YAN QING’S SINGLE SABER

Posted on 23 Dicembre 2018 by Paul Brennan

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燕青單刀
YAN QING’S SINGLE SABER
順德黃漢勛編述
by Huang Hanxun [Wong Honfan] of Shunde
山東蓬萊羅光玉老師授
as taught by Luo Guangyu of Penglai, Shandong
攝影者：譚以禮
postures photographed by Tan Yili
校對者：黃子英
text proofread by Huang Ziying
[published 33rd year of the cycle, 6th month, 1st day (Jul 8, 1956)]

[translation by Paul Brennan, Dec, 2018]

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㷼青單刀
Yan Qing’s Single Saber
黃漢勋自署
– calligraphy by Huang Hanxun

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燕青单刀形勢圖
Map for the postures in the set:

图例：凢由東至西。或由西返東之直線形。皆以同一線為凖。其分線繪图者。不外為利便絵圖耳。
The postures will travel from east to west, then come back from west to east [and then once more from east to west and west to east], both ways in a straight line. These lines are drawn simply for convenience.

S
南
E 東 + 西 W
北
N

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試刀小言
A FEW WORDS ON EXAMINING THE SABER

古俠士與武林先哲嘗以得寶刀寶劍為榮，其得寶也必先看之，試之，以攷其實，精武前輩，盍煒昌先生嘗贈余以試劍圖乙幀，盧君致力武道四十年其神彩至為活現，余以此刀祗得五十五圖，因補撕此圖以凑合篇幅耳，若云以先哲前賢自視，能勿愧煞乎！抑亦能毋有東施效顰之嫌歟。
Ancient warriors and wise men within the martial arts community considered it an honor to receive a “precious saber” or a “precious sword”. But to test whether it was really a precious blade, they first had to examine it [by drawing it from its scabbard, as in the photo]. Jingwu elder Lu Weichang once gave me a photo of himself examining a sword. He devoted himself to martial ways for forty years and his passion for it was visible. Although this saber set in this book contains only fifty-five postures, it may seem that the addition of this one photo makes the book too long. If it makes you think that I consider myself to be on a par with previous masters like Lu, shame on you. Do not imagine for an instant that I am trying to make some pathetic attempt to imitate that great man.

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自序
AUTHOR’S PREFACE

單刀一械為步戰中慣用武器之一，其法乃脫胎於大刀而大盛於宋明及亡淸，宋末水滸傳中之浪子燕靑即以單刀法見稱於世矣，其後王五亦以單刀著譽武林，「人或以大刀王五稱之。」余則以為王所用刀畧大而已，並非為大砍刀之大刀也，燕靑單刀僅傳五十五刀法，中有重式者，除外則半耳！單刀有十法，即劈，軋，抅，掛，削，拍，挑，撩，搜，撈，也。漢雖曾一個時期致力於此，祗惜二十年來，就食四方是以致技術生疏退板，且以個人精神魄力去應需求不同之習技者，是難得專心致意於某一技之機會，茲僅拾遺法於萬一用以列諸於冊，雖未能揚前人之美妙，但尤勝乎昧昧於心而藏諸黃土之為計也，但願人人以發揚國粹自任，使具有民族性之技術千古不替，是所厚幸焉。黃漢勛於丙申端午東方國術部
The single saber is a weapon that has been commonly used by infantry. Its techniques emerge from the large saber art and it flourished through the dynasties of Song, Ming, and right up until the end of the Qing. In the late Song Dynasty novel The Water Margin, the character of “The Wanderer” Yan Qing was well-known for his single saber skills. Later on [late 19th century], Wang Wu [Wang Zhengyi] also become famous in martial arts circles for his use of the single saber, and was sometimes known as “Large Saber Wang Wu”. I use a slightly larger saber than Wang did, and so it is not the “large cleaving saber” type of large saber. Yan Qing’s Single Saber is a set that contains only fifty-five postures, and half of them are repeats. The single saber art has ten techniques: chopping, rolling, hooking, hanging, slicing, patting, carrying, raising, searching, and scooping.
　　Although I at one time devoted myself to this set, that was twenty years ago, and I have since had my attention pulled in so many directions that my saber skill has rusted. Because the task I have dedicated myself to requires the training of many different abilities, it is difficult to get the chance to focus all of my attention on a single skill. This set that I have picked to be in this series of books is just one tiny sample from all that I have inherited. Although I cannot do justice to the brilliance of previous generations, I at least seek to overcome ignorance and reveal what might otherwise become buried away. I only wish for everyone to take it upon themselves to carry on our national culture and keep our nation’s arts from ever being replaced. This is my sincere hope.
　　- written by Huang Hanxun at the Far East Martial Arts Headquarters, 33rd year of the cycle, Dragon Boat Festival [which takes place on the 5th day of the 5th lunar month, hence June 13, 1956]

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第一式　出步中平式
Posture 1: IN READINESS TO STEP OUT, STANDING STABLY

說明：
Explanation:
假定此刀擇定東方作起點者應背南，面北，右東，左西而立，注視西方，左手捧刀，刀沿臂緊貼，刀以不逾頭而與耳齊為合度右手掌貼身，垂下，如「定式圖」
Stand in the eastern part of the practice space to begin this set, with the south behind you, the north in front of you, the east to your right, the west to your left. Your gaze is to the west. Your left hand is holding the saber, the [back of the] saber touching along [the top of] the arm. The saber should not extend past your head and should instead be at ear level. Your right palm is hanging down near your body [thigh]. See photo 1:

功用：
Application:
刀勢尚未展開，故無功用可言。
In this posture, you have not yet reached out with the saber, and thus there is no application to speak of.

第二式　抱刀上步式
Posture 2: HOLDING THE SABER, STEP FORWARD

說明：
Explanation:
沿上式，先出右脚，右掌與刀向前直出，目向前視，如「過後式」甲，
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot goes out as your right palm and the saber go straight out forward. Your gaze is forward. See photo 2a:

再進左脚以成左跨虎步，右掌化作刁手與刀齊往後收，逾後逾佳，目注西而視，如『定式圖』
Then your left foot advances to make a left sitting-tiger stance as your right hand becomes a hooking hand and withdraws behind you in unison with the saber. The farther they reach back, the better. Your gaze is toward the west. See photo 2b:

功用：
Application:
刀尚未交於右手，故仍為開式之勢，尚無實用可言。
As the saber has not yet been switched to your right hand, this is still an opening posture, and thus there is still not really any application to speak of.

第三式　斜步四平式
Posture 3: DIAGONAL STEP, FOUR-LEVEL POSTURE

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先拉起左脚，復進前右脚，以成立正之勢，右手復化為掌與刀同時向西方舉出，如「過渡式甲圖」
Continuing from the previous posture, first your left foot lifts, then your right foot advances to stand next to it, making a posture of standing at attention, as your right hand changes back to a palm and goes out to the west together with the saber. See photo 3a:

再退右脚拉左脚以成向正西方之跨虎步，右掌自左腋下出而向上，刀往後斜拖，如『定式圖』。
Then your right foot retreats and your left foot pulls back to make a sitting-tiger stance facing toward the west as your right palm goes out upward from below your left armpit, the saber pulling back until it is diagonal behind you. See photo 3b:

功用：
Application:
此式雖然於刀尚無致用之處，但相傳江湖上之鑣囊乃懸於腋下者，因此右手返至腋內者即取鑣之意，復向上揚者，亦即投擲之暗示也，今之用鑣者少，因是而祗是象徵而已。
In this posture, the saber still has no practical function, but according to tradition, wandering entertainers had a dart pocketed below the armpit, thus the right hand goes toward the armpit with a sense of taking out the dart and then raises upward to represent throwing this hidden weapon. Those who use such darts are very rare nowadays, and thus this is simply a symbolic gesture.

第四式　竄跳出身式
Posture 4: LEAPING UP AND SENDING OUT YOUR BODY

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，刀不動，右掌化拳自腰部與左脚向西前方齊出如「過渡式甲圖「。
Continuing from the previous posture, the saber does not change its position as your right palm becomes a fist and punches out from your waist, your left foot kicking out at the same time, both going out toward the west in unison. See photo 4a:

再跳起以右掌拍落右膝部，刀畧向前伸，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then hop up, using your right palm to slap down against your right knee area, the saber slightly reaching forward. See photo 4b:

落右脚以成扑腿之勢，右掌變拳收腰，刀則轉至胸前，如「過渡丙式圖」。
Your right leg comes down [and your left leg extends forward] to make a reaching-leg stance as your right palm becomes a fist and withdraws to your waist, the saber arcing until in front of your chest. See photo 4c:

再起過左腰後，右拳自腰部衝出，如『定式圖』。
Then rise up, the saber passing the left side of your waist and going behind you as your right fist thrusts out from your waist. See photo 4d:

功用：
Application:
此蹤跳出身者是與敵求接近之意也，我先以拳腿攻之，再用扑腿法剷之，彼欲跳起卸避，我則轉馬用捶直統之也。
This technique of leaping up and sending my body out is for dissuading an opponent who wants to approach me. I first use a technique of fist and foot attacking simultaneously, then use a reaching-leg stance to shovel underneath him. He will thus want to jump away to evade me, so I switch my stance and send a thrust punch straight at him.

第五式　扑腿推刀式
Posture 5: REACHING-LEG STANCE, PUSHING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，左右脚不變原來位置，祗再由左登山步往後轉為扑腿耳！刀自後繞過面前，右拳變掌隨刀而轉如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your feet stay in their location and you simply shift back to the rear, going from a left mountain-climbing stance to a reaching-leg stance [the photo showing more of a right mountain-climbing], the saber going from behind you, passing in front of you, [and arcing to the right,] your right fist becoming a palm and arcing along with the saber. See photo 5a:

再由左手將刀交於右手，復轉馬為左登山步，右刀平推與左上掌齊出，如『定式圖』。
Then your left hand sends the saber into your right hand and you switch back to a left mountain-climbing stance as your right hand pushes out the saber, the blade horizontal, your left hand going out at the same time. See photo 5b:

功用：
Application:
我已將刀交於右手，即是凖備作戰之暗示也，彼即自我頂上殺來一棍或一槍，我乃用左掌朝上迎之，右刀向其中部推出，使彼不及收械迎禦也。
Once I have switched the saber into my right hand, this means I am ready for combat. An opponent uses a staff or spear to smash onto my headtop, so I send my left palm upward to block it while my right hand sends my saber pushing outward to his middle area, leaving him unable to withdraw his weapon in time to defend against it.

第六式　拉刀收步式
Posture 6: PULLING THE SABER, GATHERING STEP

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，原步不變，左掌向前，右刀自前經過面前拉向背部，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, your left palm goes forward as your right hand pulls the saber across from in front of you to be behind you. See photo 6a:

再以右後脚跟前如跨虎步形狀，刀循背部沿左臂直落止於腕上，左掌化刁手往後抅去，如『定式圖』。
Then your right foot follows forward to almost make a sitting-tiger stance as the saber passes through behind you and lowers along your left arm until above the wrist, your left palm becoming a hooking hand and hooking away to the rear. See photo 6b:

功用：
Application:
彼擬用長械迫我，我先用左手刁去來械，復以右刀自上而下，以資掩護，亦可作劈擊來械之用也。
An opponent using a long weapon tries to attack me, so I first use my left hand to hook it aside, then send my saber downward from above as a means of shielding myself, or I can also use this action to chop away his weapon.

第七式　竄跳囘身式
Posture 7: SCURRYING AWAY WITH THE BODY TURNED

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先將右脚開往東方如登山步，刀與左刁手畧掠開，目注視西後方，如「過渡式圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot steps out toward the east as though to make a mountain-climbing stance, the saber and your left hooking hand slightly sweeping aside. Your gaze is behind you toward the west. See photo 7a:

再原式不變疾跳過西後方，如『定式圖』。
Then while maintaining this position, suddenly hop back [twice] to the west [east]. See photos 7b and 7c:

功用：
Application:
不論已否扣得來械，我皆向後撤退，以便靜觀其變，俟機出擊是也。
Regardless of whether or not I have succeeded in drawing aside the opponent’s weapon, I retreat to watch for what he will do next and wait for the opportunity to attack.

第八式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 8: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，刀與手不變，先進左脚，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with the saber and your left hand not changing their position, first your left foot advances. See photo 8a:

再轉右東而反向西方提起右脚，左刁手仍抅後，刀則沿右膝部殺落，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then turn around to the right to go from facing toward the east to be facing toward the west as your right foot lifts, your left hand still hooking behind, and the saber smashes down beside your right knee. See photo 8b:

左手與步不變，刀循前下方繞過背部，右手直舉，如「過渡式丙圖」。
With your left hand and legs not changing their position, the saber follows through forward and downward and arcs behind your back, your right arm rising until vertical. See photo 8c:

乘提右脚之便蹤身一跳，以成左跨虎之勢，刀則轉過左肩斜向前落，落時左手須由胸前化掌穿出為合如『定式圖』。
Going along with the lifting of your right leg, your body hops into a left sitting-tiger stance as the saber arcs past your left shoulder and lowers diagonally in front of you, your left hand becoming a palm and shooting out forward from in front of your chest at the same moment that the saber lowers. See photo 8d:

功用：
Application:
此式合卸步，提腿，蹤跳，攔刀，撇刀，拉刀等為一式，若善於運用則合攻守於一矣。
This posture combines a withdrawing step, lifting leg, hop, and the saber actions of blocking, swinging, and pulling into a single technique. If you are good at applying it, then defense and offense will be combined into a single action.

第九式　出步劈刀式
Posture 9: STEP OUT, CHOPPING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，出右脚以成右登山步，刀自後向前劈去，再轉歸左方，左手則貼腕助之，如『定式圖』。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot goes out to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops out forward from the rear and follows through by arcing across to the left, your left hand touching your [right] wrist to assist. See photo 9:

功用：
Application:
彼械直刺我中門，我即用橫刀殺消之。
The opponent’s weapon stabs to my middle area, so I send my saber across to smash it away.

第十式　跟步軋刀式
Posture 10: FOLLOWING STEP, ROLLING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，左右脚不變，祗向一標，以成騎馬式，刀與掌同時向前後一分，如『定式圖』。
Continuing from the previous posture, your feet maintain their position and you simply dart forward to make a horse-riding stance, the saber and palm spreading apart forward and back. See photo 10:

功用：
Application:
彼械為我刀殺去，或為彼漏去，我皆復跟步進馬順刀劈之，斯為刀法之正着，抑亦與上式有連貫之作用也。
The opponent’s weapon has been smashed aside by my saber, or he has retreated, so I follow him by advancing into a horse-riding stance with my saber chopping out. This is a direct saber action and follows on from the previous posture to form a continuous technique.

第十一式　抱頭攔刀式
Posture 11: WRAPPING AROUND THE HEAD, SLASHING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提左後脚，刀自前轉後斜掛左肩之上，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first lift your left foot as the saber arcs to the rear to hang diagonally over your left shoulder. See photo 11a:

再以站地之脚，循左方移動，轉後反以後刀作前，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then pivot to the left on your standing foot to bring the saber from the rear to the front. See photo 11b:

再落右脚以成左登山式，刀由背後繞過再橫轉於前，如『定式圖』。
Then your right [left] foot comes down to make a left mountain-climbing stance as the saber passes behind your back and arcs across in front of you. See photo 11c:

功用：
Application:
彼繞過我背後實施襲擊，我即以刀掩護隨之而轉動，經一迎後再用橫刀法砍殺之。
The opponent slips around behind me to make a surprise attack, so I use my saber to shield myself as I pivot around to face him and then slash across at him.

第十二式　拉刀收步式
Posture 12: PULLING THE SABER, GATHERING STEP

第十三式　竄跳囘身式
Posture 13: SCURRYING AWAY WITH THE BODY TURNED

再原式不變疾跳過西後方，如『定式圖』。
Then while maintaining this position, suddenly hop back [twice] to the west [east]. See photos 13b and 13c:

第十四式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 14: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

第十五式　拉刀坐盤式
Posture 15: PULLING THE SABER, SITTING TWISTED STANCE

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，出右脚以成右登山式，刀自後向前劈，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot steps out to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops forward from behind. See photo 15a:

再原步不變將刀拉過右後方，左掌仍貼右腕，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then with your stance not changing, pull the saber through to the right rear, your left palm staying at your right wrist. See photo 15b:

再蹤身一跳，以成坐盤之勢，刀自右肩過左肩，沿左臂直落，左手化成刁手，以襯托刀背，如『定式圖』。
Then your body hops into a sitting twisted stance [i.e. your left foot going forward, then your right foot doing a stealth step behind it] as the saber goes past your right shoulder to your left shoulder and lowers along your left arm, your left hand becoming a hooking hand, the arm propping up the back of the saber. See photo 15c:

功用：
Application:
我旣已劈消來械，再進而坐盤以刀攔砍之。
Having chopped away an incoming weapon, I then advance into a sitting twisted stance while slashing with my saber.

第十六式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 16: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

說明：
Explanation:
循坐盤步向右轉，刀掠起至肩齊為止，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continue from the sitting twisted stance by turning around to the right as the saber sweeps across and rises to shoulder level. See photo 16a:

再全身躍起變成向南之左跨虎步，刀自右肩轉過左肩，沿左臂之上削出，左掌則自刀背穿出，如『定式圖』。
Then your body hops into a left sitting-tiger stance facing toward the south as the saber arcs past your right shoulder to your left shoulder and then slices out over your left arm, your left palm shooting out from the back of the saber. See photo 16b:

功用：
Application:
與第八，第十四等式同，祗差方向耳。
Same as in Postures 8 and 14, except that the orientation is different.

第十七式　抱頭攔刀式
Posture 17: WRAPPING AROUND THE HEAD, SLASHING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提左脚，刀向額上舉起，左掌貼腕，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first lift your left foot as you lift the saber toward your forehead, your left palm touching your [right] wrist. See photo 17a:

再落下左脚，以成左登山式，刀由背後轉而過於面前，橫殺而出，如『定式圖』。
Then your left foot comes down to make a left mountain-climbing stance as the saber arcs around behind your back and goes out in front of you, smashing across. See photo 17b:

功用：
Application:
與第十一式同，祗方向之異耳。
Same as in Posture 11, except that the orientation is different.

第十八式　囘身掠翅式
Posture 18: TURN AROUND, SPREADING WINGS

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，步由左登山向後轉為右登山式，刀與手皆由後轉前向左右掠開，手與刀俱平正為合，如『定式圖』
Continuing from the previous posture, pivot to the rear to switch from a left mountain-climbing stance to a right mountain-climbing stance while the saber and your left hand arc forward from behind and spread open to the sides. The hand and saber should be spread equally. See photo 18:

功用：
Application:
彼械自我後進擊，我為求迅予抵禦計，乃原步化後作前，同時以手與刀左右分之。
An opponent’s weapon attacks me from behind, so I seek to quickly defend against it by staying where I am and changing the rear into the front while spreading to the sides with my left hand and my saber.

第十九式　順步軋刀式
Posture 19: SLIDING STEP, ROLLING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先拉起右脚如跨虎步之狀，刀往後拖去，如「過渡式用圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first pull back your right foot, almost making a sitting-tiger stance as the saber pulls to the rear. See photo 19a:

復借拉步而往前標去，以成右登山步，刀自後反刀鋒向上軋出，如『定式圖』。
Then make use of the reversal of momentum of the foot pulling back to dart forward into a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber goes out from the rear, rolling over so the edge is turned upward. See photo 19b:

功用：
Application:
我先拖歸後者是卸其勢，再軋出則是順而反撩之法也。
I first pull to the rear with a withdrawing action, then send out the saber rolling over into a raising action.

第二十式　囘身劈刀式
Posture 20: TURNING THE BODY, CHOP

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，原步原刀不變，祗左手以刁手法往後刁去，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your stance and the position of the saber do not change as your left hand becomes a hooking hand and hooks away to the rear. See photo 20a:

再原步轉歸後方以成左登山式，刀自後反身由上劈落，左手化掌力托之，如『定式圖』。
Then your feet turn to the rear while staying in their location, making a left mountain-climbing stance, as the saber goes from behind you and chops down from above, your left hand changing to a palm and forcefully propping it up [i.e. slapping against your right wrist]. See photo 20b:

功用：
Application:
彼自我後劈來一械，我先以刁手斜刁之，再囘身用劈殺法迎頭砍之。
An opponent’s weapon chops at me from behind, so I first use a hooking hand to diagonally hook it aside, then turn my body and chop to his head.

第二十一式　撩刀提劈式
Posture 21: RAISING CUT, LIFTING INTO A CHOP

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，原步仍未變，祗身畧轉過右後方，刀亦隨身轉上為下，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your stance does not change, but your body slightly turns to the right rear, the saber going along with your body by arcing downward from above. See photo 21a:

再踏右脚，進左脚以成騎馬式，刀隨步轉而歸後，左掌以揷掌法撑出且注以目，如『定式圖』。
Then your right foot stomps and your left foot advances to make a horse-riding stance as the saber arcs to the rear, your left hand going out as a charging palm, your gaze following it. See photo 21b:

功用：
Application:
彼械擬向我膝部點來，我先用下撩之法，再轉馬迎胸以掌揷進焉。
An opponent [from behind] tries to use his weapon to do a tapping attack to my [right] knee, so I first send a raising action against it from below, then switch to a horse-riding stance and attack with a charging palm to his chest.

第二十二式　上步軋刀式
Posture 22: STEP FORWARD, ROLLING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，進右脚以成右登山式，刀自後下方直向前上撩出，如『定式圖』。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber goes from the rear, downward, forward, and upward to go out with a raising action. See photo 22:

功用：
Application:
與第十九式同。
Same as in Posture 19.

第二十三式　掛刀蓋刀式
Posture 23: HANGING & COVERING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提右前脚，刀往後收，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot lifts as the saber withdraws. See photo 23a:

再乘提步之便全身躍起，落下時乃成左跨虎步，刀轉成橫壓而下，左手按於刀背之上，如『定式圖』。
Then go along with the momentum of the leg lifting by hopping [forward] and coming down into a left sitting-tiger stance as the saber arcs across and presses down, your left hand pushing on the back of the saber. See photo 23b:

功用：
Application:
彼械自我下刺來，我先以刀背掛去之，再乘躍進時更以刀橫壓之。
The opponent’s weapon stabs to my lower area, so I first use the back of my saber to hang it aside, then hop forward and press down with my saber placed sideways.

第二十四式　踏步攔腰式
Posture 24: STOMP, SLASH TO THE WAIST

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先放下前脚，手與刀同時向頭上舉起，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first put your front foot down as your left hand and the saber lift above your head. See photo 24a:

再踏後脚，進前脚以成左登山式，刀自左方轉過背後，再向前橫殺去，如『定式圖』。
Then your rear foot stomps and your front foot advances to make a left mountain-climbing stance as the saber arcs from the left, passing behind your back, and smashes across in front of you. See photo 24b:

功用：
Application:
與十一式，十七式等同。
Same as in Postures 11 and 17.

第二十五式　拉刀收步式
Posture 25: PULLING THE SABER, GATHERING STEP

說明：
Explanation:
循上左，原步不變，左掌向前，右刀自前經過面前拉向背部，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, your left palm goes forward as your right hand pulls the saber across from in front of you to be behind you. See photo 25a:

再以右後脚跟前如跨虎步形狀，刀循背部沿左臂直落止於腕上，左掌化刁手往後抅去，如「定式圖」。
Then your right foot follows forward to almost make a sitting-tiger stance as the saber passes through behind you and lowers along your left arm until above the wrist, your left palm becoming a hooking hand and hooking away to the rear. See photo 25b:

第二十六式　竄跳囘身式
Posture 26: SCURRYING AWAY WITH THE BODY TURNED

再原式不變疾跳過西後方，如「定式圖」。
Then while maintaining this position, suddenly hop back [twice] to the west [east]. See photos 26b and 26c:

第二十七式　拉刀坐盤式
Posture 27: PULLING THE SABER, SITTING TWISTED STANCE

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，原步不變，刀自左方拉過右方，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, pull the saber across from left to right. See photo 27a:

再全身躍起以成坐盤步，刀自右肩轉過左肩，再沿左臂直落，左刁手托於刀背之中段，如『定式圖』。
Then your body hops into a sitting twisted stance [i.e. your left foot going forward, then your right foot doing a stealth step behind it] as the saber arcs past your right shoulder to your left shoulder and lowers along your left arm, your left hand becoming a hooking hand, the arm propping up the middle section of the back of the saber. See photo 27b:

功用：
Application:
當我正自前方撤退之時，迎面忽來另一敵人，於是我乃以拉刀坐盤法以抑制之。
While retreating away from one opponent, I am suddenly faced with another, so I use this technique of pulling my saber while going into a sitting twisted stance in order to control him.

第二十八式　獻刀藏刀式
Posture 28: SHOWING AND THEN HIDING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，原步不變，祗高起偸步式，手與刀俱掠起，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, rise up high in your stealth-step position as your left hand and the saber spread apart and rise up. See photo 28a:

再右後脚抽出，繞過面前，刀則攔於左上方，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then your right foot draws out from behind and arcs around in front of you as the saber blocks to the upper left. See photo 28b:

再乘提右脚之勢跳往左方，再成為狀類左登山式之右吞塌式，刀自背繞過面前，復收於左腰腋之間，目向後注視，如『定式圖』。
Then take advantage of the momentum of your right foot lifting by hopping to the left to make a right absorb & sink stance, similar to a left mountain-climbing stance [except that you are looking to the rear], as the saber arcs around past your back and in front of you to withdraw to the area between your left armpit and your waist. Your gaze is behind you. See photo 28c:

功用：
Application:
彼械擬自我斜方攻來，我即轉身易步用提與攔劈之方式抵禦之。
An opponent’s weapon tries to attack me from an angle, so I turn to face him while shifting my stance, using a technique of lifting and slashing to defend against it.

第二十九式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 29: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

左手與步不讓，刀循前下方繞過背部，右手直舉，如「過渡式丙圖」。
With your left hand and legs not changing their position, the saber follows through forward and downward and arcs behind your back, your right arm rising until vertical. See photo 29c:

乘提右脚之便蹤身一跳，以成左跨虎之勢，刀則轉過左左肩斜向前落，落時左手須由胸前化掌穿出為合如「定式圖」
Going along with the lifting of your right leg, your body hops into a left sitting-tiger stance as the saber arcs past your left shoulder and lowers diagonally in front of you, your left hand becoming a palm and shooting out forward from in front of your chest at the same moment that the saber lowers. See photo 29d:

第三十式　劈刀軋刀式
Posture 30: CHOPPING & ROLLING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先出右脚以成右登山步，刀自後劈出，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot goes out to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops out from the rear. See photo 30a:

再轉步為騎馬式，刀自面前斜方向直綫劈出，如『定式圖』。
Then switch to a horse-riding stance as the saber moves diagonally from in front of you to chop out straight ahead. See photo 30b:

功用：
Application:
介乎第九第十式之間，抑亦為聯合之法也。
Same as in Postures 9 and 10, combined into a single technique.

第三十一式　掛刀掛劍式
Posture 31: HANGING THE SABER TO HANG ASIDE A SWORD

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提右脚，刀往左後方平收，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot lifts as the saber withdraws across to the left rear. See photo 31a:

步仍不變，刀由後轉前，反刀鋒為向上，如「過渡式乙圖」。
With your stance not changing, the saber arcs forward from the rear, turning over so the edge is facing upward. See photo 31b:

然後向前跳去，以成坐盤之勢，刀由上橫殺而落，左掌按於刀背之上，如『定式』。
Then you hop out forward to make a sitting twisted stance as the saber smashes down from above with the blade going across, your left hand pushing on the back of the saber. See photo 31c:

功用：
Application:
我提步收刀者，是將來刀掛開，再反出者亦為掛刀之一法，再進馬坐盤橫壓刀者，則是蓋去來劍之法。
When I lift a leg and withdraw my saber, this is a means of hanging aside an incoming weapon. When I then turn the saber over, this is also a method of hanging. When I then advance into sitting twisted while pressing my saber across, this is a method of covering an incoming sword.

第三十二式　囘身劈刀式
Posture 32: TURNING THE BODY, CHOP

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，退右脚以成騎馬式，刀隨而平殺過後方，如「定式圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot retreats to make a horse-riding stance as the saber smashes across to the rear. See photo 32:

功用：
Application:
與廿一式圖同。
Same as in Posture 21.

第三十三式　上步軋刀式
Posture 33: STEP FORWARD, ROLLING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，進右脚以成右登山式，刀自後下方直向前上撩出，如「定式圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber goes from the rear, downward, forward, and upward to go out with a raising action. See photo 33:

功用：
Application:
與二十二式同。
Same as in Posture 22.

第三十四式　踏步劈刀式
Posture 34: STOMPING STEP, CHOPPING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式原步不動，刀向後斜收，左手向前刁去，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, the saber withdraws diagonally to the rear while your left hand goes forward, hooking away. See photo 34a:

再踏右脚，進左脚以成左登山式，左刁手拉歸後，而刀則向前直劈去，如「定式圖」。
Then your right foot stomps and your left foot advances to make a left mountain-climbing stance as your left hooking hand pulls back behind you and the saber chops out forward with the blade standing straight up. See photo 34b:

功用：
Application:
彼欲以械擊我頭部，我先以左手刁去之，再乘踏步進馬，以直劈刀兜頭劈之。
The opponent tries to use his weapon to strike to my head, so I first use my left hand to hook it away, then stomp and advance while using my saber to chop to his face.

第三十伍式　扑刀推刀式
Posture 35: REACHING-LEG STANCE, PUSHING THE SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，左右脚不變原來位置，祗由登山式往後扑成扑腿法耳！刀亦隨步而下，左掌刀托於右腕之內，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your feet stay in their location and you simply shift back to the rear, going from a mountain-climbing stance to a reaching-leg stance, the saber going along with this stance change by coming down, your left hand propping up at the inside of your right wrist. See photo 35a:

再提起右脚，左掌移開以托刀背，刀斜舉向外，如『定式圖』。
Then your right foot lifts and your left hand shifts away to prop up the back of the saber as the saber goes outward, raising diagonally. See photo 35b:

功用：
Application:
彼械迎頭劈落，我先扑腿以卸其勢，復跟刀推出逼之。
The opponent’s weapon chops down toward my head, so I first go into a reaching-leg stance in order to withdraw away from it, then I follow this by pushing out with the saber to crowd him.

第三十六式　提步劈刀式
Posture 36: CHOPPING WITH A LEG LIFTED

〔說明：〕
[Explanation:]
循上式，以小跳換步法，使右脚着地而起左脚，刀自前往後直劈，左掌橫遮於頭上，如『定式圖』。
Continuing from the previous posture, do a small hop to switch feet, bringing your right foot down and lifting your left foot, as the saber chops from the front to the rear, your left palm blocking across above your head. See photo 36:

功用：
Application:
我逼彼走過後方或另一人自後攻來，我不俟其逼近即先以刀兜頭劈之。
I crowd the opponent as he passes around behind me, or another opponent attacks from behind, so without waiting for him to get close, I pre-empt him by chopping to his head.

第三十七式　迎門刺劍式
Posture 37: STABBING STRAIGHT AHEAD LIKE A SWORD

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先左脚落地，刀斜掛於前，如「過渡式甲圖」
Continuing from the previous posture, first your left foot comes down and the saber hangs diagonally in front of you. See photo 37a:

再原刀不動，右脚進前，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then with the saber maintaining its position, your right foot advances. See photo 37b:

左脚自後進前以成坐盤步，刀則緊收於胸腹之間，如「過渡式丙圖」。
Your left foot advances behind you [i.e. does a stealth step] to make a sitting twisted stance as the saber withdraws until between your chest and belly. See photo 37c:

再原步不變，刀自胸前直流而出，掌則橫掠於上，如『定式圖』。
With your stance not changing, the saber flows straight out from in front of your chest, as your left palm spreads away upward to the side. See photo 37d [same position as in photo 4b of Sundial Sword, except with the edge turned upward]:

功用：
Application:
分圖多，是因易於學習耳！其用時合數動作於一。實集，挑，迎，封，閉，刺於其中矣。
This technique is divided into so many photos just to make it easier for you to follow. It contains several aspects in application – such as gathering, carrying, blocking, sealing, and stabbing – but is really just a single technique.

第三十八式　跟馬三刀式
Posture 38: FOLLOWING STEPS WITH THREE SABER ACTIONS [the third occurring in the following posture]

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提起左脚，繼而伸直右手以舉直刀，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first lift your left foot as your right hand raises the saber. See photo 38a:

再原步不變，刀由右繞過背部，再經胸前而復返於下，左掌則抺刀背而出，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then with your stance not changing, the saber arcs from the right, going around your back, passes in front of your chest, and then goes back downward as your left palm goes out wiping along the back of the saber. See photo 38b:

再落左脚換提右脚，復將刀拉起，如「過渡式丙圖」
Then your left foot comes down and you switch to lifting your right foot as you again pull the saber up. See photo 38c:

再原步不動，刀再循背部拉前，後歸於後下方，左掌穿出至直，如『定式圖』。
Then with your stance not changing, the saber again goes around your back, is pulled in front of you, and returns downward to the rear as your left palm shoots out. See photo 38d:

功用：
Application:
提步攔刀實對中下路之攻勢為有效之遏止方法，左右相轉者乃使知左右合一之方式而已。
Lifting a leg and slashing with the saber is a very effective method of dealing with an attack to the middle or lower area. Switching my legs allows me to feel more confident that I am protecting myself on both sides.

第三十九式　扑腿扑刀式
Posture 39: REACHING-LEG STANCE, POUNCING SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先原步不動，再次將刀舉起，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, again lift up the saber. See photo 39a:

然後以小跳方式向前落下以成扑腿勢，刀亦隨步繞過背部再轉於前落下，左掌直出，如『定式圖』。
Then do a little hop forward and dropping down to make a reaching-leg stance as the saber arcs past your back, forward, and downward, your left palm going straight out. See photo 39b:

功用：
Application:
彼以下三路搶進，我即落馬用刀封閉之。
The opponent uses his spear to attack my lower area for the third time, so I drop my stance and use my saber to seal off his weapon.

第四十式　囘身削櫈式
Posture 40: TURN AROUND, SLICE THROUGH A STOOL

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先將左脚拉起以成類於登山勢，刀乃隨之起至頭上，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your left foot pulls back and you rise to almost make a mountain-climbing stance, the saber going along with this action by rising above your head. See photo 40a:

再起右後脚，使全身向左轉過後方，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then your right foot lifts and you pivot your whole body to the left until facing to the rear. See photo 40b:

落右脚以成騎馬式，刀繞過背後復轉平殺而出，左掌倚右肩之上，如『定式圖』。
Your right foot comes down to make a horse-riding stance as the saber arcs around behind you and smashes across [to the left], your left palm going over your right shoulder. See photo 40c:

功用：
Application:
此削櫈法乃專砍殺步馬為主旨對方欲自我後擊入，我乃採此以砍其足也。
The main purpose of this action of “slicing through a stool” is to destroy an opponent’s stance. An opponent is about to attack me from behind, so I make use of this technique to slash at his leg.

第四十一式　扑腿扑刀式
Posture 41: REACHING-LEG STANCE, POUNCING SABER

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先原步不動，再次將刀舉起，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, again lift up the saber. See photo 41a:

然後以小跳方式向前落下以成扑腿勢，刀亦隨步繞過背都再轉於前落下，左掌直出，如『定式圖』。
Then do a little hop forward and dropping down to make a reaching-leg stance as the saber arcs past your back, forward, and downward, your left palm going straight out. See photo 41b:

功用：
Application:
彼以下三路搶進，我即落馬用刀封閉之。
The opponent again uses his spear to attack my lower area, so I again drop my stance and use my saber to seal off his weapon.

第四十二式　上步攔腰式
Posture 42: STEP FORWARD, SLASH TO THE WAIST

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先起左脚以成如登山之勢，將刀橫架而起，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your left leg rises to almost make a mountain-climbing stance as you send the saber upward and blocking across. See photo 42a:

再進右脚轉身乃成成左登山式，刀自背後橫過而前，如『定式圖」。
Then your right foot advances and your body turns around to make a left mountain-climbing stance as the saber passes behind your back and goes across in front of you. See photo 42b:

功用：
Application:
與十七、二十四等同。
Same as in Postures 17 and 24.

第四十三式　拉刀收步式
Posture 43: PULLING THE SABER, GATHERING STEP

說明：
Explanation:
循上左，原步不變，左掌向前，右刀目前經過面前拉向背部，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your stance not changing, your left palm goes forward as your right hand pulls the saber across from in front of you to be behind you. See photo 43a:

第四十四式　竄跳囘身式
Posture 44: SCURRYING AWAY WITH THE BODY TURNED

再原式不變疾跳過西後方，如「定式圖」。
Then while maintaining this position, suddenly hop back [twice] to the west [east]. See photos 44b and 44c:

第四十五式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 45: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

第四十六式　拉刀坐盤式
Posture 46: PULLING THE SABER, SITTING TWISTED STANCE

說明：
Explanation:
循上左，出右脚以成右登山式，刀自後向前劈，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot steps out to make a right mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops forward from behind. See photo 46a:

再原步不變將刀拉過右後方，左掌仍貼右腕如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then with your stance not changing, pull the saber through to the right rear, your left palm staying at your right wrist. See photo 46b:

再蹤身一跳，以成坐盤之勢，刀自右肩過左肩，沿左臂直落，左手化成刁手，以襯托刀背，如「定式圖」。
Then your body hops into a sitting twisted stance [i.e. your left foot going forward, then your right foot doing a stealth step behind it] as the saber goes past your right shoulder to your left shoulder and lowers along your left arm, your left hand becoming a hooking hand, the arm propping up the back of the saber. See photo 46c:

功用：
Application:
我旣已劈消來械，再進而坐盤以刀攔砍之。
Having chopped away an incoming weapon, I then advance into a sitting twisted stance while slashing with my saber.

第四十七式　中門攔刀式
Posture 47: SLASHING AROUND THE MIDDLE

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，由右轉以成為登山之狀，刀則隨身而轉，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, pivot around to the right to almost make a mountain-climbing stance, the saber arcing along with the turning of your body. See photo 47a:

再將左脚自右脚之前偸過右前方，刀則撇上，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then your left foot does a stealth step forward to the right, passing in front of your right foot, as the saber swings upward. See photo 47b:

再將右脚移往右方，刀則由背部繞過左肩之上，如「過渡式丙圖」。
Then your right foot shifts to the right as the saber arcs around your back to be over your left shoulder. See photo 47c:

再拉起右脚以成左跨虎步，刀再往右上方掠起，如「定式圖」。
Then pull back your right [left] foot to make a left sitting-tiger stance as the saber sweeps upward to the right. See photo 47d:

功用：
Application:
此是專破上門攻來之械，繞行數步者是趨避之法也。
This technique focuses on ruining the attack of incoming weapon to my upper area. The arcing steps are a method of evading.

第四十八式　左門攔刀式
Posture 48: SLASHING TO THE LEFT

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先將左脚往左方移開以成如登山之勢，刀自上劈落以交於前，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your left foot shifts out to the left to almost make a mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops downward from above to go across in front of you. See photo 48a:

再進右脚，刀向上畧舉高，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then your right foot advances as the saber slightly rises up. See photo 48b:

再進左脚，刀循左肩經背部繞過右肩之上，如「過渡式丙圖」。
Then your left foot advances as the saber arcs from your left shoulder around your back and over your right shoulder. See photo 48c:

再進右脚以成右跨虎步，刀自右肩劈過左腰之下，如「定式圖」。
Then your right foot advances to make a right sitting-tiger stance as the saber chops downward from your right shoulder past the left side of your waist. See photo 48d:

功用：
Application:
與四十七式同祗方向之異耳。
Same as in Posture 47, except going in the opposite direction.

第四十九式　右門攔刀式
Posture 49: SLASHING TO THE RIGHT

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，右脚先向右移動，刀由下而掠高於右，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot shifts to the right as the saber sweeps upward to the right from below. See photo 49a:

再過左脚於前方，刀自右繞過背部而復轉於前，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then your left foot goes forward as the saber again arcs from the right to go around your back and in front of you. See photo 49b:

再進右脚，刀由上而落，如「過渡式丙圖」。
Then your right foot advances as the saber lowers from above. See photo 49c:

左脚再斜步進前以成跨虎之勢，刀由下復上以成刀與步之斜式，如「定式圖」。
Then your left foot advances diagonally to make a sitting-tiger stance as the saber again goes upward from below so that both the saber and the stance are in diagonal positions. See photo 49d:

功用：
Application:
與四十七、四十八同，祗斜正及方向之別耳。
Same as in Postures 47 and 48, except going diagonally in a different direction.

第五十式　上步攔腰式
Posture 50: STEP FORWARD, SLASH TO THE WAIST

功用：
Application:
與十七、二十四等同。
Same as in Postures 17 and 24.

第五十一式　拉刀收步式
Posture 51: PULLING THE SABER, GATHERING STEP

第五十二式　竄跳囘身式
Posture 52: SCURRYING AWAY WITH THE BODY TURNED

再原式不變疾跳過西後方，如「定式圖」。
Then while maintaining this position, suddenly hop back [twice] to the west [east]. See photos 52b and 52c:

第五十三式　拉刀藏刀式
Posture 53: PULLING THE SABER INTO A STORING POSITION

第五十四式　踏步劈刀式
Posture 54: STOMPING STEP, CHOPPING

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，右後脚用力踏地求與前左脚相貼，再以左掌加於右腕內齊向上舉起，如「過式渡甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot forcefully stomps the ground right in front of your left foot as your right hand raises up, your left palm going to the inside of your right wrist. See photo 54a:

再開進左脚以成左登山式，刀自背後直砍而出，左掌則橫架於頂如「定式圖」。
Then your left foot advances to make a left mountain-climbing stance as the saber chops out from behind you, your left palm blocking across above your head. See photo 54b:

功用：
Application:
來械直向我面部刺來，我先以刀橫去之，再乘勢以直劈法還擊彼面部焉。
An incoming weapon is stabbing to my head, so I first use my saber to send it aside, then follow through with the motion by doing a chop straight ahead to counterattack to the opponent’s face.

第五十五式　拉刀四平式
Posture 55: PULLING THE SABER, FOUR-LEVEL POSTURE

說明：
Explanation:
循上式，先提右脚，刀沿脚傍撇下，左掌仍不動，如「過渡式甲圖」。
Continuing from the previous posture, first your right foot lifts as the saber swings downward beside the foot, your left palm not moving. See photo 55a:

再原步不動，刀從下轉上以加於左臂之上，如「過渡式乙圖」。
Then with your stance not changing, the saber arcs upward from below to go on top of your left arm. See photo 55b:

再原步不動，左手捧囘原刀，左掌向大腿處拍落，如「過渡式丙圖」。
Then with your stance still not changing, your left hand holds the saber as it did at the beginning and your left [right] palm comes down, slapping your [right] thigh. See photo 55c:

再退提起之脚以成左跨虎步，右掌轉而向上橫架於頭頂，左手刀向後斜拖，如「定式圖」。
Then your lifted leg retreats to make a left sitting-tiger stance as your right palm arcs upward to block across above your headtop, your left hand pulling back the saber until it is diagonal behind you. See photo 55d:

斯為收式之刀法，全刀五十五式至此已還復本來面目。
This is the closing posture of the saber set, bringing you back to your original position and facing the same direction as before.

– – –

[Included below is a related piece from Huang’s Notes on the Mantis Boxing Art (1951).]

單刀搜秘
SECRETS OF THE SINGLE SABER

昔者武壇多譽先師全才，蓋先師當日除擅拳法、鐵砂掌外，各種武器靡不精研，尤以單刀一類有所獨到，唯不趨尚時髦、討好觀衆，雜以滾地等動作，謹守武術界之尊嚴，余習藝時曾蒙以十法見示，十法者劈、軋、抅、掛、削、拍、挑、撩、搜、撈是也。考刀術為各種武器中之最繁雜之一，唐以前用刀者俱為長桿子之大砍刀（即俗稱之大關刀），此名之由來，實因武聖用刀且姓關之故，至宋室中葉，水滸英雄武松與浪子燕靑俱以步戰馳譽，前者固以行者棒號稱天下莫敵，後者却以單刀得名，故至今有燕靑單刀之技傳於世。
大砍刀、單刀、斬馬刀之外尚有雙刀，世人不察每以雙刀比單為難，其實雙刀之為用，祗兩手平均、步法靈活便可運用自如，其法甚簡單而已。
單刀看手一語，為單刀之心法，亦為單刀中之至難安置之處，試觀夫稍懂一、二者常自詡為精於單刀法，然其演習時又常常刀與手脫節，全不注重刀與手之配合，其能謂之於精乎，即為舞台上當生旦對答之時正在悠揚悅耳之表情與動作同時演出，使觀衆全神灌注，當斯時也甚少人注視其背後所飾演之童僕之形狀，若空無所握之左手即等於童僕耳，若不有所動作便形同虛設，更且陷於本身痲痺之狀，若說實用更無所扶襯相托矣。
練刀之法除刀與手互相動作毋使一方有所停滯之外，尚須刀與身貼，步隨勢移方為刀之正法，刀如猛虎一語實形容其勢雄猛之處，又曰拼命用單刀之說，凡以單刀臨陣應敵者苟存恐懼之心，無不為敵所敗，蓋單刀為短兵刃，若與長兵械相接，其勢固拙，瑟縮不前者必為長械所乘無疑，但立拼命之心長者為我所接，則我一躍而前，長短之勢有所平合，勝敗之機互握半數，若更因勢利導，緊握時機，敵為我乘，則其敗立判矣，今之練刀者苟能髓味斯旨，距成功之域近矣。
Master Luo’s versatility was often praised in martial arts circles. Beyond his mastery of boxing methods and iron palm skills, he had intensively studied various kinds of weapons, becoming uniquely adept at the single saber in particular. But as he did not care about what was popular or what would impress an audience, he did not mix in tricks like rolling around on the ground, concerned only with preserving the dignity of the martial arts world. When I learned this art, it was presented to me as being comprised of ten techniques: chopping, rolling, hooking, hanging, slicing, patting, carrying, raising, searching, and scooping.
　　Examining the saber arts shows it to be one of the most varied of the many weapons. Prior to the Tang Dynasty, the “sabers” used were all long-pole large cleaving sabers, what is commonly called the large “Guan Saber”, so named because it was used by the martial sage Guan Yu. During the middle period of the Song Dynasty, “The Pilgrim” Wu Song and “The Wanderer” Yan Qing, heroic characters from The Water Margin, both became famous for their martial deeds. The former used a staff, with which he was considered to be invincible, while the latter became known for his use of the single saber, after which is named the “Yan Qing’s Single Saber” set that has been passed down to us to this day. Beyond the large cleaving saber, single saber, and horse-slashing saber, there is also the double sabers. Most people do not scrutinize and simply assume that the double sabers are more difficult than the single saber. Using the double sabers is actually only a matter of both hands working evenly and the feet stepping nimbly, and then you will be able to wield them smoothly. Its techniques are really very simple.
　　There is a saying: “With the single saber, be mindful of your other hand.” This is a core principle of the single saber, as well as the most difficult aspect of it. Observe someone who understands the art very little and yet often brags that he is an expert at the single saber. When he performs, his saber and left hand constantly lose coordination between each other, and he never pays attention to having cooperation between them. How could he be considered an expert? When a dancer on a stage begins to sing, and her sweet singing is performed in tandem with her movements, the audience becomes rapt with attention. In that moment, very few people would notice the stagehands in the background. If the saber practitioner’s left hand is so uninvolved that it becomes like one of those invisible stagehands, or if it is moving with so little purpose that it almost turns into some paralyzed appendage, then it will seem to be of no real use at all.
　　When practicing the saber methods, beyond the saber and hand coordinating with each other rather than either of them becoming sluggish, the saber has to move close to the body, and the step has to shift along with the movement in order for the saber’s techniques to be precise. This saying expresses well the required quality of fearsomeness: “The saber is like a fierce tiger.” There is also this saying: “Defy death as you wield the single saber.” Whenever you use the single saber to battle against opponents, if there is fear in your heart, you will always be defeated. Because the single saber is a short weapon, if my saber connects with a long weapon, I would of course be in an awkward position. If I am then too timid to go forward, his long weapon is certain to have the advantage, but if instead I have a mentality of defying death, his long weapon will then be under my control. Therefore I charge in, leveling the odds between long and short, grasping the decisive moment between victory and defeat. Treating half a chance as more than half, I act in accordance with the situation, seize the opportunity, and take advantage of the opponent’s position, and thus his defeat becomes a more likely outcome than mine. If you modern saber practitioners can deeply think upon this point, you will be much closer to success.

–

Local Resistance and Guoshu: The Foshan Zhong Yi Martial Arts Athletic Association

Posted on 21 Dicembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

The images in this post are taken from Daniel Mak and Alex Jung’s excellent documentary “The Origins of Macau Wing Chun.” Its well worth watching and you can read more about it here.

Guoshu in the Pearl River Delta

In a recent post I attempted to move away from the triumphalist rhetoric that accompanies many popular discussions of the Guoshu movement and ask how its institutional limitations (rather than its strengths) shaped the spread of Northern martial arts styles in the Pearl River Delta region during the 1920s and 1930s. That essay addressed events in one small region as in my research I have found that to really understand any social movement it is often necessary to move away from national level narratives. While helpful in understanding a movement’s goals, such discussion can obscure the reality of how reforms were actually implemented (and co-opted) at the local level. That can, in turn, lead to the uncritical acceptance of politically inflected historical narratives and a bad case of selective memory.

For instance, while investigating attempts to establish “official” Guoshu chapters in the Guangzhou area, we discovered that the success of these efforts were very much dependent on the support of the governor’s office. Yet in an era characterized by unstable and quickly shifting politics, such political alliances often proved to be a liability. Ambitious efforts to rebuild Guangdong’s martial arts culture through legislative fiat were doomed by the KMT’s constant internal upheavals. Northern masters found considerably more success in spreading their styles once they were freed (partially) from political patronage structures and able to establish commercial schools that could compete in the economic marketplace.

This essay expands on that discussion by asking two additional questions. First, Andrew Morris has noted that all sorts of modernizing groups (New Wushu, Jingwu, Guoshu), while typically successful in China’s major cities, tended to have trouble penetrating the countryside. That was a significant problem as the vast majority of China’s martial artists lived far from the large cities. Given the geographic limitations of the Republic era’s hand combat reform movements, what do we see in the Guangdong case? Was the Guoshu movement able to establish branches outside of the sophisticated and well-connected provincial capital of Guangzhou? If so, how did these organizations function?

Our second question is closely related to the first. Given that Guangdong had a vibrant martial arts subculture prior to the importation of the Guoshu movement in the late 1920s, in what ways did local martial arts groups attempt to resist or co-opt this new expression of Chinese identity through martial practice? Elite reformers saw the Guoshu movement not just as a way to promote mundane public health goals. They sought to use a single, centrally controlled, program of physical training and competition to increase nationalism, militarism and loyalty to the party. Yet the Chinese martial arts had traditionally been a vehicle for the expression of much more local and regional identities. How were local groups able to capitalize on the weakness of the Chinese state to use such centrally sponsored reform efforts for their own ends?

The following essay begins by shifting our focus away from Guangzhou to Foshan, a nearby market town and manufacturing center. It examines the rise of the Zhong Yi Martial Arts Athletic Association. Perhaps the second most important regional martial arts organization between the 1920s and the 1940s, a close examination of developments in Foshan suggests that while the Guoshu movement looked quite strong on paper, in actual fact its unifying and centralizing agenda faced stiff opposition. Ironically, the Guoshu label was even used to empower the sorts of local, traditional, secretive and sectarian identities which its national level rhetoric vocally opposed and claimed to have supplanted.

Foshan

Given Guangzhou’s status as the political capital and cultural center of Guangdong Province, it is only natural that the Central Guoshu Institute would concentrate their reform efforts there. But how far out into the countryside did these measures penetrate? The case of Foshan, an economically vibrant market town only a short distance from the capital, suggests the level of complexity that may have been encountered. Still, given Foshan’s wealth, rapid economic modernization and long history as a center for hand combat development, one would think that if the Guoshu movement could succeed anywhere, it would surely find a foothold here.

The development of Foshan’s “Guoshu” related efforts (and we must use that term carefully) began shortly after the failure of the Liangguang Guoshu Institute in Guangzhou (discussed here) in the 1929-1930 period. Yet rather than importing a group of distinguished Northern instructors, as the Governor did in Guangzhou, Foshan moved in a radically different direction. Instead of creating a new organization, the locally prominent network of “Yi” schools, whose teaching curriculum focused almost entirely on Hung Gar and Wing Chun, were reorganized into something more official with closer ties to the local KMT party structure.

While much has been written about the history of both Wing Chun and Hung Gar, the social significance of the Yi network has been largely neglected in favor of more traditional lineage and instructor specific biographies. That sort of rhetoric is historically problematic as it both lends itself to hagiography and obscures the ways in which martial arts groups interacted with the larger community. In fact, even before their formalization at the end of the 1920s, the Yi network of martial arts schools were an important force in the local community and the increasingly violent debates that accompanied the emergence of an independent labor movement.

Still, it was not the largest alliance of schools and instructors in Foshan at the time. That honor was held by the various Choy Li Fut schools organized through the Hung Sing Association. We previously discussed the creation and significance of this group at length in our volume on the history of the Southern Chinese martial arts. For the purposes of the current argument it is enough to note that by the 1920s the Hung Sing Association was recruiting much of its membership from the ranks of Foshan’s handicraft sector and the newly emerging industrial working class. In addition to hand combat training Hung Sing also provided a means for workers to network, organize and look for employment. All of this quickly drew the association into relationships with more radical elements of the local labor movement including trade unions and organizers from the Community Party.

In contrast, the Hung Gar and Wing Chun schools organized by the Yi network often (though not always) recruited their membership from the ranks of skilled local workers or small business owners. Such individuals were better positioned to benefit from the global shifts in trade, investment and economic structure that typically threatened the livelihoods of less skilled workers. It should not be surprising to discover that many of the Yi schools were financially backed by the region’s more conservative “yellow trade unions” who opposed the types of the demands that the more radical (“red”) labor movement was making. Indeed, the Yi Schools and the Hung Sing Association clashed (sometimes violently) throughout the 1920s. Much of what has been preserved in lineage histories as “ancient rivalries” between competing martial arts styles should probably be reframed as local expressions of the sorts of class conflict that gripped the entire industrialized world during the 1930s. But how did the Yi Schools first emerge?

That question has proved difficult to answer as, after 1949, the Communist government classified the Zhong Yi Martial Arts Athletic Association as a violent right wing group with a “special historical background.” As such local society went to some lengths to suppress not just the membership of the group but its historical memory as well. Nevertheless, two local historians, Xiao Hai Ming and Zou Wen Ping, have been able to reconstruct some key facts about the organization.

During the final years of the Qing dynasty a resident of Zhangcha Village (now a part of Foshan’s urban sprawl) named Zhao Xi organized the “Xing Yi” martial arts school. Sadly, Xiao and Zou were not able to discover much about Zhao’s background. But it is clear that he was a Hung Gar instructor and his schools were the first in the Foshan area to bear the “Yi” suffix. We might also surmise that Zhao was a talented businessman and he found ways to franchise and leverage his personal reputation. Eventually six schools appeared (Yong Yi, Xiong Yi, Qun Yi, Ju Yi, and Ying Yi) all associated with the initial Xing Yi location. This set of schools is said to have constituted the core of the larger “Yi” martial arts system. Xiao and Zou noted that both Hung Gar and Wing Chun were taught within this network, though they were not able to reconstruct a full list of instructors.

As is typically the case, things are most opaque during the early years of the Yi network. We have more information on events which occurred in the 1920s and 1930s. But our best information stems from the 1940s, just prior to the victory of the CCP. As we review this period Wing Chun students may even begin to spot some familiar names. Jiu Chao (1902-1972) taught Wing Chun at the Zhong Yi Association branch located at Kuai Zi Lane after 1945. Like Ip Man, he came from a wealthy local family. He learned Wing Chun from Chan Yiu Min, the son of Chan Wah Shun (Ip Man’s first instructor). Jiu also opened another martial arts school in Zhongshan and is said to have had over 100 students between his two schools. Perhaps his best-known disciple was Pan Nam.

Jiu’s career might also offer us some insight into the relationship between Wing Chun and Hung Gar within the Yi network. While an acknowledged Wing Chun master, Jiu appears to have been most famous within the local community for his excellence with a wide variety of weapons that are more typically associated with Hung Gar. These included the multiple varieties of iron chains, single and double swords, sabers and the eyebrow staff. That certainly suggests a degree of cross-training.

Cheung Bo (1899-1956) may also have taught for the Zhong Yi Association. Rene Ritchie notes that Cheung Bo’s lineage is not totally clear and that he likely learned both Wing Chun and bone setting from Wai Yuk Sang, who was a doctor employed by the Nationalist Army. Cheung became a chef at the Foshan Tien Hoi Restaurant and was close friends with Yuen Kay San. In addition to his “restaurant class” he may also have taught at the “Hui Yi” martial arts school. Cheung was responsible for the early training of Sum Num who he later introduced to Yuen Kay San.

It was during the 1920s that the Yi schools more closely aligned themselves with local business interests, “yellow” trade unions and the rightwing of the provincial KMT leadership. They clashed repeatedly with the more radical Hung Sing Association over the various strikes and pickets promoted by the leftist organization. It appears that at times they may even have been used as strikebreakers.

As Guoshu activity began to accelerate in Guangzhou, only a short distance away, the Yi schools decided to formally unite and organize themselves as the Zhong Yi Martial Arts Athletic Association. The new group had about a dozen branches (all in Foshan) during the early 1930s. Its official membership has been estimated at about 1000 individuals, making it about one third the size of Hung Sing at its 1927 peak. It should be remembered that this later organization was closed by the KMT during the crackdown on Communists that followed the Northern Expedition and the Shanghai Massacre in the same year.

Of the many ways of expressing “martial arts,” the Zhong Yi Association adopted the term “Guoshu.” Still, it remains unclear what sort of relationship (if any) the group had with the Central Guoshu Institute. There is no evidence that they adopted the standardized Nanjing curriculum meant to unify the Chinese people behind a single set of (mostly Northern) practices. Nor did this group attempt to pursue the sorts of radical ideological reforms of the martial arts sectors that the short lived Liangguang Guoshu Institute had demanded. Indeed, the Zhong Yi Association was composed of exactly the sorts of regional, traditional, sectarian and secretive styles that national Guoshu reformers so desperately sought to eliminate. It is thus reasonable to ask whether, or how, this group functioned as an extension of the Guoshu movement.

Perhaps the clearest answer to this comes when we look at the organization’s leadership flowchart. The first thing that we see is that its president was none other than Zhang Qi Duan, the KMT Party Secretary for Nanhai County. Indeed, prominent local citizens and KMT functionaries filled all of these leadership roles. While there is no evidence that the Yi schools adopted any of the substance of the national Guoshu reform movement, it does appear that local elites consciously decided that they were more interested in having political control over the local martial arts community (particularly at a time when it was embroiled in frequent violent clashes with the labor movement) than the details of what styles were to be taught. It was easier and more efficient for local leadership to co-opt a preexisting group, rebranding it as part of the Guoshu movement, than to create yet another competing school staffed with imported martial artists.

If this interpretation of the historical facts is correct, the choice to simply work with the Zhong Yi Association represents a telling concession to the realities of the local martial arts marketplace. Given the intensely local nature of most schools, it seems that the top-down, state centric, model of martial arts reform promoted by the Central Guoshu Institute during the 1930s was doomed to fail. Even a few miles outside of a provincial capital it proved almost impossible for the state to assert its control over the vast networks of private schools and associations that had grown up since the end of the Boxer Uprising. Such an undertaking was only possible when the local political and military leadership was strongly committed to the project. But in Foshan it was precisely these officials who instead decided to rebrand a preexisting network that they already depended on and exercised some control over. Rather than the Guoshu banner being one that united a common (and progressive) national culture, in Foshan it was a tool for local martial artists to express an entirely different (and more conservative) vision of how modern China should function.

Conclusion

One lesson to be drawn from this is that historians must approach the written sources (policy statements, manuals, yearly reports, newspaper articles, etc…) generated by reformist groups with a fair degree of caution. This material is relatively easily accessible to us today as one aspect of the Republic era modernizing agenda was to establish a robust written record, thereby combating the popular perception that the martial arts were practiced only by rustic illiterates. Yet the substantive claims made by these organizations about the state of the Chinese martial arts were often deeply misleading.

In their public statement during the 1920s and 1930s they constantly claimed that the Chinese martial arts were dying, that they had become irrelevant, corrupted or ignored. They proposed various schemes for the resurrection of these arts through a process of purification, modernization and state sponsorship. The irony was that the local martial arts were not dying, certainly not in Guangdong, and probably not in most other areas of the country. New commercial schools and organizations were growing at a dizzying rate, so much so that outside regulatory efforts found it essentially impossible to control the local supply of martial arts instructors. While there were starts and stops, the interwar years saw a steady rise in interest in the martial arts.

Newspapers in Guangzhou, Foshan and Hong Kong all began to carry serialized novels glorifying local martial artists from the recent past. New radio programs, and later early films, hyped martial strength. Urban individuals became involved in these traditions in record numbers. The simple reality is that the Chinese martial arts were more popular, and practiced by a wider range of groups, in the 1920s and 1930s than ever before. The Guoshu movement was never going to “save” the Chinese martial arts as, in reality, these arts and the social structures that supported them, were doing quite well on their own. Rather, the various reform movements of the 1920s and 1930s are better understood as attempts to get out in front of trends that were already highly developed and threatening to pass by a relatively small group of elite activists and their backers in the government.

The situation in Foshan is instructive as it suggests two issues which probably slowed the substantive spread of the Guoshu movement. While there was an immense demand for martial arts training in this period, local martial artists expressed little enthusiasm for the centralized reforms, training regimes and tournament structures that a handfull of national level reformers sought to promote. Instead martial arts groups continued to focus on local issues, identities, power structures and conflicts.

Secondly, with the help of local government officials, the Guoshu name and framework could be appropriated to promote exactly the sorts of parochial, traditional and sectarian martial arts practices that the national reform movement was actively preaching against. Rather than weakening these groups, the expansion of the Guoshu program actually provided them with a platform from which to promote their own, radically different, vision of what “New China” should be. While Foshan’s Zhongyi Martial Arts Athletic Association has been all but forgotten by modern Hung Gar and Wing Chun practitioners, this short discussion suggests that it still has much to teach students of martial arts studies.

oOo

A note on sources: Anyone interested in a fuller account of this period (as well as the relevant footnotes and citations) should check out chapter 3 of The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts.

oOo

Bringing Northern Styles South: A Brief History of the Lianguang Guoshu Institute

Posted on 13 Dicembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Transforming Southern Martial Culture

How did Taijiquan, now ubiquitous, establish itself in Southern China? What about the other northern Shaolin systems? I would think that the lion’s share of the credit must go to the Jingwu Association which introduced and popularized several systems throughout the 1920s. Still, the institutional structure of the modernist Jingwu Association tended to absorb sets from various arts rather than presenting them as distinct, self-contained, lineages. The other actor, frequently noted in this equation, is the Guoshu (National Arts) movement.

Guangdong province established its own branch of this national organization relatively early on. I recently heard the assertion that all of the “traditional” practices of southern China could be classified into three categories. First, one had the local Cantonese arts (Hung Gar, Choy Li Fut, etc..), next there were the Hakka styles (White Eyebrow, Dragon) and finally there are the northern arts (Taijiquan, Northern Shaolin). The argument went that it was ultimately the Central Guoshu Association, and their program to promote national unity through martial arts training, that should receive the credit for disseminating these styles to the south.

This particular assertion was made much too quickly, and the author was speedily on to other topics. Still, I think it would be worth our time to go back and parse these events more carefully. Guoshu, as both a term, idea and a historical movement, seems to be enjoying a mini-renaissance at the moment. Speculation as to why this is, and what it ultimately suggests about contemporary Chinese martial arts culture, will need to wait for a separate blog post. Yet, at least in the case of Southern China, it is interesting to note that many of the organization’s greatest contributions to martial culture are rooted in its institutional failures, rather than success. The following meditation on these questions is based largely on research conducted for my co-authored volume (with Jon Nielson) on the social history of the Southern Chinese martial arts. If you are interested in chasing down a more complete account of Guoshu in the Pearl River Delta (or my footnotes) take a look at chapter three.

In a certain sense the prior assertion by the unnamed author is absolutely correct. Even if the Jingwu Association whetted the public’s appetite, the Guoshu movement was directly responsible for the export of many important styles and lineages to the south. Still, if we succumb to a type of easy romanticism about this process, we risk misunderstanding both the nature of the Southern Chinese martial culture and the severity of the challenge that it posed to a program consciously designed to displace regional traditions with a more universal set of practices and identities. Yes, national reformers were able to use the martial arts to shape debates about what the “New China” should be. Yet local society could also turn to these practices in launching their own broadsides against outside forces.

A group photo of organizers and athletes at the 1928 National Guoshu Examination.

A Governor Goes North

The first common misconception that casual readers might have is that the Guoshu organization was truly national in scope. Andrew Morris has noted that the movement’s pretensions to universality and sectoral dominance never materialized in real life. Indeed, it would have been practically impossible for any organization to fully integrate itself into Chinese life, in both the city and the countryside, in only a few years during the turbulent 1930s. China was just too large and complex for this to happen. Further, many of the specific challenges that Guoshu faced stemmed from the group’s unapologetically partisan nature.

Unlike the Jingwu Association, the Central Guoshu Institute was not dedicated to vague notions of Chinese nationalism. Its goals were much more statist in orientation. While encouraging patriotism was important, the group received enthusiastic government backing as it also sought to indoctrinate its practitioners with loyalty to the KMT, and to Chiang Kai-shek in particular. This became an issue as, his victory in the Northern Campaign notwithstanding, not all of the KMT’s notoriously independent cliques and generals were equally enthusiastic about aligning themselves with Chiang and his program. As such, many regions of China actually resisted the spread of the Guoshu. Or, to be more precise, while they may have enthusiastically embraced the name Guoshu, and certain philosophical notions about national strengthening through the reform of the martial arts, they were not about to turn local “paramilitary” assets over to Chiang and his allies.

Morris asks us to consider the case of Shanxi Province in the 1930s. Long a stronghold of traditional boxing, readers may be surprised to learn that it had no official Guoshu chapter. This fact may not at first be evident. The province actually boasted over 500 registered martial arts societies in the 1930s, and many of them using the term Guoshu in their names (evidence of the fashionable nature of the word). Yet the entire area was administered by the independent warlord Yan Xishan who carefully avoided any contact with a program that was (quite correctly) perceived as a tool of Chaing Kai-shek’s close backers.

A very similar pattern could be seen in Fujian and Guangdong. Both provinces were formally administered by the KMT, yet in the post-1927 era their leadership was sometimes protective of their local autonomy. This institutional weakness within the KMT impeded the expansive vision of the Guoshu Institute.

That is not to say that the new movement didn’t have important allies. In October of 1928, General Li Jinshen (governor of Guangdong and an important military figure at the time) visited the first national martial arts examination hosted by the newly organized Central Guoshu Institute in Nanjing. He was so impressed with what he saw that he decided to commit substantial resources to promoting the Guoshu program in Guangxi and Guangdong. He invited Wan Lai Sheng (a Six Harmonies and Shaolin Master) and Li Xian Wu (Taijiquan and a native of Guangdong), to return with him to Guangzhou.

Li quickly drew up plans that were approved by the local government. Wan Lai Sheng was formally appointed the head of the new provincial organization by General Li’s Eighth Army. Given the ambitious nature of Li’s plans, Wan then went about recruiting a number of high-profile instructors. These included Fu Zhensong, Li Xian Wu, Wan Laimin and Gu Ru Zhang (who many readers will already be familiar with). Gu would go on to become the central figure in the promotion of Bak Shaolin (Northern Shaolin) in Guangdong province. These instructors, and Wan, were known in the press as the “The Five Southbound Tigers.”

Li’s Lianguang Guoshu Institute first opened its doors in March of 1929, hosting three sets of two-hour classes a day. The organization had an initial enrollment of 140 students, which quickly increased to close to 500. Still, a closer examination revealed something odd. Rather than filling its ranks with local martial artists looking to get on board with the new national program, almost all of these students were low ranking civil service personal. Still, there was enough “official” demand to both expand the class structure and to begin to offer off-campus instruction at any business or office which could meet the financial requirements and guarantee at least 20 students. Chinese sources note that, once again, it was government offices that dominated the off-campus study program.

Despite these initial struggles to penetrate the local martial arts sub-culture, or perhaps because of them, Governor Li pressed ahead with an ambitious agenda for the Lianguang Guoshu Institute. This was aided through the efforts of the local government. First, an ordinance was passed mandating registration and licensing of all martial arts organizations or schools in the province. Second, the creation of any new martial arts school or organization not administered by the institute’s (mostly Northern) staff was banned. Finally, money was set aside for the creation of a regional publication dedicated to advancing the nationalist and pro-KMT “Guoshu philosophy.”

