this article and would like to further explore the relationship between the TCMA and opera from a practitioners point of view see: Possible Origins: a Cultural history of Chinese Martial Arts, Theater and Religion by Scott Phillips.

oOo

Chu shing Tin demonstrating the pole form. Source: http://www.wingchun.edu.au

A New Pole

I had been meaning to get a new “long pole” (or Luk Dim Boon Kwan) for a while.  As the name implies, these are somewhat unwieldly training tools and (unless you own a truck) they do not travel well.  In my experience most poles simply “live” in the training hall or at home.  It is easier to keep a couple of them at the various locations in which one might train than to constantly haul them back and forth.  As a result, I had been without a pole at home since moving to Ithaca almost a year ago.

That changed a few weeks ago when I returned to my place to find a very long package laid out awkwardly along the staircase.  Upon maneuvering it into the house I was delighted to discover my new, absolutely beautiful, hickory pole.

My first realization as I picked it up was how heavy it was.  Like all woods hickory exhibits a certain variation in densities and the stock for this staff seems to have been at the upper end of that range.  Hickory is also one of the few commonly milled North American woods that easily stands up to the rigors of martial arts training.  I like the grain, and the fact that one can be fairly certain that no tropical forests were cut for the making of hickory training weapons.

Nevertheless, this new pole still feels strange in my hands.  The balance is clearly off.  I do not say this out of any sense of emotional attachments to the weapons I have used before.  Rather, my circumstances forced me to get a little experimental when I ordered this pole.

Physics dictates that long poles can be very dangerous weapons to train with.  At close to nine feet in length, they are basically a real life workshop on the degree of force that can be generated through leverage and momentum.  The few actual injuries I have suffered while practicing Wing Chun have all been the result of seemingly incidental contact in partner pole drills or light sparring.

As such it is easy to forget that long poles can also be surprisingly delicate.  Their length makes them prone to warping.  They must be stored either vertically or laid out flat on a perfectly smooth surface.  They should never be hung in a horizontal position.

Also, the momentum generated while smashing a relatively long lever into the ground can be more than any wood (no matter how dense) can withstand.  If you plan on engaging in this sort of training, or any drills that involve hard contact, it is often better to invest in a pole with a slightly thicker diameter at the front end.

All of which brings me back to my new pole.  I delayed getting one in large part because the place that I currently live in, while nice, does not leave me with many options for pole storage.  The ceilings are too low to store a pole vertically, and because of the way that various rooms are laid out, it is even difficult to lay one down against a wall without it getting in the way of a door or heating vent.

It was clear that compromise would be necessary.  After some thought (and measurement) I decided that the longest pole I could house would be between 7.5 and 8 feet.  Nor did I want to spend a lot of money on a nicely carved pole from Hong Kong, only to be forced to cut a couple of feet off the end of it.

Eventually I found an armory that produced wooden and synthetic weapons for HEMA practitioners and ordered an 8 foot hickory pole from them. With a sigh of relief I noted that it just barely fits into its appointed place.  And compared to specialty Wing Chun poles, this one was really cheap.

Of course it was also inexpensive as European pole and staff weapons do not have any taper to them.  Most of the Southern Chinese fighting poles that I have worked with have a diameter of about 1.5 inches at the base, narrowing to just over 1 inch at the tip.  My new pole is a consistent 1.25 inches throughout.

The extra thickness at the tip gives me a bit more confidence in the strength of the pole.  Yet the point of balance and handling characteristics for these two different types of poles are surprisingly different.  Ironically my new pole seems to require greater strength in my hands, wrists and forearms to manipulate, even though it is actually shorter than other weapons that I have trained with.

Illustrations of pole fighting, “The Noble Art of Self-Defense.” Guangzhou, Circa 1870.

The Materiality of the Long Pole 

Acclimating to this new pole has given me plenty of time to think a bit about the history of these weapons in the TCMA.  Much of what we know about the development of the martial arts in China (especially prior to the Ming dynasty) is closely tied to the rising and declining popularity of different sorts of weapons.  Weapons, like written texts, are never simply the product of a single maker.

Rather they reflect both the utilitarian goals and the cultural values of the communities that created and passed them on.  They are the product of social discourses.  Properly understood weapons can be read, interpreted and deconstructed, just like any other sort of text.  The seeming lack of interest in material culture within the field of Martial Arts Studies has always struck me as somewhat puzzling.

What exactly do we know about the evolution and use of the long pole?  What do they reveal about the history of Wing Chun, the Southern Chinese martial arts, or Chinese martial culture in general?  What can they tell us about the types of people who passed on these technical and material traditions?

Let us begin by considering the physical description of these weapons.  A variety of staff-type weapons have been used within the Chinese martial arts over the centuries.  Yet the Long Pole stands out as a uniquely recognizable, and oddly stable, point of reference.

It is impossible to say exactly when this exact configuration came into use.  Yet we do know that some of the earliest surviving written martial arts training manuals, produced during the Ming dynasty, make reference to this weapon.

We also know that late imperial armies adopted the long pole as a type of basic training regime.  It was thought that expertise in the pole would facilitate later training in other double handed weapons, such as the spear or halberd.  Martial artists, on the other hand, often saw the pole as an ends unto itself.

Cheng Zongyou, a civilian expert on military training, published an account titled Exposition of the Original Shaolin Staff Method sometime around 1610.  This work was the end product of more than a decade of study at both Shaolin Temple in Henan, and with its monks in the field.  Martial Arts historians consider it to be an extremely important document.  It is both the oldest surviving manual of a Shaolin Martial Art, and it provides fascinating insights into the nature of life and instruction at this venerable institution during the late Ming.

It also provides a detailed discussion of at least one of the long pole fighting methods taught at Shaolin.  Cheng prefaces this manual with a description of the weapon in question.  He notes that a fighting staff can be made of either wood or iron.  Iron poles (which, to the best of my knowledge, have totally fallen out of use) were said to be 7.7 feet long, and weighed close to 20 pounds.

By way of comparison, the M1 Garand, America’s main battle rifle during WWII and Korea, weighed less than half of that at 9.5 pounds.  Most soldiers complained that even that was too heavy and cumbersome on extended marches.  Still, if one had the strength to wield a 20 pound iron pole in the field, it would make for a fearsome weapon.

17^th century wood poles, in comparison, were virtually identical to the weapons still used throughout the Southern Chinese martial arts today.  Their weight was a relatively light 3-4 pounds, and they ranged in length from 8 to 9 feet.  This range in dimensions is probably a reflection of wood’s natural plasticity.

Cheng noted that practically any hard yet pliant wood could be used to produce a pole.  As such, poles carved in the north or south of the country would have been made from woods of different types and weights.  Further, Cheng recommended using harvested pole lumber for the production of fighting staffs.  Cutting a small tree at the base ensured a uniform taper with minimal additional shaping.

Unfortunately Cheng did not specify what the preferred diameters at the tip and base of his poles were.  Still, we might be able to make some educated guesses on this point.  Most of the traditional poles advertised at Everything Wing Chun vary in weight from 4 pounds (shorter oak examples) to 6 pounds (heavier, exotic hardwoods).  It seems likely that Shaolin’s 17^th century staffs might have been made of hardwoods that more closely matched the density of something like oak, and had an average diameter slightly narrower than what martial artists favor today.  Still, when reading Cheng’s description the overwhelming impression that one gets is of how much has remained the same.

How did Shaolin (a Buddhist temple) become a nationally recognized center for pole fighting?  And why were its fighting staffs tapered, rather than straight like their European cousins of the same time period?  It turns out that the answers to these questions are closely related.

While we do not the space to review all of the relevant history in this post, Meir Shahar has demonstrated that by the Ming Dynasty the Shaolin Temple in Henan had become a recognized center of martial training with close ties to critical figures in the Chinese military.  A number of temples (both in China and Japan) found it necessary to house teams of “martial monks” to protect the institution’s estates and land holdings.  Modern students sometimes forget that in addition to being religious institutions, large temples were also some of the most economically powerful actors in their environments.  Like other landlords they found it necessary to provide their own security in turbulent times.

Obviously wooden staffs could be made cheaply and easily replaced.  While these weapons could be quite deadly, they were also in keeping with a monk’s prescribed public appearance.  Yet once the Temple became more closely associated with the Ming military, pole training gained an additional layer of importance.

The Chinese military had long used poles as a form of basic training.  One of the most important weapons on the 17^th century battle field was the spear.  It is not hard to imagine how the thrusting movements so commonly seen in the Six and a Half Point Pole form might function if a blade were to be affixed to the martial artist’s shaft.

In a recent article Peter Dekker discussed the regulation military spears of the Ming and Qing dynasties.  Luckily we know quite a bit about the earlier period as the later Qing seem to have simply adopted much of the older Ming regulation and equipment as the standard for the “Green Standard Army.”

In reviewing the various spears used by military, one thing quickly becomes evident.  None of them seem to be a close match for the long pole.  Some of the most commonly issued spears were much longer than poles with total lengths of between 12 and 15 feet.  As the adage goes, “an inch longer is an inch stronger.”

Various sorts of hooked spears tended to be closer in size to the long pole.  They could easily have been 7.5 to 9 feet long.  Yet we must also consider their taper.

The shafts of regulation Chinese military spears always had a straight taper, and they were usually lacquered red.  The relatively heavy iron tip was counter-balanced with a weighted metal piece affixed to the end of the spear.  This system maintained a certain balance and kept the spear from becoming excessively tip heavy and unwieldly.

Dekker notes that in contrast the (generally shorter) spears used by civilian militias and martial artists tended to be tapered, exactly like the long pole.  Noting that the production of steel spearheads and metal counterweights was expensive, he speculates that having a thicker diameter base on the weapons shaft was simply a cheaper way of achieving a proper balance.  Indeed, we have photographs of weapons confiscated from Red Spear Units in the 1930s that seem to show a similar geometry.  The relatively roughhewn poles favored by the village militias tended to be noticeably tapered.

All of this would seem to reinforce the notion that the specific form of the long pole was shaped by the realities of spear combat.  The military adopted pole training as an introduction to the spear, and many local militia members would have been expected to be conversant with both the pole and the spear.

Communist Party Women’s Militia in Yanan, 1938. Photographer unknown.

Southern Militias and the Birth of Modern Kung Fu

This brings us back to Wing Chun and the history of the Six and a Half Point Pole.  Far from being unique to just a single style, the Luk Dim Boon Kwan is a favored weapon throughout the world of Southern Chinese Kung Fu.  Historical sources suggest that public displays of pole work were quite popular in the 19^th and even the 20^th century.

The current mythology of Wing Chun (and certain other regional styles) tends to emphasize the “compact” nature of the system as its adaptation to fighting in cramped spaces (either narrow alleyway or on crowded ships, depending on who one asks).  Yet like almost all martial arts Wing Chun aspires to be a “complete style,” even if that is not the way that is often discussed by students today.  To put it bluntly, from a tactical standpoint there is just no point in stating that one will focus only a single range or situation (e.g., short boxing) to the exclusion of all else.

When looking at the current crowded conditions in Hong Kong it might be hard to remember that the pole really is a central part of the Wing Chun system.  Its presence reminds us that in the past this system operated in environments, and considered tactical problems, different from those faced by most students today.  Indeed, it is the environmental nature of these issues that best explains why so many Southern styles practice some variant of the Six and a Half Point form, or one of its many cousins.

To understand the place of the long pole in these systems we must once again return the question of military training.  As Jon Nielson and I discuss in our recent book, the Pearl River Delta region developed a very strong gentry led militia movement during the 19^th century.  These para-military forces emerged as a response to the external threats of the Opium Wars and continued to function during the later civil conflicts that wracked the region.  The most notable of those was the Red Turban Revolt (sometimes called the Opera Rebellion).

During the volatile middle years of the 19^th century tens of thousands of individuals were recruited into various sorts of militias and para-military groups.  What were the most commonly issued weapons?  A split bamboo helmet, a spear (usually about 8-9 feet long), and a pair of hudiedao (carried by most soldiers as a sidearm).

The Wing Chun system that was passed on by individuals like Leung Jan and Chan Wah Shun emerged out of the aftermath of these conflicts.  It is no coincidence that the only two weapons taught in most lineages of this art happen to be the same ones used by the area’s many militia units.  And other regional arts with much more extensive armories (Choy Li Fut, Hung Gar, etc…) also tend to introduce these same tools near the start of weapons training.

This suggests something important about the community, era and concerns that shaped the early history of all of these fighting styles.  It also suggests that perhaps the region’s fighting poles were tapered so that they could easily be fitted with spear heads should the need arise.

If that is the case, then perhaps the relatively base heavy balance of these shafts which we have all become accustomed to is more a quirk of training safety protocols than anything else.  The more tip heavy feel of my new hickory pole might more accurately reflect how the Six and a Half Point pole form was supposed to feel in battle (e.g., when the pole is mounted with a steel spearhead).

Or maybe not.  As we look back on the Ming era literature I referenced earlier it is clear that there was an active debate in military circles as to how well pole training actually prepared soldiers for spear combat.  Recall for instance that many of the spears issued to Ming and Qing era soldiers were much longer and heavier than Shaolin’s most substantial poles.

In his 1678 treatise, Spear Method from the dreaming of Partridge Hall, the military writer Wu Shu noted:

The Shaolin staff method has divine origins, and it has enjoyed fame from ancient times to the present.  I myself have been quite involved in it.  Indeed, it is high as the mountains and deep as the seas.  It can truly be called a “supreme technique.”…Still as a weapon the spear is entirely different from the staff.  The ancient proverb says: “The spear is the lord of all weapons, the staff is an attendant on its state.”  Indeed, this is so…the Shaolin monks have never been aware this.  They treat the spear and staff as if they were similar weapons.

(Translation in Meir Shahar, 2008 p. 64).

This point bears consideration.  While some of the techniques and tactics of the Wing Chun pole method could be adapted to the spear, others might be more counter-productive.  Or perhaps what we see here is yet another example of the simplifying, almost theoretical, tendency to search for a single set of principles capable of solving the greatest number of tactical problems regardless of what weapon one happened to pick up.

That certainly sounds like the modern, conceptually focused, approach to Wing Chun.  And it makes a lot of sense from an amateur’s point of view.

Yet it is quite different from the highly specialized world that most professional soldiers inhabited.  When leaving the barracks as a member of the Green Standard Army there was exactly zero mystery as to what sort of spear you would be handed, or who you would be fighting besides.  All of this helps to remind us that while the growth of the militia movement may have shaped these fighting systems, they remained fundamentally “civilian” in their worldview and concerns.

Chin Woo crouching tiger quarterstaff stance, Singapore, 2007

The Weapon, The Self

This essay began with the observation that even seemingly minor variations in a weapon are immediately sensed by the body of the trained martial artist.  17^th century soldiers in both China and Europe trained and fought with 9 foot poles.  To the untrained eye they may have appeared to be identical.  Yet the hand would never mistake one for the other.

Students of martial arts history need to pay more attention to the material culture of these fighting systems for this precise reason.  Each of these weapons carries fossilized within it layers of history and meaning.  It may be impossible to reconstruct with perfect accuracy what a Ming era Shaolin pole form looked like, even if we are lucky enough to have a manual and some pictures describing it.  Yet when we pick up the weapon that Cheng Zongyou described, we can experience something of its reality on an embodied level.

Indeed, bodies are the other half of this equation.  My body may be very different from that possessed by a 19^th century militiaman in Guangzhou.  Yet our poles are identical, and they have a disciplining influence upon the body.

A certain amount of absolute strength must be developed to wield the weapon.  New types of bodily awareness and dexterity will be necessary to do so well.  While we may be starting from different points, the unyielding materiality of the weapon has a transformative effect on both of our bodies.  As we train with the pole, and are shaped by it, we are forced to transcend the self and converge on a new state of being.  It is the demands of the pole and its techniques shape the student.

This last point might solve a minor mystery that I have wondered about for some years.  While training with my Sifu in Salt Lake I noticed that lots of students seemed to quit the Wing Chun system about the time that they were introduced to the pole.  (In our lineage it is introduced after all of the unarmed forms and the dummy have been taught).  Students who had previously been enthusiastic and dedicated just seemed to lose interest.

On one level this might be easy to explain.  Pole training is physically demanding, even painful at times.  It is probably the only time in the Wing Chun system that the low horse stance is extensively trained and used.  Its basic strength and conditioning exercises ensures that there will be sore muscles.

Yet I think there was something more going on.  The pole did not seem to meet their expectations of what the system was about.  Boxing and chi sao are very flexible expressions of martial skill.  Many individuals simply find an approach that works with their body type and personality and seek to perfect that.  That may not have been what Bruce Lee meant when he discussed Kung Fu as the art of “expressing :the human body, but I think that this is how many individuals interpret his adage.  What works for them personally is the “proper” expression.

The pole is different.  Its materiality demands a greater degree of transformation.  Our bodies are physically altered (made stronger, more flexible) so that the pole’s logic can be expressed.  This commitment to transcend (rather than to express) the self does not seem to easily mesh with the way that many modern students understand Wing Chun.  I wonder if that, more than the pain, caused some to lose interest.

Still, this process of embodied transformation allows us to experience elements of the fossilized history of the martial arts that might not otherwise be accessible.  Written historical accounts of professional soldiers and militia members wielding their spears might sound very similar.  As we read about the 19^th century “militarization of the countryside” these two figures might even begin to merge in our heads.   Indeed, historians have noted with some frustration the ease with which categories like “militia member,” “bandit” and “soldier” seem to blend into one another, or appear in a single individuals career.

Yet when you pick up their preferred weapons, your physical senses are immediately confronted with evidence of the different identities, techniques and goals that they possessed.  The martial training that each group underwent imprinted these nuances of philosophy on their flesh and bone.

All of which is to say, choose you pole carefully.  The details matter.

 
oOo

If you enjoyed this post you might also want to read: The Nautical Origins of the Wooden Dummy.

oOo

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

“There is a problem with the study of martial arts similar to that identified by Markus Davidson in the case of “spiritual studies”: many of the scholars involved in the topic are themselves practitioners and their work betrays a normative apologetic agenda…As practitioners themselves these scholars have tended to underplay certain historical factors in the development of their martial arts that tend to portray them in a negative light…Blurring the lines between scholar and practitioner, this comment and more indicates an Eliadean style of study—i.e., one that presumes a transhistorical essence which martial arts contribute to manifesting.”

Jonathan Tuckett. 2016. “Kendo: Between “Religion” and “Nationalism.” Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies, Vol. 15 Issue 44: 179.

The Martial Arts Between “Religion” and “Nationalism”

I first read Jonathan Tuckett’s article “Kendo: Between “Religion” and “Nationalism” with great enthusiasm. (Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies, Vol. 15 Issue 44 pages 178-204).  It was with some reservations that I put it down.

This was not simply a matter of getting to the end of the article and discovering that my initial impressions had been mistaken.  Rather, it is hard to shake the feeling that there are two distinct projects being carried out under a single title, only one of which the author was well prepared for.  This article both illustrates that researchers in a number of disciplines are increasingly directing their attention towards the traditional fighting systems, while at the same time suggesting the dangers of these developments happening in isolation from the larger conversation within Martial Arts Studies.

How do you discuss an article in which one half of the equation (the theoretical) is uniformly strong, interesting and informative, and the second half (the empirical) is just as doggedly weak?  More to the point, how might a scholar even come to produce such a paradoxical work?

One strongly suspects that this sort of situation is more likely to arise in a relatively new literature, such as that dealing with the academic study of the martial arts, than in an established disciplinary discussion.  Still, projects like this can reveal much about the state of a field, and the challenges of doing good research.  While I suspect that this article will find a limited audience within the field of Martial Arts Studies (and to be totally clear, the author was addressing his research directly to his colleagues in Religious Studies), a close reading of it may yet be instructive.

Reframing the Discussion of “Religion” before the Existence of Religion

My initial enthusiasm for Tuckett’s piece was directly related to a number of topics that he raises in the first section of his paper.  As readers of Kung Fu Tea will have already noted, there is a lot of interest regarding the nature and place of “spirituality” in all forms of traditional martial arts practice.  Nor is this trend limited to styles of Asian origin.  Even practitioners of modern and hyper-real practices, such as MMA and Lightsaber fencing, are heard to hold forth on the more transcendent elements that can be found within their practices.

I suspect that much of this enthusiasm for linking the topics of religion and martial arts is a result of the way that these practices first gained popularity in the West in the post-WWII era.  The Japanese martial arts had, by their own account, been closely connected with Bushido, the “Soul of Samurai” (and by extension modern Japan), throughout the early 20^th century.  After its defeat during WWII, and with its new status as a valued and trusted ally during the Cold War, such notions generated interest among Western consumers searching for new models of masculinity.

During the same era various modes of Eastern spirituality also became an important parts of the Western counter-culture movement, further promoting and shaping these trends.  Consider, for instance, how often the writings of Alan Watts have been discussed, or appropriated, by martial artists (including no less of a fan than the Little Dragon himself!).  Nor can we easily dismiss the importance of visual media such as David Carradine’s Kung Fu, or Bruce Lee’s nod to the Shaolin Temple (and all things vaguely philosophical) at the start of Enter the Dragon.

The exact historical pathways by which these desires entered the Western conscious are too complicated to review in full.  Yet one thing is certain.  By the late 1970s American consumers were certain that when they signed up for a Kung Fu class they were also about to be exposed to an exotic system of “Oriental spirituality.”

What they actually got was another matter entirely.  A number of martial arts systems (particularly those from China) had actually spent much of the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries attempting to purge themselves of anything that looked like heterodox folk religious practices (e.g., spirit possession, magical talisman, invulnerability practices, etc…) in an attempt to appear to be “modern and scientific,” and thus in step with the new Chinese society envisioned by the May 4^th reformers.  Thus the irony that many of China’s newly secularized martial arts seemed to get more religious only after their export to the West.

Nor is it clear that one can properly talk about “religion” in the context of these martial practices prior to the second half of the 19^th century (at the very earliest).  As Tuckett notes, and documents at some length, the modern notion of “religion” is an almost entirely Western one.  Its current global spread has as much to do with 19^th century missionary movements as any inherent ability to capture something intrinsic to human nature or behavior.

Like others before him, Tuckett notes that there was no specific word in either Chinese or Japanese that matched the modern concept of religion until the Japanese formulated one following their contact with Western ideas in the middle of the 19^th century.  The Chinese, seeing some utility in this new concept, then imported it as a loan word a little later.  Thus attempts to discover the “religious basis” of the traditional Chinese (or Japanese) martial arts are almost always doomed to fail as they are premised on improperly reading a modern concept onto a period of cultural history in which it did not yet exist.

This is not to say that there were never ritual, cultic, magical or spiritual practices associated with the martial arts.  There certainly were.  When young warrior monks took to the field in medieval Japan the elderly members of their community gathered in the temple to engage in war magic on their behalf.  Spirit possession has been documented in certain martial arts communities in China (both North and South) from the 19^th century to the current era.  And while claims of invulnerability magic were rare enough that they often attracted (hostile) official interest, talismanic magic was widespread throughout Chinese society.   Nor, as authors like Shahar have argued, can we ignore the many ways in which the development of the Chinese martial arts from the Ming era onward interacted with Confucian, Daoist and Buddhist conversations (though usually not in the ways that certain modern apologists would have us believe).

This constitutes one of the central puzzles within the current historical discussion of the martial arts.  To what extent can specific practices be understood as “religious” in nature?  Are such manifestations, when they occur, outliers?  Or did various spiritual systems impact the practice and development of both civilian and military training systems in important, non-trivial, ways?

The great strength of Tuckett’s article is that he provides a framework for tackling these questions head one.  And his background in Religious Studies suggests that he is well equipped to do so.  Rather than addressing these questions on an a strictly empirical level, the author begins by noting that a theoretical discussion is necessary prior to exploring the existence of “religion” in a set of societies where no concept of religion exists.

There is much to be said for his basic approach.  Tuckett begins by noting that the martial arts (and their complex relationships with both “spirituality” and “nationalism”) might help to further problematize the very notion of “religion” within the field of Religious studies.  He then argues against conceptualizing religion as a unitary concrete “thing” and instead proposes a more “ideological” understanding of its function.

Mirroring the ongoing debate over the definition of “martial arts,” he echoes Paul Bowman’s argument that scholars should look past ultimately futile efforts to “define” religion and instead focus on where these practices have gone, how they have changed, and the functions that they have fulfilled.  This is illustrated, in large part, with a discussion of the “three ways” (Confucianism, Buddhism and Daoism) in Chinese (and later Japanese) society.

