Jiang’an Temple in Shanghai, late 19th century. Note that by 1934 the area around this structure was substantially more developed. Source: http://www.virtualshanghai.net

Introduction

On February 21, 1934, the North China Herald (the most popular English language newspaper published in China at the time) ran a remarkable article and interview titled the “Chinese Art of Boxing.”  The piece is based on a school visit with the now famous Yiquan instructor Han Xing Qiao (1909-2004), who was then teaching in Shanghai.  While Han’s equally well known brother was present for the demonstration, it seems that only Han Xing Qiao spoke with reporter.

The resulting article, transcribed below, is significant in a number of respects.  I am surprised that I have not seen it discussed previously in the literature on the history of the Chinese martial arts.  Of course I am not a student of Yiquan, and I may have missed discussions of this piece within that community of practitioners.

Given the importance of Han Xing Qiao in the early history of Yiquan, there can be no doubt that some readers will find this discussion of his teaching and philosophy during the early 1930s quite interesting.  Yet this interview is also important for students of martial arts history as a whole.  While short notices about “Chinese boxing” were not that uncommon in the English language press, features of this length and level of detail were rare.  When read within the context of other developments during the early 1930s (the reforms of the Guoshu movement, the promotion of the martial arts by various generals and warlords, the development of popular Wuxia fiction, etc…) it helps to paint a more complete picture of Republic era attitudes within the martial arts community.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this particular newspaper article is that it exists at all.  Modern students tend to regard traditional Chinese martial artists from the 1930s as highly secretive individuals who left few (if any) written accounts.  Nor are they imagined as having had much to do with foreign reporters.

Recent finds are calling each of these assumptions into question. While holding “family secrets” in some areas, many traditional teachers were well aware of the necessity of promoting their schools, styles and even philosophical understanding of the traditional martial arts.  Indeed, this was a decade in which the nature of the Chinese martial arts were being contested on a number of fronts.

Some May 4^th intellectuals saw traditional practices such as wrestling, archery and boxing as having no place in “modern China.”  Other reformers wanted to rework the traditional martial arts so that they could better act as vehicles for promoting nationalism and loyalty to the ruling KMT.  Yet, as the following article reminds us, approaches that emphasized the linkages (whether real or invented) of these arts with “traditional culture” also proved popular in the marketplace of ideas.

By the 1930s outreach to English speaking audiences was becoming an increasingly common aspect of the public discussion of the Chinese martial arts.  We have already seen that the Jingwu Association published some English language summaries of their work during the 1920s.  This organization’s efforts often received positive coverage in the foreign language press. Later reporters seemed to have been equally enamored with the reforms of the Guoshu movement and attempts to bring out the more “practical” side of these Chinese fighting systems, much as the Japanese had done.

Indeed, the growing international stature of Judo cast a long shadow over all of these efforts.  It is clear that martial artists in China were well aware that Kano’s style was receiving favorable press abroad.  A surprising number of Westerns were even starting to adopt these practices.  They also noted that this led to a certain admiration for Japanese culture in the West at exactly the same time that this state was beginning to make aggressive moves in China.

When seen in this context early efforts to reach out to the foreign press begin to make more sense.  By pointing to the supposedly continental origins of the Japanese fighting arts, Chinese reformers hoped to appropriate some of the growing respect (both tactical and cultural) that arts like Judo and Kendo were quickly amassing.  If they could also argue that the Japanese approach was comparatively unsophisticated, and less effective than their own, so much the better.  All of this would aid ongoing efforts in the realm of cultural diplomacy.

Many teachers also seem to have calculated that the respect of foreign audiences for their systems would yield increased legitimacy at home.  There were, after all, very good reasons why Chu Minyi worked so hard to get his unique approach to Taijiquan demonstrated at the 1936 Olympics.  Readers may recall that he even had foreign language booklets printed to explain it all to a multi-lingual international audience.

History seems to bear this theory out.  In 1930 Wing Chun was a distinctly regional art confined to a few areas of the Pearl River Delta region.  Now, decades after Bruce Lee (and more recently Ip Man) spread its fame to the West, it can be found all over China. The trans-national and trans-local nature of martial arts communities suggests that this sort of outreach can be extremely effective in shaping local perceptions of one’s practice.  The present article, which attempts to win cultural and intellectual respectability for the TCMA among a global audience, might be understood as an early step along this path.

In addition to these broader concerns, readers may want to meditate upon three issues as they work their way through this article.  First, consider the various comparisons that are drawn between Han’s “esoteric” practices and both the Japanese approach to martial arts (e.g., their overly masculine approach wrongly limits the instruction of female students), and the way that these teachings have subsequently been passed on to Western students.  While this material may be the least interesting to those focused specifically on the career of Han Xing Qiao, it is probably the most important aspect of the article from the standpoint of cultural diplomacy.

Second, readers should take note of the argument that the martial arts are fundamentally a form of moving meditation.  As students learn to gain an uncanny degree of control over the body (in essence “transcending” the physical self) they will likewise shatter the normal bounds of consciousness.  Spectacular physical performances are taken as an outward sign of an inner emotional and mental transformation.  Again, this type of discussion makes an interesting contrast with much of the material being produced by other reformers during the 1930s.  They often argued for a focus on community and national (rather than personal) transformation.

Lastly, consider the rhetorical tension that emerges when both western science and traditional Daoism are advanced as markers of the legitimacy of Han’s practice.  On the one hand, Western readers are greeted by all of the traditional trappings of Orientalism.  We are told of the otherworldly monks and the “thousand year old Buddha” before any discussion of the actual martial arts can begin.  Readers are then informed of the Daoist nature of this project.  Yet in practically the same breath, they are assured that not only are these (self-described) esoteric practices “not religious,” but that they are congruent with a modern and “scientific” world view.

In this article we see both “science” and “Daoism” being employed as ideological symbols rather than purely descriptive terms.  Such passages are more interested in shaping the reader’s views of Mr. Han’s wushu (and Chinese identity as a whole) rather than offering an objective exploration of its origins and nature.  Still, the odd combination of the timeless and culturally specific, mixed with the modern and universally accessible, speaks strongly to the growing association of the traditional martial arts with notions of national identity and cultural heritage during the Republic period.

Undoubtedly there are other themes and topics of interest that can be pulled out of this article.  What I find most significant are the ways that it seeks to shape and present its argument about the true nature of the Chinese martial arts to the readers.  Nor can we ignore the fact that by the 1930s foreign language publications were increasingly being drawn into these debates.
 

The bronze Buddha of the Jing’an temple, Shanghai.

CHINESE ART OF BOXING

Bubbling Well Temple the Scene of a Teacher’s Activities

Special to the “N. C. Herald.”

Shanghai.

Noise and bustle on Bubbling Well Road have little meaning in Tsing An Tse, the red-walled temple that broods at the corner of Bubbling Well and Hart Roads, for its monks are about their own affairs, forgetful even of the “bubbling well” now in the centre of the road, which once had real significance, and sent its slow fermentations up into the quiet sunlight of the temple court.  All is changed outwardly.  Inside the ruddy walls, the Buddha who has received kowtows for nearly a thousand years, gazes imperturbably out over a small court where Wu Hsu [wushu] is taught daily.

At first thought, there is no reason for surprise in the fact that the ancient science of physical training developed in China to give its disciples an uncanny control over every muscle and nerve in their bodies, should go on under the very eyes of Buddha.  Only when it is revealed that the “shadow boxing” in this case is founded upon Taoist principles, does it seem remarkable that it should be taught within the confines of a Buddhist retreat.