Backed by the full might of the Eighth Army, the provincial government, and an enthusiastic governor, such a set of reforms could have had stifled Southern China’s vibrant martial culture. Indeed, that seems to have been precisely the goal of their effort. General Li Jishen was quite sincere in his desire to bring the local martial arts community to heel, effectively transforming it into a tool to be exploited by the state. While it remains unclear to me whether these sorts of orders could have been enforced in the countryside, their impact on urban Choy Li Fut or Hung Gar schools would have been disastrous. Deep pools of local knowledge and experience were about to be sacrificed on the altars of “national unity.”

It is interesting to speculate on whether, and how successfully, the local martial arts sector would have resisted these efforts. Fortunately, historians have no answer to that question as Li’s ambitious plans fell apart almost immediately. Indeed, the great weakness of Guoshu’s rapid expansion was that its success depended not so much on popular demand as the political calculations of often unpredictable leaders.

In May of 1929, General Li Jishen took the spectacular step of resigning as governor and traveling to Nanjing with the intention of mediating a truce between Chiang Kai-shek and the “New Guangxi Clique.” This was, to say the least, a serious strategic miscalculation. Negotiations went badly and Chiang (quite predictably) was furious. He had General Li arrested and held until his eventual release in 1931, after which he drifted towards the Communist Party. This left Guangdong in need of a new governor. They received one in the form of Chen Jitang, who is still remembered for his social reforms (the creation of a very basic social safety net) and building programs (he paved the streets of Guangzhou).

One of Chen’s first acts upon taking office was to disband the Guoshu Institute. It is likely that Chen saw this organization as a potential political threat. After all, he did not create it, and many of the individuals within it were loyal to his predecessor. It is also likely that Chen did not want to be that closely associated with a group that was so much under of the influence of Chiang’s most ardent supporters. Whatever the actual reason, budget concerns were cited as the precipitating factor. With a total budget of 4,500 Yuan a month, the Institute was a notable undertaking. But that figure hardly seems outrageous given Li’s expansive vision for the organization. All told the Lianguang Guoshu Institute closed its doors after only two months, and without making any progress towards its ambitious goals.

That is where its story ends. The initial attempts to establish Guoshu in Guangzhou immediately fell victim to internal politics within the KMT. In retrospect it is almost too predictable.

All of which is great, because what happened next had an actual shaping effect on the development of Southern martial culture. The surprising collapse of the Lianguang Institute left a number of extremely talented Northern martial arts exponents unemployed (and more or less stranded) in Guangzhou. This seeming setback created new opportunities that spread the Northern arts more effectively than anything that Li had envisioned. After all, most of the instruction that had been provided in these initial months was directed at a relatively small group of government employees. Chen’s forced dissolution of the organization allowed its instructors to enter into a much broader (and truly competitive) marketplace for martial arts instruction. It was within these smaller commercial schools that arts such as Bak Siu Lam and Taijiquan really took off and came to be accepted by the general public.

Following the breakup of the Guoshu Institute, Li Xian Wu was hired by the Guangdong branch of the Jingwu Assocation as its new director of academic affairs. He later published a well-known guide to taijiquan. Gu Ru Zhang proved to be among the most influential of the remaining staff. Attempting to capitalize on the work that was already accomplished, he sought to create the Guangzhou Guoshu Institute (formally established in June of 1929). Gu was selected as its president, Wang Shaozhou was named its vice president and Re Shen Ku, Li Jing Chun and Yang Ting Xia (the wife of Wang), were all hired as instructors.

This new, smaller, organization enjoyed a measure of official backing and was housed in the National Athletic Association building on Hui Fu East Road in Guangzhou. That said, the new institute never subscribed to the grandiose policy objectives of its predecessors. Rather than regulating Southern China’s martial arts sector, it essentially entered the economic marketplace as one school among many.

And as fate would have it, Gu’s new efforts found some real success. In 1936 the Guangdong Province Athletic Association sponsored a martial arts exhibition at the Guangzhou Public Stadium. Gu’s Guangzhou Guoshu Institute performed for an enthusiastic crowd and received an award from the local government. Still, like most of the other local martial arts organizations it was forced to shut its doors in 1938 during the Japanese occupation. Yet it was due to the more private efforts of Gu and his fellow instructors, rather than the grandiose machinations of General Li, that the Northern arts established long lasting schools and lineages in Southern China. They did so by entering the marketplace and providing a good that consumers actually wanted.

An image of a now famous postcard that Gu Ruzhang sent to his students.

Martial Arts and the Weakness of “Established Churches”

It would be impossible to tell the story of China’s twentieth century martial arts without carefully reviewing the political opportunities, alliances and entanglements that presented themselves in each era. Still, as we review this material it quickly becomes evident that political sponsorship is a double-edged sword. More than one martial arts organization was destroyed by the capricious winds of change blowing through China’s political history. Political alliances proved to be a pathway to rapid growth, but also rapid obsolesce.

Leaders have repeatedly sought to use the martial arts as one element of larger campaigns to shape society more to their liking. In the short-run this creates funding and promotional opportunities. But it also creates martial arts institutions that are more responsive to the demands of political elites than the public who must actually attend classes and pay their sifu’s rent. Such a bargain is rarely good for the martial arts in the long-run as it prevents them from establishing the type of relationship with consumers that is necessary to survive periods of rapid social change.

The story of the Lianguang Guoshu Institute offers a critical insight into the strengths and weaknesses of “established” martial arts (to borrow a term of religious studies.) As a government backed institution, the only students it seemed capable of recruiting were individuals already dependent on the governor for their paychecks. Yet when its instructors were released into the competitive marketplace, they created popular schools and practices that quickly spread the northern styles across southern China. That has had a lasting impact on Guangdong’s martial culture.

oOo

If you want to delve deeper into these questions check out: Government Subsidization of the Martial Arts and the Question of “Established Churches”

oOo

Chinese Martial Arts in the News: Dec 10, 2018: Young Masters, Colorful History, Chinese Swords

Posted on 10 Dicembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Introduction

Its official, holiday madness is upon us. Still, I wanted to comment on some of the more interesting stories that have been floating around. For new readers, 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 way too long since our last update so let’s get to the news!

Keeping kung fu relevant. Source: South China Morning Post.

News From All Over

The South China Morning Post is a pretty reliable source for news on the Chinese martial arts. But what I really love is the number of Wing Chun stories they publish! Nor did they disappoint during the last news cycle. Click this link for a profile of a young instructor battling to “Keep Kung Fu Relevant” in the modern world. Or, if you prefer your profiles in written form, you can find a short article on the same instructor in Yahoo news. Both are worth checking out.

English language tabloids continue to discover the newly “rediscovered” tradition of Chinese “bull fighting.” This is basically the latest attempt to parlay martial arts exhibitions into a local tourist attraction.

It seems that every year has that one story that just won’t die. If you had asked me at the beginning of the year whether that would be the “ancient art” of kung fu bull fighting, I would blinked in disbelief and asked if you were thinking of Mas Oyama. But here we are!

Calling this an art, or somehow more “real” than Spanish bull fighting, seems like a stretch. But the sudden appearance of this practice (unknown to the international press just last year), suggests that it would make a great case study on the “invention of tradition” in the Chinese martial arts. Or perhaps you could use it to delve into the evolving construction of masculinity within the martial arts. Calling all graduate students…

Shalini Singh’s skill with a broadsword earned her a gold medal last month
at the Pan American Wushu Championships in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The San
Jose teen is an eighth-grader at Stratford School Raynor in Sunnyvale.

The Mercury News recently ran a story titled “San Jose teen shines in international martial arts competition.” It profiles a young Wushu champion and reinforces some of the standard notions about why serious martial arts practice is good for children.

Shalini Singh’s skill with a broadsword earned her a gold medal last month at the Pan American Wushu Championships in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The San Jose teen is an eighth-grader at Stratford School Raynor in Sunnyvale. (Photo courtesy of the Singh family)

She was 7 years old when started at Wushu Central on Coleman Avenue in San Jose and loved it immediately. In 2016, after four years of intense study, she earned a first-degree black belt. Now, she has been practicing Wushu for almost seven years, and currently trains about 18-20 hours per week at Elite Kung Fu Academy in Fremont.

“I really like the focus and discipline that Wushu has instilled in me,” Shalini said. “Wushu has taught me that failures are an opportunity to learn and improve yourself. I used to lose in all of my initial tournaments, and at first, it made me upset and dejected. But the advice of my coaches helped me identify where I was weak, and helped me improve my performance.”

For whatever reason, quite a few authors decided to delve into the history (or supposed history) of the Asian martial arts over the last month. Without a doubt the most sensational of these pieces was provided by the Fox Sports network. Its offering was modestly titled “4 Asian Martial Arts that teach you to end the fight with one strike.” This one is too funny (by which I mean bad) not to delve into.

Martial arts have become a means to deliver discipline, commitment and fitness into the practitioner’s life in the modern day scenario. Yes, one does learn how to defend oneself effectively also but they have largely turned into sport. But as recently as in the first half of the 20th century – the whole focus of martial arts was different. It wasn’t just used to imbue good values and equip someone for self-defence, but in those war-torn times, martial arts was an active engagement strategy against the enemy.

In that time, the focus of learning martial arts was to grievously maim or even kill your enemy in the battlefield.

In case you were wondering what these four deadly venoms are, we begin with Dim Mak (which is apparently now a single martial art invented by Bodhidharma, rather than a set of techniques), Silat (enough said), Ikken Hissatsu (which, judging by the provided video, is basically point karate highlight reel), and Varna Kali. All in all, the article is a font of joyful misunderstanding and myth-making. But in an era when everyone seems intent on tearing down the utility of the traditional martial arts, it stuck me as almost quaint. As I read it I couldn’t helping thinking, “So was this what 1968 felt like?”

A similar article, though better done, can be found here. Or why not try this one (“The Guru of Kung Fu”). Bodhidharma looks to be making a serious comeback!

The Abbot of the Shaolin Temple chimed in on Xu Xiaodong, the Chinese MMA fighter who has gained notoriety through his challenge matches with various traditional “masters.” Apparently Shi has his back.

“He’s a good guy, even though he’s a totally amateur MMA fighter,” said Shi, adding that “a hundred people in Henan province alone” could defeat Xu.

But Shi concluded: “Xu is doing the right thing by fighting fake kung fu.”

Ok, maybe that wasn’t a ringing endorsement. Still, I didn’t expect that level of engagement with Xu’s quest. Given his reputation with the Wushu establishment (not to mention the Chinese government) there doesn’t seem to be a lot of political upside for abbot Shi Yong Xinin here.

Speaking of the development of the MMA in China, Forbes ran an article on the new training facility that the UFC is planning to build in Shanghai. Clearly this is intended to help the UFC overcome its troubles developing a more extensive network of Chinese athletes.

If you’ve ever been to the UFC Performance Institute in Las Vegas, chances are you’ve been wowed by the facility. Well, there is a new PI being constructed in Shanghai that will be three times the size of the one in Sin City.

‘Cultural Exchange Will Strengthen Bonds Between China & Africa.’ So proclaims a “Kung Fu Diplomacy” article in the Liberian Observer. This one discusses the close cooperation between local diplomatic staff and branches of the (ostensibly academic) Confucius Institute in using traditional Chinese culture to further the state’s public diplomacy objectives.

The Embassy of the People’s Republic of China near Monrovia in collaboration with the Confucius Institute at the University of Liberia (UL) on Saturday, November 10, hosted the traditional Chinese Arts performance, with some of the main performers coming from the Hunan University of Chinese Medicine in China.

The event, which was hosted at the Monrovia City Hall, was intended to strengthen China-Liberia relationship, highlighting culture exchanges between the two countries. Some of the performances comprised a series of China’s traditional sport-oriented health maintenance practices, including Martial Arts, Tai Chi, Qigong (a popular Chinese song) about unity, and some Chinese folk dances.

There have been a couple of interesting photo essays in the last couple of weeks. The first follows the career of Huo Jinghong, a 5th generation descendent of Huo Yunjia and an inheritor of his system. That article hits all of the notes that one might expect.

Even more interesting is this story, profiling a swordsmith who has devoted himself to reviving certain steel-making techniques. Prepare yourself for sword pics!

Li Zhujun makes a decorative sword at his studio in Tiejiangzhuang Village of Xingtang County, Shijiazhuang, north China’s Hebei Province, Nov. 14, 2018. For centuries, Tiejiangzhuang Village has been famed for its skillful blacksmiths and prosperous steel making industry. Li Zhujun is one of the village’s top steel makers. Based on the skills inherited from his father, Li gained an expertise in the steel-making technique “refined pattern welding”, which adds complicated patterns to the swords and knives during forging. The technique has been listed as an intangible cultural heritage by the city of Shijiazhuang. In recent years, the 47-year-old blacksmith has devoted himself to the renewal of this technique. His decorative swords, thus forged with more alternative patterns, show the enhanced aesthetics and exquisite product quality. (Xinhua/Chen Qibao)

The Chief Actors in the ‘Pageant of the Dragon’, Performed By The Chinese Labour Corps, Dannes (Art.IWM ART 837) image: five Chinese men stand dressed in elaborate, traditional costumes for the purposes of a pageant. Copyright: © IWM. Original Source: http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/12963

Interested in Five Ancestor First, or the Southern Martial Arts Diaspora? Then check out this announcement from the Philipines.

Filipinos’ fascination for martial arts comes alive as more than 200 martial arts experts across the globe converge in Manila on Nov. 24 to celebrate the 80th founding anniversary of the Kong Han Athletic Club, the country’s premier martial arts school.

Abbot Chang Ding of Quanzhou City’s Shaolin Temple, and some 30 monks and members of the International South Shaolin Wuzuquan Federation, will lead participants on the occasion.

Did you hear about Marvel’s ambitious new superhero film project featuring Shang-Chi, a son of Fu Manchu. As you might have guessed, that last plot point is not going over well in China (where Marvel films are decently popular). Why? Fu Manchu, the villain of many ‘yellow peril’ novels is still widely remembered as an offensive symbol of Western anti-Chinese discrimination.

Anyone out there interested in martial arts and politics? If so, Malaysian Silat has been in the news quite a bit over the last few weeks. This article, titled “Silat alliance submits memo on ICERD, Malay issues at Istana Negara,” is a good place to get your orientation.

KUALA LUMPUR: Members of a silat coalition, known as Gabungan Silat Pertahan Perlembagaan, submitted a memorandum to the Yang Di-Pertuan Agong today, expressing their protest over International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD) and other issues….Apart from the ICERD issue, Shahruddin said the note also highlighted the group’s other demands which included calling for the protection and upholding of Malay rights, Federal Constitution and the royal institution.

More pictures and video are available here. Nor is this the only time that Silat groups have been in the news for their political activism. Here is another article touching on the involvement of Silat practitioners in violent clashes surrounding a Hindu temple in Selangor.

Now that we have all read the hot new tell all biography of Bruce Lee, we can turn our attention to Jackie Chan’s deeply confessional autobiography. Lets just say that Chan does not bend over backwards attempting to paint himself in a positive light. Whether this should be accepted as a mea culpa has become a topic of conversation in the Hong Kong press. You can find one reviewer who is relatively sympathetic to Chan here. But not everyone is as willing to accept his apology.

Martial Arts Studies

Typically I structure the MAS section of these news-updates around conference announcements and book updates. This time we are going to look at some new articles and papers instead. The first is a piece that I really enjoyed by Colin P. McGuire. You have all heard the song. Now its time to delve into what it really tells us about Cantonese martial culture!

Colin P. McGuire. 2018. “Unisonance in kung fu film music, or the Wong Fei-hung theme song as a Cantonese transnationalanthem.” Ethnomusicology Forum.

ABSTRACT

Wong Fei-hung was a Cantonese martial arts master from southernChina who became associated with a melody called ‘General’s Ode’. Since the 1950s, over 100 Hong Kong movies and television showshave forged the link by using this melody as Master Wong’s theme.During fieldwork in a Chinese Canadian kung fu club, I observed several consultants claiming this piece as a Cantonese nationalanthem—a hymn for a nation without a sovereign state. Virtualethnography conducted online showed that this opinion is heldmore widely, but that the piece also inspires broader Chinesenationalist sentiment. My analysis of speech-tone relationships tomelodic contour in Cantonese and Mandarin versions of the song,however, has revealed a tight integration with the former that thelatter lacked. By sharpening Anderson’s concept of unisonance, I explore how this song has become an unofficial transnationalanthem for Cantonese people, arguing that Master Wong’s themeauralises an abstract sense of imagined community.

I chose the next paper as a representative of the rapidly growing literature on the South East Asian martial arts. And it seemed to offset some of the previous discussion of Silat.

Lian Sutton. 2018. “Embodying the Elements within Nature through the traditional Malay art of Silat Tua.” eTropic17.2 Special Issue: Tropical Imaginaries in Living Cities.

Abstract

The paper introduces Silat Tua, a traditional Malay martial art, and its relationship to the tropics of the Malaysian Peninsula and Singapore through the imagery work of the four Elements: Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind. In a world of increasing disconnect between Humans and Nature, the Silat Tua practice is a traditional martial art for bringing harmony and healing, as well as an understanding of how the building blocks of Nature can harmonise, complement and resonate with the natural resources of the human mind, body and spirit. Through recounting the legend of the art’s origin, the first proponent of Silat Tua is shown to have gained inspiration and lessons from the inhabited environment. Examples of how a Silat exponent may explore and come to understand the Elements are discussed before venturing into the practical application of the Elements in cultivating mindfulness and influencing behaviour. The physical environment thus, is not only a source of inspiration for movement but indeed an impetus for leading a harmonious and virtuous life. The paper concludes with the connection and implications of the Elements training in Singapore and its potential in navigating oneself through the constant changes inevitable in life.

I have not yet had a chance to read the following paper by George Jennings. But it looks fascinating and brings the conversation around to the martial practices of Latin America (a topic that deserves more discussion).

George Jennings. 2018. “From the Calendar to the Flesh: Movement, Space and Identity in a Mexican Body Culture.”

Abstract

There are numerous ways to theorise about elements of civilisations and societies known as ‘body’, ‘movement’, or ‘physical’ cultures. Inspired by the late Henning Eichberg’s notions of multiple and continually shifting body cultures, this article explores his constant comparative (trialectic)approach via the Mexican martial art, exercise, and human development philosophy—

Xilam. Situating Xilam within its historical and political context and within a triad of Mesoamerican, native, and modern martial arts, combat sports, and other physical cultures, I map this complexity through Eichberg’s triadic model of achievement, ﬁtness, and experience sports. I then focus my analysis on the aspects of movement in space as seen in my ethnographic ﬁeldwork in one branch of the Xilam school. Using a bare studio as the setting and my body as principle instrument, I provide an impressionist portrait of what it is like to train in Xilam within a communal dance hall (space) and typical class session of two hours (time) and to form and express warrior identity from it. This articledisplays the techniques; gestures and bodily symbols that encapsulate the essence of the Xilam bodyculture, calling for a way to theorise from not just from and on the body but also across body cultures.

Finally, Paul Bowman has circulated a draft of this paper for comment and discussion. Looks fascinating!

Paul Bowman. ‘Kiss me with your fist, it’s alright’: Deconstructing the Pleasures of Martial Arts Violence.”

Abstract

this paper seeks to broach the complex relations of pleasure and violence in martial arts, in relation to their practice, performance and forms of consumption. It does so first by setting out the broad contours of the discursive status of both violence and pleasure in current debates about martial arts, before going on to deconstruct the implications of two short media texts: a controversial 2006 French Connection TV advert known as ‘Fashion versus Style’, and an uncontroversial music video for the 2015 song ‘Be Your Shadow’ by The Wombats.

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. We looked at antique weapons, reviewed some Republic era TCMA manuals, and learned how to defend ourselves with nothing but a bicycle! (Yeah, apparently that was actually a thing in 1900). 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!

Varieties of “Tradition”: Work, Play and Leisure in Martial Arts

Posted on 7 Dicembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

A Different Kind of Race

Horse races are strongholds of pageantry and tradition, but when it comes to medieval texture, few can compare with the Palio di Siena. Oddly, any footage of the event reminds me of a critical issue within martial arts studies. I suppose that is an occupational hazard. Pretty much anything can remind me of some aspect of the martial arts.

Still, a few words on the Palio may be in order before setting out to explore what is “traditional” in current martial practice, and what this term should denote in academic writing. Hopefully exploring one of Europe’s oldest (and probably most dangerous) horse races will help us to distinguish between the notion of “tradition” as a rhetorical posture within the modern discourse on the martial arts, and the critical ways in which pre-modern martial arts activities diverge from their modern counterparts. Even if the physical movements and uniforms are indistinguishable from what was seen in the past, the actual activity that individuals are engaged in are always a response to contemporary events and conditions.

If one types “Palio” in a YouTube search bar, you will find numerous clips of horses and jockeys racing at breakneck speeds through Siena’s wonderful architecture, cheered on by an enthusiastic crowd. If you watch a little longer a few oddities will begin to appear. To begin with, traditional Italian architecture was never really designed with horse racing in mind. Indeed, it was probably more interested in slowing down mounted charges than facilitating them. It is not uncommon for horses to go down or riders to be unseated. That tendency is multiplied by the fact that the jockeys race bareback.

Even more interesting is the crowd itself, packed into every space surrounding the designated race course. The term “throng” is thrown around rather loosely, but no other word comes to mind as you survey the pulsing sea of humanity. Yes, tourists come to see the race. But the only way to achieve that density would be if a sizable proportion of the local neighborhoods showed up as well. Which of course thy do.

The Palio di Siena is much more than a horserace to the 17 wards that make up the city. It is a time of rivalry in which each neighborhood conspires to host banquets, celebrations, religious processions and demonstrations in an attempt to impress and outdo their neighbors. The race itself (run only by horses representing 10 of these wards, selected by lot) is the climax of a cycle of preparation that spans much of the year. Bands must be maintained, flag throwers trained, and one suspects that quite a bit of expense goes into maintaining Siena’s rather large population of urban race horses. In rare instances a special race is even commissioned to celebrate important city events or to mark critical anniversaries.

Each race is a festival, and the best party in town. It also appears that for many members of the local neighborhoods, the party is a requirement. One simply does not root for a horse from a neighboring ward simply because it has a better chance of winning. Everyone knows which team they are on, because it was the team that they were born into. While tourists watch the race, they do not, and cannot, experience it in the same way as those whose lives are interwoven with it. For them the party seems mandatory.

A depiction of kicking and unarmed fighting traditions in the traditional Italian martial arts.

The Italian Martial Arts Renaissance

While spectacular, the Palio di Siena is not unique. Italy’s famously independent cities and regions have generated countless festivals. Many of them have a distinctly martial character. The history of the Palio is fairly well known. It seems that seasonal boxing and jousting tournaments gave way to bull fighting and horse-racing at the end of the medieval period. The modern Palio (reorganized and consolidated in an attempt to reduce accidental injuries) dates to the early 1700s. Many of these Italian contests pit neighborhoods against each other. Sometimes the contests are good natured. In other instances, things look more like organized brawling held under the guise of some sort of sporting contest. But no matter the specific object of the festival, there are always parties.

It was actually the parties that caught my attention. Recently I have had the good fortune to observe small pieces of what might be called the modern Italian martial arts renaissance. Increasingly I am finding Italian martial artists in all sorts of unexpected places. Traditional Italian martial arts, including various styles of knife and stick fighting, have established footholds in North America and countries like Germany, France and Russia.

While something like Sicilian knife fighting is among the most visible of the Italian martial arts, this material has not traveled alone. Italian systems of boxing and wrestling are also being re-popularized. And the explosion of interest in HEMA has provided a ready-made outlet for many schools of Italian historical fencing. Indeed, a colleague in the Bay Area (and specialist in Italian stick fighting) recently told me that in his view the “traditional” Italian martial arts are united by a shared inheritance of embodied knowledge preserved within, and then borrowed from, these older fencing practices.

This view, while historically interesting, also reminds us of something else. There is a lot going on in the world of the Italian martial arts that does not fit within the self-identified realm of “tradition.” Italy has several interesting boxing traditions firmly rooted in the 20^thcentury. Judo, BJJ and MMA are all popular pursuits. In fact, Ludosport, one of the largest lightsaber combat schools, was founded in Milan in the 2000s. It has since established branches all over Europe and North America. While I wonder whether some local stick fighting techniques made their way into the Ludosport curriculum, no one would think to call this a “traditional Italian martial art.”

That is where the puzzle begins to unfold. How do we know a “traditional” art when we see one? What specific practices, identities or expectations set these apart from their modern cousins?

In the 20^thcentury “traditional Asian martial arts” declared their presence in a number of ways. They tended to introduce unique, nationally defined, training uniforms. Elaborate, usually invented, histories were taught to students as a way of defining their new identity as members of the schools and emphasizing a shared set of values. Movements were stylized in unique and aesthetically pleasing ways. New modes of personal address were introduced. Sometimes students were even expected to master a new language (whether Japanese, Korean or even Portuguese) if they wished to really “understand” their chosen martial practice. This differs from the ethos of the modern combat sports (boxing, wrestling and MMA) which embrace contemporary society, rather than throwing up symbolic barriers.

In these specific respects Ludosport actually comes off as a very “traditional” martial art. It strictly maintains its own codes of dress, address and behavior. Indeed, it tends to be a rather closed community at least partially because of these strategies. One is also expected to learn at least of bit of Italian to take part in classes. Yet its engagement with Italian culture goes well beyond that. I recently had the opportunity to watch students in southern New York counting down drills, naming techniques and going through entire tournament matches without a word of English being spoken. At least within Ludosport, Italian has become the universal language of the lighsaber. One suspects that a degree of fluency and affinity for Italian culture would be a practical (if not formal) prerequisite for actually mastering this system.

I think that the love of a good party is probably also necessary to flourish within the Ludosport community. Its organizers have devoted substantial energy to creating a yearly cycle of tournaments, each with its own period of preparation, and each followed by a period of celebration. Indeed, one of the things that has been most surprising about this community is distances that individuals are willing to travel (and the economic resources they will spend), to participate in these gatherings. The parties almost feel mandatory, and they are clearly the sort of community strengthening exercise that Emile Durkheim would have delighted in.

This global export of Italian culture is not unique to Ludosport. I asked what sort of student was most likely to take up the traditional Italian martial arts (knife and stick) while interviewing another instructor who moved to the Bay Area some time ago. He noted that when he began to teach, he expected only limited interest from the local community. Given the extent to which these practices are tied directly to Italian culture he guessed that his students would mostly be Italian Americans looking to reconnect with their heritage. Instead he discovered a huge amount of interest and a student body that closely mirrored the demographics of the local universities. While Italian-Americans occasionally take an interest in Sicilian knife fighting, or the Shepard’s stick, most of his students have no direct connection to Italy and many are Asian Americans.

When asked why these sorts of students stayed, or what they got out of traditional stick fighting, my friend concluded, after a moment of thought, that it was probably the community. They loved learning the language. They loved the dinners and the parties. He noted, with some surprise, the number of American university students who are now taking time to travel to Italy specifically to study with other martial arts instructors there.

On a technical level Ludosport is engaged in a very different exercise than that of my friend in the Bay Area. He pursues the study of “traditional” arts while they are intent on developing a “hyper-real” one. He wields a stick or knife, while they opt for the lightsaber. He teaches a skill-based classes to local university students, while Ludosport (which also supports a skills based curriculum) seems more interested in organizing itself as an international athletic league.

Yet for all of their differences, both organizations strike me as playing a fundamentally similar role within the Italian martial arts renaissance. Each presents a set of skills embedded within a distinctly Italian cultural framework. This rich web of understanding is conveyed not just through embodied knowledge (which obviously constitutes the core of actual practice), but also through the promotion of media, social networks, language acquisition, travel and an emphasis on the intensive socialization of new students. What sorts of models exist for understanding this behavior (or in the case of Ludosport, creating it from the ground up)? One suspects that examining Italy’s long history of neighborhood festivals (often structured around quasi-military contests) might be a good place to start.

The Mandatory Party?

Still, the more we look at festivals like Palio di Siena, the more paradoxes appear. Can a raging, multi-week, period of intensive community preparation, practice and partying really be made mandatory? What sort of social sanctions could convince people who don’t like the traffic (or who find the injuries to horses and riders disturbing) not to take that long-awaited vacation to Canada? Or on a more philosophical level, if the community mandates that you go out and have fun, isn’t that really a type of work? Sure, there may be loud music and lots of alcohol, but if one is required to be there, aren’t you really performing a civic or organizational duty?

This was one of several important questions that the anthropologist Victor Turner asked in his 1974 essay “Liminal to Liminoid, in Play, Flow and Ritual: As Essay in Comparative Symbology.” His answer is particularly important for understanding the gradations of “tradition” that we might find in the martial arts. Yet on an even more basic level, he attempts to provide insights about the nature of the modern world, and the ways that industrialized and post-industrial societies tend to reposition “play” as “leisure” and “work” as “labor.”

The brief version of Turner’s answer would likely be that the existence of a “mandatory party” is possible in certain times and places, but not in our current situation. The advent of industrialization brought a fundamental transformation to how we understand concepts like “leisure” and “free time.” As such, when we see something that resembles, or postures, as a mandatory party, its important to consider what social work it is attempting to accomplish within a modern social context. What set of personal or psychological needs are being fulfilled by something that is, in reality, almost certainly a voluntary consumption decision?

Turner begins by observing that in truly traditional communities, characterized by extensive face to face interactions, the line between transformative ritual (whether seasonal in nature or a rite of passage) and the world of normal daily work was often not what we would think. Agricultural or physical labor was necessary to prepare material for religious sacrifices which would then ensure the productivity of one’s work in the coming year. An individual ritual action might be hedged about with symbolic cultural markers, demarcating it as “sacred space.” Yet the cycles of the calendar itself tended to unite things into a single whole. It dictated when work would happen, when times would be lean, and when festivals could be celebrated. Regulating the success of this system (thus ensuring the survival of the group) monopolized the resources of the community.

It is not a surprise, then, to read about entire communities coming out to cooperatively plant in the spring or gather crops later in the year. That sort of work was an economic and social necessity. Yet Turner went on to note that the sorts of feasts and festivals that occurred in these communities were also mandatory and a type of social work, rather than being an optional event or an example of modern “leisure.” Just as one had a responsibility to work in the community fields, or defend the community’s boundaries in its militia, one also had a responsibility to take part in the festivals and rituals that ensured fecundity, or attempted to ward off disease or natural disaster.

Certainly, these times were marked with celebration and creative play. Yet they were also instances of very intense social work. The notion of true leisure (meaning a realm of voluntary activity chosen by the individual and financed by the fruits of their personal labor) could only come into existence once economic markets had been developed in land and labor, a process that Karl Polanyi called “The Great Transformation.” Turner had much to say about this distinction, but perhaps we can summarize simply by noting that even if a given ritual might be preserved across this cultural barrier, its nature and meaning would be utterly transformed. To call on a seasonal example, wassailing in 16^thcentury England was quite different, and implied a very different set of social structures and responsibilities, then singing Christmas carols today. The latter is strictly a voluntary (and modern) activity. The former was very much a “mandatory party” which wealthy landowners could not easily opt out of.

I think that one can see all of this illustrated in our modern confusion over the definition of Chinese martial culture. Did these practices originate in the changing social conditions (urbanization) of the Song dynasty, the coastal military crisis of the Ming, or ritual attempts to control disease, flood and famine in the Qing? The answer, of course, is “yes.” Both practice and performance have been deeply implicated within the development of the Chinese martial arts. The 16^thcentury piracy crisis necessitated the reform of martial training to counter a new threat. Yet the four horsemen of the apocalypse always ride together. Famine and disease do not exist separately from military conflict. They are closely associated with it. Wars lead to hunger, and hunger leads to social violence.

This relationship was clearly understood by Chinese scholars, community leaders and military officers, all of whom had ample opportunities to study the subject in great detail. Thus martial rituals (lion and dragon dancing, several types of temple processions, the staging of community operas) carried out to address these more existential threats cannot ever be fully separated from the practical business of “real” martial arts training. Our constant attempts to do so, to fracture the overall unity of martial culture, tells us much more about the ways that economic and social specialization shape our own culture than anything about what happened in pre-1911 China. In 1840 both training with the militia and celebrating the New Year with the lion dance company were examples of “kung fu” because both were types of social work that certain young men were expected to render to the larger community. At times there was a ludic aspect to this work, but again, the party was mandatory.

None of this is the case today. Indeed, the party itself seems to have largely vanished. While conducting interviews I often hear the old timers talk about the wonderful socialization that happened after training at Chinese martial arts schools during the 1970s and 1980s. They relate stories of the hours spent in restaurants, or the group expeditions to grindhouse theaters to watch kung fu films. It all sounds wonderful. But I have never actually seen anything like it within my own experience. Instead, it is always framed as something “we used to do.”

When I ask about the change inevitably I hear that people grew-up, had families and got too busy. I suspect that this also signals the dramatic loss of social capital within American society that Putnam and other social scientists have written about. Still, the very fact that one can make a choice about this, that the party can even go out of fashion, suggests that these sorts of activities are very different from their pre-modern forbearers. What had been social work, necessary to maintaining the community, came to be experienced as a type of leisure, one consumer good among many which individuals used to fill their free time. It was this prior transformation that allowed it to become too expensive or unfashionable to continue.

All of this should lead to a moment’s reflection on what we mean when using the term “traditional” to discuss the martial arts. I am not suggesting that anyone change their terminology, but we should be aware that two very different possibilities are always at play. Logically, “tradition” would seem to refer to the practices and social structures of the pre-modern era. It was at this time that one might find a truly “mandatory party,” or martial arts practice understood as a necessary aspect of community service. Yet that is almost never what practitioners or scholars actually mean when using the term today. Instead they are referring to a group of modern practices which emerged in the late 19^thor 20^thcentury, almost all of which attempt to convey an ethno-nationalist body of knowledge through a type of physical training defining itself in opposition to “modern” (read, universally available) sports. This is “tradition” as a label that is chosen within a very modern marketplace of ideas, rather than something that predates or rejects a modernist understanding of the world. While the label points back to an imagined past of “essentialist” and immutable national identities, such a usage can exist only within a contemporary context.

“Local Militia Shandong.” 1906-1912 by Fr. Michel de Maynard.

Conclusion

So why would some communities (either kung fu schools in the 1970s, or Italian martial arts today) attempt to replicate the tradition of the mandatory party? Again, rather than an actual return to the past, one suspects that this is a response to proximate concerns found within recent trends. Over the summer I had a chance to attend Ludosport’s first national tournament in the USA and was surprised by the number of athletes that they assembled. It must have been a sizable percentage of the organization’s entire American student body. One can only wonder at the economic costs of making something like that happen.

As the tournament went on the attraction became more evident. Certainly, the matches and workshops were interesting, but the party was fantastic. It was the primary means by which old friendships were reinforced and new relationships forged. It was there that the basic social values of the group were hashed out. Indeed, these social gatherings were so important they were not left to chance. Ample time for “spontaneous” socialization was actually built into the events schedule. Further, the organizer’s habit of repeatedly scheduling important business meetings for school owners and instructors as “break-out sessions” during the main parties meant that for the professional within the group, the “mandatory party” was not just a metaphor. You really did have to be there. That was actually rough on many of the more jetlagged attendees.

Creating a martial arts group that can impose these sorts of costs on its member is not easy in the current environment. The higher the barriers to entry, the lower one’s potential student base will be. Still, it is not hard to see the attraction in all of this. Social and economic changes within the American economy have, over the last few decades, hollowed out its once vibrant community and associational life. Individuals crave a sense of intense, authentic community, something that, in an increasingly chaotic world, you can build a life around.

Creating those sorts of institutions is no easy task. It is one that goes well beyond looking for a time to schedule a couple of weekday classes. Still, the recent success of the Italian martial arts (whether traditional or hyper-real) in North America suggests that there is an immense appetite for this more intensive community experience.

This also raises questions for students of martial arts studies. When you look at the “clan structure”, cyclic yearly calendar and “mandatory parties” of Ludosport, it is easy to be reminded of the pre-modern traditions of something like the Palio di Siena. Indeed, one suspects that these sorts of social institutions served as a model for the construction of this more modern organization. Yet if we forget that the world that structures these demands is actually quite different from the one that gave rise to an earlier generation of community traditions, that modern leisure is not the same thing as peasant’s play, we will misunderstand the social work that the martial arts perform today.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay 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

Wabi-Sabi: Martial Arts in a Warming World

Posted on 4 Dicembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

This red pine is a unique expression of the Wabi-Sabi ethos. Source:https://bonsaibark.com/2012/12/06/theres-bunjin-and-then-theres/

Martial Arts and Politics: The Big Picture

The latest (dire) global warming report produced by US government scientists is inspiring conversations everywhere. I overheard a particularly interesting discussion between two colleagues earlier this week which focused not so much on the technological or policy measures that would be necessary to deal with rapid climate change, but the sorts of social attitudes would be necessary to support those steps. They were discussing well-funded public relations campaigns, but I must confess that I have (empirically well grounded) doubts as to how effective these sorts of efforts can be. “Confirmation bias” suggests that people are most likely to accept messages that reinforce what they already believe, or what they have already experienced. Long lasting changes in attitude usually emerge from the ground up, and not as a slick advertising campaign. After all, not every advertisement for a product, candidate or social cause is quite as successful as its backers may have hoped.

This is one of the reasons why I am interested in popular culture. It allows one to begin to decipher some of the logic behind larger patterns of political change or stability. Rather than being an escape from the world of politics, I often think of it as the repository of shared attitudes and values which are the raw materials of tomorrow’s innovations. It literally defines the realm of what is imaginable. Whether that is a comforting thought is a different question.

The martial arts may, at first, seemed removed from large scale social or political concerns. Much of our research focuses on identity, embodied experience, history, or the impact of these practices on relatively small communities. All of this is important, but it does not exhaust the significance of the martial arts within modern society. I suspect that many of us study the micro-effects of the martial arts as we are martial arts practitioners ourselves. We are anecdotally aware of their transformative power, so it is only natural that we would want to explore and systematize these insights.

Nevertheless, there is a bigger picture. The social effects of the martial arts stretch far beyond the relatively small and ever shifting group of individuals who are actually training in them at a given point in time. Their representation in the media has a profound effect on how we imagine our world. I also suspect that the interaction between these arts and the political realm are likely to become increasingly significant.

That last proposition may seem far-fetched as we spar, roll or practice on any given night. To understand how we must first come to terms with the economic concept of the “externality.” Simply put, this notion helps to explain “market failures” when (from society’s point of view) too little or too much of a good is provided. While discussions that treat the martial arts as something that can be bought or sold tend to be socially frowned upon, the simple truth is that almost all of us encounter them as a commercial product within an economic marketplace. An externality exists when the individuals who buy and sell a good (that would be us) are not capable of capturing the full benefits (or negative implications) of their market transaction.

A quick illustration may be helpful. Psychologists have noted that moods tend to be “contagious” within a social network. If you are surrounded by individuals who are stressed and unhappy, you are more likely to feel the same way, all else being equal. But if one of your friends is in a particularly good mood, that is likely to have an impact on your mood as well. I suspect that many of my readers can already guess where I am going with this. Individuals who practice the martial arts (or who engage in any form of regular exercise) report increased levels of wellness (measured across a wide variety of dimensions) and lower stress levels. That is precisely why many of these students pay for school membership in the first place.

Yet the “contagious” aspects of mood and lifestyle choices suggest that friends and family members are also reaping some of the benefits of this consumption choice even if they have never taken a single martial arts class. Because their increase in well-being is invisible in a supply/demand, chart it is not taken into account when a teacher decides how many nights of instruction to offer, or a consumer decides how many hours a week to devote to training. The end result is the existence of an externality where, because the full benefits of some people’s martial arts practices are hard to measure, the “good” in question is under-provided.

This is a single, somewhat trivial, example. But the world of the martial arts and combat sports generates dozens of similar externalities’ touching on all sorts of cultural, social and political questions. These externalities are likely to be shaped by the social, market and political forces that regulate the expression of the martial arts in a given place, and as such they vary by country and time period. In some cases we may also find that martial arts practice (like the consumption of any good) has unexpected negative consequences and that they are being over-provided. For instance, one suspects the current culture of traveling long distances for short seminars which is so vital to the financial success of many martial arts schools is doing the planet no favors. That seems like something that is likely to change in the future.

Nor is any of this a particularly new idea, though, to the best of my knowledge, no one has yet to formalize these intuitions through the lens of micro-economics. China and Japan both subsidized, promoted and even mandated certain types of martial arts practice in the early 20^thcentury, but not because there was a burning need to train middle school students in practical self-defense skills. Rather they realized that an entire complex of other values and “benefits” (fitness, discipline, patriotism, increased militarism) accompanied martial arts training. It was the secondary effects of Guoshu or Budo that drove their consumption. Whether any of this would really “work in the octagon” was not the primary consideration in the promotion of these programs.

Fortunately for us, the violent and unstable years of the 1930s are now in the past. But what about the future? How might the unintended, unpriced, consequences of martial arts practice help us to deal with some of the massive challenges facing modern society? When might some of these externalities take on negative consequences? And what sort of balance are we likely to see between grass roots efforts emerging out of popular culture on the one hand, and coordinated (possibly government backed) information campaigns on the other?

Obviously, such a topic is too big for a single blog post. It could well be the subject of an entire series of books. My goal in this essay is to lay out some unexpected macro-level ways in which the martial arts might help (or inhibit) our attempts to address largescale issues. The following post touches on global warming as a “hot” topic that has been in the news. Yet this basic method of analysis, one that focuses on the externalities of martial arts practice, could easily be applied to any number of social or political issues (some of which I may return to in the future.)

A typically minimalist Japanese dojo. Photograph by Jared Miracle.

Wabi-Sabi and a Warming Planet

While popular discussions tend to focus on the practical “reality” of the martial arts, or perhaps their history, I suspect that much of their true transformative value lies in the unique aesthetic vision that each art conveys. A certain amount of caution is necessary here as the exact contents of this vision varies from art to art. The cunning of Brazilian Capoeira practitioners can be seen and felt in their practice. It is one part of a set of social survival strategies that is discussed, debated and judged in physical movement. Yet the uniqueness of Brazilian society suggests that this cannot ultimately be reduced to the sorts of “cunning” that one might find in Irish stick fighting, or the “yin power” that is expressed in Chinese martial or ritual performance. Both “yin power” and “cunning” can be understood as aesthetic expressions of cultural meditations on the challenges of survival in often harsh environments. Yet each conveys a distinct set of nuances and insights.

Given the importance of the Japanese martial arts in kicking off the modern exploration of these fighting systems, perhaps we should not be surprised to discover that the concept of Wabi-Sabi (usually understood as values related simplicity, impermanence, asymmetry and austerity) has permeated further into the global consciousness that any of these other martial arts related visions. It is not hard to find evidence of the philosophical notions (focusing on the Buddhist insights that all things are impermanent, empty and vessels for suffering) that underpinned this aesthetic style within the Japanese martial arts. One can see it in the simplicity of the traditional judo gi, the austere etiquette of the dojo, and even the way that scrolls or artwork are presented in the school’s tokonoma.

Still, my first encounter with Wabi-Sabi was not mediated by the martial arts. As I teenager I was lucky enough to study with (and work for) Bill Valavanis, who runs the International Bonsai Arboretum in Rochester NY. It was primarily through the mediums of bonsai, traditional Japanese gardening and stone appreciation that I encountered a set of concepts which amounted to a profound meditation on the nature of existence at a formative time in my own life. Neither martial artists or Bonsai masters can deny the essential truth of existence. All things are impermanent, and all things are incomplete. Within such a philosophical framework it is easy to elevate frugality, simplicity and austerity as the key guiding values of human existence.

One suspects that a profound appreciation for Wab-Sabi arose just as much out of the observation of daily life in early-modern Japan as erudite Buddhist argument. In truth, Japanese life was often harsh, food was scarce, and the material conditions that most people lived under were spartan at best. Japanese houses were (and to a certain extent remain) unheated during the winter, and the hottest days of summer brought their own challenges. Yet students of Japanese history and culture are often amazed by the beautiful material culture that was woven out of these challenging conditions.

The modern West sits at a crossroads. Our social, economic and political systems have rested on the core principle that people should be able to consume as many material goods as they want. And if they cannot achieve this level of consumption now, they have a right to work towards it in the future. It seems unlikely that this situation can continue. Failure to politically address rising sea levels, increased severe weather and the future loss of prime agricultural land to drought would be economically and socially catastrophic. One might think of this worst-case scenario as global warming’s “hard landing.”

But even the best-case, most cooperative, scenarios will eventually require a massive adjustment to practically everyone’s lifestyle within the industrialized West. Short of a miraculous technological innovation that allows us to pull carbon from the atmosphere at will, huge changes in consumer behavior are likely in store. These will influence what we eat, how we travel and where we live. We are likely to see birthrates plummet across the developed world as raising children becomes more expensive. In the long run, cuts in consumer activity married to a dropping, aging, population, suggests that we could see a significant shrinking of major markets. That, in turn, suggests a massive reduction in the rates technological, medical and social change which we have come to expect.

Anyone who has spent enough time in the social sciences knows how difficult forecasting is. Economists love to make predictions. In my field (political science) we try to avoid it whenever possible. The challenges of modeling climate change are well known and much discussed. But they pale next to the sheer impossibility of predicting how people (at either the individual or national level) are likely to respond to this. And given that the scope of climate change (whether we can ensure a relatively “minor” rise of 2 degrees, or if we end up in more of a worst-case scenario) is dependent on the creative and cooperative behavior of such unpredictable actors, I don’t think that anyone can accurately say what the future will be.

Still, we know a few things. Whether we agree to tie our own hands through democratically decided legislation, or allow unmediated market forces and natural processes to do it through a “hard landing,” the average resident of the Western world will be consuming a lot less. Realistic carbon taxes (if instituted) will raise the price of all sorts of inelastic goods (food, transportation, heating) in relatively predictable ways. Drought, sea-level change and a rising demand for energy will do the same things (though in a much less predictable way) through market mechanisms. One way or another, discretionary spending is going to drop. It is hard to say by how much, or when. But it is impossible to believe that this will not have a substantive effect on where and how we live. In short, we are already transitioning from a period of “wanting more” to one of “getting less.”

The beauty of snow, contrasted with the challenge of winter, has often been a subject for Japanese artists. Source: Evening Snow at Kanbara, from the series “Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō” by Utagawa Hiroshige. metmuseum.org

This brings me back to the Japanese notion of Wabi-Sabi. Within this philosophical vision “freedom” does not originate from one’s ability to escape the bounds of the natural world. Rather, freedom is found as one lives successfully in harmony with it. More often than not in Japanese history, this has taken the form of finding beauty and meaning in the simple, the frugal, the rustic and the sincere.

As a political scientist I worry that the sorts of “diminished expectations” that climate change is already bringing will lead to increased levels of social instability and violence. It is hard to see the current riots in France (the worst since 1968) as anything other than a preview of what could happen in many other places as carbon taxes start to bite, or governments lose the ability to keep up with mounting natural disasters and rising food prices. Some of this will be unavoidable. But our social expectations of a world in which progress is measured in increased consumption is sure to exacerbate such tensions.

The concept of Wabi-Sabi is interesting to me as it has always been more than a set of guidelines for gardening or architecture. It is a remarkably well-developed argument about the benefits of choosing less, of living simply, rather than always pushing for more. The central problem of modern existence is the creation of social and individual meaning. Whatever its drawbacks, the economically focused “American Dream” succeeded in structuring the imaginations, efforts and expectations of generations. It can only be modified or replaced by another set of principles capable of doing the same.

Telling a generation of Americans that due to their carbon footprint they can only buy “tiny homes,” or 500 square foot urban apartments, is a recipe for revolution. But supporting a vision of society where people spend more time having experiences with friends and family rather than working to acquire ever more things to stuff in ever larger houses could be the beginning of a renaissance. Cultivating a deep appreciation for Wabi-Sabi as an aesthetic vision, and accepting the fundamental values that lie behind it, could be an important step in making that happen. Indeed, it might prove to be the most important moment of cultural exchange between Japan and the global West.

This is where we return to the martial arts. Sadly, one cannot really gain an understanding of these concepts (let alone cultivate a new set of values) simply by reading blog posts. In my experience Wabi-Sabi is a set of values that must be physically experienced to be fully appreciated. My small appreciation for these values came from hours spent working in an arboretum as a teenager, time spent living in Japan as a young adult, and countless hours invested in the training hall.

Sadly, Bonsai is not a not a very popular hobby in the United States. But the martial arts are. They are studied by children and adults in a wide variety of settings. More importantly, they are projected, appreciated and debated through our media. While only a minority of individuals practice them, there are very few people who don’t have some sort of expectations about, or understanding of, the Asian martial arts. This makes them an important vector to promote a new set of values as society enters an era of consuming less but appreciate more.

As intriguing as this possibility is, it would still require a massive effort. Indeed, this is where political intervention or well-funded informational campaigns might enter the picture. In large part the martial arts have succeeded in the West as they have been adapted to reflect modern Western values, rather than the full complexity of, say, Chinese or Japanese culture. Yet the perpetual search for authenticity within these communities (and perhaps the new or exotic by those who are curious about them), might provide an opening to increasingly bring notions like Wabi-Sabi to the forefront of public discussions of certain martial arts. Equally helpful would be public relations campaigns linking these values to fashionable changes going on in other areas of popular culture, health, architecture or diet. Again, physically enacting such values, and experiencing them in multiple realms of life, is a necessary precondition for their acceptance.

One might object, correctly, that in focusing on the philosophical or aesthetic dimension of the martial arts we lose sight of their “true purpose.” Worse yet, we risk turning them into purely didactic, rather than practical, exercise. Certainly, care is necessary. Yet it is worth remembering that communities and nations have always been acutely aware of the externalities that the martial arts produce. Throughout the 19^thand 20^thcentury states were generally much more interested in the “supplementary” side effects of martial practice than the details of what was actually taught in the training hall. Acknowledging this fact is not “politicizing” the martial arts. They have been political all along. The real challenge facing us, both as scholars and practitioners, is to understand the full social implications of what we are already doing. Only then can we ask the difficult questions about what will best safeguard the psychological well-being and physical safety of our students as we move into an uncertain future.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read this piece on gender in martial arts training.

oOo

STAFF VERSUS SPEAR

Posted on 1 Dicembre 2018 by Paul Brennan

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棍進槍
STAFF VERSUS SPEAR
蘭晉如
by Lan Jinru
[Chapters 7–10 of An Authentic Description of Shaolin Staff Methods, published Jan, 1930]

[translation by Paul Brennan, Nov, 2018]

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第七章　棍進槍
CHAPTER SEVEN [CHAPTERS 7–10]: STAFF VERSUS SPEAR

開門式　第一動作
OPENING POSTURE / MOVEMENT 1

甲方。（卽持棍人）雙手持棍。右手持棍尾在胸前。手心向下。左手抓棍身。在身後。手心向裏。使棍斜伏於左脇。站於練習場一端起點之左方。（指甲方所在任何一端正中為起點乙方亦然）左足在前。兩足距離約一尺餘。兩膝蓋微曲。左足踵提起。足尖觸地。全體重點。移於右腿。胸向右方。（起點右面）兩目注視乙方。（卽持槍人）微停。右足向前開一步。左足向前開一步。仍是足尖觸地。足踵提起。同時右手棍尾。左手棍頭。初在右足開步之際。各貼身傍畫一大圓圈。（棍尾經後向下旋轉棍頭經前向上旋轉）復於原處。其姿式與前同從略。同時乙方。（卽持槍人）雙手持槍。右手抓槍樽。曲肘。使槍樽緊貼右脇後方。手心向裏。左手抓槍身下端。胳膊向前伸直。手心向上。兩手距離約二尺餘。使槍尖橫向甲方。站於練習場另端之右前方。（起點右前面）右腿站直。左足在前。足踵提起。足尖觸地。兩足距離約一尺四五寸。胸向起點左方。兩目注視甲方。微停。雙手將槍舉起過頂。左手鬆開。沈下。同時右足向左前方。（起點左前面）橫開一步。（觸地後足尖向起點左前方）左足再向起點右前方開一步。原地再向右轉。使全體由右方轉一小圈。前胸仍向原方。（唯此時右足已在前方）右膝弓曲。左腿在後伸直。成前弓後箭步。同時右手及槍。落於胸前曲肘。使槍樽伏於右脇後方。手心向裏。同時左手在胸前接槍。手心向上。朝裏擰勁。擰至手心向下。同槍尖向外一叩。兩手距離約二尺餘。槍頭仍向甲方。其式如第一圖。
Person A (holding the staff), hold your staff with both hands, your right hand holding the tail of your staff in front of your chest, the center of the hand facing downward, your left hand grasping the body of your staff behind you, the center of the hand facing inward, causing your staff to be making a diagonal line against your left ribs. [Presumably due to the different authorship of this section, the “head” and “tail” of the staff are reversed to the tail being the thicker end and the head being the thinner end, something to keep in mind while studying these movement descriptions.] Your position in the practice space is in the southeast. (The orientations in these descriptions are assigned according to A’s perspective [in his initial position], even those for B.) [Being a clumsy way to establish orientations for a set in which two people switch places, I have replaced them with simple compass directions, same as for the Staff Versus Staff set (Chapters 2–6). However, in this section Person A instead begins on the left side of photo 1, causing the compass for the photos to be reversed. Also, the photos the Staff Versus Staff section maintain their orientations, whereas in this section there are several reverse views, causing the compass to flip again. Therefore for most of the photos, there is this compass:

S
E –↑– W
N

South is the back of the photo, north being the photographer, west on the right side, east on the left side. But for photos 15, 17, 25, 30, 38, 46, 47, and 49, there is the same compass as for all of the Staff Versus Staff photos:

N
W –↑– E
S

North in these cases is the back of the photo, south being the photographer, east on the right side, west on the left side.] Your left foot is forward, your feet just over a foot apart, both knees slightly bent, your left heel lifted, toes touching down, the weight on your right leg. Your chest is facing toward the north, your gaze toward B, and you slightly pause in this position.
　　Your right foot takes a step forward, then your left foot takes a step forward, toes again touching down, heel lifted. At the same time, your hands draw a large circle with your staff (your right hand holding the tail of your staff, your left hand holding the head of your staff), keeping it close to each side of your body, the tail of your staff arcing downward to the rear [on your right side] as the head of your staff arcs forward and upward [on your left side], then returning to the same position as before.
　　Person B (holding the spear), at the same time as A’s movement, you are holding your spear with both hands, your right hand grasping the end of your spear, the elbow bent, putting the end of your spear close behind your right ribs, the center of the hand facing inward, your left hand grasping the body of your spear toward the forward section, the arm straightened forward, the center of the hand facing upward, your hands just over two feet apart, the tip of your spear pointing toward A with the blade horizontal. Your position in the practice space is in the northwest, your right leg standing straight, your left foot forward, heel lifted, toes touching down, your feet about a foot and a half apart. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward A, and you likewise slightly pause in your position.
　　Your hands lift your spear above your head, your left hand letting go and sinking down, while your right foot takes a step sideways toward the southwest (coming down with the toes pointing toward the southwest) and then your left foot takes a step toward the northwest [thereby moving you farther away from A], turning you to your right from your original position with a small turn of your body toward the south, your chest still facing the same direction as before (except that now your right foot is forward), your right knee bending, left leg straightening behind, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. At the same time, your right hand lowers in front of your chest, the elbow bending, bringing the end of your spear close behind your right ribs, the center of the hand facing inward, as your left hand grabs your spear in front, the center of the hand facing upward, and twists inward until the center of the hand is facing downward, sending the tip of your spear outward with a snap, your hands just over two feet apart, the tip of your spear again pointing toward A. See photo 1 [each of these photos indicating 甲者 Person A (Chen Fengqi, who was also Person A in the Staff Versus Staff section) and 乙者 Person B (Liu Junling)]:

第二動作
MOVEMENT 2:

乙方承式向前進步。挺槍照甲方頭額直刺。（進步多寡以場之大小而定）同時甲方。亦向前進步。（兩方集於場之中間）待乙槍刺來。兩手托棍。向頭上猛架乙槍。左足在前。膝蓋伸直。右腿微曲。兩足距離約一尺五六寸。腰部微向後縮。左手朝上。伸直。微向前方。手心向起點右前方。五指伸開。伏於棍之兩旁。右手向上伸。肘微曲。使棍頭向身左前下方。胸向起點右前方。兩目注視乙方。乙方刺槍時。右手用力猛砍左手。在胸前扶之。右手砍至離左手約四五寸為止。左足在前。膝蓋弓曲。右腿伸直。成小前弓後箭步。兩足距離約一尺七八寸。上身微向前探。兩目注視甲方。其式如第二圖。
B, continuing from the previous posture, advance, (the number of steps you advance depending on the size of the practice space) and extend your spear with a stab toward A’s forehead.
　　A, you are also advancing (so that the two of you are now more toward the middle of the practice space). When you see the stab coming, your hands prop up over your head, fiercely bracing away B’s spear, your left foot forward, the knee straightening, your right leg slightly bending, your feet about a foot and a half apart, your waist slightly shrinking back. Your left arm is straightening upward and slightly forward, the center of the hand facing toward the northwest, fingers extended and supporting on the side of your staff, your right arm extended upward, the elbow slightly bent, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the southwest. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when stabbing, your right hand forcefully shoots out, your left hand supporting in front of your chest, your right hand finishing about half a foot away from your left hand. Your left foot is forward, the knee bending, your right leg straightening, making a small bow & arrow stance, your feet about a foot and three quarters apart. Your upper body is slightly reaching forward, your gaze toward A. See photo 2:

第三動作
MOVEMENT 3:

甲方將乙槍架出。承乙方下部空虛。甲方雙手持棍。左手仍在前由左向右。照乙方足部猛踏。同時乙方見棍踏來。兩足急向後跳一大步。該時右手槍樽。亦隨向後縮。至右脇。左手仍在胸前。手心向上。與前姿式不變。此時乙方。復進步挺槍。照甲方頭額直刺。左手不變。右手仍向前直砍。至離左手約四五寸為止。左足在前。仍成前弓後箭步。胸向起點左後方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方。見槍刺來。乃由身之右方。使棍頭向左猛掛。右膝微曲。左足在前。足尖觸地。足踵提起。兩足距離約一尺餘。全身重點。移於右腿。棍頭向上。左肘彎曲。右手沈下。左手心向前。胸向起點。前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第三圖。
A, after bracing away B’s spear, take advantage of the gap at B’s lower body by using both hands to send your staff from left to right, your left hand staying forward, with a fierce smashing action toward B’s [front] foot [as your shift your weight forward onto your own front foot].
　　B, when you see A’s staff smashing toward you, suddenly jump back a large step with both feet as your right hand draws back the end of your spear to your right ribs, your left hand still in front of your chest, the center of the hand facing upward. Then finish in the same posture as in the previous movement, advancing and stabbing toward A’s forehead, the position of your left hand not changing as your right hand again shoots forward, finishing about half a foot away from your left hand, your left foot forward, again making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, your gaze toward A.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, send the head of your staff from right to left with a fierce hanging action, your right knee slightly bending, your left foot in front with its toes touching down, heel lifted, your feet just over a foot apart, the weight shifting onto your right leg. The head of your staff is pointing upward, your left elbow bending, your right hand sinking down, the center of your left hand facing forward. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 3:

第四動作
MOVEMENT 4:

甲方將槍掛出。遂卽雙手舉棍。由頭上至腦後。（此時左手鬆開下降右手單手持棍）右足向前開一步。同時右棍在腦後經身之右方。猛向乙方足部打一掃蹚。該時兩足距離約二尺。兩膝弓曲。成騎馬式。然腰部亦向前弓曲。胸向起點左方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方見棍掃來。兩足猛向高跳。右手槍樽速縮至右脇後方。左手仍在前。手心向上。槍尖直向甲方。右膝彎曲。左足在前。膝亦微曲。足尖觸地。足踵提起。兩足距離約一尺餘。全身重點移於右腿。胸向左方。（起點左面）面向起點後方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第四圖。
A, after sending away B’s spear with a hanging action, raise your staff over your head with both hands and bring it behind your head (your left hand in this moment letting go and lowering, your right hand alone holding your staff). Then as your right foot takes a step toward the west, your right hand sends your staff from behind your head, passing the right side of your body, and suddenly attacking B’s foot with a “sweeping the hall” action, [your left hand correspondingly rising up,] your feet about two feet apart, both legs bending, making a horse-riding stance, but with your waist bending forward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when you see A’s staff sweeping toward you, your feet suddenly jump up high and your right hand quickly withdraws the end of your spear behind your right ribs, your left hand still forward, the center of the hand facing upward, the tip of your spear pointing toward A. [When you land,] your right knee bends, your left foot forward, the knee also slightly bent, toes touching down, heel lifted, your feet just over a foot apart, the weight shifted onto your right leg. Your chest is facing toward the south, your face toward the east, your gaze toward A. See photo 4:

第五動作
MOVEMENT 5:

乙方復跟步進前。（跟步云者卽左足向前開一步右足緊隨左足之後跟步也）照甲方右肩直刺。右手仍止於左手之後。約四五寸。其姿式。與前刺甲方之動作相同。該時甲方見槍刺來。遂用雙手持棍。左手在前。手心向外。反把將棍扣住。右手及棍尾緊伏於左脇之下。左手用力向身之右後方猛搜。槍尖全身微向右轉。同時右足向後縮半步。使胸向後方。（起點後面）左膝弓曲。右足在前。足踵提起。足尖觸地。兩足距離約一尺餘。身之重點。移於左腿。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第五圖。
B, advance with a follow step (meaning that your left foot steps out and your right foot closely follows behind it), stabbing straight toward A’s right shoulder, your right hand stopping about half a foot behind your left hand. This action of stabbing toward A is the same as in the previous posture.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, hold your staff with both hands, your left hand going forward, the center of the hand facing outward, grabbing your staff with a covering grip, your right hand and the tail of your staff hiding below your left ribs, and your left hand forcefully goes toward your body’s right rear, fiercely seeking the tip of B’s spear, your body slightly turning to the right. At the same time, your right foot withdraws a half step, your chest facing toward the west, your left knee bending, your right foot in front, heel lifted, toes touching down, your feet just over a foot apart, the weight on your left leg. You are facing toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 5:

第六動作
MOVEMENT 6:

乙方。將槍仍縮回。兩足不動。復挺槍。照甲方右膝下部直刺。同時甲方見槍刺來。右足向身後猛撤一步。同時右手棍尾。急轉至右脇。使棍頭橫斜。朝下猛捕。使棍頭觸地。向左前方。（起點左前面）右膝曲。左腿伸直。兩足距離約二尺。兩足尖均向起點左方。前胸亦向起點左方。腰部微向前曲。兩目注視乙方。其式如第六圖。
B, again withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, then extend your spear, stabbing toward A’s right shin.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot quickly withdraws a step behind you as your right hand draws an arc with the tail of your staff until it is at your right ribs, causing the head of your staff to go across diagonally, and fiercely seize downward, sending the head of your staff to touch the ground toward the southwest [northwest], your right knee bending, left leg straightening, your feet about two feet apart, the toes of both feet pointing toward the south [north]. Your chest is also facing toward the south [north], your torso slightly bending forward, your gaze toward B. See photo 6:

第七動作
MOVEMENT 7:

乙方左手前移。手心向上。右手縮回脇部後方。兩足不動。復照甲方頭額直刺。此時左手後移。右手向前直砍。止於左手後方約四五寸。同時甲方。見槍刺來。雙手執棍。猛向上托乙方之槍。左手朝上伸直。微向前。低於右手約五六寸。手心向右。（起點右面）五指伸開。伏於棍之旁。右手朝上。肘微曲。兩腿與前姿式不變。唯腰部抬起垂直。兩目注視乙方。其式如第七圖。
B, your left hand is shifted forward, the center of the hand facing upward, as your right hand withdraws behind your ribs, your feet staying where they are. Then stab toward A’s head, your left hand being shifted to the rear as your right hand shoots forward, stopping about half a foot behind your left hand.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your hands fiercely prop up B’s spear, your left hand going upward and slightly forward, the arm straightening, the hand about half a foot lower than your right hand, the center of the hand facing toward the north, fingers opened, supporting the side of your staff, your right hand going upward, the elbow slightly bent. Your legs do not change their position from the previous posture, but your torso lifts to become upright. Your gaze is toward B. See photo 7:

第八動作
MOVEMENT 8:

甲方將乙槍架出。同時左足尖朝外撇。使向起點左方。右足向前橫開一步。觸地。後足尖向起點左方。膝蓋伸直。右膝曲。兩足距離約二尺餘。全身重點。移於左腿。在右足開步之際。左手沈下。右手執棍。在腦後。使棍由身後經右方。猛向乙方左足部打一掃蹚。同時乙方。左手微鬆。姿式與前不變。右手急仍縮囘右脇後方。同時見甲方照足部掃來。兩足猛向高跳。落地後。左足仍在前。兩足距離約一尺餘。兩膝微曲。胸向起點右前方。槍尖橫向甲方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方承打掃蹚之際。原地向左轉。使胸向起點後方。卽時右足在左足後方。向前開一步。左足再由右足後方。又向前開一步。膝蓋弓曲。右腿在後伸直。成小前弓後箭步。兩足距離一尺餘。在右足開步之際。右手棍。由右方。經前方。畫一大圓圈。折回。斜伏於左脇下部。棍頭向起點。前下方。離地約四五寸。棍尾與眼眉相平。左手在後伸直。手心向裏。右肘橫曲。手心向下。面目由左方。隨棍頭同時轉向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第八圖。
A, after propping away B’s spear, your left toes swing outward toward the south, then your right foot steps forward, the foot coming down sideways, the toes pointing toward the south, the knee straightening, your right [left] knee bending, your feet just over two feet apart, the weight shifted onto your left leg. As your right foot steps out, your left hand sinks down and your right hand sends your staff past your head, behind your body, through the area to your right, and fiercely sweeping toward B’s left foot.
　　B, your left hand slightly loosens, but your posture remains the same as your right hand withdraws behind your right ribs. When you see A’s staff sweeping toward your foot, your feet suddenly jump up high and come down to the rear, your left foot still forward, your feet just over a foot apart, both knees slightly bent. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, the tip of your spear pointing toward A, your gaze toward A.
　　A, continuing from the sweep, turn around leftward so that your chest is facing toward the east, your right foot at the same time stepping forward from behind your left foot, your left foot then stepping forward from behind your right foot, the knee bending, your right leg straightening behind, making a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow, your feet just over a foot apart. As your right foot steps out, your right hand sends your staff from your right side and across in front of you, thereby completing a full circle, and bending in to point your staff diagonally downward below your left ribs. The head of your staff is pointing downward, about half a foot away from the ground, the tail of your staff at eyebrow level, your left arm straightening behind, the center of the hand facing inward, your right arm bending across, the center of the hand facing downward. Your face turns to the left as the head of your staff arcs toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 8:

第九動作
MOVEMENT 9:

乙方趁勢進步。追擊甲方。同時甲方。見乙方追來。以原式向起點後方退走。（開步之多寡以場之大小而定）乙方追至場之一端。挺槍直刺甲方頭部後腦。甲方見槍刺來。乃由右方。向後轉身。用棍經上方。掄起。照乙方頭部連封帶劈。同時左腿站直。足尖向起點右方。右足提起足尖下垂。伏於左膝裏外端。使右腿成三角形。胸向右方。（起點右面）同時隨右棍停於頭部上方。五指伸直。並攏。手心向上。面向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。該時乙方用槍直刺甲方。忽見甲方用棍劈來。乙方右足向後急退一小步。膝蓋曲。左足緊隨。兩足距離約七八寸。左足在前。足踵提起。足尖觸地。同時兩手緊抓槍樽。猛向上騰過頂。胳膊微曲。槍尖微低。向起點右後方。胸向起點左後方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第九圖。
B, take advantage of the opportunity by advancing, chasing to attack A. A, when you see B chasing, continue stepping toward the east to retreat away from him (the number of steps depending on the size of the practice space). B, once you have chased A all the way across the practice space [both of you finishing with your left foot forward], send your spear stabbing straight to the back of his head.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, turn around rightward and roll your staff over, passing above you and continuing into a sealing chop toward B’s head. At the same time, your left leg straightens, the toes pointing toward the north, and your right foot lifts, the toes hanging down close to the inner side of your left knee, causing your right leg to form a triangle shape. Your chest is facing toward the north [south]. By the time your staff is over B’s head, [your left hand has raised,] the fingers straight and together, the center of the hand facing upward. You are facing toward the west, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when you see A’s staff suddenly chopping toward you, your right foot quickly retreats a small step, the knee bends, and your left foot closely follows until your feet are about three quarters of a foot apart, your left foot in front, the heel lifted, toes touching down. At the same time, fiercely send the end of your spear upward over your head, your arms slightly bent, the tip of your spear slightly lower than the end and pointing toward the northeast. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, your gaze toward A. See photo 9:

第十動作
MOVEMENT 10:

乙方。雙手沈下。同時將槍向下一扣。左手順槍桿。向前移。手心向上。右手貼於右脇後方。手心向裏。兩手距離約二尺餘。該時左足抬起。向前開一大步。右足緊隨半步。左膝曲。右腿伸直。成小前弓後箭步。同時右手猛向前伸。使槍尖照甲方直刺。右手仍停於左手後方。胸向起點後方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方。見槍刺來。右足向前開一步。足尖朝外撇。右手棍由裏向上一裹。左足再向前開一步。成騎馬式。同時右手下沉。伏於右脇下方。手心向裏。使棍斜貼胸部。棍頭斜向上方。棍頭高於頭頂約一尺弱。在右棍向裏裹時。左手接棍中段向外猛科。手心向起點右方。胸亦向起點右方。面向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第十圖。
B, your hands sink down, sending your spear covering downward, your left hand shifting forward along the shaft of your spear, the center of the hand facing upward, your right hand close behind your right ribs, the center of the hand facing inward, your hands just over two feet apart. Your left foot now lifts and takes a large step forward, then your right foot follows with a half step, your left knee bending, right leg straightening, making a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow, as your right hand suddenly extends forward, sending the tip of your spear stabbing toward A, your right hand again finishing just behind your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the east, your gaze toward A.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot takes a step toward the east, the toes swinging outward, as your right hand wraps the inward and upward. Then your left foot takes a step toward the east, making a horse-riding stance, as your right hand sinks down to be close below your right ribs, the center of the hand facing inward, making your staff diagonal near your chest, the head of your staff pointing diagonally upward just under a foot higher than your headtop. While your right hand wraps your staff inward, your left hand grabs the middle section and sends your staff knocking outward, the center of the hand facing toward the north. Your chest is also facing toward the north, your face toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 10:

第十一動作
MOVEMENT 11:

乙方之槍。被棍科出。同時將槍縮回。兩足不動。右膝微曲。全身亦隨微向後縮。左手姿式不變。唯稍向前移。右手仍伏於右脇後方。同時右足猛登。膝蓋伸直。右手又猛向前伸。照甲方頭額直刺。其姿式與第十圖相同。詳見前。同時甲方見槍刺來。猛向左轉。使胸向正前方。（起點正前面）右足在原地轉。膝蓋微曲。左足向後收回一小步。膝蓋亦曲。足踵提起。足尖觸地。兩足距離約一尺餘。全身重點。移於右腿。在原地向左轉時。右手姿式不動。左手持棍。猛向左帶。面向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第十一圖。
B, once your spear has been knocked aside, withdraw it, your feet staying where they are, your right knee slightly bending, your body slightly shrinking back, your left hand maintaining its position but slightly shifting forward, your right hand again hidden behind your right ribs. Then your right foot suddenly presses, the knee straightening, and your right hand suddenly shoots forward, stabbing toward A’s forehead, your posture the same as in photo 10.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, suddenly turn to the left, causing your chest to be facing toward the east, your right foot staying where it is and pivoting, the knee slightly bending, your left foot withdrawing a small step, the knee also bent, the heel lifted, toes touching down, your feet just over a foot apart, the weight shifting onto your right leg. As you turn to the left, mostly staying where you are, your right hand maintains its position and your left hand suddenly sends your staff to the left with a dragging action. You are facing toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 11:

第十二動作
MOVEMENT 12:

承上式不停。甲方左足急向前開一小步。同時右足在左足後方。再向前開一步。兩膝均曲。成騎馬式。在右足開步之際。右肘提起。彎曲在胸前。使棍尾直向乙方之左腿之部猛戳。左手姿式不變。唯用力向下垂。兩手心均向下。胸向起點左方。兩目注視乙方腿部。同時乙方。見棍尾照腿部戳來。在足急退一小步。右足再向前開一步。同時左手移抓槍之中段。使槍尖向上。右手亦微向上移。使槍樽猛抵甲方棍尾。兩膝蓋曲。成騎馬式。右手心向下。左手心向上。胸向起點右方。兩目注視甲方棍尾。其式如第十二圖。
A, continuing from the previous posture from pausing, your left foot quickly takes a small step forward, then your right foot takes a step forward from behind your left foot, both knees bending, making a horse-riding stance. As your right foot steps out, your right elbow lifts and bends in front of your chest, and you send the tail of your staff poking toward B’s left leg, your left hand maintaining its position but forcefully dropping, the centers of both hands facing downward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward B’s leg.
　　B, when you see the tail of A’s staff poking toward your leg, your [left] foot quickly retreats a small step and your right foot then takes a step forward. At the same time, your left hand shifts its grip to the middle [forward] section of your spear, sending the tip of your spear upward, your right hand also slightly shifting upward, and you send the end of your spear to brace away the tail of A’s staff, both knees bending, making a horse-riding stance, the center of your right hand facing downward, the center of your left hand facing upward. Your chest is facing toward the north, your gaze toward the tail of A’s staff. See photo 12:

–

第八章
(CHAPTER EIGHT)

第十三動作
MOVEMENT 13 [switching places]:

甲方棍尾。托乙方槍樽向上絞。同時右足向起點左方。橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。左足向起點前方。開一步此時乙方。與甲方動作相同。該時右足亦橫移一小步。（向起點右放）足尖亦向外撇。左足亦開一步。（向起點後方與甲方相背）此時甲方已轉至乙方所站之地點。胸向起點。右方。而乙方則轉至甲方所站之地點。胸向起點左方。此時乙方將槍樽縮回。提高。右足向後撤一步。使槍尖朝下。向前照甲方右腿下部直刺。兩手用力下垂。左肘伸直。手心向上。右肘微曲。手心向下。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方腿部。甲方照腿刺來。右足猛向後撤一步。左手用力向右前方（身之右前方）猛推。使棍頭上方。急抵乙方之槍尖上端。胸向起點左後方。兩手心均向下。左肘伸直。右肘曲。使棍斜伏於腹部右方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。棍尖。其式如第十三圖。
A, use the tail of your staff to prop up the end of A’s spear in an arc [going clockwise] as your right foot shifts a small step across toward the south, the toes swinging outward, and your left foot steps out toward the west.
　　B, as A moves, your right foot also shifts a small step across (toward the north), the toes also swinging outward, and your left foot steps out (toward the east, going around A [as he is going around you]). You have both now switched places. A, your chest is facing toward the north. B, your chest is facing toward the south. B, withdraw the end of your spear raised high as your right foot withdraws a step and then send the tip of your spear stabbing forward and downward toward B’s lower body, your hands forcefully dropping into place, your left elbow straightening, the center of the hand facing upward, your right elbow slightly bending, the center of the hand facing downward. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A’s leg.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot withdraws a step as your left hand forcefully pushes to your forward right, sending the head of your staff to quickly brace away the tip of B’s spear. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, the centers of both hands facing downward, your left elbow straightening, your right elbow bending, causing your staff to be positioned diagonally, close to the right side of your belly. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward the tip of B’s staff [spear]. See photo 13:

第十四動作
MOVEMENT 14:

乙方原姿式不動。將槍縮回。復照甲方左膝下部猛刺。甲方見槍刺來。左足向裏橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。同時右足再向前開一步。左手用力一帶。使棍頭將槍尖向外撥出。左肘曲。使棍頭向後上方。右肘向下。伸直。使棍尾向前下方。在右足進步之時。右手用力。使棍尾順槍桿直向上磕乙方左手。此時兩足尖均向起點左方。胸亦向起點左方。兩膝曲。成騎馬式。唯上身微向起點後方探。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方。見棍尾照左手磕來。左手猛向後。移至右手所在之處。同時右足不動。左足猛向後撤半步。足尖觸地。足踵提起。槍尖亦在前觸地。兩肘彎曲。使兩手縮於胸部下方。兩手心均向上。胸向起點前方。兩目注視棍尾。其式如第十四圖。
B, without changing your posture, withdraw your spear, then fiercely stab toward A’s lower left leg.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your left foot shifts a small step across inward, toes swinging outward, and your right foot then takes a step forward. Your left hand is forcefully dragging, sending the head of your staff to deflect the tip of B’s spear outward, and your left elbow bends, sending the head of your staff upward behind you, your right elbow straightening downward, sending the tail of your staff forward and downward. As your right foot advances, your right hand forcefully sends the tail of your staff upward to be parallel with the shaft of B’s spear and knock against his left hand, the toes of your feet now pointing toward the south. Your chest is also facing toward the south, both knees bending, making a horse-riding stance, your upper body slightly reaching toward the east, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when you see the tail of A’s staff coming to knock your left hand, your left hand suddenly shifts to the rear to be next to your right hand. At the same time, your right foot stays where it is, but your left foot suddenly withdraws a half step, toes touching down, heel lifted, the tip of your spear touching the ground in front, both elbows bending, causing your hands to withdraw below your chest, the centers of both hands facing upward. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward the tail of A’s staff. See photo 14:

第十五動作
MOVEMENT 15:

乙方右足。同時向後撤一大步。左足亦隨右足撤半步。膝蓋微曲。右膝伸直。上身前探。成小前弓後箭步。同時左手向前移。伸直。右手握槍樽。縮回右脇之後方。復猛向前砍。照甲方頭部猛刺。同時甲方見槍刺來。左足不動。膝蓋彎曲。右足猛向後退半步。膝蓋微曲。足踵提起。足尖觸地。兩足距離約一尺餘。全身重點移於右腿。同時右足原地向右轉。右手棍尾向下沉。左手棍頭向上。左手用力。經胸前向身之右方推磕乙方之槍尖。此時右手伏於腹部左端。手心向裏。左手伏於膀肩旁。手心向前。胸向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第十五圖。
B, your right foot withdraws a large step, and your left foot follows, withdrawing a half step, the knee slightly bending, your right knee straightening, your upper body reaching forward as you make a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. At the same time, your left arm shifts forward, the arm straightening, and your right hand withdraws the end of your spear behind your right ribs, then shoots forward, suddenly stabbing toward A’s head.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your left foot stays where it is, the knee bending, and your right foot suddenly retreats a half step, the knee slightly bending, heel lifted, toes touching down, your feet just over a foot apart, the weight shifting onto your right [left] leg, your right [left] foot pivoting rightward. At the same time, your right hand sinks down the tail of your staff, your left hand sending the head of your staff upward, and your left hand forcefully pushes out to your right, knocking away the tip of B’s spear. Your right hand is now close to the left side of your abdomen, the center of the hand facing inward, your left hand close beside your [right] shoulder, the center of the hand facing forward. Your chest is facing toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 15 [reverse view]:

第十六動作
MOVEMENT 16:

同時乙方。右手復縮囘脇部後方。左手姿式不變。右手復向前猛砍。轉向甲方右膝下部直刺。甲方右足猛向左足後方撤一大步。膝蓋弓曲。左足亦隨撤半步。左膝伸直。足尖橫向起點左方。同時右手復於右脇後方。左手向下按。使棍頭由前直下。捺乙方槍尖。左手。左手伸直。手心向下。右肘微曲。手心向裏。上身向起點左方。微曲。胸向起點左方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第十六圖。
B, your right hand withdraws behind your ribs, the position of your left hand not changing, then your right hand fiercely shoots forward with a stab toward A’s right knee.
　　A, your right foot suddenly withdraws a large step behind your left foot, the knee bending, and your left foot also withdraws a half step, the knee straightening, the toes pointing across toward the south. At the same time, your right hand goes behind your right ribs and your left hand pushes downward, sending the head of your staff downward from in front of you, pressing down the tip of B’s spear, your left arm straightening, the center of the hand facing downward, your right elbow slightly bending, the center of the hand facing inward, your upper body slightly bending toward the south. Your chest is facing toward the south, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 16:

第十七動作
MOVEMENT 17:

乙方復將槍縮回。照甲方頭部直刺。其姿式與前式相同。詳見前。故從畧。同時甲方雙手握棍。橫向上架乙方槍尖。同時將槍架出。使棍經腦後。（此時右手沈下）右手單手抓住棍尾。由身右方。橫向乙方腿部打一掃蹚。同時左足向右足後方猛撤一步。原地由左方向後轉。右足復向起點前方開一步。（此時胸已向起點前方）在右足開步之際。右手持棍橫掄。經右方。由前方斜伏於左脇之下。（在棍掄至面前時左手已接棍抓住）棍頭向起點。後下方。離地約五六寸。左肘向下斜方伸直。手心向裏。右肘橫曲。手心向下。右膝弓曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。唯此時胸向起點左方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。當甲方打掃蹚時。同時乙方。將槍縮回。兩足高跳。落地後。其姿式與前不變。詳見上。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第十七圖。
B, withdraw your spear, then stab toward A’s head, your posture still the same as in the previous movement.
　　A, with both hands holding your staff horizontally, prop up the tip of B’s spear, and once the spear has been propped away, your staff passes behind your head (your right hand sinking down), your right hand now grasping your staff on its own, holding the tail of your staff, bringing it across from your right to attack B’s leg with a “sweeping the hall” action. At the same time, your left foot suddenly withdraws a step behind your right foot, arcing behind you from your left, then your right foot takes a step toward the west (your chest now facing toward the west). As your right foot steps out, your right hand has swung your staff across from the right and brings it in front of you to be a diagonal line close below your left ribs (your left hand now grabbing your staff), the head of your staff pointing downward toward the east, about half a foot away from the ground. Your left arm is straightened diagonally downward, the center of the hand facing inward, your right elbow bent across, the center of the hand facing downward, your right knee bending, left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is now facing toward the south, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when A attacks with “sweeping the hall”, withdraw your spear, jumping high with both feet, and then after you land, your posture is again the same as before. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 17 [reverse view]:

第十八動作
MOVEMENT 18:

甲方姿式不變。直向起點前方走。兩目仍回視乙方。同時乙方亦挺槍開步。直追甲方。（甲方開步之多寡視練習場之大小而定）甲方走至練習場之另一。端乙。方照甲方腿部後方直刺。同時甲方見槍刺來。右手不動。左手曲肘。將棍向後提起。再向前猛搏槍尖。同時左足在後。橫向右方。（起點右面）移半步。膝蓋伸直。右膝弓曲。兩足距離約二尺弱。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點左方。兩足尖均向起點左方。面向起點後方。兩目注視槍。同時乙方左足在前。膝蓋微曲。右足在後。伸直。成小前弓後箭步左。手仍向前伸直右。手槍樽。仍停於左手裏面。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方腿部。其式如第十八圖。
A, without changing your posture, walk toward the west with your gaze turned to look toward B. B, step out to pursue A. A, with the number and size of your steps depending on the practice space, walk to one end of the space. B, stab to the back of A’s [left] leg.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right hand stays where it is as your left elbow bends, lifting your staff behind you and then suddenly sending it forward to smack away the tip of B’s spear. At the same time, your left foot shifts a half step across toward the north, the knee straightening, your right knee bending, your feet just under two feet apart, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the south, the toes of both feet pointing toward the south. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward B’s spear.
　　B, your left foot is forward, the knee slightly bent, right foot behind, the leg straightening, making a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your left hand is again extended forward, your right hand again finishing with the end of your spear near the inside of your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A’s leg. See photo 18:

第十九動作
MOVEMENT 19:

乙方復將槍縮回。兩足不動。唯身亦向後縮。又照甲方頭部直刺。同時甲方。右手棍尾沈下。左手將棍頭抬起。向上用力。向左猛扣乙槍。此時右足不動。半面向左轉。同時左足縮回一小步。足踵提起。足尖觸地。全身重點。移於右腿。胸向起點後方。左肘橫曲。手心向起點右方。右手心向起點右方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第十九圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, your body also shrinking back, then stab toward A’s head.
　　A, your right hand sinks down the tail of your staff as your left hand forcefully lifts up the head of your staff and then goes to the left, fiercely covering B’s spear. At the same time, your right foot stays where it is but does a half pivot to the left, and your left foot withdraws a small step, heel lifted, toes touching down, the weight shifting onto your right leg. Your chest is facing toward the east, your left elbow bending across, the center of the hand facing toward the north [south], the center of your right hand also facing toward the north [south]. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 19:

第二十動作
MOVEMENT 20:

同時甲方。將乙槍扣住。右足向起點後方開一步。棍尾由身後。經頭上向乙方直劈。同時右手順棍下沈。距離左手約七八寸。手心向下。同時左肘曲。成三角形。上段緊伏左脇下段。成水平線。手心向下。使棍頭緊伏下段底面。棍頭與肘尖相齊。棍頭與棍尾成水平。上身微向前探。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方。見棍尾劈來。將槍縮回。右足向後撤一步。左足亦隨右足向後撤一步。方向仍不變。同時右手槍樽提起。左手向前微推。架住棍尾。左手朝裏裹勁。使槍桿上端。裹至棍尾在下。槍桿在上。胸向起點右方。兩目注視棍尾。其式如第二十圖。
A, after covering B’s spear, your right foot steps out toward the east as you send the tail of your staff from behind you, over your head, and chopping toward B, your right hand sinking down [i.e. sliding inward along your staff] to be about three quarters of a foot away from your left hand, the center of the hand facing downward. Your left elbow is bent, making a triangle shape, the upper arm near your left ribs, the forearm making a horizontal line, the center of the hand facing downward, the head of your staff lowered to be level with the elbow, the head and tail of your staff making a horizontal line [diagonal according to the photo]. Your upper body is slightly reaching forward. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when you see the tail of A’s staff chopping toward you, pull back your spear as your right foot withdraws a step, your left foot following by also withdrawing a step, your orientation remaining the same. Then your right hand lifts the end of your spear and your left hand slightly pushes forward to brace away the tail of A’s staff, your left [right] hand also wrapping inward, causing the shaft of your spear to be angled upward, resulting in the staff being underneath and the spear being on top. Your chest is facing toward the north, your gaze toward the tail of A’s staff. See photo 20:

第二十一動作
MOVEMENT 21:

甲方兩足不動。右手向棍尾處移。抓住棍尾端。（此時左手鬆開）使棍頭經上方。直向乙方猛劈。上身向前探。左手隨棍停於頭部上方。五指伸開並攏。手心向上。右胳膊伸直。棍頭與棍尾相平。胸向起點右方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方。右足微向起點右後方撤一小步。左足亦隨撤一小步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。兩膝伸直。同時右手槍樽。微隨左手。左手抬高。使槍尖向身右前上方。左手用力向外擰勁。使槍尖猛扣甲棍。手心向左方。（起點左面）右手心向下。其式如第二十一圖。
A, with your feet staying where they are, your right hand shifts to the tail of your staff (your left hand letting go), sending the head of your staff over you and chopping toward B, your upper body reaching forward, your left hand following your staff to finish above your head, the fingers extended but together, the center of the hand facing upward, your right arm straightening, the head and tail of your staff level with each other. Your chest is facing toward the north, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, your right foot withdraws a small step slightly toward the northeast and your left foot also withdraws a step, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down, both knees straightening. At the same time, your right hand at the end of your spear slightly follows your left hand as your left hand lifts, sending the tip of your spear upward to the forward right of your body, your left hand forcefully twisting outward, causing the tip of your spear to suddenly cover A’s staff, the center of the hand facing toward the south, the center of your right hand facing downward. See photo 21:

第二十二動作
MOVEMENT 22:

甲方不停。卽向起點前方開步進行。左手仍在頭部上方。胸向起點右前方。面由右方。轉向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時右手及棍。在身後隨胳膊伸直。棍頭觸地。向起點正後方。胳膊與棍成直線。同時乙方姿式不變。向前開步。（甲乙兩方開步多寡視場之大小而定）甲方走至場之另一端。乙方用力照甲方頭部直刺。乙方左足在前。甲方見槍刺來止步。左足在前。右手用力使棍之中段向上猛托。右手朝上伸直。微向起點後方。手心向上。棍頭向起點左後下方。同時右足向後退回一小步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。胸向起點右後方。左手仍在頭上不變。兩目注視乙槍。其式如第二十二圖。
A, without pausing, advance [retreat] toward the west, your left hand still above your head. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. At the same time, your right hand and your staff follow your body back, the arm straightening, the head of your staff touching the ground toward the east, the arm and staff together making a straight line.
　　B, maintaining your posture, chase toward the west as A walks to that end of the practice space (the amount of steps for both of you depending on the size of the practice space), and forcefully stab toward his head, your left foot again going forward.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, bring your feet to a halt with your left [right] foot forward, [left foot behind], as your right hand forcefully sends the middle section of your staff propping upward, the arm extending upward and slightly toward the east, the center of the hand facing upward, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the southeast. At the same time, your right foot retreats a small step, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your left hand still positioned above your head, your gaze toward B’s spear. See photo 22:

第二十三動作
MOVEMENT 23:

乙方將槍縮回。兩足不動。復照甲方右腿下部猛刺。同時甲方。右足向起點前方猛撤一步。膝蓋弓曲。左足不動。原地向右擰。使足尖向起點左方。膝蓋伸直。兩足距離約三尺。（然隨身之高矮而定）使全身重點。移於右腿。同時右手用力擰。使棍頭向後旋轉。經頭上朝下猛捕。左手亦抓棍之中段。用力向下按。胳膊伸直。手心向下。右手心向裏。肘微曲。腰部微向前曲。胸向起點左方。兩目注視乙方。此時乙方姿式。左足在前。膝蓋微曲。右腿在後。伸直。上身微向前探。左手在前伸直。手心向上。右手持槍樽。在左手之後。距離左手約五六寸。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第二十三圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, then fiercely stab downward toward A’s right leg.
　　A, your right foot suddenly withdraws a step toward the west, the knee bending, your left foot staying where it is and pivoting to the right so the toes are pointing toward the south, the knee straightening, your feet about three feet apart (depending on your own height), the weight shifting to your right leg. At the same time, your right hand forcefully twists, sending the head of your staff arcing behind you, passing over your head, and fiercely seizing downward, your left hand also grasping the middle section of your staff and forcefully pushing it down, the arm straightening, the center of the hand facing downward, the center of your right hand facing inward, the elbow slightly bent, your torso slightly bending forward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward B.
　　At this time, B’s posture is thus: your left foot is forward, the knee slightly bent, your right leg straightened behind, your upper body slightly reaching forward, your left hand forward, the arm straight, the center of the hand facing upward, your right hand holding the end of your spear about half a foot behind your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 23:

第二十四動作
MOVEMENT 24:

乙方不動。將槍縮回。復照甲方頭部直刺。甲方見槍刺來。右足不動。原地向左轉。使足尖向起點後方。左足縮回半步。足踵提起。足尖觸地。膝微曲。兩足距離一尺餘。同時左手持棍抬起。使棍向身之左方猛帶。手心向起點後方。胸亦向起點後方。右手棍尾伏於右脇下部。面向起點後方。同時乙方。復將槍縮回。兩足不動。又照甲方左腿下部猛刺。同時甲方。左足向起點左方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。右足在左足後方。向起點後方開一步。兩膝均曲。成騎馬式。右手棍尾在右足開步之際。使棍尾向前猛抵乙槍。兩足尖均向起點右方。胸向起點右方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙槍。其式如第二十四圖。
B, staying where you are, withdraw your spear, then stab straight toward A’s head.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot stays where it is and pivots to the left so the toes are pointing toward the east, your left foot withdrawing a half step, heel lifted, toes touching down, the knee slightly bent, your feet just over a foot apart. At the same time, your left hand lifts the [head] of your staff, fiercely dragging to your left, the center of the hand facing toward the east, as is your chest, your right hand holding the tail of your staff hidden below your right ribs. You are facing toward the east.
　　B, again withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, and then fiercely stab downward toward A’s left leg.
　　A, your left foot shifts a small step across toward the south, toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step toward the east from behind your left foot, both knees bending, making a horse-riding stance. As your right foot steps out, your right hand sends the tail of your staff forward, fiercely bracing away B’s spear, your feet pointing toward the north. Your chest is also facing toward the north, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B’s spear. See photo 24:

第二十五動作
MOVEMENT 25:

乙方左足。在右足前。向起點後方撤一步。同時左手抬起。使槍尖向上。左手移抓槍之上段。右手亦向上移。隨向前推。使槍樽直搗甲方右腿下部。右肘伸直。手心向下。左肘曲。手心向上。右膝曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點左方。面向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方見槍樽搗來。左足向起點後方開一步。右手抬起。曲肘。使棍尾向上。左手沈下。肘伸直。使棍頭向下。左手向前速推。使棍頭猛抵乙方槍樽。兩膝均曲。兩足尖均向起點左方。成騎馬式。胸向起點左方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙槍。其式如第二十五圖。
B, your left foot withdraws a step toward the east from in front of your right foot, your left hand lifting, sending the tip of your spear upward and shifting its grip to the forward section of your spear. Your right hand also shifts upward, then pushes forward, sending the end of your spear pounding toward A’s lower right leg, your right elbow straightening, the center of the hand facing downward, your left elbow bending, the center of the hand facing upward, your right knee bending, your left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the south, your face toward the west, your gaze toward A.
　　A, when you see the end of B’s spear pounding toward your leg, your left foot takes a step toward the east and your right hand lifts, the elbow bending, sending the tail of your staff upward, your left hand sinking down, the elbow straightening, sending the head of your staff downward, and your left hand quickly pushes forward, sending the head of your staff to be bracing away the end of B’s spear, both knees bending, the toes of both feet pointing toward the south, making a horse-riding stance. Your chest is facing toward the south, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B’s spear. See photo 25 [reverse view]:

–

第九章
(CHAPTER NINE)

第二十六動作
MOVEMENT 26:

同時乙方槍樽。同甲方棍頭向上絞。（槍樽在上棍頭在下）絞至與頭平。乙方槍樽向回提高。同時右足向後撤一步。左手沈下伸直。使槍尖朝下。在身之左方。左手猛向前推。右手用力下垂。使槍尖直刺甲方左腿下部。其姿式與上式不變。唯此時右足在後。而胸已轉向起點右方。同時甲方。左手棍頭。與槍樽相絞。見槍照腿部刺來。右足猛向前開一步。左肘曲。棍頭向上。右手下沈。使棍尾向下。右手向前一推。使棍尾猛抵乙槍。兩膝均曲。仍成騎馬式。其姿式與前相同。唯此時右足在前。胸已轉向起點右方。其式如第二十六圖。
The end of B’s spear and the head of A’s staff are coiling upward (spear on top, staff underneath).
　　B, once they are at head level, withdraw the end of your spear by lifting it high, your right foot withdrawing a step behind you, your left hand sinking down, the arm straightening, pointing the tip of your spear downward to your left, and then your left hand fiercely pushes forward, your right hand forcefully dropping downward, sending the tip of your spear stabbing toward A’s left lower leg. The posture is the same as before [Movement 24], your right foot behind, your chest turned to be facing toward the north.
　　A, your left hand is holding the head of your staff as it coils with the end of B’s spear, and then when you see the stab coming toward your leg, your right foot suddenly takes a step forward, your left elbow bending, sending the head of your staff upward, your right hand sinking down, sending the tail of your staff downward, and your right hand pushes the tail forward, fiercely bracing away B’s spear. Both knees are bending, again making a horse-riding stance, the posture the same as before [Movement 24], your right foot forward, your chest turned to be facing toward the north. See photo 26:

第二十七動作
MOVEMENT 27:

甲方不停。同時將槍抵出。左手鬆開。右手抵住。用力使棍頭經上方向前直劈。上身亦向前探。左手隨棍停於頭部上方。五指伸開並攏。手心向上。兩足不動。及一切姿式與前不變。同時乙方見棍照頭部劈來。右足向起點右後方猛撤一小步。左足亦隨撤一小步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。兩膝伸直。上身向右方微斜。同時將槍縮回。右手在右脇後下方。微隨左手。左手向外擰勁。使槍尖向外猛扣甲棍。左手心向起點左方。胸向起點左前方。面向起點前方。兩目注視甲其。方式如第二十七圖。
A, without pausing after bracing away B’s spear, your left hand lets go and your right hand forcefully sends the head of your staff upward and chopping forward, your upper body also leaning forward, your left hand following your staff to stop above your head, fingers extended but still together, the center of the hand facing upward, your feet staying where they are, your stance not changing from the previous posture.
　　B, when you see A’s staff chopping toward your head, your right foot suddenly withdraws a small step toward the northeast, then your left foot also withdraws a small step, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down, both knees straightening, your upper body slightly leaning toward the south. At the same time, your spear withdraws, your right hand going behind and below your right ribs, and your left hand slightly twists outward, sending the tip of your spear outward to suddenly cover A’s staff, the center of your left hand facing toward the south. Your chest is facing toward the southwest, your face toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 27:

第二十八動作
MOVEMENT 28:

甲方不停。卽向起點前方開步進行。姿式左手仍在頭部上方。胸向起點右前方。面由右方轉向後。兩目注視乙方。同時右手及棍。在身後。胳膊伸直。棍頭觸地。向起點正後方。胳膊與棍成直線。同時乙方姿式不變。向前開步。（起點前面）直追（甲乙兩方、開步多寡、視場之大小而定）甲方走至場之另一端。乙方用力照甲方頭部直刺。乙方左足在前。甲方見槍刺來。止步。右足在前。左足在後。右手用力使棍之中段。向上猛托。右手朝上伸直。微向起點後方。手心向上。棍頭向起點左後下方。同時右足向後退回一小步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。胸向起點右後方。左手仍在頭上不變。兩目注視乙槍。其式如第二十八圖。
A, without pausing, advance [retreat] toward the west, your left hand still above your head. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. At the same time, your right hand and your staff follow your body back, the arm straightening, the head of your staff touching the ground toward the east, the arm and staff together making a straight line.
　　B, maintaining your posture, chase toward the west as A walks to that end of the practice space (the amount of steps for both of you depending on the size of the practice space), and forcefully stab toward his head, your left foot again going forward.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, bring your feet to a halt with your right foot forward, left foot behind, as your right hand forcefully sends the middle section of your staff propping upward, the arm extending upward and slightly toward the east, the center of the hand facing upward, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the southeast. At the same time, your right foot retreats a small step, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your left hand still positioned above your head, your gaze toward B’s spear. See photo 28:

第二十九動作
MOVEMENT 29:

乙方將槍縮回。兩足不動。復照甲方右腿下部猛刺。同時甲方。右足向起點前方猛撤一步。膝蓋弓曲。左足不動。原地向右擰勁。使足尖向起點左方。膝蓋伸直。兩足距離約三尺。（隨身之高矮而定）使全身重點。移於右腿。右手用力擰。使棍頭向後旋轉。經頭上。至面前朝下猛捕。同時右手亦抓棍之中段。用力向下按。胳膊伸直。手心向下。右手心向裏。肘微曲。腰部微向前曲。胸向起點左方。兩目注視乙方。此時乙方姿式。左足在前。膝蓋微曲。右腿在後伸直。手心向上。右手持槍樽。在左手之後。距離左手約五六寸。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。以上姿式。與第二十三圖動作相同。其式如第二十九圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, then fiercely stab downward toward A’s right leg.
　　A, your right foot suddenly withdraws a step toward the west, the knee bending, your left foot staying where it is and pivoting to the right so the toes are pointing toward the south, the knee straightening, your feet about three feet apart (depending on your own height), the weight shifting to your right leg. At the same time, your right hand forcefully twists, sending the head of your staff arcing behind you, passing over your head, and fiercely seizing downward once in front of your face, your right [left] hand also grasping the middle section of your staff and forcefully pushing it down, the arm straightening, the center of the hand facing downward, the center of your right hand facing inward, the elbow slightly bent, your torso slightly bending forward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward B.
　　At this time, B’s posture is thus: your left foot is forward, the knee slightly bent, your right leg straightened behind, [your left hand forward,] the center of the hand facing upward, your right hand holding the end of your spear about half a foot behind your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A. This posture is the same as in photo 23. See photo 29:

第三十動作
MOVEMENT 30:

乙方將槍縮回。使右手向後伸直。左手移抓槍之上段。同時左足尖向外撇。右足在左足後方。向起點前方開一步。此時胸已向起點左方。左手沈下。右手由後向前。（此時右手移抓槍之中段）使槍樽照甲方頭部猛劈。左手曲肘。手心向上。右手在前。肘微曲。手心向下。胸向起點左方。面向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方見槍樽劈來。兩足向前猛進一小步。雙手持棍。猛向上架。右手向上伸直。左肘微曲。向前上方伸。兩手心均向起點左後方。使棍尾高於棍頭約一尺五六寸。棍頭向起點右後下方。胸向起點左後方。右膝彎曲。足尖向起點左方。左膝在前。伸直。足尖向起點左後方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方其式如第三十圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your right arm straightening behind, your left hand shifting its grip to the forward section of your spear. At the same, your left toes swing outward and your right foot takes a step toward the west from behind your left foot. With your chest now facing toward the south, your left hand is sinking down and your right hand comes forward from behind (shifting its grip to the middle section), sending the end of your spear fiercely chopping toward A’s head. Your left elbow is bent, the center of the hand facing upward, and your right hand is forward, the elbow slightly bent, the center of the hand facing downward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your face toward the west, your gaze toward A.
　　A, when you see the end of B’s spear chopping toward you, your feet both advance a small step forward as you fiercely prop up your staff with both hands, your right arm straightening upward, your left elbow slightly bent as it extends forward and upward, the centers of both hands facing toward the southeast as you put the tail of your staff about a foot and a half higher than the head of your staff, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the northeast. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, your right knee bending, the toes pointing toward the south, your left knee straightened in front, the toes pointing toward the southeast. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 30 [reverse view]:

第三十一動作
MOVEMENT 31:

甲方左手沈下。右足在左足後面。向起點後方開一步。右手向前按。使棍尾照乙方頭部直劈。左肘彎曲。手心向下。使左肘緊挾棍頭。於左脇上端。右手在前。肘微曲。手心向下。斯時右膝在前彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點右後方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方右足猛撤一步。右手抬起。復移抓槍樽。使槍樽向上。同時左手伸直。向上托。使槍中段。猛架甲棍。此時右手向上。手心朝起點右前方。左手在前伸直。向起點左前上方。手心向上。槍樽高於槍尖約一尺七八寸。槍尖向起點左前下方。右腿在後伸直。左腿亦伸直。唯足踵微提起。足尖觸地。上身向後微閃。胸向起點右前方。面向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第三十一圖。
A, your left hand sinks down as your right foot takes a step toward the east from behind your left foot, your right hand pushing forward, sending the tail of your staff chopping toward B’s head. Your left elbow is bent, the center of the hand facing downward, the elbow wrapping the head of your staff to your left ribs. Your right hand is forward, the elbow slightly bent, the center of the hand facing downward. Your right knee in front is bent, left leg straight, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, your right foot suddenly withdraws a step, your right hand lifting, shifting its grip to the end of your spear, and sending it upward, your left hand at the same time extending and propping up, sending the middle section of your spear to fiercely prop away A’s staff. Your right hand is now above, the center of the hand facing toward the northwest, your left hand forward, the arm straight, pointing toward the southwest, the center of the hand facing upward, the end of your spear about a foot and three quarters higher than the tip, the tip pointing downward toward the southwest. Your right leg is straightening behind, your left leg also straightening, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down, your upper body slightly dodging back. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 31:

第三十二動作
MOVEMENT 32:

同時乙方。左手向裏擰。使槍尖向裏裹。棍尾裹至乙槍在上。棍尾在下。甲方兩足不動。左手鬆開沈下。復伸至頭部上方。五指伸直並攏。手心向上。右手用力。使棍頭由後經上方。照乙頭部直劈。上身微向前探。同時乙方。左手向左用力。使槍向左猛掛。右手槍樽在後。微隨。使槍尖向上。兩方其餘姿式。與前不變。其式如第三十二圖。
B, your left hand twists inward, causing the tip of your spear to wrap inward, wrapping around the tail of A’s staff until the spear is on top and the staff is underneath.
　　A, with your feet staying where they are, your left hand lets go and sinks down, then extends until above your head, the fingers extended but together, the center of the hand facing upward, as your right hand forcefully sends the head of your staff behind you, passing over you, and chopping toward B’s head, your upper body slightly reaching forward.
　　B, your left hand forcefully goes to the left, sending your spear across with a sudden hanging action, your right hand at the end of your spear slightly following, causing the tip of your spear to go upward. The rest of the posture is the same as before [Movement 21]. See photo 32:

第三十三動作
MOVEMENT 33:

甲方。右手持棍。在前。左手抓棍尾。用力向乙方左腿下部打一掃蹚。同時乙方高跳。右足先觸地。由左方旋轉一圈。使胸復向起點前方。左足再向前觸地。此時雙手挺槍。復照甲方腿部猛刺。右腿在後伸直。左膝彎曲。成小前弓後箭步。左手在前。手心向上。右手在後。距離左手約五六寸。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方。左足不動。右足微向起點左方。橫移一小步。膝蓋伸直。左膝微曲。左手鬆開。置於頭部上方。五指伸開並攏。右手持棍。使棍頭在前觸地。不動。胳膊伸直。向起點右方猛撥。右手反背。使手心向起點左方。胸向起點右方。棍尾直向上。胳膊橫平。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第三十三圖。
A, with your right hand still holding your staff, your left hand comes forward to also take hold of the tail section and you forcefully do a “sweeping the hall” attack toward B’s lower left leg.
　　B, jump high, your right foot coming down first, [your torso] turning from the left so that your chest is facing toward the west as your left foot comes down forward and you extend your spear with both hands, fiercely stabbing toward A’s [right] leg, your right leg straightening behind, left knee bending, making a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your left hand is forward, the center of the hand facing upward, right hand behind, about half a foot away from your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A.
　　A, your left foot stays where it is as your right foot slightly shifts across a small step toward the south, the knee straightening, your left knee slightly bending. Your left hand lets go and is placed above your head, the fingers extended but together, as your right hand puts the head of your staff firmly onto the ground and the arm straightens, suddenly deflecting toward the north, the hand turned over so the center of the hand is facing toward the south. Your chest is facing toward the north, the tail of your staff pointing upward, your [right] arm horizontal. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 33:

第三十四動作
MOVEMENT 34:

甲方將槍撥出。右手用力。使棍頭由身後。經頭上向乙方頭部直劈。其餘姿式。與前不變。唯該時上身向前探。右膝彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。同時乙方復將槍縮回。全體隨向後縮。左手將槍抬起。朝上猛向左帶。其姿式與前第二十一圖相同。其式如第三十四圖。
A, after deflecting B’s spear away, your right hand forcefully sends the head of your staff from behind your body, over your head, and chopping straight toward B’s head. The rest of the posture is the same as before [Movement 21], except that this time your upper body is reaching forward. Your right knee is bent, left leg straight, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow.
　　B, withdraw your spear, your body also withdrawing, your left hand lifting your spear, the hand facing upward, and fiercely drag to the left. This posture is the same as in photo 21. See photo 34:

第三十五動作
MOVEMENT 35:

甲方不停。卽向起點前方開步。進行姿式。左手仍在頭部上方。胸向起點右前方。面由右方轉向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。同時右手及棍。在身後。隨胳膊伸直。棍頭觸地。向起點正後方。胳膊與棍成直線。同時乙方姿式不變。向前開步。（起點前面）直追（甲乙兩方、開步多寡、視練習場之大小而定）甲方。走至練習場之另一端。乙方用力照甲方頭部直刺。乙方左足在前。甲方見槍刺來。止步。右足在前。左足在後。右手用力使棍之中段。向上猛托。右手朝上伸直。微向起點後方。手心向上。棍頭向起點左後下方。右足向後退回一小步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。胸向起點右後方。左手仍在頭上不變。兩目注視乙槍。以上姿式及動作。與前第二十二圖相同。其式如第三十五圖。
A, without pausing, advance [retreat] toward the west, your left hand still above your head. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. At the same time, your right hand and your staff follow your body back, the arm straightening, the head of your staff touching the ground toward the east, the arm and staff together making a straight line.
　　B, maintaining your posture, chase toward the west as A walks to that end of the practice space (the amount of steps for both of you depending on the size of the practice space), and forcefully stab toward his head, your left foot again going forward.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, bring your feet to a halt with your right foot forward, left foot behind, as your right hand forcefully sends the middle section of your staff propping upward, the arm extending upward and slightly toward the east, the center of the hand facing upward, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the southeast. At the same time, your right foot retreats a small step, the heel slightly lifted, toes touching down. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your left hand still positioned above your head, your gaze toward B’s spear. The posture and movement is the same as for photo 22. See photo 35:

第三十六動作
MOVEMENT 36:

乙方將槍縮回。兩足不動。復照甲方右腿下部猛刺。同時甲方。右足向起點前方猛撤一步。膝蓋弓曲。左足不動。原地向右擰勁。使足尖向起點左方。膝蓋伸直。兩足距離約三尺。（然亦隨身體高矮而定）使全身重點。移於右腿。右手用力擰。使棍頭向後旋轉。經頭上朝下猛捕。同時左手亦抓棍之中段。用力向下按。胳膊伸直。手心向下。右手心向裏。肘微曲。腰部微向前曲。胸向起點左方。兩目注視乙方。此時乙方姿式。左足在前。膝蓋微曲。右腿在後伸直。上身微向前探。左手在前伸直。手心向上。右手持槍樽。在左手之後。距離左手約五六寸。胸向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。其姿式動作。與前第二十三圖相同。其式如第三十六圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, then fiercely stab downward toward A’s right leg.
　　A, your right foot suddenly withdraws a step toward the west, the knee bending, your left foot staying where it is and pivoting to the right so the toes are pointing toward the south, the knee straightening, your feet about three feet apart (depending on your own height), the weight shifting to your right leg. At the same time, your right hand forcefully twists, sending the head of your staff arcing behind you, passing over your head, and fiercely seizing downward, your left hand also grasping the middle section of your staff and forcefully pushing it down, the arm straightening, the center of the hand facing downward, the center of your right hand facing inward, the elbow slightly bent, your torso slightly bending forward. Your chest is facing toward the south, your gaze toward B.
　　At this time, B’s posture is thus: your left foot is forward, the knee slightly bent, your right leg straightened behind, your upper body slightly reaching forward, your left hand forward, the arm straight, the center of the hand facing upward, your right hand holding the end of your spear about half a foot behind your left hand. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A. This posture is the same as in photo 23. See photo 36:

第三十七動作
MOVEMENT 37:

乙方不動。將槍縮回。復照甲方頭部直刺。甲方見槍刺來。右足不動。原地向左轉。使足尖向起點後方。左足縮回半步。足踵提起。足尖觸地。膝蓋微曲。兩足距離約一尺餘。同時左手持棍抬起。使棍向身之左方猛帶。手心向起點後方。胸亦向起點後方。右手棍尾。伏於右脅下部。面向起點後方。同時乙方。復將槍縮回。兩足不動。又照甲方左腿下部猛刺。同時甲方。左足向起點左方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。右足在左足後方。向起點後方開一步。兩膝蓋彎曲。成騎馬式。右手棍尾。在右足開步之際。使棍尾向前猛抵乙槍。兩足均向起點右方。胸亦向起點右方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙槍。其姿式與前第二十四圖相同。其式如第三十七圖。
B, staying where you are, withdraw your spear, then stab straight toward A’s head.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot stays where it is and pivots to the left so the toes are pointing toward the east, your left foot withdrawing a half step, heel lifted, toes touching down, the knee slightly bent, your feet just over a foot apart. At the same time, your left hand lifts the [head] of your staff, fiercely dragging to your left, the center of the hand facing toward the east, as is your chest, your right hand holding the tail of your staff hidden below your right ribs. You are facing toward the east.
　　B, again withdraw your spear, your feet staying where they are, and then fiercely stab downward toward A’s left leg.
　　A, your left foot shifts a small step across toward the south, the toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step toward the east from behind your left foot, both knees bending, making a horse-riding stance. As your right foot steps out, your right hand sends the tail of your staff forward, fiercely bracing away B’s spear, your feet pointing toward the north. Your chest is also facing toward the north, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B’s spear. The posture is the same as in photo 24. See photo 37:

–

第十章
(CHAPTER TEN)

第三十八動作
MOVEMENT 38:

同時乙方槍樽。與甲方棍頭向上絞。槍樽在上。棍頭在下。絞至與頭平。乙方槍樽縮回。提高。同時右足向後再撤一步。左手沈下伸直。使槍尖朝下。在身之左手。猛向前推。右手用力下捶。使槍尖直刺甲方左腿下部。其姿式與前不變。唯此時右足在後。而胸已轉向起點右方。同時甲方。左手棍頭與槍樽相絞。見槍刺來。右足猛向前開一步。同時左肘曲。棍頭抬起。向上。右手下沈。使棍尾向下。右手向前一推。使棍尾猛抵乙槍。兩膝彎曲。仍成騎馬式。唯此時。右足在前。胸已向起點右方。以上姿式。與前第二十六圖相同。其式如第三十八圖。
The end of B’s spear and the head of A’s staff are coiling upward, spear on top, staff underneath. B, once they are at head level, withdraw the end of your spear by lifting it high, your right foot withdrawing a step behind you [your left foot following], your left hand sinking down, the arm straightening, pointing the tip of your spear downward to your left, and then your left hand fiercely pushes forward, your right hand forcefully dropping downward, sending the tip of your spear stabbing toward A’s left lower leg. The posture is the same as in the previous movement, your right foot behind, your chest facing toward the north.
　　A, your left hand is holding the head of your staff as it coils with the end of B’s spear, and then when you see the stab coming, your right foot suddenly shifts a step forward [your left foot following], your left elbow bending, sending the head of your staff upward, your right hand sinking down, sending the tail of your staff downward, and your right hand pushes the tail forward, fiercely bracing away B’s spear. Both knees are bending, again making a horse-riding stance, your right foot forward, your chest facing toward the north. The posture is the same as in photo 26 [which is itself a repeat of photo 24 and was just reused for Movement 37]. See photo 38 [in this case a reverse view]:

第三十九動作
MOVEMENT 39:

甲方不停。左手鬆開。移抓右手後方棍尾。右手在前。兩手用力。使棍頭經上方向前。照乙方左肩斜劈。同時上身亦向前探。兩足不動。其餘姿式與前不變。乙方右手槍樽。縮回右脅後下方。左手用力。將槍抬起。向身之左方猛帶。左肘曲。手心向起點後方。右手沈。同時右足不動。膝蓋彎曲。左足向後退回半步。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。胸向起點正前方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第三十九圖。
A, without pausing, your left hand lets go and shifts its grip to the tail of your staff behind your right hand, your right hand now forward, and both hands forcefully send the head of your staff forward from above, chopping diagonally toward B’s left shoulder, your upper body reaching forward, your feet staying where they are. The rest of the posture remains the same as in the previous movement.
　　B, your right hand withdraws the end of your spear below and behind your right ribs as your left hand forcefully lifts your spear into a sudden dragging action to your left, the elbow bending, the center of the hand facing toward the east, your right hand sinking. At the same time, your right foot stays where it is, the knee bending, your left foot withdrawing a half step, heel slightly lifted, toes touching down. Your chest is facing toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 39:

第四十動作
MOVEMENT 40:

甲方仍雙手持棍。右手在前。將棍抬起。復照乙方左腿下方打一掃蹚。同時乙方。雙腿高跳。此時棍已轉甲之左方。甲方兩足不動。復將棍抬起。又照乙方頭部直劈。右膝在前彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點後方。面亦向後方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方雙手持槍。向上猛托。兩手朝上伸直。右足在前。膝蓋彎曲。左足在後伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點右前方。面向起點前方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第四十圖。
A, still with both hands holding your staff, your right hand forward, lift your staff, then attack B’s lower left leg with a “sweeping the hall” action.
　　B, jump high with both legs, letting A’s staff arc through toward the north.
　　A, with your feet staying where they are, lift your staff and then chop toward B’s head, your right knee bending forward, left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the east, your face also toward the east, your gaze toward B.
　　B, your hands send your spear fiercely propping up, your arms straightening upward, your right knee bending forward, your left leg straightening behind, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the west, your gaze toward A. See photo 40:

第四十一動作
MOVEMENT 41:

乙方雙手沈下。挺槍照甲方頭額直刺。其姿式與前不變。同時甲方見槍刺來。右足向左足後方。猛撤一步。同時雙手縮回。使棍頭朝上。猛向右帶。此時左膝微曲。右足在前伸直。足踵微提起。足尖觸地。胸向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十一圖。
B, your hands sink down and you extend your spear with a stab toward A’s forehead, the [rest of] your posture remaining the same as in the previous movement.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot suddenly withdraws a step behind your left foot [withdraws a half step in front of your left foot] as your hands also withdraw, sending the head of your staff upward and fiercely dragging to the right, your left knee slightly bending, your right leg straightening in front, the heel slightly lifting, toes touching down. Your chest is facing toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 41:

第四十二動作
MOVEMENT 42:

乙方復將槍縮回。姿式不變。又照甲方左腿下部直刺。同時甲方。左足向起點右方橫移一小步。兩手擰勁。使棍頭在上。朝下猛捕。右足不動。膝蓋向下曲。左足向起點右後方伸直。足尖向起點左後方。腰部向前曲。此時右手在前。手心向下。左手在後。手心向上。兩胳膊成斜十字架。右手在上。左手在下。兩手距離約五六寸。棍頭向右後方。觸地。胸向起點左後方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十二圖。
B, withdraw your spear, your posture not changing, and then stab downward toward A’s left [right] leg.
　　A, your left [right] foot shifts a small step across toward the north as your hands twist, sending the head of your staff from above to fiercely seize downward, your right foot now staying where it is, the knee bending downward, as your left leg straightens toward the northeast, the toes pointing toward the southeast, your upper body slightly leaning forward. Your right hand is now in front, the center of the hand facing downward, your left hand behind, the center of the hand facing upward, your forearms making an X shape, right arm above, left arm below, your hands about half a foot apart. The head of your staff is touching the ground toward the southwest [northeast]. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 42:

第四十三動作
MOVEMENT 43:

乙方姿式不變。將槍縮回。復照甲方頭額左端直刺。同時甲方站起。雙手持棍。與前不變。向上猛托。兩胳膊均向上伸直。棍頭向起點右後下方。胸向起點左後方。面向起點後方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十三圖。
B, without changing your posture, withdraw your spear, then stab toward the left side of A’s forehead.
　　A, rise up with both hands holding your staff, their position not changing, and fiercely prop up B’s spear, your arms straightening upward, the head of your staff pointing downward [upward] toward the northeast. Your chest is facing toward the southeast, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 43:

第四十四動作
MOVEMENT 44 [switching places]:

承上式。甲方將槍托出。左足向起點左方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。右足在左足後方。向前開一步。雙手持棍。與前不變。用力使棍頭。經後旋轉。由右方橫向乙方腰部。攔腰一棍。（此時胸已由左轉、向起點右方、左足轉向前右足在後）在攔腰之際。同時左足。再由右足前方。向後撤一步。右膝在前彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點正前方。雙手在前抓棍伸直。右手心向上。左手在後向下。面向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。同時乙方見棍照攔腰打來。左手抬起。使槍尖向上。右手下沈。左足向起點右方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。右足在左足後面。向前開一步。及時原地向左轉。使胸向起點後方。（此時左足轉向前、右足在後）同時左足在前。向右足後方撤一步。右膝在前彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點右方。在右足向前開步之際。兩手用力。使槍中段。猛抵甲棍。面向起點後方。兩目注視甲方。其式如第四十四圖。
A, continuing from the previous posture, having propped away A’s spear, your left foot shifts a small step across toward the south, toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step forward from behind your left foot, your hands not changing their position on your staff as they forcefully send the head of your staff arcing behind you and then swinging across toward B’s waist from your right. (In this instant, your chest is turning leftward to be facing toward the north so that as your left foot is turning in front of you, your right foot is momentarily becoming the rear foot.) Then as you swing across to his waist, your left foot withdraws behind your right foot [causing you to fully switch places with B], your right knee bending in front, your left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the east, your hands extending your staff forward with the center of your right hand facing upward, your left hand behind, the center of the hand facing downward. You are facing toward the west, your gaze toward B.
　　B, when you see A’s staff swinging toward your waist, your left hand lifts, sending the tip of your spear upward, your right hand sinking down, as your left foot shifts a small step across toward the north, toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step forward from behind your left foot. (In this instant, your chest is turning leftward to be facing toward the east so that as your left foot is turning in front of you, your right foot is momentarily becoming the rear foot.) Then your left foot withdraws to be behind your right foot [causing you to fully switch places with A], your right knee bending in front, your left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the north. As your right foot steps forward, your hands forcefully send the middle section of your spear to suddenly brace away A’s staff. You are facing toward the east, your gaze toward A. See photo 44:

第四十五動作
MOVEMENT 45:

乙方右足向後撤一步。同時右手槍樽。後縮。左手沈下。挺槍照甲方頭額右端直刺。同時甲方。仍雙手持棍。向上猛托。兩手朝上過頂。使棍頭向起點右前下方。右足退回半步。足踵提起。足尖觸地。上身微向後縮。胸仍向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十五圖。
B, your right foot withdraws a step as your right hand withdraws the end of your spear, your left hand sinking down, then extend your spear, stabbing toward the right side of A’s forehead.
　　A, still holding your staff with both hands, fiercely prop up, your hands going higher than your headtop, the head of your staff pointing downward toward the northwest, your right foot withdrawing a half step, heel lifted, toes touching down, your upper body slightly withdrawing. Your chest is again facing toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 45:

第四十六動作
MOVEMENT 46:

乙方將槍縮回。復照甲方腿部下方直刺。其姿式與前不變。甲方見槍刺來。同時右足。向起點左方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。左足由右足後方。向前開一步。雙手持棍。用力使棍頭。由後經上方。向前猛捕。棍頭在前觸地。右手在前。手心向下。左手在後。手心向上。兩手成斜十字。右手在上。左手在下。兩手距離約五六寸。左腿在前伸直。右足曲膝。上身向前撲。使全身重點。移於右腿。胸向起點右前方。面向起點正前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十六圖。
B, withdraw your spear and then stab downward toward A’s [right] leg, the rest of your posture remaining the same as in the previous movement.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your right foot shifts a small step across toward the south, toes swinging outward, and your left foot takes a step forward from behind your right foot, as your hands forcefully send the head of your staff to the rear, continuing over you, and then fiercely seizing forward, the head of your staff touching the ground. Your right hand is in front, the center of the hand facing downward, your left hand behind, the center of the hand facing upward, your forearms making an X shape, right arm above, left hand below, your hands about half a foot apart. Your left leg is forward and straightened, your right knee bending, and your upper body is leaning forward, the weight on your right leg. Your chest is facing toward the northwest, your face toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 46 [reverse view]:

第四十七動作
MOVEMENT 47:

同時乙方。復將槍縮回。又照甲方頭額直刺。姿式與前相同。此時甲方全身提起。左足退回一小步。足踵提起。足尖觸地。雙手原處不動。抬起。向上使棍中段。猛抵乙槍。棍頭向起點左前下方。胸向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十七圖。
B, withdraw your spear and then stab toward A’s forehead, the rest of your posture remaining the same as in the previous movement.
　　A, your body rises and your left foot retreats a small step, heel lifted, toes touching down, as your hands lift, not changing their position, sending the middle of your staff upward, fiercely bracing away B’s spear, the head of your staff pointing downward [upward] toward the southwest. Your chest is facing toward the west [northwest]. Your gaze is toward B. See photo 47 [reverse view]:

第四十八動作
MOVEMENT 48:

甲方左足向起點右方橫一小步。足尖向外撇。右足由左足後方。向前開一步。同時雙手持棍。經右方。照乙方左腿下部猛掃。兩手在前伸直。右足在前。膝蓋彎曲。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點左前方。面向起點正前方。兩目注視乙腿。同時乙方。左足向起點左方橫移一小步。足尖向外撇。右足在左足後方。向前開一步。同時右手沈下。左手抬起。使槍尖向上。右手上移向前推。猛抵甲棍。右足在前曲膝。左腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點右後方。兩目注視甲棍。其式如第四十八圖。
A, your left foot shifts a small step across toward the north, toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step forward from behind your left foot as your hands send your staff swinging through on your right side and fiercely sweeping toward B’s left leg, both hands going forward, your arms straightening. Your right foot is forward, the knee bending, your left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow [although the photo shows A in a horse-riding stance]. Your chest is facing toward the southwest, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B’s leg.
　　B, your left foot shifts a small step across toward the south [steps back toward the east], toes swinging outward, and your right foot takes a step forward from behind your left foot [shifts forward, toes swinging inward]. At the same time, your right hand sinks down and your left hand lifts, sending the tip of your spear upward, your right hand then shifting upward, and you push forward, fiercely bracing away A’s staff. Your right foot is forward, the knee bending, your left leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow [although the photo shows B in a horse-riding stance]. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your gaze toward A’s staff. See photo 48:

第四十九動作
MOVEMENT 49:

乙方右手槍提起。縮回右脅後方。同時右足向後撤一步。左手下沈。挺直照甲方頭額直刺。左腿在前曲膝。右腿在後伸直。成小前弓後箭步。胸向起點後方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方。見槍照頭部刺來。兩足不動。上身向後縮。使右腿伸直。左腿弓曲。成左弓右箭步。同時雙手持棍。向上猛托乙槍。胸向起點左前方。面向起點前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第四十九圖。
B, your right hand lifts your spear, withdrawing it behind your right ribs, your right foot withdrawing a step behind you, your left hand sinking down. Then extend, stabbing toward A’s forehead, your left leg bending in front, right leg straightening behind, making a small stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the east, your gaze toward A.
　　A, when you see the stab coming, your feet stay where they are, your upper body withdrawing, your right leg straightening, left leg bending, making a stance of left leg a bow, right leg an arrow. At the same time, your hands send your staff upward, fiercely propping away B’s spear. Your chest is facing toward the southwest, your face toward the west, your gaze toward B. See photo 49 [reverse view]:

第五十動作
MOVEMENT 50:

同時乙方。見槍托出不停。復將槍縮回。又照甲方腿部直刺。（此時右手單手直砍、左手鬆開、停於頭部上方、五指伸開並攏、手心向上）右手挺槍之際。左足向後撤一步。膝蓋彎曲。右腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點右後方。面向起點正後方。兩目注視甲方。同時甲方不停。右足經左足前面。向起點後方橫開一步。左足亦向起點後方橫開一步。同時右手持棍。向裏擰勁。（左手鬆開）使棍頭朝裏向外猛掛。左手停於頭部上方。五指伸開並攏。手心向上。此時左足曲膝。右腿伸直。成前弓後箭步。胸向起點左前方。面向起點正前方。兩目注視乙方。其式如第五十圖。
B, when you see A’s staff propping up, do not pause, instead withdraw your spear and then stab toward A’s [right] leg. (This time, your right hand works alone, your left hand coming away and finishing above your head, fingers extended but together, the center of the hand facing upward.) As your right hand extends your spear, your left foot withdraws a step and the knee bends, your right leg straightening, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the northeast, your face toward the east, your gaze toward A.
　　A, also without pausing, your right foot takes a step toward the east, passing in front of your left foot, then your left foot also takes a step toward the east. At the same time, your right hand holds your staff (your left hand letting go), twisting inward so that the head of your staff goes inward, then it fiercely goes outward with a hanging action, your left hand finishing above your head, fingers extended but together, the center of the hand facing upward. Your left knee is bent, your right leg straightened, making a stance of front leg a bow, rear leg an arrow. Your chest is facing toward the southwest, your face toward the east, your gaze toward B. See photo 50:

–

STAFF VERSUS SPEAR

Posted on 1 Dicembre 2018 by Paul Brennan

–

棍進槍
STAFF VERSUS SPEAR
蘭晉如
by Lan Jinru
[Chapters 7–10 of An Authentic Description of Shaolin Staff Methods, published Jan, 1930]

[translation by Paul Brennan, Nov, 2018]

–

第七章　棍進槍
CHAPTER SEVEN [CHAPTERS 7–10]: STAFF VERSUS SPEAR

開門式　第一動作
OPENING POSTURE / MOVEMENT 1

S
E –↑– W
N

N
W –↑– E
S

第二動作
MOVEMENT 2:

第三動作
MOVEMENT 3:

第四動作
MOVEMENT 4:

第五動作
MOVEMENT 5:

第六動作
MOVEMENT 6:

第七動作
MOVEMENT 7:

第八動作
MOVEMENT 8:

第九動作
MOVEMENT 9:

第十動作
MOVEMENT 10:

第十一動作
MOVEMENT 11:

第十二動作
MOVEMENT 12:

–

第八章
(CHAPTER EIGHT)

第十三動作
MOVEMENT 13 [switching places]:

第十四動作
MOVEMENT 14:

第十五動作
MOVEMENT 15:

第十六動作
MOVEMENT 16:

第十七動作
MOVEMENT 17:

第十八動作
MOVEMENT 18:

第十九動作
MOVEMENT 19:

第二十動作
MOVEMENT 20:

第二十一動作
MOVEMENT 21:

第二十二動作
MOVEMENT 22:

第二十三動作
MOVEMENT 23:

第二十四動作
MOVEMENT 24:

第二十五動作
MOVEMENT 25:

–

第九章
(CHAPTER NINE)

第二十六動作
MOVEMENT 26:

第二十七動作
MOVEMENT 27:

第二十八動作
MOVEMENT 28:

第二十九動作
MOVEMENT 29:

第三十動作
MOVEMENT 30:

第三十一動作
MOVEMENT 31:

第三十二動作
MOVEMENT 32:

第三十三動作
MOVEMENT 33:

第三十四動作
MOVEMENT 34:

第三十五動作
MOVEMENT 35:

第三十六動作
MOVEMENT 36:

第三十七動作
MOVEMENT 37:

–

第十章
(CHAPTER TEN)

第三十八動作
MOVEMENT 38:

第三十九動作
MOVEMENT 39:

第四十動作
MOVEMENT 40:

第四十一動作
MOVEMENT 41:

第四十二動作
MOVEMENT 42:

第四十三動作
MOVEMENT 43:

第四十四動作
MOVEMENT 44 [switching places]:

第四十五動作
MOVEMENT 45:

第四十六動作
MOVEMENT 46:

第四十七動作
MOVEMENT 47:

第四十八動作
MOVEMENT 48:

第四十九動作
MOVEMENT 49:

第五十動作
MOVEMENT 50:

–

2018 Christmas Shopping List: Martial Arts Equipment and Long Reads to Get You Through the Winter Months

Posted on 30 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Bernard the Kung Fu Elf riding Shotgun with Santa. (Source: Vintage American Postcard, authors personal collection.)

I am not going to lie. The annual Christmas list is my favorite post of the year. So welcome to Kung Fu Tea’s seventh annual holiday shopping list! Not only are we going to find some cool gift ideas, but hopefully this post will inspire you to make time for martial arts practice during the festive season. Training is a great way to deal with the various stresses that holidays always bring. And Christmas is the perfect excuse to stock up on that gear that you have been needing all year.

This year’s shopping list is split into four categories: books, training equipment, weapons, and (for the first time) “gifts for the martial artist who has everything”. This last category will focus on experiences rather than objects. I have tried to select items at a variety of price points for each category. Some of the gift ideas are quite reasonable while others are admittedly aspirational. After all, Christmas is a time for dreams, so why not dream big!

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

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

Books to Feed You Head

This has been a good year for books. Nowhere is the growth of martial arts studies more evident than in the explosion of new publications. Things have been so busy this year that I have been forced to restrict myself to new releases. Still, the first item on this list is both reasonably priced and outstanding reading….

Martial Arts Studies Reader. Edited by Paul Bowman ($38 USD)

The Martial Arts Studies Reader answers this need, by bringing together pioneers of the field and scholars at its cutting edges to offer authoritative and accessible insights into its key concerns and areas. Each chapter introduces and sets out an approach to and a route through a key issue in a specific area of martial arts studies. Taken together or in isolation, the chapters offer stimulating and exciting insights into this fascinating research area. In this way, The Martial Arts Studies Reader offers the first authoritative field-defining overview of the global and multidisciplinary phenomena of martial arts and martial arts studies.

Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts by Lu Zhouxiang ($78 USD HC Routledge)

Chinese martial arts is considered by many to symbolise the strength of the Chinese and their pride in their history, and has long been regarded as an important element of Chinese culture and national identity. Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts comprehensively examines the development of Chinese martial arts in the context of history and politics, and highlights its role in nation building and identity construction over the past two centuries. ?

This book explores how the development of Chinese martial arts was influenced by the ruling regimes’ political and military policies, as well as the social and economic environment. It also discusses the transformation of Chinese martial arts into its modern form as a competitive sport, a sport for all and a performing art, considering the effect of the rapid transformation of Chinese society in the 20^th century and the influence of Western sports. The text concludes by examining the current prominence of Chinese martial arts on a global scale and the bright future of the sport as a unique cultural icon and national symbol of China in an era of globalisation.

You can find my review of this book here. While I am a bit disappointed that the author failed to engage with the recent English language scholarship on the Chinese martial arts, this book is sure to show up in many future bibliographies.

Now for something a little lighter (err, easier to read…at 500 pages this book is actually quite heavy…)

Bruce Lee: A Life by Matthew Polly (paperback $18 USD)

The most authoritative biography—featuring dozens of rarely seen photographs—of film legend Bruce Lee, who made martial arts a global phenomenon, bridged the divide between Eastern and Western cultures, and smashed long-held stereotypes of Asians and Asian-Americans.

Forty-five years after Bruce Lee’s sudden death at age thirty-two, journalist and bestselling author Matthew Polly has written the definitive account of Lee’s life. It’s also one of the only accounts; incredibly, there has never been an authoritative biography of Lee. Following a decade of research that included conducting more than one hundred interviews with Lee’s family, friends, business associates, and even the actress in whose bed Lee died, Polly has constructed a complex, humane portrait of the icon.

Polly explores Lee’s early years as a child star in Hong Kong cinema; his actor father’s struggles with opium addiction and how that turned Bruce into a troublemaking teenager who was kicked out of high school and eventually sent to America to shape up; his beginnings as a martial arts teacher, eventually becoming personal instructor to movie stars like James Coburn and Steve McQueen; his struggles as an Asian-American actor in Hollywood and frustration seeing role after role he auditioned for go to a white actors in eye makeup; his eventual triumph as a leading man; his challenges juggling a sky-rocketing career with his duties as a father and husband; and his shocking end that to this day is still shrouded in mystery.

Polly breaks down the myths surrounding Bruce Lee and argues that, contrary to popular belief, he was an ambitious actor who was obsessed with the martial arts—not a kung-fu guru who just so happened to make a couple of movies. This is an honest, revealing look at an impressive yet imperfect man whose personal story was even more entertaining and inspiring than any fictional role he played onscreen.

You can find my interview with Polly where he got into a more detailed discussion about researching a book like this one here.

The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts by Raul Sanchez Garcia ($43 USD Kindle)

This is the first long-term analysis of the development of Japanese martial arts, connecting ancient martial traditions with the martial arts practised today. The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts captures the complexity of the emergence and development of martial traditions within the broader Japanese Civilising Process.

The book traces the structured process in which warriors’ practices became systematised and expanded to the Japanese population and the world. Using the theoretical framework of Norbert Elias’s process-sociology and drawing on rich empirical data, the book also compares the development of combat practices in Japan, England, France and Germany, making a new contribution to our understanding of the socio-cultural dynamics of state formation. Throughout this analysis light is shed onto a gender blind spot, taking into account the neglected role of women in martial arts.

The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts is important reading for students of Socio-Cultural Perspectives in Sport, Sociology of Physical Activity, Historical Development of Sport in Society, Asian Studies, Sociology and Philosophy of Sport, and Sports History and Culture. It is also a fascinating resource for scholars, researchers and practitioners interested in the historical and socio-cultural aspects of combat sport and martial arts.

Sound interesting? You can read the first chapter of this book here.

Embodying Brazil: An ethnography of diasporic capoeira ($ 49.95 USD Paperback) by Sara Delamont, Neil Stephens, Claudio Campos.

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.

Still don’t see what you are looking for? I have heard about this great book on the history of Wing Chun and the Southern Chinese martial arts (now out in paperback, $25 USD)….

Training Gear

Five Photos Brand Dit Da Jow ($20 for 7.5 ounces)

You don’t need very much gear to practice the Chinese martial arts. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to have a couple of things on hand, particularly when you start to get bruised up from partner work or dummy drills. While researching the history of a prominent family of martial arts practicing pharmacists in Foshan I came across the story of this particular brand of Dit Da Jow. I should probably dig some of that research out of my notes and turn it into an essay. But ever since then, I have kept a bottle of it around. You can usually find this brand at your local Chinese pharmacy, or even a good sized grocery story. Barring that, you can always just order it from Amazon.

Flexzion Kicking Strike Shield ($18 USD)

This style of striking pad that was popularized in Muay Thai training, but I use it all the time in my Wing Chun practice. Honestly, I can’t think of the (striking) school that couldn’t use a few more pairs of these. Best of all, the size is always right! The perfect inexpensive gift for the Sifu in your life.

The perfect sword/HEMA gear bag ($150 USD)

Having the right gear is good. But having the perfect bag to haul it all around in is (as they say) priceless. That is particularly true if the gear you are hauling is heavy, awkwardly shaped, or likely to freak people out if you were just walk down the sidewalk with it on your shoulder. These bags can be pricey at $150. But after having destroyed a few lower quality, non-purpose built bags over the last year, I am gaining a renewed appreciation for how easy a good gear bag can make life. Particularly when swords and lightsabers are involved.

Hayabusa T3 Kanpeki 7oz Hybrid Kickboxing MMA Gloves ($129 USD)

Everyone seems to be talking about bringing more competitive style sparring into traditional Chinese martial arts training. And that means thinking about the right gear. I like my Hayabusa boxing gloves, but something like this might be great for those who want a little more dexterity for grabs, laups and paks.