Tuckett notes that what appears to be critical about these systems in the pre-modern context is that each becomes a strategy for “naturalization,” or “the modes by which a person ‘fits’ in their life-world so that they survive and thrive.” (p. 196).  Religion and nationalism are fundamentally related to each other in that they can be described as two different modes by which people categorize strategies of naturalization.  Throughout his article Tuckett repeatedly comes back to the notion that religion can be understood as the withered remains of previous systems of social governance (or state organization), a position that any reader of Anthony Marx’s criticisms of Benedict Anderson’s approach to nationalism will already be familiar with.

Tuckett then turns to an all too brief (and somewhat one sided) discussion of the complex debate between practitioners of the “traditional” martial arts and modern combat sports.  Without attempting to delve into the motivations or world view of those who practice “martial sports,” he notes (and uncritically accepts) the critique of traditionalists that at one time there had been great “spiritual” value in these practices, but that because of the rise of competition such things had either been lost or were under threat.

This claim (accepted as a historical fact) becomes the compass that orients the subsequent development of Tuckett’s theoretical understanding of the martial arts and their relationship with categories like spirituality, religion and nationalism.  The thought that there should be some sort of spiritual content to these practices leads him to hypothesize that the traditional martial arts also function as modes of naturalization meant to aid individuals (or closed social groups) in surviving and thriving in society.

This set the stage for the last piece in Tuckett’s theoretical model.  The repeated claims to a comprehensive spirituality seen within the martial arts (best illustrated by a discussion of the move to transform the Japanese fighting systems into formalized “do’s” or “ways” in the Meiji era) demonstrates the degree to which these practices can been seen as an indication of “seriousness” in the Sartrean sense.  Or to put it another way, the traditional martial arts can be shown to be eufunctional in a way that competitive practices are not as they subordinate the individual to dominant social norms and needs.  The Code of Bushido that motivated Samurai warriors, or Japanese soldiers during WWII, illustrates the depth of this “seriousness” in action.

What purpose martial sports fulfill, or why societies are willing to sometimes invest vast resources in them, is seemingly forgotten and left in silence.  This may be a glaring omission.  Indeed, we will return to this question, and how its neglect may have impacted the development and testing of the Tuckett’s theory, later in the review.  Yet the overwhelming impression that one receives upon reading the first half of this paper is that the author’s interests lay almost exclusively in addressing issues within the Religious Studies literature.  As the nature of combat sports (supposedly devoid of any spiritual value) would not seem to bear directly on this issue, they were not a priority in what was, after all, a fairly brief article.

Nevertheless, Tuckett’s deconstruction of “religion” is extremely helpful.  Many of the more popular debates on the role of religion in the martial arts begin with authors who feel a general sense of unease about how to address these issues, and lack the conceptual tools to do so.  In not very many pages Tuckett is able to bring a remarkable degree of clarity to these issues.  As such the theoretical section of his article may well be of interest to students of Martial Arts Studies who wish to address some of these same topics in their historical research.

Kendo club at a Japanese Agricultural School during the 1920s. Note the rifles along the back wall. Source: wikimedia.

Kendo and the Uses of Martial Arts History

To illustrate his theory Tuckett turned to Kendo, perhaps the most “spiritual” of Japan’s modern Budo arts.  Indeed, I say “illustrate” in this case rather than “test” as Kendo is not really a “hard case” for a theory like this to handle.  Still, the dual association of the Japanese sword arts with 20^th century Japanese nationalism on the one hand, and as a very different pathway for the naturalizations of a sub-national group (the Samurai) during the Tokugawa period, allows for a deeper exploration of the author’s main themes.  It seems that his engagement with this specific martial art pushed the author to develop his theory in some novel and interesting directions.

Yet whereas Tuckett’s academic background was well suited to elaborating a potentially helpful theory of religion, things changed when the focus shifts to the historical martial arts.  Nor is it clear that the impact of this shift will be confined to his empirical discussions.  By the end of the article readers are left to wonder whether a lack of basic familiarity with the case in question, and the martial arts studies literature as whole, negatively impacted the authors ability to develop his basic theoretical framework.

Tuckett signals his unease (and perhaps unfamiliarity) with the existing literature on the first page of his article.  Here we find the ominous warning.

There is a problem with the study of martial arts similar to that identified by Markus Davidson in the case of “spiritual studies”: many of the scholars involved in the topic are themselves practitioners and their work betrays a normative apologetic agenda…As practitioners themselves these scholars have tended to underplay certain historical factors in the development of their martial arts that tend to portray them in a negative light. (p. 179)

The question of how a scholar’s personal activities or identities impact their academic research is certainly an interesting one.  Nor has it been neglected within recent conversations within the field of Martial Arts Studies.  Luke White has asked how the assumption (actually mistaken) that all students of MAS are themselves practitioners impacted the interpersonal dynamic of participants at a recent conference.  Likewise Sixt Wetzler has gone to great lengths to argue that we must separate the “object language” of any individual style that a scholar might be familiar with from the theoretically oriented language of our emerging field.

Yet these are relatively nuanced discussions compared to Tuckett’s broad generalizations about the nature and the quality of the Martial Arts Studies literature.  So how much confidence can reader’s place in his characterization of the current state of affairs?  A quick look at his bibliography would suggest a note of caution.  Indeed, the more relevant question might be why an author might feel entitled to make sweeping generations about a subject before performing even the most basic literature reviews.

While Kendo is the article’s central case, it appears that Tuckett is unfamiliar with the literature on this specific art, or recent advances in our understanding of the evolution of Japanese martial arts more generally.  If he has studied this literature deeply he shows no indication of it within this discussion.  The only source that seems to have had an impact on his view of the art was Alexander Bennett’s recent study Kendo: Culture of the Sword (University of California Press, 2015).

Bennett’s work is an excellent introduction to the subject.  It is probably what I would recommend to anyone looking to start a reading project on Kendo.  Yet a scholar of religious or martial arts studies hoping to plumb the depths of historical Japanese swordsmanship has many other sources available to them.  None of them are dealt with in Tuckett’s article.

Even easily located and relevant works, which would pop up in any basic library catalog search, are missing from his discussion.  Two of the most obvious omissions include G. Cameron Hurst’s widely cited Armed Martial Art of Japan: Swordsmanship and Archery (Yale UP, 1998) and Denis Gainty’s Martial Arts and the Body Politic in Meiji Japan (Routledge, 2013).  Given the author’s interest in approaching the martial arts, nationalism and religion through the lens of “ideology” the omission of any reference to this second work is particularly puzzling.

Hurst would have provided important nuance to Tuckett’s quick characterization of the evolution of Kendo. And given Tuckett’s mention of Karl Friday’s 1997 Legacies of the Sword (Hawaii UP, 1997), another work from the same period, its absence is all the more puzzling.  Rather than drawing on the rich literature that the Japanese martial arts have generated, most of the paragraphs in the Kendo section simply end with a footnote citing Bennett.  Nor does Tuckett really challenge or engage with Bennett’s characterizations of Kendo in a substantive way.  On a historical level the entire conversation remains derivative of a very small number of sources (basically Bennett and a handful of webpages).

Nor does his treatment of the more general Martial Arts Studies literature inspire confidence.  Tuckett makes a brief reference to Green and Svinth’s Martial Arts in the Modern World (Praeger, 2003).  Yet the only really substantial sources that seem to have informed his thinking are John Donohue’s chapters within Jones’ collected volume Combat, Ritual and Performance: Anthropology of the Martial Arts (Praeger, 2002).

With a single substantive exception, Tuckett’s knowledge of the academic literature on the martial arts appears to be firmly rooted in the late 1990s and early 2000s.  And even that lacks the expected depth.

His apparent unfamiliarity with the explosion of publications that have emerged in the last decade is unfortunate as he has had no chance to engage with other researchers that might speak to his interests.  For instance, while some historians of the Asian martial arts may have neglected their relationship with ritual or spiritual systems (Peter Lorge), others have devoted quite a bit of time and energy to the topic.  Meir Shahar’s work on Shaolin, or War and Faith by Tsang, spring to mind as potential sites of scholarly engagement.  The ethnographic literature offers many more examples including (but not limited to) Boretz’s Gods, Ghosts and Gangsters or D. S. Farrer’s Shadows of the Prophet.

In going through his bibliography it does not appear that Tuckett has maliciously mischaracterized the existing (and rapidly growing) academic literature on the martial arts.  Rather, he has failed to notice its existence.  At one point he quotes Alexander Bennett in an effort to characterize the existing scholarly literature:

 “A growing number of English books about traditional Japanese Swordsmanship are on the market.  Most of them, however, are how-to manuals, biographies of master swordsmens, or translations and commentaries on classic tests—often historically naïve, mixing fact and fiction.” (p. 22).

Yet upon going back and re-reading this passage in its full context it very quickly becomes apparent that Bennett is not talking about the current academic literature on the martial arts at all.  While its sins many be many, producing large number of basic “how-to” manuals are not among them.  Instead Bennett was passing his judgement on the growing popular literature on Kendo.  None of this was ever meant to be actually scholarly.  In fact, Bennett goes on to introduce some of the actual academic work on Kendo, and even recommends two of the authors I noted above (Hurst and Gainty).

This oversight is not simply a missed opportunity.  It may actually effect Tuckett’s substantive discussion of the martial arts in ways both large and small.

For instance, on page 192 we find Tuckett accepting discredited creation myths regarding the origins of Okinawan Karate, seemingly unaware that a fair amount of discussion has already taken place on this topic.  Rather than looking at the cultural, political and economic currents that brought piracy, trade, southern Chinese boxing and Japanese imperialism to the Okinawan Islands, readers are informed that the area’s inhabitants were forced to create unarmed arts to resist the Samurai following the Japanese ban on weapons ownership.  One suspect that this old chestnut conceals much more than it reveals about the origins of Karate.

Indeed, the reality of civilian fighting systems in Japan is a problem that haunts the edges of Tuckett’s discussion.  I say “haunts” as he never directly addresses the fact that, contrary to his Samurai-centric understanding of the Japanese martial arts, some of the most famous and respected fencing masters of the late Tokugawa period were civilians. Indeed, civil fencing systems existed even before that, and it is not at all clear how they fit into Tuckett’s theoretical scheme or whether they can even be accommodated.  Or for that matter how does one account for the continued popularity of Kendo in Korea, or its growing presence in Chinese cities like Shanghai?  On suspects that it succeeds in these realms despite its association with Japanese nationalism, and not because of it.  So what does this type of naturalization look like?  Or is this simply Kendo as a combat sport?

While Tuckett is intent on demonstrating the “serious” and “spiritual” nature of swordsmanship, as well as its fundamental cultural continuity from medieval Japan to the present, he never notes, let alone effectively deals with, the fact that it was massive popular public fencing tournaments in the Meiji period (sporting competitions organized along the same lines as Sumo competitions) that revived the public’s flagging interest in fencing and helped to give rise to the modern (only later spiritualized) practice now called Kendo.

Indeed, after reading this case the reader is left to wonder whether the author’s failure to adequately theorize the social function of martial sports left him in a position where he was unable to identify and appreciate the impact that this strain of practice has had on modern Kendo (and a great many other arts).  Or perhaps his lack of familiarity with the historical literature allowed for the construction of a theory that would lead him to ignore some of the most interesting and colorful episode’s in Kendo’s early development?

Whatever the case, the end result is clear.  Rather than fully accepting the fact the martial arts are basically modern invented traditions, whose relationship with the past is best understood as a set of discontinuities, slippages and inventions, Tuckett seems to be inadvertently recreated the very thing that he warned his readers against, an “Eliadean style of study—i.e., one that presumes a transhistorical essence which martial arts contribute to manifesting.”

Nowhere is this more clear than in his treatment of “Bushido.”  Recent scholarship, such as Oleg Benesch’s Inventing the Way of the Samurai: Nationalism, Internationalism, and Bushido in Modern Japan (Oxford UP) has addressed at great length the history and evolution of a concept that appears to be central to Tuckett’s argument.  Whereas he follows late Meiji authors in accepting Bushido as the transcendent core of Samurai identity, current scholarship argues convincingly that this concept is basically a late invention, conjured up in service of the “national essence” only in the Meiji period, and (ironically) influenced by European ideas about the ideal gentleman.

Reading early 20^th century notions of Bushido back onto the pre-Tokugawa Samurai is a conceptual error of exactly the same type as reading modern Western notions of religion backwards onto Chinese history.  Worse yet, even short asides, like the ones on the supposed origins of Okinawan karate, undercut the reader’s faith in Tuckett’s ability to reliably explore these issues.

Kendo students in a gym in downtown Shanghai. Photo: Cai Xianmin/GT .

Conclusion

The supposed sin of the existing Martial Arts Studies literature was that it was too close to its subject matter.  One’s involvement with a given martial art would inhibit any ability to write about it in a dispassionate and factually accurate way.  As Tuckett notes in Footnote 4, he is not totally immune from such concerns.  As an instructor of Taekwondo he questions his own ability to speak to issues in that art.  So, to maintain a frame of objectivity, he has chosen to address Kendo instead.  Has his paper benefited from his prior lack of engagement with this art, or any of the Budo systems?

The short answer would seem to be no.  Ironically his characterizations of the origins of Karate, Kendo and Bushido as the “Soul of the Samurai” all seem to be far more romanticized than what appears in most of the Martial Arts Studies literature that I read on a daily basis.  Further, the simplistic way in which he asserts the existence of this problem ignores the vast libraries that sociologists, anthropologists and critical theorists have written on whether complete objectivity is ever possible, or whether it is actually desirable.  Once again, there is a literature out there that speaks directly to these methodological concerns.

Still, these are not simple questions.  I think they are the sort of issue that must be continually reexamined.  As such Tuckett’s direct approach to the issue of objectivity on the very first page of his article was one of the things that piqued my interest and got me to read this piece, even though Kendo and the Japanese martial arts are outside of my immediate realm of research or interest.

Upon reconsidering this question in light of Tuckett’s subsequent writing, what quickly becomes evident is the vital need to problematize the notion of “martial arts” in much the same way that he begins by forcing us to question what we think we know about the definition of religion.  In point of fact, authors like Paul Bowman and Sixt Wetzler have already undertaken just this task.

Is it better to understand the martial arts as “things,” or as moving identities and ideologies?  Are they really bodies of technique that (despite the occasional round of evolution) have their feet rooted deeply in the past, remaining an identifiable “trans-historical essence”?  Or should we take much more seriously the notion that the martial arts are invented-traditions (as Tuckett himself repeatedly notes)?  In that case they will reveal to us mostly the upheavals and slippages of history rather than the smooth and continual transmission of a pure vision of the past.

It may be that certain martial artists are biased in their discussions of Musashi Miyamoto.  He is after all, an easy figure to romanticize.  Yet this does not come from the fact that modern Kendo students “practice his art.”

Modern Kendo is just that, modern.  It has very little to do with the revered swordsman or the martial culture of medieval Japan.  Likewise the types of Southern Chinese Kung Fu that I practice are conceptually, technically, culturally, economically and socially distinct from whatever may or may not have happened at the Shaolin Temple during the Ming dynasty.

They are much more a directly a reflection of the types of youth culture that dominated Hong Kong’s cityscape during the 1950s and 1960s.  More than that, they reflect my teacher’s own struggle to find an “authentic Chinese martial art” in America during the 1980s.  And to an even greater degree they reflect my own attempts to both establish, and understand, identity in an increasingly globalized world.

In short, the martial arts of early modern Japan and China no longer exist, except as historical subjects.  Even in the very rare cases where some sort of direct transmission can be established, what influences our practice and understanding to the greatest degree is our own circumstances and life experience.

Given that this article began by positing that the martial arts function as a form of naturalization, this does not come as a surprise.  On this point we are basically agreed.  They do what they have always done, help students feel secure while they search for ways to survive and thrive in a quickly changing world.  Yet the ever evolving nature of that process should make us very wary of supposing that the martial arts are some sort of easily defined object that we share with the ancient past.

Might a modern scholar and Kendo practitioner be biased in her research on Musashi Miyamoto?  She might be.  Yet the first step in dealing with that possibility is not to withdraw from the practice of the martial arts, or an engagement with the academic literature surrounding it.  Nor is it clear that writing on a different fighting style would help us to avoid the bias.  This distortion is not actually rooted in the nature of the “things themselves,” rather it resides in our sense of identity and nostalgia.  A Taekwondo student may be just as biased in their discussion of Musashi Miyamoto as a Kendo practitioner.  In reality, both of them practice modern arts that generate a powerful sense of nostalgia for a past that never existed.  Simply making a lateral shift in the art we happen to write about does little to insulate us from the temptation to romanticize or simplify these practices.

Paul Bowman has recently argued for a more theoretically informed approach to Martial Arts Studies.  While it emerged independently from these discussions (and apparently the entire MAS literature) this article is interesting in that it begins by advancing a well-developed theoretical framework, both drawing from, and also contributing to, the broader Religious Studies literature.  Indeed, Tuckett is absolutely correct in noting that a systematic examination of the martial arts could contribute much to this area.

Yet this article also illustrates the need to for an equally disciplined and focused dedication to the empirical and historical disciplines.  It is not just that the data needed to test or illustrate our theories emerges from these areas.  Nor is it simply a matter of instilling confidence in the reader that we have mastered our subject matter and are responding to important developments in the literature.

Rather, good theories arise (at least in part) from our perception of the paradoxes and discontinuities of life.  Only in that way can we generate novel, yet substantively important, questions.  To be involved with modern modes of practice, while also being deeply steeped in the historical, critical or sociological literature, is to be perpetually aware of the puzzles that the martial arts pose.  It is not clear to me that this vision, however blinkered by personal experience, is more limited than one operating under the false promise of pure objectivity.

oOo

If you enjoyed this review you might also want to see: Understanding the Red Boats of the Cantonese Opera: Economics, Social Structure and Violence 1850-1950.

oOo

Vintage postcard showing a “Young Boxer” with sword. Early 20th century. Source: Authors personal collection.

Meeting the Boxer

I recently had the good fortune to meet one of my favorite Chinese Boxers.  I had been stalking him for years.

This early 20^th century postcard was probably purchased in Beijing and then mailed to Tianjin on February 5^th, 1909.  The card itself was published by J.H. Schaefer’s Kunstchromo, Amsterdam.  While this firm used a number of Chinese images, I have never seen any others dealing with the same model or subject.  Given that this postcard was printed in the Netherlands (or possibly Germany) it seems safe to assume that it was sold all over Europe.

This particular example also seems to have been fairly popular.  Only a small proportion of the postcards printed in the early 20^th century have survived.  As a result, many of the images that circulated during that period are probably lost to history.  Yet I have seen at least three different copies of this postcard come up for sale in on-line auctions over the last two years.  As such, I suspect that it must have circulated in some quantity.  From a social scientific standpoint this document is doubly interesting, not just because of the early 20^th century image of the Chinese martial arts that it preserves, but also for what it suggests about the intended audience of such products.

Postmarks indicating that this card was sent from Beijing to Tianjin on the 5th of February, 1909. Source: Author’s Personal collection.

The front of the postcard presents readers with a supposed image of a “young boxer” (named “Joung Ping Fou”) hard at work on his exercises.  The card’s model appears to be a child and the sword that dominates the upper part of the frame seems to be both intimidating and comically large.  The boy himself is dressed in what appears to be a military uniform of some type.  The darker colored turban on his head and belt at his waist were almost certainly red.  The boxer appears to be well fed and well clothed.  Further, his stance is both stylized and vaguely “operatic.”

These are the facts that we can be certain of.  Yet what meaning did this image convey to those who produced, mailed and received this piece of ephemera?  And what subsequent impact may it have had on the Western understanding of the Chinese martial arts?

As we have seen throughout this series, such images always present complex interpretive problems.  To deal with some of these issues I would like to briefly consider this postcard from three different perspectives.

While talking with Paul Bowman recently I noted that he used a metaphor which I thought readers of Kung Fu Tea might find helpful.  He casually mentioned that rather than sticking too closely to any one intellectual tradition, he preferred to “use his theories like lenses.”  When presented with a difficult interpretive problem he would move from one theory to another for much the same reason that an astronomer might switch eye pieces on a telescope.  The different concerns and assumptions of each theory sometimes revealed something new that the others had missed.
I have certainly done the same thing in parts of my own writing (including the discussion of globalization in the Epilogue of my book on the social history of the southern Chinese martial arts).  Yet to more succinctly illustrate the possibilities of this approach I would try it here.  If we were to examine this image through the lens of social history, religious studies and critical theory, what would we see?  Given the brevity of this post what follows will be quick suggestions rather than fully formed theoretical arguments.  Still, the exercise reveals some interesting possibilities for future consideration.

A Historical Reading

Any social historian worth their salt would probably begin by establishing both the setting and the players involved in the actual production of this document.  While many similar images were staged in studios, this image appears to have been taken outdoors, probably in some sort of marketplace.  We must also consider the question of timing. Given that the Boxer Uprising ended only in 1901, and the postcard itself must have been printed prior to 1909, that violent outburst becomes the major social event that frames and gives meaning to this postcard.

Still, it goes without saying that this image was not produced during the conflict itself.  This is not an example of “war photography.”  Esherick, in his landmark study of the event, noted that many of the Spirit Boxers were quite young, just as we see here.  Yet the level of photographic technology at the time strongly suggests that this image was not casually snapped on a street corner.  Rather, it must have been carefully (and patiently) composed.

Given his willingness to work with a Western photographer we can be fairly certain that the boy in question was not a violent anti-Christian radical.  In fact, we know that in the aftermath of the conflict both local models and foreign photographers produced images exactly like this one to sell to a western public who wanted to see what the much feared “Boxers” had looked like.  Other photographs produced in this genre featured scenes of battlefield destruction, or the execution of captured Boxers.

In short, while the image evokes the memory of anti-Western violence, the actual production and marketing of this postcard is an example of the degree to which both Chinese and western individuals were being drawn into the same global productive and commercial networks.  Further, the selection of this model suggests an attempt to diminish the actual dangers of the recent uprising, as well as the military and cultural strength of the Chinese themselves, by mapping all of that onto the body of a single child.  In the image of the young Boxer we see a country that is, paradoxically, both too “old” (superstitious, backwards) and too “young” (just undertaking the process of serious reforms) to stand on its own in the international system.

By reducing the Boxer Uprising to an item for commercial consumption, the reader is reassured of the legitimacy of the foreign presence in China, as well as the inevitability of that country’s defeat.

Why Red?

While not disagreeing with these basic conclusions, a student of Chinese religious history might note that this discussion of globalization and exploitation is not really capable of answering some of the more interesting questions about this image.  Specifically, globalization might account for the existence of such an item, but can it explain the image’s content?  If not, is the model in this image really complicit in nation’s exploitation?  Or might he be using this exercise to appropriate certain symbols as aspects of his own identity?

On a technical level it seems certain that a professional photographer composed this shot.  Just getting the lighting right in an outdoor environment must have been tricky.  Yet one suspects that there are layers of meaning in this image that its Western recorder may not have been fully aware of.  Why, when asked to portray a Boxer in training did the young model (probably a marketplace performer) choose this operatic pose?  And what was the meaning of the costume that he wore?

Western observers noted at various points during the 19^th century that Chinese rebels had a propensity to adapt red “turbans” and belts as their defacto uniform.  Indeed, this same basic tendency was seen during the Boxer Uprising.

While discussing rebellions and secret society uprisings in Southern China Barend J. ter Haar notes:

 

“The use of a piece of cloth wrapped around the head or waist is also common amongst religious officiants, such as Daoist priests (especially those performing the vernacular rituals), shamans and mediums, and lay people engaged in religious activities.  Strips of red paper are also attached to holy trees and rocks.  It has been a common practice throughout Chinese history for rebels to wear a piece of red cloth around the head to indicate vital power.  Red cloth or paper is a general indicator of divine power, undoubtedly derived from the reddish color of blood and the fact that blood was perceived to be a concentrated life force.” (Ritual & Mythology of the Chinese Triads, p. 116)

Thus the costume seen in this postcard is highly significant.  The Boxer Uprising was fought, in large part, by young peasants who believed themselves to be shamanistically possessed by the gods and heroes of vernacular opera and ritual.  All of this is captured in the image at hand.