In Japan, a similar science of physical control flourishes under the name of jiu-jitsu and is, in its most metaphysical form, expounded on the Buddhist doctrine.  However, with no little encouragement, Han Hsing-chao [Han Xing Qiao], Chinese exponent of Wu Hsu, observes that some hundreds of years ago, the Japanese imported Chinese masters of the art, and having learned it, applied it in most departments of the army, carrying it eventually to various nations of the West where as “jiu-jitsu” it has been utilized by police departments to subdue desperadoes.  Cleaver grips, twisted arms, a sudden blow behind the knee, and the victim of jiu-jitsu is quite helpless in the hands of his adversary.  The science aims to teach its disciples how to take advantage of the blind, untutored force of their opponents, and with little energy, to triumph in physical combat.  In fact, it is said that the stronger the adversary and the more furious his attack, the easier his conquest by the swift and light-footed jiu-jitsu artist.  Certainly the police of New York City have, on more than one occasion, collared racketeers with a little use of the science as taught by Japan

Mastery Over the Body

The Chinese root of this gentle form of boxing, however, has far more significance in battle.  Mr. Han, a devote of Wu Hsu for the past six years, has followed in the steps of his father, an apt pupil of the famous master, Chang Yao-tung, advocate of the esoteric, or innermost phase of complete mastery over the body.  His followers look upon Wu Hsu, with its magic holds, and its brilliant coups in combat as rightly applied in defence only, and even more correctly directed towards the sole goal of achieving perfect health and spiritual enlightenment in a normal, healthy programme of exercise and physical training scientifically planned.

Valuable Attainment

Mr. Han regards the form of Wu Hsu taught to the world at large and hailed abroad as most valuable as simply a first step towards a far more valuable attainment than the subjugation of law-breakers.

“My brother and I teach only the esoteric form of Wu Hsu,” he remarks amiably, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth, “It is founded upon the principle of proper breathing.  The Japanese deny it to their women, except in very rare instances.  We do not, for women have a right to enjoy health and the mastery of themselves.  The Japanese use their training in competition.  We teach the individual to master himself and his own body.  There is no need for actual physical combat, for that encourages a spirit of aggression which is very unnecessary.  You can very easily tell from your student’s lightness, from his motions, and his form in action whether or not he would triumph if he were pitted against the man besides him.

Aggression is not wise.  It is the form of the science that is all-important.  And, of course, it is based upon Taoist principles as we teach it.  We do not give lessons in the insignificant exoteric steps.  We teach only the inward science of self-control.”

A question regarding the tolerance of the monks whose chants to Buddha rise regularly, elicited a naïve explanation by the advocate of Wu Hsu on a Taoist foundation.  “Religion is too deep a subject for us to teach,” said Mr. Han, “and so we merely explain the application of Taoist law.  It has nothing to do with religion.  That is what the monks teach.”

Unquestionably, a plunge into something very like metaphysics was next if one was to differentiate between the “outer” and the “inner” aspects of Wu Hsu, perhaps best described as a fascinating form of boxing. Here Mr. Han became fluent.  He was eager to describe the benefits of embarking upon a scientific conquest of one’s own actions, and as he spoke, it became increasingly apparent that esoteric Wu Hsu might possibly result in an entirely new outlook on life.  In so many words, the youthful speaker stated that the candidate for training must rebuild himself physically, and in the process, his character!

The “Bubbling Well” located near the Jing’an Temple. Circa 1930s. Source:http://www.virtualshanghai.net

Active Meditation

“You see,” he observed, “the esoteric science we teach differs not in all its purpose from the meditations of the Buddhist or the Taoist who fixes his gaze inward, remaining near perfectly motionless.  We simply teach an active meditation.”  That paradox stated in full seriousness, clinched the matter.  An excursion into philosophical explanations was imperative!

“It is very simple,” promised Mr. Han. “There are three steps of the esoteric training.”  The first, cruder in motion and more strenuous than more advanced forms, is primarily concerned with hardening the bones of your body to their true strength.  The next step is entirely concerned with training the muscles of the body, until they are soft and flexible, and instantly responsive to your will.  The third and last step, is a lightening of the physical boy through breathing, by this time scientifically established to coordinate with your actions.  Moreover, [“]your nerves become assets, and not handicaps.” he pronounced, casting an appraising look at his interviewer.

During the extended period of training, the concentration upon proper breathing results in a noticeable development of the solar plexus.  It is declared that a glance at the candidate’s solar plexus will unfailing reveal the stage of his advancement in body-control.  “This is because Wu Hsu is founded upon the belief that the fires of life are centered in the solar plexus, and only when they are wisely and consciously developed, does the solar plexus register development,” revealed Mr. Han.

No Restrictions

Strangely enough, no dietary laws are enforced, nor is smoking considered a handicap.  Those are matters of individual taste.  Regularity in one’s daily habits, alone, is enough to accomplish results in Wu Hsu.  It would seem, if Mr. Han’s philosophy is to be credited, that Wu Hsu training is a first rate insurance against disease, infectious or organic.  He relates, without any apparent sense of voicing a miraculous fact, that heart trouble, rheumatism, chest infections, and all varieties of ills yield readily to the science which he claims, “purifies the blood and the whole body.”  The initiate of Wu Hsu should never be ill.

When one has gone through the motions of Wu Hsu, practicing them until they become all but subconscious as regards their form, one suddenly pierces the veil of material restriction that limits one’s sense of power.  Surely, the science imparts an agility and lightness hitherto associated only with such dancers of Pavlowa, Nijinsky, and Mordkin, if the testimony of one’s eyes can be believed.  So swift and lightning-like are the dartings, parryings and leapings of the brothers Han that the eye is baffled more than once in its attempt to follow their cavortings.  Speed and the ability to thwart an adversary are mere steps on the way to the ultimate goal.

Mr. Han was concise on this point.  “Your mind is then no longer murky, dull, confused, or slow,” he declared.  “It suddenly becomes clear and keen.  Like the ones who achieve true vision through meditation, your mind is released from bondage that is, after all, self-imposed.  You do not have to think,-you know!” (Blessed state!) “After you have taken the first step towards inward being, your movements are sure and certain as never before, and so like the flight of a bullet is your speed that you seem invisible to your adversary.  Dependent upon his own limited senses to follow you, he is stupefied!”

The temple courtyard today.

Masters of Themselves

Deprecating the material application of a noble principle as unfair to the uninitiated, even in sport, Mr. Han admits that it is being used by soldiery in China, Japan, and other parts of the world.  But, because it [is] unworthy in man to harm his fellows, it is wisest and best to achieve without combat, striving for the illumination of mind that spells freedom to the individual.  He is an insignificant disciple of the art of perfect physical mastery, only, stated Mr. Han, continuing with the information that real masters of Wu Hsu are teaching at the Temple of Fire in Peking.  They are not monks, he hastens to assure his visitor.  They are masters of themselves, physically, and one would gather, emotionally and mentally.

They are past sixty, many of them, it is said, and yet they may be seen bounding away from imaginary competitors like pieces of down tossed by a breeze, dazzling the eye with their brilliant and effortless agility.  They have followed through the mystical maze of active meditation, and have attained illumination through essaying its intricacies.

Meanwhile, longing to study further, and delve deeper into the mystery of “principle” and “power,” the brothers Han pursued their business of teaching Wu Hsu within the walls of Tsing An Tse.  Bright and early every morning, they marshal their classes of youngsters before them, watching alertly for the feather-lightness, the sure confidence and lightening-speed, and that far-away, penetrating expression that betrays one who has pierced the veil of constricted thought.  That one will have the power to see with crystal clarity-but to see what?  The mystery remains serenely locked in those minds which have, through perfect physical control, discovered hyper-consciousness, and with it, the “key” unlocking the fires of life slumbering placidly in the solar plexus of the average mortal if the Brothers Han can be believed.

oOo

 
If you enjoyed this you might also want to read: Cheung Lai Chuen, Creator of Pak Mei

oOo

Photo by Marcello Sidoti. Source: Wikimedia.

Can a westerner truly master Akido (or Taijiquan, Wing Chun, etc…..)?

I once again find myself noting that I should not be writing this post. The topic is fascinating, but I will be flying to Cologne, Germany, for the 5^th Annual Meeting of the German Society of Sport Science’s Martial Arts Commission later this week.  This year’s Conference is titled “Martial Arts and Society – On the Societal Relevance of Martial Arts, Combat Sports and Self-Defense.”  I was asked to give one of the keynotes and while my paper is finished, there are a number of last minute details that I should be attending to.

Upon returning I will post my paper and a full report.  Paul Bowman, who will also be presenting a keynote, has already posted a copy of his paper here.  That should give interested readers a head-start on the conversation.