A set of wooden dummy arms and legs ($333 USD, but totally worth it)

And now for some “affordable” luxury. In the last couple of years a number of my kung fu brothers have bought (or switched to) iron body training dummies. These are a lot cheaper than nicely made wooden dummies, and they can easily be stuck in the corner of room that might not otherwise accommodate a hanging dummy (which I still think is the way to go if you have a chance). But while the quality of the Jong’s body and base is often great, I have noticed several (and I mean lots) of complaints about broken legs and rough workmanship on the arms. Lets face it, these are the parts of the dummy that we actually come into contact with the most frequently. So why not upgrade that part of your Jong to something a little more reliable and nicer to the touch?

Weapons

Hanwei Practical Tai Chi Sword ($120 USD)

At $120, is this the perfect jian for basic skills training and forms work? I have had a couple of longtime practitioners make that argument recently, based not just on the price point but the weight of this sword. Given my continuing exploration of Wudang Jian, I have a feeling that this is one item that might be making its way onto my personal shopping list.

Purpleheart Armory Dadao Trainer ($45.99 USD)

There is no denying that the dadao is hot. I am seeing lots of interest in this weapon. The social scientist in me thinks that we need to take a step back and ponder what this all means. But my more practical side just wants to grab one of these trainers and work on some sword vs. bayonet drills. This particular trainer is available with either a disk or “S” guard. Also check out Purpleheart’s nylon jian trainers.

Kris Cutlery Wood Training Knives ($25 USD)

Yeah, rubber is always a safer option for partner drills, but these trainers, made of ebony are really beautiful. At $25 I just can’t say no.

Antique late 19^th(early 20^th) century Nepalese Kukri ($99 USD)

If you would prefer a sharper (and more historically/ethnographically significant) knife at a decent price point, why not consider an antique Nepalese military kukri. I have been collecting these for years, and have always found it ironic that the originals are so cheap compared to the latter British and Indian copies that were mass produced during the World Wars. Once you get your kukri be sure to check out this guide and discover your knife’s history.

Handmade, traditional style, butterfly sword from the Philippines. ($350 USD).

There are lots of high quality butterfly swords out there, but I have been partial to these as their slim construction is much closer to most of the antiques that have survived than the sorts of “chopping” swords which became more popular after the early 20^thcentury. And lets be honest, nothing say’s “Christmas” to the Wing Chun student/instructor in your life more than discovering a set of these in their stocking.

For the Martial Artist Who Has Everything….

I have long believed that many people are attracted to the martial arts as a type of virtual tourism. By practicing these arts we find a way to visit, contemplate and experience aspects of a time or place that we might not otherwise be able to visit. That is an important point to stress as survey data suggest that increasingly consumers value unique experiences more than the acquisition of objects. As such, the last section of our holiday list provides a different take on what the martial arts have to offer.

Lets begin with a destination that one can only visit through martial arts training. Have you (or the Star Wars fan in your life) ever wanted to learn to wield an elegant weapon from a more civilized age? If so, consider joining the Terra Prime Light Armory. Its a free, open-source, lightsaber academy run by experienced martial artists (mostly Kung Fu/Taijiaqan guys, but you will find some other stuff in there as well). If there is a brick and mortar club in your area they will be more than happy to point you in the right direction, and if not they offer an extensive database of on-line learning tools with individualized feedback mechanisms. Best of all, a voyage with the “Learners in Exile Corps” will not cost you a thing as these guys are in it for the love of the game. Sometimes the best things in life really are free!

No matter what aspect of the martial arts, and their interaction with popular culture, you are interested in, you are likely to find it at Combat Con. Held annually in Las Vegas (August 1-4, 2019), this event is unique in that it brings together a wide range of armed and unarmed martial arts instructors, while also hosting a variety of tournaments, performances, workshops for writers and game developers, cosplay contests and yes, even a full contact lightsaber tournament ($15 entrance feee). So if you are a social scientist who studies the martial arts in the modern world, the only question you have to ask yourself is why aren’t you already planning on going?

Its hard to estimate the cost of this one. Obviously you will need to fly to Vegas in August (which, in all honesty, is not the best time of year to visit this desert oasis). The public can visit the event for free, but if you want to do all of the workshops, tournaments and events you will probably end up paying in the $200-$300 range.

Left to Right: Doug Farrer, Scott Phillips, Paul Bowman at the Farewell Dinner of the 2015 Martial Arts Studies Conference in Cardiff.

For the more academically inclined, why not give the gift of a conference registration to the inaugural North American session of the annual Martial Arts Studies meetings? These will be held May 23-24, 2019, at Chapman University in sunny California. Best of all, the registration is free if you email the conference organizers in advance and ask for tickets (click the link for details).

Its not hard to find cheap plane tickets to LA, and this is the premier event of the Martial Arts Studies community. I can’t say enough about how much I have enjoyed these meetings over the years. The sense of community is really unlike anything I have ever seen at a conference before. An advanced registration would make the perfect gift for either yourself or the erudite warrior/scholar in your life.

A still from Come Drink With Me. Classic martial arts cinema at its best.

How about visiting a martial arts film festival in a destination city in 2019? Most major cities host one or more Asian film festivals a year. These are often a great place to see new and classic martial arts films, and if you are lucky you might find a festival dedicated just to classic Kung Fu films. We are still a little early in the year to have confirmed dates (these events are generally announced a month or two in advance), but New York City is a great destination for these sorts of festivals. And if you are going to be in Manhattan in June or July, there is an excellent chance you will find something you are interested in at the 2019 Asian Film Festival hosted by the Film Society of Lincoln Center. But keep an eye out as you can often find smaller film festivals in a city near you!

Study with Master Li Quan (teaching Emei Style Southern Kung Fu and Wing Chun) in Chengdu, one of the most beautiful cities in China.

This is the part of the list where we dream big. It goes without saying that China is full of places where you can spend a few months studying the martial art of your choice (including Wing Chun). I selected this school as Chengdu is on my bucket list of places to stay for a few months, and one of my friends studied with Master Li for years when he lived in the area as a journalist. This would be a very authentic/rustic experience, rather than the sort of school catering to the “glampers” out there. And Chengdu has a great martial arts history that needs more exploration in the English language literature.

Prices for extended live-in training start at just under $1000 USD (not including airfare). Of course the real cost of this this sort of “Kung Fu Pilgrimage” is taking a few months off from work. But this is the stuff that dreams are made of!

That is it for this year’s Christmas shopping list. If you have other suggestions for items that might be of interest to the Kung Fu Tea community tell us in the comments!

oOo

Need more gift recommendations? Why not check out some of the previous lists?

oOo

Bruce Lee: Memory, Philosophy and the Tao of Gung Fu

Posted on 23 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Bruce Lee with his favorite onscreen weapon.

***I am off visiting family over the holiday weekend, so we are headed back to the archives. Since our (American) readers have just celebrated Thanksgiving, I though it would be appropriate to revisit an essay that asks what we should be grateful for as martial artists and students of martial arts studies. Spoiler alert, the answer is Bruce Lee.***

Introduction: Bruce Lee at 75

Yesterday I celebrated Thanksgiving with my family. As is customary on this day of remembrance I took a few moments to think about the last year and review the many things that I had to be grateful for. The year has been an eventful one.

In the professional realm I had a book published on the social history of the southern Chinese martial arts. I also delivered a keynote address at the first annual martial arts studies conference in the UK and, just recently, saw the publication of the first issue of our new journal on that same topic. I have had opportunities to meet and share my interests with all sorts of fascinating people from all over the world, and have started a number of other projects that should be bearing fruit months and years down the road. As the old Chinese saying goes, a wise man thinks of the source of the water that he drinks, and as I did so it occurred to me that I owe a profound debt of gratitude to Bruce Lee.

Today is the 75th anniversary of Lee’s birth in San Francisco. Born in California and raised in Hong Kong before returning to the West Coast at the end of the 1950s, Lee had a profound effect on the worlds of film, popular culture and the martial arts. While many claims about his career are exaggerated (one should treat with a certain degree of suspicion any assertion that someone was the “first” to do anything) there can be no doubt as to his ultimate impact on the public perception of the martial arts in America, as well as their rapid spread and popularization in the post-1970 era.

For anyone wondering what the point of Kung Fu was, Lee had a very specific answer. It combined a laser like focus on the problems of practical self-defense with a need to find personal and philosophical meaning in practice.

Like others who came before him, Lee argued that the martial arts were ultimately a means of self-creation. Yet drawing on the counter-cultural currents of the time he freed this discourse from the ideological chains that had linked such quests with ethno-nationalist projects for much of the 20th century. He instead placed the individual student at the center of the process. For Lee the martial arts went beyond the normal paradigms of personal security and self improvement and became a means of self actualization.

His own image on the silver screen promised that through these disciplines and their philosophies one could craft a “new self,” one that was fully fit for the challenges of an age of global competition and strife. It was promised that this “new self” would grow out of the process of self expression which the martial arts facilitated. Of course one had to first understand the true nature of these systems to free oneself from their stultifying structures. Individuals might agree or disagree (sometimes violently) with Lee’s assertions, but its hard to underestimate the impact that he had on the ways in which the martial arts are discussed in the West today.

Does this mean that in the absence of Bruce Lee I would not have written my book, or that we would not currently be reading a blog about martial arts studies? Ultimately those sorts of counterfactuals are impossible to answer, and they may cause more confusion than light. Japanese teachers had been promoting their arts in the West since the dawn of the 20th century. Sophia Delza knew nothing of Bruce Lee when she introduced Wu style Taijiquan to New York City. And the Korean government’s heavy support and promotion of Taekwondo had more to do with their own post-colonial struggles with the memory of the Japanese occupation than anything that came out of China.

I suspect that even in a world in which Lee had never existed the martial arts would still have found a respectable foothold in the West. A demand for these systems existed as part of larger cultural trends following WWII, Korea and the Vietnam War. Lee’s genius lay in his ability to understand and speak powerfully to the historical moment that existed.

Following his own advice he bent with the flow of history rather than fighting against it. Certainly some things would remain the same. That seems to follow from the structural nature of 20th century modernization and globalization. Ultimately our theories about the history of the martial arts are very much stories about these two forces (among others).

Yet would I be a student of Wing Chun, a somewhat obscure fighting system from the Pearl River delta region, without Bruce Lee’s rise to fame? Would I have had an opportunity to convince a university press to publish a book whose central historical case was built around a detailed, multi-chapter, biography of Ip Man, Bruce Lee’s teacher? And what of those individuals who study the martial arts? Would this body be as diverse (and sometimes radical) in the absence of Lee’s striking ability to speak to African and Latin-American martial artists (as well as many women and Asians) in the volatile 1970s?

Anthropological studies of the martial arts and social marginality remind us that people who are the most attracted to messages of resistance and individual empowerment are precisely those who have also been disempowered by the dominant social systems of the day. While the globalization of the East Asian martial arts would have come in one guise or another, its clear that I do have a lot to be grateful for when thinking about Lee’s contributions as a film maker, teacher and popularizer of the Chinese martial arts.

Birthdays are also important times for looking to the future. There can be no doubt that Lee’s image has retained a remarkable grip on the public imagination. Decades after his death he still frequently appears on magazine covers and in video games. Books bearing his name (either as an author or in their title) are found in every bookstore with a martial arts section. And Lee’s impact on the realm of martial art films can still be detected with ease. Countless allusions to his more iconic fight sequences can be seen on both the big and small screen. Ninjas may come and go, but even in the age of MMA it seems that Bruce will always have a home on the cover of Black Beltmagazine.

Still, one wonders if we are not starting to see changes in some aspects of how Lee is remembered and discussed. AMC recently aired a new series titled “Into the Badlands.” I have been following the advertising efforts around this project with great interest. The show’s creators have prided themselves in their extensive use of the martial arts. In fact, much of their advertising copy focuses on the fact that they are bringing “real” martial arts to the American small screen for the first time. Of course to make this claim with a straight face it is first necessary to seriously downplay, explain away or “forget” quite a bit of equally revolutionary TV that has come before, from Bruce Lee in the Green Hornet to Chuck Norris in Walker Texas Ranger.

A lot of discussion has also focused on Daniel Wu, the lead actor of this project. The show’s promoters have discussed the supposedly revolutionary nature of his role and the many ways in which he is changing the portrayal of Asian males in the entertainment industry. Yet if one drills down into this rhetoric very far what quickly becomes apparent is that Wu is seen as revolutionary in many of the exact same ways that Lee was seen as exceptional in his own era. The one real difference that stands out is that Wu’s character has the potential to develop a truly romantic story-line, where as this was something that was usually not seen with Lee’s films.

While the blame for this is often put on Hollywood (and there is no doubt that much of that is justified) one must also remember that Lee’s heroes came out of a genera of Cantonese storytelling and filmmaking in which romantic and martial leads tended to be somewhat segregated for important cultural reasons (see Avron Bortez for an extensive discussion of the construction of masculinity in the world of Kung Fu). While I applaud Wu for being able to pursue the sorts of roles that he finds interesting, I worry that his revolution is simultaneously erasing some of the traditional conventions of Chinese film and literature rather than challenging Western audiences with something unfamiliar. This is essentially the same discussion of hybrid borrowing vs. hegemony that seems to emerge in so many discussions of the globalization of popular culture. But whatever the ultimate resolution to this debate, it seems that there is an effort on the part of certain advertisers to retool and downplay Bruce Lee’s achievements in an effort to create a new moment of “revolution” in the current era.

Readers interested in looking at this specific discussion can see a number of the links that were included both in the most recent news update and on the Facebook group (in particular the Slate article titled “Daniel Wu is the Asian Action Hero that Bruce Lee Should have Been.”) Actually resolving the specific questions raised by all of this might take some time and far exceeds the space available in this post. Yet reviewing it led me to ask whether Bruce Lee is still the revolutionary figure that he once was. In our current moment do we still need Bruce Lee and his message of radical self-creation through the martial arts? Can he still act as a force for the popularization and spread of these fighting systems? Or is he becoming too culturally remote from modern students, readers and audiences? Is it likely that the public will remember his 100th birthday with the same enthusiasm that is greeting his 75th?

Ip Man and his best known student, Bruce Lee.

Bruce Lee and the Tao of Gung Fu

As I thought about these questions over the last couple of days I found myself turning to Lee’s unpublished “manuscript” The Tao of Gung Fu. In some respects this may seem like an odd choice. This book was never published in Lee’s lifetime, and as such most of this material had a rather limited impact on the way that people discussed either him or the martial arts in the 1970s and 1980s.

Nor is it always clear to me the degree to which this collection of chapters can be considered a true “book.” From the editor’s (John Little) description it appears that Lee abandoned the project before a complete manuscript was pulled together. A number of the early chapters were in place (they even make internal references to each other) but after that there may only have been an outline. This has been flushed out with notes, drawings and other pieces that Lee wrote over the years. Some pieces are in a more finished state than others, but none of it was ever intended to be made public during Lee’s life. In fact, it must be remembered that he made the rather conscious decision to walk away from the project. As such we can only speculate as to what would have made it into the final version had Bruce decided to actually pursue publication.

One of the things that bothers me about this particular book, as it was posthumously published by Tuttle and the Lee estate, is that it attempts to seamlessly weave this mass of material together into a coherent whole rather than letting the individual pieces, written over a range of years, stand on their own. Nor does it attempt to label what the original documentary sources of the various “chapters” actually were and how they fit into the larger body of Lee’s papers.

Obviously this is an annoyance for other historians working on Lee. And it is especially problematic when one realizes that a number of these essays were originally composed as papers for Lee’s classes at the University of Washington. While clearly bright and interested in philosophy (as well as its application to the martial arts) Lee is the sort of student who likely gave his teachers heart burn. As multiple other scholars (including John Little and James Bishop) have pointed out, Lee was guilty of plagiarizing a number of passages and key ideas throughout these essays.

In a few cases he simply borrowed text while dropping the quotes and footnotes, while in others he followed his sources much too closely (a problem known as “patchwriting”). In a number of other cases he appropriates ideas or insights without proper citation, or plays fast and loose with his sources. For a student of philosophy a surprising number of very detailed arguments are simply attributed to “Taoism” with no further support.

Worst of all, some of Lee’s best known personal stories, such as his exchange with his teacher Ip Man about the problem of relaxation, turn out to have been lifted from other sources (in that particular case the important popularizer of Zen, Allen Watts who had a striking similar exchange with his Judo teacher). James Bishop seems to be the best source currently available on the extent of Lee’s plagiarism and the sources that he was actually drawing on. Of course Lee never intended that these essays be published, let alone to be printed on t-shirts.

Given this list of problems and cautions, one might wonder why I would even discuss such a book. Simply put, the Tao of Gung Fu is a critical work not because the material in it is in any way original, but because it does a great job of clarifying the issues that were being discussed among a certain type of Chinese martial artist at a specific moment in time, and the sorts of sources that they had available to them (both in terms of technical manuals, but also cultural and philosophical resources) to make sense of all of it. While fans might be crushed by some of the instances of Lee’s patchwriting and plagiarism (which varied from unintentional to egregious) the transparent nature of these problems is actually a great blessing to cultural historians and students of martial arts studies.

Lee often starts by outlining questions that a wide variety of readers in his era would have found interesting, and with only a few minutes of googling you can figure out exactly what resources a young, somewhat educated martial artist would have had access to in both the Chinese and English language literatures. In short, for anyone interested in the specific steps by which the Chinese martial arts were culturally appropriated by the West, this book is a remarkable resource.

If you want to better acquaint yourself with the sources of Lee’s philosophy on the martial arts, this is the book that I would recommend. And for Wing Chun students it has the additional bonus of providing critical insight into how (at least some) individuals were discussing that system during the late 1950s and 1960s.

What then is the ultimate root of Lee’s philosophy of the martial arts? What ideas did he turn to in order to both make sense of these fighting traditions and to provide them with increased social meaning (and status) against the backdrop of Chinese culture and thought?

The Tao of Gung Fu provides an embarrassment of riches on these sorts of questions. Students of Wing Chun will likely find Lee’s discussions of Chi Sao (some of which is quite philosophical) to be the most interesting. And readers of history will no doubt want to pay close attention to Lee’s understanding of the subject as discussed in the book’s closing chapters.

Yet perhaps one of the most important themes in Lee’s thinking is set down in the very first chapter before being expanded upon throughout the rest of the manuscript. Here we see Lee outlining a three step process (one that he attributes to Daoism) in which something progresses from 1) the “primitive” stage 2) the stage of “art” 3) the stage of “artlessness.”

Most often this progression is applied to the martial arts themselves. Lee sees in this pattern the meta-history of the Chinese martial arts as a whole. They progressed from a simple, but natural, system to a more sophisticated but stultifying understanding. Finally, after years of hard work Chinese martial artists practiced, experimented and realized what non-essential material could be stripped away, leaving a set of systems what was both sophisticated but once again natural in its execution.

In other places Lee appears to apply this same process to the life history of individual styles. It can also be viewed as the stages that any given martial artist must progress through. In fact, Lee’s iconic “Liberate Yourself from Classical Karate” article is premised on this idea, as well as Lee’s contention that most Western martial artists at the time were stuck in stage two.

Yet Lee’s use of this basic framework extended far beyond the martial arts. At times he seems to have seen it as a more general lens by which we could examine the struggle of humans with both the natural and social worlds. Note for instance that Lee attempts to explain this teleology to his readers by using it as an explanation of the evolution of Chinese grammar between the classical and modern periods. And grasping its logic seems to be a precondition for the introduction of his later discussion of the nature of Yin and Yang in both the martial arts and Asian philosophy.

Given the centrality of this idea to Lee’s thought, it might be useful to ask where it originates. Lee himself claims that the idea is indigenous to Daoism and, at other points, Zen. This later claim may be bolstered by the observation of some Japanese stylists that their own systems suggest a similar progressive understanding of katas (or forms) in three progressive stages.

At the same time it must be remembered that Lee was a philosophy student when much of this material was written, and the resonances with some of the western thinkers he would have been introduced to is noteworthy. The system Lee is proposing seems to be somewhat in debt to Hegel and his progression from “thesis,” to “anti-thesis” and ultimately “synthesis.” We have already seen that Lee was very familiar with the works of Allen Watts, and its possible that this idea may have found its genesis in his writings. Indeed, this might be why Lee sometimes claims that he was outlining a “Zen” theory of progress.

While I suspect that this element of Lee’s thought reflects his study of Western writers and sources, once established it is the sort of thing that you can begin to see everywhere. We know, for instance, that Lee was influenced by the ideas of the mystic and writer Krishnamurti. While I have yet to find an exact statement of this idea in his writings, once it has been established in your mind it’s the sort of thing that will find easy parallels and support in some of Krishnamurti’s statements. Much the same goes for the Dao De Jing. I suspect that this theory of “becoming” struck Lee with such force, and became a cornerstone of his thought in this period, precisely because it seemed to find support in so many sources. The ease with which both Eastern and Western (and possibly even Marxist) sources could be used to illustrate aspects of this theory must have made it seem both universal and self-evident.

I suspect that this idea was also critical to Lee because while it facilitated a rejection of stultifying forms, it also argued that these things could only be overcome through study, experimentation and exhaustive practice. When we look at Lee’s workouts in this period (also provided by John Little) we see that Lee was drilling himself in basic techniques at the same time that he was advocating empirical verification and freedom from pointless tradition. There has always appeared to be a fundamental tension here, between what is necessary to learn a technique, and the desire to transcend it in the search of something more natural or personal. This three step teleology spoke directly to that dilemma, and claimed that the way forward was not a return to a primitive state that rejected scientific advances, but rather through a long and arduous process of additional practice, refinement and (most importantly) experimentation.

Bruce Lee sketching on the set for Game of Death. Photograph: Bruce Lee Estate. Source: The Guardian.

Conclusion: Walking On

While interesting on a technical level, its also important to think about the social implications of all of this. The claim that the only true knowledge which is possible is self-knowledge, gained through extensive practice and experimentation, is most likely to be attractive to individuals who feel themselves to be alienated from other sources of social power or meaning. Indeed, the basic ideas about self-actualization that Lee draws on have their origins in China’s martial arts sub-cultures which often acted as an alternate means of self-creation for marginal individuals within Chinese society.

As I have argued at length elsewhere, this would have been the context in which Lee first saw the martial arts being taught in Ip Man’s school to a generation of often angry, surprisingly alienated, young men in the Hong Kong of the 1950s. Lee’s contribution was to take this basic pattern and to combine it with the philosophical and counterculture currents of his own day in such a way that westerners could access this same technology of self-creation.

The 1970s, when the Chinese martial arts first exploded into popular consciousness, was a volatile decade. Globalization in trade markets was causing economic pain and increased income inequality at home at the same time that some western nations faced both security challenges and open conflict abroad. Nor did the gains of the civil rights movement in the US ensure the spread of racial harmony. Everywhere one looked traditional social institutions seemed to be under attack and society was struggling to produce new ways of understanding and coping with these challenges. Given these structural factors, it is not surprising that Lee’s onscreen presence and martial arts philosophy (to the extent that it was known at the time) had a profound effect on a generation of seekers looking for a new set of tools in their quest for self-production.

In many respects we seem to be entering a similar era. Clearly the situation today is not identical. The Cold War is gone, and an information and service based economy has replaced the manufacturing one (at least in the West). Yet many of the more fundamental concerns remain the same. Economic insecurity, militarism abroad and social conflict at home are once again challenging basic notions of what our nations stand for. Levels of public trust in a wide range of institutions has reached an all time low, and social organizations that once supported vibrant communities in past eras are struggling to survive.

Indeed, many of these factors are directly challenging the economic health and social relevance of the traditional martial arts today. Yet where large schools might falter one wonder’s if we are not seeing a renewed opportunity for the expansion of Lee’s ethos of individual struggle, experimentation and practice. If nothing else the recent discussion of Daniel Wu by the advertisers at AMC could be seen as evidence that there is a hunger for the renewal (and expansion) of the sort of revolution that Lee originally introduced to the West in the 1970s.

As the needs of students and audiences change I fully expect that the ways in which we see Bruce Lee will continue to evolve. That is the sign of a healthy discourse, and it suggests that Lee might be just as important for understanding the current situation within the martial arts community as its mid-twentieth century history. Given the cultural moment that we now find ourselves in, Lee’s promise of self-creation and his basic philosophy seem more important than ever. And as long as his achievements continue to be the yardstick by which each new “revolution” in the martial arts is measured, it seems likely that the memory of the Little Dragon will indeed live to see its 100th Birthday.

oOo

If you enjoyed this post you might also want to read: Two Encounters with Bruce Lee: Finding Reality in the Life of the Little Dragon

oOo

Research Notes: Judo’s Triple Transformation in The China Press (1932)

Posted on 19 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

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

Doing the Homework

Students of Martial Arts Studies are the fortunate few. As research areas go, ours is pretty interesting. Yet as I review the literature (even recent publications from big name academic presses), it is clear that many of us are not making the most of our good fortune. There seems to be a tendency to approach the literature in narrow slices and not to look for the sorts of insights that are frequently turned up in broader, more comparative, explorations. The pie can be sliced in a variety of ways. Students of Japanese martial studies rarely deal with concepts and theories laid out in works on the Chinese styles. The literatures on combat sports and traditional arts often seem to run on parallel tracks. And there is always room for a more substantive engagement between the theoretical and historical wings of the literature.

So here is my pre-Thanksgiving public service announcement: When offered pie, always eat more than one slice. Bringing multiple lens to an investigation leads to more insightful conclusions. Beyond that, it makes the process of doing research richer and more intellectually fulfilling.

Still, we all have blind spots. As I was reviewing folders of research materials, it occurred to me that I may have created the mistaken impression that the English language treaty port newspapers in cities like Shanghai or Beijing only discussed Chinese fighting systems. Over the last few years we have examined dozens of articles in which Chinese hand combat systems were presented to a global audience during the 1920s and 1930s. Doing so is helpful as it problematizes the often-heard trope that the Chinese martial arts were unknown to Westerners prior to the 1960s, or that everything about these arts has been shrouded in impenetrable secrecy. In fact, both KMT officers and private instructors worked (with mixed success) to publicize China’s reformed and modernized physical culture as a way of demonstrating to the world the reformed and modernized nature of the Chinese state.

Focusing on these conversations has been valuable. Yet it must be remembered that all of this was only one aspect of a much larger exploration of the martial arts and combat sports which one could find in these same newspapers. While it is easy to focus only on the guoshu or taijiquan articles, in truth these pieces need to be read in conjunction with the frequent discussions of the Japanese martial arts, accounts of vaudeville style strongmen acts, and articles on western style boxing events which also appeared in the same pages. It is all too easy to inadvertently create a siloed vision of cultural history in which boxing, kung fu and judo all existed in their own isolated spheres. In truth they all competed for exposure within the pages of China’s treaty port press.

In an effort to correct this bias I would like to introduce one of the more interesting Republic era articles on the Japanese martial arts that I have come across. Judo is frequently mentioned in these pieces. We can even find several glowing accounts of judo exhibitions in Shanghai in this era. Likewise, Chinese martial arts reformers often turned to judo as a symbolic foil for their rivalry with Japan. The following article, on the other hand, is interesting as the Japanese origins of judo have been almost totally erased. Indeed, the Western appropriation of judo as a means of self-defense is so complete that the Japanese are barely mentioned, while cities like New York and Paris are looked to as centers of martial excellence.

Nor is this the only transformation which readers will detect. While Kano Jigoro opened his practice to women fairly early, the vast majority of Japanese judo students in the 1930s were men. Indeed, these were men often bound for service in the Japanese military. They had well developed ideas about cultivating a certain sort of masculinity which would be placed in the service of the state. In contrast, the current article goes to great lengths to present judo as an exclusively female practice. More specifically, it was framed as a tool of urban self-defense and a bulwark against a new “masher” panic. The dojo as a training space, white uniforms, colored belts and other aspects of Kano’s now globally famous practice are totally missing from this discussion. Instead we find a slightly updated take on the pre-war American usage of “jiu-jitsu” to basically signify “dirty fighting.”

All of this is even more interesting as one suspects that these were not errors emerging from ignorance. By the early 1930s judo was a well-established practice in the West. It had been featured in newsreels, books and extensively debated in the sporting press. Just to give us the proper perspective, the current article “introducing” judo was written more than 30 years after Theodore Roosevelt had famously promoted the same practice from his residence in the White House. Well educated Chinese and Western readers living in Shanghai (The China Press’core audience) had ample opportunities to see Japanese demonstration teams as they visited the city on a regular basis. Indeed, the Japanese invasions of Manchuria (1931) and Shanghai (1932) had sparked renewed public debate as to the role of physical education in a state’s battlefield success.

I suspect that this article never dropped Kano’s name, or mentioned black belts, as there was simply no need. All of that was already part of the public consciousness during the 1930s. It instead focused on the topic of women’s self-defense as that was both timely (note the repeated references to Vivian Gordon’s murder in New York City), and front-page images of petite women throwing men around like rag dolls was sure to sell papers.

It is important to take note of a few other topics that are missing from this article as well. To begin with, The China Presswas a pro-KMT newspaper with a liberal editorial line. It ran more (glowing) stories about the guoshu, and China’s martial practices more generally, than any other Republican era paper that I have studied. Its editors never missed an opportunity to note that China was the true home of jiu jitsu, or to publicize the latest Jingwu demonstration. It is thus remarkable that there is no mention of the Chinese martial arts anywhere in this piece.

While the photographs and writing style suggests that this may have originally been a newswire article intended for an American audience, I doubt that this is the entire story. Given the levels of outrage directed at the Japanese in 1931 and 1932, it probably would have been impossible to run an article that lauded any practice with Japanese roots in such a “patriotic” paper. Yet by completely erasing Japanese culture and martial values from the discussion of judo, effectively transforming the art into a primarily female, and Western practice, the editors may have gotten the best of all possible worlds. On the one hand they could run a sensational front-page article that would sell lots of papers. At the same time, they could appropriate an important marker of Japanese masculinity and militarism, presenting it as a cosmopolitan and almost exclusively feminine practice. One can only guess how thrilled the Japanese military officers and government staff in Shanghai were to see this treatment of their national art.

Still, this was by no means a negative portrayal of the art. One of the things that struck me as I read this piece was the extensive “how to” section at the end. Such discussions are so common in Western martial arts conversations that they are easy to dismiss. Yet they were quite rare in the pages of China’s English language treaty port press.

While these papers ran hundreds of articles on the Chinese martial arts, I don’t think I have once seen them undertake a detailed discussion about a specific Chinese technique. Instead demonstrations or systems were discussed in general terms for the edification of the reader, but not their education. While there was some training of foreign students in martial arts classes in China in the 1930s, buy in large this didn’t seem to be something that many people (either Western or Chinese) were interested in. Yet this article clearly suggests that judo is something Western women can (and should) learn. That seems to be a frank admission that while Chu Minyi and other reformers had hoped to make the Chinese martial arts a modern and cosmopolitan practice, it was Japan that had actually succeeded. Nevertheless, we as readers are left to ask if the following vision of judo remains in any way Japanese?

Here’s “Judo”, the Newest Art of Self-Defense Against Mashers

The China Press, Feb, 3 1932. Page A1

Curious Details of the Smashing Surpise Receptions American and English Girls are Planning for “Catch-as-Catch-Can” Masculine Admirers.

“Wreck the necker!”

This warlike cry has gone up on both sides of the Atlantic since judo, an improved version of Jiu Jitsu, was perfected recently. Jiu Jitsu has always been primarily a man’s sport but judo is for women only. It enables the frailest flower of femininity to throw and knock out a burly assailant with ease and dispatch.

Women’s judo clubs are being formed in New York and other American cities. In England enthusiastic feminine exponents of the method of self-defense against the Mashers have formed a team that is touring France, Germany and other European countries, giving exhibitions of this tricky and fascinating new art of self-defense.

Slight pressure of the fingers applied at the right moment, combined with sudden twists of the body by a judo expert, often results in broken limbs for the assailant. There is no question that if judo’s popularity continues to increase at its present rate the obnoxious masher species may soon entirely disappear. Certainly nothing yet devised discourages the male flirt so quickly as a dislocated arm, or a broken head followed by several months in a jail or hospital.

Any close student of the subject will tell you how easily not only serious injury, but death, may come to the unwary roughneck who chooses to inflict his unwanted attentions upon a girl schooled in the far from gentle craft of judo. A single lightening quick arm thrust from a girl who “knows her stuff” is sufficient in most cases to discourage any masher. The young lady trained in Judo tactics may be outweighed by a hundred pounds and look as defenseless as a fawn but when she goes into action Mt. Necker had better run.

A famous Japanese wrestling champion once said that homicide committed by jiu jitsu provides “a lovely death, no pains from bullets, knives or violence, You just fade out in a pleasant dream—and don’t know that perhaps you will never wake again.” The newly-perfected science of judo is equally effective in producing lethal effects although the physical instructors who teach it are careful to exclude the death dealing holds from their curriculum.

Unlike most forms of combat, judo’s effectiveness depends ironically enough on the strength and intensity of attack of one’s opponent. The more powerful he is and or furiously he falls upon his intended victim, the more serious his injuries are going to be.

Certainly no more astonishing surprise could be imagined. Instead of screaming and shrieking the young woman who knows judo outdoes the masher at his own game. With a minimum of effort, she can throw the strongest “he-man,” laugh at his efforts to embrace her and continue on her way, unmolested and at her leisure.

The underlying principal of this science is balance. In judo it is vastly more important to control perfectly one’s posture than to have building muscles and enormous energy. Japanese physical culturalists tell us that a “man without balance has no strength.” This is particularly true in jiu jitsu and judo. The very first thing the beginner learns is to change an opponent’s posture while maintaining her own. This is done by maneuvering him to his heels and toes, which enables one to throw him with little exertion.

As a typical example of the judo science, let us take a girl weighing about 110 pounds and say a husky 190 pound man has seized her throat in both hands. Now the ordinary young woman, unschooled in judo, would naturally concentrate her efforts on attempts to tear his hands from her throat. The judo adept, however, would waste no time and strength on such a futile task.

Her technique, though simple, would be amazingly effective. Her first move would be to take a short step backwards with her left foot. This will bring the attacker’s balance to his toes, naturally weakening his equilibrium.

Next, she would quickly swing her right arm sharply across his left arm, pivoting her right toe and bringing her right shoulder forward. Her arm would pass close to her face until her right shoulder touches her chin. In that position she would exert irresistible leverage on the man’s wrist with her shoulder. This will break any grip, no matter how powerful, with the result that her assailant must fall slightly forward with face unguarded, leaving him a ready target for an elbow jolt to the face or a paralyzing cut on the back of the head.

If Vivian Gordon, the New York girl who was strangled to death in a taxi cab some time ago, had known such elementary judo moves she might have outwitted her slayer and escaped a gruesome fate.

The larger picture in the upper right half of the page shows a young woman swinging a husky male over her hip. The uninformed may well ask how this slight girl could carry a powerful man off his feet and throw him to the ground.

The answer is judo and a perfect sense of timing and balance. You will notice that the girl in the photograph is bending forward. The man had come up behind her and seized her by the throat. But she shot her head and shoulders sharply forward, throwing his weight on his toes and off balance. Seizing his shoulders, she adroitly rolled him over her hips. The picture was snapped just as she was about to throw him to the ground.

Perhaps you have seen one acrobat on the stage holding three or four partners on his shoulders. Ordinary men cannot do this, of course, because they have not studied the science of balance and timing. The acrobat has learned to distribute the weight of his companions evenly, to assume a posture that enables him to lift and hold an enormous number of pounds and to time his efforts so that his powers are never overtaxed. Strength is vital, but alone it is not enough. Until he has mastered these twin sciences his efforts at great weight-lifting will fail.

The same holds true of the judo students. The two photographs in the half center of this page demonstrate the ease with which a judo expert can disarm and knock down a stick-wielding assailant. In one picture you see her catching his arm just above the elbow. Her judo instructors have taught her that holding an arm above the shoulder greatly weakens the arm’s powers of resistance. Placing her knee behind his right leg she pushes his arm backwards until he is off balance. With this accomplished, she finds sending him backwards over her extended knee is child’s play.

Another photo on this page illustrates another effective judo maneuver that can be used when the assailant comes up behind his intended victim and seizes her by the throat. Instead of trying to wriggle from his strong grip, the girl merely grasps his elbows and bends quickly forward, catapulting him over her head and shoulders. This is called the shoulder throw.

Brutal attackers often use the chancery hold, which consists of encircling the victim’s neck with one arm and battering her face with the other fist. Judo teaches girls how to break easily this painful hold. If the assailant has gripped her neck in his left arm and strikes her face with his right fist, she reaches quickly up his back and over his right shoulder with her right hand and places the inner edge of her finger under his nose, where there is an extraordinarily sensitive nerve center. Pressing on this diagonally towards the back of the head will quickly cause the fellow to release his grip.

The next move is to extend the pressure backwards and downwards. If at the same time the girl grips him under the knee, raising him upward and forward, the gentleman will soon be spilled upon the ground with much violence.

The photograph depicting the young woman jamming the heel of her hand against the man’s chin demonstrates the perfect counter offensive against the mashers who sieze women about the waist. You can be sure when the roughneck caress is returned in this manner the likelihood of a repetition of the Casanova tactics is very small.

Possibly the most spectacular of the group of extraordinary photographs is the one which portrays the young woman lying on the ground and kicking her surprised assailant in the stomach. In this case the girl has fallen backwards to the ground, pulling the man into a flying fall. As she fell, she drew up her foot and, on reaching the ground, she sent him sprawling over her head with a powerful and well-directed kick to his abdomen.

This startling defense should only be employed by experts who have been adequately instructed in the science of relaxing. Like football coaches, the teachers of this new art and fascinating study teach their students to go limp when falling. A limp body does not strike the ground with half the violence that a stiff one does.

When Benny Leonard was the world’s Lightweight Boxing Champion he often attributed much of his extraordinary punching powers to his knowledge of anatomy. He exactly knew what spot to hit and consequently opponents crumpled up before what seemed likely fairly light punches. A knowledge of anatomy is even more necessary to girl judo experts than it is to boxers.

The new judo vogue began by a woman who saw in it a chance to reduce the ever-growing number of fatalities and injuries suffered by girls attacked in lonely sections of towns and cities. Certainly it equips young women with an excellent defense against the cave-man tactics of roughneck admirers.

oOo

If you enjoyed this article you might also want to read: Addiction, Wellness and Martial Arts

oOo

Swords, Visuality and the Construction of China

Posted on 16 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Chinese soldier photographed by Harrison Forman. While part of a series of issues distributed in 1938 captions indicate that these images were probably taken in the early 1930s. Source: The Forman Collection in the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee Digital Archives.

Deciphering an Icon

Recently I came across a few of Harrison Forman’s wartime photos, probably taken in the early 1930s, but circulated to newspapers and (re)published in 1938. While his photos of militia groups following the 8^thRoute Army (discussed here) remain less well known, these particular images have gained a quasi-iconic status. I suspect that they, and other similar images, helped to define popular Western notions of China’s struggle during the late 1930s. This also makes them of interest to students of Martial Arts Studies as they prominently feature swords and what appears to be a display of China’s traditional military culture.

Still, as I reviewed these photos I found myself wondering what was really going. Were these images actually taken in the field? Or were they composed by Forman himself? And if latter, how were such images of martial masculinity meant to be read? Why do so many of Forman’s photographs, as well as other images from the period, go to such great lengths juxtaposing the coexistence of “modern” military weapons with “traditional” martial culture, squeezing both elements into ever more complex symbolic frames? Lastly, what does this suggest about the ways in which the Republic era revival of the martial arts was used to shape China’s image on the global stage?

To fully answer these questions, we may need to compare Forman’s photos to some less well-known images of Chinese soliders collected and distributed in the late Qing and early Republic period. Doing so suggests the existence of certain key symbols which quickly gained a remarkable degree of stability in the popular imagination. Yet while the image of a Chinese soldier or martial artists holding an oversized blade has been stable, its social meaning has varied greatly. Many players, both within and outside of China, have deconstructed and contested these images. Controlling the visuality of the martial arts has been a key tool in a series of debates about the nature of the Chinese state and nation. A few of the ideas of the theorist Rey Chow may help to launch this investigation.

The Eternal Swordsman

Few images within the Chinese martial arts have proved more durable than the traditionally trained swordsman openly practicing his trade in the age of the gun. He can be seen everywhere, from Japanese postcards to Hong Kong kung fu films. But what sort of “person” is this individual?

Thomas Taylor Meadows, a British officer stationed in China during the Taiping Rebellion, was among the first to reflect on this question as he observed numerous skirmishes and battles. In one section of his best-known work, The Chinese and Their Rebellions, he sought to rebut the commonly held Western beliefs that 1) all Chinese individuals have similar personalities 2) that as a group they are more cowardly than Europeans and shied away from combat.

In an attempt to negate both views he relates to his readers a curious incident of “War Dancing” (what we would term the performance of a solo martial arts set) in the middle of a fire fight which he observed as both rebel troops (who held the city) and imperial soldiers contested control of a graveyard outside of Shanghai. Meadows set the scene by describing the artillery and armaments of both sides. By this point in the war both parties were armed primarily with Western cannons, state of the art European made muskets and a surprising number of revolvers. He described the order of battle as being similar to that seen in the Crimean War with heavy volleys of fire being exchanged between groups of soldiers who were either sheltered behind the city’s walls, or moving between “rifle pits” and the sorts of cover that the graveyard landscape afforded. All of this was very similar to what one might have observed in a European conflict of the time.

Yet similar should never be confused with identical. While playing no part in the actual siege, Meadows notes that “cold weapons” were evident on the battlefield. One Imperial spearman, having nothing to contribute to an exchange of gun fire, took shelter behind a building with Meadows and other Chinese onlookers. Another soldier, armed with a sword and rattan shield, approached the battle differently. He walked out into an open area (where a companion was firing a musket at rebel forces) and proceeded to demonstrate his sword set, all while shouting insults at the enemy, slashing at imaginary opponents and tumbling over his shield.

On a substantive level he contributed little to the battle. Indeed, one suspects that most such skirmishes were actually decided by the artillery. Nor was this individual the lone exception. Meadows told his story because he believed it would convey something about the nature of the conflict to his readers back in the UK. Very similar reports were also lodged by British soldiers involved in the First and Second Opium Wars in Southern China, and much later by units participating in the costly march on Beijing during the Boxer Rebellion. It is an often overlooked fact that by 1900 the Imperial Chinese troops had weapons just as advanced as any of the Western nations that came to save the Legation. Yet battlefield martial arts displays, usually attributed to “possessed Boxers,” remained fairly common. All of this seems to bear an uncanny resemblance to Forman’s much later photograph.

Accounts such as these are why so many Westerners became obsessed with the image of the sword wielding Chinese boxer, soldier or pirate. The basic image might be labeled in a variety of ways. Yet in each case it seems to have invoked the same combination of fascination and disgust. It would be more difficult to think of a better example of Rey Chow’s critique of “visualism,” in which modernity functions by reducing people or ideas into two dimensional depictions, than the early 20^thcentury explosion of photographs of Chinese men wielding swords.

Such images facilitated the mental, and then political, classification of China, justifying its imperial occupation. A close reading suggests that many of these classifications rest on seeming contradictions. While focusing on men, their subjects are emasculated through an association with obsolete technology, poverty or backwards superstitions. Chinese territory is potentially dangerous, yet in need of Western protection and guidance. And when modern weapons occur in an image, rather than focusing our attention on the breakneck speed of social change, the existence of traditional tools subconsciously reinforces the notion that China is somehow eternal. A land without history can never change. It is a country without a future.

Late Qing portrait of the Changtu Prefect and his personal guard. Photographer unknown (at least by me).

Such notions would likely have been projected onto this image by early 20^thcentury Western viewers as well. Once again, notice the prominent juxtaposition of modern (Western) weapons with their traditional (Chinese) counterparts. Judging from the legible inscriptions in this photograph, Douglas Wile has concluded that it is a portrait of the Prefect of Changtu (now part of Liaoning Province) and his personal guard. Obviously, such an image would have been taken prior to the 1911 revolution.

At that time the long Mauser rifles with WWI era “roller-coaster” sights seen in this photo would have been state of the art. And having a couple of guys with halberds standing at a door or gate would also have made a lot of sense. Yet one suspects that rather than a well-armed bodyguard, post-Boxer Rebellion viewers would likely have seen one more piece of evidence of a nation incapable of change. In certain quarters such images (invoking fears of beheadings for minor offenses) were taken as powerful justifications for the preservation of Western legal privileges (such as extra-territoriality) and even colonial “guardianship.” The observation and dissemination of images of the “traditional” martial arts was often coopted by the forces of imperial discourse. That is vital to remember as it strongly suggests that there was nothing inevitable about the reemergence of similar images in the post-WWII era as anchors of the post-colonial discourse. Bruce Lee probably would have played quite different to audiences in 1901.

The production and widespread dissemination of such images in the early 20^thcentury opened Chinese society to conflicting social pressures. On the one hand there was immense pressure to “modernize,” making the nation equal to the Western powers. This would mean discarding much or all of China’s traditional culture. Yet Chow has also warned her readers of another danger in these situations. As “ethnic” individuals in colonial situations grapple with the meaning of their identity, perhaps by trying to find domestic sources of pride or strength necessary to resist imperialism in their own autobiographies, they risk internalizing the dominant critique of their culture and performing an increasingly two dimensional act of what was once an authentic culture as they respond to a set of critiques that were likely based on (malicious) misunderstandings.

A vintage Japanese postcard showing images (likely taken in the late teens or twenties) of “Big Sword Units training their bravery.”

Perspective matters. And it is interesting to think about the role of both bodily experience and cultural expectations in shaping one’s perspective. Meadows wrote in an era when it was increasingly evident swords had little utility on the battlefield, but they were still very much part of Western 19^thcentury military life. By the Republican era that had changed. The Japanese situation was more complicated.

Our next image was taken from a Japanese postcard, probably produced during the 1920s, which shows Chinese soldiers, dressed in smart civilian clothing, demonstrating their sword forms. We have already read numerous accounts of demonstrations such as these (particularly those staged by General Ma), but it is interesting to see that Japanese publishers decided that there was an market for such an image at home.

The Japanese discourse towards China in the 1920s and 1930s was much more belligerent than anything seen in the West. One need not carefully analyze their literature or trade practices for hints of imperialist discourses. You only needed to watch where their armies marched or read their formal diplomatic declarations. This is not to say that their popular culture was not of immense interest. Japanese youth literature of the period tended to portray China as a land of adventure where adventurous boys could not just serve the nation, but prove their worth. And the increasing militancy of government mandated martial arts practice in Japanese schools helped to ensure that the nation’s youth would be prepared to do just that.

It goes without saying that within this internal nationalist discourse the sword (or more properly, the katana) meant something entirely different from what it signaled on the pages of the North China Herald or New York Times. While a traditional symbol, it did not denote national backwardness. Rather, it was a symbol of national identity. And it became the vessel for much more positive cultural content. It represented the notions of sacrifice, spiritual determination and individual physical strength placed in the service of the nation. It represented that aspect of primoradial Japanese identity that both made it distinct, but also well suited for global competition among its national peers.

One byproduct of mandating years of state sponsored kendo or judo training was the creation of a large number of individuals who were bound to be at least somewhat curious about Chinese martial practice. One suspects that the young men who collected these postcards may have been intrigued by images of solo-forms practice (rare in modern kendo), and the different sabers favored by the Chinese. Yet it is highly unlikely that such an image would have struck them as a symbol of national backwardness. Indeed, the Chinese soldiers in this image were dressed much more “progressively,” and in a more Western manner, than Japanese Kendo students.

Such an image, while highlighting differences in national martial practices, likely would have suggested the existence of the sort of cultural affinities that supported the logic of Japan’s desired “co-prosperity” sphere. Once again, images of the Chinese martial arts might be used to undermine notions of China’s national independence, but now for very different reasons. Rather than pointing to the backwardness of these practices, the Japanese could instead claim to be best positioned to promote their future development.

A second angle of Forman’s iconic photo, this time with an improved and more dynamic composition. Source: The Forman Collection at the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee library.

All of this may be part of the answer to our initial question. Yet we still have not considered the evolving Chinese interpretation of this key image, or what they might gain from cooperating in its reproduction and global distribution. The Japanese postcard is important as it suggests that such images did not actually undermine one’s claim to modernity, or legitimacy within the nation state system, in an absolute sense. Even more important than the production of these images was how their interpretation was negotiated, destabilized, contested and claimed on the world stage. This was a project that an increasing number of Chinese reformers would turn their attention to in the 1920s and 30s, re-entering a space that had been largely dominated by outside voices since the Boxer Uprising.

Much like the Japanese architects of Budo, Chinese social reformers carefully searched their history and culture for the tools to resist imperialism. Part salvage project, and part nation building exercise, such impulses had given rise to the “self-strengthen” movement in the late 19^thcentury which saw in the martial arts strategies for resisting the West through “Yin power.” Later (in the 1920s and 30s) similar impulses would be promoted by the “national essence” and guoshu reformers.

Yet just as Chow warned, the harnessing of Yin power was first premised on the acceptance of often skewed externally inspired narratives of national weakness. It is well worth remembering that it was Chinese journalists and intellectuals who harped on the image of “the sick man of Asia”, not their counterparts in New York or London. The promotion of China’s “traditional” martial arts seemed a ready-made cure for this self-imposed cultural syndrome.

Many of China’s more liberal reformers disagreed with these prescriptions. Accepting that superstition and backwardness were at the root of China’s weakened state, the May 4^th Reformers favored a much more enthusiastic embrace of Western social, economic and cultural institution. They were inherently suspicious of attempts to save China’s future by reimagining what its past practices had been. The disastrous events of the Boxer Uprising were still too fresh in their minds to embrace Jingwu’s (or later guoshu’s) promises of a modernized and reformed martial art placed at the disposal of the nation. Chow’s work on the various strategies involved in the construction of “ethnic images” would seem to be a fruitful place to begin to untangle the debate between these two factions as to what role (if any) the martial arts should play in the creation of New China.

All of this suggests a new perspective from which to view Forman’s original photograph. KMT officials and the guoshu reformers embraced the traditional martial arts because they saw in them a chance to disrupt Western expectations about Chinese society. Yes, domestic unity and nation building were their primary goals. Yet the KMT constructed a public diplomacy campaign around guoshu (foreshadowing in significant ways the PRC’s current wushu strategy) because they perceived an opening to demonstrate-through staged spectacle and newspaper story-that China was in fact strong, courageous, and modern. Better yet, it possessed a unique culture capable of making important contributions to global discussions.

It is interesting to read Forman’s photograph within the framework of that ongoing contest of ideas. The old and new are contrasted not just within the right and left side of the frame, but even within the two halves of the swordsman’s body. In one hand he holds a dadao, China’s now iconic sword. In the other we see Mauser 88 rifle (either a Chinese produced copy or an imported German model). While it is often claimed that the dadao was issued only because the Chinese were too poor to produce modern rifles, this photo problematizes such statements.

While genetically descendent from the Mauser rifles carried by the private bodyguards seen above, it should be noted that these examples have been altered in significant ways. The barrels are shorter, carbine length, conversions and the complex WWI era sights have been replaced with something simpler and lower profile. In short, the Chinese small arms seen in this photo are more or less identical to the modified bolt action rifles then being issued by countries like Japan, Germany, the USSR and the UK. Clearly this soldier does not cling to his dadao out of sheer necessity. In this photograph it serves another purpose.

The fact that this image exists in two forms (one with two soldiers, the other with three) confirms our initial suspicions that the composition is an artificial one arranged by Forman, rather than a spontaneous display of Chinese martial culture. As such we must begin to consider how its creator meant for this image to be read by the public.

The University of Wisconsin Milwaukie archives (which holds the original version of this image) have also preserved three of the original captions that it was distributed with. Editors who bought the image through a newswire service were free to choose any of these when they ran the photo. Interestingly, each of captions reads slightly differently. The first view is the most negative, placing the sword within the symbolic realm of backwardness and superstition. In many ways it is a continuation of press traditions from the turn of the century.

Caption 1: “The ‘big sword man’ as the symbol of the warrior of traditional China. He was brave, agile, and fought his enemy hand-to-hand. He lasted into the twentieth century, gradually accepting the rifle as a weapon for modern warfare. The Japanese invasion of China in 1931 finally convinced the Chinese to discard the outmoded ‘big sword,’ even as a secondary weapon as here shown in the invasion of Manchuria.”

These observations notwithstanding, the dadao remained common throughout WWII. Produced in large numbers by innumerable small shops, they were issued both to second line militia units as well as to fully equipped professional troops who carried them as the Chinese answer to the Japanese Katana or the British/Indian/Nepalese Kukri (a topic near and dear to my own heart). Given that American newspapers were full of headlines about China’s “big sword troops” in 1938, I am not sure how many editors would have decided to run this caption.

The second possibility reads as follows: “’The Spirit of Ancient China.’ Big Swordmen -great hand-to-hand fighters, in the old traditional manner – with a modernly equipped trooper of Chiang Kai-shek’s famed 88^thDivision. (Photographed in North Station).”

This caption is interesting as it begins the process of presenting the dadao to the Western reader in a “spiritualized” fashion. Yet it is still fit within the Western motif of romanticism for “vanishing China.” Regardless, it is difficult to accept that this individual is fully representative of that past as he too carries a rifle identical to that possessed by the “modernly equipped trooper.”

Finally, the third and most interesting caption reads: “The Spirit of Ancient China! – The fellow with the big sword. In the crook of his arm is modern China – the trooper with the steel helmet and modern rifle. Together they oppose Japan.”

Here we begin to see what Forman may have intended with the curious composition of this photograph. Rather than invoking the historical memory of accounts like that by Meadows, his meaning was more symbolic. One soldier, representing the national essence, spread a protective arm (holding a highly symbolic weapon) over the head of his comrade busily taking aim at an (imaginary) opponent. This photography was never intended to be a historical, let alone an ethnographic, document. Rather it was a symbolic argument about the relationship between the Chinese nation and the state. In the great debate over the shape of “New China,” Forman was making clear his sympathies with the national essence position.

Soldiers demonstrating a dada set before a crowd celebrating the donation swords and helmets to the war effort.

Conclusion

This global rehabilitation of the Chinese sword in the Republic era suggest that the government’s “Kung Fu diplomacy” efforts paid off. Once a symbol of backwardness within an imperialist discourse, by 1938 it was at least possible to see a sword wielding soldier as a symbol of national strength. Of course Westerners were also fascinated with the Japanese katana, and that seems to have provided a mental map for bringing the dadao back into the political lexicon.

The fact that three possible captions were circulated with this iconic image is an important reminder that symbols are never self-interpreting. Each image holds many possible meanings, some of which overlap, while others may even contradict. While the Chinese swordsman has proved to be surprisingly resilient, his meaning has been far from stable. Various political and social reformers (not to mention martial artists) have attempted to destabilize, contest and renegotiate this figure. While the reproduction of “ethnic images” was conserved, the political implications that they have carried over the 20^thcentury has varied drastically.

Likewise, the meaning, values and goals of the martial arts are not set in stone. While certain bodily techniques may be stable over a period of 100 years or more, their social function and meaning has changed. They too have been subject to successive rounds of destabilization, negotiation and interpretation. If surveyed over a period of one or two centuries, a wide variety of period practitioners would likely agree on the appearance of the Chinese martial arts, but would hotly debate their meaning or purpose. Chow’s theories of ethnicity and visuality suggest some of the reasons why that would likely be the case.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: Yim Wing Chun and the “Primitive Passions” of Southern Kung Fu

oOo

The Last Shall be First: Finding Meaning in the Martial Arts

Posted on 12 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

A foreign martial arts teacher practices at Wudang. Source:

Barnum’s Daughter

I was recently watching the news when I saw a brief segment on “the last” Japanese swordsmith. The whole things is a little overwrought as there are lots of individuals making swords in Japan today, and (multiple) government offices in place to make sure that they will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. While alarmist, I am no longer surprised by this sort of rhetoric. For better or worse, it has become a defining feature of the modern martial arts and all of the other cultural practices that are associated with them. I usually just brush it off. Yet it can be jarring to those who have less experience with it.

By any metric Heather* is a pretty worldly individual. A Hollywood veteran and longtime producer of reality TV shows (touching on everything from home improvement to dating contests), she could only be described as a modern daughter of P. T. Barnum. She can regale one with tales of writing room misbehavior or the wholesale fabrication of budget numbers on those home renovation shows that dominate the American dream. She had recently “retired” and moved to Ithaca to take up a teaching position, and at the time of this conversation we lived in the same apartment complex.

Heather approached me on her bike as I was working through a new jian (double edged straight sword) set. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a martial artist!” she proclaimed. “That is what finally chased me out of TV.” Asking for clarification it turned out that it was not actually Wudang Jian that had done her in. Rather, she had been working on the project titled “The Last Samurai”* when she finally decided to retire. I asked her to explain, which she did at length, finally concluding

“Look, I don’t know anything about the martial arts, but I know a racket when I see one. That guy wasn’t “the last Samurai.” What does it even mean to be a “Samurai” in Japan today? And God only knows how any of this could have been significant to the poor kids we dragged over there to meet him.”

After pausing to ruminate she continued, “That was how I knew it was time to get out. Sure, the dating shows are all staged, and no one has yet pulled a dish out of the oven that actually looks like it does on the Food Network. I could do all of that. But when it came to martial arts documentaries, it was a sign. I just knew I couldn’t do this anymore. That’s when I knew it was time to do something real, and finally put my MFA to good use.”

I had never heard this part of Heather’s story before and stood there at an actual loss for words. After a career spent fabricating the budgets of home improvement shows, it was martial arts mythmaking that finally brought down a jaded Hollywood producer.

A trip to any public park in China would seem to indicate that the average of traditional martial artists is increasing. At the same time these individuals may have a greater need for strong social networks and more resources to devote to finding them.

The Last Masters

As I reflected on the recent story of the “last” Japanese swordsmith (who, I suppose, is responsible for outfitting the aforementioned “last” Samurai) it occurred to me that that these were not just any random lineage myths or poorly researched newspaper articles. Rather, they were widely shared stories that lamented or prophesized the end of the martial arts altogether. Indeed, they have acquired the status of cultural touchstones. Both practicing martial artists and the mainstream media seem to relish stories promoting some teacher, or school, as either the first or (more commonly) the last of their kind.

All sorts of practices and institutions come to an end, and yet the media rarely remarks on their passing. The martial arts are, if nothing else, survivors. While the end of the Chinese martial arts has been regularly prophesized since the end of the Ming Dynasty in the 17^thcentury, they are still going strong. Given their frequently predicted demise, on some level I think it would be appropriate to conceptualize the Asian martial arts as a community that exists in a state of perpetual revival (understood in the Religious Studies sense of the word). Yet what makes the image of the end of Kung Fu, the last Viking or the final Samurai so appealing? Where do these images get their emotional appeal, and why are they embraced with seemingly equal enthusiasm by those both within the traditional martial arts community and those who only know these practices through their mediatized image? As we unravel the puzzle of the perpetual demise of the martial arts, we may gain additional insight into the modern social functions which these practices perform.

Yang Style Taiji in Shanghai, 2005. The traditional Chinese martial arts are always forced to create a sheltered space within the larger community. Source: Wikimedia.

“Tradition” as Fetish in the Martial Arts

As we review the various historical essays within Kung Fu Tea’s archive, one might be forgiven for concluding that the Chinese martial arts are not so much a smoothly transmitted system as an assortment of stochastic discontinuities held together by the fervent belief that they ought to be (or at one point in the distant past were) a cohesive whole. I find it useful to sit back and consider how much (or rather, how little) my Wing Chun training (a product of the 1950s) has in common with either the Dadao clubs of the 1930s, or the Red Spear village militias of the 1920s. These two distinct visions of the Chinese martial arts were among the largest social movements of their day. Collectively they trained and organized many millions of people. And yet the Red Spear militias that once rules China’s northern plains seem to have had little impact on the surviving martial arts. If this is true for huge social movements that existed less than 100 years ago, how much further removed is my understanding of the Chinese martial arts from one of Qi Jiguang’s Ming era soldiers, or an ancient scholar-warrior welding a bronze sword?

Nevertheless, the threads of culture provide continuity that bridges our personal, localized or purely internal, experience of reality. It is here, rather than in embodied practice, that scholars might start their search for a more stable understanding of the Chinese martial arts. More specifically, it is within their long tradition of shared stories, literary references, venerated figures, imagined geographies and even values (though these do tend to shift from era to era) that Chinese martial culture finds (and contests) its central coherence. It is within this most basic stratum that our search must begin. And it is here that we first encounter the uniting fear of the “end” of martial practice.

Within a Confucian lineage system intergenerational transmission, whether genetic or social, is the great responsibility. Fathers must have sons to inherit the land, and in turn they must provide sacrifices to the ancestors. Knowledge, which existed in perfect clarity in the past, must be faithfully transmitted. The martial arts, understood as systems of military defense at both the local and imperial levels, was no exception. Driven by the importance of the military examination system, archery manuals became one of the most successful genres of popular literature in the late imperial period. Likewise, the act of boxing is irreducibly social. Neither teacher nor student can exist without the other.

It is thus interesting to note that within the very first stratum of existing Chinese martial arts manuals (16^thcentury) we find authors like Qi Jiguang and Yu Dayou already concerned that the nation’s hand combat practices are in decline and in need of revival. Cheng Zhongyou likewise undertook his important study of the Shaolin pole method both because he wanted to make it available to other members of the gentry seeking to train village militias, but also because he was worried that their “original” method would be lost in a deluge of second-rate imitators. Already within the oldest stratum of printed (sometimes commercially distributed) works on the Chinese martial arts, we see a concern with their end. This is truly remarkable as these same authors (and many other nameless instructors within their generation) were responsible for laying the foundation of the martial arts that we now enjoy today.

This basic complex of social values largely survived the transition to ideological nationalism, and market-based methods of transmission, during the late Qing and early Republic period. In the period of “self-strengthening” (1860s-1890s) the entire nation was seen as under threat, and the martial arts came to be understood by some individuals as a way of preserving what was essential within Chinese society to resist the West. Thus fears about the disappearance of boxing could be mapped directly onto a larger historical dilemma. Likewise, Republic era reformers sought to place the traditional martial arts at the disposal of the nation building project, and (drawing on the Japanese example) saw within them the tools necessary to forge China into a single, modern, people. When individuals foresaw or debated the end of boxing, they were at the same time ruminating on the nature of the modern Chinese state, its values, and relationship with society.

Yet such discussions still emerge with some frequency in the Western media and martial arts circles. And it goes without saying that the cultural values that underlay these discussions are quite different from traditional Confucianism’s concerns with faithful transmission on the one hand, or the sorts of all-encompassing nationalisms that characterized the 1930s on the other. Is there a single theoretical lens which we might apply to the narrative of the vanishing Kung Fu master which both explains the popularity of the story today, while still (within reason) shedding some light on its previous manifestations?

Martial arts historians and social theorists alike would probably begin by pointing out that it is quite significant that the West encountered these hand combat systems during the great period of imperial expansion in the late 19^thcentury, and then again during the era of the consolidation of the global financial order in the immediate aftermath of WWII. This suggests that we cannot separate the social function of the martial arts from the emergence of late capitalism and modern consumer culture.

Indeed, modern capitalism plays the pivotal role in the post-WWII dissemination of the Asian martial arts. It gave rise to a set of economic, social and personal insecurities which came to define Western culture, and then promised the delivery of goods, ideas and practices that could solve these same issues. The first two of these issues are perhaps the easiest to understand. The rapid opening of markets to global trade flows always creates sets of winners and losers as the increased flows of new types of goods eliminate some jobs and threaten the fabric of traditional communities. While most individuals will be better off (in the long run) as the national economy expands, they will now be forced to deal with the basic existential questions of life (who am I, what is my purpose) without the support of the types of traditional communities and institutions that sought to provide those answers in the past.

The surplus of goods which modern capitalism facilitates seems to always be accompanied with a deficit in social meaning. Increasingly individuals are left to their own devices to determine what makes them unique, which groups (if any) they are part of, and what larger purpose they are meant to fill. Unsurprisingly individuals seek to find meaning within the sorts of goods and experiences that they consume. For instance, I might signal, and develop, a certain type of identity through the clothing that I wear, the type of car that I drive (or don’t drive), and the hobbies that I fill my free time with.

Yet in a world where everything can be purchased, and any individual with the same set of means might purchase a similar set of goods, how secure is such an identity? The perfectly interchangeable and anonymous nature of markets threatens the ability of these institutions to provide answers for the terrible existential questions of human existence that are always looming in the darkness. One logical response to this is to remove certain goods from the universal marketplace, thus preserving their cultural power by providing a non-economic gateway to their use. This strategy has been seen many times in history, but in the current era it seems to most closely approximate our current anxiety over cultural appropriation.

Several theorists have noted that we respond to the anxieties and threats of the modern consumer society by seeking something that exists beyond mere economic exchange with which to anchor identity. Given their importance to the counter-culture movement of the 1950s-1970s, Asian philosophies, religions and modes of aesthetic expression were often adopted as strategies for resisting the commercialization and hollowing-out of Western life. Chinese Daoism, Japanese film and, of course, the martial arts all exploded into the popular consciousness as a new generation sought to find a better set of values to anchor their lives in a rapidly changing post-War West. Strictly speaking, none of these things were actually “new.” Most of these images and ideas had been available to Westerners since the 1920s. The supply was already present. It was the post-war reevaluation of modern life that provided an explosion of demand.

Nevertheless, one must think carefully about how individuals, from the late 1940s to the early 1960s, actually encountered these ideas and practices. The old standby is to assert that Judo or Karate was popularized by vets returning from the occupation of Japan (or perhaps a stint in Taiwan). There is certainly some truth in this statement. And yet most of the vets who took up martial arts in the 1960s had never been stationed in Okinawa, Japan or Taiwan. Some key individuals and future tastemakers had. Don Draeger and R. W. Smith are both important examples of how a certain vision of the Asian martial arts was exported to the West.

Yet the vast majority of individuals who followed in their virtual footsteps had neither the life experience or financial means to travel East and South East Asia, documenting the martial arts. Some may have encountered aspects of these systems as “dirty fighting” in boot camp. Yet for the most part they came to Judo, Karate and later the Chinese martial arts through newspaper and magazine articles, TV specials and commercial transactions carried out in strip mall dojos dotting the American post-war landscape.

The central paradox of consumer culture is now laid bare. It promises to sell us goods, ideas and practices that can substitute for the loss of older types of community. Yet the very fact that such goods can be purchased by anyone leads us to question their authenticity and efficaciousness. If personal-transformation and escape from the woes of late capitalism can really be purchased for $60 a month, and I hand over my $60, what exactly have I escaped?

Once we have reached this point a variety of thinkers, from Slavoj Zizek to Jean Baurdrillard, could be invoked to help. Zizek’s work on “Western Buddhism” is in many ways particularly relevant here. But I would like to turn to a different source as it brings the discussion back to the frequent appearance of the words “last” and “first” in our discussions of the martial arts. Specifically, Amanda Fernbach’s 2002 Fantasies of Fetishism: From Decadence to the Post-Human (Rutgers UP) deserves consideration.

Specifically, the logic of Fernbach’s argument suggests that procumers (consumers who simultaneously produce Western martial arts culture through their participation in these systems) seek to solve the essential dilemma of counter-culture consumerism by reformulating their practice as a type of fetish. While the martial arts will continue to be distributed through a competitive marketplace this move relieves the latent anxiety about the authenticity of these goods. Specifically, discourses focusing on the origins or ending of an art serve to form a relationship between the practice and its students in which the now fetishized art becomes a powerful tool of its own marketing as well as a symbol of its own legitimacy.

Fernbach notes that the origins of the notion of “fetish” seems to lie in the colonial trade that occurred between Portugal and West Africa. Fetish goods were spiritually powerful, culturally defined, objects which could not be traded. Their exchange lay outside of normal economic channels, and they were believed to have a transformative effect on individuals or communities. Given our attempt to apply all of this to a discussion of the martial arts in the early and mid-twentieth century, it is important to note that the core concept of the fetish really derives from imperialist discourse and denotes an area that is somehow insulated from socially corrosive market forces.

This notion (focusing on the object which resisted exchange) would go on to inform the basic anthropological definition of the fetish which saw them as otherwise mundane objects thought to be endowed with tremendous spiritual powers (often used in worship). More specifically, they could grant great strength or ability to someone with the proper knowledge of their use. Freud took this basic notion and instead focused on the absence, or the fear, that might cause one to seek out a fetish in the first place. Fernbach finds his treatment of the concept wanting in a number of respects.

Karl Marx, on the other hand, found modern fetish goods within the Western economic marketplace. Here the good most certainly exchanges hands through trade. Yet some aspect of its value (perhaps its prestige, or ability to act as a status symbol) might outstrip its actual utilitarian worth. The fetish is thus a second good, encoded in the value of the first, which we might purchase within a marketplace.

Each of these definitions of the fetish are related to the others. Yet the original notion of an area (seemingly) protected from the corrosive effects of trade seems most relevant to what we see-or seek-in modern martial arts. Still, Freud’s very different take on the problem reminds us that what is often most important in understanding human behavior is the fear of the thing that is lacking.

Nor is the Marxist interpretation without some merit. As with any good in the marketplace, one must increase the demand for your product through advertising. Creating discourses that fetishize aspects of the martial arts communicates to consumers that they will receive value that goes above and beyond the simple instruction that we are outwardly paying for. For instance, when I put my child in a Taekwondo class she doesn’t just learn the basic kicks and punches that I am paying for. Undoubtably there will be a brochure in the school’s lobby informing me that she will also gain “self-confidence,” “discipline” and the ability to “work with others.” These are all core social values and a good example of the Marxist theory in action.