Indeed, the large sword which seems to dominate the image may hold another clue to help us more fully interpret this scene.  One of the more common gods encountered during the Boxer Uprising was Nezha, a hero discussed in the popular novel Canonization of the Gods.  A dangerous child warrior, Nezha was said to be the protector of Beijing and was the chief of the eight thunder gods who guarded the city’s gates.  Scott Phillips has noted that Nezha’s imagery seems to have had some impact on Baguazhang.  This is particularly evident in its eclectic weapons (including the two headed spear, the hoop and very large ox-tail dao), all of which are associated with the iconography of the capital city’s mythic and popular protective deity (p. 49-50).

In short, the image used on this postcard evokes a rich complex of cultural symbols that were central to the popular culture of Beijing in the final years of the Qing dynasty.  Some of these found expression in the violence of the Boxer uprising, and others lived on in the area’s operatic and martial traditions.  Focusing only on the technical production of the image may cause us to miss much of what such a scene would have conveyed to a local audience in a city like Tianjin or Beijing.

The Boxers and the Oriental Obscene

Yet what marketplace was really driving the production of this image?  And what other discourses and texts did these early images of the Boxer Uprising go on to influence?  Did they set the stage for the development of Western images of the “dangerous Orient” throughout the 20^th century?

A critical theorist interested in both the media and Western portrayals of the martial arts might look at this this (or other images) produced in the aftermath of the Boxer Uprising and think immediately of Sylvia Chong’s The Oriental Obscene: Violence and Racial Fantasies in the Vietnam Era (Duke University Press 2012).  Paul Bowman (in Martial Arts Studies: Disrupting Disciplinary Boundaries, 2015) has already argued at length that her treatment of film in the wake of the Vietnam War is of general relevance to the field of martial arts studies.

I think that this and other postcards might be used to argue for an even broader relevance for her work.  Chong is primarily interested in how the violence of the Vietnam War found its way onto the screen and into American popular culture during the 1970s and 1980s.  Yet this was not the West’s first imperial misadventure in Asia.  More specifically, one must wonder whether some of the cultural patterns and discourses that Chong notes were actually pioneered over the course of earlier conflicts (such as the American occupation of the Philippines, the “island hopping campaigns” of WWII or the Korean War).

Further, it is not clear that the basic logic of Chong’s psycho-analytical arguments must be limited to the realm of film.  In particular, her treatment of three famous photographs, Eddie Adams’ Saigon Execution (1968), Ronald Haeberle’s My Lai Masssacre (1968) and Huynh Cong Ut’s Napalm Girl (1972) suggest possibilities for understanding how previous generations might have reacted to visual images of violence.  The Boxer Rebellion is culturally significant in part because it was the first of imperialist campaign in Asia to leave behind a rich visual record as well as media accounts that both traumatized and titillated the Western reading public with their graphic descriptions of anti-Christian violence.

Consider again the age of the sword wielding martial artist in this postcard.  Western newspaper readers surely would have noted the paradox that it was youth like this who were responsible for the murders of so many Christian women and children.  And of course the vast majority of these victims were themselves Chinese.

The fact that the Western public understood the Boxer intervention as an easy (one might say inevitable) victory makes this case quite different from the post-Vietnam era.  Many aspects of Chong’s discussion will not be applicable here.  Still, the publication of images of violence inflicted on Chinese bodies for “the continuation of a larger tradition of racial sentimentalism or melodrama, in which the spectacle of the suffering racial other is staged for the moral uplift of a middle-class, white and often female audience” seems to suggest the existence of deeper discourse that did not begin with Vietnam. (p. 77)

The fear of a class of “Oriental others” who are, on the one hand, the victims of unspeakable violence, and yet threaten to bring that same destruction to the imperial center, is precisely the specter that haunted Sax Rohmer’s popular Fu Manchu novels.   It is interesting to note that the “East-West” violence of the Boxer Uprising is invoked in those stories.  Indeed, one wonders to what degree these images linking the Chinese people to racial prejudice and bizarre forms of violence, influenced the development of later cultural discourses during the 1970s and beyond.

Conclusion

Examined from three different theoretical perspectives, a single image can yield a wealth of meaning.  Each of these approaches begins with its own basic assumptions.  Further, each directed our attention towards a different set of issues.

I should caution that it would be a mistake to assume that all of these theories naturally coexist or that focus only on a single aspect of any problem.  Indeed, the instability of meaning and identity that makes so many “critical theories” possible might cut directly against the basic methodological assumptions employed by an economist in her formal model of global trade and violence.  When we employ a variety of theories, understanding where (and why) they clash is a vital part of the exercise.

And yet the exercise is often worthwhile.  The present case reminds us that these fighting systems have always existed within, and contributed to, a media rich environment.  Some of what we think of as quintessentially “modern” may be more “traditional” than we ever suspected.

oOo

If you enjoyed this post card you might also want to see: War Junks, Pirates and the Commercialization of Chinese Martial Culture

oOo

The Design Wing of the Corning Museum of Glass.

 
***Today we have a fascinating guest post by Paul Bowman.   It has been reblogged from Martial Arts Studies.  This essay outlines a new research project looking at questions of sanity and insanity within the practice of martial arts.  It is one of the most thought provoking things that I have read in a while.  The questions raised here are deeply connected to the various ways that we read (and misread) the history of the martial arts.  Needless to say, the “real world” consequences of these perceptions can be profound.  Those looking for more background on this discussion are advised to begin by checking out the recent essay by Oleg Benesch titled ‘Reconsidering Zen, Samurai and the Martial Arts.‘***

The Arts of Martial Minds

by Paul Bowman

I have long been interested in the underlying psychological theories or beliefs that inform or even underpin different martial arts. Different styles, systems, regions and periods often manifest different discourses, theories or ideologies of what we might call martial arts psychology. By martial arts psychology, what I am evoking might be referred to as the martial artist’s outlook, mindset, psyche, or subjective stance or attitude. What I am suggesting is that such outlooks or attitudes might be linked to the ethos of the training environment.

Of course, sometimes – as in many discourses around boxing or MMA – the dominant idea has often been that ‘being a fighter’ is something innate – something you are ‘born with’ (Wacquant 2004; Spencer 2011). This seems to be a very common claim among competitive fighters and those involved in some way with what we might call street fighting (i.e., people with some kind of connection to non-rule-bound fighting and violence, such as bouncers, for example).

But my sense is that in most martial arts, being – or, more precisely, becoming – a fighter is conceived of in terms of some kind of notion of ‘fighting spirit’, and that such a ‘spirit’ is something that is cultivated, through what Foucault would term ‘the means of correct training’ (Foucault 1978). My sense is also that different martial arts – or even the ‘same’ martial art at different times – seek to cultivate very different ‘kinds’ of martial arts subject.

In my own life, I have experienced very different kinds of training ethos. Some seemed saturated with a vague sense of the inherent value of ‘toughening up’ (Green 2011; Downey 2007; Spencer 2011). Others focused more on having fun, competition and competitive play. Still others involved put the importance of a certain psychological attitude front and centre – whether that be cultivating the dispassionate calm responsive sensitivity of taijiquan in push-hands, an explicit ‘predator awareness’ self-defence mindset, or an insistence on a kind of all-out aggression, such as that which is termed ‘forward thinking’ in escrima concepts (Bowman 2014; Bowman 2015; Miller 2008; Miller 2015). Some were informed by mysticism, others by hierarchy, authority and deference, and still others by camaraderie and a sense of being involved in a shared research project, and so on.

Informed by this diversity of experience as well as other forms of research, I have argued before that martial arts can very often be regarded as intimately imbricated within different kinds of ideology (Bowman 2016b; Bowman 2016a). However, what I am proposing here is something slightly different. I am now less focused on the matter of the ideologies that ‘go into’ the discourse of a martial art, and now more interested in the question of the types of subjects that ‘come out’ – that are produced in and by martial arts training, the type of subjective attitude, mindset, sense of identity and orientation towards the world.

Obviously, this is a two-way street – or even an incredibly complex junction. But a recent article by Oleg Benesch highlights what I am interested in here, in very stark terms. Benesch begins ‘Reconsidering Zen, Samurai and the Martial Arts‘ (Benesch 2016) with a consideration of the case of Anders Berhing Breivik, who, ‘On July 22, 2011 … committed one of the most devastating acts of mass murder by an individual in history (1). Benesch writes:

Over the course of one day, he killed 77 people in and around Oslo, Norway, through a combination of a car bomb and shootings. The latter took place on the island of Utøya, where 69 people died, most of them teenagers attending an event sponsored by the Workers’ Youth League. During his subsequent trial, Breivik remained outwardly unemotional as he clearly recounted the events of the day, including the dozens of methodical execution-style shootings on the island. His calmness both on the day of the murders and during the trial, shocked many observers. It was also an important factor in an attempt to declare Breivik insane, a move that he successfully resisted. Breivik himself addressed this subject at some length, crediting his supposed ability to suppress anxiety and the fear of death through concentrated practice of what he called “bushido meditation.” He claimed to have begun this practice in 2006 to “de-emotionalize” himself in preparation for a suicide attack. According to Breivik, his meditation was based on a combination of “Christian prayer” and the “bushido warrior codex.” Bushido, or “the way of the warrior,” is often portrayed as an ancient moral code followed by the Japanese samurai, although the historical evidence shows that it is largely a twentieth-century construct. (1)

Javier Pérez (Spanish, b. 1968), Carroña (Carrion), Murano, Italy, 2011. Blown glass chandelier, assembled, broken, taxidermied crows. The Corning Museum of Glass.

Benesch’s own interests in this matter relate to addressing the matter of many misunderstandings of the history of notions like ‘samurai spirit’, and the supposed connection of this spirit with Zen. As the above passage suggests, he is animated by the fact that what is ‘largely a twentieth-century construct’ has functioned ideologically. Benesch’s project, here and elsewhere, is to set out the ways that such factually incorrect discourses have emerged and to clarify the ways that they have functioned ideologically. However, as noted, my own interests at this point are chiefly related to what we might call the various types of psychology or pseudo-psychologies of violence and training for combat that are attendant to different kinds of martial arts pedagogy and philosophy.

But Benesch’s article is extremely helpful for me here because it sets out clearly the relations between a number of elements that I will argue it is important to realise are interconnected. Specifically, this is the connection between a training ethos and its theory of psychology – or, indeed, its theory of the subject – and the extent to which neither of these are ‘innate’ or ‘necessary’, but rather entirely ‘cultural’. This is not ‘cultural’ in the sense that we often too easily use the term – as when we say ‘Eastern’ or ‘Western’, or ‘American’ or ‘European’, and so on. Rather, this is cultural in the sense of engendered, cultivated, fostered, stimulated, managed, produced, even policed, through techniques of discipline, and always informed by ideology.[1]

Indeed, the implications of Benesch’s opening reflection on the case of Breivik’s ‘psychology’ go further than many studies of the relations between ideology and psychology might otherwise tend to go. For instance, in a very rich and suggestive passage, Benesch notes:

The extent to which the methodical nature of Breivik’s terror attack could be ascribed to his meditation techniques, “bushido” or otherwise, has been called into question by those who see it as another manifestation of serious mental disturbance. On the other hand, Breivik’s statements regarding “bushido meditation” have parallels with the “Warrior Mind Training” program implemented by the US military during the Iraq War. This program claims to have its roots in “the ancient samurai code of self-discipline,” and is described as a meditation method for dealing with a host of mental issues related to combat. Both Anders Breivik and Warrior Mind Training reflect a persistent popular perception of the samurai as fighting machines who were able to suppress any fear of death through the practice of meditation techniques based in Zen Buddhism. Zen has also been linked with the Special Attack Forces (or “Kamikaze”) of the Second World War, who supposedly used meditation methods ascribed to Zen to prepare for their suicide missions.

Here, not only does Benesch reinforce my contentions about the ‘cultural’ dimensions of all of this, but he actually raises the stakes of my own argument by introducing the question not just of mindset but also of sanity and insanity.

Hopefully, none of us are anything like Breivik. But Breivik claims to have believed himself to have trained for his acts of unimaginably callous mass murder by following a self-styled but not entirely alien or unusual type of ‘martial art’ psychological training. Which raises the question: are such martial arts ideologies themselves to be regarded as sane or insane?

Such a question, posed outside of any context or any specific case study, will hardly permit a univocal response. Such a question is based on an unacceptable generalisation at both ends. It is, to borrow a phrase from Freud, an equation between two unknowns. What is a martial arts ideology? What is sanity? Clearly, there is a lot more work to be done here before we can even formulate our question adequately.

Nonetheless, I am reminded of the time a few years ago when a student of mine walked out of a film screening. The film I was showing was Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (Jarmusch 1999), in which the eponymous Ghost Dog (Forrest Whittaker) is a late twentieth century black urban character who so identifies with the samurai ideology advocated in the putative samurai manual, Hagakure, that he has crafted himself as the retainer of an old mafia gangster who once saved his life. Ghost Dog lives alone, trains martial arts, and undertakes assassinations whenever his ‘master’ requires.

The film has always raised interesting questions for me about identity construction, cross-cultural interests and historical communication, and so on (Bowman 2008). But when I asked the student why she walked out of the screening she replied: because Ghost Dog was insane.

Until then, I had not actually stepped outside of the fictional world of the film properly, to ask myself the question of Ghost Dog’s sanity. The film presents him as an assassin with a fixation on samurai ideology. What does that make him? Mad? Eccentric? Further reflection on the trial of Breivik might cast some interesting conceptual light on these questions.

But, of course, Ghost Dog is a fiction film. Breivik is a mass murderer. You and I are neither of these things. But what is actually taking place when you or I read the Hagakure and find it compelling or ‘inspiring’, or when we identify with an image (any image – think of the images that have animated you) of what ‘being’ a good or proper or the best possible martial artist might mean?

What Ghost Dog, Anders Breivik, and the US military all share in common here seems to boil down to what Benesch calls ‘warrior mind training’. My claim is that ‘warrior mind training’ can be discerned in all manner of martial arts training, from the most mystical to the most military. Benesch has identified one undoubtedly significant (and surprising) linkage in the form of the surely somewhat surprising matter of meditation. But my interest expands to encompass the entire field of possibilities, from the most shocking (Breivik, Ghost Dog) to the most supposedly serene (taijiquan), via the well-worn paths of questions of the production and performance of gender identities, sports subjectivities, and so on. My hypothesis is that, although there may well be infinite and inevitable infinitesimal variation in martial arts training practices, these may distil down to a very finite collection of different types of regularly recurring discourse, and although there may be vast differences in nuances of martial arts ideologies, these too may involve the regular recurrence of different psycho-subjective stances or attitudes.

 My hope is, over the coming weeks and months, to find some time to start exploring some of these matters, via a range of different kinds of cases and studies. If anyone has any suggestions for where to look or what to look at – the more stark the example the better, I think – please do let me know. Email is best. I’m at the end of this one: BowmanP@cardiff.ac.uk. Thanks.

oOo

[1] In a study of language, argumentation, the establishment of truth and ideology, Jean François Lyotard once argued that ‘to link is necessary, but how to link is contingent’ (Lyotard 1988). My contention here is that both training methods and ideological outlooks are contingent, as is the manner of their linkage. The different forms that the various connections, combinations and relations take will always produce very different things.

Corning Museum of Glass Contemporary Art + Design Wing. Source: Architecture Magazine.

References

Benesch, Oleg. 2016. ‘Reconsidering Zen, Samurai, and the Martial Arts’. The Asia-Pacific Journal 14 (17): 1–23. http://apjjf.org/2016/17/Benesch.html.

Bowman, Paul. 2008. Deconstructing Popular Culture. Palgrave Macmillan.

———. 2014. ‘Instituting Reality in Martial Arts Practice’. JOMEC Journal, 1–24.

———. 2015. Martial Arts Studies: Disrupting Disciplinary Boundaries. London: Rowman and Littlefield International.

———. 2016a. ‘Making Martial Arts History Matter’. The International Journal of the History of Sport, 1–19. doi:10.1080/09523367.2016.1212842.

———. 2016b. Mythologies of Martial Arts. London: Rowman & Littlefield International.

Downey, Greg. 2007. ‘Producing Pain: Techniques and Technologies in No-Holds-Barred Fighting’. Social Studies of Science 2007 37: 201 37 (2): 201–26.

Foucault, Michel. 1978. The History of Sexuality, Volume 1. London: Penguin.

Green, Kyle. 2011. ‘It Hurts So It Must Be Real: Sensing the Seduction of Mixed Martial Arts’. Social & Cultural Geography 12 (4): 377–96.

Jarmusch, Jim. 1999. Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai. Artisan Entertainment.

Lyotard, Jean-François. 1988. The Differend: Phrases in Dispute. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Miller, Rory. 2008. Meditations on Violence: A Comparison of Martial Arts Training & Real World Violence. Illustrated edition edition. Boston, MA: Ymaa Publication Center.

———. 2015. Conflict Communication (ConCom): A New Paradigm in Conscious Communication. Ymaa Publication Center.

Spencer, Dale. 2011. Ultimate Fighting and Embodiment: Violence, Gender and Mixed Martial Arts. London and New York: Routledge.

Wacquant, Löic J. D. 2004. Body and Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press.

Bey Logan. Source: SCMP

Introduction

Welcome to “Chinese Martial Arts in the News.”  This is a semi-regular feature here at Kung Fu Tea in which we review media stories that mention or affect the traditional fighting arts.  In addition to discussing important events, this column also considers how the Asian hand combat systems are portrayed in the mainstream media.

While we try to summarize the major stories over the last month, there is always a chance that we have missed something.  If you are aware of an important news event relating to the TCMA, drop a link in the comments section below.  If you know of a developing story that should be covered in the future feel free to send me an email.

Its been a while since our last update so there is a lot to be covered in today’s post.  Let’s get to the news!

A trip Down Memory Lane

One of the pleasant surprises to emerge while gathering the stories for this news update has been the appearance of some old friends.  The first of these is Bey Logan, whom the South China Morning Post profiled in an article titled “How a British man broke into Hong Kong’s martial arts film industry.”  Students of Martial Arts Studies may recall that Logan was a keynote presenter at the April 2016 “Kung Fury: Contemporary Debates in Martial Arts Cinema” conference held at Birmingham City University.

This article emphasized his desire, as both a film producer and martial arts student, to promote and raise the profile of the Southern Chinese martial arts around the globe.

“In addition to running his own film company and operating a kung fu school, he’s now shifting his focus towards promoting southern Chinese martial arts culture and giving back to the community that nurtured his passion….”

According to Logan, there is still a lot more work that needs to be done on fostering local appreciation of martial arts culture. Kung fu has lifelong benefits and may help individuals balance the demands of body, mind and spirit, as well as foster mental strength. Unlike most physical disciplines, ­practitioners may continue to practise and ­benefit from martial arts in their more mature years, he said.

As a body, mind and spirit practice, it hasn’t been sold to the public in the right way. The problem is not the quality of the art, or the need people have [for it]. As a community we haven’t reached out in the ­appropriate way. You can apply [kung fu] principles in business or in daily life. I think that spiritual aspect is very useful.”

Our second major story this week also focuses on the world that cultivated and supported the golden age of Hong Kong cinema.  It comes in the form of a long NY Times article titled “Searching for Lady Kung Fu.”  This piece profiles and interviews Angela Mao, one of the more important female martial arts leads during the 1970s who somewhat mysteriously vanished from public view upon retirement.  Even if you have never seen her films you will want to read this article for its rich description of a classic period in martial arts cinema.

“Ms. Mao’s career was brief but bright, taking place in Hong Kong and Taiwan and including roles in more than 30 films over a decade. Studios promoted her as a female Bruce Lee. When she appeared as Mr. Lee’s doomed sister in the 1973 martial arts classic “Enter the Dragon,” her place in the kung fu canon was secured. Quentin Tarantino has cited her as an influence, and a violent fight scene in his 2003 film “Kill Bill” involving a swinging ball and chain is strikingly similar to one of Ms. Mao’s duels in “Broken Oath.”

She fought with ferocity and grace, mowing through armies of opponents with jaw-breaking high kicks, interrupting the carnage only to flip her pigtails to the side. A common climax in her films was her combating a villain twice her size.”

Speaking of nostalgia, did you hear that Jackie Chan was awarded an Oscar in recognition of his many achievements and lifetime of hard work (and countless broken bones)?  I will admit to be a fan of his films, and have always thought that Kung Fu comedies are an under appreciated genre.  Really, how many times do I need to watch someone avenge their Master?  Congratulations Jackie!

“On Saturday at the annual Governors Awards, the Chinese actor and martial arts star finally received his little gold statuette, an honorary Oscar for his decades of work in film. “After 56 years in the film industry, making more than 200 films, after so many bones, finally,” Chan, 62, quipped at the star-studded gala dinner while holding his Oscar.”

Still, nothing stirs up nostalgia for the original Kung Fu Fever quite like the cult classic, “The 36th Chamber of Shaolin.”  It turns out that this film has inspired more than its fare share of artists including, most famously, RZA.  And that is a good thing as it has just been announced that he will be accompanying a newly released edition of the film.  Once again, the NY Times has your back.  There is some nice life/career history in this piece as well.

Did I just say that nothing could evoke more nostalgia for Kung Fu students than the 36th Chamber?  Well, I might have been wrong.  Not to be outdone, the South China Morning Post ran a fun retrospective examination of the press coverage that accompanied the release of Bruce Lee’s film, The Big Boss, 45 years ago this month.

Lines like: “this is probably the biggest thing to hit the Mandarin film business since the invention of fake blood” are sure to have you running for your DVD collection.

Master Wu Lian-Zhi. Source: Wikimedia

News From All Over

Not all of the important stories over the last month emerged from the world of cinema.  Fans and students of Baijiaquan were greeted with the following article that ran in multiple English language news outlets.  It profiled a recent event celebrating the art, and emphasizing its status as an important aspect of China’s “Intangible Cultural Heritage.”  Readers may recall that this sort of ICH language is becoming an increasingly important part of the strategy to both preserve and promote the traditional fighting systems.

“The two-day exhibition of Baijiaquan, or “eight extremes fist”, opened in Mengcun Hui Autonomous County in Hebei Province, drawing over 1,000 practitioners from China and other countries such as France, Denmark and Russia. Baijiquan is known for explosive, short-range power and elbow and shoulder strikes. With a history of nearly 300 years, the martial art was listed as a national intangible cultural heritage in 2008. Mengcun, the birthplace of Bajiquan, built an international training center in 2006. Over 2,000 practitioners from over 30 countries and regions have come to the village to watch and learn.

Bajiquan is an important part of Chinese martial arts,” said Wu Lianzhi, deputy chairman of Hebei Wushu Association, also the seventh lineage holder of Mengcun Bajiquan.

“The training center helps foreign visitors better understand Bajiquan and it serves as a platform to spread Chinese culture to the rest of the world.”

Prime Minister of Sri Lanka visiting the Shaolin Temple.

Many of these same themes were picked up and expanded in our next article.  Titled “China Pushes Kung Fu Fighting to Boost Soft Power” this English language article ran in multiple South East Asian news outlets.  Those interested in the role of the martial arts in current Chinese public and cultural diplomacy efforts will want to read this piece carefully.  It explicitly adopts political scientist Joseph Nye’s “soft power” framework.  This is then used to present one of the more explicit discussion of China’s current “Kung Fu diplomacy” efforts that I have seen in a popular discussion.

Readers should also note that another one of our old friends, Prof. Gong Maofu of Chengdu Sports University, is quoted at the very end of this article.  Check it out!

– ‘Soft power’ –

Wushu’s global sporting popularity pales before karate, judo and taekwondo, but state media reported this month that a “Wushu Cultural Industry Investment Fund” worth $7 billion has been set up to run tournaments and promote it at home and abroad.

Shaanxi province sports official Dong Li was cited as saying it was created “as a channel for China to increase its soft power”. The Chinese government’s development plan for the sport from 2016-2020 says that its aims include “increasing national confidence and boosting national cultural soft power”. The document, which is replete with political slogans such as “Implement the spirit of General Secretary Xi Jinping’s series of important talks,” also vows to secure the sport’s entry into the Olympics.

The Zhengzhou city sports administration’s deputy director Zhang Jiafu told AFP: “The party and government pays great attention to promoting our Shaolin to the world.”

 

The Nairobi news is reporting “Three lucky Kenyans picked to learn Kung-Fu in China.”  More specifically, the winners of a local tournament received an all expenses paid, week long, trip to the Beijing International Arts School.  On the surface this seems very similar to a number of the Kung Fu Diplomacy articles that we have covered in the past.  And its important to note how much of this is press coverage is coming out of Africa.  But if you read a little more closely this one is interesting because of the role of private entities (including a local TV station) in organizing and funding this event.  That points to the importance of civil society groups in making “exchange diplomacy” strategies successful.  Readers should also note that CCTV has been promoting reports of the same event in their English language news outlets.