Nevertheless, I had the good fortune to run across a very interesting post at Budo-Inochi earlier this week.  Kai Morgan asked “Do Japanese people and Westerners experience Aikido the same way?”  Within it she summarized an article by Prof.  Jeff Dykhuizen titled “Training in culture: The case of aikido education and meaning-making outcomes in Japan and the United States,” published in the November 2000 issue of International Journal of Intercultural Relations.  Be sure to see Kai’s post for an excellent quick review of the paper’s major findings.   Unfortunately you will probably have to head to your local University library to find a copy of Dykhuizen’s essay.

I should begin my own discussion of this piece by saying that I liked this article.  It is a nice example of a well-designed, small scale, empirical research project tackling an interesting martial art’s related subject.  The author paid attention to both methodological concerns as well as a few larger research design issues.

In fact, I was a little surprised that I had never come across this article before.  One suspects that it might be better known in the literature on the Japanese martial arts.  In general there does not seem to be as much engagement between the various nationally focused literatures in martial arts studies as one might like.  One of the goals of this blog is it uncover pieces such as this and encourage a bit more conversation.  I suspect that many students of Chinese martial studies will actually be quite interested in the topics that Dykhuizen raises.

After all, most of us have run up against the notion that only a native teacher of an art can pass on an “authentic” version its transmission at one point or another.  Foreign students may study a system, but given their cultural background they will be unlikely to truly master it.  No less an ethnographer (and martial artist) than Adam Frank reported a conversation with a fellow Taijiquan student in Shanghai in which it was lamented that he did not enjoy the good fortune to be born Chinese.  While enthusiastic, as a foreign student, he would have no chance to actually penetrate the art’s “inner mysteries.” Nor are these insecurities confined to the Chinese arts.  One of the more interesting discussions in Bennett’s recent study, Kendo: Culture of the Sword, was the ongoing debate as to whether foreigners could ever grasp the supernal nuances of Japanese Budo.  And if not, why bother to promote Kendo abroad?

No sentiment is more irksome to many Western students of the martial arts.  On a technical level there does not seem to be any barrier preventing our physical mastery of a given art.  Yet there are always nagging doubts as to the “authenticity” of our experience and understanding of the art.  Rarely are we simply Kendo, Taiji or Wing Chun instructors.  We are always qualified as American (or Western) practitioners of the art.

Aikido demonstration. Photo by Magyar Balázs. Source: Wikimedia.

How do we encounter the Asian martial arts?

This notion is troubling precisely because, on some level, one must wonder whether there is not some level of truth to it.  Scholars have noted for some time that the very act of cultural exchange (the passing of a practice or identity from one group to another) always entails transformation.  At the most basic level, different cultural systems are not mutually intelligible to one another.  They do not a share the same symbolic, linguistic and pedagogical resources. The act of translation implies an approximation, and hence a change, of meaning.

On a more fundamental level, two cultural groups often have very different interests and goals at any given moment in time.  A hippie in San Francisco in the year 1970, and a Chinese individual in Taipei, may both agree that Taijiquan is fascinating.  Yet their motivations and goals for taking up the study of their shared practice might be quite different.  Thus the transfer of any practice involves more than just finding a new set of terms and pedagogical practices to translate the art.  Often a new source of demand for the project must be articulated as well.

This is precisely the situation of the Asian martial arts in the West for much of the 20^th century.  Authors such as Krug and Miracle have warned us that Western practitioners did not simply adopt the institutions and practices by their Asian teachers.  Rather they reimagined and appropriated these arts in such a way that they were made relevant to the cultural concerns of Western students.  Nor was this a simple, one time, affair.  Both Krug and Miracle point to a progressive process in which changing cultural conditions in the West (Miracle), and an advancing level of engagement with Asian culture (Krug), led to different sorts of engagement with the martial arts.

As an instructor within the Wing Chun system I must believe that I (and my students) can possess an “authentic” and legitimate understanding of the art.  Yet as a student of Martial Arts Studies I know that it is exceedingly unlikely that my own understanding of the art will be the same as one of my Kung Fu brothers back in Hong Kong.

Yet exactly how different are our experiences of the art likely to be?  Where did these divergences enter our shared community?  And what do they imply about our ability to build a global community around a set of experiences that may be more different than it first appears?

These are some of the questions that Dykhuizen attempts to address.  Rather than employing the same broad historical and theoretical approach favored by Krug and Miracle, he instead designed a much more detailed empirical study focusing on the divergence views of Aikido communities in Japan and the United States.  While we must always exercise caution in generalizing from the results of a single survey, I expect that the general patterns that Dykhuizen found might also be seen in a great many other hand combat communities.  Further, his specific mixed-methods approach, combining carefully targeted small scale survey research (N=120), with longer term (multi-sited) ethnographic studies, might provide a model for investigating similar questions across a much broader range of practices.

Prior to discussing this project I should note one additional fact.  While the attitudes and pedagogical approaches observed within these different schools (a few dozen in total) were allowed to vary, the actual approach Aikido being practiced by all of them was very similar on a purely technical level.  Indeed, the Pacific Ocean seems to have been no barrier to the technical mastery of the art.  Yet how did students understand and experience these techniques?

I will refer readers back to Kai’s blog post for a more detailed summary of Dykhuizen’s findings.  For the purposes of this article it is sufficient to note that the article advanced three research questions.  First, were there differences in pedagogy between the main research sites in Japan and the United States?  Second, how did Japanese and American students understand their own experience of Aikido?  Lastly, how did they perceive the understanding of the counterparts in the other country?  Did they see “foreign” students as having a fundamentally different, or similar, experience within the art?  Due to the constraints of time I will only be tackling the first two questions in this post.

The first of these was taken up via ethnographic investigation.  The author’s field work focused on two different Dojos in Japan, and a single shared Dojo (but with two distinct instructors, each running their own classes) in the United States. In addition to participant observation, a number of formal interviews were also collected during this process.

The final set of questions was investigated through a set of short surveys.  These were sent to about a dozen schools in Japan, and a similar sized sample the US.  In total 120 and 128 usable responses generated were generated across both countries.  This was the minimum sample size needed to determine statistical significance.

The surveys asked respondents to fill in the missing word for the sentences, “Aikido is ____?”, and “Qi is _____?”  Respondents were given a wide range of adjectives with which they complete these sentences.  The author then used statistical “Factor Extraction” techniques to determine which ideas (if any) were dominant within in a given community.  Further, by looking at the richness and the nuance of the outcomes Dykhuizen hypothesized that he could make some estimates about the level of sophistication with which a community approached a given question.

Nor was the author disappointed by the results of the study.  It turned out that Japanese and American students responded to these questions quite differently.  When asked to complete the sentence “Qi  is _____?” Japanese students were most likely to say: kind, graceful, peaceful, soft and rounded.  In comparison American students leaned towards: hard, tenacious, ferocious and cruel.

While the primary answers for the question “Aikido is _____?” were much more similar for both groups (beautiful, graceful, strong), there were some interesting divergences in the secondary associations that each group specified (heavy, strong and active for Japanese students versus cruel, tenacious, ferocious and active for the American students).

The author also noted important pedagogical differences between all of the schools that he visited.  In general Japanese instructors were much more likely to discuss questions of Qi and the spiritual implications of the art.  Both of his American instructors, on the other hand, went to great lengths to emphasize Aikido’s status as a “true martial art.”  While they did not deny the “deeper” aspects of the art, Dykhuizen notes that they were much less likely to ever discuss ideas of Qi or philosophy with their classes.

Upon looking at his results the author concluded that there was a great deal of agreement between his ethnographic and survey data.  Students in America tended to understand, and hence experience, Aikido differently than their Japanese counterparts.

Specifically, Americans exhibited a notable emphasis on violence, where as their Japanese counterparts focused on harmony.  This was not because they were being taught to be violent in class.  Nor were their classes particularly violent.

Rather, American students were more likely to emphasize Aikido’s status as a “martial art.”  For them that very much placed the practice in the midst of a number of other images and ideas that were all associated with violence.  Japanese students, on the other hand, either played down the combative nature of their practice, or possibly they understood the “martial arts” quite differently.  Unfortunately the author did not really explore this second possibility.