Still, I suspect that there is a more primal layer of myth creation that underlies all of this, one better explored through the older anthropological understanding of the fetish. As adult consumers look for a tool of self-actualization, guided perhaps by latent Orientalist notions about a “purer” East, they build a belt of protective fetish fantasies around the martial arts precisely to “save them” from the taint of the mundane. Perhaps the easiest of these fantasies to construct (and hence the most widespread) is that of origins and endings.

Such stories effectively sperate the martial arts from the world of endlessly repeatable consumer consumption by positing the existence of temporal discontinuity. It is time itself (or what Eliade might have called “sacred time”) that places the martial arts beyond the reach of “mere consumerism,” but not actual consumers. That which has vanished from the world can no longer be sold, even if I feel that I can access some aspect of this shared sacred past in my weekly Kung Fu classes. To be on the verge of disappearance is to also to be on the verge of having the sort of cultural surplus that we always bequeath of the long lost masters. To be the “last master” is to be remembered. At least in our more romantic imagination. One suspects that in real life practices vanish precisely because no one cares to remember them at all.

Likewise, something on the verge of extinction is also a candidate for revival. Ip Man became the “grandmaster” not because he was the first, or the best, Wing Chun practitioner. Rather, he was venerated by generations of students in Hong Kong and the West for “saving the art” from extinction. Whether that was actually the case is a topic for another day. But I don’t think that anyone doubts that Ip Man has come to be seen as an epochal figure in the Southern Chinese martial arts that the “generation” of most modern Wing Chun students is now counted from. His career is interesting precisely because it illustrates how closely linked the death and rebirth of an embodied identity can be, not just in historical practice but also in the stories that we come to tell.

Taijiquan teacher and students in a park. Source: http://english.cntv.cn

Conclusion

To be a member of the last (or first) generation of an art is find a place in history that appears to be beyond the whim of market forces. As witness to historical events it is hoped that one gains a sense of identity and purpose. Indeed, one may even wish for a bit of immortality. Given the universal appeal of these outcomes it is perhaps not surprising that media markets, in both the China, Japan and the West, have fetishized the imminent death of the martial arts. This often functions as a democratizing move. Lamenting their passing, or attempting to spark their revival, have become critical modes by which countless students experience these practices. And many more media consumers are exposed to the same feelings (often in a more nationalistic or cultural guise) as they consume news stories about the disappearance of these once great cultural artifacts. When these fetishes are exposed (throwing us back into the “desert of the real”), the result can be the sort of destructive feeling of disillusionment that Heather experienced upon actually coming face to face with Japan’s “last Samurai.”

Any student of martial arts history can illustrate, in great detail, that we are not the first generation to read premature obituaries of Kung Fu’s passing. Nor, through the simple process of extrapolation, are we likely to be the last. Yet when examined through the lens of Fernbach’s theory of the fetish it quickly, becomes apparent that the sorts of popular narratives that we tell about the death and rebirth of the martial arts are very important. The process of fetishization which she outlines (and is particularly amenable to the study of physical or embodied practices) suggests not just a mechanism by which these practices yield real transformative influence on the individual level, but also suggests much about the social ills that they seek to respond to. A theoretically informed examination of the martial arts suggests much about the terrain that lays behind us, and what we might yet become.

*All names and program titles have been changed to protect the innocents.

oOo

If you enjoyed this discussion you might also want to read: Bruce Lee: Memory, Philosophy and the Tao of Gung Fu

oOo

Of Pens and Swords: Jin Yong’s Journey

Posted on 5 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

In recent years Louis Cha’s novels have become subjects for comic book artists.

The Loss of Heroes

The Chinese martial arts community has lost two giants. The death of Rey Chow (who was instrumental in jumpstarting Bruce Lee’s martial arts films) and Louis Cha (who wrote under the name Jin Yong) comes as a double blow. Granted, neither man is remembered primarily as a practitioner of the martial arts. Yet as story tellers they had a huge impact on the development of the shared web of signs, meanings and desires that would shape the development of the Chinese martial art community from roughly the 1950s until the present. As scholars we need to pay close attention to this cultural web as it is the software that structures the human experience. While not strictly determinative, none of us will strive to accomplish that which we cannot imagine.

Both of these figures are deserving of an essay. Yet at the moment I find myself drawn to reflect on Cha. His stature as a literary figure, and frequent forays into modern Chinese politics (both from the editorial page and his service on various governmental committees) are fascinating in their own right. Yet I will admit to having some ambivalence regarding the cultural impact of his novels. To put the question simply, I find myself wondering what Hong Kong’s martial culture would look like today had “Jin Yong” accepted a newspaper job in Taipie in 1947 rather than Hong Kong.

Simply asking such a question smacks of heresy. In many ways Loius Cha is synonymous with Hong Kong, his adopted home. He was the co-founder, and long-time editor, of the Ming Pao daily, a major publication. While Cha is still remembered for his blistering anti-Beijing editorials during the Cultural Revolution, he became the first (non-Communist) Hong Kong resident to meet with Deng Xioping as he sought to steer China on a more open path. And with over 100 million copies sold (not counting untold pirate editions), as well as derivative films, TV programs, radio dramas, comic books and video games too numerous to count, Cha’s novels are quite possibly Hong Kong’s most important cultural export within the Chinese cultural zone. Yet his impact on the Southern Chinese martial arts has been complex.

Perhaps the best way forward would be to review the contours of a remarkable career as we ask how it was that Cha, and a generation of immigrants like him, came to call Hong Kong home. This may suggest something about Cha’s impact on the development of Southern Chinese martial culture in the post-1949 era, as well as the continuing echoes and reverberations of his legacy today.

I should state for the record that I do not claim to be an expert in the analysis, or criticism, of Cha’s work, and have only read a few of his in novels in translation. I am sure that there are others who are better qualified to write an essay such as this. Nor is that admission an artifact of false modesty. The immense popularity of Cha’s novels have actually sparked the creation of an entire academic subfield (some of which even appears in English) dedicated to the study of his legacy. Still, his influence on the world of actual Chinese martial arts practitioners has been so great that I cannot leave his passing in silence. The complexity of his relationship with this community seems to stretch far beyond the platitudes that we encounter in his many newspaper obituaries.

Jin Fong reviewing a copy of his own work. Source: BBC

Making a Hero

Like so many others, Cha first arrived in Hong Kong as a way station as he was headed somewhere else. He was born as Zha Liangyong in 1924 in Zhejiang province. His family had deep, multigenerational, scholarly credentials and it was only natural that Liang would also find a career in literature. But his pathway was far from straight. He exhibited his trademark penchant for fiery political rhetoric as a youth and was expelled from high school in 1941 after publicly denouncing the KMT’s government as “aristocratic”. Indeed, he would continue to identify himself as “anti-feudal” and “liberal” throughout his life.

After graduating from (a different) high school in 1943, Cha was accepted at the Department of Foreign Languages at the Central University of Chongqing. His initial plan was to become a foreign service officer or diplomat. However, he quickly dropped out of this program, and applied to study international law at Soochow University.

To help finance his studies Cha took a job in journalism with a major British owned paper. Fortuitously his company transferred him to the Hong Kong office in 1947. Things did not go well for all of Cha’s family who stayed behind after the Communist takeover in 1949. His father was arrested as a counterrevolutionary and executed in the early 1950s. Critics, like John Christopher Hamm (who has written one of the best English language studies of Cha’s work), note that his early novels are marked with a profound awareness of the plight of exile, alienation and loss. Like so many others who had come to Hong Kong for business or work, it quickly became apparent that there was no going home. Cha would be forced to build a new life in a largely Cantonese city under British colonial rule.

In the early 1950s Cha befriended Chen Wentong, a fellow journalist, who worked at the same paper. He encouraged Cha’s interest in writing and in 1955 (writing under the pseudonym Jin Yong) he began to produce the first of the serialized wuxia novels that would make him famous. In English this story’s title is typically rendered The Book and the Sword.

In 1959 Cha and his high school classmate, Shen Baoxin, established the Ming Pao daily newspaper with Cha serving as editor. The small paper started off as a home for “Jin Yong’s” increasingly popular novels, but it has since grown to be on the largest Chinese daily papers. In its first two decades Cha was responsible for writing not just the serialized novels but also the daily editorials and many small features. It is reported that at times he was publishing more than 10,000 characters a day.

In total Cha produced 14 novels and a single short story under the Jin Yong pseudonym. Then, in 1972, he retired and announced that he would concentrate on consolidating and editing his already extensive literary legacy. This was a complex undertaking as these novels had first appeared as serialized newspaper columns, which operated under their own set of literary conventions. In 1979 Cha released the first “complete and definitive” set of novels, many of which had been streamlined or slightly reworked in the editorial process.

The 1970s-1990s were a period of increased political activity in Cha’s life. He had always maintained an interest in politics (often understood through a more traditional Chinese cultural lens focusing on “the national interest”). Initially this led Cha to make many enemies on the left when he forcefully denounced the Cultural Revolution. Still, his reputation as someone capable of bringing together complex competing perspectives led to an invitation to meet with Deng Xiaoping and his subsequent appointment to the committee drafting Hong Kong’s Basic Law. Cha resigned that position in 1989 in protest over the Tiananmen Square Incident. Yet in 1996 he was once again working on the important Preparatory Committee, prior to the 1997 handover.

Not content to rest on his literary or political laurels, Cha pursued his lifelong fascination with Chinese history by pursuing a Doctorate in Oriental Studies at Cambridge University. His degree was awarded in 2010 when he deposited his dissertation focusing on imperial succession in the early Tang dynasty. Cha remained an important public figure throughout his life and his works have remained popular. A highly publicized English language version of his Condor Heroes series released its first installment in 2018. Cha died on October 30^th2018, at 94, after a long period of illness.

A recent English language translation of one of Louis Cha’s classic Wuxia novels.

Contextualizing a Life

John Christopher Hamm has argued that it is impossible to understand Jin Yong’s meaning or social significance without thinking very carefully about the environment that this literary phenomenon emerged in. Hong Kong’s newspapers were already well acquainted with the notion of serialized martial arts novels well before Cha’s arrival in the city. Indeed, the region had a rich, well-established, tradition of Kung Fu novels stretching back through the 19th century. Many of these were firmly rooted in Cantonese colloquialisms and local heroic figures. While one must be careful not to draw what were always shifting social borders too strictly, these stories typically appealed to the transient workers and merchants who came to Hong Kong to do business before returning (either at the end of a season or a career) to some other location in the Pearl River delta.

With the national upheavals of the late 1930s and 1940s, the city’s complexion began to change quite rapidly. Increasing numbers of displaced persons made their way to Hong Kong in an effort to escape the turmoil elsewhere in China. Since these Northern immigrants had the means to travel, they were often better off financially and more educated than much of the local population. Following the 1949 liberation of China by the Communist Party, they streamed in, effectively overwhelming the Guangdong culture that had dominated Hong Kong since its inceptions. It is interesting to note, parenthetically, that Ip Man and Louis Cha arrived in the city within a year and a half of each other, though they represented different cultural currents.

Like Cha these individuals slowly came to the realization that the 1949 crisis was not a limited event like the others that had marked China’s tumultuous 20^thcentury. Rather than a temporary haven, Hong Kong had become their home for the imaginable future. Cultural clashes were common. Local Cantonese residents referred to these newcomers as “outlanders.” For their part the Northern refugees tended to see Hong Kong as a cultural wasteland. Cantonese culture was dismissed as backwards and new radio stations, theater groups and even newspapers quickly sprang up to cater to these northern “outlanders” who brought their own ideas about what modern Chinese life should be.

The Ming Pao daily was one of these institutions. And as Hamm notes, Jin Yong’s novels were a clear departure from the local kung fu tales that had previously dominated Hong Kong story telling. Acutely self-aware, his stories focused not on local heroes, but epic tales of contests for control of the Central Plains during periods of foreign occupation. When the heroes suffered their inevitable defeats, they retreated to the fringes of the empires and went into exile, just as Jin Yong’s readers had.

This is not to say that Jin Yong’s work didn’t have immense appeal, or that it was incapable of reaching a cross-over audience. As so many writers have recently noted, his novels have proved to be culturally enduring precisely because they speak to individuals across the geographic, ideological and economic lines that have traditionally divided the Chinese cultural area. They have managed to do so in large part by advancing an appealing, nuanced, vision of Chinese nationalism. Self-determination and cultural identity seem to rest at the heart of Cha’s understanding of patriotism. And in his later works he goes to lengths to praise China’s many ethnic minorities (particularly the ones that have contributed to its martial arts traditions) advancing a more open and liberal vision of what Chinese nationalism might be.

All of this is combined with a reverence for traditional Confucian values, particularly when they order the relationship between teachers and students, family members or leaders and followers. Yet the feudal past, in which all of his stories are set, is not accepted uncritically. Cha remained deeply suspicious of the feudal and aristocratic, and so his characters can be seen to wrestle with, and critically examine, practices that no longer work in the “modern” world of the 14^thor 15^thcenturies.

A lack of Cantonese colloquialisms notwithstanding, these themes were likely to have a broad appeal within Hong Kong society. Cha made sophisticated discussions about identity, belonging and the nation available to those with a variety of educational and cultural backgrounds. Yet these stories always originated from a specific place, or point of view. Nor can one help but wonder what other vision of martial arts culture they displaced, or pushed to the margins, as Jin Yong attained a sort of hegemonic dominance within the Wuxia genre. In my own research I frequently run across accounts of martial arts students in the 1960s and 1970s who, while enthusiastic to learn the southern martial arts, carried with them different visions about the values or identities that motivated these systems. Generational conflict over such matters is not unique to this case. Though as I read one testimonial after another as to how critical Cha was to defining the world view of a generation of Southern martial artists, I cannot help but wonder what he displaced, and to what degree he helped to shape the disjointed expectations of the period. Indeed, in my own account of Wing Chun’s history during the post-war era, Jing Yong’s novels are more likely to play the role of “loyal opposition” than protagonist.

Cha, second from left, in 1960, with the cast of the film “Return of the Condor Heroes.” Source: The New Yorker

The Journey North

The burgeoning hostility of local Hong Kong residents towards Northern visitors or residents is nothing new. It is easy to find recent newspaper articles and editorials referring to Northerners as “locusts” who sweep in to consume not just cheap goods, but increasingly the best real estate and jobs, pushing long-time residents ever further from the center. In the wake of his death some individuals openly wondered whether a figure like Cha could succeed today given the open hostility to immigrants. The great irony, of course, is that the majority of Hong Kong’s “legitimate” residents today were once northern transplants themselves, and Cha’s stories helped their parents to negotiate an environment that was not always friendly, familiar or welcoming.

By becoming the quintessential Hong Kong storyteller (a lack of Cantonese roots notwithstanding) Cha is once again acting as a cultural bridge. Amidst all of the anxiety about the death of the Hong Kong film industry, and the future of the Southern Chinese martial arts (which are being priced out of the city by skyrocketing rents), it is easy to forget that in some ways the Cantonese martial arts heroes are now more popular than ever throughout the PRC. Ip Man has become a household figure (and his art has exploded in popularity) not just because of his association with Bruce Lee. Rather, Wilson Ip’s 2008 film and its many successors have been key in spreading this bit of Southern culture throughout the mainland.

It has been noted (by myself and others) that the vision of Ip Man that these films conjure does not bear a close resemblance to the real life (and rather well documented) figure. In the place of the undeniably mercurial and modernist Ip Man, what do these films present? A figure that in many ways splits the difference between the traditional Kung Fu genre and one of Cha’s stories. Yes, the action is still gritty and “realistic” with minimal wire work. But we now have a hero who exemplifies martial virtue, who demonstrates Confucian values in his relationships, who is a patriot who fights for China, and in defeat he retreats in exile to the edge of the empire. Does that sound familiar?

The flavor of these films is undeniably influenced by the Hong Kong tradition. Yet the mold that shapes the stories bears an uncanny resemblance to the ideal hero (a patriot who endures rather than wins) as laid out in Cha’s many novels. Where as Ip Man and Louis Cha had once existed as contemporary historical figures, whose lives ran on parallel tracks, their legacies now interact in complex ways. Rather than simply displacing the Pearl River Delta’s traditional Kung Fu narrative, Cha seems to have provided a pattern by which its heroes can travel North, testing their own fortunes in the Central Plains.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: Lives of Chinese Martial Artists (14): Ark Yuey Wong—Envisioning the Future of the Chinese Martial Arts

oOo

Through a Lens Darkly (56): New York City’s Kung Fu and the Roaring 1920s

Posted on 2 Novembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Introduction

While I have a few connections in New York City’s TCMA community, it has always been my experience that one turns up different sorts of insights by getting out and exploring the terrain on one’s own. It was with that notion in mind that my wife and I set out to reconnoiter the older Manhattan Chinatown, which now seems almost quaint when compared in scale to its larger and more vibrant neighbor in Queens. The weather was great, and we got some memorable photos of tourists from China stopping to take photos of Chinese-American businesses and families. The gods of globalization move in mysterious ways.

The afternoon was not a total bust. We briefly made contact with two people working on Xingyi in a local park, though it was abundantly clear that no manner of martial art was going to distract the local residents from the many card games that dominated the district. After purchasing a book (by my friend Mark Wiley) from a local martial arts business, we were able to learn a little more about the neighborhood’s martial arts scene. Things sounded quiet, but we found out about two other instructors (Taijiquan and Wing Chun) who occasionally taught in the same park.

Still, there was very little evidence of the vibrant martial arts scene that had been so prominent during the late 1970s and 1980s. While the gentrification that has reshaped so much of the island was less evident south of Canal Street, Chinatown evolves and changes, like everything else. It seems that the warehouse schools which I read about in memoirs and doctoral dissertations have suffered the same fate as many of the more colorful elements of New York life.

In search of some historical perspective my wife and I next visited a local non-profit dedicated to preserving as much of Chinatown’s local and oral history as possible. The young employees (all in their 20s) thought that our subject sounded fascinating. Yet as they searched their databases and various key-word indexes they didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful. While they approached their job with infectious enthusiasm, they freely admitted that most of the neighborhood’s older residents didn’t share their zeal for preserving the past.

In fact, convincing older Chinese-Americans to sit down for oral history interviews was proving to be every bit as difficult as one might suspect. While there was some interesting history available on various musical and opera societies, once the tape recorders were turned on no one seemed willing to admit to knowing anything about martial arts instruction or Lion Dancing. In fact, the young researchers who staffed the office were hopeful that as a “total outsider” I would have better luck than them when it came to interviewing individuals and ferreting out this chapter of the historical record.

The situation was even bleaker when looking for resources that might discuss martial arts training in the pre-war period. Outside of a few stories and names, not much of substance seems to have survived. Giving me a mournful look, my ever-earnest historical guide explained that with so few surviving sources much of the texture of the community had been irrevocably lost. So ended my hopes of unearthing a rich trove of New York’s early Chinese martial arts history.

Or so I thought. Research is a funny thing. All of our sources are oddly specific, and even the most comprehensive database catches only a fraction of what is already sitting in some archive or library. While conducting a search for Chinese newsreel footage of martial arts practice during the Guoshu decade (1928-1938), I stumbled across something much more valuable. I found perhaps the best preserved and oldest footage of North American Southern Kung Fu practice that I had yet seen. Even better, it was shot on the same New York City streets that my wife and I had recently explored.

The Footage

Anyone interested in viewing this film can do so by clicking this link. This priceless visual record has been preserved on a reel of out-takes and raw newsreel footage that is held by the Historic Film archive. The entire reel is quite important as it helps to contextualize how images of the Chinese martial arts were classified and framed at the time of their production and cataloging. All of the clips on the reel were produced during the 1920s and most of them focus on scenes of entertainment. The period’s jazz tradition is well represented, and scenes of Chinese-American life find themselves juxtaposed with visual records of the African-American community. It should be noted that there are multiple recordings of Chinese New Year Festivals on the reel, suggesting a persistent interest in the subject.

At minute 19:42 viewers will encounter footage of a New Year celebration which happened on January 10^th, 1929. In addition to the more common scenes of enthusiastic crowds, fireworks and Lion Dancing, two minutes of footage was also shot of the sorts of martial arts exhibitions that accompanied these festivals. While such exhibitions are occasionally noted in period newspaper reports, this is the most complete visual record of such a performance (in North America), that I have yet encountered.

This material rewards a close examination. None of this footage has been narrated, nor are there scene cards. As such I suspect that most of this material was probably treated as “out takes.” Still, it’s a rich source. While we might lament that we only have two minutes of material, by the standards of a 1920s newsreel, two minutes is an eternity.

This footage is composed of a series of much briefer clips (most ranging in length from 10 to 30 seconds) which focus on the performance of individual martial artists, all performing on a single day in what appears to be the same crowded outdoor venue. In total 11 sequences are shown, each focusing on some sort of forms performance. Both unarmed and weapons sets are represented in the sample, as well as a few two-person weapons sets. (For the sake of clarity this post is discussing only the martial arts demonstration, and not the excellent Lion Dance footage found on the same newsreel which probably deserves specialized treatment of its own).

If we assume that most of these sets could be introduced, set up and performed in about two minutes, it seems that the original demonstration was at least 22 minutes long. Even more remarkable is that very few individuals (maybe one or two) made any repeat performances in this show. Thus it took at least a dozen martial artists to stage this demonstration.

Most of the individuals in the show were wearing regalia suggesting that they had just come from (or were headed to) Lion Dancing. The standard uniform appears to have been a white shirt, black bowtie and Kung Fu pants, but a number of individuals can also be seen to wear the typical street clothing of the period. All of the performers in this film are male (though I have seen newsreel footage of female martial artists in NYC in the 1930s). Some are dressed as common laborers, while other have the air of shopkeepers or clerks.

A detailed breakdown of the film is as follows:

19:49-19:53 Unarmed Solo Set 1 (conclusion)

19:54-20:05 Unarmed Solo Set 2 (opening)

20:06-20:29 Unarmed Solo Set 3 (opening)

20:30-20:36 Solo Weapon, Eyebrow Staff

20:37-20:40 Solo Weapon, Southern Style Long Pole

20:41-21:08 Solo Weapon, Pudao

21:08-21:22 Solo Weapon, Hudiedao (Butterfly Swords)

21:23-21:32 Two Man, Long Poles

21:33-21:52 Solo Weapon, Rattan Shield and short saber

21:53-21:55 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword

21:56-22:00 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword

Analysis

So what sort of demonstration are we looking at? To begin with, one of remarkable sophistication. The conventional narratives suggest that modern Chinese martial arts schools, as we know them today, did not begin to appear in Chinatowns in cities like New York, San Francisco and Toronto until the 1950s. Prior to that it is not the case that the martial arts were never taught. Rather, their instruction tended to be sponsored by the various fraternal societies, theater groups and criminal organizations that dominated much of these neighborhoods’ associational life. Indeed, as Charlie Russo has demonstrated in his book on the Bay Area martial arts community, the first generation of public instructors often opened their school after having first established a reputation in community these group. For their part, the various Tongs are generally thought to have been more interested in training “street soldiers” capable of collecting gambling debts, acting as bouncers in a variety of establishments and dealing with belligerent tourists.

Still, the existence of this film problematizes any attempt to bifurcate early 20^thcentury Chinese-American martial arts into a “practical” pre-war phase and a post-war era that might be more recognizable. While it seems unlikely that any of the individuals received their instruction in public commercial martial arts schools in New York City during the 1920s (to the best of our knowledge there simply weren’t any), it is now clear that there were a large number of individuals who were regularly gathering to train in the traditional martial arts. Further, staging a Lion Dance and demonstration with as many individuals as we see on this film suggests a fair degree of organizational sophistication. While they may not have been organized as a public school, it would appear that their institutional Kung Fu must have been pretty good.

What about their physical practice? All of this film was shot from a single elevated camera angle, so the various martial artists move in and out of the frame. This combined with the repetitive nature of many Southern sets, and the short duration of most of the clips, makes it very difficult to positively identify the various forms being displayed. After sharing this film with Hung Gar instructors on various continents, and a couple of Choy Li Fut students, we were not able to identify any of the sets with 100% certainty. Most of the unarmed and weapons work bears a resemblance to pre-Wong Fei Hung style Hung Gar. Alternatively, the one set in which we see the rattan shield and sword combined with tumbling is highly suggestive of some sets that are still practiced in Choy Li Fut.

Identifying these sets has proved to be somewhat frustrating. The film suggests that the general movement culture (or possibly “habitus”) of the Southern Chinese folk arts have remained remarkably consistent over the last century. It was genuinely interesting to see how the seventh performer moved with the hudiedao. Figuring out just what these guys were doing might be an important clue in reconstructing the early TCMA community as it existed in New York city during the 1920s. If anyone has any insights into the identities of these sets (or better yet, the martial artists) please leave a comment below.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: Lion Dancing, Youth Violence and the Need for Theory in Chinese Martial Studies

oOo

Martial Classics: The Complete Fist Cannon in Verse

Posted on 26 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

A period depiction of Ming Soldiers involved in the Piracy Crisis which inspired Qi Jiguang’s now famous discussion of military training. Source: Ming Qiu Shizhou Taiwan Zoukai Tu (Victory in Taiwan by Qiu Ying [pseudonym Shizhou] of the Ming, 1494 – 1552). Click here to learn more about this important source.

Translator’s Note

Here is the full translation of the Qi Jiguang’s Fist Method as it appears in the Wubei Zhi, offered as a follow-up to my initial discussion of the challenges of translating this text into English verse. If you are coming to this discussion for the first time, you may want to read that initial essay before proceeding on. I want to make this available to everyone who expressed interest and to anyone else who might find it helpful. I do not intend this to be authoritative or even unchanging. Input and discussion is always wanted and appreciated. I hope you find it enjoyable to read.

Historical context

“拳經捷要篇 -The Essential Chapters of the Fist Cannon” was first published in Qi Jiguang’s seminal training manual “JiXiaoXinShu”. It was later republished in the Wubei Zhi in it’s complete form. Understanding the content of this work is dependent upon understanding its historical contexts both in the military and broader social or societal arena.

Social

There are several social factors of this period in the Ming Dynasty that one must take into account when trying to place this treatise in its proper context. The traditional hereditary military system was breaking down. There were simply not enough officers or soldier being produced from those families to keep the Ming military at its former glory. The breakdown of Ming forces contributed to a rise in social violence including, rebellions, highway men and banditry, organized cannibalism, and other fairly horrific behaviors that occur when populations become desperate and have nowhere to turn.

While violence and crime were important factors in daily Ming life, there were also more positive influences. Printing and publishing saw an enormous rise during the Ming as did literacy. With a more literate populace, the demand for books of all types grew. Printed books became big business. The publishing boom of the 16th century produced thousands of texts to be consumed by a growing lettered class. It is in this environment that we find the rise of the martial arts/military treatise purchased by non-military readers.

As the Literati grew in numbers, more and more books on every subject were produced. Those with an interest in military or martial affairs now had the ability to study these topics even if not born into the military class. People like Mao Yuanyi who wrote and compiled the largest written document on military affairs in the Chinese language, the Wubei Zhi, were able to access this information without being a member of a hereditary Military family. This brought an entirely new perspectives to discussions of the martial arts.

It is difficult to say when the Martial arts manual that we know today truly came about, but we have little evidence of these texts prior to the Ming dynasty. Surviving martial art texts from before the Ming are often vague and general, offering more strategic and tactical insight and philosophy than step by step instruction of technique. The true illustrated martial arts text was, more than likely, a product of the Ming publishing boom as the audience for such texts grew.

Qi’s first book “JiXiaoXinShu” was published in this environment and one can make a convincing case that this is the oldest example of a martial arts manual for the training of individual skills. Where as prior, this information was most likely held by the military families as “trade secrets,” Qi decided to include examinations of various martial arts for the battlefield and focus on the individual training of troops.

Military

Qi Jiguang wrote “JixiaoxinShu” in the late 1500’s near the end of the Ming Dynasty. The circumstances of his writing this book and subsequently re-editing it later, concern the Woku Coastal pirate crisis. The Woku, more commonly referred to as ‘Japanese Pirates’, were an enormous problem for the Ming at the end of the 1500’s. These bands of raiders, which consisted of mostly local Chinese citizens (often former fishermen or merchant sailors), were bankrolled or under the command of self appointed Japanese Sea Lords. They operated under the nose of the Ming government, effectively undermining their trade war with Japan.

Not only were the raids themselves a security problem for the region, but due to rampant corruption, many local authorities were actually collaborating with the Woku. This allowed them to bring their raids far inland and away from the coast. They were able to reach and pillage communities that were previously considered safe.

Assigned to the region was another famous and influential writer of the Ming dynasty, General Yu Dayou, author of “Jian Jing”. General Yu was frustrated with the lack of support he received from the Capitol, who in turn withheld funds and equipment due to lack of real progress in the crisis. General Yu insisted that he needed more fire arms and ships to adequately meet the threat. The government refused.

When General Qi arrived on the scene, he knew that asking for material support would be a fools errand. Instead, he came up with progressive if not novel approaches to the lack of technology and men available to them. He formed a mercenary army, consisting of volunteers from the affected farming communities. He specially chose these people as they were used to hard work, they were defending their homes, and they would be paid for their trouble. The problem was, that in the past, soldiers and military personnel came primarily from the hereditary military families and had some experience in the act of warfare. This system had begun to break down in the mid-Ming, which also contributed to the public’s general lack of faith in the imperial forces.

Because these recruits were not from traditional military back grounds, there was a need to train them from the ground up. It is this method that Qi later detailed in his treatise “JiXianXinShu”- the New Methods of Military Effectiveness. One of the unique features of this book is that it is one of the first military treatises to cover the training of individual martial arts by soldiers. Since the men he was using a the time did not have formal training in military exercise or fighting on the battlefield, Qi included the training regimens for several weapons and one chapter devoted to empty handed technique.

The martial arts that Qi choose to represent in his writing is linked to the strategies that he devised for the crisis. The spear takes the lead followed by the shield and dao, sported by archers with both conventional and fire/explosive arrows.At the end of the section is talk of the staff and finally is the bare handed section. Qi’s reason for including unarmed martial art is, as he states, mainly for conditioning and keeping the troops occupied and focused. While these techniques may have found some direct application in friendly wrestling bouts of the sorts that soldiers have while encamped, even Qi states in his introduction that there is little use for such things in the theater of war.

The Art Represented

Much of our discussion of Qi’s unarmed method must remain conjecture. The names of each technique are familiar to modern practitioners of Chinese martial arts. Many of these names appear in several separate martial traditions. Taijiquan, for instance, shares a fair number of these names within the various lineages of the art. Some historians have taken this to mean that this document is the direct antecedent to the art of Taijiquan. While it is difficult to say if there is a direct connection, or if Qi’s writing indicate the survival of an art that has been practiced since the Ming, it should be remembered that the names and techniques described here are actually shared by several styles including Baji, Fanzi, Pigua, Cha Quan, Tang Lang (mantis), and many others. Qi says that he has taken these techniques from various sources. It could be that the origins for the names are to be found in them, and thus may indicate an unbroken “lineage” into modern times.

However, if one looks at the situation of new conscripts learning new skills and bringing them back to their home villages, a migration of common names through a wide variety of people and communities does not seem so far fetched. Let’s remember that Qi’s book was published and sold to non military readers as well and that it did gain a following among the literati. If these techniques were used in the training of provincial troops from surrounding areas, these men would take these technique, names, and sequences home with them and repurpose them for the needs of the community. It is in my opinion easy to assume that this is at least one factor in the creation of styles that share technique nomenclature yet no apparent technical base or common lineage.

The techniques themselves seem to be centered around what could be deemed “fast wrestling” today. Fast wrestling is a sport in which wrestling moves are performed as quickly as possible and points are scored with successful throws without the use of extended ground fighting. Essentially, pin them as fast as you can. Battlefield techniques do not usually include lots of wrestling. But grappling and wrestling are far more useful than hitting in this context. Qi admits that this is included for exercise and conditioning only and has little direct relevance to war.

Qi also makes the claim to have extracted these techniques as the best examples from the famous styles being practiced during the day. He then lists many of them with the impression being given that this is very much like a hybrid style made up of techniques from others. Some may be tempted to call this “mixed martial arts.” However, I believe it is an error to equate the purpose of Qi’s fist method with the modern sport of MMA. Martial arts have always borrowed and taken from other arts to add and expand their own. It does not follow that the mixing of techniques from different traditions was particularly rare or frowned upon. The sport of MMA is a mix of martial art for a single purpose of getting the most effective techniques for submitting your opponent. The use of fighting in the armed forces is much broader and, in Qi’s method, the unarmed exercises serve health and fitness purpose almost exclusively. In that sense at least, it is not that different from many modern practitioners of taijiquan practice today.

Translation notes

Qi Jiguangs’s Empty-handed method is perhaps one of the best known Ming era martial arts texts. This is in large part due to the fact the many of the names of techniques used in this text are still found in martial arts today. Many traditions (most notably Taijiquan) cite this document as an early predecessor to the modern arts they practice. These arts often refer back to this document without much in the way of analysis. As the names are often popular, they have over the years acquired some conventional glosses. I have made a directed effort not to simply use these familiar translations but rather to render the name in as clear language as I can to describe the action taking place or to give a clearer context with the language. No doubt this might cause some initial confusion amongst readers who are looking at this through the lens of their own art. But, I am approaching the text as a separate practice, however influential it might have been.

One specific note that should be pointed out is the translation of the word “Quan” 拳. While the word is a familiar suffix denoting a martial art, it is used in a few different ways in this text. In the past the word has ben translated as “boxing”. I have stayed away from that gloss for the most part as its is imprecise within the discussion we are currently having. I will at times translate it as “fist” to stay within the idiom, but when discussed in general terms, I have used the rather wordy “unarmed techniques/combat”. By using both approaches I hope that it reads more naturally without forcing the reader to code switch as much.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Ting from the Great Ming Military blog, Clifford Lao, and Ma Xianfeng for their invaluable help and input in the subtleties of Literary Chinese and Ming history. Thanks also go to Ben Judkins for allowing me the platform to present my work. It is my sincerest wish that practitioners of martial arts will find these at the very least interesting if not illuminating to past practices. I also hope that it encourages more people to make their own translation attempts of these texts. Multiple perspectives are always needed.

Any errors are my own and I accept any and all criticism or correction.

拳經捷要篇

Essential Chapters of the Fist Cannon

〔此藝不甚預於兵，能有餘力，則亦武門所當習。但眾之不能強者，亦聽其所便耳。於是以此為諸篇之末。第十四。〕

[While this art is not very useful for preparing troops (for war), it can help with excess energy, or as an initial practice of martial arts. However, most people cannot become strong this way. They only listen to their own ears (only do movements with which they are familiar). Therefore, this section is placed at the end of the other sections as per it’s significance. Chapter 14]

拳法似無預於大戰之技，然活動手足，慣勤肢體，此為初學入藝之門也。故存于後，以備一家。學拳要身法活便，手法便利，腳法輕固，進退得宜，腿可飛騰，而其妙也，顛起倒插 ; 而其猛也，披劈橫拳；而其快也，活捉朝天；而其柔也，知當斜閃。故擇其拳之善者三十二勢，勢勢相承，遇敵制勝，變化無窮，微妙莫測。窈焉冥焉，人不得而窺者，謂之神。俗云：「拳打不知」，是迅雷不及掩耳。所謂不招不架，只是一下；犯了招架，就有十下。博記廣學，多算而勝。

Unarmed combat seems to offer nothing in the way of the preparation for large scale war, but the exercising of the hands and feet forms habits for moving the limbs as a unit, making this practice a doorway to learning the art (of war). This chapter is provided last to complete the preparation of skills. To learn the fist (unarmed techniques) it is necessary to have the body mechanics lively yet simple, the hand work simple yet keen, footwork is light, giving the ability to advance and retreat at will and legs that can leap and jump. How wonderful it is; To rise high and fall low, and how fierce; the chopping across with the fists, how quick; lively grasping for the sky, and how soft; to know how to endure and evade. For this reason I have chosen 32 of the best unarmed techniques, each one follows from the previous, with applications to an opponent, it can be adapted in unpredictable ways. How refined, how deep! The uninitiated will watch you and claim you are a supernatural master. A common saying; “The fist hits without knowing”, surely it is like trying to cover your ears before the thunder. They say no provocation, no resistance, just one action will bring them down; attack will provoke resistance, then ten attacks of their own will follow. Play the game but remember the larger lesson, Those that strategize and plan will be victorious.

古今拳家，宋太祖有三十二勢長拳，又有六步拳、猴拳、囮拳，名勢各有所稱，而實大同小異。至今之溫家七十二行拳、三十六合鎖、二十四棄探馬、八閃番、十二短，此亦善之善者也。呂紅八下雖剛，未及綿張短打，山東李半天之腿，鷹爪王之拿，千跌張之跌，張伯敬之打。少林寺之棍，與青田棍法相兼；楊氏鎗法與巴子拳棍，皆今之有名者，雖各有所取。然傳有上而無下，有下而無上，就可取勝於人，此不過偏於一隅。若以各家拳法兼而習之，正如常山蛇陣法，擊首則尾應，擊尾則首應，擊其身而首尾相應，此謂上下周全，無有不勝。

The Ancient Schools of the Fist; Taizu has 32 stances of long fist, also six step fist, monkey fist, decoy fist, the names of the stances each have their own qualities, but in reality they have a great amount of similarities and only small differences. Today the styles of note are Wen Family 72 step Fist, 36 locks, 24 throws of Testing Horse, 8 dodging turns, and 20 short (hits). Lu hong’s 8 take downs, although it is strong, it does not match the “cotton fist” or “Short Hit”. ShanDong’s Li BanTian’s kicks, Eagle Claw King’s grappling, 1,000 throws of Zhang’s throwing (method). Zhang BaiJing’s striking. The staff methods of Shaolin Temple and QingTian compliment each other, Yang Family Spear and Baozi style staff, this is all we have today, although they have their own strengths. Some systems may have the upper and not the lower, or have the lower and not the upper, victory may be possible for one man, but this is not a comprehensive approach. If each Family Fighting method is combined and practiced, the principle of the Mountain Snake Formation, strike the head and the tail must follow, strike the tail and the head must follow, strike at their body and both head and tail must react. This is what is meant by upper and lower are together, and victory is certain.

大抵拳、棍、刀、鎗、叉、鈀、劍、戟、弓矢、鈎鐮、挨牌之類，莫不先有拳法活動身手。其拳也，為武藝之源。今繪之以勢，註之以訣，以啟後學。既得藝，必試敵，切不可以勝負為愧、為奇，當思何以勝之，何以敗之！勉而久試，怯敵還是藝淺，善戰必定藝精。古云：「藝高人胆（膽）大」，信不誣矣！

Overall, the practice of the fist, saber, spear, fork, trident, sword, halberd, archery, hook, scythe, and others in this class, first have the fist method to train the movement of body and hands. And therefore, this method of unarmed combat is the wellspring of martial arts. Here the movements are transmitted by illustrations of the stances, explanation of the secrets, introducing the student to the method. Those that have learned this will surely test the enemy, do not be ashamed of the outcome, instead, ponder why you were victorious or how you were defeated. Make a concerted effort and experiment for a long time, if you lack courage your skill will be shallow, good fighting surely decides the essence of the art. The ancients have said; “The exulted artist is a man with great bravery”, trust this without reservation.

余在舟山公署，得參戎劉草堂打拳，所謂「犯了招架，便是十下」之謂也。此最妙，即棍中之連打。

When I was in ZhouShan, I was able to train with Liu Cao-Tong in boxing at the public hall, they say “If one commits only to blocking, ten more blows will come”, just as with the very clever staff attack of chaining strikes together.

懶扎衣出門架子

變下勢霎步單鞭

對敵若無膽向先

空自眼明手便

Lǎn zhā yī chūmén jiàzi

biàn xià shì shà bù dān biān

duì dí ruò wú dǎn xiàng xiān

kōngzì yǎn míng shǒu biàn

Tie Your Coat and come outside,

Single Whip with sudden stride,

Without the courage to advance,

Sharp eyes fast hands will have no chance.

金雞獨立顚(顛)起

裝腿橫拳相兼

槍背卧牛雙倒

遭着叫苦連天

Jīnjīdúlì diān (diān) qǐ

zhuāng tuǐ héng quán xiāng jiān

qiāng bèi wò niú shuāng

zāozhe jiàokǔliántiān

Golden Rooster stands on top,

Present your leg then sideways chop,

Rush in low and Trip the Bull,

They cry to heaven loud and full.

探馬傳自太祖

諸勢可降可變

進攻退閃蒻生強

接短拳之至善

Tànmǎ chuán zì tài zǔ

zhū shì kě jiàng kě biàn

jìngōng tuì shǎn ruò shēng qiáng

jiē duǎn quán zhī zhì shàn

Testing Horse was Song TaiZu’s,

Stances all can drop and move,

Attacking and dodging will give you strength,*

Receive their punches in short range

拗單鞭黃花緊進

披挑腿左右難防

槍步上拳連劈揭

沉香勢推倒太山

Ǎo dān biān huánghuā jǐn jìn

pī tiāo tuǐ zuǒyòu nán fáng

qiāng bù shàng quán lián pī jiē

chénxiāng shì tuīdǎo tài shān

Crossed Single Whip firmly pries it’s way in,

When finding it hard from their kick to defend,

Rush in with continuous, liftings and chops,

Knock down Tai Mountain into low stances drop.

七星拳手足相顧

挨步逼上下隄籠

饒君手快腳如風

我自有攪衝劈重

Qīxīng quán shǒuzú xiānggù

āi bù bī shàngxià dī lóng

ráo jūn shǒukuài jiǎo rú fēng

wǒ zì yǒu jiǎo chōng pī zhòng

In The Seven Star Fist, the hand follows the feet,

Stepping in close, upper lower to beat,

The enemy limbs are fast like the wind,

My own heavy chops will disturb them to win.

倒騎龍詐輸佯走

誘追入遂我回衝

恁伊力猛硬來攻

怎當我連珠砲動

Dào qí lóng zhà shū yáng zǒu

yòu zhuīrù suì wǒ huí chōng

nèn yī lì měng yìng lái gōng

zěn dāng wǒ liánzhū pào dòng

Ride the Dragon Inverted to feign a defeat,

As they enter I turn and reveal my deceit.

His attack it is fierce his hits they are strong,

But my beating continues, he can’t last for long!

懸腳虛餌彼輕進

二換腿決不饒輕

趕上一掌滿天星

誰敢再來比亚

Xuán jiǎo xū ěr bǐ qīng jìn

èr huàn tuǐ jué bù ráo qīng

gǎn shàng yī zhǎng mǎn tiān xīng

shuí gǎn zài lái bǐ yǎ

Hang up the Leg as bait for a trick,

It’s not easy to follow when I switch it to kick,

My Palm makes him see the heaven and stars,

To fight me again, afraid all of them are.

丘劉左搬右掌

劈來腳入步連心

挪更拳法探馬均

打人一著命盡

Qiū liú zuǒ bānyòu zhǎng

pī lái jiǎo rù bù lián xīn

nuó gèng quánfǎ tànmǎ jūn

dǎ rén yīzhe mìng jǐn

Hill Attack changes left with a palm to the right,

They chop, I come in with a heart level strike,

Further I go with Testing the Horse,

With one hit I end them with just the right force.

下插勢專降快腿

得進步攪靠無別

鉤腳鎖臂不容離

上驚下取一跌

Xià chā shì zhuān jiàng kuài tuǐ

dé jìnbù jiǎo kào wú bié

gōu jiǎo suǒ pī bùróng lí

shàng jīng xià qǔ yī diē

Hidden Below drops down fast with the legs,

Step in and knock them down off a few pegs,

Hooking the foot and locking the arm,

Feint high, go low, trip and do harm.

10.

埋伏勢窩弓待虎

犯圈套寸步難移

就機連發幾腿

他受打必定昏危

Máifú shì wō gōng dài hǔ

fàn quāntào cùnbù nán yí

jiù jī lián fā jǐ tuǐ

tā shòu dǎ bìdìng hūn wēi

Lying in Wait for the beast in it’s den,

The inch step corrals them like they’re in a pen,

Continuously kick with the legs and the thighs,

Receiving a hit means they surely will die.

11.

拋架子槍步披掛

補上腿那怕他識

右橫左採快如飛

架一掌不知天地

Pāo jiàzi qiāng bù pīguà

bǔ shàng tuǐ nà pà tā shí

yòu héng zuǒ cǎi kuài rú fēi

jià yī zhǎng bùzhī tiāndì

Throwing Technique enters, splits and then hangs,

Take advantage with kicks fearing them seeing your plans,

Fly to the left across from the right,

Fend off with one palm and out go the lights!

12.

拈肘勢防他弄腿

我截短須認高低

劈打推壓要皆依

切勿手腳忙急

Niān zhǒu shì fáng tā nòng tuǐ

wǒ jié duǎn xū rèn gāodī

pī dǎ tuī yā yào jiē yī

qiè wù shǒujiǎo máng jí

Defend from their legs with Pluck the Elbow,

I intercept close watching high and then low,

Chopping and pushing and pressing you need,

To hit them not rushing your hands or your feet.

13.

一霎步隨機應變

左右腿衝敵連珠

恁伊勢固手風雷

怎當我閃驚巧取

Yīshà bù suíjīyìngbiàn

zuǒyòu tuǐ chōng dí liánzhū

nèn yīshì gù shǒu fēngléi

zěn dāng wǒ shǎn jīng qiǎo qǔ

Instant Step waits for the time it can change,

Kick with both legs when you come into range,

Their stances are solid, their hands like the wind,

Why accept the attack when I can dodge it to win?

14.

擒拿勢封腳套子

左右壓一如四平

直來拳逢我投活

恁快腿拳不得通融

Qínná shì fēng jiǎo tàozi

zuǒyòu yā yī rú sì píng

zhí lái quán féng wǒ tóu huó

nèn kuài tuǐ quán bùdé tōngróng

Grabbing and Seizing envelopes the foot,

Left and Right press Si Ping standing with root,

A straight punch comes in, lively I throw,

So that his kicks and his punches, they all are too slow.

15.

井欄四平直進

剪鐮踢膝當頭

滾穿劈靠抹一鈎

鐵樣將軍也走

Jǐng lán sìpíng zhíjìn

jiǎn lián tī xī dāngtóu

gǔn chuān pī kào mǒ yī gōu

tiě yàng jiāngjūn yě zǒ

Blocking the Well stance goes directly ahead,

Scissor their knee while blocking the head,

Roll, pierce, chop, lean, wipe off, and hook,

Armored Generals themselves to their cores will be shook.

16.

鬼蹴腳槍人先著

補前掃轉上紅拳

背弓顛披揭起

穿心肘靠妙難傳

Guǐ cù jiǎo qiāng rén xiānzhe

bǔ qián sǎo zhuǎn shàng hóng quán

bèi gōng diān pī jiē qǐ

chuān xīn zhǒu kào miào nán chuán

The Ghost Kick begins and shoots out toward them first,

Rush in, turn and hit them, their heart will then burst,

Stand with them on your back like a coat,

An elbow to the heart is no playful joke.

17.

指當勢是箇丁法

他難進我好向前

踢膝滾躦上面

急回步顛短紅拳

Zhǐ dāng shì shì gè dīng fǎ

tā nán jìn wǒ hǎo xiàng qián

tī xī gǔn cuó shàngmiàn

jí huí bù diān duǎn hóng quán

Directed Defense Stance has feet like a “T”,

My defenses make it hard to attack me freely,

Kick the knee, turn, and jump up to their face.

Fast Red Fist short range to show them their place.

18.

獸頭勢如牌挨進

恁快腳遇我慌忙

低驚高取他難防

接短披紅衝上

Shòu tóu shì rú pái āi jìn

nèn kuài jiǎo yù wǒ huāngmáng

dī jīng gāoqǔ tā nán fáng

jiē duǎn pīhóng chōng shàng

The Beast Head comes in if the opponent is near.

When we meet, my quick footwork will grip him with fear.

Feint low, go high, they cannot defend,

Receive his short chops and charge into them.

19.

中四平勢實推固

硬攻進快腿難來

雙手逼他單手

短打以熟為乖

Zhōng sìpíng shì shí tuī gù

yìng gōng jìn kuài tuǐ nán lái

shuāng shǒu bī tā dān shǒu

duǎn dǎ yǐ shú wèi guāi

Middle Siping is pushing with root,

Hard attacks and quick footwork are both rendered moot,

With two hands their one hand is quickly subdued,

A short hit from here is skillfully shrewd.

20.

伏虎勢側身弄腿

但來奏我前撐

看他立站不穩

後掃一跌分明

Fú hǔ shi cèshēn nòng tuǐ

dàn lái zòu wǒ qián chēng

kàn tā lì zhàn bù wěn

hòu sǎo yī diē fēnmíng

Subduing the Tiger leans back for a kick,

But, he returns my attack I must brace forward and quick.

I look and see that his stance is not steady,

I sweep him behind before he is ready.

21.

高四平身法活變

左右短出入如飛

逼敵人手足無措

恁我便腳踢拳捶

Gāo sìpíng shēn fǎ huó biàn

zuǒyòu duǎn chūrù rú fēi

bī dírén shǒuzúwúcuò

nèn wǒ biàn jiǎo tī quán chuí

High Siping method is agile and changes,

Like flying zig zag in and out of short ranges

Block the enemy limbs so they cannot attack.

My foot it may kick and the fist can beat back.

22.

倒插勢不與招架

靠腿快討他之贏

背弓進步莫遲停

打如谷聲相應

Dào chā shì bù yǔ zhāojià

kào tuǐ kuài tǎo tā zhī yíng

bèi gōng jìnbù mò chí tíng

dǎ rú gǔ shēng xiāngyìng

Inverting Thrust does not provoke with a guard,

With quick tripping legs their foundation bombard,

Stretch the back like a bow, step in with a dash,

The valley will echo with the hit’s sudden crash.

23.

神拳當面插下

進步火焰攢心

遇巧就拿就跌

舉手不得留情

Shén quán dāngmiàn chā xià

jìnbù huǒyàn cuán xīn

yù qiǎo jiù ná jiù diē

jǔ shǒu bùdé liúqíng

Spirit Fist blocks in front to invade down below,

Step in, gather fire, use your chest as bellows,

Meeting skill, simply seize them and make them fall down,

Raise your hand to prevent them from gaining new ground.

24.

一條鞭橫直披砍

兩進腿當面傷人

不怕他力粗膽大

我巧好打通神

Yītiáo biān héngzhí pī kǎn

liǎng jìn tuǐ dāngmiàn shāng rén

bùpà tā lì cū dǎn dà

wǒ qiǎo hǎo dǎtōng shén

One Lash hacks across and down,

Block their legs and face them down,

Fear not men who’s strength is crude,

They’ll talk with gods through my hits true.

25.

雀地龍下盤腿法

前揭起後進紅拳

他退我雖顛補

衝來短當休延

Què de lóng xià pántuǐ fǎ

qián jiē qǐ hòujìn hóng quán

tā tuì wǒ suī diān bǔ

chōng lái duǎn dāng xiū yán

Ground Dragon trains the legs to go low,

Lift them then enter with a heavy red blow,

They run from me, fine, I will still take the day,

Rushing in close to block, stop or delay.

26.

朝陽手偏身防腿

無縫鎖逼退豪英

倒陣勢彈他一腳

好教他師也喪身

Zhāoyáng shǒu piān shēn fāng tuǐ

wú fèng suǒ bī tuì háo yīng

dào zhènshì dàn tā yī jiǎo

hǎo jiào tā shī yě sāng shēn

The Hand of Dawn’s body slants defending from feet,

Seamlessly lock them to compel a retreat.

Knock Down the Pillar by quickly kicking their thigh,

Teach them so well, their own master will die.

27.

鷹翅側身挨進

快腿走不留停

追上穿莊一腿

要加剪劈推紅

Yīng chì cèshēn āi jìn

kuài tuǐ zǒu bù liú tíng

zhuī shàng chuān zhuāng yī tuǐ

yào jiā jiǎn pī tuī hóng

The Eagle’s Wing inclines in close,

Footwork fast and continuous,

Chase them down and kick through their base,

Chop, shear, and push you must keep the pace.

28.

跨虎勢那移發腳

要腿去不使他知

左右跟掃一連施

失手剪刀分易

Kuà hǔ shi nà yí fā jiǎo

yào tuǐ qù bù shǐ tā zhī

zuǒyòu gēn sǎo yīlián shī

shīshǒu jiǎndāo fēn yì

Ride the Tiger moves and kicks,

Hide your legs with subtle tricks,

Sweep your heel both left and right,

The hand can slice them like a knife.

29.

拗鸞肘出步顛剁

搬下掌摘打其心

拿鷹捉兔硬開弓

手腳必須相應

Ǎo luán zhǒu chū bù diān duò

bān xià zhǎng zhāi dǎ qí xīn

ná yīng zhuō tù yìng kāi gōng

shǒujiǎo bìxū xiāngyìng

The Crossed Phoenix Elbow steps out pounding to start,

Then fast going under to palm strike their heart,

Like an eagle with talons grab and tear them asunder,

Surely hand must unite with foot that is under.

30.

當頭炮勢衝入怕

進步虎直攛兩拳

他退閃我又顛踹

不跌倒他他忙然

Dāngtóu pào shì chōng rù pà

jìnbù hǔ zhí cuān liǎng quán

tā tuì shǎn wǒ yòu diān chuài

bù diédǎo tā tā máng rán

Block the Head Canon charges in with out fear,

Step in like a tiger, throw both fists like a spear,

When they dodge I will trip them and stomp them again,

Even if they don’t fall they must start again.

31.

順鸞肘靠身

搬打滾快他難遮攔

復外絞刷回拴

肚搭一跌誰敢爭先

Shùn luán zhǒu kào shēn

bān dǎgǔn kuài tā nán zhēlán

fù wài jiǎo shuā huí shuān

dù dā yī diē shuí gǎn zhēngxiān

Tame the Phoenix by leaning and use the elbow.

Move, strike, and roll, they have no where to go,

Return to the outside and twist them to bind,

Throw them down, to fight back they’d be out of their mind.

32.

旗鼓勢左右壓進

近他手橫劈雙行

絞靠跌人人識得

虎抱頭要躲無門

Qí gǔ shì zuǒyòu yā jìn

jìn tā shǒu héng pī shuāng xíng

jiǎo kào diē rén rén shí dé

hǔ bàotóu yào duǒ wú mén

Banners and Drums comes in to suppress,

Approaching them chopping like crossing the chest.

Everyone sees the throw with the twist,

Embracing the Tiger no way to resist.

End

A contemporary depiction of Qi Jiguang’s troops from the recent film, “God of War.”

Notes

* Readers may note that this is alternate translation of this passage and differs from the one discussed in the previous post. As previously noted, this is an evolving work and I am open to ideas and suggestions:

Testing Horse was Song TaiZu’s,

Stances all can drop and move,

Advance attack, retreat to dodge,

Come in close with a fist barrage.

oOo

About the Author: Chad Eisner is a martial arts practitioner and instructor in Ann Arbor Michigan, teaching Ma She Tongbei and Taiji Quan. His experience in Chinese martial arts and as a professional interpreter have naturally lead to a fascination with the translation of Ming dynasty martial arts texts. He is also the co-founder of Terra Prime Light Armory which uses historical based weapon arts to create lightsaber and fantasy martial arts for use in competition, performance, and learning.

oOo

References

Brook, Timothy. The Troubled Empire: China in the Yuan and Ming Dynasties. Harvard University Press Pape ed. History of Imperial China. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013, ©2010.

He, Yuming. Harvard-Yenching Institute Monograph Series. Vol. 82, Home and the World: Editing The “Glorious Ming” with Woodblock Printed Books of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Asia Center, 2013.

Kang, Gewu. The Spring and Autum of Chinese Martial Arts: 5000 years, first ed. Plum Pub, 1995.

Lorge, Peter Allan. Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2012.

_____________. War, Politics, and Society in Early Modern China, 900-1795. Warfare and History. London: Routledge, 2005.

Ma, Mingda馬明達. 無系列Wu Xi Lie. chu ban. ed. Vol. A113-A114, 武學探針Wu Xue Tan Zhen. Taibei Shi: Yi wen chu ban you xian gong si, 2003.

Mao, Yuanyi茅元億. 武備志Wu Bei Zhi. [China: s.n. ; not before, 1644] Map. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2004633695/.

Miracle, Jared. Now with Kung Fu Grip!: How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented Martial Arts for America. McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2016.

Qi, Jiguang戚繼光. Wu Shu Xi Lie武術系列. chu ban. ed. Vol. 6, Ji Xiao Xin Shu.績效新書 Tai bei shi: Wu zhou, 2000min 89.

Sawyer, Ralph D. The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China =: [wu Jing Qi Shu]. History and Warfare. Boulder: Westview Press, 1993.

Shapinsky, Peter D. Michigan Monograph Series in Japanese Studies. Vol. 76, Lords of the Sea: Pirates, Violence, and Commerce in Late Medieval Japan. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan, 2014.

Tong, James. Disorder under Heaven: Collective Violence in the Ming Dynasty. Stanford University Press, 1991.

Wile, Douglas. T’ai-Chi’s Ancestors: The Making of an Internal Martial Art. New York: Sweet Chi, 1999.

Chinese Martial Arts in the News: Oct. 22 2018: Archery, Kung Fu Villages and the Lives of Detective Dee

Posted on 22 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Introduction

It has been a busy weekend, so this news update will be brief. Nevertheless, I wanted to comment on some of the more interesting stories that have been floating around. For new readers, 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.

Its been way too long since our last update so let’s get to the news!

News From All Over

I recently published an essay on Kung Fu Tea noting the importance of examining martial culture when trying to discern what is really happening in a given art or practice. Our first big news item really drives that point home. It starts off with a brief nod to the near extinction, and then spectacular resurrection, of traditional Chinese archery all within the space of a few decades. Of course, someone needs to be making all of the bows to supply a new generation of enthusiastic archers, and that too came very close to being lost.

In the 1950s and 60s, when the artisans of Beijing’s last seven bow-making workshops were reassigned to state collectives, a craft that had been practised for more than 3,000 years came to a sudden halt. By the mid-90s, all remaining bowyers had passed away, with the exception of Yang Wentong. Come his death, it was believed, all knowledge of traditional Han Chinese ox-horn bow making would be lost forever.

Obviously, there is a lot more to the story of the revival of China’s traditional archery. But I was still very happy to see an article (and video segment) like this in the South China Morning Post.

I was recently reading something by Paul Bowman in which he reviewed the ways that various newspapers in the UK have discussed the martial art over the years. I think that one of the phrases he applied to articles in the Daily Mail was “perpetual wide-eyed wonder.” That immediately popped into mind as I looked at their latest photo essay titled ‘Everybody was kung fu fighting’: Inside the Chinese village where all residents practise martial arts.

If memory serves we have heard about this village in Guangxi before. They seem to have some sort of communal (early morning and evening) martial arts training, but sadly this article never actually states the style. What we do get it is yet another variant of the burning of the Shaolin Temple myth, complete with a wandering survivor who takes up residence in the village, founding its current martial arts tradition. Good stuff!

A Chinese Kung Fu teacher visiting a school in Africa.

At first glance our next article appeared to be a boilerplate account of the sort of educational exchange program that governments frequently sponsor. Basically, a few dozen Chinese physical education instructors were sent to the USA to visit and observe how teaching was conducted in local classes. And of course they also taught some Kung Fu to the American kids. I was surprised that the style they introduced was Five Ancestors Fist, a very important southern school. Suddenly I want to hear more!

Senior woman doing Tai Chi exercise to keep her joints flexible, isolated.

Taijiquan was one of the big winners of the last news cycle. A couple of studies had come out on the practice’s ability to build strength in older students, and this unleashed a torrent of near identical articles in several outlets. My favorite was titled “Building Strength Through Tai Chi” in the Seattle Times.

Watching a group of people doing tai chi, an exercise often called “meditation in motion,” it may be hard to imagine that its slow, gentle, choreographed movements could actually make people stronger. Not only stronger mentally but stronger physically and healthier as well.

I certainly was surprised by its effects on strength, but good research — and there’s been a fair amount of it by now — doesn’t lie.

What caught my eye about this one is that the author is actually something of a skeptic. Rather than seeing Taijiquan as a progressive exercise that can be done at many levels of intensity, the assumption seems to be that it is useful only as a sort of remedial rehabilitation program for senior citizens who are looking to build the physical capital necessary for a more “strenuous” (western style) workout. Taijiquan gets a lot of good medical press these days, but this article made me stop and wonder how common these attitudes might be in certain corners of the medical profession. Not actually understanding much about the art in question, it would be difficult for such experts to visualize what it might do for a wider range of patients.

Speaking of senior citizens doing taijiquan, Netshark had a fun video of an “Auntie” who decided to release stress during an epic two hour Golden Week traffic jam by exiting her car and practicing her solo set. Can’t find time to train? Seriously kids, no excuses.

I wasn’t quite sure how to classify the next story. It touches on a number of topics including contemporary film, ancient Chinese history and 20th century crime novels. It turns out that Detective Dee has had many careers through the ages. This is a really good article to read if you are interested in the interplay between history and popular culture. And somehow it all ends up as a series of kung fu films. I personally found this to be one of the more surprising and enjoyable articles in this month’s review.

Quick, what is your favorite martial arts film? Now what are your top 50? If you are still working on that second question Newsweek has some suggestions. Incidentally Ip Man (2008) comes in at 35. If you want to find out what they chose as #1 you will need to read the article. In addition to the list, this piece also provides a capsule overview of the genre. It should be noted that they employ a rather loose definition of what counts as a “martial arts film.”

Collin Chou as Seraph in Matrix Reloaded.

Do you remember watching the the fight with Seraph (Collin Chou) in the first Matrix sequel? I do. It might have been my favorite fight sequence in that film. And it turns out that the film’s creator originally intended for it to be carried out by Jet Li, who was very interested in the part. But in a recent interview he went into more detail as to why he ultimately turned it down. It seems that the film’s producers were interested in capturing more than just his on screen performance. They were looking to use motion capture technology to digitally record Jet Li’s movements and build some sort of database.

“I realized the Americans wanted me to film for three months but be with the crew for nine,” Li recently mentioned during a Chinese talk show appearance. “And for six months, they wanted to record and copy all my moves into a digital library. By the end of the recording, the right to these moves would go to them.”

I thought this story was interesting as there are many projects (in the commercial, scholarly and non-profit sectors) that are digitally cataloging the movements of various martial arts masters. Some of these archives are used to produce films and video games, and other go into cultural institutions. Jet Li’s story is revealing as it illustrates some issues with what happens to all of this intellectual property. Are we simply recording for posterity something that is communally owned (an unchanging folk tradition)? Or are we instead attempting to capture a effervescent moment of performance by an individual artist who holds a unique IP claim to their own interpretation of the work. Li seems to have decided that the situation was more the latter and, in his case, walked away from the film. This story is all just a footnote in the history of the Matrix, but it raises interesting ethical and theoretical questions for students of martial arts studies.

So long as we are on the subject of film, I should mention that there is one upcoming movie that I very much want to see. The central premise of the “Kung Fu League” is a fantasy team-up between some of the genera’s greatest characters, Wong Fei Hung, Huo Yuan Jia, Ip Man and Chen Zhen. Clearly its a gimmick, but I am genuinely interested to see how figures from different eras and niches within the kung fu universe are made to address each other. This seems like the perfect time for some inter-textual comedy and reflection on the development of the genre. It will be interesting to see what the director ultimately does with it.

The next couple of stories step back from an exclusive focus on the Chinese martial arts. Our first piece is a discussion in the Japan Times of Alexander Bennett’s latest book, Japan: The Ultimate Samurai Guide. Or maybe it should really be titled “an insider’s guide to surviving in the world of the Japanese martial arts.”

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn’t, at least momentarily, considered joining a martial arts club upon moving to Japan. However, comparatively few actually take the plunge. One of the biggest hurdles is that clubs can seem to be worlds unto themselves, inaccessible to non-Japanese, even those with fluency in the language. Knowing where to start, especially if you have no previous martial arts experience also puts up barriers: Which is the right martial art for you? What should you look for in a teacher? How can you hope to compete when everyone in the club already seems to have a black belt?

This is where “Japan The Ultimate Samurai Guide,” authored by longtime kendo practitioner Alexander Bennett, hopes to step in, providing answers to some of these questions from the perspective of an insider. The book is part encyclopedia of martial arts — a historical resource tracking the evolution of Japanese martial arts over the last millennium — and part present-day guide to surviving in the world of budō and, more generally, in Japan.

This all sounds very interesting. I really enjoyed Bennett’s work on the history of Kendo, and he is well positioned to write a popular yet highly informed guide to the wider world of Japanese martial arts. I suspect that this one will end up on my Christmas list.

Me leading a break out group of students through a lightsaber set at Ithaca Sabers.

And now for a few stories touching on one of my personal research areas which seems to be getting a lot more exposure in the news lately. First off, a local TV channel visited the lightsaber class that I run here in Ithaca. You never know how these things will go, but I thought that the final story came out quite nicely. Are you interested in what lightsaber combat might look like if approached as a traditional martial art? If so you can check out the full story here.

Of course, that is not the only version of lightsaber combat that you will find. Lots of people get into the practice because they are looking for a fast paced combat sport where they don’t have to invest years in martial arts training to do something that they enjoy. This recent report on the Nerdist followed one individual’s journey to a “full contact” saber tournament held in Las Vegas (where else). Its actually quite an interesting piece as it visits a few different corners of the “combat sport” side of the lightsaber community.

Kung Fu Tea on Facebook

A lot has happened on the Kung Fu Tea Facebook group over the last month. We looked at antique weapons, pontificated about the value of seminars, and learned what happens when Capoeira meets Kung Fu! 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!

Who “Killed” Kung Fu: Habermas and the Legitimization Crisis within Traditional Martial Arts

Posted on 19 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

“A Sword Fight.” 1917, magic lantern slide showing Wang Wen-lin and Wang Shhh-Ching. Source: The Digital Collections of Springfield College.

Zombies

The air is distinctly crisp, the end of October is upon us, and Halloween rapidly approaches. Clearly, it is time to talk about zombies. We seem to go through periods of collective fascination with the image of empty human husks shambling across a barren landscape, neither truly alive or dead. These monsters fascinate us not because of their cunning or strength. Taken one at a time they are incapable of accomplishing any goal. Their only defining characteristic is a paradoxical immunity to death. They just keep walking across the historical landscape.

Jurgen Habermas had a lot to say about zombies though, to the best of my knowledge he never used the term. Rather than the Walking Dead on the outskirts of Atlanta, he was more concerned with the sorts of failed states that sometimes appeared on the historical stage. In his writing on the “Legitimization Crisis” (1973) he noted that the loss of popular support didn’t always result in revolution or state collapse. Instead one often encountered a situation where the institutions of government continued to amble along (often for an improbable length of time), and yet found themselves unable to effectively call on society’s resources to accomplish their core political goals. The government had clearly lost its authority, yet no replacement could be seen on the horizon.

Both a social theorist and public intellectual, Habermas is one of the great thinkers of the 20^thcentury. This does not mean that his work has been universally accepted. He famously clashed with Derrida, and Habermas wrote a widely cited essay in the early 1980s taking aim at the excesses of post-modern thought. Still, as the Western democracies approach a critical historical crossroads while gripped by social and political paralysis, it’s hard to see his work on the origin and nature of the legitimization crisis as anything other than prophetic.

To oversimplify, Habermas began by asking students to think carefully about how authority emerges and functions within a social system. Such systems are composed of the governmental institutions (both formal and informal) that wield authority, socio-cultural considerations (values, identities, norms, etc) and economic exchanges (who gets what resource). In a well-functioning social system it may not be necessary to split out these various realms as they will tend to blend into one another, supported by overarching social discourses. Individual values will uphold political authority, as will economic markets.

Issues arise when competing discourses emerge and the fractures between these realms become more pronounced. Or we might imagine them as being constructed or reconstructed by a new set of competitive discourses. More specifically, a “crisis of legitimacy” erupts when citizens cease to believe that a political system reflects their socio-cultural values, or that the old values that it is based on continue to have utilitarian (political/economic) value. In this instance their “life world” (lebenswelt) ruptures. One would hope that the political system would adapt to the new reality, but that is never the only possibility. It might rupture into competing factions (civil wars) or simply shamble along as a failed state, incapable of drawing on the creative resources of society.

That brings us back to the zombies. One does not have to watch the news for very long to realize that modern nation states are not the only institutions that can suffer this fate. Indeed, we are increasingly surrounded by all sorts of economic and cultural institutions who have been crippled by rapid social change. If I were to level a single criticism at Habermas it would be that he drew the boundaries of his discussion of the legitimization crisis much too narrowly, focusing primarily on states. Historical investigation would seem to support the hypothesis that all sorts of other social values and cultural institutions must fall into crisis before the nation-state (typically a very resilient entity) is imperiled. Thus, for the logic of Habermas to be true at the macro level (something that is hard to empirically test) it must first hold true at the at the micro level (which is more easily observed).