While not directly related to the Chinese hand combat systems, I think that students of Martial Arts Studies will find the following items worthwhile.  First, the Daily Mail ran a longer piece on Karate’s upcoming debut in the 2020 Olympics.  This article is important for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the rhetorical tension between “Hollywood and history” that gets played up from literally the opening lines of the article.

“The martial art was only brought to Tokyo in the early 20th century when Gichin Funakoshi, regarded as the father of modern karate, moved from Naha. Okinawa was the place where karate’s spirituality developed,” explains Kurihara.

Frustrations remain however, that Okinawa’s role in the development of karate has been airbrushed out of history. For Nakamoto, the Olympic Games in four years time, is a chance to redress that. “This is a great chance to show the world where karate has its roots. The world may be surprised to know that it was developed here,” he said, adding that it was inexorably linked to the island chain’s politics.”

Speaking of the martial arts and public diplomacy, there have also been quite a few discussions of Indian Kalarippayattu lately.  It seems that this art is also being employed as a discursive tool to educate audiences about India today.  Some of these articles  are fairly straight forward, but I personally prefer the video and interview published at the Huffington Post following the career of a “Sword Fighting Granny.”

Martial Arts Studies by Paul Bowman (2015)

Martial Arts Studies

 
Our last update on Martial Arts Studies focused almost exclusively on upcoming scholarly books.  To balance things out, this report will look at notes of interest in the journal literature.

First off, the International Journal of the History of Sport has just released a special issue focusing exclusively on the East Asian Martial Arts.  The list of authors and topics covered is pretty impressive.  In fact, I am currently trying to figure out if I can order a paper copy of the volume to add to my book shelf.  This is well worth checking out even if it means a trip to JStor or your local university library.

Bruce Lee Graffiti. Source: Wikimedia.

“Why have Kung Fu movies endured in Africa?”  This is actually a somewhat paradoxical question.  Currently the Chinese government is spending lots of money to create news and other media content for the African media.  This is another aspect of their larger public diplomacy strategy.  And its not all clear that these efforts are paying off.  It seems that making content is one thing, but creating an audience is an entirely different sort of challenge.

Yet classic Kung Fu films still have a huge following throughout Africa.  So why do some images and figures find a more natural audience than others?  This topic is addressed as a blog post, podcast and scholarly article.

“While China’s state-funded, Communist party-run media outlets may struggle to find a mass audience for their content in Africa and elsewhere around the world, a certain genre of Chinese-language movies, by contrast, has been popular for decades. Hong Kong-produced Kung Fu movies, most notably those featuring martial arts legend Bruce Lee, have been staples in Africa’s pirated video bazaars dating back to the 1960s and 70s. Even today, in the DVD markets of Cairo or the bars in Kinshasa or on cable TV channels in Johannesburg, Hong Kong’s martial arts films remain an extremely popular form of entertainment.”

Mount Tobisu Dawn Moon, from the 100 Aspects of the Moon by Yoshitoshi (1839 – 1892).

Anyone interested in martial arts history must check out “Reconsidering Zen, Samurai, and the Martial Arts” by Oleg Benesch (University of York).  This article is free to read on line.  It would also work well on a syllabus for anyone teaching a martial arts history or martial arts studies course in the next semester or two.

“The notion that Zen had a powerful influence on bushido and the samurai is a construct of the Meiji period, but has shown remarkable resilience. Even after 1945, Zen figures such as Suzuki Daisetsu and Sugawara Gidō (1915-1978) continued to argue for the historicity of the Zen-bushido connection, and this interpretation has remained influential in popular literature and culture in both Japan and abroad up to the present day…..

These same dynamics also tied into the development of popular views of Zen’s relationship to the martial arts. The Zen-samurai relationship was the result of conscious efforts on the part of Zen promoters to gain patriotic legitimacy by engaging closely with the burgeoning bushido discourse. In contrast, the relationship between Zen and the martial arts was less straightforward, and developed from a confluence of several factors. One of these was that, aside from Shinto nationalists and state-sponsored proponents of the “imperial” bushido ideology, promoters of Zen and promoters of the martial arts were two of the most active and effective groups tying their interests to bushido. As a result, both Zen and the martial arts were widely seen as closely related to bushido, an impression that was strengthened when direct links between the two were drawn explicitly in popular works by promoters of both, such as Eugen Herrigel. This became especially important following the discrediting of “imperial” bushido in 1945, when the more fantastical elements were stripped from the ideology, leaving behind a vague association between Zen, the samurai, and the martial arts to help revive bushido in the postwar period and carry it on into the twenty-first century.”

Lightweight but strong armor, wired with computer sensors, may allow for the birth of a new class of weapons based combat sports. Source:

Readers more interested in the modern martial arts and combat sports will also want to give this next article a look.  Unfortunately it will require a trip to the library.  Niel Gong. 2016. “How to Fight Without Rules: On Civilized Violence in ‘De-Civilized’ Spaces.” Social Problems. First published online by Oxford UP, First published online: 27 September 2015.

“Sociologists have long been concerned with the extent to which “civilizing processes” lead to the increasing salience of rationalized behavioral guidelines and corresponding internal controls, especially in social situations characterized by violence. Following Norbert Elias’s identification of a civilizing process in combat sports, sociologists have debated, though not empirically established, whether emerging “no-holds-barred” fight practices indicate a rupture in the historical civilization of leisure time violence. Using a critical case study of a “no-rules” weapons fighting group, where participants espouse libertarian values and compete in preparation for hypothetical self-defense encounters, I ask how the boundary between violence and social regulation is negotiated in an arena that putatively aims to remove the latter. Drawing on more than three years of ethnographic fieldwork, I specify the mechanisms that moderate action: (1) the cultivation of a code of honor and linked dispositions to replace codified rules; (2) the interactional hesitance that arises when participants lack clear rules or norms to coordinate action; and (3) the importation of external rule sets, such as self-defense law, to simulate the “real” world. Contrary to surface readings of “no-rules” discourse, I conclude that the activity is deeply embedded in larger societal norms of order. Participants’ ethos of honorable self-governance, “thresholds of repugnance” when exposed to serious injury, and aim of transforming emotive, violent reaction into reflective, instrumental action all indicate that the ostensibly unrestrained violence is, in Elias’s technical sense, precisely civilized.”

Luckily everyone has access to academia.edu.  There readers can find a recently posted paper on Hing Chao’s efforts to document Hong Kong’s martial arts through motion capture technology.  See “Kapturing Kung Fu – Future proofing the Hong Kong Martial Arts Living Archive” by Hing Chao (International Guoshu Association), Matt Delbridge (City University Hong Kong/ University of Melbourne), Sarah Kenderdine (University of New South Wales), Jeffrey Shaw (City University Hong Kong), Lydia Nicholson (University of Tasmania)

“There are intangible cultural heritage benefits associated with the capture, documentation and preservation of Kung Fu practices in Hong Kong. An international collaborative project between the School of Creative Media, City University Hong Kong and the International Guoshu Association, the Hong Kong Martial Arts Living Archive (HKMALA), encompasses an analysis of a comprehensive digital strategy of archiving and annotating Hong Kong’s diverse and rich Kung Fu styles and traditions using state-of-the art motion capture data. By using high-definition and high-speed capture sequences, the activity of preservative annotation is transformed. The HKMALA challenges the established tradition of transference and record, to include motion data to visualize speed, torque, torsion and force (momentum and acceleration). Framing the HKMALA as a cultural heritage project also significantly shifts focus from annotation to preservation, enabling the provision of benchmarking in the use of extensive analytic tools for future generations. This approach enables a revitalized method of capture and subsequent transference never undertaken within this discipline. When traditional organisations like the International Guoshu Association embrace tools of Digital Humanities research, they become part of a broader community of intangible cultural heritage archival projects. This active association teaches us about the documentation and preservation of heritage internationally, enabling a richer strategy for future research and preservation projects.”

Left to Right: Doug Farrer, Scott Phillips, Paul Bowman. Source: http://martialartsstudies.blogspot.com/2015/06/conference-2015-and-2016.html

Lastly, it is time to start thinking about possible topics for the July 2017 Martial Arts Studies Conference to be held at the University of Cardiff.  Click here to see the Call for Papers.

Confirmed speakers so far include Peter Lorge, the author of Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the 21^st Century, Cambridge UP, Meaghan Morris, who has written profoundly important things on Hong Kong Cinema, and my friend Sixt Wetzler who (among other achievements) is a curator for the Deutsches Klingenmuseum (German Blade Museum).

The central theme of this gathering will be “how to further the academic study of martial arts in the new field of martial arts studies.”

An assortment of Chinese teas. Source: Wikimedia.

Kung Fu Tea on Facebook

 
A lot has happened on the Kung Fu Tea Facebook group over the last month.  And for some reason much of that discussion has focused on weapons.  We have talked about all sorts of spears, poles and swords (and even the occasional lightsaber). Joining the Facebook group is also a great way of keeping up with everything that is happening here at Kung Fu Tea.

If its been a while since your last visit, head on over and see what you have been missing.

The JQ Pilgrim with black grips. Source: jqsabers.com

 

“The lightsaber has become an important touchstone, both within the films and within our culture…They serve as a source of identification and identity.  They are the ultimate commodity: a nonexistent object whose replicas sell for hundreds of dollars.  This is not bad for something that defies the laws of physics and cannot and does not exist.  And, in conclusion, if I am honest. I must admit that I still want one.”

Kevin J. Wetmore, Jr. 2007. “’Your Father’s Lightsaber’ The Fetishization of Objects Between the Trilogies.” in Carl Silvio and Tony M. Vinci (eds.) Culture, Identities and Technology in the Star Wars Films: Essays on the Two Trilogies. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & co. p. 187.

“This is the Weapon of a Jedi Knight”

Wetmore concludes one of the first truly scholarly discussions of the lightsaber with a candid admission that, critical theory and the laws of physics aside, he still wants one.  It’s a shame really.  There is one sitting on my desk right now.

I understand his sentiment as it is one of my prized possessions.  And I say that as a practicing martial artist and student of history who is currently surrounded by various sorts of antique swords and knives.  Nor am I alone in this. Darth Nihilus, my lightsaber combat instructor, was just telling me how much he wanted this particular model.

It is, after all, the quintessential fencer’s saber.  Named the “Caliburn Pilgrim” the hilt is just under 10.5 inches, with a diameter of 1.25 inches.  The whole package is surprisingly light.  The good folks at JQ Sabers have produced a weapon that is compact enough to easily wielded with a single hand (for those Makashi users), but with enough length that it can accommodate double handed techniques as well.

Designing (or possibly marketing) a saber like this seems to be more difficult than it sounds.  These are, after all, artifacts that come from a technologically advanced civilization in a galaxy far, far away.  To remind their owners of this fact even sabers that are not prop replicas tend to have all sorts of accoutrements that get in the way of actually using these hilts in training or sparring situations.  Extra buttons, retro-switch boxers, large “emitter windows”, thin nicks and the like can make for a visually impressive weapon, but one that is also uncomfortable in the hand.

Like many of the martial artists in the lightsaber combat community, I prefer simple hilts.  I like to think that they look elegant, but it is how they feel that is critical. The Pilgrim manages to keep its visual appeal with a parkerized grip that offers the look of leather wrapping with none of the maintenance.

This not to suggest that the Pilgrim is lacking in features.  It has a single (lit) activation button which can also be used to manually trigger the “blast deflection” and “lock up” effects that some individuals like.  A recharge port is also standard eliminating the need to mess with batteries.  I also ordered mine with a RGB tri-cree LED which, when paired with the standard Spectra Blade Control board allows the saber to cycle through six really nice blade colors in addition to supporting “flash on clash.”  These include a rich guardian blue, ice blue (more like Luke’s saber in A New Hope), green, a golden yellow, an almost neon red and finally a violet purple (for the Mace Windu fans).

All of these colors have good, uniform, coverage across the length of even a “heavy weight” dueling blade.  No more blades that are brightly lit only at the tip and base.  Plus the Spectra blade controller provides an interesting flickering effect which seems to make the blade come to life.  When paired with a medium weight blade this effect is really awesome.

At times it almost seems like this lightsaber is alive.  How many other training tools must be “fed” on a regular basis or they simply refuse to work?  While my Pilgrim has worked wonderfully from day one, the addition of electronics (that can have a mind of their own) and eccentric hilt designs conspire to give most lightsabers very definite “personalities.” That tends to be a quality that one becomes progressively more aware of as you use them.

Weapons of any kind have a disciplinary effect on the movement of a martial artist. We must accommodate the new possibilities that the materiality of a sword or a spear make possible.  Yet I often wonder whether it all boils down to purely material factors.  How important are the stories, myth and discourses that I have been exposed to in my understanding and actual experience of a weapon?

Before practicing my forms, drills, or sparring, I must choose a blade color when I activate my lightsaber.  It seems that there are certain colors I never use.  If I am working with someone on a choreographed piece and they need me to be “the bad guy” I will turn my saber red.

Yet I would never practice forms with a red blade at home.  They just don’t feel “right.”  I just don’t feel right.  The cognitive dissonance between what I see in my hands and my goals are as a martial artist is a bit much. In the Star Wars universe red is a very loaded color and I experience those associations on an almost subconscious level.

Guardian blue seems like a good color for someone setting out to master a new discipline.  That is the one that I use the most.  If I am having troubling with an exercise and need to slow down or relax I find that I am often holding a green saber.  This probably reflects the fact that Jedi Consulars (diplomats, scholars and students of the Force), as well as teaching figures such as Yoda and Qui-Gon Jinn, favored Green blades.  Yellow and purple both feel like they have promise, yet they remain undiscovered countries.

Critics might look at my Pilgrim and note that it is, in fact, “not a real lightsaber.”  As Whitmore correctly notes, science has not yet figured out how to trap that much plasma in a magnetic field of such great magnitude, all powered by a battery that cannot weigh more than a few ounces.  One certainly hopes that by the time we have developed the technical expertise to make such a weapon possible we will have also gained the wisdom and common sense not to do so.

Yet in some ways this misses the point.  Every person I meet in the park where I practice takes one look at what I am doing and immediately asks (in breathless fashion) “Where did you get a real lightsaber!”  No one confuses this object with the much cheaper toys that you can buy at your local Walmart.  Even to the uninitiated it appears as something that is qualitatively different than the “fake” lightsaber that children play with.

As a martial artist I have to agree with them.  A one inch heavy polycarbonate blade is the sort of thing that can hurt you if used without the proper safety gear.  When you have been hit in the head with something so many times that you find yourself pricing out heavier grade HEMA fencing masks, it is hard to think of the object in question as anything other than “real” in the most concrete terms.  Yet how does this ever evolving combination of lightsaber as object and myth effect my development as a martial artist?  What other ideas or identities might be coming along for the ride?

Moro weapons. Vintage Postcard.

Material Culture in Martial Arts Studies

The “salvage Anthropologist” of the early 20^th century loved material culture.  They did not just set out to collect the languages, folklore and life-ways of “primitive people.” They often returned from their expeditions with enough stuff to fill whole museum collections.  The basic idea was to preserve all of this cultural material for posterity before the indigenous peoples of the world inevitably succumbed to ravages of modernity and disappeared forever. (Needless to say that did not come to pass). And then there were the weapons.

Early explorers, missionaries, merchants and anthropologists all seem to have taken a special interest in the collecting and study of ethnographic weapons.  While wealthy gentlemen might pursue this as a hobby, the more academically inclined saw in these artifacts a key to understanding critical elements of other cultures.

This same impulse seems to have been present in earlier incarnations of martial arts studies as a field.  From the obsessive categorization of ancient Japanese swords to the classification of the seemingly limitless varieties of knives (and other bladed weapons) coming out of South East Asia, a fair amount of attention was paid to the material culture of the martial arts.  We were sagely informed by the authors of the time that “the sword was the soul of the Samurai,” and every Nepalese kukri “invoked Shiva.”  If we could get our heads wrapped around these statements then we would be a little bit closer to understanding the societies that called forth these weapons from the vast depths of the human imagination.

In contrast the current martial arts studies literature has had relatively little to say on weapons, or any other aspect of the material culture (uniforms, training gear, architecture, etc…), found in the practice of the modern martial arts.  Students of the Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA) have generally been more attentive to these matters.  Who could forget Daniel Jaquet delivering his keynote in a suit of armor at our last conference?   Yet when looking at current practices there seems to be less interest in these questions.

Given the recent development of the current literature this may be understandable.  In all honesty there are many interesting topics floating around that no one has had an opportunity to discuss.  Yet given the capitalist character of the current global order, this seems like an oversight that needs to be corrected.  Simply put, most of us encounter the martial arts as a series of goods to be consumed provided by either the entertainment, fitness or the self-improvement industries.  If we wish to better understand how the martial arts function in modern society, or what they mean to those who practice them, looking at the material goods that these pursuits inspire would be an obvious place to start.

Archeologists and historians have noted that to a skilled interpreter a medieval European sword is like a book.  It reveals very specific information about the vast network of craftsmen who were necessary to mine, forge, dress and market a single blade.  Both trade and administrative networks are revealed in life histories of individual weapons.  Their embellishments, and in some cases even their basic geometry, can reveal much about the societies that produced and used these weapons.    Material objects do not stand apart from the realm of social values and identity.  They are cultural debates made manifest in steel, wood and leather.

The same is true of the material culture of the martial arts today.  The synthetic training swords of HEMA practitioners, foam foot and hand protectors of TKD students, and the rapid spread of the Wing Chun style wooden training dummy, all have specific stories to tell.  Some of these are technical in nature, others are historical.  For instance, in a previous paper I discussed how the sudden appearance of high quality replica lightsabers as part of an advertising campaign for the prequel movies (episodes I-III) seems to explain the timing of the development of this practice.

Yet there is a rich interplay between the imagined, discursive and physical objects that any society creates.  Martial arts studies is well situated to explore this terrain.  Further, the development of Lightsaber combat suggests that even the most hyper-real of weapons can speak to important puzzles in both the interpretation of texts and the development of new types of physical practice.  All that is necessary is to find the right lens.

Luke receiving his fathers lightsaber in Episode IV: A New Hope (1977).

“Your Fathers Lightsaber”

While few academic studies have taken the lightsaber on as their sole object of interest, the same is not true of the Star Wars film series.  Its momentous following has ensured that students of cultural and film studies have discussed the subject from the late 1970s to the present day.  The movies have been critiqued and interpreted from a number of perspectives, and George Lucas himself has been the subject of a good deal of biographical interest.

A number of scholars have followed the lead of early observers and offered interpretive studies of these films drawing on various mythological and psychological frameworks.  These have been used to explore issues such as “coming of age” narratives, or the many historical resonances (both real and imagined) that can be found within the films.

Other scholars (including Wetmore) have cautioned against of these approaches.  They rightly point out that when we seek “universal” meanings in a film such as this, we often become blind to the sometimes unpleasant forces that emerge as the narrative advances racial, political and sexual values that are very much grounded in a specific time and place (e.g., post-War America).

Zeroing in on the rhetoric of “empire” and “resistance” found throughout the franchise Wetmore applied a post-colonial reading to the saga in his volume The Empire Triumphant: Race, Religion and Rebellion in the Star Wars Film (McFarland & Co, 2005).  As the title implies, this study tackled the appearance of imperialism, sexism, racism and cultural appropriation in these films.

One a certain level none of this new.  A variety of fans and commentators had already noticed that Darth Vader appeared to be the only “black” character in the original film. Worse yet, he seemed to become a Caucasian at the very moment of his redemption/death.  Alternatively, lots of Asian American teenagers have noted that while many Jedi have Asian sounding names, there were no actual Asian Jedi in the films.  In his volume Wetmore systematically explored these issues in an attempt to demonstrate that various approaches to critical theory could offer productive readings of the Star Wars films.

In many respects he accomplished what he set out to do.  Yet his volume probably contributed less to the development of these theoretical approaches than one might like due to the fact that Wetmore was clearly writing for a dual audience of both fans and other scholars.  In some ways I find his shorter paper on the lightsaber to be a more significant and original contribution to both the popular and academic discussions of these films.

Wetmore begins by noting that material objects seems to play an important role in uniting what might otherwise be a sprawling collection of movies.  Indeed, some of them (such as the Millennium Falcon) are more popular than even well-known characters in the series.  Other “objects,” such as R2D2, have even been elevated to the status of principal characters.

No other object is more significant to the series than the lightsaber.  These iconic weapons appear in each of the seven films that have so far been produced.  More importantly, they are consciously used to bridge historical and narrative gaps.  In Episode IV: A New Hope, Luke receives his father’s lightsaber.  Of course it is the very same weapon that we see Obi-Wan picking up off the ground after literally dismembering Anakin Skywalker at the end of Revenge of the Sith.  Wetmore suggests that these moments of recognition, triggered by the repeated appearance of the same material objects both help to define the materiality of the Star Wars universe and are an important mechanism by which viewers make sense of the action, uniting threads of meaning across both the films and the decades.

Wetmore also suggests that we should pay close attention to how and when lightsabers appear on screen.  In fact, the relative abundance (Phantom Menace) or scarcity (A New Hope) of lightsabers gives us an interesting perspective from which to view these films in both a narrative and critical way.  Doing so effectively requires some sort of theoretical framework.

At this point Wetmore turns to the idea of “fetishism” in an attempt to make sense of the importance of reoccurring physical objects both within (and now outside) the Star Wars universe.  This strategy is not without its drawbacks.  As he notes at the start of the exercise, the very concept of the fetish seems to be hopelessly overdetermined and has been used in many different (sometimes contradictory) ways.

Yet rather than imposing another definition upon this concept he takes the preexisting debates and uses it to develop a typology of different approaches, each of which might be useful in resolving some different element of what lightsabers mean on screen.  While there are a great many theories and approaches that might be used to explore material culture within Martial Arts Studies, it might be worth briefly considering what contributions the idea of fetishism can make.  Specifically, how might it help to better illuminate the micro-foundations connecting both the weapon as physical object (subject to history and technique) and the weapon as a mythic symbol (subject to shifting norms and discourses)?

While the origins of the term remain somewhat obscure Wetmore suggests that “fetish” originally emerged as a pidgin term in West Africa used to describe powerful or sacred objects that could not be traded.  From the Portuguese perspective these may have included items that were desirable, but were resistant to normal commerce. A fetish, simply put, was something that could not be “bought.”

Early Anthropologists later generalized this basic notion by extracting it from its imperialist and commercial framework. For them a fetish was seen as a material object (often very ordinary in appearance) that was endowed with supernatural powers or associations.  As such these objects might become an object of worship or group identification (Durkheim).  In other situations a fetish might take on the characteristics of a magical tool that granted great power to the proper user.

Elements of this sort of system can be found in a number of places in both the films and the real world.  Like other sorts of athletes martial artists can be fairly superstitious when it comes to their training tools.  On a deeper level the idea that a Jedi must make her own lightsaber before their training can be considered complete seems to play into both aspects of the anthropological conception.  On the one hand the completion of this task is often discussed in mystical terms.  In the real world the building of a functioning stunt saber is also the last step necessary before being recognized as a “Jedi Knight” (and thus a fully-fledged member of the community) within some groups like the Terra Prime Lightsaber Academy.  As one would expect, it is difficult to disentangle the mythic and ritual meanings of this object.

Sigmund Freud later adopted the idea and elaborated upon it in a 1927 article where he (characteristically) defined the fetish as a substitute for the female penis.  More specifically Wetmore notes that in Freud’s writing:

“It is a substitute for the penis, a protection against castration, and a source of pleasure.  One might also see the fetish as a weapon against the father, who seeks to castrate the son in response to the son’s own murderous oedipal drive.” (177)

Indeed, it is not hard to see the first of these sentences reflected in the sorts of stunt sabers used by martial artists.  After all, in the current era the pursuit of traditional weapons training is mostly seen as a pleasurable leisure activity.  Alternatively one could do worse than the Freudian reading of the lightsaber as a fetish for a one sentence summary of the Luke/Darth Vader story arc.

Returning the concept to its economic roots, Marxism has also developed a concept of the fetish.  In this case it reflects the surplus value of any trade above and beyond its purely utilitarian value.  An object functions as a fetish both due to the prestige it brings the owner and because it creates a group of individuals that have similar possessions.