Dykhuizen then concluded that many of the differences between the experience of Japanese and American students could be attributed to the variance in how they were taught (but not necessarily what they were taught).  He concluded that instructors were critical figures as they had the ability to shape and recast the material being presented to students in such a way that it advanced their own cultural paradigms.  Thus when an American student studies Aikido with an American teacher, he is not really being introduced to an authentic vision of Japanese martial culture so much as a different way of experiencing his own culture.

Expats in Shanghai are showing more interest in local Kung Fu Classes. Source: Shanghai Daily

Asking the so what question?

In a number of ways the results of  Dykhuizen’s study are so predictable as to be uninteresting.  If there is a major fault with this study it is that it simply attempted to measure the size of an effect predicted by our basic theories of cultural exchange.  Of course those sorts of results are always helpful. Yet there is little new and novel in the finding that American culture colors the way that Americans approach the martial arts.  The only shocking conclusion would be to discover that this somehow was not true.

Still, as we dig a bit deeper into these results a few interesting discrepancies appear.  For instance, when reviewing his basic socioeconomic data the author discovered that there were some fundamental differences between the Aikido community in the US and Japan.  To begin with, the American community tended to be very highly educated, with nearly 17% of respondents having a Masters degree or some equivalent.  The number in Japan was much lower.

It seems that within the US this art systematically attracts a certain sort of student.  These relatively sophisticated individuals confessed, in their interviews, to deeply studying questions within the martial arts, and having personal libraries of books dedicated to Aikido.  Indeed, Dykhuizen noted that American students appeared to approach the question of “Akido is ____?” with a relatively greater degree of sophistication than their Japanese counterparts.

For the sake of argument I am going to simply assume that all of this true.  Ideally it would be important to see this demographic data independently verified by another study.  Yet as we think about this fact, a few deeper puzzles begin to emerge.  For instance, if these students have delved deeply into the study of Aikido, why haven’t they done the same thing with questions of Qi?

While reporting his results on the Qi question Dykhuizen speculates that the seeming “lack of sophistication” with which Americans approach that topic was a matter of their cultural distance from how the term is encountered in daily Japanese speech.  Yet one would suspect that the sorts of Americans who would dedicate themselves to Aikido and have masters degrees would also be more likely than their peers to take an interest in Japanese culture, or to have studied the language while in college.

If their personal study was enough to open an even more nuanced approach to Aikido than some of their Japanese peers, why could it not do the same for their grasp of qi?  One rather strongly suspects that these individuals did not develop this same level of understanding as they did not choose to delve quite as deeply into that subject.

Why not?  This is where we return to the (possibly) culturally bounded nature of these practices.  Perhaps these questions were viewed as uninteresting, or not relevant to a “real martial art.”

Admittedly all of this is speculation.  Yet I think it is an important conversation to have as it points to a larger weakness in Dykhuizen’s research design.  With such a small sample size it is difficult to control for too many competing hypotheses.  And that becomes critical when we think about the role of the instructor in the process of cross-cultural transmission transformation.

To put the matter simply, western students do not need an American teacher to introduce Western elements into their understanding of these practices.  Being immersed in American popular culture they will be perfectly capable of doing that on their own.  Indeed, it was probably fanciful and Orientalist representations of the Asian martial arts that brought them to the Dojo’s doors in the first place.  I would venture to guess that much of their subconscious understanding of what a “proper” martial art is was already set in place years before they ever started to train.  Students of martial arts studies should never underestimate the power of “youthful fantasies” and first impressions.

The real question is whether a teacher might be able to short circuit this cycle.  Would a Japanese instructor in America be able to convey his or her experience of the art to their students?  Or might an American instructor in Japan (someone like Alexander Bennett) be able to shake students out of simply accepting the unstated link between the traditional martial arts and “national identity?”

I suspect not.  Adam Frank had many Chinese teachers, but still doubted whether his experience and understanding of Taijiquan was the same as theirs.  Nor do western students seem to have any difficulty projecting their own orientalist fantasies onto flesh and blood instructors.  Indeed, escaping all of this to create a real bond of mutual understanding and engagement between a teacher and a student is one of the great challenges (and rewards) of life in the martial arts.

Yet again, we find ourselves slipping into the realm of speculation.  In this case that is necessary as Dykhuizen never included any cases in his study where the teacher and students came from a different cultural background.  Not only did he fail to include such an instance in his ethnographic work, but he went so far as to throw out survey data on American students studying in Japan or Japanese students practicing in America.  Including these observations, and expanding the scope of the ethnographic fieldwork, would have been necessary to actually understand a teacher’s impact on the student’s experience of the art separate from their immersion in popular and media culture.

Leaving these questions of research design aside, perhaps the most important question to consider is what might motivate research like this?  If the author’s concern is simply to measure the amplitude of a predicted effect, or to make a point about the dangers of trying to transport pedagogical practices across borders (as is the case here), then all of this remains a harmless exercise.  Yet one strongly suspects that many readers will be approaching a paper like this from a different perspective.  Informed by their own anxieties and backgrounds in the martial arts, they will look to this article to discover whether an American can ever learn “authentic” Aikido.

The introduction of this paper begins by noting that the cultural differences exhibited between sub-population in a single location are almost always more interesting than the nominal variance observed between states, yet it immediately goes on to ignore its own warning.  The author was careful to select similar “representative” schools in Japan and the US for his study.  But what sorts of results would he have found if he had included the notoriously brutal Tokyo Riot Police Aikido dojo in his study?

Alternatively, what if this study was reimagined with a longitudinal aspect?  What results would we have found if we surveyed high school Kendo students in Japan in 1920 vs. 1940 vs. 1960?  I suspect that the magnitude of the variance in those answers would have blown away anything that Dykhuizen found in his research on contemporary Aikido students in Japan and the US today.

The essential problem is that so many of our discussions of cultural translation begin within the assumption that there was ever a single unitary unchanging view of a martial practice in its home country.  Modern students want so very badly to point at a single performance at a given moment in time and proclaim “that is authentic Aikido,” or “that is authentic Taijiquian.”

Yet the martial arts are a process, not an event.  They are rarely unitary, and they never stand still.  To paraphrase Adam Frank, martial identities move.    They move within their home regions and between various socio-economic groups.  They move through time and from genre of popular culture to the next.  They even move linguistically, culturally and globally.  Every one of these movements transforms and diversifies these arts. Every resulting scion is an “authentic” practice.

Simply to confirming that this process happens within the martial arts is not terribly interesting.  Upon thinking about this article a little more deeply one is left to wonder “So what?”  Yet more studies completed along similar lines might begin to give to us a better idea of where these arts move, how specifically they travel through the global community, and why some variants of a system survive while others die off.  Perhaps this article matters because it points to the potential of future empirical investigations within martial arts studies.

 
oOo

If you enjoyed this article you might also want to read:  The Tao of Tom and Jerry: Krug on the Appropriation of the Asian Martial Arts in Western Culture

oOo

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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?

oOo

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.

oOo

 
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.

oOo

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

oOo

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.

Chinese martial arts display. Northern China, sometime in the 1930s.

Introduction

Certain events stand out in any historical treatment of the Chinese martial arts.  The Boxer Uprising, the rapid popularization of Taijiquan and creation of the Jingwu Association in Shanghai all come to mind.  Yet any discussion of events in the 1930s is dominated by the Nationalist (KMT) backed Guoshu (or “National Arts”) movement.  This government sponsored reform program sought to rejuvenate and modernize China’s various systems of boxing, wrestling and fencing.  Reformers claimed that in the proper hands these fighting systems could be the key to improving public health and hygiene, forging a more cohesive society, strengthening nationalism, creating a feeling of militarism among the Chinese people, and (last but not least) shoring up their support for the government and its ruling party.

The success of Japanese efforts to deploy Bushido as a training regime for the “body politic” suggested that these goals were not as outlandish as they might at first sound.  Indeed, throughout the late Meiji period Kendo, Judo and a handful of other martial practices made important inroads in Japanese education, military and law enforcement structures.  After their defeat of Russia, foreign observers increasingly expressed interest in the various ways that the Japanese martial arts reflected, or strengthened, the “national character.”