Admittedly, such a project would explicitly contradict Habermas’ avowed goal to re-establish “grand theory” as a valued realm distinct from the plebeian world of “empirical testing.” I personally have always been a bit suspicious of “grand theory,” probably because it is not very helpful when one is attempting to write local history. In any event, good theories should be portable, and all sorts of “life worlds” (including the martial arts) could be thought of as possessing governing structures, social/cultural values and mechanisms of economic exchange. In fact, one would be hard pressed to come up with a more apt description of the social structure of traditional martial arts communities.

A detailed look at a pair of Shuang Gau. This is pair measures 95 cm in length and may be of a similar vintage to the swords seen in these images. Source: http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com/s1015_full.html

Who Killed Kung Fu?

It is not difficult to perceive the signs of a legitimization crisis within the traditional martial arts. Class enrollments are down almost across the board and many schools struggle to stay open. Traditional styles are openly derided in one-sided contests with MMA or Muay Thai stylists on social media. There even seems to be fewer martial arts movies.

Yet not all of the trends are easily interpreted. There is more high quality popular, and even academic, publishing on these systems being produced and consumed than ever before. Judged by the quality of the information we have access to, we are living in the golden age of kung fu scholarship. Yet popular magazines are struggling. While the potential market for information on the traditional martial arts is expanding in terms of the number of serious readers, its dollar value has radically diminished. While this trend has hurt traditional publishers and book sellers, more small scale “prosumers” are putting out content (typically on Youtube or Facebook) than ever before.

The general state of affairs might best be summed up as one of confusion. The leading traditional forces that have structured the Chinese martial arts community still exist. We still have large lineage-based schools. There are a number of stylistic and regional associations, as well as commercial producers of both books and training gear. Yet they all seem unable to lead the community toward a meaningful revitalization effort. In the mean-time, large numbers of students adopt unorthodox modes of practices or simply leave the martial arts all together.

As with zombies, I am not aware that Habermas ever mentioned the martial arts community. Yet if he did, I suspect that he would not be surprised by the general state of affairs. Drawing on the more sociological aspects of his work, I he would note our situation is particularly complicated as we face a legitimization crisis on not one, but two, fronts. Further, these two sources of tension might interact with each other in complicated ways. All of this, in turn, stems from a change in the cost of communication, making transformative contact between people much less expensive than it had been. Yet to see how a change in one social variable (the price of communication) might lead to two slightly different types of legitimization crises, we first need to revisit the last era of major social/political realignment within the Chinese martial arts.

During the Republic period internal communication within China was relatively expensive. Even the Chinese government, which dedicated substantial resources to the project, found it practically impossible to transmit its point of view on critical diplomatic issues to citizens in Western countries. In this sort of situation, effective communication required a sponsor with substantial resources. This forced the Chinese martial arts into alliances with various political actors. Traditionally these had either been the Imperial military, or local social elites who needed to maintain a degree of order within their own village, marketplace or clan. As such, Chinese martial arts networks derived their legitimacy from their relationship with regional or clan based identities. At the risk of vastly oversimplifying a complicated situation, it was their tight alignment with these narrow forces that gave them access to (and legitimacy within) local communities.

None of this was particularly helpful to the wave of national reformers who came to power after 1911. Seeing the importance of budo in the creation of a cohesive and modern Japanese state, they wished to do something similar in China. Yet that required talking and thinking about the martial arts in a fundamentally different way. What had been particularistic and local now needed to be universal and open. Whereas local elites had benefited from their relationship with martial arts societies, these allegiances needed to be transferred to the national level.

A variety of new institutions were created to do just that. Formal establishments like the New Wushu and Guoshu movements sought to give the state direct control over the organization of local martial arts societies. Other reformers (such as the Jingwu movement, and much of the Taijiquan community) favored a less statist (but equally nationalist) strategy in which universal creation myths were promoted and “lineage” communities that may have once been very local were reimagined as being national in scope.

It should be remembered that this new vision of the Chinese martial arts did not emerge in a vacuum. Rather, it was the result of a sophisticated debate on what the “new China” should be. Nor was the victory of these views immediate or even total. A full blown legitimization crisis emerged within the Chinese martial arts. The Guoshu program looked very powerful on paper, but most of China’s local martial artists simply ignored its tournaments and directives as they did not directly address their values or local needs. Worse yet, many intellectuals within the May 4^thmovement openly derided its goals and methods. The result was a long legitimization dispute which Jon Nielson and I described in our book.

Yet from this transformation arose the system of allotting “authority” within the traditional Chinese martial arts that most of us now take for granted. A system of dual legitimization was created. Formal political institutions (first Guoshu, and later Wushu) claimed legitimacy through their adherence to scientific and modernizing principals which placed the martial arts at the disposal of the state. This became the dominant way in which the Chinese martial arts were legitimated within the PRC. In this case the “political element” of the community was a set of actual formal institutions answerable to the government. Outside of that realm, a new set of “traditions” were made available to national, and then universal, communities. Regardless of your location or country of birth, one could experience some aspect of the Chinese nation by studying in any one of these open, commercial, schools. They reconfigured China’s traditional folk arts in such a way that they were now available to students anywhere in the world. This social system gained dominance in Taiwan, the South East Asian diaspora and the West.

A “Sword Dancer” by Hadda Morrison. Source: Harvard Digital Archives.

Recent changes within the Western social realm have created a new set of challenges for this second mode of legitimization. The rise of a renewed emphasis on empirical verification in many places in Western society during the 1970s-1990s posed a direct challenge to all sorts of “arguments by authority”. One of the places that we can see this playing out is in an erosion of public trust in all sorts of “expert” bodies. The decline of traditional religious communities might be another place (though here we must also account for the modernization and related secularization hypotheses).

Rather than allowing either the nation or “tradition” to arbitrate what techniques were effective (and therefore legitmate), a new generation of martial artists, not culturally beholden to the norms of the previous systems, advocated putting such practices to the test. This tendency has long been present in the West. Indeed, we can even see it in Bruce Lee’s writings in the 1970s. Yet by the 1990s this was increasingly the dominant current of thought which would give rise to practices like the Mixed Martial Arts.

It is critical to realize that the traditional arts involved in these disputes are in crisis not simply because they often lose in Youtube challenge matches. Being repeatedly pummeled in viral videos certainly doesn’t help their cause. Yet even if they were to win there would still be an almost identical crisis of legitimacy as the older generation of Masters (who hold the keys of “tradition”) no longer have the ability to determine when violent conflict is publicly allowed and how it will be socially interpreted. Under these circumstances even a win represents a loss of standing for the traditional faction as it suggests that young fighters training under “scientific conditions” can succeed largely without their blessing.

I was recently part of an (extended) conversation that illustrated this situation quite nicely. It began when I was chatting with a Wing Chun instructor of my own generation about the state of the art today. While others take a dim view of “kids these days,” he has a cheerful disposition and is something of an optimist. He is also an outspoken advocate of placing non-cooperative sparring (often with people from outside your style) at the center of serious Wing Chun training.

Needless to say, doing so tends to have a definite effect on one’s body structure. You can still apply Wing Chun concepts to most competitive sparring sessions, but it doesn’t look like a sticky hands drills. Nor does it look like anything you would see in the unarmed forms (unless you really knew what you were looking for). In fact, my own Sifu (who also engaged in some similar practices) often told me that in actual combat my fighting should not look like Wing Chun. I shouldn’t necessarily appear to have any style at all. My movements should just appear to be clean and effective.

As more and more Wing Chun students start to spar at local “open mat nights,” my friend was happy to note that he could see visible changes within the physical culture (perhaps the “habitus”) of the younger generation of students. At least that was his opinion. He noted that the tactical and athletic issues facing students today are vastly different than sixty years ago when Ip Man (who, for the record, was also an innovator) began to teach in Hong Kong. Our approach to the art needs to adapt just as his did.

This opinion was not shared by an older instructor in the same field who I had spoken with some time earlier. Sparring, especially with random individuals from outside one’s style, was a problem in his view. It led to students becoming “confused.” What the younger sifu saw as an “effective defense” in a practical situation, he perceived only as sloppy and ill informed. Indeed, he proclaimed that this wasn’t kung fu at all. Mirroring a criticism I have heard dozens of other times, he decried such sparring as “mere kickboxing,” and proclaimed that in fact no actual martial art was being practiced. In his view, if one’s Wing Chun did not look the same in a fight as in the training hall, it wasn’t Wing Chun at all. Nor was he willing to concede that modern combat sports (such as boxing, kickboxing or MMA) might be “authentic” martial arts that also required huge amounts of dedication and training.

Beyond merely being a difference of opinions, it is also worth noting that these instructors drew their personal authority from very different sources. The more senior instructor leaned heavily (as one might guess) on tradition and lineage as a source of authority. The younger coach based the legitimacy of his views in large part on the success of his students in many local mixed style tournaments. In the social world of the older Sifu, only the authorized guardians of tradition were able to judge if something met the criteria of “good” Wing Chun. But in a public boxing match, anyone can add up the points on the score card at the end of a fight.

The real threat to traditional modes of legitimization within this particular community is not that the younger Sifu’s students might be seen losing a fight on Youtube. Authorities have always found it easy to explain away “dissidents with bad attitudes” when they lose. The actual crisis occurs when more modern interpretations of Wing Chun are seen to publicly win, providing an alternative framework for judging the legitimacy of someone’s training practice.

Beyond this we must also consider the economic basis of these arts. Who can teach, and who can profit, from the dissemination of knowledge? While related to the issue of authority, movement in this area can also trigger a distinct set of legitimization crises.

In a 2014 paper, Adam Frank looked at the issue of “family secrets” in one Taiji community regarding who was authorized to benefit from teaching or withholding this information. When this community had few contacts outside of China, and little opportunity to benefit from lucrative teaching positions in Europe and North America, there was less concern as to who taught this material. Once the international profile of the school began to rise, a reconsolidation occurred in which some previously authorized teachers were marginalized within the community, thus reassigning the “right” to teach the complete art to a smaller number of “family members.”

Students of Martial Arts Studies are free to have a variety of opinions about this, and all sorts of values are implicated in the story that Frank lays out. Yet from Habermas’ perspective, such an outcome was not unexpected. One would naturally expect that the economic aspect of how benefits are apportioned within the community to match the “political” dimension of how authority is defined. In a stable social system those who are widely perceived as the legitimate teachers should be the one’s to economically benefit from the spread of the community. This would provide them with an incentive to make sure that the system perpetuates itself.

Yet these bearers of tradition are not challenged only by shifts in social/cultural values. The radical decrease in the cost of communication has impaired their ability to monetize their authority, even in areas of the community that share their values. Selling books and magazine articles was, in the past, a critical aspect of building a strong community. From the 1970s-1990s it allowed leaders to both profit from their teaching while ensuring that their understanding of a system’s values and techniques remained hegemonic. Again, in a stable social system the political, economic and social discourses reinforce one another.

The rise of social media dealt a serious blow to the martial arts publishing industry. In its place we now have an explosion of Youtube channels in which the very same senior students and junior instructors (and sometimes simply random class members) who would have previously been the core consumers of centrally distributed materials, are now producing their own instructional content.

This is an important phenomenon as it reflects a shift in the values within the underlying social system. It is easy to criticize the uneven quality of much of this free material, but even a sceptic must stand back and admire the sheer volume of information that is now being produced. While in a previous generation one might have defined their identity (at least in part) by the sorts of media that one bought and consumed, individuals now make similar judgements based on what they produce and disseminate. In the age of the “prosumer” (or producer/consumer), broadcasting your views on Wing Chun has become a valid way of performing one’s membership in this community. Needless to say, this explosion of free communication has made it nearly impossible for the guardians of tradition to dominate the economic exploitation of the art.

Indeed, many of the most profitable and fastest growing areas within the TCMA seem to be the most marginal. The announcement of newly discovered lineages, weapon sparring leagues, or attempts to “rediscover” lost arts through the interpretation of historical texts all elicit excitement. And at least some of these things should. Yet in some respects they all diminish the center’s ability to monetize its claims to traditional, lineage based, authority.

A photograph (probably 1930s) showing a marketplace martial arts demonstration. Note the Shuang Gau led by the man on the left. Source: The personal collection of Benjamin Judkins

The Stakes

So how does it all end? Within the popular press we are frequently treated to dire predictions about the death of kung fu. I think it is worth remembering that the martial art have suffered other legitimization crises in the not so distant past and they are still very much with us today. Indeed, a brewing crisis seems to be exactly what opens to the door to “political change” (in the sense that Habermas used the term) within a social system.

Perhaps the most obvious possibility is that the utilitarian and empirical values that are widely held by practitioners of the various arts come to be written into our collective understanding of their “traditional” identity. Given that these notions of “tradition” were almost entirely socially constructed in the 1920s-1950s, that may be less difficult than one might at first glance suppose. Indeed, if you carefully read the front-matter of many of martial arts books produced between the 1910s and the 1940s you will discover that in point of fact the martial artists of the Republican period can provide a lot of ideological cover for today’s rationalizers and modernizers. Alternatively, a shift in our current social values might lead Western consumers back towards a more community focused appreciation of the martial arts at some point. These sorts of trends are very difficult to predict in the long run.

A less pleasant possibility, however, is increasing schism. The issues in these disputes are not merely ones of style or effectiveness. While those points may be debated, more fundamental questions about our core social values and identities are clearly implicated in all of this. How do we know good kung fu when we see it, and who is allowed to make that determination? As Paul Bowman noted, the gap between traditional modes of establishing authority, and those favored by either utilitarian norms or academic training (in the case of historical debates), is unlikely to be bridged. It is when a substantial segment of the community increasingly tunes out, or simply walks away, that we see the emergence of zombie institutions. They continue to shamble along, but with no real ability to draw on the resources of their members or to respond to their essential demands. It remains to be seen how all of this will play out in the current era, but like the younger Sifu discussed above, I remain optimistic.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: Reflections on the Long Pole: History, Technique and Embodiment

oOo

Salvaging History and Saving the Martial Arts

Posted on 15 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Hong Kong harbor at night. Source: Wikimedia.

This weekend has been a blur of activity. Friday evening was consumed by the first “open mat” sparring night at the Central Lightsaber Academy (which was a blast), Saturday was devoted to a day-long seminar on Sicilian knife fighting (a grimmer vision of weapons training), and about half of Sunday was spent helping out with the Autumn open-house at another martial arts school here in Ithaca. I have barely had time to upload my photos and draft out some quick field-notes.

Still, a nagging feeling emerged as I began to meditate on these very different events. While I have not had time to fully develop these ideas, I thought that it might be helpful to write down a few of my impressions. The golden thread uniting and giving meaning to each of the activities seemed to be a “hidden” discussion on the problems of transmission and market viability within the martial arts.

Or maybe that is not entirely correct. The discussion happened openly in the second event. I hope to write a fuller account of the Sicilian knife seminar led by Sifu John Crescione in a future post. But from a social scientific perspective, one of the more interesting things that came up was a debate as to whether it would really just be better to let this art die out. Granted, no one in the room thought that this was a good idea, but Sifu Crescione noted that many of the “old timers” back in Sicily who had learned and studied practical knife fighting as a family based “combative practice” saw no point in taking on students or promoting themselves within the current revival of the Italian martial arts. For them, knife fighting was a direct response to a violent environment and teaching strangers better ways to kill each other was not a wise course of action. If a changing world no longer required these skills, so much the better.

For other instructors, Sicilian knife fighting’s true value was found in areas outside prison yards and narrow alleys. It could give individuals a chance to reconnect (and even re-imagine) their heritage. Acting as an intermediary between the “old master” and interested foreign students might open social and economic pathways for a more professionalized generation of instructors. Finally, there is a very exciting renaissance in all sorts of traditional Italian martial arts (including stick, knife and sword), and these skills have a special historical and cultural value within that context.

The complex dialectic relationship between regional identity and more universal notions of understanding national identity is one of the things that I find most interesting about this area. Yet equally important is the emergence of a thoughtful conversation seeking to tackle the relationship between martial practice and violence in a changing social environment. How a given master of the art defined the relevant community (his family, his city, a national organization, a global network) has an important impact on how they understand the future of the art.

These conversations are far from unique. They are happening in many places within the martial arts world. Consider the reoccurring debates as to whether the traditional Asian arts are dying in the West (and the East too for that matter). I note that these debate(s) happen in the plural since I am aware of written discussions of this topic dating back to the 16th century, roughly 300 years before the Chinese martial arts as most of us know them came into being. More recently, this was a popular topic in the 1910s, the 1920s, the 1940s, 1950s and the 1970s (post-Cultural Revolution in the PRC). The Chinese martial arts seem to exist in a state of a perpetual revival and re-invention, and the desire to “save” them is one of the motivations driving them into the future. I suspect that social elites within the Chinese martial arts community understand this, and that is why they so often push the narrative that kung fu is dying. Nothing brings a community together quite like the threat of extinction.

Still, knowledgeable critics might point out that, “this time it is different.” The rise of modern combat sports (such as MMA or competitive BJJ) has sapped the traditional arts of their air of invincibility. As a result, it is harder to make the argument that these practices are “cool” no matter how many times Bruce Lee’s image finds itself on a magazine cover. Still, boxing was a mainstay of American sporting life in the 1960s and 1970s, just when the martial arts were coming into vogue. And a quick review of the humor of that same period leads me to suspect that most people never viewed karate or judo as infallible.

A more serious problem might be the current real estate market. Old buildings are being redeveloped and rents are high. Gentrification is a problem in many cities. All of this has proved problematic for many martial arts schools and gyms. In my own research I have seen multiple schools lose their locations in an area of the country where real estate prices are relatively stable. In global cities like Hong Kong and Guangzhou (the home of the southern Chinese martial arts) the combination of declining student enrollment and skyrocketing real estate values have created a true crisis. That is an empirical fact.

When looking at cities like Hong Kong, New York or London, land is the one thing that they just aren’t making any more of. While many martial arts can be trained with minimal equipment, they all need space (more so if one practices with weapons). So maybe this time it really is different?

Which brings me to another one of my weekend activities, the open house that I was tapped to help-out with at a local school here in Ithaca. To be honest, I thought that there probably wouldn’t be much for me to do. It was one of those spectacular October days that comes too rarely. Who wants to spend their afternoon learning about the new class schedules when you could be outside taking in the fall leaves?

To my surprise the answer turned out to be about a hundred people. The school was so packed with potential students that one needed excellent kung fu just to make it to the cheese platters. One would never guess that the martial arts were “dying” as you surveyed this sea of humanity. Many of the institution’s current students were hard at work chatting up potential recruits for the school’s various classes.

That last detail, the multitude of the classes offered, is probably the critical part of this story. While this particular school has some very solid Asian martial arts (Silat, JKD, various types of kickboxing), it also offers a wide range of other fitness and martial arts training. Various types of strength and conditioning classes are offered, as is a vibrant after school program for kids. A local BJJ teacher rents space there, as do more yoga and Pilates instructors than I can keep track of.

I am sure that many of you are familiar with schools that use this sort of business model. Yes, real estate prices are high. But the class rooms in this building see very little down time. The end result is that rather than competing, the various types of modern and traditional martial arts, combative classes and fitness’s groups, actually end up subsidizing each other.

This isn’t to say that there is anything easy about running a school that looks like this, or that the strategy always succeeds. I have even heard some instructors criticize these sorts of arrangements as “selling out,” seeing them as sign of decay from the situation in the 1980s or 1990s where every class or style might maintain its own storefront and absolute sovereignty. But what if we looked just a bit further back in time? What might we discover about the “good old days?”

A quiet neighborhood in Hong Kong. Source: Photo by Russell Judkins.

As I milled around the packed open-house I found myself thinking about Alberto Biraghi’s memoir a Hung Ga Story: Me and Master Chan Hon Chung. This was a bit of a surprise as Hung Ga was one of the few arts that was notable by its absence at this event. But something about the turnout, and the relationships I saw between people within the crowd, reminded me very strongly of Biraghi’s account (which I have previously reviewed here).

Once again, the problem was real estate. This is not the first era in which this has become an issue within the Chinese martial arts. In truth, it has never been particularly easy to run a kung fu school in Hong Kong. Most Sifus during the 1970s did so by teaching in the evenings in their own apartments after all of the furniture was cleared out of the way. That is a reality that is often overlooked in all of the discussion of “roof top schools.”

The basic issue was that Hong Kong was already a densely crowded place in the late 1940s. The waves of refugees that poured in during the early 1950s, and then again in the 1960s, filled the city to a bursting point. Rents were high in comparison to wages, and if one was lucky enough to own a building, or a group of apartments, it wasn’t clear that running a martial arts school offered the best return on one’s investment (even in a period where the martial arts were relatively popular).

Biraghi provides a fascinating account of his various stays in Hong Kong during the 1970s, and his narrative offers insight into how instructors navigated these harsh economic realities. What became evident as I read his account was that his teacher’s social standing in the neighborhood was not simply a result of his title of Sifu. Or rather, much more went into that title than simply running a martial arts school. It certainly helped that he controlled access to real estate in his building.

Chan Hon Chung’s property was full of a wide variety of small businesses, all renting space from him, and all contributing to the fabric of the local neighborhood. Yes, kung fu was more popular in the 1970s than today. Yet in this case, it still benefited from being subsidized by an entire web of economic and social relationships, many of which might have been only dimly visible to visitors coming to the martial arts school. The respect that Chan commanded as a “Sifu” was a reflection of this wider social reality which transcended his technical function as “only” a martial arts teacher, or “only” a landlord. He opened a space where an economic and social community could exist.

When viewed from this perspective, the Ithaca open house seems less novel or “post-modern.” Martial arts schools have always been forced to deal with fundamental economic realities. Sometimes a recession leaves lots of empty commercial real estate (e.g., the early 1980s), and one model school organization is possible. In other periods real estate is relatively expensive and other modes of economic organization are necessary.

In either case, martial arts schools succeed through the act of community building. They must build a compelling internal community for their own students, but also reach out and find a place in the broader neighborhood (where future students will come from). In this respect it was interesting to note that the Ithaca school which I visited, and the Hong Kong establishment of the 1970s, came to slightly different solutions. Reflecting the shop-based small scale manufacturing model of the time, Chan rented to businesses in a variety of different sectors of the economy.

In a modern consumer and service-based economy, my local school has instead specialized in a single sector (fitness and physical culture). Its secret seems to be that it provides a range of classes designed to appeal to every member of a family, or various individuals in a group of college-aged friends. There is an after-school program for the kids, a yoga class for mom, and a JKD study group for teens. In that way it has become a “one stop shop” for an entire neighborhood. Indeed, orienting its core identity around a neighborhood rather than just one style seems to be working out quite nicely. But I doubt that this success would have come as much of a surprise to Chan.

This brings us to a critical question about history. What is the purpose of writing and reading martial arts history? For many martial artists the answer seems to come down to authenticity. We seek to legitimate our personal practice (at least in our own minds) by finding evidence that we are indeed part of a vast chain of practices crossing national and temporal boundaries.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with establishing a sense of belonging. Still, this exercise always makes me a bit nervous as it leads us to read our own practices and conceptual understanding backwards in time. In so doing we can more easily see our own reflections, but we lose sight of the actual subjects of our initial fascination. On some level we must take seriously the warning that the past is a foreign country, and people did things differently there. What we gain by studying history is an appreciation for the vast complexity of the human experience.

Yet this discussion suggests that something else may be possible. While there is rarely a one-to-one correlation, I don’t think anyone disputes that past innovation impacts current practice. In that sense a style’s history is a bit like its DNA. Not in a simple a deterministic sense, but rather as a repository for a wide variety of potential behaviors and strategies, most of which lay dormant and forgotten at any moment in time. Rather than tell us who we are, or what we must be in the future, history reminds us that tree of human experiences branches radically in both directions. Below us as roots drawing from the past, and above us as branches reaching rhizomatically to the future.

The nature of life is that things must change. In every generation we must determine whether our communities will live on, which practices will be preserved, and how they will be developed. While our myths about the past may inspire us, I suspect that it is within those forgotten and “dormant” corners of our historical DNA that we will find the clues necessary to navigate a complex future.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to read: A Tale of Two Challenge Fights – Or, Writing Better Martial Arts History

oOo

NIMBLENESS BOXING (JIE QUAN)

Posted on 14 Ottobre 2018 by Paul Brennan

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捷拳圖說
A HANDBOOK FOR NIMBLENESS BOXING
傅秀山
by Fu Xiushan
[1930]

[translation by Paul Brennan, Oct, 2018]

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傅秀山編
by Fu Xiushan:
捷拳圖說
A Handbook for Nimbleness Boxing
馬公愚題
– calligraphy by Ma Gongyu

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國術真魂
The true soul of martial arts!
李景林題
– calligraphy by Li Jinglin

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禹城傅秀山著述
by Fu Xiushan of Yucheng:
㨗拳
Nimbleness Boxing
于右任
– [calligraphy by] Yu Youren

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國技導師
Martial arts leadership!
陳嘉祐題
– calligraphy by Chen Jiayou

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發揚國光
Promoting our national glory!
許世英題
中華民國十八年雙十節
– calligraphy by Xu Shiying, National Day, Oct 10, 1929

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秀山先生属題
for Xiushan:
技進乎道
“Skill brings us closer to the Way.”
楚之熙
– calligraphy by Chu Zhixi

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神乎斯技
How wondrous this art is!
明州朱霞天題
– calligraphy by Zhu Xiatian of Mingzhou [old name for Ningbo]

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傅秀山先生小影
Portrait of Fu Xiushan:

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序
PREFACE

我中華國於亞洲。具五千年之歷史文化。本宜强逾歐美。稱雄寰宇也。然今日竟淪於次殖民地地位。可勝痛哉。溯本窮源。雖由科學幼稚。工商不振。教育不能普及。內亂未克敉平。而構成此內政失修外侮日亟之局勢。然全民衆忽視體育。沿襲重文輕武之惡習。而養成今日萎靡不振奄奄垂斃之多數病夫。實為我中華民族衰老之絕大原因也。我國上古。本重體育。如干戈弓矢之屬。撲擊拳勇之技。無不家喻戶曉。降至近世。火器發明。拳術遂廢棄湮沒而無聞。殊不知國術之為用。可使弱者强。夭者壽。病者痊。頽唐萎靡者。可使剛毅果敢。其直接間接影響於社會國家。不亦深且鉅哉。禹城傅秀山先生。國術專家也。本其健身强國之旨。研究國術。歷數十年如一日。其武藝之精通。技術之超卓。早已蜚聲全國。無待贅言。尤能力事提倡。誨人不倦。茲本生平研究之心得。歷經名師之指導。編纂是書。個中祕訣。闡發無餘。盡道人所不能道。生龍活虎。蹤躍奔騰。種種精奧。一一筆而出之。掃盡前人不公開之惡習。書成之日。行見紙貴洛陽。爭覩為快。其有裨國術前途。寧有涯涘耶。
中華民國十八年十二月三十日山左諶祖安序於上海國術比賽大會
Our Chinese nation has tallied up five thousand years of history and culture in Asia. This greatly exceeds Europe and America, and yet they are considered to be dominant over the whole world whereas we are nowadays relegated to the position of an inferior people. This is truly unbearable. Tracing back to the source of this problem, our scientific understanding is at a childish level, and thus industry has not grown, education has not spread, and we continue to have unquellable domestic strife, putting us in our situation of both internal disorder and external threat from Japan. And yet the masses ignore physical education, carrying on the old evil of valuing only intellectual pursuits and trivializing martial affairs, thereby generating our current state of being countless lethargic feeble “sick men”. Surely this is the cause of the frailty of the Chinese people.
　　Our nation in ancient times emphasized physical education involving weapons and archery, wrestling and boxing, and these were things known in every household. But with the invention of firearms in modern times, martial arts were abandoned, and so they disappeared from view and ceased to be spoken of. Little do people realize the usefulness of martial arts, capable of making the weak strong, of giving long life to those who would have died young, of helping those with illness recover, of turning the listless and dispirited into the resolute and courageous. This could have both a direct and indirect influence upon our society that can be profound and enormous.
　　Fu Xiushan of Yucheng [in Shandong] is an expert in martial arts, intent on using physical fitness as a means of strengthening the nation. He has studied martial arts consistently for decades, and his incredible skill has long since made him famous throughout the nation. It goes without saying that he is uniquely capable of promoting these arts. A tireless instructor, he has now taken what he has learned throughout his life, all that he has learned from his teachers, and compiled it into a book. All of the special terminology within is fully explained, revealing even what experts would claim cannot be described in words. With the liveliness of a dragon and the vigor of a tiger, he leaps and dashes through all sorts of exquisite techniques, which he has written down one after another, sweeping aside the vice of earlier generations of not sharing information. Once this book comes out, it will be popular and sought-after. Its potential benefit for the future of our martial arts is limitless.
　　- written by Chen Zu’an of Shanzuo [i.e. Shandong] at the Shanghai Martial Arts Tournament, Dec 30, 1929

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自序
AUTHOR’S PREFACE

蓋聞有大志者。而後可以負大任就大事。然尤須有大精神大魄力濟之而後可。苟有志焉。而神如風燭。力難縛雞。惡乎其可也。孟子曰。故天將降大任於是人也。必先苦其心志。勞其筋骨。餓其體膚。空乏其身。行拂亂其所為。所以動心忍性。增益其所不能。是孟子之重視心性與體魄可知。心性之磨鍊。或由學問。或由境遇。至於磨鍊體魄。舍國技莫屬。何則。蓋運動之術雖多。而能益內利外。用剛濟柔。有百利而無一弊。則惟國技耳。世之君子。鑒於國病民弱。起而倡之。良有以也。山也不肖。幼而瘠弱。且又善病。或勸山習國技以壯身。韙之。迺從劉師希嶽練習梅花拳有年。漸識其味。及劉師不祿。山又負笈遍遊各地。幸於濟垣。獲見韓愧生先生之捷拳。剛中寓柔。柔中寓剛。適合生理。有益心身。得蒙傳授。雖未洞澈其中玄奧。然從事以來。未受病魔之苦。豈非斯術所賜歟。客秋海上中華國技學會。有國技報出刊。山適主教席於松之武術會。因而函索拙稿。然山不文。安敢操觚著述。不過將師之所遺口訣五要。動作理法。錄以付諸棗梨。並附以圖說。編輯成册。聊作野人獻芹。以襄有志君子。為磨鍊體魄之一助。更希海內名達。不棄鄙陋。有以教正之。則幸甚矣。
I have heard that ambitious people can do anything, but what is really needed is great spirit and boldness in order to be able to succeed. If you have ambition but your spirit wanes, you will hardly have enough strength to tie up a chicken. How then could you succeed at anything? Mengzi said [Mengzi, chapter 6b]: “When Nature bestows responsibility on a person, it first tests his willpower, works his body, starves him, makes him destitute, and ruins whatever he tries to do, thereby activating his mind and building his endurance, making him able where he used to unable.”
　　Mengzi obviously attached importance to both one’s mental and physical condition. Mental training comes sometimes from learning, sometimes from experience. As for physical training, how can it be done without martial arts? There are many exercise arts, but these can benefit you both internally and externally, using both hardness and softness. They have countless advantages and not one drawback. That is why they are deemed our “national arts”. Seeing that our nation is ill, our people weak, wise gentlemen have started to promote these arts as a good means of dealing with the problem.
　　I was a sickly child, often very ill, and so I was advised to practice martial arts in order to build up my body. This was good advice indeed. I learned Plum Blossom Boxing from Liu Xiyue for several years, gradually coming to understand its special flavor. But then Liu passed away, and so I left home to learn elsewhere, traveling many places, until I was lucky enough to discover Han Kuisheng’s Nimbleness Boxing. It has softness within hardness, hardness within softness. It conforms to physiological principles, benefitting both mind and body. I have still not yet penetrated all of its mysteries, but ever since I started practicing it, I have never suffered from any illness. Therefore how could this art not a blessing?
　　While visiting the Shanghai Chinese Martial Arts Association, where they publish a martial arts newspaper, they recommended me for a teaching position at the Song River Martial Arts Association, which then requested that I send them a manuscript about this material. Since I am not a highly literate person, how could I presume to not only write about what I learned from my teacher, his twelve terms, five requirements, and movement principles, but also publish it all, including photographs of myself performing the postures, in an actual book? I am just a country bumpkin and this is just my meager contribution, intended to give some aid to ambitious gentlemen in the training of their bodies. I hope this art will become respected throughout the nation and not be dismissed as something shallow, but if anyone has any criticisms of this book, I would be very happy to receive them.

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捷拳圖說目錄
CONTENTS

捷拳之要旨
Essentials of Nimbleness Boxing
　十二字訣
　Twelve Key Terms
　五要
　Five Requirements
　論指
　On the Use of the Fingers
　論拳
　On the Use of the Fists [Palms]
　論捶
　On the Use of the Fists
　〔論腿〕
　[On the Use of the Legs]
　總訣
　General Principles
　節目歌訣
　Mnemonic Verse for Each Posture
捷拳之表演
Performance of Nimbleness Boxing
　第一式　立正
　Posture 1: STANDING AT ATTENTION
　第二式　預備
　Posture 2: PREPARATION
　第三式　順風領衣
　Posture 3: WIND TUGS THE JACKET
　第四式　順手推舟
　Posture 4: GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT
　第五式　靈獼護腦
　Posture 5: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD
　第六式　蜻蜓點水
　Posture 6: DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER
　第七式　葉底藏花
　Posture 7: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
　第八式　出爪亮翅
　Posture 8: SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS
　第九式　摟膝拗步
　Posture 9: BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE
　第十式　黑虎掏心
　Posture 10: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART
　第十一式　跨虎登山
　Posture 11: STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN
　第十二式　魁星奪斗
　Posture 12: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER
　第十三式　葉底藏花
　Posture 13: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
　第十四式　金龍合口
　Posture 14: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH
　第十五式　彩鳳囘頭
　Posture 15: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD
　第十六式　玉女穿梭
　Posture 16: MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH
　第十七式　燕子穿簾
　Posture 17: SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN
　第十八式　懷中抱玉
　Posture 18: HOARDING THE JADE
　第十九式　推窗望月
　Posture 19: PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON
　第二十式　摘星換斗
　Posture 20: PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER
　第二十一式　收爪斂鋒
　Posture 21: RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS
　第二十二式　分掌横跺
　Posture 22: SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK
　第二十三式　英雄獨立
　Posture 23: HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG
　第二十四式　迎門正跺
　Posture 24: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD
　第二十五式　魁星奪斗
　Posture 25: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER
　第二十六式　葉底藏花
　Posture 26: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
　第二十七式　金龍合口
　Posture 27: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH
　第二十八式　彩鳳囘頭
　Posture 28: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD
　第二十九式　靈獼護腦
　Posture 29: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD
　第三十式　柳線垂金
　Posture 30: GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES
　第三十一式　藤蘿掛壁
　Posture 31: VINE CREEPS UP THE WALL
　第三十二式　進步指南
　Posture 32: ADVANCE, POINTING-COMPASS POSTURE
　第三十三式　丹鳳朝陽
　Posture 33: PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE
　第三十四式　風擺荷葉
　Posture 34: WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES
　第三十五式　順風擺柳
　Posture 35: WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW
　第三十六式　單鞭
　Posture 36: SINGLE WHIP
　第三十七式　單擄手
　Posture 37: SINGLE PULLING HAND
　第三十八式　彩鳳囘頭
　Posture 38: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD
　第三十九式　黑虎掏心
　Posture 39: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART
　第四十式　前進踢打
　Posture 40: ADVANCE, KICK & HIT
　第四十一式　左前進踢打
　Posture 41: LEFT ADVANCE, KICK & HIT
　第四十二式　迎門正跺
　Posture 42: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD
　第四十三式　魁星奪斗
　Posture 43: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER
　第四十四式　葉底藏花
　Posture 44: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
　第四十五式　金龍合口
　Posture 45: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH
　第四十六式　彩鳳囘頭
　Posture 46: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD
　第四十七式　靈獼護腦
　Posture 47: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD
　第四十八式　渾元一氣
　Posture 48: RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE

–

捷拳圖說
A HANDBOOK FOR NIMBLENESS BOXING

–

捷拳之要旨
ESSENTIALS OF NIMBLENESS BOXING

梅花捷拳。以劈、挑、閃、衝、斜、五式為基本。以上中下三盤為捷法。捷者何。敏之謂也。拳曰捷。猶路之有捷徑也。捷拳之用。貴巧不貴力。乘敵之隙而動。所謂出其不意攻其無備也。遠則用手足。近則使肘膝。身體靈活。動作敏捷。如能精達此意。則敵雖有賁育之勇。亦無所施其技矣。是故拳之所以貴乎捷。而捷拳之命名。及其致用之功。槪可見焉。
The basics of Plum Blossom Nimbleness Boxing are the five qualities of chopping downward, carrying upward, rushing in, thrusting forward, and using angles, and its nimbleness lies in the three areas of the body: upper, middle, lower. Why “nimble”? Because of its agility. This boxing set is described as having nimbleness because it seems to seek shortcuts.
　　In application, it values skillfulness more than strength, taking advantage of the opponent’s gaps. As it is said [Art of War, chapter 7]: “Appear where he does not expect. Attack where he is not prepared.” At long range, use hands and feet. At short range, use elbows and knees. The body is lively and the movement is nimble. If you can master these ideas, then even though your opponent may have great courage, he will have no way to use his skills. Therefore the reason this boxing art values nimbleness, and why its name is Nimbleness Boxing, clearly has to do with its practical function.

–

十二字訣
TWELVE KEY TERMS

點　按　伸　縮　奇　正　弔　擄　速　巧　活　合
The key terms are: focus and pressure, expanding and contracting, direct and indirect, hanging and pulling, quickness and skillfulness, liveliness and unification.
解曰
They are explained below:

點者。以重力聚於一點也。夫重力聚於一點。其力較散漫者為大而速。譬如鐵錘。愈重則其速力愈滯。刃鋒愈利。則其速力愈疾。所謂能受一拳。不能受一掌。能受一掌。不能受一指之精意也。
[1] FOCUS: concentrating a heavy force upon a single point. If it is not concentrated upon a single point, it will be scattered over a general area. It should be a large force, but also have an element of speed. Take for example an iron mace. The heavier it is, the slower it is swung. But the sharper its spikes, the faster it will pierce through. It is said: “If he can handle a punch, then I will slice with the edge of my palm. If he can handle my palm, then I will stab with my fingertip.” This is exactly the idea.

按者。當我手未及敵人之身也。視之若無力然。及至其身也。猛力一按。使其氣虛而內傷也。
[2] PRESSURE: Before my hands reach the opponent’s body, I seem to have no power, but then in the moment that I get to his body, I press into him with sudden force, knocking the wind out of him and injuring him internally.

伸者。舒也。張而大之。引伸而使之長也。
[3] EXPANDING: to stretch out until there is a feeling of reaching far, extending your body so that there is a sense of lengthening.

縮者。斂也。充而實之。聚氣以斂神也。
[4] CONTRACTING: to gather in until there is a fullness and solidity, gathering energy in order to accumulate spirit.

奇者。側也。正者正也。善技擊者。不出奇正。奇正相生。變化無窮。或指前而打後。或指左而打右。或指上而打下。虛實相乘。剛柔互用。端倪莫測也。
[5] INDIRECT: going from the side.
[6] DIRECT: going straight ahead.
An expert at fighting does not use only either direct or indirect techniques, for the direct and indirect give rise to each other, alternating without limit. Indicate you are going forward, then attack to the rear. Indicate you are going to the left, then attack to the right. Indicate you are going upward, then attack downward. Making use of both emptiness and fullness, of both hardness and softness, your actions will be impossible to predict.

弔擄者。沉潛之勢也。先賢謂沉機以觀變。潛心以觀理。窮理以接物。拳術之弔擄手。乃順敵手之來。我乃以手弔之擄之。故能乘敵人之勢以應之。敵之來勢愈猛。其仆也愈快。其跌也愈遠矣。
[7 & 8] HANGING & PULLING: a sinking action. A piece of ancient wisdom says: “Submerge yourself in situations in order to see how they change, concentrate your mind in order to notice principles, and then delve into the principles in order to deal with the world.” As for the boxing arts technique of “hanging and pulling”, I go along with the opponent’s attack, then use my hand to hang over it and pull on it. I am therefore able to respond to his attack by taking advantage of his incoming force. The fiercer his attack, the faster and farther he will fall.

速者。神速也。能於敵手未到之際。我手已先着其身。我手之去。不見其去而已去。我手之來。未見其來而已來。敵雖欲格拒。已不及矣。
[9] QUICKNESS: amazing speed. With this ability, before the opponent’s hand has reached me, my hand has already hit his body. When my hand goes out, he does not see it go out and it has already arrived. When my hand comes back, he does not see it come back and it has already returned. No matter how he tries to block my attacks, it is always too late.

巧者。引進落空。空而未現。現而不見。使敵攻無所攻。守無所守。擊其要而避其勁。擊其虛而避其實。擊其微而避其顯。故云。四兩撥千斤。誠非虛語也。
[10] SKILLFULNESS: drawing the opponent in to land on nothing. Where I disappear, he does not noticed I have disappeared. Where I appear, he does not noticed I have appeared. I cause him to attack where there is nothing to attack, and defend where there is nothing to be defended against. I strike where he is vulnerable and avoid him where he is strong. I strike where he is empty and avoid him where he is full. I strike where he is not paying attention and avoid him where he is focused. Thus it is said: “Four ounces deflects a thousand pounds.” This is not just an empty phrase.

活者。心機靈敏。動作活潑。勢若常山之蛇。擊首則尾應。擊尾則首應。擊其中則尾首俱應。能攻能守。非活而何。
[11] LIVELINESS: Your mind is nimble and your movement is lively. This is like the “Mt. Chang Snake” battle formation [Art of War, chapter 11]: “Strike its head, its tail responds. Strike its tail, its head responds. Strike its middle, its head and tail respond together.” In this way, you are able to both attack and defend. But without liveliness, you would not be able to do this.

合者。內而精氣與神。外而手、眼、身、法、步。使其表裏相應。上下相隨。剛柔相濟。動靜有節。虛實互用。則豁然貫通。乃稱合焉。
[12] UNIFICATION: Internally you have essence, energy, and spirit. Externally you have your hands, eyes, body, techniques, and steps. There should be coordination between inside and out, upper body and lower. There should be cooperation between hardness and softness, movement and stillness, emptiness and fullness. One day these things will suddenly all fall into place, and then you can be said to be in unified state.

–

五要
FIVE REQUIREMENTS

一眼明
1. CLEAR GAZE

善擊技者。眼必明。不然。受制於人。何能克敵。如取守勢。未明敵之來勢。或欲攻擊。未明敵之虛實。貿然擊去。雖快雖硬。鮮能命中。則勞神耗力。其能久持乎。故云。未交手前。必先審察。審察已明。乘虛而入。出其不意。攻其無備。則事半而功倍。可謂眼明之證矣。
To be good at fighting, you have to have a clear gaze. If not, you will be under the opponent’s control, and then how would you be able to defeat him? If you adopt a defensive position without clearly seeing what the opponent’s attack is, or if you try to attack without clearly seeing where the opponent is vulnerable, you will be lashing out in haste, and even if your strikes are fast and hard, you would rarely be able to hit the target. In this way, you would just end up wasting your energy and not be able to fight for very long. Therefore it is said: “Before making contact with your hands, you must observe the opponent. Having studied him, then take advantage of his gaps. ‘Appear where he does not expect. Attack where he is not prepared.’” You will thereby be able to do half the work and get twice the effect. This demonstrates the value of a clear gaze.

二手快
2. QUICK HANDS

手滯而露。其力雖大而易避。手快而隱。其力雖小亦難防。設如我與敵人同時發手。我手尚在進行之線。敵手業已先臨。雖欲避之。已無及矣。拳譜云。以快打慢。此之謂也。
If your hands are slow and obvious, then even if your techniques are more powerful, they will be easy to evade. If your hands are quick and subtle, then even if your techniques are less powerful, they will be difficult to defend against. For example, an opponent and I shoot out our hands at the same time, but my hand is still on its way by the time his has already arrived, and so even if I tried to evade it, I would be too late. It is said in boxing classics: “Use quickness to attack slowness.” This is the idea.

三心沉
3. CALM MIND

應敵之際。切忌心慌。心慌則意亂。意亂則手足失措。攻守失當。故習拳者。當先治心。治心之道無他。沉着而已。不以危急而色變。不為强敵而心驚。其庶幾乎。
When dealing with an opponent, you must by all means avoid getting mentally flustered. If your mind is flustered, your intention will be in disorder. If your intention is in disorder, then your hands and feet will be in disarray and every action of attack or defense you make will be inappropriate. Therefore you first have to control your mind, and the method of gaining this control is nothing more than being calm. As long as you do not treat the situation as a desperate emergency and lose your composure, nor consider the opponent to be too powerful and become afraid of him, then you will be halfway there.

四步穩
4. STEADY STEPS

進步須近敵身。手到身隨。方能得勁。動如虎豹。靜如山邱。出入要有方位。進退令其莫測。欲進也故示之以退。欲退也故示之以進。故學者對於步位。須加意焉。
When advancing, you must get close to the opponent’s body. As your hands arrive, your body follows. That way you will be able to express power. “In movement, be like a tiger. In stillness, be like a mountain.” As you move back and forth, you will be moving in definite directions, but make your advancing and retreating impossible to read. When you want to advance, show that you are about to retreat, and when you want to retreat, show that you are about to advance. Therefore you have to give extra attention to your stepping.

五膽壯
5. COURAGE

技擊尚膽壯。膽壯則氣勇。邁步猱進。敵勁雖强。期在必摧。乘機而退。退而不亂。是乃膽壯之效用也。孟子謂孟施舍之勇。視不勝猶勝也。言其有大無畏之精神也。是以手、眼、步、心、膽、五者俱備。然後能言技擊。然勝而不驕。退而不亂。非膽壯而心細者。其孰能之。
Fighting demands courage. With courage, your spirit will be bold. You will advance with determined steps, and then even if your opponent is powerful, he is sure to be destroyed. Or if retreat is called for, you will retreat without falling into disorder. Both of these situations show the effectiveness of courage. Mengzi said [Mengzi, chapter 2a]: “The courage of Meng Shishe was to see winning and losing as the same thing.” These words describe someone with a fearless spirit. Once all five of these qualities are prepared – eyes, hands, steps, mind, guts – then you will be ready to discuss fighting. However, to win without becoming arrogant and to retreat without falling apart – these things cannot be achieved without being mindful about courage.

–

論指
ON THE USE OF THE FINGERS

指力雖微。功效甚偉。指有勾、摟、擒、拿、之性。使之輕則輕。使之重則重。緩則緩。速則速。邇則邇。遠則遠。何其靈也。使作準繩。可法可則。指雖剛而腕似棉。是其巧也。蓋力之所至。氣之所使也。學者當目在於斯。心在於斯。一身之精氣神俱注於斯。日積月累。使之力達於指。則不期然而然。莫之致而至矣。
Although the strength of the fingers is slight, their effectiveness is great. Fingers can hook, pull, seize, and grab. They can act with lightness or heaviness, slowness or quickness, be near or far. Such is their marvelous dexterity. From these criteria, certain standards form. Although the fingers may use hardness, the key is that the wrist stays supple. Then wherever strength arrives, energy will be activated. You should focus on this point, think about it, concentrate the essence, energy, and spirit of your whole body upon it, and then after practicing for a long time, strength will manifest in the fingers unexpectedly and without any forcing of it to happen.

論掌
ON THE USE OF THE PALMS

掌用翻轉之力。翻轉卽陰陽。陰陽宗一氣。氣有淸濁之別。掌有陰陽之變。惟須練習純熟。方能旋轉如意。果能專心致志。則全身之力。可運於掌矣。
The palm uses rotational power, meaning the alternation between passive and active, the two aspects functioning together. Energy divides into “clear energy” and “murky energy” as the palm alternates between the passive and active aspects [clear corresponding to active, murky corresponding to passive]. But you have to practice to the point of skillfulness to be able to switch them efficiently. If you can focus your mind entirely, then the power of the whole body can be sent to the palm.

論捶
ON THE USE OF THE FISTS

拳有剛柔並進之性。或曰。非柔不活。非活不快。非快不取。又曰。至剛不破。非剛不克。然此皆為偏倚之談。何若拳似流星、肱似繩、剛中含柔、柔以摧剛、剛柔相濟、為用之得當也。
Punches should use both hardness and softness. It has been said: “Without softness, it will have no liveliness. Without liveliness, it will have no quickness. Without quickness, it will not reach the target.” It has also been said: “With too much hardness, it will do no damage. Not enough hardness, it will not arrive at all.” But these might be somewhat narrow statements, so try this one: “The fist is like a meteor, the arm like a rope.” Hardness contains softness, for softness is what is used to deliver hardness. Thus hardness and softness have to complement each other in order for techniques to be carried out properly.

論腿
ON THE USE OF THE LEGS

腿有升、降、進、退、踢、蹬、掃、截、勾、翦、蹅、跥、之分。為拳術中必要之具。蓋腿長於手。而力尤過之。然或用之不當。間有為害者。故學者於斯。當自權其功力。而後用之可也。
Legs actions are divided into: rising and lowering, advancing and retreating, toe kicks and heel kicks, sweeping and blocking, hooking and scything, stepping and stomping, These are all essentials within the art. Because the leg is longer than the arm, its power is much greater, but if it is used improperly [i.e. at the incorrect range, either too far or too close], you will only end up getting hurt. Therefore your use of your legs depends entirely on skill in order for it to be effective.

總訣
GENERAL PRINCIPLES

平心靜氣。無思無慮。舌抵上腭。氣沉丹田。
Balance your mind and calm your energy, no thoughts, no worries. With your tongue touching your upper palate, energy sinks to your elixir field.

–

捷拳之表演　節目歌訣
PERFORMANCE OF NIMBLENESS BOXING
(including a mnemonic verse for each posture [except Postures 1, 31, and 37])

第一式　立正
Posture 1: STANDING AT ATTENTION

身體立正。頭向上頂。如頂物然。二目平視。口微閉。舌抵上腭。氣貫丹田。兩手鬆攏下垂。兩足尖離開六十度。
Your body stands straight, head upright as though supporting an object on your head, your gaze level. Your mouth is closed, your tongue touching your upper palate. Energy is coursing through to your elixir field, your hands relaxed and hanging down. Your feet are spread apart at the toes by about sixty degrees. See photo 1:

取靜默從容之態度。除去一切雜念。自然心靜氣淸矣。達摩祖師謂人生感於情慾。一落有形之身。臟腑肢骸。悉為滓穢所染。必洗滌淨盡。無絲毫之障礙。方可步超凡入聖之門。故習拳者。不由此。則進道無機矣。是卽先賢所謂靜而安。安而慮。慮而後能得者也。
Seek a state of quiet calm, getting rid of all distracting thoughts, and then naturally your mind will be at ease and your energy will be clear. The founder Damo said: “Human beings feel desires, because we have material bodies. Our organs, limbs, and bones are stained by corruption and have to be thoroughly cleansed. Once there is not the slightest hindrance, then you will be able to transcend the world.” If practitioners of boxing arts do not work from this principle, there will be no way to progress. Therefore an ancient sage said [from the “Da Xue”, chapter 42 of the Book of Rites]: “With calm, there is peace. With peace, there is mindfulness. With mindfulness, the objective will be achieved.”

第二式　預備
Posture 2: PREPARATION

預備捷拳頸直伸。鬆肩垂手足踵匀。身從左扭腿微曲。雙手持拳與腰均。
In the PREPARATION posture of Nimbleness Boxing, your neck is straight,
shoulders loose, hands hanging, heels together.
Then your body twists to the left, your legs slightly bending,
your hands grasping into fists and shifting up to waist level.

第二式開始動作。身稍下沉而左轉。兩腿微屈。（足不動）
This posture is the initiating of movement. Your body slightly sinks and turns to the left, both legs slightly bending (your feet not leaving their location). See photo 2a:

兩手握拳上提。附於腰間。手心向內。兩目亦隨左轉平視。
Then your hands become fists and lift up to your waist, the centers of the hands facing inward, your gaze going along with the leftward turn, looking level. See photo 2b:

為靜中求動。前言靜乃淸其內。此言動乃堅其體。體堅則精神亦充足矣。達摩祖師謂人之一身。內而精氣與神。外而筋骨與肉。所組織而成者也。然使之周身靈活。手足翕張。伸縮裕如者。精氣神也。卽如天地生物。亦莫不隨陰陽之氣而生焉。况於人生乎。且夫精氣神。乃無形之物也。筋骨肉乃有形之身也。此法必先練有形者。為無形之佐。練無形者。為有形之輔。是一而二二而一者也。
若專練無形。而棄有形則不可。專練有形。而棄無形則更不可。所以有形之身。必得無形之氣相和而不違。乃成不壞之體。設學者不明此義。不特不得捷拳之要妙。而且徒費時日。虛耗工夫。深望學者悉心體驗之。
Seek movement within a state of stillness. Stillness purifies you internally, then movement strengthens the body. With a strong body, spirit will be abundant. Damo said: “Internally there is essence, energy, and spirit. Externally there is sinew, bone, and muscle. Work both of these aspects together and you will be complete.” This will naturally cause the whole body to move with nimbleness, the hands and feet effortlessly performing opening and closing, extending and retracting.
　　Essence, energy, and spirit are the equivalent of the sky, the ground, and living things. All things are created by the workings of the passive and active aspects, even more so in the case of human beings. But essence, energy, and spirit are intangible things, whereas sinew, bone, and muscle are tangible. To practice this art, you must first train the tangible as an aid to the intangible, and then train the intangible as an aid to the tangible, a process of starting from one to get to two, and then working from two to get back to one.
　　You will not get anywhere if you focus on training the intangible and ignore the tangible, and especially if you focus on training the tangible and ignore the intangible. Therefore the tangible body must be merged with the intangible energy and never separated, and then you will develop an unsullied skill. If you fail to understand this principle, not only will you fail to obtain the marvels of Nimbleness Boxing, you will also simply be wasting your time and effort. Therefore I sincerely hope that you will practice with the utmost mindfulness.

第三式　順風領衣
Posture 3: WIND TUGS THE JACKET

順風衣領古人傳。弔手纏腕步當先。二目注看前敵勢。靜而制動莫遲延。
WIND TUGS THE JACKET is a technique passed down since ancient times,
using a hanging hand, curling wrist, and forward step.
Your gaze goes forward toward the opponent.
Use a quality of stillness to control his movement, but do it without delay.

接前式右足跨進一步。同時左手手心向下。由腰際前。猛向後拎。（為弔手）肘尖況下。微有下沉之意。手腕用勁。身微下蹲而後挺。以助其力。右手握拳。手心向上。置於腰際。與腰帶齊。右足尖向外撇。左足跟提起。身體半面向左。目注前手。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances a step as your left hand goes from in front of your waist and fiercely carries to the rear, the center of the hand facing downward (making a hanging hand), the elbow hanging down with a slight intention of sinking, power expressing at the wrist. Your body is slightly squatting down and leaning back to assist the power, your right fist still placed at your waist, the center of the hand facing upward. Your right toes are swung outward, your left heel lifted. Your body is turned halfway to the left, your gaze toward your front hand. See photo 3:

第四式　順手推舟
Posture 4: GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT

順手推舟要順肩。進身撒手腿微拳。鬆肩墜肘腕增力。側體攻心取敵便。
GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT involves going along with the shoulder
as you advance and shoot out your right hand, your legs slightly bending.
Loosen the shoulder, drop the elbow, and increase strength at the wrist.
Angling your body sideways, attack to the solar plexus, seeking the opponent where he is vulnerable.

接前式左手翻轉收囘。微有下沉之意。置於腰際。手心向上。此時左足往前跨進一步。右手猛向前推。手掌用勁。手指向上。手心向左。鬆肩墜肘。身體向左。右膝蓋頂於左腿彎。左足尖向外撒。右足跟提起。兩腿微彎。目注右手中指尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left hand turns over and withdraws with a slight intention of sinking and is placed at your waist, the palm facing upward, your left foot at the same time advancing a step as your right hand fiercely pushes forward, power expressing at the palm, the fingers pointing upward, the palm facing to the left, with the shoulder loosened, the elbow hanging. Your torso is facing toward the left, your right knee touching the back of your left knee, the toes of your left foot swung outward, your right heel lifted, both legs slightly bent. Your gaze is toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 4:

第五式　靈獼護腦
Posture 5: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD

靈獮護腦右手托。左手握拳搥海穴。側面馬襠稱步弓。勝過弓蹬更便捷。
In CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD, your right hand props up
as your left hand grasps into a fist and punches to the opponent’s sea of energy [i.e. lower abdomen, though the photo seems to be punching higher].
Your body is turned sideways, making a horse-riding stance in a deep lunge.
The more your legs bend, the more nimble the posture.

接前式右手向外翻轉。由頂上抽囘。胳膊微彎。手心向上。用托勁。手背離頭頂約二寸許。同時左拳由腰間翻轉前射。用衝勁。手心向右。大指上節頂於中指上節根。使中指中節突出。五指扣緊。鬆肩墜肘。挺腕。腰隨右猛轉。兩足尖稍向前。身體向右。目注左拳之上節。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand turns over outward and withdraws over your head, the arm slightly bending, the palm facing upward, using a propping energy, the back of the hand about a quarter of a foot away from your headtop. At the same time, your left fist shoots forward from your waist, the fist rotating, using a thrusting energy, the center of the hand facing to the right, the top joint of the thumb pressing the top knuckle of the middle finger, causing the mid-knuckle of the middle finger to stick out, all five fingers squeezing tightly, with the shoulder loosened, the elbow hanging, the wrist straightening. Your waist correspondingly turns to the right [with your left foot also shifting forward], the toes of both feet pointing slightly forward. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward the top knuckle of your left fist. See photo 5:

第六式　蜻蜓點水
Posture 6: DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER

蜻蜓點水要神速。熟能生巧工夫足。專攻敵人要害中。不必跳躍多勞碌。
DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER should be performed with amazing speed,
an ability that will come with practice.
Focus on attacking the opponent at his vulnerable areas
instead of leaping so much that you only wear yourself out.

接前式左足微向前進。足尖向前。右足向前跟步。右足跟靠於左足跟之右後方。約二寸許。同時右手五指收攏。（不可加緊）再極力向前撒。如投物然。手心向右下方。中指用勁。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。同時左拳變掌。抽囘貼於右胳膊彎。兩腿微屈。胸部微向後吸。身體向前。目注右手中指尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot slightly advances, the toes pointing forward, and your right foot does a following step until your right heel is about a quarter of a foot away from your left heel. At the same time, the fingers of your right hand curl in (though not tightly) and then forcefully release forward as though throwing an object, the palm facing downward to the right [left], power expressing at the middle finger, with the shoulder loosening, elbow hanging, wrist straightening, while your left fist becomes a palm and withdraws near your right elbow. Your legs are slightly bent, your chest slightly sucked in, your torso facing forward, your gaze toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 6:

第七式　葉底藏花
Posture 7: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF

葉底藏花退中守。陰陽相合變化有。胸前出手便利多。或左或右攻卽誘。
FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF retreats defensively,
then the passive and active aspects switch roles.
Send out your hand from in front of your chest with great ease.
Whether performing the technique on the left or right, attacking is a matter of luring the opponent in.

接前式上身不動。退後三步。先退右足。次退左足。再退右足。及右足着地時。將身子往下猛蹲。左手變拳。沿右手腕下向前衝出。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。拳握緊。仍將中指突出。拳尖用勁。右手貼附於右胳膊彎。手指朝上。步法用弓蹬步。身體半面向右。目注左拳之上端。
Continuing from the previous posture, with your upper body maintaining its position, retreat three steps – right, left, right – and when your right foot comes down, your body suddenly squats down and your left hand, becoming a fist, thrusts out forward along the underside of your right wrist, the shoulder loosening, elbow hanging, wrist straightening, fist gripping tightly, with [the mid-knuckle of] the middle finger again sticking out, power expressing at the knuckles, your right hand going near your right [left] elbow, fingers pointing upward. You are in a bow stance, your torso facing halfway to the right, your gaze toward the top knuckle of your left fist. See photo 7:

第八式　出爪亮翅
Posture 8: SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS

出爪高張手拓弦。身成十字左尖前。手心向上為陽掌。中指挑匀要對肩。
In SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS, your hands seem to slide along a string,
your body making a cross shape with your left toes forward.
Your palms are facing upward, making active palms,
your middle fingers carrying equally, aligned with your shoulders.

接前式左足往後收囘。離右足脛二三寸許。足跟提起。足尖點地。兩腿微彎。左手同時往後摟。手指向下。（目隨視摟手）腕肘俱彎。左足再向右前方斜進半步。仍足尖點地。同時右手向前伸。左手向後伸。如撇物之狀。兩手中指用勁。手心向上。與肩平。腰向左擰勁。目注右手中指。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot withdraws to be about a quarter of a foot away from your right ankle, the heel lifted, toes touching down, both legs slightly bent, your left hand at the same time pulling back, the palm facing downward (your gaze following it), the wrist and elbow bending. Then your left foot diagonally advances a half step to the forward right, again touching down with the toes, as your right hand extends forward and your left hand extends behind, as though flinging away objects, power expressing through the middle fingers, the palms facing upward at shoulder level, your waist twisting to the left. Your gaze is toward the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 8:

第九式　摟膝拗步
Posture 9: BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE

摟膝拗行手足擡。向前右足左還摧。躋襠反尾步虛實。右手勾摟左手推。
In BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE, your right hand and right foot lift,
then your right foot goes forward as your left hand smashes.
Your stance is twisted so your opposite foot is forward
as your right hand hooks back and your left hand pushes out.

接前式右手向左後掛。（目隨視掛手）手指向上與左肩齊。手心向左。左手同時向下翻轉變為鈎手。手指向上。微停。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand is placed to the left rear (your gaze following it), the fingers pointing upward at shoulder level, the palm facing to the left, your left hand at the same time going downward, turning over to become a hooking hand, the fingers pointing upward. There is a slight pause in this position. See photo 9a [reverse view]:

次將右腿提起。右手由左膝前。向下向後摟。（摟手同前）右足卽前進一步。足尖點地。左手隨從左脇之前翻轉前推。手心向右。手指向上與肩平。手掌用勁。目注左手食指尖。
Then your right leg lifts, your right hand pulls downward to the rear from in front of your left [right] knee as your right foot advances a step, the toes touching down, and your left hand goes along the front of your left ribs, turns over, and pushes forward, the palm facing to the right, the fingers pointing upward at shoulder level, power being expressed at the palm. Your gaze is toward the tip of the forefinger of your left hand. See photo 9b [reverse view]:

第十式　黑虎掏心
Posture 10: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART

黑虎掏心出手長。三尖相對始為良。一前一後攻兼守。十字擰身扣緊襠。
In BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART, you reach out your hand far.
The three structure points [nose, fist, forward toes] have to be aligned with each other.
One hand goes forward as the other pulls back, performing attack and defense simultaneously.
Twist your body across, closing your crotch.

接前式左足向左前方移動。距離隨人之身體。以不費力為宜。左手先向右掛。（同前）次卽向前向左往後擄。（歸抱肘式）再右手變拳。向前衝。左腿下彎。右腿向後蹬直。（為弓蹬步）兩足往下蹬勁。兩膝往裏扣勁。擠襠、反尾、擰腰、順肩、墜肘、挺腕。右拳向前伸勁。左膀往後擺勁。右拳與左右肩成一平直線。目注右拳大指根節。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot steps forward to close the distance to the opponent’s body, keeping you from wasting energy trying to reach it with just your hands, as your left hand is first placed upward to the right (as your right hand was before), then goes forward and pulls toward the left rear (to return to the wrapping-elbow posture). At the same time, your right hand becomes a fist and thrusts forward as your left leg bends and your right leg straightens behind (making a bow stance), both feet having an energy of pressing downward, both knees having an energy of covering inward. With your crotch squeezing, your tailbone tucking in, your waist twisting, the shoulder stretching, the elbow hanging, and the wrist straightening, your right fist extends forward, your left arm having an energy of swinging toward the rear, your right fist making a level line with your shoulders. Your gaze is toward the large knuckle of your right fist. See photo 10:

第十一式　跨虎登山
Posture 11: STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN

登山跨虎敵難容。左手架遮右足從。蹲胯方能足抓地。敵人相望欲逃蹤。
STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN is hard for the opponent to endure.
Your left hand blocks up as your right foot is unleashed.
By squatting down your hips, your left foot roots into the ground.
When the opponent sees this posture, he will want to flee.

接前式右手抽囘歸抱肘式。左拳變掌由胸口前向上翻。胳膊微彎。手心向上。手指向右。手背相離頭頂寸許。手腕向上向外翻勁。同時右腿向前蹬。足尖向右上方。足跟用勁。足掌向前仰。所蹬之足高不過膝。目注右足。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand withdraws, returning to a wrapping-elbow position, as your left fist becomes a palm and goes upward from in front of your chest, turning over so the palm is facing upward, the arm slightly bent, the fingers pointing to the right, the back of the hand about an inch away from your headtop, the wrist having an energy of turning upward and outward. At the same time, your right foot presses forward, the toes pointing toward the upper right, power expressed at the heel, the sole of the foot stretching back. The kick is no higher than knee level, your gaze toward your right foot. See photo 11:

第十二式　魁星奪斗
Posture 12: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER

魁星奪斗手相連。左右無差身莫偏。左足跟前丁字步。附於右肘左當先。
In KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER, your hands move in coordination,
left and right properly placed, and your body should not be leaning.
Your left foot follows forward to make T stance [i.e. its toes touching down].
To touch your right elbow, your left hand has to come forward.

接前式右足落地時。極力向前邁。左足向前跟。足尖點地。右拳向前衝。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。手心向左。拳與肩平。同時左手向下壓。手指向上。附於右胳膊彎。目注右拳食指中節根。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot comes down with a strong step forward, then your left foot comes forward with a following step, the toes touching down and pointing toward the front heel. At the same time, your right fist thrusts forward, the shoulder loosening, the elbow hanging, the wrist straightening, the center of the hand facing to the left at shoulder level, as your left hand presses down, fingers pointing upward near your right elbow. Your gaze is toward the mid-knuckle of the forefinger of your right fist. See photo 12:

第十三式　葉底藏花
Posture 13: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
第十三式葉底藏花。同前見第七式。
(same as Posture 7 [except in this case making only two retreating steps: left, then right])

第十四式　金龍合口
Posture 14: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH

金龍合口手毋高。防敵良機使莫逃。掌合陰陽從後帶。手停胯下稍沉腰。
In GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH, your hands should not be high.
Its purpose is to prevent the opponent from taking the opportunity to escape.
With your palms facing each other, drag to the rear,
stopping below your hips, your waist slightly sinking.

接前式雙手向後向下擄。如拉物然。左手拉至左胯之下停住。手心向外。右手拉至右膝之下停住。手心向內。兩胳膊微彎。同時左足往後撤半步。足尖點地。兩腿微彎。兩膝蓋向左前方。右胯微向下沉。兩手向後抽勁。並有下按之意。身體向右。目注兩手之間。
Continuing from the previous posture, your hands pull down to the rear as though pulling an object, your left hand pulling until below your left hip, the palm facing outward, your right hand pulling until below your right knee [hip], the palm facing inward, both arms slightly bent. At the same time, your left foot withdraws a half step, the toes touching down, both legs slightly bent, both knees pointing toward the forward left [forward right], your right knee slightly sinking. As your hands pull back, they also have an intention of pushing down. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward the space between your hands. See photo 14:

第十五式　彩鳳囘頭
Posture 15: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD

彩鳳囘頭快翻身。轉身進步莫因循。步虛制敵進兼退。左短右長備敵掄。
COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD involves quickly turning around,
turning your body as you advance, and without any hesitation.
Your step empties to control the opponent [behind you], turning an advancing action into a retreat.
Your left hand is at short range, right hand at long range, swinging out to guard against him.

接前式左足前進一步。右足再進一步。同時左手手腕向外擰。手心向前。由腹部向上畫。畫至目前往後擄。左足退後一步。此時身體成一大轉身式。右手亦隨著轉身。上下畫一圓圈。惟左手用擄勁。右手畫至上方變拳。往下劈勁。手心向左上方。左手附於右胳膊彎。兩腿微彎。右足尖點地。身體向左。目注右拳大指。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances a step and then your right foot advances a step, your left wrist at the same time twisting outward so the palm is facing forward, the hand arcing upward from your belly until in front of your eyes, then pulling to the rear as your left foot retreats a step while your body makes a large turn. Your right hand goes along with this turn by drawing a circle, upward and then downward. While your left hand pulls, your right hand becomes a fist once at the top of the circle and then chops downward [until at shoulder level], the center of the hand facing upward to the left, your left hand going close to your right elbow. Both legs are slightly bent, your right toes touching down. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward the thumb of your right fist. See photo 15:

第十六式　玉女穿梭
Posture 16: MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH

玉女穿梭手左挪。發將雙手在腰窩。手心向外格推式。由此閃身敵奈何。
MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH involves reorienting to the left
as you bring your hands back toward your waist,
then pushing out with the palms facing outward.
How can the opponent deal with this sudden maneuver?