One might be able to buy six bamboo Shinai (and then paint them any color that you desire) for the price of my lightsaber.  From a purely utilitarian standpoint the Shinai would work just as well for the sort of training that I am doing.  Nor would one ever have to worry about the batteries dying or the electronics coming lose.  And yet I felt like I got a great deal when I bought the more elaborate, delicate and expensive training tool?  The Marxist theory gives us a way to discuss and theorize this paradox.  It also brings economic markets (through which most of us encounter our lightsabers) back into the discussion.

Finally, Amanda Fernbach has suggested that fetishism might also suggest a direct reversal of Freud’s theory.  She sees it as a fundamentally modern phenomenon in which the transformation of the self or the body has become a prominent social goal.  A fetish thus acts as an item that is both transformative and transgressing.  By taking up this object you both transform the self and, by transgressing social standards, create a new identity.

Again, it is not hard to see how this might apply to the world of lightsabers.  These are physical objects that are endowed not just with social meaning, but with strategic purpose.  As I have conducted various interviews over the course of my fieldwork a number of people have noted that they started coming to class because they “wanted to get in shape.”  In short, they had a desire to physically transform the self.  Yet rather than accepting the dominant social image of athleticism, they chose to do so in an environment that self-consciously celebrated geek culture.

Indeed, it is the sort of looks that one occasionally gets from passersby in the mall that reminds you just how transgressive such an activity can be.  Yet sociologists of religions have theorized that it is precisely the “high costs to entry” within a community that may account for the strong bonding that can take place there. The creation of such identities can be very empowering.  As one of my classmates noted, “The CLA is where bad ass nerds are made!”

A participant at a recent Saber Legion tournament. I love what this guy did with his fencing mask. Source: http://imgur.com/gallery/euBjd

“This weapon is your life!”

Fetishism is interesting as it allows us to explore both those areas of the use and appreciation of material objects that are amenable to commerce and markets as well as those that are resistant to it.  Ironically the West African conception of the term remains, in some ways, the most interesting and fruitful.

While there are a staggering number of stunt and replica sabers that can be purchased over the internet, the process by which the physical object becomes a “real” lightsaber is less easily captured.  The reality of the weapon emerges as a nexus between the martial artists, the object, technique, mediated images and the desire to craft a new type of identity (or community).  Indeed, the evolution of the material culture of the lightsaber combat movement suggests that it would probably be a mistake to simply reduce this process to the unintended consequences of a massive advertising campaign.

There are many sources selling replicas of the iconic prop sabers used in the films.  Yet the model that I reviewed at the beginning of this essay does not resemble any of those in size, shape or layout.  It is a good deal smaller and simpler than the lightsabers in the film because it was designed to be used as efficiently as possible as a martial arts training tool.  That goal has nothing to do with the sabers that dominated the silver screen.  Nor did George Lucas intend to spawn a new martial arts movement.  Nevertheless, these sorts of robust “battle ready” designs appear to be a quickly growing segment of the market with both large and specialty producers trying to fill the niche.

The lightsaber that most feels like an extension of myself is “real” not because it corresponds to anything in George Lucas’ universe, but because it best fulfills a practical function in my own training.  The existence of stunt sabers such as this suggests that lightsaber combat exists primarily as a mechanism for creative self-expression through the appropriation and reordering of a commercial mythos.  I doubt that it can be reduced simply to an extension of the consumption of the Star Wars franchise.  While the weapons in questions are hyper-real, the emotions, identities and relationships that they generate are both real and transformative.  Nor can they simply be purchased.

Of course this reimagination of the lightsaber happens within certain limits.  It is the structure and limitations of the story that makes it seem real.  That is probably why I refuse to train with a red blade.
oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to see:  Is Star Wars a Martial Arts Film Franchise?

oOo

Jingwu (Chinwoo) Association Hall in Foshan.

First, the Important Stuff

Is it possible to approach history without theory?  I think not.  It is the existence of some sort of preexisting story or framework of understanding that we carry around in our heads which tells us that some given source is relevant data in the first place.  Nor are these sorts of “common sense” frameworks usually unbiased.  I have always had a preference for making any project’s basic assumptions known.  Then again, my basic training is in the social sciences rather than history, so there may also be disciplinary issues at play.

Theory has two related functions in the production of history.  It is most obvious to the reader when it is used to interpret past events, or to make causal inferences.  On a more fundamental level, theories also direct our empirical research.  As they spin out new concepts or hypothesis they suggest what sorts of data we will need to find to explore or test these ideas.  One of the things that a really good theory does is that it pushes one to look at totally new areas that may not have been previously associated with a subject like the martial arts in the public imagination.  Purely inductive approaches run the risk of reinforcing the researchers existing biases as they just are not as often encouraged to look at these seemingly unrelated literatures for support.

For instance, if the Chinese martial arts are fundamentally a modern phenomenon (as my co-author and I have explored at length here), then their emergence overlaps a number of other important recent developments.  One of the most obvious of these would have to be the emergence of a strong sense of Chinese nationalism.  While nascent trends had been coalescing since the late 19^th century, it was not until the 1911 revolution that modern nationalism became a hegemonic force in Chinese popular culture.

This is an important fact for students of martial arts studies to consider.  It is probably not a coincidence that Ip Man’s own martial arts auto-biography contained an incident with strongly nationalist overtones set during precisely these years. By including the narrative of standing up to an Indian police officer in Hong Kong within his discussion of Wing Chun’s origins, he brought his art into contact with a dominant social force and made it more attractive to his later students in Hong Kong.  They tended to be very sensitive to questions of identity and nationalism.

In a recent article Peter Lorge has put forward the fascinating thesis that the wide scale move from small scale teacher-student relationships (schools) to the emergence of named “styles” (Taijiquan, Bagua, Jingwu) within the TCMA, was also precipitated by early 20^th century nationalism.  This was yet another mechanism by which traditionally local practices could be made universal and unifying as the concept of the national identity became a central organizing thought in Chinese thought.

I would add that on a more granular level it was also a way in which martial arts teachers could exploit improving transportation and publishing markets to reach audiences on a “national scale” for the first time in the history of the martial arts.  Such a feat was just not technically feasible during the Qing dynasty.  Thus the history of the Chinese martial arts reinforces the theoretical observation that growth of national markets in information and discourses of national identity are closely linked.

Still, as Benedict Anderson noted, while nations might be thought of as “imagined communities”, they do not exist in pristine isolation.  Rather, they are defined in relation to both one another and other sorts of identities.  To claim the mantle of nationhood is to forge a unique identity.  Yet it is also to enter a realm of conversation and competition with other socially constructed identities that are in many respects functionally identical to you own.

Anderson discussed at length the ways in which newspapers were critical to forging a sense of shared community and identity.  Yet the literature on public diplomacy, soft power and national branding also suggests that these messages have played an important role in establishing China’s place in the international system when broadcasted to a larger global audience.

Thus, if the Chinese martial arts emerged and functioned as a critical early symbol of national identity, one naturally expects that concerted efforts should have existed to get this message out in an attempt to proactively define the newly emerging Chinese “brand.”  Of course most popular discussions in the West today focused on the supposedly “closed,” “secretive” and excessively “traditional” nature of these fighting systems.  “Everyone knows” that there were no serious efforts to spread knowledge about these martial arts prior to the 1960s.

Yet is that really the case?  Or have we simply been deceived by that subconscious mental map of martial arts history that most of us carry in our heads?  If we were to follow the suggestions of the public diplomacy literature and take a closer look at the sorts of English language messages coming from both the Chinese government and civic elites during the 1920s, 1930s and the 1940s, what would we actually find?  In short, the real question for students of martial arts studies might not be why did we have to wait for the 1970s for knowledge of Kung Fu to spread.  Rather, why in the 1970s did we in the West suddenly start to pay attention?

A rainy day at the Ancestral Temple in Foshan. In the distance the old neighborhood behind the temple was being demolished to make way for a new urban development project. Ironically the new neighborhood was designed to “look traditional” and capitalize on the area’s important “history.” Source: Whitney Clayton.

Now the Fun Stuff

Over the following months I hope to address both the theoretical and the empirical side of this discussion as my research progresses.  Earlier this afternoon I reviewed a number of newspaper articles (ranging in date from the late Qing to the 1930s) that touched on the complex ways in which the martial arts have been used to explain the Chinese nation to the outside world at the same time that they were being internally coopted into debates over the multiple possible ways in which Chinese modernity might evolve.

Readers will no doubt be relieved to learn that I am not going to subject them to those pieces (at least not yet).  Yet I also came across two notices that I thought might be even more interesting to those who follow Kung Fu Tea.  While brief they speak directly to the nature of the Southern Chinese martial arts in Foshan and Guangzhou on the eve of the 1920s.  They also suggest a certain level of awareness of the local hand combat scene on the part of foreign (English language reading) residents in the area.

A quick note regarding the source might also be helpful.  While there were multiple efforts to establish an English language newspaper in Guangzhou during the 1910s and 1920s most of them never really got off the ground.  It was too difficult to navigate both the commercial and political environment.  The close proximity of Hong Kong suggested that it was often easier to print things in the British territory (without the creative input of Chinese censors) and distribute them throughout the region via the Pearl River.

The Canton Times, if relatively short lived, was more successful.  It was founded in 1918 but I have not yet been able to establish what year it ceased production.  While this newspaper was published in English it was owned by a Chinese firm, had its offices in Guangzhou and its editors were all Chinese.  The Times catered to a dual audience.  Obviously it served the needs of English speaking residents.  But it also had a notable readership among Republican minded Chinese citizens.  In fact, there are rumors that the paper’s political articles occasionally caused trouble.

In The Journalism of China (University of Minnesota Bulletin Volume 23 Number 34, 1922) Don D. Patterson reports that the paper had a daily circulation of 1,000 copies.  By way of comparison the South China Morning Post had a circulation of 1,500 issues at the same time, and the now more widely regarded North China Herald only had 500 daily subscribers (page 70).  Most university library catalogs that I have consulted only have digital copies of this paper for the years 1919-1920, yet Patterson seems to indicate that it was still up and running in 1922.

Our first point of interest was the leading item in the “General News” section for September 9^th, 1919 (page 7).

General News

National boxing is very popular in Fatshan city.  It is reported that there are some eight national boxing schools which are directed by well-known national boxers.  School fees are only from two to three dollars a month.

While brief there are a few items of note here.  The first is that the term “National Boxing” is being used here.  When reading later articles I had always assumed that this usage was a reference to the Guoshu label, but apparently it came into general usage earlier as a way to quickly distinguish Chinese and Western boxing traditions.  Notice, however, that this usage conforms to our prior observation about the importance of issues like nationalism and global communication in the development of the early image of the Chinese martial arts.

It is also fascinating to receive another source of independent confirmation regarding the vitality of Foshan’s martial arts marketplace.  Readers should also note that this account takes place just prior to the explosion of activity that will erupt during the early 1920s.  That is when the Jingwu Association opened their branch in Foshan.

That brings us to our second story.  The first Guangdong branch of the Jingwu Association was established in April of 1919.  Our second news item, profiling one of the instructors, appeared in October of that same year.

Wong Chuen Sun. Source: The China Daily, 1919.

A National Boxing Expert

 

Mr. Wong Chuen Sun, an instructor in the Canton Ching Wu Athletic Association, an organization promoting [the] national art of boxing, is very popular among his students.  He teaches boxing as a means of promoting physical development, he says.  When one is used to this form of daily exercise, according to Mr. Wong, he has to keep his whole body always in good condition; any inconsistent living on the part of the student, he will surely be found out by the others associating with him.  In a word, one’s sin can be easily observed by a physical training instructor.  Mr. Wong is noted for his art in exhibiting the iron whip, cross arm, and other old weapons of war.  As a business man, Mr. Wong is connected with the Ye Woo Co., Chinese curios, porcelain, jade and old bronze wares shop, at 7, Sung Sing Street, Canton.

The Canton Times, Oct 22, 1919, page 8.

While brief this news item also provides us with a few new glimpses into the organization’s local chapter.  To begin with, Wong Chuen Sun is not one of the early instructors in Guangzhou that I was already familiar with.  (Though it may be possible that he is better known under a different name.)

Second, in keeping with Jingwu’s mission, Wong is portrayed more as a modern athlete than the keeper of an ancient esoteric tradition.  While the article notes his expertise in traditional weapons, it is clearly focused more focused on the idea of an exercise and conditioning regime well suited to the new middle class.

This is evident in other ways as well.  While we tend to imagine the martial arts masters of the 1920s as being very traditional in dress and bearing, Wong is shown wearing a dapper western suit.  Nor is he apparently a full time martial arts instructor.  Like his students he has a day job, either as an investor in, or as an employee of, a local fine arts company.

Of course the most interesting thing about this article is that we are reading it at all.  It is important to note that within months of establishing itself in the area the local Jingwu branch was reaching out and making connections with English language publications.  Nor is this a fluke.  Rather, as my growing database of articles attests, it appears to have been part of a disciplined and well developed public relations campaign.  Yet it is clear that the bulk of Jingwu’s membership would be subscribing to these papers.

When we approach articles like this through the lens of the emerging national discourse this paradox begins to come into focus.  The promotion of a certain view of modern China abroad was likely always a core goal of certain martial arts reformers.  This was a core, rather than a secondary, consideration.  After all, what is the point of curing the diseases that afflict the body politic if you do not then go on to both inform and demonstrate to a global audience that you are no longer “the sick man of East Asia?”  Only when we accept the essentially modern nature of the Chinese martial arts do its domestic and political implications become clear.

 
oOo
If you enjoyed this you might also want to read: The Invisibility of Kung Fu: Two Accounts of the Traditional Chinese Martial Arts
oOo

A Community Cantonese Opera Performance in San Francisco, circa 1900.

***Happy Thanksgiving!  This is a day when we commemorate the initial act of European immigration to North America.  From that point onward the flow of people and ideas across our borders has never really stopped.  As such, it is impossible to appreciate the global spread of the traditional Asian martial arts without studying the history of immigration.  During the late 19th and early 20th century this was a topic that dominated national discussions, much as it does today.  Those debates culminated in the passage of landmark pieces of legislation that essentially cut off all legal immigration from large parts of the world (including China, Japan and the Philippines).  Yet it was immigrants from around the world that laid the foundation of the traditional martial arts in North America.  Joseph Svinth has kindly agreed to share an essay (found in a slightly different form here) which provides a broad overview of many of these issues. His guest post is also the first in a short occasional series examining the immigrant experience within the martial arts community.***

Asian Martial Arts in the United States and Canada

Asians began immigrating to the North American mainland soon after the discovery of gold in California in January 1848, and they began settling in what was then the Kingdom of Hawaii in 1885. These immigrants brought both traditional and modern martial arts and combative sports with them.

Between 1848 and 1923, these immigrants came in waves based on ethnicity. In succession, these were Chinese, then Japanese, South Asians, and Filipinos. By the 1920s, series of discriminatory laws stopped Asian immigration into North America, but by then, large numbers of Asian children were being born in North America and the Territory of Hawaii. Consequently, by the 1940s, civil rights became an issue for native-born people of Asian ancestry, and by the mid-1960s, the legal basis for direct discrimination had ended in the USA and Canada.

From 1848 to 1968, the Asian martial arts taught and practiced in the USA and Canada generally fit into one of the following categories. 1. Professional activities. This includes working in circuses, working as professional boxers or wrestlers, doing stunt work in film, and so on. 2. Cultural nationalism/Festival arts. These are arts presented during events designed to promote a specific ethnicity or culture: e.g., lion dancing during a Chinese New Year festival, or kendo exhibitions during a Bon festival. 3. Group cohesion. Cultural nationalism and festival also built group cohesion, but in the group cohesion category, the association was not necessarily ethnic, and the occasion was not necessarily festive. For instance, labor unions organized wrestling matches, while community newspapers organized sumo and judo tournaments. The purpose of the former was sometimes to promote work slowdowns, and the purpose of the latter was always to sell newspapers and advertising. 4. Building character in youth. Venues varied, but an example would be teaching at a YMCA or church. Teachers did not get paid much, but they enjoyed working with young people. 5. Prowess and social recognition. In the bachelor subculture of the early days, young men went out back to fight, thereby determining status or settling grudges. In the subsequent family subculture, this same urge was sublimated using refereed sports such as judo and boxing.

Although all the foregoing motivations are still seen in the martial arts done in the USA and Canada, additional motivations began developing after 1900. These new motivations were not driven from within the existing Asian martial art community. Instead, they were driven by external players – governments, businesses (to include the publishing and film industries), and so on. 1. Preparation for future military service. From the early 1900s until the early 1970s, the US government encouraged teenaged youths to participate in martial arts and combative sports in preparation for future military service. Since the end of the draft in 1973, this emphasis has declined. 2. Feminism. Few North American women undertook systematic training in unarmed martial arts before World War II. Thus, in June 1937, it made national news when two European American women from Los Angeles (Grace B. Logan, 1886-1974, and Annabel Pritchett, 1899- ?), went to Japan, specifically to learn judo. Then, during World War II, the US military began providing rudimentary judo training to female soldiers, and afterwards, martial art training came to be seen as useful for nurses, college coeds, and female factory workers. 3. International sport. Judo became a permanent Olympic sport in 1972 and taekwondo became a permanent Olympic sport in 2000. Making this happen resulted in enormous changes in the pedagogy, practice, and, in some cases, rituals of both judo and taekwondo. It also led to some bitter fighting (and the loss of many friendships) over issues such as who got to authorize promotions and sanction tournaments. 4. Commodification of leisure. During the late 1950s, storefront martial art clubs sprang up across North America. To give an example, Jerome Mackey’s Judo, Inc., incorporated in New York in 1958. Soon, this was the largest storefront chain in New York Metro. One paid for classes in advance; according an advertisement in the Village Voice (January 28, 1971, column 2, 40), the cost was $625 for 273 lessons. In 1973, Judo, Inc. folded, due to stock fraud (543 F2d 1042 United States v. E Corr III, 1976). In storefront martial art clubs, books, uniforms, rank, photos, pride – everything had a price. 5. New Age Spirituality. Mysticism, the occult, and the array of practices known as New Age were popular in North America during the late twentieth century, and sometimes, yoga, theosophy, meditation, and Asian martial arts ran together. As “non-violent” martial arts, taijiquan and aikido were especially susceptible to this tendency. 6. Mass marketing, often using lurid advertising. To this day, relatively few traditional martial art clubs in the USA and Canada advertise much. In commercial clubs, hardly anyone is so reticent, and the martial art club advertisements seen in twentieth century North American comic books were especially colorful — in one classic series, Chicago’s Count Dante (born John Keehan, 1939-1975) advertised himself as the deadliest man alive. After the 1950s, television and print ads for non-martial businesses frequently featured martial art scenes. Sumo was used to advertise banks and computer giants; karate was used to advertise sales at department stores; kendo was used to advertise Canadian whisky. This commercial usage was hardly unique to North America. Japanese merchants were using woodblock prints of martial art scenes to hawk wares during the eighteenth century, and cigarette cards featuring martial art techniques appeared in China during the early twentieth century. But again, this was not something driven from within the Asian martial art community within the United States and Canada.

From the mid-1960s on, the commoditized martial arts hit North America in waves; as the popularity of one art waned, a new art was found to replace it.

During the 1940s and 1950s, the Asian martial art one was most likely to find in the USA and Canada was judo, usually taught by a Japanese American or a former serviceman. Then, in 1959, singer Elvis Presley (1935-1977) began doing karate while serving in the US Army in Germany. Within a year, Presley was awarded a black belt, and suddenly karate was the rage.

In 1964, Presley’s kenpo karate teacher Ed Parker (1931-1990) introduced Bruce Lee (Li Zhenfan, 1940-1973) to Parker’s friends in Hollywood, and after that, Lee and his Jeet Kune Do took off: Green Hornet (ABC, 1966-1967), Longstreet (ABC, 1971-1972), The Big Boss (Golden Harvest, 1971).

In 1971, Billy Jack (Warner Brothers, 1971) brought the Korean martial art of hapkido to the forefront. Several years later, in Kentucky Fried Movie (independent production, 1977), Bong Soo Han (Han Pong-su, 1933-2007), said, on screen, in Korean: “Oh, the many pathetic things I have to endure to make movies in America! Not just once or twice, either. Please excuse me, Korean fans” (Chung, 2006, 55-56). Korean-speaking audiences howled, but in English, no one was listening.

In 1973, the television show Kung Fu (ABC, 1972-1975) popularized Shaolin boxing, at least as imagined by Hollywood, and after the movie Enter the Dragon (Golden Harvest, 1973) appeared, Bruce Lee was on the cover of all the martial art magazines. Carlos “Chuck” Norris (1940- ) and Bill “Superfoot” Wallace (1945- ) were popular, too. Norris started training in judo and tangsudo while serving in the US Air Force. Afterwards, he operated a chain of karate schools and acted in movies and television. Wallace also started training in judo and karate while serving in the US Air Force. Following his discharge, he became a professional kickboxer. He was acquainted with Elvis Presley, and was an on-air commentator for the first Ultimate Fighting Championship in 1993.

If karate, Jeet Kune Do, hapkido, and Shaolin were too violent for the buyer’s tastes, there was always aikido or taijiquan. Political activist Joan Baez (1941- ) once told syndicated columnist Mary McGrory (Toledo Blade, July 2, 1979, 12) that she, Baez, could “handle the hostility coming at her from all sides because she’s studying aikido, the Japanese non-violent martial art.”

During the late 1960s, Hatsumi Masaaki (1931- ) organized the Bujinkan ninpo organization in Japan, and by the late 1970s, foreign students such as Stephen K. Hayes (1949- ) had brought Bujinkan budo taijutsu (martial way body techniques) to North America. Most of these North American instructors were technically proficient and well-intentioned. Then, in 1980, fantasy writer Eric van Lustbader (1946- ) began publishing novels about ninjas. In 1984, the first comic book featuring Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles appeared. This was followed by comic books, action figures, two animated television series, a live television series, twenty separate video games, and four Hollywood movies. Meanwhile, the pseudonymous Ashida Kim published Ninja, Hands of Death (1985). North American ninpo would take decades to recover.

Brazilian jiu-jitsu and capoeira; Filipino arnis; Indonesian silat: wave after wave of “new” crashed into North America. The advertising moved beyond death touch; now all it took to develop secret powers was watching a video or DVD. “Fear no man!” screamed the internet advertisement for Captain Chris’s Close Combat Training, adding: “WARNING: Do No Read This If You Have Moral, Ethical Or Religious Reasons Against Hurting (Or Even Killing) Someone Who Violently Attacks You, Your Wife, Or Your Kids” (http://www.closecombattraining.com/cctraining/start.php?gclid=CMmpi8Sor5wCFSYoawodR1iUjw, downloaded August 19, 2009).

The developments of the years 1953 to present are discussed in detail elsewhere. Consequently, they do not need to be discussed in detail here. Instead, the following is intended to provide readers with a brief introduction to the history and development of Asian martial arts in North America before Hollywood got hold of them.

Kendo Club at the Brigham City Mine, UT. Photo was taken 1916.

Immigrants, 1848-1924

Asian immigration to North America started during 1848-1849, following the discovery of gold in California. Most of the early immigrants were young men from Guangdong Province and Hong Kong. Until the 1910s, most of these men lived a male bachelor subculture, meaning communities in which men “measured manliness by skill at wenching, drinking, gambling, and fighting”; they shared jokes and drinks, and made “temporary acquaintanceships but not necessarily life-long friendships” (Riess, 1991, 23). Large-scale Chinese immigration into North America ended with the enactment of the USA’s Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 and Canada’s Chinese Immigration Act of 1885.

North America’s second wave of Asian immigration came from the Empire of Japan. This wave lasted from 1885 to 1907. From a cultural standpoint, immigrants from the Empire of Japan included Japanese, Koreans, and Okinawans. Like other Asian pioneers, Imperial Japanese immigrants originally lived in a bachelor subculture.

North America’s third wave of Asian immigration came from the Punjab, in the northwest corner of British India. Most of these British Indian immigrants were Urdu-speaking Jatts, and from a religious standpoint, many of them were Sikh. Nonetheless, they were almost universally known in the US and Canada as “Hindoos”. Jatt immigration into North America lasted from 1897 to 1915. Although a few Jatt men circumvented miscegenation laws by living with Mexican or African American women, most Jatt immigrants lived in a bachelor subculture.

The final wave of Asian immigration came from the Philippines. Filipino immigration started shortly after the US victory in the Filipino-American War of 1898-1902, and ended in 1934 with the enactment of a law (the Tydings-Mcduffie Act) that effectively stopped Filipino immigration into the USA. Filipino immigrants also had a bachelor subculture.