In an attempt to replicate this success, China’s government did much to promote its own fighting systems.  Schools created boxing classes for children, and the government created physical education programs needed to train the huge numbers of necessary instructors.  Various sorts of journals, newsletters and educational materials were published and circulated extolling the virtues of the new Guoshu system, and the need to move away from the secrecy, rivalry and feudal superstition that marred China’s traditional fighting art.

Perhaps the most visible aspect of the Guoshu movement was the creation of a network of local, provincial and national tournaments meant to standardize and raise the profile of the Chinese martial arts.  The most important of these events were the periodic “National Examinations,” held only twice (1928 and 1933), in the capital.

Andrew Morris has discussed these events (and their challenges) in great detail in his study of Republic era Chinese sports, Marrow of the Nation.  Likewise, in my own book on the social history of the Southern Chinese martial arts, I discuss at length the difficulty that national reformers had in disrupting the market driven growth of local martial arts movements.  These were often much more “traditional” in character and more focused on local or regional identity.

While modern writers tend to look back on these National Examinations as great achievements, high water marks in the history of the Chinese martial arts, it is often forgotten that the Guoshu program was not without its weaknesses.  Most local martial artists simply ignored the tournament network that the government had established.  As Morris points out, the 1933 National Examination was scheduled to overlap the 1933 National Games because it’s organizers realized (quite correctly) that without the draw of this larger, and much more popular event, it would simply be impossible to attract enough fighters and spectators to hold a successful tournament.

None of this pessimism is evident in the following English language account of the event.  The Shanghai based China Press, originally an American owned newspaper with strong pro-government leanings (often used as an outlet for public diplomacy discussions aimed at a global audience by the KMT) ran a lengthy piece attempting to introduce its western readers both the event and to the changing nature of the Chinese martial arts themselves.

While pointing to the continued vitality of China’s ancient martial arts, this article goes out of its way to demonstrate the degree to which they had been modernized and reformed.  The reporter covering the 1933 event explained to readers the various weight classes used (just as in Western Boxing), the sorts of judges and referees who would present, expectations of sportsmanship, and even the use of modern safety gear in both boxing and weapons based tournaments.

All of this evidence of modernization is at the same time balanced against a revival of distinctly traditional elements.  The entire idea of a “national examination” in the martial arts obviously harkens back to the late imperial period.  Nor would the spectators neglect to notice that fights were staged on the traditional elevated platform favored by Chinese pugilists rather than western style rings.  Yet all of this “tradition” was also observed by a small number of western spectators and reporters who duly reported their observations to the wider world.

As Andrew Morris has suggested, the message that international audiences were meant to draw from this seems clear.  The martial arts, under the guidance of the KMT, had become truly “national arts.”  They reflected the essence of China’s ancient culture.  Yet they could also be “modern” and were fit for the type of universal sporting competition that signaled one’s acceptance on the global stage.  Indeed, within three years of this event the Chinese martial arts would reach a much larger international audience when they were demonstrated at the closing ceremonies of the 1936 Olympics games in Berlin.

The following article offers us a glimpse into a famous and often discussed event.  More importantly, it suggests the sorts of images that the KMT sought to project, not just nationally, but globally, with its martial arts program.  Finally, readers should note the author’s concluding paragraph.  While sportsmanship and modern safety gear are good, readers were to be left in doubt as to what this tournament signaled about the state of China’s “fighting spirit” as it headed into the tumultuous 1930s.

Chinese Pugilistic Artists Entertain Nanking Fans With Classy Exhibition of Skills

Contestants Clash In Broadsword, Quarter-Staff, Fencing, Spear Fighting, Halberd And Boxing Tournaments In Order to Pass Examination

By Teh-Chen T’ang

Nanking, Oct. 23.—After having jammed the Central Stadium to watch 2,200 athletes competing in all kinds of western sports for ten days, October 10 to October 20, Nankingites are now packing the public recreation ground to capacity to witness some 300 pugilistic artists, representing provinces, display their physical prowess at the Second National Boxing Examination, which opened last Friday, October 20.

Although the Central Government has enthusiastically aroused the interest of the public to engage in western sports, as evidenced by the success of the last National Track and Field Meet, Nanking is sparing no attention to preserve, as well as to promote, Chinese boxing, a form of athletics which has taken a deep root among Chinese long before soccer, basketball, track and field and the like were introduced.

It is with this in mind that the present examination is held, an elapse of five years since the first took place in the capital

Spectators Flock to See Battles
Equal fervor is shown on the part of the people over the affair.  Ever since its opening, the stands have been filled up with spectators.  They cheer wildly and applaud heartily over well-fought battles.  Their enthusiasm proves Chinese boxing still holds its place among the common class despite the fact [that] western sports are gaining popularity.

The examination will be a seven day affair, ending October 27.  The first five days will be devoted to physical contests while the last two days will be spent on written, or oral examination.

Six forms of competition are given at the examination.  They are broadsword contests, spear fighting, quarter-staff, boxing, fencing, and halberd competition.

Written Test on the Last Day
Preliminary examinations for boxing were held the first two days.  Yesterday the semi-finals for qualified boxers were held.  Quarter-staff bouts were held today.  Fencing, wrestling, spear fighting and the rest will be on the schedule through the rest of the week.  The written test will take place in the afternoon of October 27.  Party Principles, Chinese and the Origin of Chinese Boxing will be quizzed.

The number of representatives for each province is limited to 30.  Only one entry is allowed for each contestant.  If he fails to make the grade of 60 at the heat, he is eliminated.

Hunan, however, sends the largest contingent, the number being around 100.  Other provinces, with the exception of Mongolia, Tiber, Kansu, and Chinghai, are represented with from 30 to 50 members.  The aforementioned states sent none on account of financial and geographical difficulties.

Curious Rules Govern Boxing
As far as boxing itself is concerned, a round consists of two hits.  The one who makes an attack on his opponent at the right spot is considered the winner of the round.  He who leads in both rounds is the winner.

In a boxing match, no one is supposed to hit the eyes, throat, waist, kidney and other strategic places of his opponent.  To remind the competitors of these regulations a hugh [sic] physiological diagram of a human body is hung on the north side of the ring locating those strategic spots.

Like pugilistic contests in America, participants are divided into five classes of weight.  They are (1) heavyweight, above 182 pounds; (2) light-heavyweight, 165 to 182 pounds; (3) middleweight, 148 to 165 pounds; (4) light-middle weight, 132 to 148 pounds; and (5) light-weight, 132 pounds.

The ring, a rope arena in an octagonal shape, occupies 200 square feet and can accommodate over 500 persons.  The ring is surrounded by stands, also erected octagonally, which can seat 30,000 people.  On the north end are box seats reserved for government officials and honor guests.

2 Teams Fight At the Same Time
Contestants sit around the ring which is three feet above the ground.  Two groups will be in action at the same time since the arena is big enough for two teams.  A radio announcer looks after the roll call and other broadcasting duties.

For Occidentals interested in Oriental pugilistic art, the affair is well worth watching.  When the writer visited the examination ground today, two groups of fighters were seen in action, boxers and quarter-staffers.

Outfits worn by pugilists will be most interesting to westerners.  Instead of appearing on the ring with a pair of short pants and a pair of eight ounce gloves, they don themselves up with a baseball chest protector and a pair of soccer leg pads.  Only ordinary cotton gloves are used.

Contestants are searched by referees before they start to fight.  They are required to bow before the onlookers at the north box seats.  Then they bow to each other instead of shaking hands as western boxers do.  The one wearing a red band takes the east corner and the other with [a] yellow band the west.

There are two umpires for each match and three judges.  One referee holds a red flag while the other a green one.  A whistle and a waving of the green flag starts the fight.  In case of a deadlock, the red-flag referee segregates the two combatants and the battle starts all over again.  Each round takes about five minutes.

As soon as the winner has been decided upon by three judges, his right hand is raised as a sign of victory.  The two contestants then bow before the box seats guests again, shake with each other with both hands and follow with a deep bow.