接前式左足向前方斜進一大步。右足向前跟步。右足尖離左足跟二寸許。同時右手收囘。手心向上。右掌與小指貼於心口之前。左手向上架。指尖向右。手心向上。胳膊彎如弧形。右手同時向前推。手指向上。與喉齊。手心向外。掌根用勁。身體向前。目注右手中指尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances diagonally forward with a large step and your right foot goes forward with a following step so that your right toes are about a quarter of a foot away from your left heel. At the same time, your hands withdraw, the palms facing upward, the little fingers touching your solar plexus area, and then your left hand props upward, the fingers pointing to the right, the palm facing upward, the arm bending to make a semicircle shape, as your right hand pushes forward, the fingers pointing upward at throat level, the palm facing outward, power expressing at the heel of the palm. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 16 [reverse view]:

第十七式　燕子穿簾
Posture 17: SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN

燕子穿簾步莫淹。掌須反背敵難拈。展開雙手猶張翅。似虎離山下嶺巓。
In SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN, your steps have no delay.
Your palms have to turn over to make it difficult for the opponent to grab.
Then spread open with both hands as though spreading wings.
It should seem as though a tiger has left its mountain den and is prowling the summit.

接前式右足向右閃進一步。左足亦向右跟步。進至右足脛骨前。足尖點地。左手手掌向右向下壓。掌貼於右腋。同時右手貼近左手內腕。向右向上穿出。兩手手心俱向上。再將左足向前方進半步。足尖點地。左手同時向左前方伸去。與肩平。兩腿微彎。身體半面向右。目注右手小指。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances a sudden step to the right, your left foot also going to the right with a following step, advancing in front of your right ankle, the toes touching down, as your left palm presses downward to the right until near your right armpit. At the same time, your right hand threads out upward to the right along the inside of your left wrist, both palms now facing upward, and then as your left foot continues forward a further half step, the toes touching down, your left hand extends forward to the left at shoulder level [the photo showing the left foot going forward but the left hand not yet extending]. Your legs are slightly bent, your torso facing halfway to the right, your gaze toward the little finger of your right hand. See photo 17 [reverse view]:

第十八式　懷中抱玉
Posture 18: HOARDING THE JADE

懷中抱玉貴蓄勢。手置胸前善開閉。量敵而進出手先。知己知彼不失利。
HOARDING THE JADE is a posture for storing power.
Your hands are placed in front of your chest, one opening, the other closing.
Get the measure of the opponent and advance, sending out your hands.
Knowing both self and opponent, you will not lose.

接前式左足向左前方進一大步。兩手往下鬆垂。右足向前跟進一步。足尖點地。兩手向上向後掛。右手虎口與心口齊。左手微高。位於右手之前。左手大指離右手小指寸餘。左腿向下弓。右腿向下彎。右膝蓋緊抵左腿彎。左足尖與左膝蓋成一垂直線。身體向前。目注右手虎口。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances to the forward left with a large step as your hands hang down, then your right foot goes forward with a following step, the toes touching down, as your hands go upward and hang aside to the rear [right rear], the tiger’s mouth of your right hand at solar plexus level, your left hand slightly higher and placed forward of your right hand, your left thumb just over an inch away from your right little finger. Your legs are bent with your right knee touching the back of your left knee, your left toes and left knee making a vertical line. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tiger’s mouth of your right hand. See photo 18 [reverse view]:

第十九式　推窗望月
Posture 19: PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON

推窗望月腿雙彎。左手當心易格攔。右手單推掌向外。目觀前手指頭端。
In PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON, both legs are bent.
Your left hand is at your solar plexus to make it easy to block an attack.
Your right hand pushes out on its own, the palm facing outward.
Your gaze is toward the fingertips of your front hand.

接前式左足向前進一大步。右足向前跟步。足尖點地。右膝抵住左腿彎。身體向前。目注前手虎口。右手向前推。掌根用勁。左手微向下壓。兩手手指俱向上。手心俱向前。左手置於心口前。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left [right] foot goes forward with a large step and your right [left] foot goes forward with a following step, the toes touching down, your right [left] knee touching the back of your left [right] knee. At the same time, your right hand pushes forward, power expressing at the heel of the palm, with your left hand slightly pressing downward, the fingers of both hands pointing upward, the palms facing forward, your left hand placed in front of your solar plexus. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tiger’s mouth [fingertips] of your front hand. See photo 19 [reverse view]:

第二十式　摘星換斗
Posture 20: PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER

摘星換斗若何為。右足先提手目隨。左手勾摟從上剔。右宜摟膝足踵支。
How is PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER to be performed?
First your right foot lifts, your hands and eyes following
as your left hand hooks backs, rising upward.
Then your right hand pulls past your right knee and the heel presses the leg straight.

接前式右手往裏拓。手心向上。朝着左腮向後掛。（此時右足落地）左足高提。左手沿右手手背向上撩。亦往後摟。摟時二目隨著手向後看。（抅子手）左手衝左上方。微停。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand rubs inward, the palm facing upward, and goes toward your left cheek to be placed to the rear (as your right [left] foot comes down fully), your left [right] foot lifting. Your left hand is raising along the back of your right hand and then pulling to the rear, your gaze following your hand (which makes a hooking hand) as the hand thrusts upward to the left. There is a slight pause in this position. See photo 20:

再左足落地。右足提起。（目視右手）從右膝前往後摟。（成勾手）手指向下。此時右足向前落地。左手向裏反轉下落。手心向上。從右脇貼着心口向前推。手心向右。手指向上。掌緣用勁。左手與肩平。右手微高。身成十字形。右腿向後蹬直。目注右手食指。
Then your left [right] foot comes down so that your right [left] foot can lift, your gaze following your right hand as it pulls to the rear past your right knee (making a hooking hand), the fingers pointing downward. At the same time, your right [left] foot comes down forward as your left hand arcs inward and downward, the palm facing upward, the hand touching your right ribs and then pushing out forward from your solar plexus, the palm facing to the right, the fingers pointing upward, power expressed at the edge of the palm, the hand at shoulder level, your right hand slightly higher, your body making a cross shape with your right leg straightened behind. Your gaze is now toward the forefinger of your right [left] hand. [Although there was originally no photo supplied for this second part of the posture, it would be similar to photo 36, but with the left hand as a palm and the right hand as a hook instead of fists.]

第二十一式　收爪斂鋒
Posture 21: RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS

斂鋒收爪勢收查。左手後摟左脚挑。非但防來左面敵。同迎左右乃為超。
RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS is a posture for gathering in and assessing the situation.
Your left hand pulls to the rear as your left foot draws in.
This technique is not only for defending against an attack to your left,
for it could be applied on either side.

接前式左足向前進一步。進至右足脛骨。足尖點地。右足前進時。身體稍向右轉。又往下蹲。同時左手向後摟。（成勾手）手心向上。同時右手往上挑。挑至左肩手指與肩齊。手心向左。大指與食指貼於胸部。目注右手指尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot comes forward a step to be beside your right ankle, the toes touching down, your torso turning slightly to the right and squatting down. At the same time, your left hand pulls to the rear (making a hooking hand), the center of the hand facing upward, as your right hand carries upward until in front of your left shoulder, the fingers at shoulder level, the palm facing to the left, the thumb and forefinger near your chest. Your gaze is toward the fingertips of your right hand. See photo 21:

第二十二式　分掌横跥
Posture 22: SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK

分掌横跥腿挺直。手足齊發方為劇。若非鍛鍊功夫深。重點焉能貫一足。
In SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK, your legs straighten.
With your hands and foot expressing in unison, it is a dramatic technique.
But if you do not practice to the point that your skill is deep,
how will you be able to focus power through your foot?

接前式兩手向心口前合攏。作交叉形。兩手手心向上。右手腕壓住左手腕。目視兩手之中間。次將左腿高提。向左横跥。足指向右後仰。足跟用勁。同時左右手向左右平分。（與肩平）手指俱向前。掌緣用勁。兩腿挺直。目注左足。
Continuing from the previous posture, your hands come together, crossing in front of your solar plexus, the palms facing upward, your right wrist pressing down on your left wrist, your gaze going toward the space between your hands. Then your left leg lifts and does a side kick to the left, the toes pointing toward the right rear, power expressing at the heel, your hands at the same time spreading apart to the left and right (at shoulder level), the fingers pointing forward, power expressing at the edges of the palms, both legs straightening. Your gaze is toward your left foot. See photo 22:

第二十三式　英雄獨立
Posture 23: HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG

獨立英雄先轉身。高低雙掌互通神。勢如敗式非眞敗。誘敵之機是好因。
HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG involves first turning around.
Your palms extend in unison, one high, one low.
This is a posture of appearing to be defeated, but you are not actually in a position of defeat.
Lure the opponent in to try something, and then make use of it.

接前式左足縮囘。兩手仍歸交叉形。身體猛向右向後轉。左足猛向下跥地。右足提起。前進半步。足尖點地。左手從胸前向上托。胳膊彎如半月形。手背離頭頂寸許。手指向右。手心向上。左手往下劈。手掌用勁。手指向右下方。離右膝蓋二寸許。兩膝蓋往裏合。兩腿微彎。身體向右。目視右前方。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot retracts, your hands returning to being crossed, and your body suddenly turns to the right rear, your left foot fiercely stomping the ground. Then your right foot lifts and advances a half step, the toes touching down, as your left hand props up from in front of your chest, the arm bent to make a crescent moon shape, the back of the hand a few inches away from your headtop, the fingers pointing to the right, the palm facing upward, and your left [right] hand chops downward, power expressing at the palm, the fingers pointing downward about a quarter of a foot away from your right knee. Both knees are closing inward, both legs slightly bent. Your torso is facing toward the right [left], your gaze forward to the right. See photo 23:

第二十四式　迎門正跥
Posture 24: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD

迎門正跥用挑手。進步跥腿敵難走。上虛下實方合宜。虛虛實實變化有。
KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD involves an action of the right hand carrying,
and then when you advance with a pressing kick, it is difficult for the opponent to get away from.
Using a feint above to complement a real technique below will make it work.
Fake techniques should be varied among real techniques.

接前式右足全足蹬地。左足前進一步。右手向上挑。亦往後摕。歸抱肘式。同時左手向下劈。劈至心口前變為拳。向前平出。手心向右。同時右足向前蹬。足尖向上。足指向後仰。足跟用勁。兩腿挺直。身子不可偏斜。亦不可俯仰。微向後坐。身體向前。目注左拳之大指。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot comes down fully and your left foot advances a step as your right hand carries upward. Your right hand then pulls back, returning to a wrapping-elbow position, as your left hand chops down forward until at solar plexus level, the hand becoming a fist, the center of the hand facing to the right. At the same time, your right foot presses forward, the toes pointing upward and stretching back, power expressing at the heel, both legs straightening. Your body must not be leaning forward or back, or to either side, just slightly sitting back. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the thumb of your left fist. See photo 24:

第二十五式　魁星奪斗。同十二式。
Posture 25: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER (same as Posture 12) [reverse view]

第二十六式　葉底藏花。同第七式。
Posture 26: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF (same as Posture 7) [reverse view]

第二十七式　金龍合口。同十四式。
Posture 27: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH (same as Posture 14) [reverse view]

第二十八式　彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。
Posture 28: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15) [reverse view]

第二十九式　靈獼護腦。同第五式。
Posture 29: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 5)

第三十式　柳線垂金
Posture 30: GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES

柳線垂金向後轉。左掤右摟面沖前。後將右足磨齊步。左足隨教外撇邊。
GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES involves turning around to the rear.
Prop up with your left hand and pull back with your right hand to deal with an incoming attack.
Your right foot slides straight back
and your left foot is correspondingly turned outward.

接前式身體向右轉。右足向後退一步。同時左手由胸前向上架。胳膊微彎。手心向上。右手向下向後摟。左腿下彎。足尖向外撇。右腿挺直。足尖點地。足跟起。目注左手手背。
Continuing from the previous posture, your body turns to the right, your right foot retreating a step. At the same time, your left hand props upward from in front of your chest, the arm slightly bent, the palm facing upward, as your right hand pulls downward to the rear. Your left leg is bent, the toes swung outward, and your right leg is straightened, the toes touching down, heel lifted. Your gaze is toward the back of your left hand. See photo 30:

第三十一式　藤蘿掛壁
Posture 31: VINE CREEPS UP THE WALL [no verse]

接前式左腿向後退一步。右腿下彎。左腿蹬直。足尖衝前。同時右手經胸部之前向上架。（架手與前同）左手往下壓。壓至與臍相齊停住。左手手心向下。手指向右。二目向前平視。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left leg retreats a step and your right leg bends, your left leg straightening, the toes [of both feet] pointing forward. At the same time, your right hand props upward, passing in front of your chest (same kind of propping action as in the previous posture), as your left hand presses downward until level with your navel, the palm facing downward, fingers pointing to the right. Your gaze is forward and level. See photo 31:

第三十二式　進步指南
Posture 32: ADVANCE, POINTING-COMPASS POSTURE

指南進步轉身衝。右足前騰速似風。拳術多宜此等式。身成側面少遭攻。
ADVANCE, POINTING-COMPASS POSTURE involves turning around and thrusting out,
your right foot also shooting out forward as quick as the wind.
Boxing arts often use this kind of posture,
the body turned sideways to reduce one’s own potential to be a target.

接前式身體向左向後轉。（轉身時）左足尖蹻起。足跟碾勁。同時左手手心向下。往前擄。右手往下沉。卽變為拳。由右脅貼於左手上方往前衝。手心向左。在右拳衝時。右足前進半步。足尖點地。左手附於胳膊彎。兩腿微彎。身體向左。目注右拳食指中節。
Continuing from the previous posture, your body turns around to the left rear with your left toes lifting and the heel having an energy of grinding the ground [i.e. the foot pivoting on the heel]. At the same time, your left hand pulls forward, the palm facing downward, and your right hand sinks down, becoming a fist, then thrusts forward from your right ribs over your left hand, the center of the hand facing to the left. As your right fist thrusts out, your right foot advances a half step, the toes touching down, both legs slightly bending, your left hand going near your right elbow. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward the mid-knuckle of the forefinger of your right fist. See photo 32 [reverse view]:

第三十三式　丹鳳朝陽
Posture 33: PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE

丹鳳朝陽右足彈。雙雙挑劈掌相連。弓蹬半步身須正。步穩氣沉自占先
PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE involves your right foot springing out.
Your hands perform carrying and chopping, the palms working in unison.
When going a half step back into a bow stance, your torso has to be facing squarely forward,
and so your stance being stable and your energy sinking are naturally given priority.

接前式右拳變掌。向右耳後方掛。左手向前推。左足提起。右足隨向前踢。將腿挺直。足尖用勁。式不停。將右足向左足之後撤一步。左腿下彎。右腿蹬直。同時右手向前向下劈。左手附於右胳膊彎。右手手心向左。手指向前。掌緣用勁。目注右手大指。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right fist becomes a palm and is hung behind your right ear, your left hand pushing forward, as your left foot lifts and your right foot kicks forward [with a hop], the leg straightening, power expressing at the toes. The posture does not pause in this position, your right foot retreating a step behind your left foot, and your left leg bends, your right leg straightening, as your right hand goes forward and chops downward, your left hand going near your right elbow, your right palm facing to the left, the fingers pointing forward, power expressing at the edge of the palm. Your gaze is toward your right thumb. See photo 33:

第三十四式　風擺荷葉
Posture 34: WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES

風擺荷葉手托護。右步倒叉向後顧。那怕敵從四面來。聲東擊西敵難做。
In WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES, your left hand props up to guard your head
and your right foot crosses behind your left foot so that you are now looking to the rear.
Why worry about an opponent attacking from any direction?
By “threatening to the east but striking to the west”, you will make it hard for him to do anything.

接前式右足向左後方倒叉一步。足尖點地。右膝蓋抵住左腿彎。兩腿下彎。身體往下沉。同時右手向下垂。又往右往後拉。再往上托。胳膊彎曲。手指向左。手心向上。同時左手向左平出。手心向上。手指向左。手與肩平。身體向左。目注左手。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot does a crossing step to the left rear, the toes touching down, your right knee touching the back of your left knee, both legs bending, your body sinking down. At the same time, your right hand drops down, pulling to the right rear, then props up, the arm bent, the fingers pointing to the left, the palm facing upward, as your left hand goes out to the left, the palm facing upward, the fingers pointing to the left, the hand at shoulder level. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward your left hand. See photo 34:

第三十五式　順風擺柳
Posture 35: WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW

順風擺柳弔擄勢。我力無能借敵施。柔以致剛能變化。拳精尤貴快攻遲。
WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW is an example of “hanging & pulling”.
It is for when you are not in a position to borrow the opponent’s force.
Use softness in order to be able to switch back to hardness.
Boxing masters put great emphasis on using quickness to attack where there is slowness.

接前式左足向左前方進半步。足尖點地。足跟向後。兩腿微彎。同時左手向右向後擄。手與臍齊停住。同時右手向後向下按。按至心口之左方。與心口平。手心向下。雙手五指分開。手指相印。兩肩向外開勁。兩肘向內抖勁。身體向右。目注右手指尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances a half step to the forward left [to be next to your right foot], the toes touching down, heel lifted, both legs slightly bent. At the same time, your left hand pulls to the right rear until level with your navel as your right hand pushes downward to the rear until level with and to the left of your solar plexus, the palm facing downward. The fingers of both hands are aligned with each other and are spread apart. Your shoulders have an energy of opening outward, but your elbows have an energy of squeezing inward. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward your right fingertips. See photo 35:

第三十六式　單鞭
Posture 36: SINGLE WHIP

單鞭順式一條線。右腿直蹬左腿彎。兩手握拳平正直。足踵實地穩如山。
SINGLE WHIP is in a straight stance [same hand and foot forward] and forms a line [with the arms].
Your right leg presses straight, your left leg bending.
Your hands grasp into fists and go straight out until level.
Your heels are solidly on the ground, your stance stable as a mountain.

接前式右手向裏。左手向下壓。兩手變拳。右手向右向後衝。左手向左向前衝。兩拳與肩平。同時左足前進半步。左腿下彎。右腿蹬直。兩手與兩腿上下成一垂直線。身體挺直。目注左手大指節根。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right [left] hand goes inward as your left [right] hand presses downward, both hands becoming fists, and then your right hand thrusts out behind you to the right as your left hand thrusts out forward to the left, both fists at shoulder level. At the same time, your left foot advances a half step and the leg bends, your right leg straightening. There is vertical line from each hand to its respective foot, and your body is upright. Your gaze is toward the large knuckle of the thumb of your left hand. See photo 36:

第三十七式　單擄手
Posture 37: SINGLE PULLING HAND [no verse]

接前式左手向下向後擄。右手不動。（擄手）與金龍合口相同。步法亦同。惟彼是雙手擄。此用單手擄耳。
Continuing from the previous posture, your left hand pulls downward to the rear, your right hand maintaining its position. The pulling hand technique is the same as in GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH [Posture 14], and the footwork is also the same, but in that case it is an action of double pulling hands and is here only a single hand pulling. See photo 37:

第三十八式　彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。
Posture 38: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15)

第三十九式　黑虎掏心。同第十式。
Posture 39: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART (same as Posture 10) [reverse view]

第四十式　前進踢打
Posture 40: ADVANCE, KICK & HIT

進前踢打兩邊同。手足齊到方始攻。莫道簡單程式易。無窮奧妙在其中。
ADVANCE, KICK & HIT involves both sides working in unison,
hand and foot attacking together.
The technique seems simple, the posture easy,
and yet it is limitlessly profound.

接前式右手向後拉。歸抱肘式。右手向前平出。指尖衝前。手心向右。同時左腿向前踢。足尖用勁。兩腿挺直。兩胯向裏合住勁。右足向下蹬住勁。身體向前。目注左足足尖。
Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand pulls back, returning to a wrapping-elbow posture, then its fingers thrust out forward, the hand level, the palm facing to the right. At the same time, your left leg kicks forward, power expressing at the toes, both legs straightening, the thighs closing inward, and your right foot has an energy of pressing downward. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward your left toes. See photo 40 [reverse view]:

第四十一式　左前進踢打。同四十式。
Posture 41: LEFT ADVANCE, KICK & HIT (same as Posture 40 [except with left and right reversed]) [There was originally no photo included here, but the posture can easily be shown by flipping the previous photo.]

第四十二式　迎門正跥。同二十四式。
Posture 42: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD (same as Posture 24)

第四十三式　魁星奪斗。同十二式。
Posture 43: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER (same as Posture 12) [reverse view]

第四十四式　葉底藏花。同第七式。
Posture 44: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF (same as Posture 7 [but with only two retreating steps: left, then right]) [reverse view]

第四十五式　金龍合口。同十四式。
Posture 45: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH (same as Posture 14) [reverse view]

第四十六式　彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。
Posture 46: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15) [reverse view]

第四十七式　靈獼護腦。同第五式。
Posture 47: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 5)

第四十八式　渾元一氣
Posture 48: RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE

渾元一氣卽空提。雙手持拳心與齊。氣守中和能得法。自然入化到神奇。
In RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE, let go of the situation and rise up,
your hands as fists shifting to be level with your solar plexus.
By keeping your energy balanced, you will be able to obtain the art.
You will naturally transform yourself and achieve a magical skill.

接前式左右足向後各退半步。兩脚靠攏。兩腿微彎。左手變拳。右手握拳。抱於臍前。
Continuing from the previous posture, your feet each retreat a half step [left then right] to stand next to each other, your legs slightly bent, as your left [right] hand becomes fist and, together with your right [left] fist, is placed in front of your navel [solar plexus]. See photo 48:

再兩手下垂。歸立正式。
Then your hands hang down and you return to the posture of STANDING AT ATTENTION.

–

Seeking Identity with a T-Shirt: Uniforms in the Martial Arts

Posted on 12 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

A vintage photo captioned “Acrobatic School, Hong Kong” in pencil. Note the simple matching shirts and hats. Source: Author’s personal collection.

The Varieties of Uniformity

My Monday evening study-group just passes a milestone. Somehow it never even occurred to me that this was on the horizon, though I was the one who (inadvertently) set things in motion. An acquaintance organizes a local street festival and she generously offered to give our group booth space and some time for small demonstrations. I accepted her offer and, as I was starting to pull things together, decided that we could really use some T-shirts. Nothing all that formal, just enough to let people know who we were.

Many martial arts communities have standardized, highly “traditional,” uniforms. The elements of the Chinese martial arts world that I spend most of my time with do not. The Wing Chun school where I did most of my training even managed to resist the social pressure to adopt a system of colored belts or sashes. The only formal ranks we have are student, assistant instructor and Sifu. Likewise, we all trained in T-shirts and jogging pants. Some people wore shirts with the school’s logo, often the mementos of a previous seminar or summer-camp. The more vintage such a shirt was the more respect it commanded. But most people just wore random athletic clothing. Matching T-shirts were generally reserved for some sort of public event.

So, with a public event of my own on the horizon, it seemed high-time to order a bunch of shirts for my training group here in New York. That announcement unleashed a fair amount of enthusiasm and my students have spent the last few weeks designing images, selecting colors and comparison shopping for price quotes. These shirts have taken on a much more complex set of meanings than simply being a way to signal who we are in a crowd. In a way its all very predictable. Everyone in this group has been working hard for months, and the class is developing into a tight knit community. I suspect that all of this emotional energy has been invested into the process of buying these shirts. I hope they end up looking great as they now have a lot to live up to!

All of this got me thinking about the role of uniforms in the martial arts, and the differences that we see between styles and communities. Why is the training gear in some arts more formalized than others? What are they attempting to signal, and to who? Where did our notions of the “proper” martial arts uniform come from, and why does it change over time?

I suspect that pretty much everyone who practices martial arts wears a uniform, even if they are not aware of it. This does not mean that all uniforms have the same meaning, or that they come from the same place. Indeed, there is a huge amount of variation in the social construction of training clothing. While my Sifu’s school never had any sort of rules about training clothing, it was clear that a well-understood informal dress-code was in effect. Everyone wore nearly identical darkly colored T-shirts and jogging pants. Nor are they alone in this. As I have gone to various seminars and visited multiple schools, that same unspoken dress code seems to have spread quite widely throughout the Wing Chun community. From a sociological standpoint such a widely shared “uniform” is quite interesting, even if few of these communities would admit to having a “dress code.”

Still, it is the differences in the ways that schools approach this aspect of material culture that is truly revealing. To simplify what is a complex topic, one might think of any uniform as occupying a distinct place within a theoretical cube defined by three axis. The vertical axis might represent the question of centralization. Is your uniform defined and enforced by a central authority (high), or is it more a matter of group culture (low)?

The front axis can be thought of representing a uniform’s symbolic vs. functional attributes. Victor Turner noted that most material artifacts have both a practical and symbolic value. Both are always present, but possibly not in the same degree. The stylized helmets worn in Kendo suggest a high degree of practicality, whereas the stripes of colored tape that adorn the Taekwondo belts of my many nieces and nephews would seem to function only as motivational tools.

The back axis of our graph might be thought of as measuring the degree of individual expression that one sees in a uniform. They function as markers of community identity precisely because of their ability to make everyone appear “uniform.” And yet they must also express more individual characteristics, such as one’s rank or position in a community. On one end of the spectrum these markers may be kept to an absolute minimum (perhaps just a belt color). On the other side of the spectrum we might find the highly personalized armor favored by various HEMA fighters, or the explosion of patches on some Kempo uniforms. One might also think of this axis as a measure of the degree to which consumer power can be used to personalize one’s image within the fighting community.

Any of these uniforms can tell us, at a glance, where someone stands within the larger martial arts community. Kendo players do not look like silat students, and they all appear quite different from the guys who gather for “open mat night” at the local BJJ school. Yet I suspect that if we think about these uniforms in terms of the three axis of analysis outlined above, we might come up with some unexpected hypothesis about the differing social needs and functions that each of these communities fulfills, based on the sorts of material culture they exhibit. Alternatively, we might take a single school and think about how its uniform conventions have changed over time as a way of understanding that style’s unique historical evolution.

Rafu Dojo team at the Southern California Judo Tournament, April 1940. Collection of Yukio Nakamura. This photo was probably taken in the same decade as the one above. Source: http://www.discovernikkei.org/en/journal/2014/5/2/more-than-a-game-2

The Japanese and Chinese Cases

Perhaps there is no more striking example of this possibility than to consider the large archive of vintage photographs that I have collected on this blog over the years. A thought occurred to me as I looked over the various newspaper photographs, tourist pictures and postcards that I have posted. About half of these images show Chinese martial artists, and most of the rest focus on Japanese subjects. Yet instances of easily identifiable uniforms are not equally distributed across these two groups.

Looking at just my collection of vintage (pre-WWII) postcards I noted only one example where civilian Chinese martial artists could be seen wearing a martial arts training uniform. And even in that instance the significance of their clothing was probably lost on Western viewers as not everyone in the picture was wearing exactly the same thing. The only time that Chinese martial artists were reliably uniformed seemed to be when they were lion dancing or otherwise part of a public festival. On the flip side, every single postcard of Japanese martial artists featured crisp white training uniforms, or matching rows of kendo gear.

Without a sufficient background in the social and cultural history of both countries, one might well misinterpret what was going on in these photographs, or extrapolate too much from them. For instance, one might look at these two sets of images and erroneously conclude that the uniforms tell a story about modernism, in either its economic, cultural or national sense. In that case the prominence of standardized uniforms within the Japanese martial arts might be taken as a sign of the country’s successfully modernization and the victory of nationalism over regional identity. Likewise, their absence in the Chinese case could indicate a certain “failure to launch.” Indeed, it seems likely that this was exactly the message that many Westerners absorbed when they encountered these images in the early and mid 20^thcentury. But was it really the case?

Let us begin by considering developments in Japan. While many martial arts historians have written on the appearance of colored belts (first in judo, then in karate and other arts), I would like to instead turn our attention to the development of the ubiquitous training gi that they adorned. The samurai did not train in these garments, so where did they come from?

As is the case with so much else in the modern martial arts, they sprung from the fertile mind of Kano Jigoro. Lance Gatling, a student of Japanese martial arts history with an interest in the history of uniforms, notes that in the 19^thcentury Kano drew his students from two vastly different backgrounds. Naturally these sociological cohorts dressed quite differently. Those coming from wealthy and socially elite households wore the latest fashions. His less privileged students, who often lived with him and acted as houseboys in exchange for tuition, lacked hygienic and functional training clothing of any kind. Calling on his background as an educator, it was clear to Kano that some sort of uniform was needed for both practical and symbolic reasons (Gatling, The Kano Chronicles).

Gatling notes that Kano adapted the hada juban, an inner-tunic worn underneath the kimono, for use as a training garment. This was done by commissioning examples made from heavier fabrics that could withstand judo’s jacketed throws. Later the garment was expanded to cover the knees and elbows to prevent abrasions or injuries on the rough training mats of the day. Simple belts were worn to keep the jacket in place. Of course Kano later introduced a simplified system of symbolically colored belts when his classes became large enough that he could not easily visually locate his senior students.

All of this set a pattern that still conditions much of the public’s imagination as to how a proper martial art should appear. For instance, when karate was introduced to mainland Japan from Okinawa, judo style uniforms were introduced to improve the arts’ public image and bolster its claims to social respectability. And while colored belts are in no way traditional to the Chinese martial arts, it seems that most kung fu schools today have some sort of colored sash system simply to placate the demands of consumers.

Kano’s many marital arts reforms did not come about in a vacuum. Japan was a rapidly modernizing and industrializing nation. He actively sought to create a corps of patriotic young men who could advance the Japanese cause at home or abroad, in military service or civil society. Thus, the creation of truly uniform training gear, recognizable in any dojo one might enter, had important symbolic meanings. This was an outward sign of the creation of an inwardly powerful and cohesive national consciousness. To wear a gi and participate in judo training was to experience Kano’s vision of the modern Japan nation on an embodied level.

This contrasts with the situation in China. Perhaps the most traditional form of training attire seen in that country’s many hand copied martial arts manuals (and a number of European postcards), was simply to strip to the waist, wrap one’s que around the head or neck, and get to work at a dusty or muddy outdoor “boxing ground.” Such attire was practical, yet it signaled little about the relationship between the martial arts and the community at large. In other cases Qing era boxers can be seen performing in markets wearing generic heavily padded jackets to ward off the cold. If Japan signaled its modernism and nationalism through its uniforms, one might conclude that China’s backward and politically fractured status also came out in its lack of standardized training attire. That is probably why later Republican groups, like the Jingwu Association, went to such great lengths to create signature uniforms of their own (in their case the white buttoned jacket with the Jingwu logo).

While an attractive narrative, I think that this risks missing much of what was actually happening. The danger is that we have focused only on a single axis when in fact uniforms represent a more complex field of meaning. For instance, Gatling notes that most early training gi were not purchased from a martial arts supplier as might be the case today. Rather they were made by Japanese housewives and mothers according to patterns that were distributed in either magazines or by schools. Indeed, it may be just as interesting to consider the ways in which huge numbers of Japanese women experienced Kano’s nationalism as they painstakingly hand sewed these uniforms for their sons and husbands, rather than engaging in training themselves. Thus we need to be careful that we do not equate vertically enforced uniformity with economic industrialization or a lack of individual artistic expression.

There is also the interesting question of who gets photographed. Most of the Japanese postcards in my collection were produced by Japanese photographers for sale to Japanese consumers. As such, they tended to focus on the sorts of progressive, middle class, scenes that Japanese consumers wanted to see. When modern scholars examine this ephemera we tend to see well stocked martial arts schools in reasonably urban areas. We forget that in the countryside most students toiling in their school’s dojo lacked gi’s and many practiced in regular physical education uniforms. Likewise, as more students were rushed into judo and kendo training as these disciplines were militarized in the run-up to WWII, it was increasingly common to find students simply putting their armor over their normal school uniforms. Gatling finds that while one might think that the rise in militarism would manifest itself in the spread of uniforms and the tightening of dress codes, in fact the opposite happened. In any case, this sort of nuance was unlikely to show up on commercially produced postcards.

A typical pre-1911 market place demonstration featuring socially marginal martial artists.

Most postcards showing Chinese martial artists were produced by European photographers and were sold to Western audiences. They typically focused on more “rustic” street performances, poor soldiers or questionable bandits. All of these groups were relatively marginal and (with the exception of the soldiers) unlikely to wear any sort of uniform. Images of bare chested martial artists remained common throughout the 1920s. But this doesn’t mean that uniforms were absent within the Chinese martial arts.

The Republic period actually saw a proliferation of uniforms. The situation was different than in Japan as no single template emerged as the clear winner. Instead many things were happening at the same time. Most of these Chinese efforts were forward looking and modern in their sentiment. This could be seen in the Jingwu Association’s crisp white jackets, or the sportscoats, knickers and canvas belts that Ma Liang dressed his military exhibition teams in. Many reformers filled their manuals with photos of teachers and students who looked as though they were about to head out for a round of golf. In other cases the traditional robes of Confucian scholars were favored by more senior members of the community. I have often wondered whether relatively affluent Chinese martial artists during the 1920s-1930s insisted on working out in their street clothes in an effort to draw a conscious distinction between their understanding of community and the one advanced by the Japanese martial arts.

More practical were the working-class schools in cities like Guangzhou and Hong Kong. During the Republic period innumerable classes and lion dance societies began to adopt identical, mass-produced, t-shirts. Some of these were marked with the name of a school, while others were simply blank. Indeed, the practice of matching t-shirts being worn at a street festival has a long and distinguished history with the Chinese martial arts. In actual fact they may be just as “traditional” as karate’s signature uniform, both of which date roughly the same period during the interwar years. And both have proven to be remarkably stable over time. They succeed precisely because they signal different sets of values and understandings of the community.

I made this slide for another paper, but it gives us a nice comparison of the “traditional” and “modern” training uniforms in the Southern Chinese martial arts. And there is always that one guy who doesn’t get the memo…

Conclusion

Uniforms are inevitably symbolic representations of the communities that produced them. My students are excited to order a group of T-shirts not because of any practical need. Instead they are an expression of a new set of relationships, values and understanding of the self. Clothing speaks both to the individual and larger audiences, stabilizing and celebrating our collective achievements.

When reviewing the Martial Arts Studies literature I am often surprised that we have little to say on the question of material culture within the martial arts. We explore these fighting traditions as both embodied practices and media discourses. We look at their history and engage in conceptual debates. Yet little thought is given to the systematic examination of the uniforms, the training tools, the weapons and even the real estate that we all depend on.

When studying “primitive” societies Anthropologists took a keen interest in understanding and analyzing the various facets of material culture. They realized that these objects held both utilitarian and symbolic value. They were the physical manifestation of social and cultural values. Some of the insights that they suggest could not really be grasped through other modes of analysis.

I would like to propose that all of this also holds true for students of martial arts studies. Purchasing objects is one of the main modes of social activity that we see in an andvanced industrialized society, and that makes it doubly important to look carefully at the physical culture that is being consumed. I suggested a fairly simple framework to help us think more carefully about the varieties of uniforms in this article, and I am sure that there are other models that would have been just as helpful. Regardless of what theoretical lens you choose to adopt, the next time you are visiting a school and someone hands you a t-shirt, a uniform or a training weapon, think carefully about the full range of values that they are expressing. Our material culture often says more about our communities than we might care to admit.

oOo

If you enjoyed this reflection you might also want to read: Folklore in the Southern Chinese Martial Arts: A Means to Create Economic “Value” or to Construct Social “Values?”

oOo

Corso insegnante base Istituto Italiano Taijiquan Tiancai

Posted on 11 Ottobre 2018 by 羞龍 Xiulong

Corso di formazione per insegnante base di Taijiquan Chen ortodosso di Chenjiagou, Istituto Italiano Taijiquan Tiancai.

Il corso è focalizzato e destinato ad una selezione di studenti invitati e candidati per la formazione quali insegnanti di livello base.

Aperto anche a tutti i praticanti che desiderino approfondire i contenuti del Taijiquan ortodosso di Chenjiagou, la storia e la pedagogia del Taijiquan secondo il metodo e gli insegnamenti di Zhu Tiancai e di suo figlio Zhu Xiangqian (è richiesta la conoscenza del Changsigong, Laojia Yilu e Tuishou)

I contenuti sono stati organizzati in sei moduli di studio a ciascuno dei quali è previsto che siano dedicate due lezioni.
Ai partecipanti sarà rilasciato il relativo attestato di partecipazione al corso.
Ai candidati esaminandi sarà richiesto di sostenere un esame finale pratico e scritto con il conseguimento del diploma, in riferimento a quanto stabilito dall’Istituto Italiano Taijiquan Tiancai.

I modulo (I lezione Mercoledì 17 Ottobre 2018, 21:30 – 23:00 Scuola di Danza New Project Dance)
Riscaldamento, allungamento e defaticamento
Taijigong (pali del Taiji)
Chansigong (bozzolo di seta)
Terminologia Wushu e Taijiquan

II modulo
Changsigong in coppia
Laojia 13 movimenti
Tuishou ad una mano
Storia del Taijiquan
Contenuti tecnici

III modulo
Laojia Yilu 1/3
Tuishou a due mani passo fisso
Storia del Taijiquan
Contenuti tecnici
Pedagogia Laojia Yilu

IV modulo
Laojia Yilu 2/3
Tuishou a due mani con passi
Storia del Taijiquan
Contenuti tecnici
Pedagogia Laojia Yilu

V modulo
Laojia Yilu 3/3
Tuishou a due mani con passi
Storia del Taijiquan
Contenuti tecnici
Pedagogia Laojia Yilu

VI modulo
Prova pratica lezione
Eventuali integrazioni
Test scritto
Correzione ed eventuali integrazioni

Le lezioni saranno condotte da Stefano Zamblera e si svolgeranno a partire da Mercoledì 17 Ottobre presso la Scuola di Danza New Project Dance in Via di Collinaia, 8, 57128 Livorno, dalle 21:30 alle 23:00.

Il calendario programmato in 12 incontri è il seguente. Potrebbero avvenire variazioni di data ed orario per venire incontro alle esigenze della Società Sportiva e degli utenti del corso.

17 e 31 Ottobre

14 e 28 Novembre

5 e 19 Dicembre

9 e 23 Gennaio 2019

13 e 27 Febbraio

13 e 27 Marzo

10 Aprile

Per ogni ulteriore informazione: livorno@tiancai-taiji.it

A (Taijiquan) Mystery in Yellow

Posted on 8 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

An English language edition of Chen Yanlin’s volume. While covers might be blue, red, yellow or purple, the dust jackets were typically the same yellow design seen on the original 1947 Shanghai release.

Unanswered Questions

Everyone likes a good mystery. They engage, they motivate and (whether we want to admit it or not) they make the hours vanish. That certainly explains at least part of the popularity of historical studies of the Chinese martial arts. Decades of nationalist myth-making and inspired entrepreneurial marketing have helped to create the impression that it is the veneer of history that determines the value of these practices. That has never actually been true. Still, once you move past the illusions of history and begin to dig into the sources, it is disturbingly easy to lose a weekend.

Let’s begin today’s investigation by asking two simple questions. What was the first English language book on the Chinese martial arts, and when was it published. Of course, such questions are never really that simple. If we were to count as a “book” rough translations of Chinese language martial arts manuals republished in an English language magazine, the answer would be sometime in the 1870s. If we insisted on two hard covers, but relaxed the requirement of commercial sales, then we have the case of a little-known English language xingyi quan manual (produced by a famous Chinese track and field coach) in the 1920s.

Still, neither of these answers feel quite right. While both are important in their own right, these weren’t the sort of “books” that one might find sitting on a shelf in a shop. Perhaps we should begin by narrowing things down a bit. What was the first commercially printed English language book on Taijiquan to be widely distributed to a mass audience? If asked that way, it would seem that the answer must be Sophia Delza’s 1961 Tai Chi Chuan: Body and Mind in Harmony, a book that I have previously discussed here and here.

At least that is what I would have thought up until recently. I will readily admit to being neither a student of taijiquan, or an expert on its history, my own interests being more focused on the Southern arts. Still, I have tried to keep up with everything published on the martial arts in the Republic period (1911-1949). As such I was vaguely aware of Chen Yanling’s controversial 1943 book, Taiji Compiled: Boxing, Saber, Sword, Pole and Sparring. What I had missed was that this book was translated into English and distributed by at least three different Shanghai publishers in 1947. By the 1960s additional English language translations would be produced in Taiwan and Hong Kong, and a number of these volumes would find their way into American and British martial arts schools.

Whether Delza’s volume, or a pirated edition of Chen’s, showed up in your neighborhood book store first remains an open question. After a week trying to piece together this volume’s publication history I can safely declare that there is still quite a bit that we don’t know. I would go so far as to suggest that we have a minor mystery on our hands. Still, its early date of publication and wide circulation suggests that this book may be worth considering in greater detail. If nothing else, its existence signals a growing curiosity about the Chinese martial arts long before the Kung Fu Craze of the 1970s came to fruition.

A typical example of the line drawn illustration in both the Chinese and English language edition of Chen, derived from earlier published photographs.

A Yang Family Controversy

Before delving into the publication history of the English language edition, it may be helpful to know a little more about Chen Yanling’s original volume. Anyone interested in checking out this work can find a copy at the Brennan Translations blog. Even a quick glance at the table of contents is enough to signal that this was a substantial work, and quite different from many of the simple technical manuals that dominated the era’s martial arts markets. Chen’s work was appreciated as he sought to develop new philosophical concepts within the study of Taijiquan. Rather than simply rehashing the ancient myths he also looked at the art’s more recent history, particularly as it pertained to the experiences of the Yang family. His work provided discussions of not just the solo unarmed set, but also push-hands and no fewer than three weapons. Readers could even find material from the Taiji Classics and Yang family teaching traditions in his publication. Needless to say, his book made quite a splash when it was released in 1943.

Not all of this attention was positive. Chen’s work proved to be quite controversial within some corners of the Yang style. This was not so much a concern about the reliability of what he said, but the more complex question of whether he had the right to say it at all. Rumors started to spread that somehow Chen had swindled Yang Cheng-fu out of his family patrimony.

The story went that Chen, a diligent student, had approached Yang Cheng-fu and asked to borrow the family’s private manual for a single evening of study. Knowing that anyone’s ability to work through such complex material in a single night was limited, Yang Cheng-fu relented. However, he was unaware that Chen had hired seven copyists who would fully transcribe the book that night. This material would then become the basis of this own 1943 publication, much to the displeasure of the Yang family. This would force them to eventually release their own version of these texts.

As martial arts legends go, I quite like this story. It reveals much about the values and anxieties of the individuals who passed it around. But that is the actual intelligence value of any rumor. They always reveal more about the motivations and fears of those who tell them, rather than their purported subjects.

While the controversy that Chen instigated was real, its actual causes were more prosaic. When discussing this book in a recent exchange with Douglas Wile, he noted that Chen Yanlin was in fact a student of Tian Zhaolin, who was a student of Yang Jianhou, the son of Yang Luchan. Chen’s manuscript was actually based on the study and transcriptions of Tian Zhaolin’s teachings. In point of fact, the drive to systematically record this material (a common project during the Republic era) had been a collective undertaking led by several of Tian’s students. They were enraged when Chen put his name on what had been, in their view, a collective project. Wile related that the group was actually preparing to take Chen to court over his “theft” when Tian intervened to restore the peace between his students.

This bit of the manuscript’s history makes for a compelling story. But the real mysteries emerge four years later, in 1947. In many ways this was not a great era for the Chinese martial arts. The country’s long running civil war was heating up, the Guoshu Institute was in tatters and, after the initial enthusiasm for the dadao troops had subsided, the Chinese martial arts had taken a beating in the country’s newspapers over the course of the second world war. Given all of this, it might come as a surprise to learn that there was actually a small (but notable) spike in interest in the Chinese martial arts in the West during the late 1940s.

In an apparent attempt to capitalize on this interest, an English language edition of Chen’s book was released in Shanghai in 1947 by the well-known Willow Pattern Press. The edition was titled Tai-Chi Chuan: Its Effects and Practical Applications, and the author was listed as Yearning K. Chen. This latest iteration of the manuscript must have been a time consuming undertaking. Library catalogs list Kuo Shui-chang as the translator (I must rely on them as I do not own a personal copy of the Willow Patterns Press edition). C. C. Chiu offered a new preface, specifically intended for Western audiences. It provided a health and wellness focused overview of the art, and a brief introduction to its author.

Sadly, I have not been able locate any substantive information on Kuo or Chiu. That is an issue as even a cursory examination of the text reveals that what they provided is not a typical “translation” of Chen’s text. Large parts of Chen’s text (including many of this more detailed discussions, and everything on Taijiquan’s history) have been left out of this volume. In their place Western readers would find short introductions designed to get them up to speed on topics such as “Yin” and “Yang”, as well as the definition of Chinese boxing and taijiquan’s relationship to both philosophy and the martial arts.

The differences did not stop there. These introductory notes were followed by multiple full chapters that attempted to rationalize the discussion of taijiquan and to present it to Western audiences within a scientific framework. Topics covered included the art’s relationship with physiology, psychology and physics. This last chapter, which featured a “proof” of the application of Newton’s laws to the martial arts, can only be described as a triumph of “scientism.” It would have made even the most diehard guoshu modernizer proud. Its pages featured rows of orderly equations and geometric diagrams. To ask who “translated” this volume is really to inquire as to who wrote what was in many respects an independent book on taijiquan designed to cater to the (perceived) tastes of educated Western readers.

A modern (and mechanical) approach to taijiquan, featured in all of the English language editions of Chen. This specific example was printed in Hong Kong during the 1960s.

That said, this was not an entirely original undertaking. The substantive discussions of both the solo form and push hands were taken directly from Chen, as were his pen and ink illustrations. Yet even here, some subtle changes can be noted. The Chinese language inserts that had labeled these illustrations in Chen’s original volume were deleted but not replaced in the English books. Further, whoever wrote the new English text was familiar with, and had an appreciation for, Chen’s arguments. While many of the discussions were new, care was taken to paraphrase quotes from the Chinese version. These were distributed creatively throughout the English language text as its chapters and introductory discussions did not align with the underlying Chinese “original.”

In short, Kuo Shui-chang did not provide readers with a faithful translation of Chen’s work. The entire first half of this book might be better thought of as a translation of a work that Chen did not actually write, but might have if he wished to appeal to a room full of western engineers and educators. In that sense the real value of this work is what it suggests about the growing demand for English language information in the late 1940s, and how elite Chinese martial artists perceived that cross-cultural desire.

Perhaps the clearest indication of the size of this demand would be the massive piracy campaign that this book experienced. The original Willow Pattern Press edition was released in 1947. Yet because of lax intellectual property rights, the book was quickly picked up by other distributors. 1947 dated editions were also produced in Shanghai by P. D. Boss and Millington. While I assume that Willow printed the original book, it is actually hard to confirm the order in which they appeared.

Booksellers in Hong Kong also expressed enthusiasm for the volume. Numerous, almost identical, printings were released that listed no publishing house or date. Many of these volumes listed their price as either “$10” or “H.K. $10.” It is probably impossible to date these books with precision, but it seems that they were produced sometime in the 1960s. I have a Hong Kong copy with a red cover, as opposed to the original Shanghai release that was blue. Other colors can be found as well. The version produced by the Sun Wah Printing Company may have been more legitimate than the others as they at least printed their name and the address of their offices on the title page.

By the 1960s these volumes began to find their way into circulation (and libraries) in the West, though I have not been able to determine if they had an official American distributor. I ran across one account of a student whose taiji class used this text as part of their study material during the 1960s. But that was not the end of the volume’s complex publishing history. Pan American Books in Taipei (Taiwan) released their own undated edition of the volume (probably in the 1970s). And by the late 1970s multiple American publishing houses took advantage of the volume’s confused ownership to release their own editions. The 1979 New Castle printing seems to be the most commonly encountered, though there are several others.

I have not had an opportunity to track down copies of all of these printings and subject them to a detailed comparison. That would no doubt be interesting, and it might reveal more about this book’s circuitous travels through the post-war global environment. A detailed study of the similarities between Chen’s original 1943 volume and its strangely independent 1947 Shanghai translation could also be quite interesting for what it might reveal about the different intended audiences of both books.

While some details of this mystery are likely to remain unsolved, what we know about Chen’s book is quite interesting. During the course of my historical research I had basically concluded that Zhang, Chu and the other guoshu reformers had basically failed to create an image of the Chinese martial arts that would be appealing to Western readers or martial artists. In many ways Chen’s translated volume is a natural intellectual successor to their efforts, and its tortured publishing history suggests that there may have been a lot more demand than I was able to previously estimate from personal reminisces and newspaper accounts alone. After all, no one bothers to pirate a book that doesn’t sell, and this book managed to stay in print for a very long time.

Cheng’s effort was the first English language book commercially printed on taijiquan, though Delza’s volume almost certainly arrived on the shelves of most American martial artists first. Still, Cheng has much to teach us, not only about the practice of taijiquan, but its post-war migration throughout the global system.

Acknowledgements: Special thanks go to two individuals who made this essay possible. First, I would like to thank Qin Qin (秦琴) from Henan Polytechnic University for sharing with me the discovery of a 1947 P. B. Boss edition of Tai-Chi-Chuan: Its Effects and Practical Applications. That was really what got me interested in looking more deeply at Chen’s contributions to the global spread of the art. Thanks also go to Douglas Wile for providing invaluable context regarding the true origin of the controversy that surrounded the book’s 1943 publication.

oOo

If you enjoyed this discussion you might also want to read: Prof. Maofu Gong Discusses the State of Folk Wushu and Martial Arts Studies in China Today

oOo

Istituto Italiano Taijiquan Tiancai

Posted on 5 Ottobre 2018 by 羞龍 Xiulong

L’associazione rappresenta in Italia l’Istituto Tiancai Taiji, fondato dal maestro Zhu Tiancai per diffondere il suo metodo nel mondo. Il maestro ne è presidente onorario ed il figlio Zhu Xiangqian responsabile tecnico. L’associazione opera a Ferrara e Bondeno, Firenze, Livorno, Roma, Ronchi dei Legionari (Gorizia) e Treviso (Santa Lucia di Piave) Per informazioni: info@tiancai-taiji.it

L’articolo Istituto Italiano Taijiquan Tiancai proviene da 意大利天才太极院.

Martial Arts and Restoring the Body Politic

Posted on 5 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Jackie Chan’s remix of the Karate Kid is, among other things, an interesting commentary on the ability of the martial arts to create unexpected communities.

Are Martial Arts Political?

My friend, Paul Bowman, recently asked the rhetorical question, “Should martial arts be active or passive players in politics?” The question is rhetorical in a double sense. Paul never directly answers his own query, but instead outlines for readers of the Cardiff University School of Journalism’s blog some of the questions that we have been grappling with in the last few months. It is rhetorical in another sense because on some level it does not really matter what anyone’s answer is. One may wish to see your school have more or less political involvement, yet as a matter of basic historical fact the martial arts have often been actively involved in the major political debates of the day.

This was true in Japan in the late Meiji period, China during the Republic and Korea in second half of the 20^thcentury. Bruce Lee was quickly adopted as a critical figure in American debates on racial equality, and Wing Chun materials produced in Germany during the 1970s and 1980s frequently opined on that country’s changing social mores. In the current era Wing Chun has again emerged as a master symbol of Cantonese culture as debates over the extent of local independence heat up in Hong Kong. And we have all been discussing the attempts of the Rise Above Movement (and other violent extremist groups) to employ the martial arts in their various organizational and recruitment efforts here in the US. Indeed, our most basic understandings of the martial arts arose in large part out of the nationalist, anti-imperialist and ideological conflicts that shaped the 20^thcentury. Seen from a macro-historical perspective, how could we believe that the martial arts are anything other than overtly political?

Yet on a day to day level most martial art training doesn’t seem to have anything to do with politics. Obviously, there are a few exceptions. Some capoeira schools might emphasize social equality in their selection of music or community activities. Likewise, the alt-right fight clubs that have been so much in the news seem to make a point of framing their activities through an overtly political lens. But in my (admittedly limited) experiences, these situations are the outliers, and not the norm. The challenges that most Western students face in the training hall are overwhelmingly personal and physical in nature. The frustration, pain and elation of training seem to fall on everyone, irrespective of ideology. It is these very personal experiences that dominate our practice.

Yet the personal has a way of becoming political. As I have previously noted, embodied experience, while engulfing in the moment, is never self-interpreting. Nor are identities self-constructing. Each of us receives a wide range of social, familial, economic, cultural and political cues as we attempt to sort out “what just happened” and “what sort of person am I.” If we were a student doing Kendo katas in the 1930s, the answer to that last question was quite clear. Through diligent training education officials intended that you would realize that you were a subject of the Emperor who knew that “death was as lighter than a feather.” One understood what it meant to be part of this shared category by taking part in a shared activity with all of the nation’s other school children. In the proper hands (or the wrong ones), the martial arts would seem to be machines for the construction of what Benedict Anderson called “imagined communities.”

Our personal experience of the martial arts is by definition an individual matter, and one that often appears far removed from political considerations. It is widely considered to be a breach of etiquette to bring up politics in the training hall (a point that I want to explore below). Yet the martial arts cannot exist as a purely solitary activity. As everyone who has ever examined these practices has noted, they are fundamentally social in nature. They arise from, and give new life to, social communities. Politics, in turn, is the mechanism by which societies allocate resources and responsibilities to various groups. While many individuals are drawn to the martial arts because they seek a uniquely personal experience of individual empowerment, the social nature of our communities makes them vulnerable to many competing political claims.

Prof. Stephen Chan discussing the finer points of the art with a group of students.

Understanding “Normal Politics”

How one evaluates this conclusion will vary. I suspect that for many readers the discovery that the martial arts are inherently political would be something of a disappointment. Given the ever-growing levels of polarization and acrimony between the left and right in both Europe and North America, many of us are actively looking for communities that offer a reprieve from the constant state of social warfare that we find in our social media feeds or on the 24-hour news cycle. I myself am highly sympathetic to this sentiment. It is hard to escape the feeling that the very word “politics” has come to be tainted.

Still, as a political scientist by training, I tend to see everything as having a “political” aspect. One might call it an occupational hazard. Yet politics actually takes many forms, several of which are not all that closely related to polarized left-right debates of the day. As a means of resolving our differences, within a nation, a community or an organization, politics is usually a better option than conflict or violence. Indeed, the creation of the right sorts of political institutions and norms can lead to long periods of stability, growth and social harmony.

The assertion that the martial arts are, and have always been, inherently political should not be seen as a condemnation. Rather, it simply acknowledges the fact that the communities we create are socially meaningful. We do not just generate feelings of personal empowerment. Through our practice we create ideas, norms, networks, and reserves of social and human capital. We cannot really understand the roles and meanings of the martial arts in the modern world without thinking carefully about the political implications of all of this.

Recently the association between certain violent white nationalist organizations and peripheral aspects of the MMA community has been grabbing headlines. Within the martial arts community this has been debated here and here. In my own response to these stories I attempted to introduce some basic principles from institutional analysis to ask how the spread of violent ideologies within something like the martial arts community might be contained.

All of this represents a good first cut at the problem. But if we are going to have a sustained discussion on the relationship between politics and martial arts, I suspect that these sorts of extreme cases might not be where we actually want to start. Before delving into the pathologies of political conflict, it is helpful to study more typical cases of ordinary competition. Only once we have established a baseline of how the martial arts might become involved in “normal” political disputes will have an ability to understand what has gone wrong in these other cases. Better yet, as we establish a baseline it becomes clear that under a fairly wide set of conditions martial arts communities can actually play an important role in bridging conflicts, building social trust and preventing the spread of violence. Indeed, seemingly apolitical choices regarding the structure and regulation of these communities, rather than anything inherent in the embodied practice of the martial arts themselves, will have a critical impact on their ultimate social destiny.

A class photo from a local lightsaber combat group in Ithaca NY. Note, this is not the community described in the text.

The Way of the Lightsaber: A Star Wars Story

How might the martial art actually help to repair a fractured political discourse? Perhaps an example from my recent ethnographic research with a hyper-real martial arts community might help to illustrate this potential.

It may come as a surprise to discover that not everyone in the lightsaber combat community is a diehard Star Wars “super-fan.” In my personal experience most hardcore fans, while they might collect lightsabers, do not find the notion of daily training in their use all that interesting. Likewise, while I have never met a person in a lightsaber combat class that really disliked the the Star Wars franchise, maybe half of the people could only be classified as “causal fans.” Indeed, it seems that more people actually stay in the lightsaber classes for the martial arts training and comradery than the Star Wars per se. That probably explains why one (paradoxically) does not always hear a lot of discussion of the films or other properties before, during or after your average class.

Still, there are the occasional exceptions. In one such case, earlier this spring, an emotionally charged debate briefly erupted about the merits of Rian Johnson’s highly controversial film, “The Last Jedi” (TLJ). One student (a young working-class Caucasian male), began to hold forth as to how the film was a political insult, overtly feminist and actually part of a well planned conspiracy by the Disney corporation to drive fans like him away so that they could “steal” the franchise for themselves. Statements like this are pretty common in on-line fan discussions, but not in this particular lightsaber class. It was all the more shocking as this particular student had never really expressed any animus towards the franchise before. In fact, he had never expressed any sort of political opinions at all.

What followed was a sharp exchange with a couple of other students who objected either to his perceived attacks on specific social issues (in this case gender inequality) or his notion that Disney somehow needed to “steal” a property that they already owned simply to spite him. At this point he declared that he was done with Star Wars and would be boycotting all future films, but not, of course lightsaber practice. Everyone left unhappy. Still, the next week everyone was back as if nothing had happened.

I have no idea whether the student in question made good on this threat to boycott the upcoming film, Solo: A Star Wars Story. I should probably ask him sometime. But in a sense, it doesn’t really matter. This guy is one of the more senior students at the Central Lightsaber Academy and a real stalwart of the local community. At the time he made two things perfectly clear: his utter contempt for what he saw as a personal political attack by Rian Johnson which “ruined Star Wars” and, secondly, that no matter how angry he was about this, it wasn’t going to impact his place in the lightsaber combat community. Nor has it. I forgot that this incident had happened until a recent article in the news sent me back to review some of my fieldnotes.

As anyone who follows the Star Wars fandom can attest, arguments such as the one documented above have been very common occurrences in the wake of the TLJ. Unfortunately, they don’t all have such tidy resolutions. Like so much else in our current environment, Star Wars has become a highly politicized subject. Progressive fans and commentators have associated characters like Princess Leia, Rose Tico or Rey with not only “The Resistance” against the First Order (a fascist political movement shown in the new trilogy), but also “the resistance” against Donald Trump. In an attempt to make amends for previous charges that the series marginalized minority or female characters, Disney has actively moved these progressive discussions to the forefront of multiple Star Wars properties. And while many fans have been happy to accept some projects (Rogue One has proved to be quite popular) while rejecting other films that they found to be flawed on a technical level (often The Last Jedi), a not insignificant and vocal minority of critics have connected their dislike of the recent films to a pattern of alt-right, misogynist and racist trolling.

Yet when looking at a heated facebook thread it can often be difficult to determine the size of these groups separate from simply their volume. Cultural critics have been left to wonder how much of this debate was being driven by Rian Johnson’s questionable directorial decisions (specifically, the pacing of the Casino sub-plot, and the general irreverence with which Luke Skywalker was treated), and how much of it was overtly political. In other words, was Johnson’s movie really that divisive, or did an already polarized American public simply adopt his film as a yet another proxy battlefield in the era’s raging political debates?

Morten Bay, a newly minted UCLA PhD and current post-doc at the University of Southern California’s Annenberg School, recently decided to find out. He has posted an unpublished draft of a study that began by collecting all of the tweets directed to Rian Johnson for a seven-month period following the release of TLJ. These were coded as negative, neutral or positive, and then used to construct a database describing all of the accounts that had publicly engaged Johnson in the debate. (Obviously this debate happened in many other places as well, but the author was forced to stick to a sample set of about a thousand observations by the all too familiar constraints of budget, time and computing power.)

Interested readers can review Bay’s work here. I have quite a few thoughts on this paper (and a number of criticisms) but will resist doing a full review as it would take us to far afield from the politicization of the martial arts. Still, the broad contours of his findings are interesting and most likely reliable.

While the majority of Star Wars fans actually liked The Last Jedi, there was a sizable, and very vocal, minority who did not. And while some of them were genuine Star Wars fans who simply objected to Rian Johnson’s directorial choices (and sometimes engaged in troll-like behavior), a careful analysis of all twitter accounts in the dataset suggested that others were something else entirely. Bay found evidence that a large number of accounts egging on this corner of the twitter debate were linked to individuals who showed little interest in Star Wars and instead functioned as conservative or alt-right activists. More disturbingly about 5% of these accounts closely fit the profile of the Russian troll farms that had waged a campaign to sow social chaos and disinformation during the 2016 presidential election. Bay was able to confirm his suspicions when he showed that several of the most prolific accounts targeting Rian Johnson were later closed by Twitter in its purge of accounts known to be operated by Russian troll farms.

The Zheng Manqing’s students in his Manhattan school. Source: http://www.tai-chifilm.com/whatistaichi

Martial Arts and the “Social Cleavage” Problem

The good news is that if you have found yourself thinking that the recent discussion of pop culture franchises have become overly political, it is not just you. These properties have developed into sites of sustained political debates and even (at times) information warfare by those who wish to publicize claims of “social chaos” in the Western democracies. Even the entertainment franchises that used to unify society through a few hours of simple escapism are increasingly being weaponized as part of larger political conflicts.

It was Bay’s paper that inspired me to look back over my own fieldnotes for this period. I was forced to wonder at the different ways that similar debates played themselves out online versus within a lightsaber combat school. In both cases basic demographic characteristics were highly correlated with the roles that people assumed in arguing for or against TLJ.

Social scientists have known for some time that in the modern West political affiliation is just about the most fundamental type of identity that most people have. Indeed, Americans will switch religions to fit their politics long before they modify their political beliefs to satisfy the demands of religious teaching. Likewise, demographic factors (race, gender, education level, income, etc…) also tend to be highly correlated with partisan identification. It is thus not difficult to believe that the argument that erupted in the Central Lightsaber Academy that day was perhaps only peripherally about Rian Johnson. It stung the involved individuals precisely because personal frustrations and political identities lurked in the background.

This is also when a social scientist would expect to see some sort of more fundamental rupture in a community. When personal characteristics such as income, education, gender and ethnicity become politically salient they are called “social cleavages.” These divisions can structure large scale conflicts in both society and the polity (e.g., the working class vs. capitalist, urban vs. rural values, male votes vs. female votes).

Democracy tends to work the most efficiently when the various cleavages do not overlap. In that case a political party might sometimes form an alliance with urban factory workers, and in the next instance with rural agricultural interests. That sort of flexibility makes compromise easier and it tends to moderate political polarization. After all, your antagonists on one issue may be your allies tomorrow. In such a situation our cleavages are said to be “cross-cutting.” It is more complicated when our cleavages perfectly align with each other. When we can always guess someone’s party alignment based on their economic class, race and whether they live in an urban or rural mailing code, it becomes vastly more difficult for parties to make deals and reach compromises. The winning and losing coalitions are simply too stable. Neither side will have an incentive to lessen polarization, and politics rapidly becomes a zero-sum game. In this situation trust erodes, and in a few cases one side or the other will begin to look for ways to capture more of the gains of the political system by excluding the other from full participation in the decision-making process. That is the difference between vigorous debate within a democratic framework and a politically extremist attempt to unilaterally change the nature of the political community.

At least this is what we typically teach our students about social cleavages and voting in introductory classes on voting theory. And its why the debate within the Star Wars fandom is, to a political scientist like myself, so disturbing. It is yet another piece of evidence suggesting that increasingly all the most salient social cleavages in America today are overlapping, rather than cross-cutting. That portends bad things in the long run.

It is also why we should be interested in how martial arts communities function in these environments. In the case I outlined above a very vocal, surprisingly emotionally charged, outburst was quickly forgotten and put away. I suspect that if a similar conversation had erupted in an online environment the resolution would have been much different. Yet in this case the conversation happened within the walls of a martial arts school. And the martial arts have a unique ability to add yet another layer to one’s personal identity.

Of course, identity is always situational. How I define myself at any given moment depends in large part on where I am and what is socially appropriate at that time. But somewhere in the back of my head there is always that recognition that I am a “wing chun guy,” and there is always a spark of social recognition when I meet a fellow student of the Chinese martial arts. After all, there aren’t that many of us, and the one thing that each of us needs is a community.

Likewise, lightsaber combat can only be learned in a social setting. One has got to put in a lot of hours with many training partners to gain basic skills. Weapons work requires a lot of focus and trust, even when the weapons in question do not technically exist. One still has to trust that your partner will not hit you simply because they are tired and frustrated. And it is hard to deny the sort of visceral bond that is created (Victor Turner might have called it “communitas”) by simply going through this process together. While other markers of social status will always exist outside the school, martial arts instruction has a remarkable ability to take a diverse group of people, strip them of many individual aspects of identity, and then allow them to grow into a new sort of community together. We should not underestimate how powerful and rare that experience can be in the modern world.

When that happens there is the possibility that one will create a new identity which cross-cuts the existing social cleavage. As we saw in the case illustrated above, this can help to ameliorate other sorts of political debates. Indeed, our trust in, and dependence on, individuals who are very different from us within our martial arts communities may help to insulate us against more radical discourses that would seek to target them. Students of social capital would even suggest that trust is basically a learned skilled, and the lessons that acquire within a martial arts community can eventually be applied to other areas of the civil sphere. This in turn is critical to ensuring the proper function of modern democratic institutions.

A diverse group of Taiji students demonstrating the practices utility in cases of cardiac rehabilitation and recovery. Source: Harvard Journal of Medicine.

Conclusion

It is not difficult to look at practically any important problem in the world today (whether its economic, environmental, social or cultural) and to discern political forces lurking in the background. What is sometimes harder to remember is that most positive developments are also the result of careful institutional design and a different sort of political calculus. If we focus only on cases where extremist groups have sought to co-opt martial arts practices, it may be all too easy to conclude that there is something dangerous about the martial arts themselves. Lacking a complete view of the wider social context, researchers might conclude that these practices are inherently violent, in either a physical or a social sense. Social elites in late 19^thcentury China certainly came to that conclusion, and the end result was a lot of legislation that further marginalized the martial arts community without addressing any of the more fundamental causes of social violence that it increasingly drove the logic of Chinese decline.

The foregoing essay has argued that the martial arts are interesting (and in some senses inherently political) because they are social practices that generate new types of community identification. This is precisely why Asian nationalists and reformers promoted them throughout the region’s turbulent 20^thcentury. It is also why individuals who care about the quality of civic life in our ever more polarized world should also take these practices seriously. The embodied nature of martial arts practices has the potential to build community bonds that can cross cut other, highly politicized, social cleavages. Both on-line Star Wars conversations and embodied lightsaber practice generate communities. Yet one seems much more likely to resist politically induced conflict than the other. The promotion of these practices, when properly understood and carried out, could literally help to heal our civic institutions.

This is not to say that the creation of martial arts schools should be seen as a panacea. Given the realities of geography and economic inequality, it is unlikely that all martial arts schools will be equally diverse. Because these sorts of institutions are essentially voluntary organizations the danger is that we will choose to associate only with individuals who resemble ourselves. That outcome would be counterproductive as it might actually reinforce, rather than offset, the problem of overlapping social cleavages.

Yet in practice that does not seem to be an insurmountable problem, at least not in my area of country. Fellow kung fu students are rare, and lightsaber combat enthusiasts even more so. Economic necessity dictates that most schools are at least somewhat diverse as they are forced to recruit many types of students from a large geographic area just to make ends meet. And this is precisely why so many of us are willing to set aside random political discussions when we enter our training spaces. Good training partners (or instructors) are hard to find, and we all have a sense that in an increasingly polarized world there is something “more important” than the latest controversy to consume the 24-hour news cycle. Ironically, it is that seemingly agnostic impulse that suggest the real political value of the martial arts today.

oOo

If you enjoyed this discussion you might also want to read: Theory and the Growth of Knowledge – Or Why You Probably Can’t Learn Kung Fu From Youtube

oOo

Aggiornamento ed allenamento collegiale insegnanti

Posted on 1 Ottobre 2018 by 羞龍 Xiulong

Sabato 29 Settembre presso “La Tana del Serpente Bianco” a Bondeno (Ferrara) si è svolto un incontro degli insegnanti dell’Istituto Taijiquan Tiancai Italia per un aggiornamento ed allenamento collegiale e per delineare le future attività dell’Associazione.

L’articolo Aggiornamento ed allenamento collegiale insegnanti proviene da 意大利天才太极院.

Martial Classics: The Poetry of Motion – Qi Jiguang in Verse

Posted on 1 Ottobre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

***I hope that the following guest post will be the first entry in a new occasional series here at Kung Fu Tea. While I am neither a linguist or historian of ancient China, I have found myself regularly attending the Cornell Chinese Classics Colloquium (CCCC) over the last couple of years. This fascinating series of workshops typically invites a visiting graduate student or junior professor to present a reading and translation of an ancient Chinese text of their choosing. The presenter highlights some puzzles that arise out of their text, either linguistic or historical in nature. This sets the stage for what is often a lively, and always enlightening, discussion.