During the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905, the Japanese martial arts received extensive mainstream exposure. In 1904-1905, H. Irving Hancock (1868-1922) published books on judo that were reviewed in New York Times, and US President Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919) trained in Kodokan judo at the White House. In British Columbia, the Vancouver Daily Province of January 4, 1905 mentioned a sumo tournament staged in the park in front of City Hall; its grand champion, Matty Matsuda (Matsuda Manjiro, 1887-1929), went on to become a well-known American professional wrestler. And, in New York, during the winter of 1905-1906, industrialist E.H. Harriman (1848-1909) organized a gala visit by top judo and kendo experts; this was all part of a war bond tour that Harriman’s banks were underwriting for the Japanese government.

From the 1860s to the 1930s, jujutsu, sumo, and kendo were featured in circus and vaudeville acts. The following describes a show staged at Madison Square Garden in August 1902. For the price of 50 cents, visitors were promised to see geisha girls, Japanese street scenes, and “fencers and jujitsu wrestlers” (“Broadway Theatres,” 1902). Barnum and Bailey’s circus visited Atlanta, Georgia in October 1913. Said the Atlanta Constitution (October 26, 1913, 32): “The mikado’s jiu jitsu experts will show how even a frail woman trained in the art of Japanese scientific defense may easily overcome an assailant and slap-bang wrestling combats will be indulged in by the bulky wrestlers (shuma [sumo] men) who compose a part of the troupe.” In Syracuse, New York, the Syracuse Herald noted (November 3, 1922, 14): “Prof. Kitose Nakae [Nakae Kiyose, 1883-1962], champion jiu jitsu artist of Japan appearing at Keith’s [vaudeville theater] this week, exhibited his skill before the entire squad of [Syracuse] policemen… Using an unloaded revolver, several of the policemen attempted to pull the trigger of the gun before [Nakae] could either twist it so that the bullet would be sent in an opposite direction or to wrest the gun from their hands.”

There were Asian professional wrestlers and boxers, too. The professional wrestlers were usually Japanese. For example, Sorakichi Matsuda (Matsuda Kojiro, ca. 1858-1891) came to the USA in 1883. He was originally a circus performer, but he decided to take up professional wrestling instead. Matsuda’s promoter was William Muldoon (1852-1933), who also trained boxer John L. Sullivan (1858-1918), and his opponents ranged from the reigning champion Evan “Strangler” Lewis (1860-1919) to Lulu, the “the piney and pork fed female Samson from Georgia” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 8, 1884, 2). Other notable Japanese American wrestlers of the early days include Tokugoro Ito (Ito Tokugoro, 1880-1939), Taro Miyake (Miyake Taruji, ca. 1881-1935), and Matty Matsuda (Matsuda Manjiro, 1887-1929).

Chinese Americans were more likely to be boxers than wrestlers. On February 27, 1890, Ah Giang and Foo Jung had a four-round fight with feet and fists in Mott Street, in New York City. From the American perspective (“Chinese Sluggers, 1890), “The idea on the part of the contestants seemed to be to avoid as much as possible hitting each other. Every once in a while they would forget themselves and land a slap on the other fellow’s face or neck or body.” Ah Giang worked as an actor (a female impersonator, actually) for the Soen Tien Lok theatrical company. Ah Wing (died 1917) boxed bantamweight in California and Oregon during the early 1900s.

During the early 1900s, sumo, kushti (Indian wrestling), and comparable ethnic arts were often seen during labor holidays. Wrestling during labor holidays was not unique to Asians, of course; Finns, Swedes, and Germans also wrestled during labor holidays. In most cases, this was essentially recreational competition. For instance, during 1913, “Hindoo” (actually, in this case, Sikh) wrestlers were active in Oregon. These men worked at an Astoria lumber mill, and were reportedly very good at real (as opposed to show) wrestling. Other times, the wrestling was directly related to union activities. During May 1904, Sen Katayama (Yabuki Sugataro, 1859-1933) gave a judo demonstration during an American Socialist Party convention in Chicago, and during 1909, labor organizers on Oahu organized sumo tournaments to coincide with planned sugar plantation strikes.

Rafu Dojo team at the Southern California Judo Tournament, April 1940. Collection of Yukio Nakamura. Source: http://www.discovernikkei.org/en/journal/2014/5/2/more-than-a-game-2

Raised in North America, 1924-1941

The second period starts with the passage of the Immigration Act of 1924 (43 Statutes-at-Large 153). This US law entirely excluded immigration of Asians, and placed severe limitations on the immigration of Jews. This law was backed by trade unionists, who viewed new immigrants as unfair competition. Canada had similar laws. Draconian as these laws were, it was too little, too late. During the preceding two decades, mail-order wives (“picture brides”) had caused the decline of the bachelor subculture in all Asian American and Canadian communities except the Jatt. “Picture brides” describes arranged marriages – the bride and groom exchanged photos, and agreed to be married. Arranged marriages were hardly unique to Asians in America; many other immigrants did this, too. In any case, the arrival of young Asian wives soon led to the establishment of community-based athletic clubs catering to the interests of native-born youth. Most early athletic clubs were organized along ethnic lines, but there were a few interracial examples. The Nuuanu YMCA, which opened in Honolulu in April 1918, is an example of an early interracial athletic club.

During World War I, judo and jujutsu were taught in some US Army camps. The instructors included European, Canadian, and American men who had trained in Japan, and been graded in judo and jujutsu. In these programs, the traditional arts were extensively modified to meet wartime needs. After the war ended in 1918, these modified martial arts also passed into police training programs, where they were further modified. For more on these developments and modifications, see “Military Unarmed Fighting Systems in the United States” and “Police Defensive Tactics Training in the United States,” elsewhere in this volume.

During the 1920s and 1930s, circus and professional wrestling acts remained as popular (and nationalistic) as ever. In those days, Japanese American professional wrestlers were rarely presented as treacherous villains (heels). Instead, they were billed as clean-living, skilled wrestlers (babyfaces) who were too small to beat big, mean American heavyweights like Man Mountain Dean (Frank Leavitt, 1891-1953). Japanese American wrestlers who fit this stereotype included Rubberman Higami (Higami Tsutao, 1896-1972), Kaimon Kudo (1906-1993), and Don Sugai (1913-1952). American and Canadian wrestlers in turn donned jackets and learned judo tricks. A popular North American wrestler of the 1930s and 1940s was the Canadian, Judo Jack Terry (Charles Van Audenarde, 1914-1978).

There were still some Hindoo wrestlers, and in 1937, Prince Bhu Pinder (Ranjit Singh, 1912- ) participated in some of the first mud wrestling contests in the USA. The promoter, Paul Boesch (1912-1989), had used too much water to settle the dirt used to cover the ring for a Hindoo match, and the crowds loved it.

Chinese American youths of the 1920s and 1930s continued to box rather than wrestle. The chief reason was that boxing promoters paid five dollars for three rounds, a sum that represented a day’s wage for a skilled laborer during the 1930s. The best of these Chinese American boxers, David Kui Kong Young (1916- ), was world-class.

As a group, Filipino American men loved boxing. Americans introduced professional boxing into Manila around 1909, and in 1923, Francisco Guilledo (1901-1925), a Filipino who fought under the name Pancho Villa became the world flyweight champion. Other famous Filipino American boxers of the 1920s and 1930s include Small Montana (Benjamin Gan, 1913-1976, US flyweight champion in 1935) and Ceferino Garcia (1912-1981, world middleweight champion in 1939).

There were a handful of second generation boxers of Korean American descent, and at least one professional wrestler of Okinawan descent. These men were mostly from the Territory of Hawaii. Examples of Korean American professional boxers include Walter Cho (1911-1985) and Philip “Wildcat” Kim (1926-1958). Examples of professional wrestlers of Okinawan descent include Oki Shikina (1904-1983).

During the 1930s, sumo developed into a popular spectator sport in the Territory of Hawaii and parts of California. By this time, non-Japanese sometimes did sumo, too. For example, the winners of a sumo tournament held in Seattle in 1930 included the starting center of the University of Washington football team. For participatory sports, Japanese parents generally preferred that their children learn judo or kendo. By 1940, there were dozens of judo and kendo clubs in the Territory of Hawaii, the states of Washington, Oregon, California, and Utah, and the province of British Columbia. Here, the word “children” is intentional. Schoolgirls in the Territory of Hawaii received training in Danzan Ryu jujutsu during the 1920s, and between 1936 and 1941, some Japanese American schoolgirls living in British Columbia and the western United States trained in kendo.

Community-based karate clubs began appearing in the Territory of Hawaii during the late 1920s and early 1930s. By this time, Hawaiian martial art classes were about as multi-ethnic as the organization that hosted the club. In this context, it is worth noting that many of the post-WWII pioneers of Danzan Ryu jujutsu, to include Raymond Law (1899-1969), Richard Rickerts (1906-1998), and Siegfried “Sig” Kufferath (1911-1999), trained in Honolulu under Seishiro Henry Okazaki (1890-1951). During the 1930s, Los Angeles had two racially integrated clubs (Seinan [Southwestern] and Uyemachi [Uptown]). There were also Kodokan judo clubs in Chicago, New York City, and Charleston, West Virginia, and at Harvard University. These integrated clubs remained open during World War II, but after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the Harvard club did change its name from “Judo Club” to “Liberty Scientific Self-Defense Association” (“Work,” 1941).

There were not as many community-based clubs providing Chinese martial art instruction. Partly this was because Chinese American parents tended to associate Chinese martial arts with Chinese gamblers, gang violence, and protection rackets (what the press called tong wars), and mostly it was because there were few qualified instructors of traditional Chinese martial arts in North America. When qualified instructors who were not gamblers or thugs offered classes, then parents would reconsider. For instance, in 1922, Ark Yuey Wong (Wong Ark-Yuey, 1901-1987) started teaching southern Shaolin in California, and within a few years, Wong’s students were giving public exhibitions during local cultural festivals. The Hon Hsing Athletic Club of Vancouver, British Columbia, started offering instruction in a Shaolin style in 1940, and in 1941, Choy Hak-Peng began teaching Yang-style taijiquan in a Chinese neighborhood of New York City. In the wider community, Chinese students attending universities sometimes offered demonstrations or classes. For example, the University of Illinois Daily Illini of January 11, 1917 (column 1, 3) remarked that a group of Chinese exchange students planned to give “an exhibition of Oriental boxing which is quite different from the American [boxing] and from the Japanese Jiujitsu.”

Bruce Lee’s first apearance (of many) on the cover of Black Belt Magazine. October, 1967.

World War II, Desegregation, and Civil Rights, 1941-1968

The third period starts with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. Within hours, the US military put the Territory of Hawaii under martial law, and on the mainland, it began taking steps toward forcibly relocating 120,000 Japanese Americans into internment camps and relocation centers. The Canadians enacted similar policies, and during 1942, about 21,000 Japanese Canadians were relocated or interned. Judo was widely practiced in these wartime relocation centers and internment camps, and at the relocation center at Heart Mountain, Wyoming, there were even judo classes for high school girls. Sumo and kendo were also done in the relocation centers, but not as universally as judo.

After World War II ended in August 1945, 145,000 people of Japanese ancestry wanted to return home, and Hawaiians of all races were unhappy about having been kept under martial law for nearly three years. Throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s, Americans and Canadians of Asian ancestry waged a long series of court battles. They won more significant decisions than they lost, and by 1959, Hawaii was a state and on the mainland, Americans and Canadians of Asian ancestry had achieved the right to vote, move, own property, and marry as they liked.

In 1948, separate political exigencies led to the desegregation of the US military. This is relevant to the history of Asian martial arts in North America because from 1949 to 1968, the US military was a major patron of judo, karate, and taekwondo, and, to a lesser extent, it also patronized Tomiki aikido and hapkido. To give an idea how multicultural this draft-era military patronage was, note that the four-man US Olympic judo team of 1964 included a Japanese American, an African American, a Cheyenne Indian, and a Jew — and three of those four men had served in the US Air Force. As for how important the US military patronage was, consider this. In 1954, the Air Force’s Strategic Air Command (SAC) organized a judo society that was recognized by the Kodokan. Other Air Force commands wanted to participate in SAC training, tournaments, and promotions, so in 1959, the SAC Judo Society became the Air Force Judo Association. Other branches of the service had judo teams, too, so in 1962, the Air Force Judo Association became the Armed Forces Judo Association. In 1968, the Armed Forces Judo Association reorganized to become the United States Judo Association (USJA). In 1969, USJA reorganized yet again, and today, USJA is one of three national level judo sanctioning bodies in the USA. (The other two are US Judo Federation, which was historically associated with Japanese American leadership, and USA Judo, which is the only US judo association recognized by the International Olympic Committee.)

During the 1950s, Japanese American wrestlers such as Harold Sakata (1920-1982) and Robert “Kinji” Shibuya (1922- ) became notorious heels: sneak attacks were their specialty. During the same decade, Sakata helped pioneer pro wrestling in Japan, and during the 1960s and 1970s, both Sakata and Shibuya appeared in films and television series: Sakata was Oddjob in the James Bond movie Goldfinger (Eon Productions, 1964), while Shibuya played assorted villains in the ABC television series Kung Fu. The Japanese American Citizens League was outraged, saying that the wrestlers’ portrayals were insulting, but the wrestlers made money and had fun.

Although arnis is the martial art that non-Filipinos today associate with Filipinos, Filipino American men are more likely to view boxing as the Filipino American combative sport (Bacho, 1997). Mid-century Filipino American boxing heroes include the brothers Bernard (1927-2009) and Max (1928- ) Docusen. The Docusens were from New Orleans, Louisiana. They had a Filipino father and a Creole mother, and they were among the best middleweight boxers of the late 1940s. As “colored” fighters, Louisiana law prohibited them from engaging in professional boxing contests with white men. To get around this, a Louisiana judge simply changed the Docusens’ legal status to “half-white” (Chicago Tribune, March 31, 1949, B2, Part 4).

Finally, during the late 1950s, non-Asian practitioners such as Donn Draeger (1922-1982) and Robert W. Smith (1926- ) began the daunting task of explaining traditional Asian martial arts to North American readers. That task remains unfinished.

References

Bacho, Peter. 1997. Dark Blue Suit and Other Stories. Seattle: University of Washington Press.

British Pathe. 1937. Wrestling in the Mud in San Francisco (video), BritishPathe.com, October 18, Cannister ID 37/83, Film ID: 939.49.

“Broadway Theatres are Ready for New Season.” 1902. New York Times, August 24, 9.

Brousse, Michel and David Matsumoto. 2005. Judo in the U.S.: A Century of Dedication. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books/US Judo Federation.

“Chinese Sluggers.” 1890. Salt Lake Tribune, March 1, 1.

Corcoran, John and Emil Farkas. 1988. Martial Arts: Traditions: History, People. New York: Gallery Books.

Chung, Hye Seung. 2006. Hollywood Asian: Philip Ahn and the Politics of Cross-Ethnic Performance. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Draeger, Donn and Robert W. Smith. 1969. Asian Fighting Arts. Tokyo: Kodansha International.

Gillis, Alex. 2008. A Killing Art: The Untold Story of Tae Kwon Do. Toronto: ECW Press.

Goodin, Charles. 2008. “Hawaii Karate Seinenkai,” http://seinenkai.com, downloaded June 29, 2008.

Hewitt, Mark S. 2005. Catch Wrestling: A Wild and Wooly Look at the Early Days of Pro Wrestling in America. Boulder, CO: Paladin Press.

Leyshon, Glynn A. 1998. Judoka: The History of Judo in Canada. Gloucester, Ontario: Judo Canada.

Niiya, Brian, editor. 2000. More than a Game: Sport in the Japanese American Community Los Angeles: Japanese American National Museum.

Paciotti, Brian. 2005. “Homicide in Seattle’s Chinatown, 1900-1940: Evaluating the Influence of Social Organizations,” Homicide Studies 9:3, 229-255.

Paterson, Shane. 1995. “Elvis and the Martial Arts,” http://members.tripod.com/beyondthereef__1/tigerman.html, downloaded August 17, 2009.

Riess, Steven A. 1991. City Games: The Evolution of American Urban Society and the Rise of Sports. Urbana: University of Illinois.

Sibia, T.S. 2009. “Pioneer Asian Indian Immigration to the Pacific Coast,” http://www.sikhpioneers.org/chrono.html, downloaded August 15, 2009.

Svinth, Joseph R. 2002. “A Celebration of Tradition and Community: Sumo in the Pacific Northwest, 1905-1943,” Journal of Combative Sport, http://ejmas.com/jcs/jcsart_svinth_0202.htm, downloaded June 29, 2008.

Svinth, Joseph R. 2003.  Getting a Grip: Judo in the Nikkei Communities of the Pacific Northwest 1900-1950. Guelph, Ontario: EJMAS.

Svinth, Joseph R. 2003. “Kendo in North America, 1885-1955,” in Martial Arts in the Modern World, edited by Thomas A. Green and Joseph R. Svinth, 149-166. Westport, CT: Praeger.

Svinth, Joseph R. 2003. “Western Boxing in Hawaii: The Bootleg Era,” Journal of Combative Sport, http://ejmas.com/jcs/jcsart_svinthetal_0303.htm, downloaded June 29, 2008.

Uchima, Ansho Mas and Kobayashi, Larry Akira. 2006. Fighting Spirit: Judo in Southern California, 1930-1941. Pasadena, CA: Midori Books.

“Work of Judo Club to Continue Rest of Year,” Harvard Crimson, December 18, 1941, http://www.thecrimson.com/article.aspx?ref=196663, downloaded October 4, 2009.

Bernard the Kung Fu Elf, training for a spot on the elite North Pole Alpine Search and Rescue team. (Source: late 1940s Swedish Postcard, Authors personal collection.)

Its That Time of Year Again!

Welcome to Kung Fu Tea’s fifth annual holiday shopping list!  These are always some of my favorite posts to pull together.  They also serve as a great reminder to continue to make time for martial arts practice and study during the festive seasons.  In fact, training can be a great way to deal with the various sorts of stress that the holidays unintentionally bring.  And Christmas is a great excuse to stock up on that gear that you have been needing all year.

This year’s shopping list is split into four categories: books, weapons (some sharp), training equipment, and items of cultural interest. I have tried to select items at a variety of price points for each category. Some of the gift ideas are quite reasonable while others are admittedly aspirational. After all, Christmas is a time for dreams, so why not dream big!

Given the emphasis of this blog, most of these ideas pertain to the Chinese martial arts, but I do try to branch out in places. I have also put at least one Wing Chun item in each category. Nevertheless, with a little work many of these ideas could be adapted to fit the interests of just about any martial artist.

As a disclaimer I should point out that I have no financial relationship with any of the firms listed below (except for the part where I plug my own book). This is simply a list of gift ideas that I thought were interesting. It is not an endorsement or a formal product review. Lastly, I would like to thank my friend Bernard the “Kung Fu Elf” (see above) for helping me to brainstorm this list.

WSL Ving Tsun Kuen Hok: An Overview in the Form of Essays. Source: http://www.everythingwingchun.com

Books to Feed Your Head

If you are browsing this list for gift ideas for others, I would start with the books.  They are always the right size, they cover an infinite variety of topics and they never cause uncomfortable questions in an airport security line (unlike some of the other items below).

1. WSL Ving Tsun Kuen Hok: An Overview in the Form of Essays by David Peterson

If you are looking for a discussion of old school Hong Kong Wing Chun with fascinating hands-on content this might be the book for you.  And if you know anyone who studies in the Wong Shun Leung lineage (or is just a fan), this might make a great gift.  When ordering be sure to note that there is both a less expensive paperback in black and white and a pricier hard cover with color photos to choose from.  Click accordingly.

2. Possible Origins: A Cultural History of Chinese Martial Arts, Theater and Religion by Scott Park Phillips

This book will appeal mostly to students of the Northern Chinese arts who are interested in the deep cultural background of these practices, or anyone with an interest in the history of the martial arts.  Scott writes from the perspective of a practitioner rather than a professional academic, but he is very interested in how questions of cultural understanding impact our relationship with the martial arts.  Also, Wing Chun students who are curious about their art’s operatic connections might find some interesting comparative material here.

3. The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts by Benjamin N. Judkins and Jon Nielson
Are you interested in the history of Wing Chun?  Are you looking for an academic yet engaging study of the development of the Chinese martial arts?  If so I would be remiss not to mention that my book (co-authored with Jon Nielson) is now out in paperback and can be had for about $27 (or less if you read on a Kindle).  For those who would like to give this as a gift the more expensive hard cover edition is still available, and SUNY Press seems to have done a very nice job on the production of both volumes.

4. The Virtual Ninja Manifesto: Fighting Games, Martial Arts and Gamic Orientalism (Martial Arts Studies) by Chris Goto-Jones

What is almost as fun as actually doing martial arts?  Playing martial arts themed video games of course.  But under what conditions might the lines between these two activities become blurred?  When should scholars start to think about and analyze gaming in the same way that we do martial arts?  This recent publication in the field of martial arts studies breaks lots of new ground and may be required reading for any Kung Fu Tea readers who are also avid gamers.

5. Mythologies of Martial Arts (Martial Arts Studies) by Paul Bowman

This forthcoming volume is due to ship just in time for Christmas.  While a scholarly study, this book is also Bowman’s most accessible effort for readers not trained in critical theory.  Organized as a series of short essays covering topics as diverse as martial arts history, humor and and the fine art of fake wrestling, anyone with an interest in martial arts studies will find something that will make them think.

Iron Palm Training Bag. Source: http://www.everythingwingchun.com

Training Gear to Keep You Active
There seems to be a certain seasonal rhythm to the practice of the TCMA.  This is especially true if one occasionally practices in outdoor parks, and those spaces are now covered in snow.  As such, winter can be a great time to focus more on “indoor” activities, such as the wooden dummy or iron palm training.  If you see the later of these in your future you will need two things.

1. A Good Bag

Dit Dat Jow, waiting for your finishing touch. Source: everythingwingchun.ccom

2. Lots of Dit Dat Jow

And given that you now have plenty of time on your hands, why not brew your own?

Tiger Claw Kicking Shield. Source: https://www.tigerclaw.com/

3. Kicking Shield

One of the things that I have always appreciated about the traditional Asian martial arts is their simplicity.  Very little equipment is needed to get a good workout.  Still, when practicing with others its nice to have some basic gear.  I find that focus mitts and a good kicking shield covers about 90% of what I need for partner work.  Nor do you need to spend a fortune on this gear.  I have been using Tiger Claws’ basic kicking shield for a couple of years and have been happy with it.

Focus Mitts. Source: https://www.tigerclaw.com/

4. Focus Mitts

Wing Chun guys also spend enough time on punching drills that it is nice to have a set of good curved focus mitts.  There are a couple of different styles of mitts that I use for various exercises, but this type is probably my favorite for all around use.  Again, a gift like this would see a lot of use throughout the year.

The Sentinel by Ultrasabers.

5. Ultrasabers Sentinel Stunt

Lets face it.  Winters can be long and dark, and that might leave you looking for something a little bit different.  And if such an activity is fast paced, pop culture themed, and glows, so much the better.  Why not try your hand at lightsaber fencing?  You can pick up a basic stunt saber without sound effects (the sort that is most often used for martial arts training) for under $70.  That should leave you plenty of cash for some lacrosse gloves and a decent fencing mask if you decide that you want to move beyond forms work and try your hand at sparring.  Or you if you are looking for something a little fancier, but still suitable for full contact martial arts use, check out the current offerings at JQ Sabers.

A beautiful handmade dummy by Buick Yip. Source: http://www.everythingwingchun.com/

6. Wooden Dummy – Temple Pillar

No Christmas list would be complete without a truly aspirational item.  When I was growing up that was always a robot (I am not sure why).  Now my ambitions take a slightly different form.

This is one of Buick Yip’s “Temple Pillar” dummies, made from architecturally salvaged Chinese timber.  I always thought that the symbolism behind these pieces was particularly fitting, given that the Chinese martial arts themselves are essentially modern creations built on the foundations of older, discarded, cultural patterns.  This wonderfully carved testament to the ever evolving nature of Chinese society (and the place of martial arts within it) can be yours for about $1400.

Some really nice poles from Everything Wing Chun.

Weapons –  The Cutting Edge

Of course not all weapons cut.  The long pole, seen throughout the southern Chinese martial arts, is no less lethal for its lack of an edge.  Given my recent post on the pole I thought that this might be the appropriate place to start our weapons wish list.