Quarter-Staff Artists Don Queer Costumes

Stick fighters will look even more queer to visitors.  Each one wears a helmet like that seen on an American foot-ball field with a mask protecting his face.  Front-protectors and shin-guards are also used.  An ordinary pair of winter gloves with a thick piece of leather protecting the wrist is used.

At one end of the rod is fixed a ball of cloth.  The point is dipped with red ink and red powder.  The idea is that the one touched by the stick of the other will have a red mark and be known as the loser.  The quarter-staffmen, too, have to go through the same friendly gestures.

The examination is not without its comical points.  Two hot-headed boxers are often seen resorting to rough tactics sending right and left hooks to each other despite the warning of the referee.  One sometimes wonders if it isn’t a genuine western prize fight as staged in Madison Square Garden!  Some stick-wielders also fall in the same pitch and are seen landing the rod on each other’s head or sweeping the stick across the opponent’s shin.

Not a few have been slightly hurt since the examination was held.  It proves Chinese boxing is just as dangerous as western boxing when seriously applied.  Excellent performances usually bring forth cheers and applause from the crowd.

The China Press, Oct 26, 1933. p. 6

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If you would like to see a contrasting image of the Chinese martial arts (also published in English language newspapers) during the 1930s see: “Research Notes: Han Xing Qiao Opens the “Internal Arts” to the West, 1934″

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

Another Look at a “Young Boxer” – Martial Arts and National Humiliation in Early 20th Century China

By Benjamin Judkins and Doug Wile

Introduction

Earlier this year I published an image of a “Young Boxer” found on a vintage postcard, mailed between Tianjin and Beijing in 1909.  This was used as a jumping off point for a short essay that attempted to illustrate how various theoretical approaches (in this case social history, religious studies and critical theory) could create contrasting and complimentary views of the same subject.  Because these theories have different underlying assumptions and associated methodological tool kits, each is capable of generating a different set of conclusions about the same image.  When faced with any question of sufficient complexity, students of martial arts studies might find it worthwhile to apply a series of lenses, rather than a single approach.  Of course this is only one possible way of conceptualizing “interdisciplinary work.”

Yet the benefits of such an exercise go beyond the ability to acquire additional theories.  Interdisciplinary work can be exciting because of the conversations that it stimulates.  These sometimes lead one in new and fruitful directions.

It is thus interesting to note that my previous post on the “Young Boxer” generated as much email correspondence between students of martial arts studies as any other post that I have published here at Kung Fu Tea.  Interestingly most of these messages did not attempt to weigh in on the three views (social history, critical theory and religious studies) presented before.  Led by Prof. Douglas Wile (author of the Lost Tai Chi Classics, among other important contributions to Chinese Martial Studies), they instead sought to open a conversation on linguistic based approaches to this image.

As we will see, the Chinese language inscriptions on this postcard may well generate more questions than answers.  Yet the issues that they raise are fascinating.  While I am not clear that we have totally resolved all of the puzzles surrounding this image, it opens a valuable window onto the public discussion of the traditional Chinese martial arts in the early 20^th century, prior to their rehabilitation by various reformers and modernizers (including the Jingwu Association) in the 1910s.

What is this a case of?

In order to understand how this postcard managed to generate so much interest it might be helpful to compare it to a few other images that I have previously posted here at Kung Fu Tea.

A Vintage Postcard showing a Shanghai Sword Juggler. Source: Author’s Personal Collection.

“Well Known Sword Juggler n Shanghai City” Vintage postcard, 1907-1914. Source: This particular scan from the digital collection of the NY Public library. They managed to get a better reproduction that I could.

Detail of postcard showing traditional practitioners performing in a marketplace. Japanese postcard circa 1920.  The image dates to the final years of the Qing Dynasty.

 
In comparing these images readers will immediately note multiple similarities.  All of these photographs were taken prior to the 1911 revolution.  They all feature men with swords.  Indeed, an individual holding a sword (or less commonly a spear) was probably the dominant image of Chinese martial artists available to Western consumers prior to the 1960s.  Thus “Chinese Boxers” tended to be imagined quite differently from their Japanese counterparts (usually seen in their identical white Judo uniforms) during the first half of the 20th century.

Given the great variety of actual practices found within the Chinese martial arts, one might wonder how such a uniform set of images emerged.  Why do we have so few postcards featuring wrestling competitions, or middle class archery practice on university campuses?  The historical record informs us that these other sorts of things happened as well.

The nature of the medium itself may be partially to blame to this homogenizing effect.  Most postcards were shot in one of the few larger treaty ports or cities with a substantial Western presence.  Further, readers must remember that practically all of these images were produced for sale to Western (rather than Chinese) consumers.

Additionally, while huge numbers of unique images were marketed through early postcards, Thiriez notes that almost all of them (following the conventions of early photography) can be thought of as falling into one of only four genres.  The most popular category was “topography” in which prominent features of the landscape (including city walls, ancient monuments and tourist attractions) were documented.

Also important were “portrait” cards.  These tended to feature composed scenes of individuals (often women, occasionally prostitutes) or families.  It is interesting to note that with the exceptions of high officials and other important individuals, these images were almost always marketed in general terms (such as “Chinese family” of “Chinese beauty”).  This stripping of individual identity is also seen on most martial arts related postcards.

The remaining two genres of postcards seemed to work at cross purposes with each other.  The first warned its readers of the imminent disappearance of “old China,” while the second served to reassure them that such a thing could never happen.  As such, the first class of postcards focused on images of Western innovation and modernization within China.  Popular subjects seem to have included Christian Churches, industrial factories and newly paved streets lined with European style architecture.  Modern military units and naval vessels also make regular appearances.

This frank acknowledgement of the process of rapid change and urbanization in China was counteracted by the final, and probably most popular, genre of postcards.  These were images of “authentic” Chinese life and customs.  Of course how one understands “authenticity” is always something of an issue.  Almost all of these photos were taken in public spaces.  It appears that neither western photographers nor Chinese models had much interest in actually entering the domestic sphere of Chinese homes.  That would have violated an unspoken sense of propriety for both groups.

While early 19^th century photographers often went to some lengths to capture detailed, almost ethnographically accurate, images, their later followers tended to be more sensational in taste.  Photographs were also reused for decades after their first production.  This can make dating postcards difficult and it certainly contributed to the West’s allochronistic view of China.  For better or worse, the Western public seemed to have an unending appetite for images of “traditional” Chinese barbers, dentists, grocers, farmers, beggars, soldiers, criminals, merchants and fortune tellers, all plying their trade (Thiriez 2004).

Almost all of the early postcards featuring Chinese martial artists fall into this last category.  There are some exceptions.  Hand painted images of martial artists often touched on different themes.  But they are a subject for a future post.  The images of Chinese Boxing that were produced for Western consumers tended to place these activities almost exclusively in the public arena and to focus on the sorts of activities and performances that were either deeply romanticized or an aspect of everyday market life.

When viewed in these terms, there is much about our image of the Young Boxer that is already well understood.  It clearly sits within a tradition of imagining Chinese martial artists (or more likely “sword dancers”) that early 20^th century consumers would have readily understood.

Yet when compared to the images above (or the many additional examples posted previously at Kung Fu Tea), a few differences are also evident.  Whereas many postcards alluded to some aspect of China’s ancient and “unchanging” nature (either in terms of its landscape or the supposedly entrenched customs of its people), this card was specifically referencing the Boxer Rebellion.  At the time it was sent (1909) this was still a recent (and feared) event, rather than a matter of “timeless imagination.”  Indeed the, the Boxer Rebellion spawned its own cottage photography industry seeking to satisfy the appetites of curious western consumers.

Yet such postcards, printed in Europe and intended for Western audiences, were not labeled in Chinese.  Nor did they generally feature much Chinese linguistic content of any kind.  This image is an exception as it bears both a Chinese language label (along the left hand side) and an inscription (on the boy’s chest badge).  Almost none of the postcard’s intended consumers would have been able to read these lines.  And yet they may have a critical impact on how we understand the intentions of the individuals involved with the initial production of this photographic image.

Another image of the chest badge.