The only drawback of the CCCC series is that none of the various scholars have yet presented a reading of a martial or military text. This group typically looks at political, literary, religious or even medical documents. Still, the growing interest in the reconstruction of various Chinese martial arts classics suggests that perhaps we could benefit from a similar effort. Students who are working on their own translation or reconstruction projects should feel free to submit a guest post. Ideally their essay will introduce both a translation of a specific section of text, and discuss either the linguistic, historical or technical issues that it presents. Hopefully this will inspire some good discussion. Given that there are very few academics who have translated these sorts of texts professionally, I would suspect that most contributions will come from amateur scholars, graduate students and individuals working on side projects. As with the CCCC, everyone is coming here to learn, and (charitable) feedback is always welcome. Enjoy!***

The poetry of motion: Qi Jiguang in verse

By Chad Eisner

When discussing Chinese martial arts classics it is often observed that, for a considerable period, the norm was to render technical information in verse form. Sometimes these verses are even called “songs” by modern martial artists. While this tradition has been kept by some, others have explicitly shunned the practice in favor of more straight forward instructions. Still, the fact remains that a sizable number of martial arts texts from the historical record are written in verse.

Proponents of the verse method of recording martial arts knowledge cite their ability to communicate more than just sequences of movement, or a specific response to an action. Properly understood they may also provide a framework for interpreting the technique in different contexts. Of course, verse also serve as a very convenient mnemonic for the memorization of traditions that may have been passed down orally. The issue with that method is that by keeping the language vague and open to interpretation, you make the act of understanding the technical information more difficult. When attempting to translate these poems to another language scholars face a large number of possible readings and reaching a consensus may be difficult.

Translation versus Interpretation

My background is as a (former) professional interpreter. Therefore I am coming at the act of translation from a specific place. Most people do not know the difference between interpretation and translation or that there is a difference between them at all. In the general sense, translation is the art of finding the equivalent words or phrases and interpretation is the act of discerning their meaning within their context. Professionally, “interpretation” happens live with little to no preparation or foreknowledge of what is being said. Translation is the act of transmitting information about things that are unchanging, as in being written down or recorded.

These two process are related, of course. Translation is a part of interpretation but because interpretation happens live, there are certain methods one must follow in order to ensure that the information and intent of the speaker are being communicated. In translation, since the text exists in a static form, the translator has access to all of the linguistic information during the entire process. This allows a translator to formulate solutions to problems more carefully and thoughtfully.

The result is that each profession approaches the translation of any text in a slightly different way. The translator looks for (in general) the most accurate and similar translation of each concept, including structure and word choice. The interpreter is more concerned with “equivalency” within the target language rather than a “word for word” approach. This may take the form of restructuring sentences, using different words, or finding completely unique idioms in the target language that serve the same function as the ones being used in the source language. A simple example of this is the greeting in Chinese “Nihao ma?” (你好嗎). Literally, this phrase means “Are you well?” But it is used much more frequently and in a wider context than the English phrase. It is therefore most often translated (or interpreted) as “hello” as it is used as a generalized greeting in Mandarin the same as the word “hello” functions in English. These are generalizations and there are several schools of thought for both translating and interpreting that take harder or softer stances on these issues.

Expansion and Contraction

When attempting to translate anything, there are certain issues which must be considered as many languages have different solutions to the same problems. One of these is the issue of linguistic expansion and contraction. This is when a single word in the source language cannot be expressed with a single word or “gloss” in the target language. It is necessary then to explain the concept in as concise language as possible to communicate the meaning and intent of the original text. This is a common occurrence in any language, but in written Chinese it happens with considerable frequency and can have lasting effects on the understanding of terms and concepts.

When translating and interpreting poetry and verse, the job becomes that much harder. Not only does one have to contend with almost intentionally obscure literary allusions and aesthetic styles, but one must now also render it in a similar fashion for the target language. This makes it necessary to approach the task with more of an interpreter’s mind set, being willing to alter things to make them adhere to the same type of experience for the reader, in which ever language there are experiencing it. There are concerns regarding meter, rhyme, structure, devices used and many many more things that are indicative of poetry and verse beyond what is found in prose.

These factors come together with the nature of poetry and verse to create a very difficult scenario for the translator. There will be numerous ways to translate the same text and none of them will really be more correct than some of the others. In “19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei”, Eliot Weinberger looks at 19 different translations of a four line Chinese poem. Just among the English translations one can find distinct and unique takes on the simple verse. This underscores the fact that there are many ways to interpret what is being said and therefore, many correct translations of any text in verse.

This is not to say the effort is wasted. It is absolutely possible to render excellent verse to verse translations of songs, poems, and other forms of expressive writing. A good example of this is the song “Les Tomber les Filles “ written by Serge Gainbourg and performed by Franz Gall and translated and performed by the musician April March in 1995. March’s translation of the ’60’s era French pop song displays many of the techniques needed for translation of these types of texts:

Original by Gainsbourg:

Laisse tomber les filles, laisse tomber les filles

Un jour c’est toi qu’on laissera

Laisse tomber les filles, laisse tomber les filles

Un jour c’est toi qui pleureras

Oui j’ai pleuré mais ce jour-là, non je ne pleurerai pas

Non je ne pleurerai pas

Je dirai c’est bien fait pour toi, je dirai ça t’apprendra

Je dirai ça t’apprendra

Translation by March:

Hang up the chick habit

Hang it up, daddy,

Or you’ll be alone in a quick

Hang up the chick habit

Hang it up, daddy,

Or you’ll never get another fix

I’m telling you it’s not a trick

Pay attention, don’t be thick

Or you’re liable to get licked

You’re gonna see the reason why

When they’re spitting in your eye

They’ll be spitting in your eye

The first thing one notices is the title of the song. “Les Tomber les Filles” literally means “let the girls fall” or “drop the girls”. March’s translation of “Hang up the Chick Habit” does some fairly impressive things. First, it takes account of time period and chooses a phrasing with ’60 era flavor in the slang term “chick” used as an adjective. This immediately places the language in time and gets the listener into the right mindset. The idiom used in the French is reversed, conceptually, in the English translation. Where in the French we are told to “drop” the girls, the same sentiment is expressed by “hanging up” the habit of womanizing. Because of the nature of idioms and of course musical styles and concerns, finding equivalent phrases based on what they mean rather than the words they use is essential.

Without going into too much detail on each the lines and their translation, a quick glance at the selection above will reveal that there is a significant difference in the literal meaning of the French and the transition by March. Again, due to the confines of music, restructuring, rephrasing, and finding equivalent words and phrases, not directly translated ones, is necessary. It is the underlying meaning that needs to be addressed and since verse is often used as a tool for delivering information, it is this meaning that needs to be understood before a translation can be rendered.

Image of a Taiji Boxer. Source: Burkhardt, 1953.

The question is then brought up, what value is there in the effort to translate and render these verses into Western equivalents? Besides the scholarly and linguistic value that such an exercise provides, it may also be important to the modern practitioner who is purely interested in the content of these texts rather than their academic discussion. Martial artists often take inspiration from these works in their teaching and practice. Making them accessible to more people would seem to be a laudable goal.

Verse emphasizes form over function, sacrificing clarity. Modern attempts to not only understand the original message but then render it in verse form in the target language is a laborious, but ultimately rewarding, process. I have tried to keep the changes in my own project to a minimum, or in service of the verse structure. I have used my prior experience in Chinese martial arts, specifically Taijiquan, as a base for my interpretation of the techniques. I offer them only as an example of a single interpretation and do not claim authority on the matter.

In translating the verses of Qi Jiguang into English rhyme, some linguistic and interpretive liberties have been taken. A certain amount of linguistic expansion and contraction is necessary to achieve a proper meter and rhythm that remains internally consistent throughout the text. The form of the verses has also been changed to find an equivalent structure in English that can encompasses the several metrics in the original.

Verse structure

The verse structure I have chosen for these translations is based on U.S. armed Forces “Cadences” or marching rhymes. I have chosen this form as it is related to the military context, of which the text is a part, and for it’s simplicity. I have imagined (or rendered) it as if these verses were used as a call and response drills for large groups of provincial soldiers. As such I have kept the language on the courser side, although still giving nods to Qi Jiguangs practice of poetry. Although I have little knowledge of classical Chinese Poetic forms, Qi and his fellow military people were often criticized on their writing as being overly simple and naive. Although some did find Qi’s poetry to be pleasing, writers like Shen Defu claimed their success was due to their uneducated audience and the low brow environment of the frontiers and borderlands .

Settling on the military cadences, I used two forms; a quarter note version and an eighth note version. Most fit better into the eighth note form but there are several that are in the quarter note cadence.

Quarter note: Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta Taaa
Eighth note: Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ta

Rhyme scheme

The Rhyme scheme I have chosen is a simple AA,BB structure to reflect the simplicity the succinct and brief nature of the originals. The simple rhyme scheme also is a feature of nemonic rhymes to facilitate their memorization. The simple paired scheme is a one that is intuitive to most languages and cultures.

Voice

At times in the text, the first person is used. At other times the second person being given instructions is used. And at still other times it is unclear on whether the passive or active voice is being used. I have attempted to keep it as consistent as I can. The particulars of Literary Chinese grammar make it sometimes difficult to determine the subject and/or object in the sentence. Again, these factors are in addition to the already mounting factors when the target translation is to be in verse.

Examples

What follows is a sampling of my attempt. I have chosen the first four entires as they relate to modern Taijiquan practice and are often seen as antecedents of present day techniques. I do not attempt to draw lines of origin or make authoritative statements into the connection between modern naming conventions and Ming Dynasty ones. While the names and many of the positions are similar, the nature of the drawings and the text make it difficult to discern the original intent. Still, these are iconic techniques and positions that form the foundation of many practices today.

These four entries also provide a good sampling of the various types and flavors of techniques presented. Qi’s text has a few basic structures and approaches. Some are straight forward, step by step instructions. Others are explained in general terms as responses to situations and changing variables. Lastly, Qi ends each verse with a superlative, often making statements of prowess that seem right out of kung fu movies or modern professional wrestling.

My first attempt tried to take all linguistic information contained in the lines. The resulting translations were in my opinion, too verbose stylistically and did not match the succinct and brief nature of the originals:

Lazily Tie Your Coat and come to stand outside,

Sink into single whip, with single sudden stride

Without the courage to attack, when your enemy is caught,

The sharpest eyes and the fastest hands will both be all for naught.

While far more skilled and expert translators, like Douglas Wile, have produced excellent translations, I hope to add a small amount of depth by offering a glimpse into what these lines would sound like in verse form. I feel that having them rhyme in this way can give a little extra flavor, and maybe foster more thought about the content of the text. Either way, I accept any and all criticism and know that there will be many errors in my work. These errors are mine but I have tried to accommodate alternate perspectives when available.

Tie your coat and come outside,

Single Whip with sudden stride,

With out the courage to advance,

Sharp eyes fast hands will have no chance.

懶扎衣出門架子

變下勢霎步單鞭

對敵若無膽向先

空自眼明手便

“Lazily Tie the Coat” begins the set.

Lower your stance and lightly step into Single Whip.

If you lack the courage to attack when facing an enemy,

Your sharp eyes and fast hands will be for naught.

The first verse. The verse is about the technique called “Lazily Tie the Coat”. It states that this is an opening move to the “set” or form (架子 JiaZi). The poetic liberties taken should be obvious. Reframing the same information as a command brought about a more literal yet figurative relationship in the sentence. “Come and stand outside” is used to mean a beginning relating to 出門- literally “out the door”. While it probably means ‘to begin’, keeping the poetic nature of the phrase offers a good equivalent in English.

The interpretation of the passage seems to be more general in its scope. The first two line describe the technique “Lan Zha Yi”-Lazily Tie the Coat and the step into “Single Whip”. Any practitioner of Taijiquan, especially Chen Style, should be able to picture this move in a particular way. The grappling of Lan Zha Yi and the step into Dan Pian (single whip) are ubiquitous in the various styles. Although the illustration of Qi’s move shows a standing position with feet together, a difference from the current practices in Taijiquan, it is reasonable to assume that the name of this technique is focused mainly on the upper body. Very much like Single Whip, Lazy Tie the Coat is an image or mime of an action of tying a long belt around a coat as was done in old China.

The last two stanzas give general advice for fighting. Essentially, take the initiative in an encounter and do not let up. Violence tends to favor the aggressor and if you lack the courage or fortitude to press your attack, it will fail no matter how good your other attributes are. Qi has put an number of these general axioms for combat amongst the verses.

Golden Rooster stands on top,

Present your leg then sideways chop,

Rush in low and trip the bull,

They cry to heaven loud and full.

金雞獨立顚(顛)起

裝腿橫拳相兼

槍背卧牛雙倒

遭着叫苦連天

Jīnjīdúlì diān (diān) qǐ

zhuāng tuǐ héng quán xiāng jiān

qiāng bèi wò niú shuāng dào

zāozhe jiàokǔliántiān

Golden Chicken Stands Alone rises up.

Brandish the leg and cross the fists together.

Thrust forward and turn the back in “Reclining Bull” to throw them.

Those that encounter this move will cry of their hardship to heaven.

This verse differs a bit from the first in that it is more akin to step by step instructions or “plays” denoting martial application. The instructions are for its application in fighting, one assumes in a one on one encounter. Modern practitioners may be more comfortable thinking of this technique as a solo exercise or mime of a combat technique.

However, the verse contains another named technique “卧牛” or “Reclining Bull”. Which seems to indicate a throw where the opponent’s legs are in the air. Essentially hitting the ground supine. One possible interpretation of this technique is a standard “fireman’s carry”. Coming in low and scooping the opponent up and throwing them over your shoulders. I have chosen to translate this technique as “trip the bull” to stay with in meter and rhyme.

Testing Horse was Song Taizu’s,

Stances all can drop and move,

Advance attack, retreat to dodge,

Come in close with a fist barrage.

探馬傳自太祖

諸勢可降可變

進攻退閃蒻生強

接短拳之至善

Testing Horse was taught by Taizu.

Several stances can drop down and change.

Enter to attack and retreat to dodge with full vigor.

Come in close range where the fist’s reach is best.

This verse seems fairly straight forward as well. The first line is worth examination in a few aspects. First the name of this technique “Tan Ma” (探馬) is similar to the Taiji posture, “Gao Tan Ma” 高探馬 often translated as “High Pat on Horse”, it is more likely referring to testing a horse to see if it is able to be saddled. The high outstretched arm being the testing hand and the other arm folded but he side as if holding a saddle. Although like most of the illustrations, it is difficult to match them to real world actions.

The first line makes the claim that this technique was taught by “Taizu” the Emperor of the Song and a frequent figure in martial arts. The intent here seems to be to give the technique a sense of antiquity or lineage. This plays into the idea that traditional martial arts should have long histories. While that is a common idea in modern days, it held true in the Ming Dynasty as well. Several authors bemoan the loss of martial traditions, arts, and methods during their time. And while writers like Mao Yuanyi set out to preserve these traditions in works like the Wubei Zhi, the actual partitioners of the techniques, i.e. the military, were seeing firsthand the power of firearms and gunpowder based weapons. Qi, himself, wrote of the superiority of firearms and later built tactics almost solely around such weapons. Our present text is found in the Jixiaoxinshu, and was intended as a manual for the training of mercenary troops in provincial armies. Even in the introduction to this section, Qi states that “Barehanded fighting is all but useless on the battlefield”, and that he included the fist routines as a kind of exercise for troops. It may be that these troops responded to long histories and lineages more so than the upper classes and hereditary military families.

There is a liberal dose of restructuring in the first line. Trying to encapsulate the idea of antiquity and prestige I opted to go out on a limb. “Testing Horse was Song Taizu’s” seems to fulfill those requirements. This was done entirely for structural reasons and I was able to keep all information intact.

Crossed Single Whip firmly pries it’s way in,

When finding it hard from their kick to defend,

Rush in with continuous, liftings and chops,

Knock down Tai mountain into low stances drop.

拗單鞭黃花緊進

披挑腿左右難防

槍步上拳連劈揭

沉香勢推倒太山

Crossed single whip advances with tight circles.

When you find it difficult to defend kicks from either side,

Rush in with continuous downward and upward chops.

Sink low into the posture, Pushing Mount Tai.

“Ao Dan Bian” or “crossed Single Whip” is a common name and familiar again to practitioners of Taijiquan. The illustration provided by Qi shows the familiar stance of one hand held up in front as if in a chop and the rear hand made into a fist or hooked shape with arms stretched out straight from each other. “Ao” or “crossed” refers to the position of the forward leg to the forward hand which are opposing each other. So, if the right hand is forward the left leg will be forward.

An opera performer holding a bian during a performance.

“Dan Bian” or “single whip” refers to the upper body position and the arms. The arms are stretched out from the body and turned so that one hand is behind (often held in a hook gesture) and the other in front. The image is most likely of a mounted rider, holding the reigns with the front hand and the riding crop (bian 鞭) behind. It is a familiar position in opera indicating when the characters are riding in the narrative. In opera too, a long stick called a “bian” is used. The whip in this instance being a riding crop or short stick.

The rest of the verse explains the basic use of the technique. While there are many ways in which to interpret the movements explained, the logic of them seems salient. Qi advocates that his readers be aggressive with their intent and rush in with downward and upward strikes with which to disrupt, or otherwise interfere with, the opponents kicks. Once done, the practitioner sinks low into the stance “pushing Mt. Tai”. Essentially, it appears as if the technique comes in aggressively and then drops low to attack the legs, presumably for a knock down.

oOo

References

Barnes, Archie, Don Starr, and Graham Ormerod. Du’s handbook of classical Chinese grammar: an introduction to classical Chinese grammar. Great Britain: Alcuin Academics, 2009.

Biguenet, John, and Rainer Schulte, eds. The Craft of Translation. Chicago Guides to Writing, Editing, and Publishing. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989.

Kang, GeWu. The Spring and Autum of Chinese Martial Arts: 5000 years, first ed. Plum Pub, 1995.

Lorge, Peter Allan. Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2012.

-War, Politics, and Society in Early Modern China, 900-1795. Warfare and History. London: Routledge, 2005.

Mao, Yuanyi茅元億. 武備志Wu Bei Zhi. [China: s.n. ; not before, 1644] Map. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2004633695/.

Mroz, Daniel. The Dancing Word: An Embodied Approach to the Preparation of Performers and the Composition of Performances. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Rodopi, 2011.

Nolan, James. Professional Interpreting in the Real World. second ed. Vol. 4, Interpretation: Techniques and Exercises. Bristol: Multilingual Matters, 2012.

Peers, Chris. Men-at-arms Series. Vol. 307, Late Imperial Chinese Armies 1520-1840. London: Osprey, 1997

Qi, Jiguang戚繼光. Wu Shu Xi Lie武術系列. chu ban. ed. Vol. 6, Ji Xiao Xin Shu.績效新書 Tai bei shi: Wu zhou, 2000min 89.

Schulte, Rainer, and John Biguenet, eds. Theories of Translation: An Anthology of Essays from Dryden to Derrida. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.

Weinberger, Eliot, and Octavio Paz. 19 ways of looking at Wang Wei: (with more ways). New York, NY: New Directions Books, 2016.

Wile, Douglas. T’ai-Chi’s Ancestors: The Making of an Internal Martial Art. New York: Sweet Chi, 1999.

oOo

If you enjoyed this discussion you might also want to read: Tai Hsuan-chih Remembers “The Red Spears, 1916-1949”

oOo

Political Extremism, Violence and Martial Arts

Posted on 28 Settembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

A Preamble

Everyone knew that the situation was deteriorating, and recent events had sensitized government officials to the growing threat of extremist groups within the area’s largest martial arts networks. Local immigration and a shift in the neighborhood’s religious complexion had brought tensions in one community to a boiling point. Groups of previously reliable citizens were protesting outside of a newly constructed place of worship shouting both racial and religious epitaphs.

Law enforcement wasn’t sure whether to move against the protesters or to just try and keep the groups separated until their anger burnt itself out. From their perspective it was difficult to know if either side actually deserved any sympathy at all. The supposed “victims” of these violent abuses had been filling the local courts with petty crimes and nuisance lawsuits for years.

Still, the public safety officials all agreed that it was a bad sign when a group of aggressive martial artists appeared right at epicenter of trouble just to conduct some “public workouts.” The group had recruited a new leader, a regionally famous fighter with a reputation for protecting “the people.” They claimed it was all necessary. Someone had to protect the community from these “outsiders.” That is when the torches were lit.

The Problem of Violence

The still fledgling field of martial arts studies has recently turned its attention to the problem of extremist political violence and its potential connections to the martial arts. Given that so many groups train explicitly to deal with the reality of violence (either to prevent it, or to enact it more efficiently), its odd that this topic is only now gaining visibility. In the 2017 Martial Arts Studies meetings in Cardiff my good friend Sixt Wetzler delivered a paper laying out a carefully constructed framework for considering the intersection of these issues. And pointing to the rising prominence of public groups training for violent street battles within the West’s increasingly polarized political atmosphere, I ended my own keynote with a plea for more scholars to take up these issues.

That is not to say that this is easy subject matter. In many cases our research reflects our personal interests and backgrounds. People write papers about embodied training in their favored styles, or address discursive issues in popular films or TV programs. And it is generally good advice to “write what you know.” Yet in moments of social upheaval that advice can lead to a strange myopia. Few of us are members of extremist organizations, on either the right or the left. And only a handful of martial arts studies scholars have any direct experience in law enforcement or intelligence work. I suspect that (with a few notable exceptions) studies of the intersection of martial arts training and social violence in the modern world lagged behind as it was a research topic without a sizable audience within the field.

It was the appearance of multiple news stories linking the spread of white nationalist hate groups and certain MMA training facilities, fashion labels and fight promotion companies which finally broke this stalemate. Little of what these outlets printed was actually “breaking news.” In February of 2018 Mother Jones published an article titled “The Terrifying Rise of Alt-Right Fight Clubs.” So as to not undersell the story the editor helpfully subtitled the piece (authored by Bryan Schatz) “White nationalists are learning martial arts to prepare for race war.” Much of the same material would later appear in an extended piece in The Guardian titled “Fascist Fight Clubs: How white nationalists use MMA as a recruiting tool.”

The implication of elements of the ever growing MMA community in these recruitment efforts inspired some sustained engagement. This unfolded on Facebook groups and blogs, and Paul Bowman has provided a nice summary of these debates here and here. Following the lead of the reporters in these pieces, much of the discussion has so far focused on how we should conceptualize the mixed martial arts and their connection to these efforts. Are they truly violent sports? Is there something about them that makes them particularly useful to extremist groups at this moment in history? And perhaps most intriguingly, is there an inherent conceptual connection between the sorts of “violence” that one sees in the octagon, and that which has appeared on the streets.

These are all interesting questions. Yet in this essay I would like to outline another set of concerns that is likely to take this discussion in several different directions. And that leads us back to the account of a single violent encounter in the preamble to this essay. When and where did this happen? And in what respects is knowing the answer to that question important? What aspects of community violence are historically and culturally bounded, and when do we cross over into the realm of institutionally or structurally determined behaviors?

It would not be hard to come up with several historical incidents that fit the events I outlined above. Some could be as old as the classical world, while others might appear in the headlines of a contemporary European paper. In point of fact, the “regionally famous martial arts teacher” in my account is none other than Zhao San-duo, a late 19^thcentury Plum Blossom master who, while not directly involved in the Boxer Uprising, helped to light the fuse of anti-foreign and anti-Christian violence that would bring Imperial China to its knees.

This is not to say that the sort of xenophobia that was seen in late 19^thcentury China, and the Western ideology of racial supremacy seen within groups like the California based Rise Above Movement (RAM, a violent extremist group profiled in both of the previously cited newspaper articles) are in any way identical. While both sets of ideas focused on the need to “protect” a community from perceived racial or religious threats, the historical, cultural and social framing of these ideologies are quite distinct. That is critical to remember, especially as government or local communities seek to address the spread of violent ideologies.

Yet the ease with which one might fit this outline to several cases suggests that there may also be structural and institutional issues that need to be taken into account. The association of martial art training with political or social extremism is not a new phenomenon. Nor is it restricted to only one side of the political spectrum. For every alt-right MMA club that one finds in California, I suspect that one will be able to locate a Marxist boxing gym in France or Italy.

Nor, when examined in historical terms, does there seem to be a very strong correlation between the sort of martial art being practiced and the probability that it will be radicalized by an anti-systemic group. In Japan it has always been the traditional Budos, with their strong associations with a (mostly imagined) Samurai past, that are the most likely to appeal to both violent ultra-nationalist groups and organized crime syndicates. Yet I doubt that many American MMA practitioners would look at these judo, kendo or aikido schools and find their practices to be notably “violent” by the standards of televised UFC bouts.

One challenge that we face is that since many of us are directly involved in the practice of the martial arts, it can be difficult to see beyond the boundaries of our own experiences and communities. In effect, we have a difficult time perceiving our communities as an outsider with different goals might. This is a distinct disadvantage when it comes to understanding why a particular extremist group might be interested in infiltrating a practice or what their goals might actually be.

To gain some clarity on these issues we might begin by taking a step back from the martial arts themselves and considering what we know about the ways that violent extremist groups typically operate. This is a subject that has been studied extensively by both social scientists and law enforcement personal. While students of martial arts studies have a unique perspective to bring to the table, we should note that there is already a well developed body of empirical observation and theoretical literature that we can draw from.

One of the first things that a student of terrorism might point out, for instance, is that we should carefully consider both halves of the phrase “extremist organization.” While we tend to put a lot of mental emphasis on a group’s views or ideology (often because they are horrifying), if we wish to understand what they actually do on a day to day basis we must remember that they are basically a voluntary social organization. To survive in the short run they must solve immediate problems like generating a funding stream, recruiting personal, managing their public image and coordinating with other actors. Any extremist organization that fails at these tasks will not be a problem for every long.

To better accomplish these basic goals radical organizations occasionally insert themselves into a wide range of social movements, many of which do not appear to have anything to do with violence. Sports organizations, on-line communities, new religious movements, musical sub-cultures and international charity organizations have all proved to popular targets for ideologically motivated violent groups. Each of these provides opportunities for extremist organizations to craft communities in which they can radicalize members. In some cases these cover organizations also help to raise money, operate across international borders or improve the group’s “brand.”

When seen in this light it is not at all surprising that violent organizations, either in the current era or in 19^thcentury China, would be interested in hand combat schools. Yet I suspect that the actual martial arts skills gained are not the most critical aspect of their organizational calculus. In modern society martial arts clubs are ubiquitous to the point of being almost invisible. Whether an ultranationalist judo club in Japan, or an MMA school in the United States, both organizations provide groups with a chance to cultivate marginal and dissatisfied individuals in an environment that is likely to generate little suspicion.

From a social scientific perspective these recruitment drives are actually quite enlightening. As martial artists we tend to mentally divide our actives into the serious business of physical training and “everything else” that goes along with being a member of an organization. This second category might include such banal interactions as chatting in the locker room, carpooling to a local tournament or meeting up at the gym for strength training. The friendships we create, the on-line media we consume, the social community that we build, all of these things are typically seen as “secondary” to the serious business of physical training.

Yet when trying to understand the function and social value of a martial arts school, we need to be willing to reverse this way of thinking. In actual fact, it is within the realm of the secondary where we find these practices’ greatest value. As any martial arts teacher can attest, it is the friendships that are made in a training hall that keep many students coming back week after week. It is there that they are exposed to the media that their fellow classmates consume. And it is largely through these “secondary” social channels that martial arts communities articulate what their practices mean, and hence what their identity actually is. Embodied experience is never self-interpreting, which is precisely why so many political, national and social groups have found the martial arts to be useful over the last hundred years or so.

Again, trends within the Boxer Rebellion help to illustrate this basic relationship between a group’s seeming primary purpose (to impart individual skills) and its actual social utility (to reinforce group bonding). Historical and eyewitness accounts suggest that relatively few Chinese Christian were killed with the sorts of hand to hand combat techniques that were taught by the local martial arts communities that the Yihi Boxers drew from. Instead we find accounts of execution squads rounding up local Christians, locking them in their own churches, setting the building on fire and shooting anyone who tried to leap out. Paul Cohen noted that fire, rather than Kung Fu, was the Boxer’s weapon of mass destruction. While we tend to fixate on their claims to magical invulnerability in hand to hand combat, it is often forgotten that much of their magic dealt with the control of fire as they sought to burn entire neighborhoods to the ground.

Does this then indicate that their martial arts training was useless on the battlefield? Not at all. It was on the boxing grounds of Shandong that the Boxers who would terrorize Beijing were welded together into a somewhat cohesive, radicalized, social unit. It was these “secondary” aspects their martial arts training that laid the necessary social foundation for the tragedy of 1900.

Likewise, when reviewing the footage of recent riots that can be found online, it seems unlikely that a few months of BJJ or MMA (or HEMA) training is going to make the average skinhead that much more effective in a messy brawl with Antifa or law enforcement. I am as much an advocate of martial arts training as anyone, but the most important function that these clubs serve is likely to organize their members into a somewhat disciplined unit, to coordinate with other likeminded cells, and then to get their guys onto the streets. Certainly strength training and a basic familiarity with fighting might help. But at the end of the day individuals are motived to fight for communities, not training styles.

Diverse students at a kickboxing seminar held in Ithaca NY.

Implications

All of this may seem obvious. I hope that it does. Yet approaching extremist groups from an institutional perspective reveals important strategies for understanding and deterring their spread. Perhaps the first of these is that there need not be any direct ideological correlation between the types of venues that groups use for recruitment and their ultimate political or social goals. For instance, modern MMA, 19^thcentury Plum Blossom and traditional European Longsword are three very different martial arts both in terms of cultural background, social structure and patterns of imagined violence. Yet each has proved to be an attractive target for radical groups looking to recruit members and coordinate their agendas.

We commit a grave error by treating MMA as some sort of “gateway” to the world of social extremism due to its inherently “violent” or competitive nature. While conceptually interesting, debates as to whether we might legitimately call what happens in the octagon “violence” in the same ways as a deadly political street fight misses a critical point. There is little violence in Scandinavian new religious movements, yet they too have become, at times, a site of extremist recruitment. There are good reasons why groups might want to recruit members from charities or other organizations that have no visible connection to violence at all. I am sure that if we looked closely enough we would also find some level recruitment happening at Wing Chun training halls, karate dojos and Kali schools. What is critical is the way these activities can be discursively framed and deployed, and not necessarily anything inherent in their embodied practice.

At the current moment MMA is probably attractive to extremist groups simply because it is so popular with young males generally and is aligned with several trends in popular culture. Its most important assets may not be the brutality of its practice, but the fact that it has crafted a fashionable pop culture aesthetic. Indeed, it may simply be the practice’s “soft power” that make it an attractive target for subversion. Its highly networked structure also make it both commercially flexible and a decent platform for the sorts of networking that extremist groups may seek to engage in.

If these social characteristics make martial arts organizations attractive to extremist groups (on both the left and right), they also suggest some options for deterring their spread. Consider, for instance, the role of social capital in this type of institutional framework. “Social capital” refers to the decentralized bonds of trust and reciprocity that are created within small communities that can then be applied to larger networks.

All group interactions create social capital to one degree or another. Yet they do not always create equal amounts of trust, (bonding capital) nor are they equally good at extending this radius of community (bridging capital). When we look at the specific MMA schools and fight promotions implicated in the news articles cited earlier, it becomes apparent that they are in many ways pretty marginal cases. This makes sense as, once created, communities rich in social capital tend to be somewhat conservative in character (even if very supportive of their members). My prior research looking at religion and terrorism suggested that communities which were rich in social capital were more resistant to radicalization attempts. Relatively disconnected and marginal groups tended to be low hanging fruit for extremist organizations both because they had less to lose, and less ability to resist corrosive social discourses.

This suggests that one important strategy for containing the spread of extremist ideologies in the martial arts is to focus more attention of building healthy communities with many points of intersection, both with other hand combat groups and the community at large. Such organizations are much harder targets for radicalization. However, containment strategies that focus on state surveillance, or anything else that corrodes trust (and therefore social capital) within the community, might backfire in unexpected ways. If we weaken the bonds of reciprocity either within martial arts groups or between them, social capital theory suggest that we might actually increase the probability that these movements are captured by anti-systemic actors. [Incidentally, efforts by the late Qing dynasty to monitor and suppress its own hand combat schools seems to support this hypothesis, but that is an argument for a different post.]

The modern martial arts function as a type of social machinery. Like any machine they perform work, the normative implications of which have more to do with the hand at the controls than any inherent property of the practice itself. It is the fundamental amorality of the martial arts that allows them to be co-opted by both nationalist forces and advocates of regional identity, often at the same time. Likewise, the same embodied experience of kickboxing or rolling might be used to support discursive structures that emphasize a sense of the profound human equality in some circles, or radical hierarchies of difference in others. What really matters is the supplementary forces that construct and give meaning to these experiences.

An institutional approach to the problem of extremism not only suggests viable strategies for containing these movements (a topic that I hope to return to in a future essay), but it also reveals something critical about modern hand combat groups. It is often the secondary and seemingly supplementary aspects of our practice that have the most profound impact on the community around us. We neglect them at our peril, both as scholars and concerned martial artists.

oOo

If you enjoyed this essay you might also want to see: Government Subsidization of the Martial Arts and the Question of “Established Churches”

oOo

Chinese Martial Arts in the News: September 24th, 2018: Shaolin, Bull Fights, and So Many New Books….

Posted on 24 Settembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Introduction

Welcome to “Chinese Martial Arts in the News.” I recently finished the heavy lifting on my draft chapter, so I am now returning to a normal posting schedule. Thanks for your collective patience! A (long overdue) news update seems like the perfect way to ease back into things.

For new readers, 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.

Its been way too long since our last update so let’s get to the news!

News from all Over

A number of this month’s news items highlight the varied intersections between the martial arts and politics. As such, it seems appropriate to lead off with recent developments at the Shaolin temple. The venerable Buddhist monastery (and spiritual home of the Chinese martial arts) has once again found itself at the center of controversy. Seeking to get ahead of new government policy directives designed to limit the independence of Chinese religious movements from the state and Communist Party, the temple’s leadership have decided to take a much more visible and proactive role in promoting “patriotism” (rather than simply Buddhism) in the monks’ public performance. This is actually a somewhat nuanced topic as Chinese Buddhist monasteries have never been truly independent of the state and Shaolin, in particular, already carries a patriotic reputation. Still, the move has inspired some controversy and much discussion. A good overview of all this can be found in the South China Morning Post article titled: “Red flag for Buddhists? Shaolin Temple ‘takes the lead’ in Chinese patriotism push.”

Here is a sample of the sort of pushback that has been encountered:

Tsui Chung-hui, of the University of Hong Kong’s Centre of Buddhist Studies, said Buddhist scripture already required its followers to respect the state.

“The government does not need to take pains to promote [this] and monasteries also do not need to pander to politics,” Tsui said on Tuesday. “They should let monks dedicate themselves to Buddhism and not waste their time performing various political propaganda activities.”

China has recently come under the spotlight for its efforts to clamp down on minority religions including Islam and Christianity, which it associates with foreign influence or ethnic separatism. Mosques and churches flying the national flag have become an increasingly common sight in China amid the crackdown.

Interested readers may also want to check out this follow-up article critically examining the state of Buddhism in China, including multiple discussions of the compromised situation of the Shaolin Temple.

From questions of patriotism and political interference, we now turn to controversies over animal welfare. Certain martial artists in Jiaxing, in the eastern province of Zhejiang, have recently been making waves with their own brand of “bull fighting.” While various types of bull sacrifices and worship can be found across the ancient world, this particular practice seems to be a mix of the old and new. Discursively attributed to the Hui Muslim minority, the practice (which actually resembles steer wrestling minus the horses) was first demonstrated nationally in the 1984 Ethnic Minority Games, and was recognized as a martial art only in 2008. As with so many other “rediscovered” martial arts, the hope seems to be that the practice will increase tourism in the region.

While a seemingly odd story, the more I think about this one the more important it becomes. On a purely theoretical level, it raises questions about the boundaries of what we might consider the “martial arts,” and how they are constructed and negotiated. I suspect that in the West common sense would dictate that the martial arts are a social activity between humans, rather than humans and animals. And yet this story also reminds me that countless Chinese language books and articles on the martial arts (even scholarly one’s) start off with a straight faced assertion that the Chinese martial arts were created in the distant past so that people could defend themselves from wild animals. I always dismissed these lines as boilerplate, but now I am starting to wonder what their relationship to the Chinese cultural vision of the martial arts actually is.

Of course, no one is actually being called upon to defend themselves from these bulls. The animals seem to be very tame and have been trained to tolerate humans throwing them to the ground without putting up much of a fight. While no bulls are killed in the practice of this “martial art,” it would seem to be open to all of the same ethical questions as North American rodeos. And yet Western readers are assured that any appearance of cruelty is simply a result of their inability to grasp the “deep cultural significance” of the activity.

If you are wondering what all of this looks like in practice, check out this video.

Our next article, from the English language version of a Chinese tabloid, is more mainstream. It provides an account of all the ways that a Wushu performance has managed to “Wow US Audiences.” Being a press release by a provincial government’s information office, the most interesting aspect of this article is its total transparency about the organization and purpose of shows like this.

“We hope that our show will serve as a bridge for martial arts lovers overseas to learn more about Chinese culture and appreciate the beauty of China,” said Huang Jing, director of the international communication department of China Intercontinental Communication Center.

The center presented the event, together with the Chinese Wushu Association and the Information Office of Henan Provincial People’s Government.

Over 400 people including representatives of members and students from Chin Woo athletic federation branches at home and abroad as well as members of other martial arts groups participated in the worship ceremony. (PRNewsfoto/Publicity Department of Xiqing)

From Virginia we jump back across the Pacific to Tianjin. While Huo Yuanjia (the titular founder of the Jingwu Association) is often remembered for the phase of his career that occurred in Shanghai, his hometown roots have also made him a popular figure in Tianjin. The city just marked his 150th birthday with a major event.

Established on June 30, 1990, the Tianjin Chin Woo Athletic Federation has over 70 branches worldwide. The event aims to leverage the global influence of Huo Yuanjia and the club to strengthen local town’s leading role as the birthplace of the Chin Woo culture. It will help display the city’s profound history and culture as well as carrying forward the Chin Woo spirit to promote solidarity.

“Kung fu helps build road to success, strength.” So claims an article in the English language edition of the China Daily. The story provides an overview of a network of Shaolin associated schools in the United States. It tends to focus on adolescent students and the benefits that they derive from dedicated martial arts training. As always, its all about the discipline.

What happens when Brazilian capoeira meets Chinese Kung Fu? This is the fascinating premise behind a new documentary which I need to locate a copy of.

What would happen when Chinese kung fu meets Brazilian martial art capoeira?

As a part of the Open Digital Library on Traditional Games, the documentary Capoeira meets Chinese Martial Arts was screened on Monday in Beijing and showed the sparks between the two traditional cultures.

The 10-minute film, co-produced by the embassy of Brazil and Flow Creative Content, in partnership with UNESCO and Tencent, presents the meeting of Brazilian capoeira masters with Chinese martial arts masters in Beijing and Hangzhou.

One part “interesting,” one part “cringeworthy,” all heuristically useful. Vice magazine decided to let its readers ask a Kung Fu master ten questions. Find out what they came up with here.

Are you looking for your next Bruce Lee fix? If so, check out this interview with on Radio West.

Through his legendary films, Bruce Lee bridged cultural barriers, upended stereotypes and made martial arts a global phenomenon. Biographer Matthew Polly joins us to explore the life of this ambitious actor who grew obsessed with martial arts.

Its been a while since we discussed a martial arts film, but there is a new project on the horizon that looks interesting. I like Ip Man films, and I like Michelle Yeah, so its good to hear that she is going to star in an Ip Man spinoff. In addition to the typical movie Wing Chun, this also looks like its going to be a sword/gun-fu movie. I don’t see any butterfly swords in the trailer, but I think I spotted a couple of kukri. I have no idea how those knives show up in the storyline, but as a long time kukri collector, I approve.

Finally, an update from the lightsaber combat community. Ludosport (originally an Italian group which has since expanded globally) recently held their first US National Championship in Elmira NY, not far from Cornell. They were kind enough to let me hang out and do some fieldwork with them for couple days. And there was even some nice press coverage of the event by the local news. Check it out. Hopefully I will be blogging about this event in the near future.

Martial Arts Studies

Summer is typically a slow time for academic news, but a lot has been happening in the Martial Arts Studies community. We have conferences, journals and even facebook discussions to talk about. But I am afraid that we aren’t going to get to any of that in this update as we have to deal with a deluge of new books.

The first item of business is Prof. Janet O’Shea’s new publication Risk, Failure, Play: What Dance Reveals about Martial Arts Training (Oxford UP, 2018). Wondering what it is all about? Check out this interview in which she discusses her latest project.

Or, if you have decided to order a copy, you can do so here.

Janet O’Shea. 2018. Risk, Failure, Play: What Dance Reveals about Martial Arts Training. Oxford UP. 284 pages. $35 USD. Release Date: Nov. 1

Risk, Failure, Play illuminates the many ways in which competitive martial arts differentiate themselves from violence. Presented from the perspective of a dancer and writer, this book takes readers through the politics of everyday life as experienced through training in a range of martial arts practices such as jeet kune do, Brazilian jiu jitsu, kickboxing, Filipino martial arts, and empowerment self-defense. Author Janet OâShea shows how play gives us the ability to manage difficult realities with intelligence and demonstrates that physical play, with its immediacy and heightened risk, is particularly effective at accomplishing this task. Risk, Failure, Play also demonstrates the many ways in which physical recreation allows us to manage the complexities of our current social reality. Risk, Failure, Playintertwines personal experience with phenomenology, social psychology, dance studies, performance studies, as well as theories of play and competition in order to produce insights on pleasure, mastery, vulnerability, pain, agency, individual identity, and society. Ultimately, this book suggests that play allows us to rehearse other ways to live than the ones we see before us and challenges us to reimagine our social reality.

Fuhua Huang and Fan Hong (Eds). 2018. A History of Chinese Martial Arts. Routledge. 256 pages. $133 HC. Release Date: October 3.

Chinese martial arts have a long, meaningful history and deep cultural roots. They blend the physical components of combat with strategy, philosophy and tradition, distinguishing them from Western sports.

A History of Chinese Martial Arts is the most authoritative study ever written on this topic, featuring contributions from leading Chinese scholars and practitioners. The book provides a comprehensive overview of all types of Chinese martial arts, from the Pre-Qin Period (before 222 BC) right up to the present day in the People’s Republic of China, with each chapter covering a different period in Chinese history. Including numerous illustrations of artefacts, weaponry and historical drawings and documents, this book offers unparalleled insight into the origins, development and contemporary significance of martial arts in China.

Tim Trash. 2018. Chinese Martial Arts and Media Culture: Global Perspectives (Martial Arts Studies). Rowman & Littlefield. 306 pages. $128 Hard Cover. Release Date: October 16

Signs and images of Chinese martial arts increasingly circulate through global media cultures. As tropes of martial arts are not restricted to what is considered one medium, one region, or one (sub)genre, the essays in this collection are looking across and beyond these alleged borders. From 1920s wuxia cinema to the computer game cultures of the information age, they trace the continuities and transformations of martial arts and media culture across time, space, and multiple media platforms.

Paul Bowman (ed). 2018. The Martial Arts Studies Reader. Rowman & Littlefield. 244 Pages. $44 Paper Back. Release Date: Nov. 15

Today we are witnessing the global emergence and rapid proliferation of Martial Arts Studies – an exciting and dynamic new field that studies all aspects of martial arts in culture, history, and society. In recent years there have been a proliferation of studies of martial arts and race, gender, class, nation, ethnicity, identity, culture, politics, history, economics, film, media, art, philosophy, gaming, education, embodiment, performance, technology and many other matters. Given the diversity of topics and approaches, the question for new students and researchers is one of how to orientate oneself and gain awareness of the richness and diversity of the field, make sense of different styles of academic approach, and organise one’s own study, research and writing.

The Martial Arts Studies Reader answers this need, by bringing together pioneers of the field and scholars at its cutting edges to offer authoritative and accessible insights into its key concerns and areas. Each chapter introduces and sets out an approach to and a route through a key issue in a specific area of martial arts studies. Taken together or in isolation, the chapters offer stimulating and exciting insights into this fascinating research area. In this way, The Martial Arts Studies Reader offers the first authoritative field-defining overview of the global and multidisciplinary phenomena of martial arts and martial arts studies.

Raul Sanchez Garcia. 2018. The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts. Routledge. Out Now. $54 for Kindle.

This is the first long-term analysis of the development of Japanese martial arts, connecting ancient martial traditions with the martial arts practised today. The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts captures the complexity of the emergence and development of martial traditions within the broader Japanese Civilising Process.

The book traces the structured process in which warriors’ practices became systematised and expanded to the Japanese population and the world. Using the theoretical framework of Norbert Elias’s process-sociology and drawing on rich empirical data, the book also compares the development of combat practices in Japan, England, France and Germany, making a new contribution to our understanding of the socio-cultural dynamics of state formation. Throughout this analysis light is shed onto a gender blind spot, taking into account the neglected role of women in martial arts.

The Historical Sociology of Japanese Martial Arts is important reading for students of Socio-Cultural Perspectives in Sport, Sociology of Physical Activity, Historical Development of Sport in Society, Asian Studies, Sociology and Philosophy of Sport, and Sports History and Culture. It is also a fascinating resource for scholars, researchers and practitioners interested in the historical and socio-cultural aspects of combat sport and martial arts.

Raúl Sánchez García is Lecturer in sociology of sport at the School of Sports Science, Universidad Europea Madrid, Spain and President of the Sociology of Sport working group within the Spanish Federation of Sociology (FES). He has practiced diverse combat sports and martial arts and holds a shōdan in Aikikai aikidō.

I should note that Professor Garcia published the first chapter his book as an article in the latest issue of the journal. Read it here for free.

Lu Zhouxiang. 2018. Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts. Routledge. $45 kindle. Out now!

Chinese martial arts is considered by many to symbolise the strength of the Chinese and their pride in their history, and has long been regarded as an important element of Chinese culture and national identity. Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts comprehensively examines the development of Chinese martial arts in the context of history and politics, and highlights its role in nation building and identity construction over the past two centuries.

This book explores how the development of Chinese martial arts was influenced by the ruling regimes’ political and military policies, as well as the social and economic environment. It also discusses the transformation of Chinese martial arts into its modern form as a competitive sport, a sport for all and a performing art, considering the effect of the rapid transformation of Chinese society in the 20^th century and the influence of Western sports. The text concludes by examining the current prominence of Chinese martial arts on a global scale and the bright future of the sport as a unique cultural icon and national symbol of China in an era of globalisation.

Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts is important reading for researchers, students and scholars working in the areas of Chinese studies, Chinese history, political science and sports studies. It is also a valuable read for anyone with a special interest in Chinese martial arts.

You can read my review of Politics and Identity in Chinese Martial Arts here.

Kung Fu Tea on Facebook

A lot has happened on the Kung Fu Tea Facebook group over the last month. We watched vintage guoshu performances from the 1930s, read about new exhibits in Hong Kong, and discussed the problem of extremist political groups in the martial arts! 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!

Rethinking Wing Chun’s Opera Rebels

Posted on 21 Settembre 2018 by Kung Fu Tea

Cantonese Opera Performers in San Francisco, circa 1900. Chinese Opera and Popular entertainment has been linked to the martial arts since at least the Song dynasty. Even in the Han dynasty military performances were a central part of the “Hundred Events.”

***After a quick return to the blog earlier this week, I have directed my attention back to my other ongoing project. The good news is that this manuscript chapter just a couple of days from completion. There is a definite light at the end of the tunnel! The other good news is that we will be revisiting a fun essay I wrote back in 2013 in the mean time. I should be resuming my normal posting schedule very soon. And that is a good thing because essay ideas are starting to literally pile up on my desk. In the mean time, please enjoy this meditation on the Wing Chun/opera connection.***

Introduction

In September of 1850 a Major in the Imperial Army stationed in Guangdong took his own life. Records indicate that he was older and struggling with a chronic illness. Given the state of medicine in the middle of the 19^th century one can only guess that he was probably in substantial pain when he died.

In the grand scheme of things this individual tragedy was of no historical consequence. Yet when I first ran across records of it in the index to the old Guangdong Provencal Archives (seized by the British Navy during the Opium Wars and taken back to London) it had a profound impact on how I thought about the origins of Wing Chun.

A Major is an important figure in the provincial military, but they are far from irreplaceable. The archives are full of notices regarding the promotions, retirements, punishments and training of various military officers. Clearly these people came and went, and the replacement of a single Major was basically routine. As such, it was fascinating to read how much attention this unfortunate event generated.

On September 24^th there was a flurry of activity at the Yamen. The first item of business was a report filed by Hsu Kuang-chin (the archive index still uses the Wade-Giles Romanization system so I have kept it here) of the Major’s death. Next a number of other recommendations for promotion were filled to fill the now vacant post.

The only thing outwardly odd about these reports was the identity of their author. Hsu Kuang-chin was the Imperial Commissioner of Southern China. One would not normally expect such an important civil official to be taking on questions of human resource management. The reason for such high level involvement would become clear three months later.

On December 19^th of 1850 Hsu Kung-chin and Yeh Ming-chen (the Provencal Governor, and one of the most important individuals anywhere in the Chinese civil service) filed a joint report to the imperial household following up on the Major’s death. It would seem that in the intervening months they (or their staffs) had been conducting a more detailed investigation into events surrounding the suicide.

This was a tense time in southern China. Civil and international battles had already been fought, and more (including the Red Turban Revolt) were expected in the future. The influence of rebel factions and organized crime were growing. Apparently there had been some fear that the Major’s suicide had not been what it seemed. What if he had been compromised? What if he took his own life to prevent himself from being blackmailed or used against his will?

With notable relief the report concluded that no outside factors were implicated in these tragic events. The suicide was what it had initially appeared to have been, the death of an old sick man. One can almost imagine the relief in the final report.

Yet what do these events tell us about the state of governance in southern China? There was certainly tension, and a number of imminent security threats. Large scale international and civil war were on the horizon and both the Governor and the Imperial Commissioner knew this.

Yet this was not an uncontrolled frontier. When you skim over the notes in the archive, it becomes clear that the government and its security apparatus was immensely watchful. Any major crime committed in an urban area was investigated immediately, and even seemingly mundane events, such as the death of an old sick man, could trigger a long and detailed investigation.

I find it useful to keep events such as this in mind when thinking about the folklore of the southern Chinese martial arts. Many of these systems tell stories that describe an almost “wild west” situation. We are told of mysterious masters who killed multiple opponents in market-place challenge matches, or wandering Shaolin rebels bent on the assassination of local officials. But how plausible are any of these stories? Not very.

Killing someone in a challenge fight was very explicitly against the law. There were no exceptions to this, and no contract could be signed that would actually relieved the other party of responsibility. Such actions would lead almost inevitably to one’s own arrest and execution for murder. In a few extraordinary cases the sentence might be commuted to years of imprisonment. Kung Fu legends notwithstanding, this was behavior that the state did not tolerate.

Likewise, if the suicide of a single military officer who suffered from a known chronic illness could touch off a three month counter-intelligence investigation led by the two highest ranking Imperial figures in the province, is it really realistic to assume that there were packs of Shaolin trained revolutionaries prowling around the capital, carrying out assassinations, and no one noticed?

The home of Wing Chun as we like to imagine it. The Cantonese Opera stage on the grounds of Foshan’s Ancestral Temple.

Wing Chun and the Red Boat Opera Rebels

If one is to believe the folklore that is popular in many Wing Chun schools the answer is a resounding yes. Wing Chun (like all other Cantonese arts) claims to originate at the Southern Shaolin Temple. The monks of the Temple were opposed to the Qing, especially after they burnt their sanctuary to the ground and scattered the few survivors. Some of these individuals (in the case of Wing Chun the Abbot Jee Shim and the nun Ng Moy) are said to have passed on their fighting arts along with a solemn charge to “oppose the Qing and restore the Ming.”

The standard Foshan/Hong Kong Wing Chun lineage states that the teachings of both Ng Moy (via Yim Wing Chun) and Jee Shim ended up being transferred to (and united by) members of the “Red Boat Opera Companies” in Foshan. These individual made a living by traveling from temple to temple, performing Cantonese language operas during village holidays. These performances often required great martial skill. Then as now Kung Fu stories were popular with audiences. Nevertheless, the opera singers themselves were members of a low status caste and were often marginalized and ignored by the more powerful members of society (at least when they were not on stage).

According to Rene Ritchie (1998) their highly transient lifestyle, combined with extensive training in costuming and disguise, made the Red Boat Opera singers the perfect revolutionaries. Robert Chu, Rene Ritche and Y. Wu (1998, here after Chu et al.) also noted that the compact boxing style of Wing Chun could well have evolved in the cramped quarters of a ship. These nautical origins notwithstanding, it would have been the ideal system to carry out revolutionary activities in the only slightly more spacious alleys of Foshan and Guangzhou. (For a summary of much of this literature see Scott Buckler “The Origins of Wing Chun – An Alternative Perspective.” Journal of Chinese Martial Studies. Winter 2012 Issue 6. pp. 6-29)

Of course there is one big problem with all of this. There is a total lack of evidence to support any of it. There is no concrete evidence that anyone did Wing Chun prior to Leung Jan, and while second hand accounts state that he studied with a couple of retired opera performer (probably during the ban following the Red Turban Revolt) he did not give us a detailed accounting of their prior activities or political involvements. In fact, all of the more detailed accounts of the lives of the opera singers that we now have come from individuals who were active during the Republic era (1920s-1940s), at the earliest. Other accounts date from the 1950s or even the 1990s.

This actually makes a lot of sense. Other important elements of the Wing Chun mythos (such as the character Ng Moy) either emerged or underwent significant transformation in the Republic period. The chaotic word of political intrigue and street assassinations which the opera rebels are said to have participated in actually sounds much more like the 1930s than it does the relatively stable late 19^th century (say 1870-1890).

Of course, Wing Chun was never actually taught as a public art until the Republic era. Almost by definition this is when most of the discussions of its origins and history would have been produced and packaged for public consumption.

Nor would this be the first time that we have discovered that some landmark of southern China’s martial arts culture may be more of a product of literary innovation than history. There is a growing consensus among scholars that the Southern Shaolin Temple itself never existed, at least in the form that most Kung Fu legends claim. The entire theme of the Red Boat Rebels is actually something of an appendix to the larger Shaolin myth complex.

If there really had been packs of killer theatrical agents plying the waters of southern China, fomenting local revolts and assassinating Imperial officials, the government would have taken notice. The proper reports would have been filed followed by extensive investigations and more reports. That is simply the reality of how the Imperial government worked. The fact that there is no mention of a campaign to foment revolution or conduct political killings in southern China during the relevant decades is pretty strong evidence that 1) such a thing never happened or 2) the Opera Rebels were stunningly ineffective. While silence in the historical record can never really rule out any hypothesis, the first alternative seems to be the much more likely scenario.

I do not mean to imply that martial artists were never involved with political violence. They certainly were. That is one of the reasons why I find their history to be so interesting. And there were rebellions and targeted political killings throughout the 19^th century. But historians have a pretty good grasp on the forces behind most of these (the Taiping Rebellion, the Eight Trigram Rebellion, the Boxer Uprising) and their narratives have little in common with the myth of the Red Boat Rebels.

“Chinese Stage Shows.” Cigarette Card. Source: Digital Collections of the NY Public Library.

Violence and Radical Politics in the Cantonese Opera Community, 1850-1911.

In most cases I would be content to treat such accounts as examples of “local folklore” and move on. Yet in this instance some caution is in required. To begin with, the plays staged by various Cantonese Opera troops often focused on heroic feats that required their actors to be highly skilled martial artists. Opera troops actually competed with one another to be the first to demonstrate a new style, or to stage the most spectacular battles. As such, they really were an important source of innovation in the southern Chinese martial arts.

While the mythology of Red Boat Rebels may be highly historically implausible, the earlier (and less embroidered) account of Leung Jan studying Wing Chun with two retired performers in the wake of the Red Turban Revolt is actually somewhat plausible. We may not be able to confirm the existence or life histories of Leung Yee Tai or Wong Wah Bo to the same degree as Leung Jan, but there is nothing about their involvement with the martial arts that challenges credulity. While a little shadowy, it is entirely possible that such individuals did have something to do with the development of Wing Chun and, truth be told, quite a few other southern martial arts.

It is also hard to simply dismiss the tradition of the Red Boat Rebels out of hand. Opera companies in the Pearl River Delta did occasionally involve themselves in local political controversies. Some of these events even assumed a stridently anti-government and violent character. While these actions never actually took the form of anything described in the Wing Chun legends, it is pretty clear that later story tellers and “historians” had a lot of good material to work with.

I propose that our current tradition linking Cantonese Opera singers to both the creation of Wing Chun and to the prosecution of a violent anti-Qing revolutionary campaign came about through the fusion of two separate half-remembered historical episodes. These were brought together by later storytellers during the middle of the 20^th century. The older of these two traditions focused on the role of the Cantonese Opera companies in the siege of Guangzhou and conquest of Foshan during the Red Turban Revolt in 1854-1855. I suspect that many of my readers will be at least somewhat familiar with these events. They have been mentioned in the Wing Chun literature for years, though they are rarely treated in the depth that they deserve.

The best historical discussion of the Red Turban Revolt available can still be found in Frederic Wakeman’s classic text, Strangers at the Gate: Social Disorder in South China, 1839-1861 (California University Press, 1966). It would not be hard to write a book on these events, but they are usually overshadowed by the larger, more destructive, Taiping Rebellion which was happening further to the north at the same time. At some point I hope to do a series of posts focusing on the Red Turban Revolt, but I have yet to find the time get started on that project.

It is often assumed that the uprising in Guangdong was simply the local expression of the larger Taiping Rebellion which was gripping much of central China. That is certainly what local officials in Guangzhou argued as they sent reports back to the throne. But as Wakeman and others have demonstrated, this was not the case. The Red Turban Revolt was for the most part an independent uprising that resulted from local mismanagement. It actually started as a simple tax revolt which spiraled badly out of control.

One of the dozen or so main leaders of this group was an opera performer named Li Wenmao. He managed to put together a large fighting force that had at its core a number of the region’s many traveling opera societies. Li is remembered for entering the fight in full costume, something that B. J. ter Harr reports in a number of other uprisings in the middle of the 19^th century. As Holcombe has already pointed out, the moral and political rhetoric of the theater proved to be an effective means of rallying the masses in more than one late Qing uprising.

The image of costumed opera singers fighting the government evidently left a great impression on the local countryside. It also made a real impression on the Governor who promptly banned the performance of public vernacular opera and ordered the rebel opera singers to be arrested and executed. The survival of the local government seemed in doubt in 1854. Yet following their eventual victory the political and economic elite of the province unleashed a white terror that saw the execution of nearly one million rebels, secret society members, bandits and opera singers.

It took decades for the Cantonese Opera community to recover from Li Wenmao’s disastrous and ill planned revolt. Still, these events help to frame some of the facts that we do know. Leung Yee Tai and Wong Wah Bo may have been living with Leung Jan and teaching him martial arts precisely because Cantonese Opera performances were illegal and it was dangerous for former performers to be out and about. The very fact that they survived the revolt (and did not follow the retreating opera army to their new “Taiping kingdom” in the north) would also seem to be pretty strong circumstantial evidence that they had never really been swept up in the violence (the repeated assertions of modern folklore not withstanding).

Still, the Cantonese Opera community demonstrated that they were quite dangerous as a group and capable of impressive levels of violence. In retrospect these individuals have been remembered with something like awe. Yet at the time they were probably best remembered for the immense destruction and loss of life that they helped to foment.

One of the most important things about the Red Turban Revolt that modern Wing Chun students usually overlook is its spontaneous and almost apolitical nature. In retrospect it is easy to see this event on the horizon. The government’s revenue collection tactics (Guangdong’s taxes were the only funds available to finance the Qing’s war with the Taipings) along with other sociological forces had turned southern China into a veritable powder keg. Still, it was impossible to know when the explosion would occur or the form that it would take.

Unsurprisingly mounting taxes turned out to be the spark that ignited the bomb. The violence started by pitting secret society members involved in the gambling trade against the government. It quickly spread through a series of bloody reprisals and counter-strikes to include more or less every secret society chapter and bandit group in the country. These groups coalesced into loose armies intent of sacking various towns and cities, and in the process they recruited tens of thousands of desperate peasant “soldiers” who were looking for economic relief and a change in management.

Kim (“The Heaven and Earth Society and the Red Turban Rebellion in Late Qing China.” Journal of Humanities & Social Sciences. Vol. 3, Issue 1. 2009) provides a good overview of the various major “chiefs” of the movement. However the one thing that really stands out about the revolt is their relative lack of coordination, or even a common purpose. Some elements of the rebellion were driven by a familiar brand of peasant utopianism, while others seem to have been in it mainly for the money. While the secret society chant “Oppose the Qing, Restore the Ming” was heard throughout the uprising, no one appears to have had any plan for actually fulfilling the second half of the couplet.

While we see Cantonese Opera performers resorting to violence and lashing out against the government in the Red Turban Revolt, they are not the politically motivated, highly dedicated, undercover organization described in the Wing Chun creation story. This was an outbreak of community violence more in the mold of Robin Hood than James Bond.

This would not be the last time that the Pearl River Delta would see opera performers taking an interest in radical politics and the promotion of revolution. Opera companies were commercial undertakings and they succeeded by telling the sorts of stories that people were willing to pay to hear. Most of these scripts focused either on martial heroics or love stories with happy endings. For reasons that I cannot fathom popular sentiment seems to have demanded that love stories in novels end in tragedy but those on the stage must resolve into a haze of bliss.

Nevertheless, opera companies would occasionally find some success by running a politically motivated play that tapped into an important public conversation. The anti-opium and anti-gambling crusades of the late 19^th and early 20^th century found expression in new Cantonese plays that went on to enjoy some popularity.

In the last decade of the Qing dynasty a group of young revolutionaries and students took note of this phenomenon and decided to use it to their advantage. With the backing of the Tongmenhui, Sun Yat Sen’s revolutionary group, about two dozen new “political” opera companies were formed to spread the gospel of nationalism and revolution throughout southern China.

Historians from both the nationalist and communist parties have tended to valorize the efforts and success of these groups. They certainly did help to raise the consciousness of the masses in southern China. While very few of their techniques were totally unique they did help to popularize certain innovations, such as singing librettos in modern vernacular Cantonese and they experimented with the staging of western style spoken plays. The best short discussion of this movement can be found in Virgil K. Y. Ho’s volume Understanding Canton: Rethinking Popular Culture in the Republican Period(Oxford University Press, 2006).

Like other sorts of opera companies these “revolutionary troops” traveled from place to place. Often this happened in Red Boats. While traditionally associated with Cantonese Opera in the popular imagination, the iconic Red Boats were actually something of a late innovation. B. E. Ward (“Red Boats of the Canton Delta: A Chapter in the Historical Sociology of the Chinese Opera.” Proceedings of the International Conference on Sinology. Academia Sinica: Taipei, 1981.) notes that the first reports of specially constructed Red Boats do not occur until the 1850s.

Given the decades long prohibition of Cantonese Opera in the middle of the 1850s, they cannot have become common until the more peaceful late 19^thcentury. Ho indicates that the boats actually reached the peak of their popularity in the 1920s, and then rapidly declined in the middle of the 20^thcentury. On those grounds alone it is clear that the strong association between Wing Chun and the Red Boat Opera singers is more likely a product of the 1920s-1930s than the 1820s-1830s as it does not appear that this symbolic complex would have meant as much to individuals from the earlier period.

The revolutionary opera companies of the early 20^th century were a very short lived, if memorable, phenomenon. Most of these companies seem to have appeared around 1905, and few survived much past the actual 1911 revolution. Going to the opera was a popular form of diversion, and audiences (quite reasonably) expected to be entertained in the fashion to which they were accustomed. This meant loud music, vulgar lyrics, predictable plots and impressive costumes. What they did not want was to pay good money to listen a political lecture.

The revolutionary troupes had another problem. The Cantonese Opera Guild in Guangzhou refused to accept them as members. This appears to have mostly been a reflection of their chronic inability to attract large audiences or sell tickets. As a result they were actually prohibited from playing on any stage associated with the Opera guild. Of course this included most of the venues that could raise a decent crowd.

Lastly, while these individuals were “revolutionary” in their politics and ideological orientation (many of the companies explicitly backed Sun Yat Sen) they were much more conservative in their methods. These troops were dedicated to the pen rather than the sword. They sought to spread the revolution by educating peasants, not by assassinating local officials. They were drawn to the stage because of its propaganda value, not its association with costumes, disguises, gangsters or ducking out of town under the cover of darkness.

Again, this is not to say that secret societies were never involved in the revolutionary project. After all, Sun Yat Sen’s Tongmenghui itself was a secret society. Nor do I want to imply that political killings never happened. The late Qing and early Republic eras saw an uptick in assassinations and political murders. But once again, these attacks were carried out by terrorist, mercenaries and government agents using very modern guns and bombs. Revolutionary opera companies were not either side’s weapon of choice.

A temporary stage erected for the Monkey God Festival, 2006. Almost all operas at temple festivals were traditionally performed on temporary stages like this one. Source: Photo by Samuel Judkins.

The Red Boat Revolutionaries: Creating a Legend

A very interesting picture has emerged from the preceding conversation. There are at least two periods in the late Qing and early Republic era when factions within the Cantonese Opera community became very visibly involved in radical politics. Both of these eras were short, but highly visible. In fact, they were exactly the sort of thing that was likely to imprint itself on the popular imagination.

The first of these occurred in 1854-1855 when Li Wenman led a large number of companies into an open uprising against the government (and helping to lay siege to Guangzhou) in the midst of the Red Turban Revolt. Far from being covert, most of this violence occurred on the battlefield. The political motivations of the major leaders of the uprising were far from unified. One group escaped the government’s victory in Guangdong to establish their own Taiping Kingdom in the north. Other factions, including many of the bandit and secret society chiefs, appear to have been motivated mostly by the promise of spoils. The tens of thousands of peasant recruits who filled out the various armies were motivated mostly by physical hunger and economic desperation. While highly destructive and dedicated to the overthrow of the local government, the Red Turban Revolt was in some respects surprisingly apolitical, especially in comparison to the ongoing Taiping Rebellion in central and northern China.

If you skip forward 50 years another group of radical opera singers appears. These individuals are dedicated political revolutionaries. They are ideologically and politically sophisticated, and they seek to spread their radical agenda through the many small theaters and stages that they visited. Like everyone one else along the Pearl River Delta they journeyed by boat, often in the Red Boats that signaled the arrival of a traveling opera companies. While never very commercially successful, they made their presence known throughout southern China and then they disappeared, almost as rapidly as they had emerged.

We now have all of the pieces to begin to build a new theory of origins of Red Boats Revolutionaries in the Wing Chun creation myth. I should point out that this is just a theory and one that probably needs additional refinement and revision. Given the nature of the discussion I can only marshal circumstantial evidence in its favor, but it may be an idea worth considering.

As Wing Chun started to gain popularity in the late 1920s and 1930s it became necessary to repackage discussions of the art’s history and origins in ways that were compatible with the basic pattern of the Hung Mun schools (all of which claimed an origin from Shaolin) and the expectations of potential students (who wanted a story to tell them what this new art was all about). Story tellers in the 1930s and 1940s (individuals like Ng Chung So) would have been alive during the final years of the Qing dynasty and may have remembered the revolutionary opera companies on their Red Boats, spreading radical ideology in their wake. Most of their students, however, would have been too young to have any firsthand knowledge of these events.

In an attempt to bring the story of Leung Yee Tai and Wong Wah Bo into conformation with the highly popular Shaolin ethos, the distant memory of the violent 1854 uprising may have been conflated with the more recent revolutionary opera companies to create the vision of a group that sought to use violent means to overthrow the government while “staying undercover” in their daily lives. Stories of such groups, often with reference to various secret societies, were rife in southern Chinese folklore and were particularly common in the martial arts tales of the “rivers and lakes.” In fact, given the fading memories of these two sets of radical opera performers, it seems rather natural that they would fall into this commonly available archetypal pattern.

Adopting this new synthesis would also have the added benefit of giving both Wong Wah Bo and Leung Yee Tai (and hence modern Wing Chun) some real revolutionary credibility. This could only be helpful given how popular “revolutionary” rhetoric was in the 1930s. It might also have helped to provide Wing Chun with some rhetorical cover since anyone who examined the art would immediately discover that it was dominated not by the working class (like the more popular Choy Li Fut) but by wealthy property owners and conservative right-wing political factions.

A model of a Red Boat of the type that carried Cantonese Opera companies in the late 19th and early 20th century.

Conclusion

The provincial archives of southern China contain no evidence that would point to a campaign of targeted political killings and other subversive activities by revolutionary Cantonese opera companies because such groups did not exist. Most opera companies were more concerned with eeking out a living, and those that may have been associated with secret societies appear to have been smarter than to go around murdering local leaders.

This does not mean that these groups ignored politics. In fact, there were two very notable periods when they became involved in the political process. The current myth of the Red Boat Rebels may be a mid 20^th century conflation of these two memories into a single event. This new construction allowed Wing Chun to connect itself more fully to the revolutionary rhetoric of the southern Chinese martial arts even though the system has a history of reactionary associations and behaviors. It also provides additional evidence that the Republic era (from the 1920s-1940s) was a critically formative period in the creation of the modern Wing Chun identity and mythos.

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If you enjoyed this post you might also want to see: The Red Spear Society: Origins of a Northern Chinese Martial Arts Uprising

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