1. Solid Hickory, un-tapered, Poles

Traditional long poles, of the type used in the southern Chinese martial arts, can be pretty expensive.  Martial artists on a budget (or those looking for shorter, custom sized, poles), might want to check out Purple Heart Armory.  In their HEMA section they offer a wide variety of pole weapons in various lengths, styles and woods that may fit your needs.  I purchased an eight foot hickory pole from them earlier this year and have been very happy with what I got.  Best of all, their prices and shipping rates are pretty reasonable.

2. The Traditional Tapered Pole

Those with a bigger budget and more space will probably want to check out some of the more traditional poles currently on offer at EWC.  I was particularly drawn to their selection of Kwan Din Wood poles.  These have some great color to them.  They are priced at $199 plus $42 for shipping and handling within the continental United States.

A Sparring Jian. Source: http://www.sevenstarstrading.com

3. Sparring Jian by Scott Rodell

Individuals looking to bring a greater degree of reality to their combative blade training within the TCMA might want to check out Scott Rodell’s new jian.  Obviously metal blades feel and behave differently from wood, bamboo and synthetic analogues.  Hopefully we will see more of these training blades in the coming years.  At the moment these swords are priced at $289.

Traditionally shaped Hudiedao. Source: http://traditionalfilipinoweapons.com

4. Traditionally shaped Chinese Hudiedao

Traditional butterfly swords seem to be a topic of perennial interest here at Kung Fu Tea.  Of course finding a nice set of antique hudiedao can be difficult and expensive.  Nor would I be really comfortable using vintage blades for cutting practice or experimentation.   But these knives, made in the Philippines, might fill that niche nicely.  Their blades are more similar in shape and profile to some of the 19th century pieces while still being accessible to modern martial artists.  They are currently priced at $325 for the set.

Taijiquan in Shanghai, by Paul Souders.

Artistic and Cultural Objects
It is just as important to feed the soul as it is the mind the body.  That is why I always try to have a section devoted to the arts in each of these lists.   And many of our training spaces could use some better visual art.  As such, posters and prints can make wonderful (and not very expensive) gifts.

1. China, Shanghai, Martial Arts Group Practicing Tai Chi at Dawn by Paul Souders

Paul Souders has a nice photo that can be reproduced in various formats of a group practicing their morning Taijiquan against Shanghai’s skyline.  The juxtaposition of the construction of the “traditional” and the “modern” works well in this piece.  The price of this image varies widely depending on how it is framed and reproduced, but you can get into it for less than $30.

Students at a Japanese Archery Club. Source: http://faculty.washington.edu/kendo/budo.html

2. Empty Mind Films (One Shot. One Life)

Documentaries also make excellent gifts.  Some of my favorites are produced by the team at Empty Mind Films.  Of course Kung Fu Tea readers will appreciate their offerings on Wing Chun, Tajiquan and the various Chinese martial arts.  But their more recent work on the Japanese martial arts is also very interesting.  I Particularly liked One Shot. One Life.

Star Wars Themed Travel Posters.

3. Star Wars Themed Travel Posters

So lets say that you did decide to go for the lightsaber, what sort art would inspire an up and coming Jedi?  Check out the Star Wars inspired travel posters over at the Etsy.  These are available in lots of different styles from a variety of artists.  But for some reason the Hoth posters are always the best.

The Centerline, an original work of art by Brasil Goulart.

4. Centerline by Brasil Goulart (note that this is the original painting, and not a poster)

Those with a larger budget might want to check out some of Brasil Goulart’s recent Wing Chun themed paintings.  I am particularly partial to “Centerline.”  Original canvases are currently available for $1000-$1500 dollars.

Martial Arts Studies, Issue 2: The Invention of Martial Arts

Best Things in Life Are Free

Before wrapping up this years holiday list it is probably worth pointing out that there is some great stuff out there that will not cost you anything at all.  For instance, we are currently preparing the next issue of the journal Martial Arts Studies for release.  As always it will be free to read by anyone with an internet connection.  This might be the perfect time get caught up on our back issues.

Alternatively, once you have your lightsaber, be sure to check out the Terra Prime Light Armory, an open source (and very friendly) community dedicated to spreading their art. Or if you are looking for something a little more traditional, did you know that the complete run of Fight Quest can now be found on Youtube?  That should make for some great binge watching!

Finally, if you still need help shopping for all of the martial artists on your list consider checking out the 2012, 2013, 2014 and 2015 gift guides.

A Daoist Priest in Modern Beijing. Source: Wikimedia.

***Paul Bowman recently wrote an essay dealing with attempts to both define the martial arts and to think about the development of martial arts studies as a distinct field.  Given the importance of the points that he raises, and the amount of interest that they are likely to generate among readers of Kung Fu Tea, I am re-blogging it here.  I should also note that Paul has a forthcoming article in the (quickly approaching) Winter 2016 edition of the journal Martial Arts Studies.  This shorter essay is a good way to prepare for the more substantial piece to follow.  Enjoy!***

Why do you draw the line? More on Definition in Martial Arts Studies
by Paul Bowman

I know I keep saying that we need to move on from the question of ‘defining martial arts’ in martial arts studies, and I know that I then keep returning to the topic, but I feel it important to clarify why I think that that ‘how to define martial arts’ is not only a pseudo-problem but also regressive and potentially damaging for martial arts studies.

Consider it this way. The question of definition (in martial arts studies and elsewhere) involves asking and exploring the question of where to draw the line. When we ask ‘what is or are martial arts?’, we are asking a specifically focused version of ‘where do we draw the line?’

Once asked, ‘what is or are martial arts’ is a question that people get stuck on, or stuck in. So, to avoid this quicksand, in what follows, I want to walk around the trap, reflecting less on ‘where do we draw the line?’ and more on ‘why draw the line?’ and, indeed, ‘how – or in what ways – should anyone draw the line?’

What is the line, anyway? What is a definition? Stated bluntly, the line that people believe needs to be drawn is a line between ‘martial arts’ (on one side – the inside) and ‘not martial arts’ (on the other side – outside). The line, the definition, is the border between an inside and an outside. On one side of the line (on the inside), there will be martial arts (proper). On the other side of the line is the outside, which is everything else, and which is not proper to martial arts.

So, this is one way to depict the ideal tidy, well defined situation: on one side of the line, the inside, the proper object of martial arts studies. On the other side of the line, the outside, all the stuff that is not the object of martial arts studies. Simple.

Or not. It does not take too much time to realise that ‘martial arts’ could not actually be disentangled, disambiguated or extricated from many of the things that any definition will try to say is not proper to them. The definition will be an abstraction. More: a ‘representation’ of something that does not actually exist anywhere. For there are always supplements, images, ideas, practices, products, fantasies, realia, phantasmagoria, simulacra, prosthesis, grafts, add-ons, extras, and ‘related’, that cannot and will not be removed.

The dawning realisation of this ineradicable proliferation and constitutive multiplicity accounts for why people move from the singular to the plural. People realise that there is no simple unity, but they nonetheless still want to erect a definition. So, realising that the category ‘martial arts’ is constitutively imprecise, people try to return us to precision by adding categories. So, we get more categories. Refinements. Differentiations. Martial arts and/or combat sports, self-defence, military martial arts, combatives, weapons-based combat systems, religious practices, cultural traditions, calisthenics taught in schools, traditional, non-traditional, deracinated, de- and re-territorialized, etc. Then entities that are called hybrids. And so on, with each addition seeking to introduce a level of clarity and precision whilst nonetheless inexorably introducing even more grey area, imprecision and further grounds for disagreement.

This occurs because the perceived need to introduce more and more terms and concepts in order to try to clarify things is a paradoxical drive that comes in response to a fundamental lack of precision and clarity. This can never actually be eradicated by trying to mop it up by throwing more categories at it. The addition of ever more categories, gradations and combinations does not actually produce clarity or reduce unclarity. Rather, it principally produces metalanguages and language games.

Metalanguages and language games are not somehow simply or necessarily universally true. They are themselves locally-produced cauldrons of terminological soup. When they sound scientific, they may be impressive. But they are, at root, just variable attempts to solve the problem of how to conceptualise and communicate with clarity and precision.

How we make pasta sauce in our house may be very different from how they make pasta sauce next door. How people steeped in anthropological approaches may have long been inclined to conceptualise and demarcate ‘martial arts’ may differ hugely from how people working in sociology, cultural studies, philosophy, religious studies, dance or theatre studies may have done so. Each approach involves a language game, the production of a metalanguage, and each of these is almost certainly going to be different.

This is what academic (and other) discourses do. They do not simply strip away and reveal bare or naked essentials. They construct and fabricate lenses through which to see differently. They produce alternatives. They challenge each other. They generate more.

In the field of martial arts studies, discussions often circulate around different conceptualisations of the object ‘martial arts’. It is clear that different people draw the line around their conceptualisation of their object of attention differently. It is my hope that over time it should become more and more clear that the definitional act of drawing a line is inherently problematic.

Zheng Manqing, the Master of Five Excellences, painting a different sort of line.

 
This is not to say that it is not going to be done. Everyone needs to find ways to be able to refer, or to say ‘I am talking about this, and not that’. Every academic study needs to draw the line between the inside (what it is about) and the outside (what it is not, cannot or will not be about or even look at). As I regularly say to my PhD students, there are two questions that every examiner will ask you in one way or another. First, why did you draw the line here and not there? And second, why did you approach it in this way and not another?

Both of these questions must be answered. You need to know that you could have drawn your line elsewhere and differently, and that this would inevitably have changed things. You also need to know that you could have approached it differently, and that this would have produced very different kinds of insight, perspective, result, outcome or conclusion.

In other words, what academic works need more than some inevitably failed definition is a critical reflection on the necessary act of drawing a line – any and every ‘I am talking about this (and not that) in this way (and not another way)’. Indeed, doing so enables us to see that there are more important matters than where to draw the line. These involve thinking about how and why a line has been drawn.

In conversation with a colleague who works in performance studies, for instance, my colleague voiced reluctance to work under the heading of ‘martial arts studies’ at all. This is because the act of drawing a line around such practices seemed not only somewhat arbitrary, stifling and artificial, in terms of his own interests, but also ethically problematic.

As someone interested in performance, why would he separate martial arts from other kinds of physical practice? And anyway, how and why could or would anyone really draw convincing lines between martial arts practices and dance or theatre or ritual or religion, or indeed athletics, somatics, or therapeutics, and so on?

On thinking about this, I became inclined to expand the problem further and wider. Maybe my colleague is actually still too limited – too steeped in thinking about embodied practices. For, what about media and technology? Can we separate martial arts, or the study thereof, from practices and studies of film, drama, gaming, literature, or heritage? What about philosophy?

Nonetheless, the ethical dimension of my colleague’s reluctance seemed particularly thought-provoking. What does it mean to cast a net that only looks for and at martial, combative, fighting, defensive or offensive practices? What does it mean to insist on identifying all of the practices out there that seem to fit the bill in terms of their ‘martial’ dimensions? Is this not in and of itself a violent contortion, and a bending of the world to the will or the mind’s eye of the observer? Maybe my escrima practice seems fairly obviously martially orientated. But what about my tai chi? Just because I search in my tai chi practice for combative dimensions and applications, must I insist on reducing tai chi to this dimension for everyone, and enshrining it in academic discourse in this particular contingent and motivated way?

Conceptualising and chopping up the conceptual spectrum in such a way as to enable the claim that ‘martial arts’ is an obvious and necessary field, fit for an academic discipline to congregate around it, may actually seem like a fairly contorted and contorting act, when viewed from a broader perspective. Privileging ‘martial’ over ‘art’ may also amount to doing a kind of violence to the very objects that fall within its purview.

How can such a tendentious act be justified? Should, indeed, martial arts studies really be a subset of other fields, such as performance studies, for instance? The answer could be yes. As long as it can also be agreed that it should also be a subset of religious studies, and a subset of film studies, as well as a subset of subcultural studies, ethnic studies, area studies, sports studies, history, and so on.

The point is: none of these subsets exist on a fixed or immutable map. There is no Venn diagram or flow chart that could adequately depict some real or permanent relation of inclusivity or exclusivity. There is no essential or necessary ‘proper place’ for this or any other field. Its ‘proper place’ is always a consequence not of fit but of performative elaboration. This is because ‘martial arts’, like anything else (‘literature’, ‘religion’, ‘science’) is a contingent discursive establishment (a construct) rather than an essential referential category (a datum).

To evoke a Kantian distinction, ‘martial arts’ is synthetic rather than analytic. It is not an object proper to scientific study, and nor does it need to be. The study of something like this is not really scientific because – to borrow an insight that Rodowick once made about ‘film studies’ – it is something we simply know about, that we experience in different ways at different times and in different places, something that changes, that changes us, that we can change, and so on. We can’t really ‘do’ martial arts studies as some kind of science. It doesn’t lend itself to that kind of treatment at all. Rather, it presents itself as a range of phenomena for reflection, philosophy, theory, rumination. Martial arts, however conceived or however instantiated, seem or seems to beg questions – questions about ‘what it is’ and about ‘other things’. Life. Value. Health. Gender. Nation. Strength. Honour. Fun. Commerce. Ethnicity. Culture. Identity. Whatever.

To choose martial arts studies as a category – to attempt to institute it as a field – is to accept or at least trade in an inheritance. We have the term ‘martial arts’. It is a discursive category, even if it is not properly referential, indeed even if it is barely able to evoke its own content. Nonetheless, the world has given it to us. People are likely to ‘kind of just know’ what you mean when you say it, even if their understandings are hugely different, even utterly incompatible, and even though any attempt to specify the content of the field cannot but produce contradictory objects and practices.

This is one reason I have avoided the so-called problem of definition for so long. One need not define. Definition is a pseudo-problem, and the effect of a certain orientation in the face of what it means to study or do academic work.

Of course, one always has to negotiate competing injunctions. Definitions and categories do emerge. But they often fall down when pressed or pushed. Such definitions need to be pressed or pushed and pulled, because they can come to seem stifling. And they can come to be stifling – because of the effects that they can have on our orientations.

This is why, in martial arts studies, as elsewhere, the question should not simply be ‘where do you draw the line?’ The equally – perhaps more – important questions to engage with are ‘why draw a line?’ and indeed ‘how are we able to draw a line?’

If one feels compelled to draw a line around a field or object, and to map it out in a certain way, this is a compulsion one might expect to be matched with an equal compulsion when it comes to policing the territory that has been marked out. In other words, those scholars who seem merely to be exercising an honest and innocent drive to speak clearly and precisely and to define coherently may yet turn out to be the most diligent border guards, hostile to any non-legitimate travelers.

Gayatri Spivak once argued that making any distinction, making any discrimination, specifying, erecting or using any conceptual categories, is irreducibly and inescapably political in some sense. This is because producing differentials erects binaries, and binaries are inevitably hierarchical. The inside is the proper, the outside is the improper, the other. The question thus becomes, how hospitable are we to be to impropriety, to alterity? How is difference to be treated? This is both the ethico-political and conceptual-orientation problem of all disciplinary discourse. For martial arts studies, it suggests that what needs to be asked is: how do we define the hospitality of martial arts studies to that which requests admittance but seems improper?

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If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: Reforming the Chinese Martial Arts in the 1920s-1930s: The Role of Rapid Urbanization.

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I recently had a chance to sit down with Itamar Zadoff who runs the “No Wax Needed” podcast.  Itamar is one of the up and coming martial arts studies scholars who I had the pleasure to meet at our conference in Cardiff earlier this year.  (You can see a short interview that he did with DojoTV while at the event here.)  This was a great interview and we covered a number of topics including the traditional Chinese martial arts, lightsabers, Kung Fu Tea, the development of martial arts studies as well as current and upcoming projects.  And given the normally text heavy format of this blog, I thought that sharing a podcast might be a nice way to mix things up.

The first two minutes of the interview are in Hebrew, but after that short introduction everything else is in English.  While this podcast has traditionally focused on Hebrew language discussions of the martial arts, it sounds like there may be more content aimed at a broader audience in the future (such as this interview with  Chief Gojuryu Instructor Nakamura Tetsuji).  In the mean time grab your headphones, click the link, sit back and enjoy a wide ranging conversation on a variety of topics related to the study of the modern martial arts.

Episode 23: Lightsaber Combat, Martial Arts and Academia, an Interview with Dr. Benajmin Judkins.

 
Here is a quick table of contents that Itamar was kind enough to pull together for anyone looking for a specific subject:
2:00 – Introduction and how Ben started writing on martial arts.

7:35 – What does your research on martial arts concern beyond the religious/historical aspect?

11:40 – Do you focus mostly on “traditional” martial arts?

14:25 – Do you practice martial arts? Do you have any other personal connection to the arts?

19:15 – Anthropological research on light saber combat and a discussion on its academic significance.

26:45 – Links to papers on light sabre combat and distinction in the purpose of martial arts in the modern world – comparing the social function of liminal (traditional) and liminoid (hyper-real) martial arts.

27:30 – What is a martial arts?

30:00 – About the idea of invented traditions.

31:30 – Are there different systems and styles of light saber combat?

35:20 – What is the profile of the light saber combat practitioner?

43:45 – About the blog Kung-Fu Tea **link**

49:45 – About cooperation in the blog.

53:20 – What are your future plans?

Additional link –  Ben’s book on the social history of Wing Chun and the Southern Chinese martial arts (note the publisher has posted a chapter that you can read for free on-line).

Dog Brothers, 2010 Euro Gathering. Source: youtube.

The Debate

Neil Gong’s article, “How to Fight Without Rules: On Civilized Violence in “De-Civilized” Spaces,” (Social Problems, 2015, 0, pp. 1-18) is the sort of work that is sure to find its way onto a variety of syllabi and reading lists in coming years.  This paper is the result of three years of detailed ethnographic study and it attempts to address fundamental issues in the field of sociology.  It also makes for fascinating reading.  Gong draws his readers in with two provocative questions.

First, is the rise of the “reality fighting” movement (seen most clearly in the rise of mixed martial arts and the UFC, but evident in a number of other places as well), a harbinger of the end of western civilization as we know it?  Secondly, how exactly does one go about fighting in a group that claims to have no rules, where the use of blunt weapons and concealed blades is not only permissible but encouraged?  How is it that this ultimate “fight club” can go on for years and no one gets killed?

Anyone who has spent enough time around the traditional martial arts will already have heard the first of these questions rephrased as either a complaint or accusation.  Many traditional practitioners have a sense that something vital to the spirit of (their) martial arts has been lost with the rise of MMA.  Even when it employs familiar techniques it strips them of their previous cultural context and seems to glory in violence and pain.

What is more surprising is that sociologists, generally a very level headed group of researchers, have been wondering the same thing for some years now.  As Gong notes, within this academic discipline it is a truism that even most rule-less and “reality oriented” movements are in fact bound by some sort of informal rules or social structure.  Thus the emergence of groups credibly claiming to fight without rules is something of a challenge for sociological theorists.

If we were to see the rapid spread of true “no-holds-barred” fighting (with its attendant bloody consequences) there might actually be theoretical reasons to wonder about the state of Western Civilization.  Specifically, Norbert Elias (1897-1990) spent much of the 20^th century elaborating an idea that he referred to as the “civilizing process.”  This theory has since become a core element of many sociological discussions.

His basic argument was that the growth of states and economic specialization, from the medieval period onward, resulted in a trend towards the creation of ever more strict behavioral guidelines which became internalized systems of social control (characterized by some as Freud’s “super-ego”).  These shifts are especially evident when dealing with questions of violence.  Even the most hardened fans of TV shows like “Game of Thrones” would balk (or in more technical terms, exceed their “threshold of repugnance”) if confronted with the sorts of violence that was in fact common in medieval cities like London or Paris.  The end result is that rates of violent crime and murder in these same cities today are only a small fraction of what they were during the medieval period.

Elias termed this ever expanding horizon of social specialization, introspection and self-regulation “civilization.”  In that way he provided the modern social sciences with one of their first (and probably still most significant) theories of the rise of western civilization as we know and experience it today. Of course this immediately raises the question of how the martial arts are related to the development of ever more internalized and bounded models of personal behavior.

Students of martial arts studies may find Elias’ work interesting for additional reasons.  While I just referenced murder rates in the previous paragraph, he was more interested in identifying the texture of this process in the lived experience of past generations.  Elias exhaustively researched topics like the evolution of table manners in an attempt to build a historical ethnography of the civilizing process.

Much of his most influential historical writing focused on the development of today’s highly competitive, but relatively safe, culture of athletics and sports.  He wrote extensively on the evolution of the ancient Greek practice known as Pankration (one of the original Olympic events) as it moved from something a bit like ritualized “private war” between Greek warrior/nobles (in which contestants were routinely maimed or killed) to a practice more easily identifiable as a type of rule-bound boxing (in which contestants were less likely to get killed).  Of course something very similar is evident when one looks at the evolution of modern sports, such as the move from “bare-knuckles” to Olympic boxing, or the invention of helmets and the “forward pass” in American football.

The sudden emergence of a new wave of “no-rules” fighting starting in the 1990s thus raises serious theoretical questions.  When cage fighting becomes one of the quickest growing sports on television, are we witnessing the beginning of a “de-civilizational process,” signaling a reversal of trends that have been slowly moving forward for more than 500 years?

Gong notes that certain scholars have basically made this argument (see Howes 1998 and Sheard 1998; van Bottenburg and Heilbron 2006).  Yet more recent scholars remain unconvinced that the problem is really that dire.  Some (such as Abramson and Modzelewski, 2011) have asserted that focusing only on the supposed brutality of the event misses the larger point.  This is violence used instrumentally in the service of solidly middle class and democratic values such as “meritocracy and voluntary community.”

Sanchez Garcia and Malcom note that for all its emphasis on “brutal reality,” MMA fights do not appear to be any more likely to kill their contestants than highly rule bound boxing matches.  This suggests the possibility that a certain type of structure still constrains the behavior of individuals in these matches, even if such rules are now informally learned rather than being explicitly spelled out.  Ironically that might point to the further strengthening of the internalized mechanism that underpins Elias’ civilizing project.

This move has not proved to be universally popular.  Gong states that certain critics of Garcia and Malcom have noted that a retreat to “invisible rules” seems like an improbably convenient way to save a flawed theory.  After all, Elias could simply be wrong.

Chris Weidman (red gloves) and Anderson Silva (blue gloves). 2013.

Enter the Reality Fighters

This is the point at which Gong’s own research enters the debate.  He begins by noting that Elias was not simply interested in aggregate data such as gross injury rates.  After all, violence can happen for many reasons, and it can even be used instrumentally to advance other “civilizing” goals (the American Civil War).  What was more important to him was the texture of these norms in the lived experience of historical subjects.  How have people experienced the push and pull of civilization?

Critics of Garcia and Malcom note that their research focuses mostly on the more recent era of televised MMA fights.  Of course all sides agree that these are relatively rule bound compared to their earlier (not always broadcast) predecessors.  Thus our ability to bring cumulative data to bear on the most interesting period is actually rather limited.

Gong proposed that the ethnographic method could break this impasse.  Specifically, he identified a group (the Reality Fighters) that seemed to be a critical case for Elias’ civilizing thesis.  This particular organization had no formal rules governing their matches other than that at the end of the day everyone must leave as friends.  Their style of fighting combined unarmed combat with a variety of sticks and blunt weapons, knives (often concealed and with their tips rounded), and sometimes even training guns.  There were no weight classes in the group.  Timed rounds and referees were also missing.  Multiple attacker and ambush scenarios were also trained.

Gong’s group was apparently not without a certain level of charisma.  The Reality Fighters frequently posted videos of their events on the internet and earned an international following.  They had once been approached about a TV deal.  But when producers took a closer look at their matches it was quickly decided that these encounters were not suitable for broadcasting to the general public.

The membership of the Reality Fighters was eclectic.  While soldiers and police officers appear to have been common, Gong also reports encountering other academics as well as individuals who had been incarcerated.  While it appears that most of the fighters were men there was a female minority within the community.

Lastly, the common interests of the community seem to have transcended the training hall.  It is not hard to detect a decidedly ideological slant in many of the conversations that Gong reports.  Most members of the group seem to have been interested in libertarian politics and removing restrictions on the concealed carry of guns and knives.  Some engaged in extended ideological discussions on the internet.  Interestingly these more politically salient elements of the groups identity played little role in Gong’s subsequent ethnography.