A Foolish Farmer

As I mentioned in my previous post, this particular postcard comes up at auction frequently enough that one suspects that it must have been fairly popular when it was first published in the early 20^th century.  As such the vertical inscription on the left hand side of the image has been previously addressed.  Scott Rodell and Peter Dekker noted that it reads “Stupid Farmer Practicing Boxing.”  Douglas Wile concurred and read the same phrase as “Ignorant Peasant Practices Martial Arts.”

Given the financial ruin and national humiliation that the Boxer Rebellion unleashed on the state, the hostility of this title is not surprising.  As I have mentioned elsewhere, the Chinese martial arts probably came closer to actual extinction during the period that this card was produced than at any time since.  It would be another decade before the hard work of a group of nationally minded reformers would launch these fighting systems back into the national consciousness.

Yet for much of the first decade of the 20^th century the rapidly urbanizing Chinese population took an increasingly hostile view towards anything related to the martial arts.  These fighting systems had traditionally been associated with poor youth from the countryside.  Rapidly unfolding processes of modernization shifted the center of social power decisively into the urban sphere.

Thus it seems likely that there is a double mockery embedded in this title.  In addition to taking a swipe at the despised legacy of the Boxer Rebellion, this postcard also appears to take aim that the ignorant, “backwards youth” of the countryside who have not yet been swept up in the unfolding process of urbanization and modernization.

More interesting is the inscription on the boy’s chest badge.  When first thinking about this postcard I simply ignored this inscription.  I had assumed that it would be uninteresting because of the way that most of these images were produced.

Rather than capturing subjects in their natural state, it was common for photographers (either in the street or working in their studios), to provide a variety of props to the individuals that they were photographing.  This might include stock weapons, costumes and furniture.

Further, when examining the boy’s ill-fitting uniform more closely it looked like it was made up of random bits of other cobbled together military uniforms.  As such it was unlikely to be of any significance to its intended audience.  Doug Wile, however, pointed out that there seemed to be something interesting about the boy’s badge.  Rather than simply being recycled costuming, of the sort often found in early studios, the photographer appears to have been attempting to broadcast a more pointed message.  But to who?

After blowing up and enhancing the photo to make it more legible, it was determined that the bottom most vertical line read “Yi He” (義合).   Wile noted that while this particular set of characters was not common, it was an early, previously attested, variant of name “Yi Hi Boxers” (or the Righteous and Harmonious Fist) typically written as 義和.  See for example the 1899 edition of the Wanguo gongbao and A. Henry Savage-Landor’s 1901 China and the Allies.

Of course this is the proper name of the spirit boxing movement that swept across northern China between 1899-1900.  Wile further speculates that a third character (團 or 拳) is hidden under the boy’s sash, completing the typical formulation of the movement’s name.

A Banner from the Boxer Uprising using the more commonly seen characters. Source: Prof. Douglas Wile.

The top two lines are almost certainly meant to be read as place names, noting where the boy’s “Boxer unit” originated.  Oddly it seems that neither of these places actually exist.

Prof. T. J. Hinrichs read the top line as “Ling” (or numinous) township.  Another friend at Cornell thought that it might be rendered “Saint township/county.”  In this case Wile was more circumspect noting that the first character of the name doesn’t appear in any of the standard dictionaries at his disposal.  But all readers seem to agree that this is meant to denote a fictitious place name.

The second line poses similar challenges.  It is not possible to make out all of the characters with the naked eye.  But with some magnification it appears to say “迷谷莊” (Maze Valley Village).  Wile notes that while the name “Maze Valley” is well attested in a number of places, none of them end with the “莊” character (Wile, personal correspondence).  Once again, this is a name that meant to seem real, but is almost certainly fictitious.  As my friend Xiao Rong put it, “such a place cannot exist.”

While looking at the magnified image I realized something else.  The script in question was entirely too legible.  If the boy were really wearing the badge one would expect that it would twist and turn in a natural fashion.  Instead it appears that photographer “whited out” the area and used a brush to paint these cryptic locations directly onto the badge.  One might guess that this was done at the same time that the inscription on the left hand side was added.  The trouble that was gone through to add this detail begs the question of motive.  Who modified this image?  Who was the intended audience?  And what messages were they expected to receive?

Conclusion

Or perhaps a different question might be a better place to start.  Given that Shandong and Zhili were full of villages that actually contributed “Boxer Bandits” (as the official reports of the day often referred to them), why were they not named?  After all, the one thing that seems certain about this image is that the individual who produced it was hostile to both the martial arts and rural life more generally.

On this point Wile notes:

“At the end of the day, the only explanation I can come up with for the two unattested place names is that they were deliberately invented “to protect the innocent,” so to speak, or in this case possibly to protect the guilty, or at least not point fingers or expose any real people…..” (Personal Correspondence)

One suspects that this photograph was not originally produced for a Western postcard at all.  If a western audience could read it, perhaps the message that they might have received was that despite the Boxer’s turn of the century setbacks, the Chinese Tiger still had its teeth.  Indeed, in a mere two years from the time this card was mailed the country would once again be swept up in the tide of revolution.

Nevertheless, the more likely intended audience of the image was Chinese.  In such case meeting the demands of an increasingly urbanized market, while avoiding the attention of the censors, was probably the original publisher’s key aim.

Clearly some questions still surround this image of a “Young Boxer.”  Yet the linguistic approach has made a unique contribution to revealing the origins and semiotic value of this photograph.  It has also provided us with a vivid reminder of the precarious existence of the traditional Chinese martial arts during the long decade between the close of the Boxer Rebellion and the Republic era revival and reinvention of their practice.  The association of these practices with nationalism and pride during the 1920s and 1930s was an accomplishment rather than a given.

A Note of Thanks

I must extend my sincere thanks to a number of individuals who contributed to the discussion of this image.  They include Douglas Wile, whose comments sparked this conversation, T. J. Hinrichs of Cornell University, William Brown of the University of Maryland, Xiao Rong of the University of Shenzhen, Scott Rodell and Peter Dekker.

 
oOo

If you enjoyed this post you might also want to see: Reforming the Chinese Martial Arts in the 1920s-1930s: The Role of Rapid Urbanization.

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

Introduction
Paul Bowman, Kyle Barrowman and I have all been hard at work over the last couple of weeks putting the finishing touches on Issue 3 of the interdisciplinary journal, Martial Arts Studies.  With seven research articles and a number of book reviews there is sure to be something of interest for all of Kung Fu Tea’s readers within its pages.  We expect to release the issue on the journal’s webpage right after the start of the new year.  As always, it will be freely available to any reader or researcher with an internet connection.

Earlier today I sat down to write my first draft of an opening editorial.  Paul and I will be reviewing and thinking about this for the next couple of days.  But in the mean time I thought that I would share it here as a way offering you a sneak peak of what to expect after New Years.  Also, be sure to check out the journal’s archives to get caught up on anything that you may have missed from Issues 1 or Issue 2.  Or maybe just brush up on the 52 Hand Blocks with Prof. Thomas Green?

Editorial

What is the meaning of ‘forms’ practice within the traditional Asian martial arts?  Were Bruce Lee’s movies actually ‘kung fu’ films? Was the famous Ali vs. Inoki fight a step on the pathway to MMA, or a paradoxical failure to communicate? What pitfalls await the unwary as we rush to define key terms in a newly emerging, but still undertheorized, discipline?

The rich and varied articles offered in the Winter 2016 issue of Martial Arts Studies pose these questions and many more.  Taken as a set they reflect the growing scholarly engagement between our field and a variety of theoretical and methodological traditions.  Each monography, article or proceeding that has been published in the last year directly addresses the question that Paul Bowman raised in the very first issue of this journal [2015].  Is Martial Arts Studies an academic field?

Looking back on the rich achievements of the last year, the answer must certainly be ‘yes’.

Yet as Bowman also reminds us in his contribution to the present issue, fields of study do not simply appear.  They are not spontaneously called forth by the essential characteristics or importance of their subject matter.  Rather, they are achievements of cooperative creativity and vision.  Fields of study, like the martial arts themselves, are social constructions.

Over the next year we hope, in a variety of settings, to think more systematically about the various ways that one might approach the scholarly study of the martial arts.  Given the diversity of our backgrounds and areas of focus, how can we best advance our efforts?  What sort of work do we expect Martial Arts Studies, as an interdisciplinary field, to do?