He instead turned his attention to the second question outlined in the introduction.  How is it that one can fight in fluid weapons based matches with no formal rules of any kind, and yet enjoy an injury rate that is apparently no different from what one might find in any boxing gym around the country?  If the rise of rule free “fight clubs” did in fact suggest the advent of a de-civilizing process, Gong reasoned that this should be most evident in a relatively extreme group, such as the Reality Fighters.  Thus he framed his study as a “critical case” for Elias’ theory.

Gong argued that ethnography was the best research method for grasping the “habitus” of group members.  Such an understanding was simply not possible without acquiring a “feel for the game” of one’s own.  He hypothesized that it was this unique habitus, developed through repeated matches, that allowed them to fight with such apparent ferocity, yet to do so in ways that were actually highly constrained and safe.  In fact, as Gong’s research proceeded the more interesting question became how these same individuals maintained the illusion of “freedom” in what was actually a highly governed space.

A folding training knife with rounded tip. Gong reports that these were often used in matches by the Reality Fighters.

Order without Rules: Three Mechanisms of Social Regulation

If the creation of a dynamic, fast paced, sparring match can be thought of as a certain type of “achievement,” how exactly did Gong’s fellow practitioners learn to fight without rules? Gong identifies three informal mechanisms that facilitated the emergence of a specific sort of fight.

First, he notes that (with the exception of blade-work where other, more theatrical, norms apply) there was a strong normative commitment within the group for showing self-restraint when sparring.  In practice this means aiming blows in such a way that they caused pain but not injury (hitting the shin, but not the knee, of an opponent with a stick).  Nor did members of the Reality Fighters “finish” opponents once they went down.  The sort of “ground and pound” commonly seen in MMA matches was definitely frowned upon.  Rhetorically this self-restraint was framed as the ability to “take responsibility for one’s actions,” in opposition to younger and uncontrolled MMA fighters and kickboxers who had delegated that responsibility to a referee and fight doctor.

Of course learning and internalizing these norms is problematic as they are, by definition, unspoken.  Gong wrote about one incident where his fight was stopped (and he was reprimanded) for attempting to stab an opponent in the face with a blunt knife, even though other sorts of facial attacks were encouraged.  He had never been informed that this was in violation of the group’s unwritten code.  And the fact that his initial attack was cheered on by a large section of the audience suggested that this confusion may have spread beyond a single novice fighter.

Gong describes a process of slowly acquiring a “feeling for the game” which, in the case of inexperienced fighters, often led to halting, tentative, frequently stopped, matches as both sides attempted to work out what was about to happen next and how the community would react to it.  While Gong never explicitly addresses the role of spectatorship in his article, it hangs heavily on his ethnographic account.  Thus the ability to engage in a fast paced and exciting match (which will look good on youtube) depends upon both parties first internalizing a large body of normative practice.  And it is the reaction of the community that ultimately sanctions and upholds these norms.  Thus “good fights” can be thought of as elaborate cooperative “achievements” not just in the theoretical, about also the technical, sense of the word.

This second mechanism yields some paradoxical findings.  Gong notes that what appears to be the fastest paced, most unrestrained, matches are in fact the safest and most “rule bound” events.  The slow and halting fights of amateurs are in some ways more unpredictable (and one suspects dangerous) as neither party is really sure what will happen next or how they will respond.

More experienced Reality Fighters tend to judge these affairs harshly.  They simply don’t look “real.”  Yet they are actually more similar to actual street encounters than the highly polished fights of the group’s most experienced warriors.  Thus the farther one goes in the attempt to master the “reality” of violence, the further one moves from some of its defining characteristics.  One suspects that this paradox pervades martial arts training more generally.

The use of concealed weapons (both guns and knives), while seemingly a wild-card, also facilitates the informal regulation of these fights.  One suspects that if a real criminal pulls a weapon on you in a street fight they are unlikely to care what local laws say about the maximum length of knife blade that may be carried, or when a weapon can be legally deployed in a self-defense encounter.  Does your state have a “stand your ground” law, or are you instead obligated to attempt to flee?   The Reality Fighters spend a great deal of time thinking about these issues and they adjust their training protocols accordingly.

Perhaps this should not be a surprise.  Gong mentioned that a plurality of group members had some experience in either law enforcement or the military.  A mastery of certain “rules of engagement” is part of the professional conditioning of both groups.

It is also important to consider the Reality Fighters’ self-image.  They actively cultivate the discourse that they are law abiding citizens and “protectors” who have developed the self-mastery necessary to employ the appropriate level of force in a violent encounter.  In this sense they see themselves as being morally superior to younger MMA fighters who they feel are more likely to react emotionally and lose control in a crisis situation.  Whatever one may think of this rationale, Gong notes that the end result is that legal codes governing violence and self-defense have been imported into the habitus of the Reality Fighters.

Gong concludes by noting that these findings support the foundational assumptions of sociological thought.  Nor does the popularity of MMA or (to a lesser extent groups like the Reality Fighters) seriously challenge Elias’ central thesis.

“In the specific case of combat sports, and even the parasport of Reality Fighting, rules are entirely central to sustained play and generating the experience of freedom.  As I have shown in the instances where rules are unclear, the appearance of free action is predicated in shared understandings and expectations to coordinate behavior.  The most violent, exciting, and aesthetically “no-holds-barred” fighting is not rule-less, but sportive and rule bound.  The key sociological insight is that engaging in sustainable “rule-less” activity requires rules, whether formal or informal, to be comprehensible and meaningful to modern actors.” (Gong, p. 16).

It would seem that Western Civilization is safe.

Lau Bun (top center) with senior students in his Hung Sing School of Choy Li Fut in San Francisco’s Chinatown, one of the oldest martial arts schools in America. During the summer of 1959, 18-year-old Bruce Lee had a little-known run-in with Lau Bun and his senior students. (Photo courtesy of UC Berkeley)

Civilization and Modernity: Competing Visions

In some respects Gong’s central findings are not entirely surprising.  A variety of historians and anthropologists have noted a very similar set of mechanisms at work in their examination of “traditional” Chinese martial culture.  The main difference seems to be that they did not feel the need to frame their explorations in terms of the “civilizing” debate.

Perhaps the closest parallel of interest to students of Chinese martial studies might be found in the ethnographic research of Avron Boretz.  In his 2011 volume, Gods, Ghosts and Gangsters: Ritual Violence, Martial Arts and Masculinity on the Margins of Chinese Society, he followed a group of petty hustlers and criminals who would likely find the libertarian ethos of Gong’s Reality Fighter very familiar.  They too turned to the martial arts as a tool for identity construction.  And like the Reality Fighters they also attempted to create alternate value hierarchies to demonstrate (even if only to themselves) the moral superiority of their vision of masculinity.

Finally, as in the previous case, Boretz found that the task of living life without rules is harder than it appears.  While both Boretz’s temple troops and Gong’s “Reality Fighters” may seek alternate definitions of masculinity, neither group is willing to take the much more radical step of throwing such categories out and starting over.   In countless ways, large and small, both groups actually reinforce the very same value hierarchies that they seem to question.  As Boretz concludes, radical rhetoric and flashy public displays notwithstanding, society tolerates groups like this because they are ultimately fairly conservative (if somewhat eccentric).

Is it a problem that scholars looking at very different sorts of martial groups (in this case Chinese temple troops) on the other side of the world, and with a totally different theoretical framework, could come to many of the same conclusions about the social meaning of such voluntary associations?  One suspects that this is actually the theoretical challenge that Elias must face.

The decline of western civilization always seemed like a bit of a straw-man.  Carlo Rotella has noted that when watching the “ring-walk” of the average MMA fighter one might assume that you are looking at an out of control rage-machine.  He finds it interesting to compare the sorts of music that MMA fighters walk to with traditional boxers.  This musical selection is one of the few semiotic devices that modern fighters have at their disposal to frame how the audience understands, and attributes meaning to, their participation in the fight.  And everyone desperately wants these displays of violence to have social meaning (Prof. Carlo Rotella, “”My Punches Have Meaning: Making Sense of Boxing,” October 24 2016, Cornell University).

There is no doubt that music at MMA events tends to be more “energetic.”  And this is done to convey a certain image.  Yet when the bell sounds both of the rage filled anti-heroes who walk to the octagon quickly settle down into disciplined and controlled fighters.  In that respect their contests are not entirely unlike those of boxers. (Ibid)

Should we focus on the similarities between these groups or their differences?  Likewise, the discovery that the behavior of the “Reality Fighters” was actually dictated by a set of informal rules is not exactly a counterfactual finding.  It would only have been shocking if the opposite case had been discovered.

The unique and exciting aspect of this article was Gong’s focus on the question of “how” fast paced but exciting fights were achieved.  And the details of this process were not always obvious.  For instance, one suspects that similar groups with fewer law enforcement or military personal might have been much less likely to simply import whole sections of criminal law into their habitus.  That was a genuinely thought provoking discussion.

Thus Gong may have been correct in asserting the need to transition from discussion of “why” groups of martial artist train to a much more detailed examination of “how” they actually achieve fights.  And I have to admit that his answers are parsimonious and impressive.

Yet I am concerned that we might abandon the questions of “why” too quickly.  Indeed, Gong’s findings seem to bring us back to the start of the debate, but with additional insight.  If this major shift in discourse surrounding the martial arts does not signal a “de-civilizing process,” what does it mean?

Those within the martial arts community certainly take these sorts of signals very seriously, and some claim that fundamental values are at stake.  So “why” are the Reality Fighters (and groups like them) doing this?  Why are they espousing libertarian views and weighing in on the gun control debate?  Why do they seem intent of bucking the general trend towards cross-gender training by refusing to allow mixed sparring (something that has become pretty common throughout the modern combat sports).  Why specifically do they focus on being “protectors” (one notes mostly of their wives).

Gong’s paper adroitly addressed an ongoing debate in the literature.  For that he should be thanked.  Graduate students looking to structure their own projects should pay attention to his research design.  But was the civilizing process the only, or most valuable, lens through which to view the Reality Fighters?

Perhaps my disciplinary bias is starting to show.  The concept of “civilizations” as a unit of analysis does not make many appearances in political science and international relations.  The one exception might be Huntington’s “Clash of Civilizations” thesis.  But it is clear that this (controversial and widely discredited) model has more in common with realism’s balance of power that Elias’ individually experienced, psychologically driven, civilizing process.

What was Elias really describing?  His research is highly localized and focuses only on the West.  As such I am very sympathetic to the critics who point out that equally powerful mechanisms of introspection and self-control can be seen in any number of societies around the globe.  In fact, it would not be at all difficult to argue that China reached a high degree of “civilization” (if that is what this really is) long before the European Middle Ages.  Elias’ supporters have gone on to note that he never intended to suggest that such things could only arise in the West.  But rather that the West tended to be more sophisticated and disciplined in its civilizational process.

Needless to say, the ethnocentrism of both the original argument and its later defenses is simply breathtaking.  One suspects that when attempting to understand the evolution of social meaning within fighting systems of largely Asian origin, other approaches might be more valuable and in need of less frequent apology.

I do not claim to be an expert in any of this.  Again, this entire literature falls outside of my primary field.  Yet when reading Gong’s commentary on Elias I wonder if what is really at stake is not so much the “civilizing process” as the unfolding of one specific vision of modernity. Indeed, it was the slow dawning of modernity that set in motion the pattern of state consolidation and market differentiation that Elias sees as central drivers in his civilizing process.

Yet as scholars are increasingly aware, modernity itself is not a singular event.  There is no one pathway towards modernity, nor is there any exclusive way that it must be experienced.  As I have argued elsewhere, the martial arts themselves are a byproduct of the ways that both China and Japan experienced the twin pressures of modernity and nationalism in the late 19^th and early 20^th century.

The very existence of practices like Judo, Wing Chun, Taijiquan or Kali is proof that multiple visions of modernity are possible.  And the eventual export and modification of these systems in the West strongly suggests that certain groups are more than capable of adopting such practices to argue for the superiority of a given set of values and identities.   The martial arts are a means by which groups have been brought into contact with modernity, but also (as Denis Gainty and others have argued) a means by which they contest its content and meaning.  One suspects that some of the more ideologically inclined “Reality Fighters” would have a lot to say on this topic.

Gong’s discussion of “how” his community fights has been both informative and fascinating.  Yet I expect that the coming discussions of “why” they fight will be of even greater importance.  Luckily the ethnographic method is well suited to both questions.

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

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Sifu Yiannos Christoforou with his dummy. Source: http://www.news.cn

Introduction

Welcome to “Chinese Martial Arts in the News.”  This is a semi-regular feature here at Kung Fu Tea in which we review media stories that mention or affect the traditional fighting arts.  In addition to discussing important events, this column also considers how the Asian hand combat systems are portrayed in the mainstream media.

While we try to summarize the major stories over the last month, there is always a chance that we may have missed something.  If you are aware of an important news event relating to the TCMA, drop a link in the comments section below.  If you know of a developing story that should be covered in the future feel free to send me an email.

Its been a while since our last update so there is a lot to be covered in today’s post.  Let’s get to the news!

News from all over
Our first story this week has been republished by a couple of English language Chinese news services.  It is an interview and photo essay profiling a Wing Chun teacher in Cyprus named Sifu Yiannos Christoforou.  (Reader should note that this version of the story has a few additional photographs not found with the first link.) I do not normally report school profiles as there are simply too many of them out there.  But I thought that this one was particularly interesting as Sifu Yiannos Christoforou (a student of Philip Bayer) talked about the 2013 financial crisis that gripped the region and how it adversely affected the area’s martial arts culture.

“”The 2013 economic crisis turned things upside down. Some of my students lost their jobs and others had their income slashed and could not afford the fees. As far as I know, at least 10 percent of them went abroad to find a job,” said Christoforou. He told his students who lost their jobs to continue training and pay their fees after they could find a job. “Some of them accepted the offer but many refused out of pride and quitted the academy,” he said.”

Meiyu (R) performs with a tai chi instructor of Shanghai University of Sport in Shanghai, May 2016. [Photo provided by Meiyu]. Soure: China Daily.

“”Many people in Turkey are learning Chinese martial arts without knowing its culture, and I would like to share with them the stories behind Chinese martial arts after returning home,” said Meiyu.”

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this story was the creation of a subtle juxtaposition between China and the West as competing cultural (rather than simply economic or political) powers.  Note the following line: “Meiyu chose to learn Chinese in college after graduating from high school. “Too many people learn English or Spanish, but I did not want to be like them,” she said.”  It will be interesting to see whether this sentiment is idiosyncratic, or if its something that we will hear more of in future public diplomacy statements involving the Chinese martial arts.

A brawl broke out at the World Union of Martial Arts Championships in Italy. Source: The Sun.

“It’s a knockout! Brit Kung Fu master ‘Deadly Dicker’ and his three sons quizzed as contest descends into mass brawl,” or so reported the Sun.  Apparently tempers flared at a World Union of Martial Arts Championship in Italy leading to a short brawl involving members of the Italian and British teams as well as some spectators.  While the police questioned a number of people no arrests were ultimately made.  The Sun also reports that the team from the UK ended up winning the tournament.

Students examine Chinese swords that were part of a Confucius Institute martial arts demonstration in Israel. Source: CCTV

Meanwhile CCTV was reporting how “Israelis [students] learn Chinese ways of keeping healthy.”  The piece profiled a cultural festival hosted by a local branch of the Confucius Institute.  As is so often the case, martial arts and qigong both proved to be major draws.

 

“There was also a martial arts demonstration performed by children. Chinese martial arts are believed to be both a way of defending against enemies and a way to stay healthy. In another room, some students got to experience the traditional Chinese healing system of Qigong. It is a therapy using deep breathing, meditation and a set of movements to cultivate energy and cure diseases. The aim of the Confucius Institute Day at the University is to help more Israeli people get to know China, get in touch with China, know about the country’s history and culture. To ignite their interest toward China. Today’s event attracted many students, most of which were not Chinese majors,” said Michal Kozlovich, student of Confucius Institute.”

The short video produced for this story is in some ways more interesting than the actual text.  Note for instance how the mushrooming of “Confucius Institutes” around the world is framed as an explosion in the demand for knowledge about Chinese culture (which certainly exists) rather than the equally significant decision by the Chinese government to plow huge amounts of funding into these programs (the corresponding supply side of the equation). All in all, an interesting example of public diplomacy in a story about cultural diplomacy.

Chinese wushu students in Dengfeng. Source: The National

Do you remember the 2001 film “Shaolin Soccer?”  It looks like a few of the martial arts schools in the area around Shaolin are determined to make that a reality.  So why would anyone want to combine kung fu and football?  One of the articles to come out on this topic over the last month reported:

“China is investing hugely in football training and has vowed to have 50 million school-age players by 2020, as the ruling Communist party eyes “football superpower” status by 2050. The vast Tagou martial arts school has 35,000 fee-paying boarders, who live in spartan conditions and are put through a rigorous training regime. Some 1,500 of its students, both male and female, have signed up for its new football programme centred on a pristine green Astroturf football pitch where dozens of children play simultaneous five-a-side-games.

“We are responding to the country’s call,” said Sun, a former martial arts champion who took a football coach training course last year. What we want to do … is combine Shaolin martial arts with football and create an original concept,” he added.”

…..Or it could just be that a bunch of people really, really, liked that movie.

Bruce Lee wearing his iconic yellow track suit in “Game of Death.”

The Global Times has had a couple of martial arts features.  Both are reprints, but they might be worth checking out if you missed them the first time.  First is an interview with Paul Bowman titled “How Bruce Lee helped change the world.”  Alternatively you might want to check out “The Ancient Tradition of Chinese Kung Fu.”

Kung Fu has proved to be popular with Kenya’s students. Source: http://news.xinhuanet.com

As is often the case, there were a number of news stories over the last week discussing the growing presence of the Chinese martial arts in Africa.  The first of these was a photo-essay titled “Kung Fu is Popular among Kenya’s young.”  Meanwhile, in Rwanda no fewer than 20 Kung Fu schools (from a number of regions) headed to the national Championship.

Chinese mixed martial arts fighters to be showcased on TV sports channel broadcast in Africa. Photo: AFP. Source: Asia times.

Of slightly more interest was an article in the Asia Times titled “Chinese cage fighters to be showcased in Africa TV deal.”  This piece went on to note:

“ONE Championship, a major Asian promoter of mixed martial arts (MMA), has signed a partnership deal with StarTimes, a Beijing-based media group dedicated to broadcasting Chinese culture in Africa. There is huge potential for growth in Africa and obviously in China where we have focused our efforts,” said ONE Championship chief executive Victor Cui at a press conference in Beijing on Friday.”

Taiji Quan being practiced at Wudang. Source: Wikimedia.

A number of recent headlines have noted that Taijiquan may have benefits for veterans suffering from PTSD.  The source of this finding is an article published by Boston University Medical Center and the journal BMJ Open.  It should be noted that this study relies on qualitative and self-reported data.

“Veterans with symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) who participated in Tai Chi not only would recommend it to a friend, but also found the ancient Chinese tradition helped with their symptoms including managing intrusive thoughts, difficulties with concentration and physiological arousal.”

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story..Chirrut Imwe (Donnie Yen)..Ph: Jonathan Olley..©Lucasfilm LFL 2016.

Chinese Martial Arts on Film
The big movie news at the moment is the much anticipated release of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.  While a science fiction film, it is still managing to generate a fair amount of martial arts news.  Unsurprisingly much of this has focused on Donnie Yen and his “Force sensitive” (though apparently not “Force wielding”) character Chirrut Imwe.  Yen has been interviewed in a number of places recently.  Many of the subsequent articles, such as this one by Variety, focus on his attempts to transcend his image as “just” a martial arts star and to gain greater recognition for his acting abilities.  While he is playing a martial artist and blind warrior in the upcoming Star Wars film, the hope appears to be that a prominent role in this iconic film series will help him to do that.

Meanwhile the publicity surrounding Felicity Jones’ appearance in the same film appear to be headed in the opposite direction.  It has tended to emphasize the amount of (Chinese) martial arts training that was necessary to take on this role.  See for instance the following clips of her recent appearance with Jimmy Fallon (who really, really, did not want to get hit in the head).  Incidentally, this will be of special interest to Craig Page and anyone else who has been waiting to see the Tonfa make a repeat appearance in the Star Wars universe.

CCTV has been reporting on the various controversies surrounding the Bruce Le bio-pic, Birth of the Dragon.  We have discussed the fan reaction to the seeming minimization of Lee’s role in what is ostensibly his own life story in previous news updates.  But given CCTV’s (Chinese public TV) role in promoting, and attempting to shape, western perceptions of the Chinese martial arts, it is interesting to note the source where this story is now appearing.

Stephen Chan delivering the conferences opening keynote. Source: http://martialartsstudies.blogspot.com/2015/06/conference-2015-and-2016.html

Martial Arts Studies

There are a number of announcements for students of martial arts studies.  Lets start with recently released books.  First, Paul Bowman’s Mythologies of Martial Arts (Rowman and Littlefield, 2016) is now shipping and ready for your Christmas stocking.  The advance copies of the book look great.  You can read more about this release here.

Next, Sara Delamont, Neil Stephens and Claudio Campos’ ethnographic study Embodying Brazil: An ethnography of diasporic capoeira (Routledge) is due to ship in early January.  So get your preorder in now, or bug your library to order a copy.

The practice of capoeira, the Brazilian dance-fight-game, has grown rapidly in recent years. It has become a popular leisure activity in many cultures, as well as a career for Brazilians in countries across the world including the US, the UK, Canada and Australia. This original ethnographic study draws on the latest research conducted on capoeira in the UK to understand this global phenomenon. It not only presents an in-depth investigation of the martial art, but also provides a wealth of data on masculinities, performativity, embodiment, globalisation and rites of passage.

Centred in cultural sociology, while drawing on anthropology and the sociology of sport and dance, the book explores the experiences of those learning and teaching capoeira at a variety of levels. From beginners’ first encounters with this martial art to the perspectives of more advanced students, it also sheds light on how teachers experience their own re-enculturation as they embody the exotic ‘other’.

Embodying Brazil: An Ethnography of Diasporic Capoeira is fascinating reading for all capoeira enthusiasts, as well as for anyone interested in the sociology of sport, sport and social theory, sport, race and ethnicity, or Latin-American Studies.

Colin McGuire has just posted a recent article on Academia.edu titled  “The Rhythm of Combat: Understanding the Role of Music in Performances of Traditional Chinese Martial Arts and Lion Dance.”  Its abstract sounds fascinating:

Toronto’s  Hong Luck Kung Fu Club has promulgated martial arts, lion dance and percussion music since 1961. Drawing on my Fieldwork there, this paper argues that these practices structure—and are structured by—a combative approach to rhythm. Students begin with martial arts and train without music, but percussion accompanies public demonstrations, creating an unfamiliar situation that I position as a distinct phase of the transmission process. Martial arts performances are both fuelled by musical energy and challenged by the requirement of remaining asynchronous to it. Lion dancers, however, treat drum patterns like signals coordinating manoeuvres on the performance battlefield.

On a lighter note, I was recently interviewed by Itamar Zadoff, an up and coming graduate student who works with Meir Shahar, for the “No Wax Needed” podcast.  I was really happy with the way that this interview turned out, and we had a chance to discuss a number of current and upcoming projects.  Click here for a wide ranging conversation on a number of topics related to martial arts studies.

Those more interested in primary texts will want to head over to the Brennan Translation Blog to see the newly released edition of Xu Taihe’s 1926 Fundamentals of the Southern Boxing Arts.  As always, the front matter of these Republic Era texts are full of fascinating information.  These translations are free to read or download.

Where the magic happens. Speaker Council meeting of our commission at the German Sport University Cologne – planning for the 2016 conference. Source: https://www.facebook.com/dvskommissionkuk

The videos from the October 2016 “Martial Arts and Society” conference, held at the German Sports University of Cologne, are now up on Youtube.  As one would expect most of these are in German, but a number of English language papers were also presented at this years event.  Head on over and check it out!

Alex Channon love’s fighting but hates violence.

Last, but by no means least, my friend Alex Channon and Christopher R. Matthews are getting their new project, “Love Fighting, Hate Violence” under way.  I know that they have been laying the groundwork for this for a while.  Their new blog is now up and running and it has a number of fresh posts by names you might recognize.  Be sure to check it out and learn more about this important campaign.

Kung Fu Tea on Facebook

A lot has happened on the Kung Fu Tea Facebook group over the last month.  We have talked about lightsabers, the end of civilization and our favorite kung fu training montages. Joining the Facebook group is also a great way of keeping up with everything that is happening here at Kung Fu Tea.

If its been a while since your last visit, head on over and see what you have been missing.