In this issue’s opening article Bowman turns his attention to the unfolding debate about the definition of marital arts [Channon and Jennings 2014; Wetzler 2015; Judkins 2016; Channon 2016].  This discussion is prefaced with a brief exploration of some of the failed precursors of Martial Arts Studies, including hoplology.  Bowman concludes that efforts to theorize the orientation of Martial Arts Studies as a field are likely to put us on a better pathway for sustained development than arguments for or against any particular definition of the martial arts themselves.  While Bowman does not suggest that any single methodological approach should dominate the emerging field, he offers a strong critique of ‘scientism’ in all of its forms.

Channon and Phipps, in an article titled ‘Pink Gloves Still Give Black Eyes’, ask what Martial Arts Studies can tell us about the construction and performance of gender roles in modern society [2016].  Their ethnographic study focuses on the ways that certain symbols and behaviors, when paired with achievements in the realm of fighting ability, are used to challenge and rewrite an orthodox understanding of gender.  This leads the authors to conclude that future scholars interested in the subversion of gender should carefully study the possibility that appropriation and re-signification may be critical mechanisms in their own areas of study as well.

Daniel Mroz and Timothy Nulty draw heavily on their shared background in Chen Style Taijiquan in a set of separate, yet complimentary, papers.  Both ask us to consider how various theoretical approaches, drawn from a variety of fields, can help us to pragmatically understand basic elements of the embodied practice of the martial arts.

Mroz begins his paper with a brief discussion of the practical, narrative, theatrical and religious explanation of prearranged movement patterns (taolu) within the Chinese martial arts. Noting the shortcomings of such efforts he employs the twin concepts of ‘decipherability’ and ‘credibility’, drawn from the Great Reform movement of 20^th century theater training, to advance a framework that both points out certain shortcomings in the ways that we typically think about the practice of taolu, as well as suggesting a new perspective from which their practice can be understood.  Nulty, drawing on Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s notion of ‘embodied intentionality’, instead focuses on the concepts of gong (skill) and fa (technique).  After demonstrating the ways in which this approach facilitates the understanding of other concepts critical to Taijiquan, Nulty argues that the gong-fa distinction outlined in his article is in fact widely applicable to a variety of martial arts.

The following articles instead examine the representation of the martial arts in various types of media and their use as a semiotic or discursive device.  Jared Miracle draws on the realms of applied linguistics and performance theory in an attempt to reevaluate the famous, but ill fated, 1976 bout which pitted the American boxer Muhammad Ali against the Antonio Inoki, a Japanese professional wrestler.  After reviewing a number of data sources including newspaper reports, eyewitness interviews and personal correspondence, Miracle concludes that the event should be understood as an example of robust, but failed, communication.

Wayne Wong turns his attention to new trends in Hong Kong martial arts cinema.  Following a discussion of the action aesthetic developed in the films of such legendary performers as Kwan Tak-hing and Bruce Lee, Wong turns his attention to Donnie Yen’s immensely successful ‘Ip Man’ franchise.  In discussing the innovative fight choreography in these films Wong notes a new set of possibilities for the positive portrayal of wu (martial) Chinse culture on screen.  Wong argues that the innovative recombination of images and approaches in Yen’s films present students of Martial Arts Studies with a new, and more comprehensive, understanding of the nature of the southern Chinese martial arts.

Lastly, in ‘News of the Duels – Restoration Dueling Culture and the Early Modern Press’, Alexander Hay attempts to bridge the gap between popular representation of violence and our historical understanding of martial culture.  Specifically, he asks what reports in the press both reveal and conceal about the changing nature of violence in British society during the 1660s and 1670s, particularly with regards to duels.  Despite pervasive censorship, a review of historical newspapers suggests insights into how these deadly encounters evolved as individual swordsmen gave way to both firearms and groups on horseback.  The social upheaval that gripped British society during this period was reflected in parallel transformations both in how violence was carried out and publically discussed.

The issue concludes with reviews of recently published books.  This includes a treatment of Jared Miracle’s Now with Kung Fu Grip! – How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented Martial Arts for America [Jared Miracle 2016] by Michael Molasky; Colin P. McGuire then reviews The Fighting Art of Pencak Silat and Its Music: From Southeast Asian Village to Global Movement, edited by Uwe U. Paetzold and Paul H. Mason [2016].  That is followed by a discussion of Raúl Sánchez García and Dale C. Spencer’s edited volume, Fighting Scholars: Habitus and Ethnographies of Martial Arts and Combat Sports, contributed by Anu Vaittinen [García and Spencer 2016].  Lastly, Alex Channon offers his review of Lionel Loh Han Loong’s The Body and Senses in Martial Culture [2016].

Taken as a set these articles illustrate how various theoretical and methodological approaches make substantive contributions to our understanding of the martial arts.  Nor is this list in anyway comprehensive.  A wide variety of tools and lens remain to be explored.  Yet collectively these authors advance a compelling vision of the type of field that Martial Arts Studies may become.

Our  thanks  go  to  all  of  our  contributors,  as  well  as  to  our  editorial assistant Kyle Barrowman, our designer Hugh Griffiths, and all at Cardiff University Press, especially Alice Percival and Sonja Haerkoenen.

References

Bowman, Paul. 2016. ‘The Definition of Martial Arts Studies.’ Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

___________. 2015. ‘Asking the Question: Is Martial Arts Studies an Academic Field?’ Martial Arts Studies 1 (1): 3–19. doi:10.18573/j.2015.10015.

Channon, Alex. 2016. ‘How (not) to Categorise Martial Arts: A Discussion and Example from Gender Studies’. Kung Fu Tea. September 16. https://chinesemartialstudies.com/2016/09/15/how-not-to-categorise-martial-arts-a-discussion-and-example-from-gender-studies/.

Channon, Alex, and George Jennings. 2014. ‘Exploring Embodiment through Martial Arts and Combat Sports: A Review of Empirical Research’. Sport in Society 17 (6): 773–89. doi:10.1080/17430437.2014.882906.

Channon, Alex and Catherine Phipps. 2016. ‘”Pink Gloves Still Give Black Eyes”: Exploring ‘Alternative’ Femininity in Women’s Combat Sports’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

García, Raúl Sánchez and Dale C. Spencer. 2014. Fighting Scholars: Habitus and Ethnographies of Martial Arts and Combat Sports. Anthem Press.

Hay, Alexander. 2016. ‘News of the Duels – Restoration Duelling Culture and the Early Modern Press’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

Judkins, Benjamin N. 2016. ‘The Seven Forms of Lightsaber Combat: Hyper-Reality and the Invention of the Martial Arts’, Martial Arts Studies 2, available at http://martialartsstudies.org

http://dx.doi.org/10.18573/j.2016.10067

Loong, Lionel Loh Han. 2016. The Body and Senses in Martial Culture. Palgrave Macmillan.

Miracle, Jared. 2016. ‘Applied Linguistics, Performance Theory, and Muhammad Ali’s Japanese Failure’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

_____________. 2016. Now with Kung Fu Grip! – How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented Martial Arts for America. McFarland.

Mroz, Daniel. 2016. ‘Taolu: Credibility and Decipherability in the Practice of Chinese Martial Movement’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

Nulty, Timothy J. 2016. ‘Gong and Fa in Chinese Martial Arts’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

Paetzold, Uwe U. and Paul H. Mason. 2016. The Fighting Art of Pencak Silat and Its Music: From Southeast Asian Village to Global Movement. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill.

Wetzler, Sixt. 2015. ‘Martial Arts Studies as Kulturwissenschaft: A Possible Theoretical Framework’. Martial Arts Studies, no. 1: 20–33. doi:10.18573/j.2016.10016.

Wong, Wayne. 2016. ‘Synthesizing Zhenshi (Authenticity) and Shizhan (Combativity): Reinventing Chinese Kung Fu in Donnie Yen’s Ip Man series (2008-2015)’, Martial Arts Studies 3: xxx. Doi:xxxxxx

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Do you want to read more?  Be sure to check out: Ip Man and the Roots of Wing Chun’s “Multiple Attacker” Principle, Part 1. and Part II.

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