Karate as a Sport, Do, & Jutsu

Karate as a Sport, Do, & Jutsu

In my study of Karate, I have had the opportunity to study under several Sensei and with a great many more advanced martial artists, each of whom has brought their own strengths and style to the exercise. When it comes to the more philosophical side of the art, however, much of my understanding has been influenced by books. It is study of these sources that causes me to wonder if a large portion of our "advanced" practitioners may, in fact, have very poor Karate - regardless of the quality of their spinning ura-mawashe-geri.

In this monograph, I propose to examine the changing meaning of Karate in three technical forms, as a Sport, a Do, and a Jutsu. In so doing, I plan to follow and extend the division outlined by Damon Young (D. Young - "Pleased to Beat You" in Priest & Young - Martial Arts & Philosophy) and accept that the soundest functional translation of the Japanese term "jutsu" denotes technical mastery of a craft or body of knowledge. Hence Karate-Jutsu would simply be the art of fighting using Karate as a body of knowledge and a training base. Do, influenced by Taoism, has strong relations to our term ethos, and therefore Karate-Do is to combine the technical aspects of Karate-Jutsu with a philosophical and ethical programme for self improvement (though without losing the jutsu aspect). Karate-Sport is the extension term I propose for those who study Karate, and yet are neither fighters nor philosophers.

I will finally argue that Karate-Sport has its own system of values, different and distinct from Karate-Jutsu & Karate-Do, and that recognising these differences will allow Karateka to engage in more honest discussions about what they are teaching or studying, why they are doing it, and what value they think it is to others to learn it. Whilst I will admit quite openly that I have little interest in Sport Karate, I do not think that this should be used as a pejorative term, for it is in many respects a development and improvement of the art, and my main motivation is not to berate, but to identify an epistemic difference so that where gaps are occurring in the teaching of the art (jutsu) it is easier to identify what is being lost, why, and whether and how to correct it.   

All Karate is a Solution to a Problem

Allow me to provide a little context. Karate was not invented in a vacuum. No martial art is. The exact history of the art is at best mysterious and at worst lost to the sands of time, however there are a few general points of agreement: 

1) Karate comes from Okinawa
2) It was developed on Okinawa from a number of influences, but most notably Chinese Gung-fu. (Also including Tegumi, Aiki-Daito-Ryu Jujutsu, indigenous Okinawan striking systems, and possibly Muay Boran)
3) It has been indelibly associated with eastern philosophy, even before the contributions of Gichin Funakoshi. The survival of Kata such as Jion, supposedly named for the Jionji temple (H. Kanazawa - Karate: The Complete Kata), and the nominal survival of groups such as the Shorinji-Kan ("place of the Shaolin Temple") indicate a connection with Buddhist temples.

It is traditionally believed, at least in the West, that Karate was developed as a response to the invasion of Okinawa (then the Rykyu Kingdom) by the Samurai. This is unlikely to be true; firstly given that Karate is a striking based art and that Samurai tended to wear armour. Most battlefield systems that deal with armoured opponents utilise grappling in order to disable the opponent or to set up a killing blow - Karate does have these elements, however the balance is all wrong for the assumption that one's foe is armoured. Secondly, the invasion of the Ryukyu Kingdom was resolved quite quickly. The Rykyu King, Sho Nei, did not wish to waste his men's lives, and after the capture of Shuri Castle in 1609 the Rykyu Kingdom became a vassal state to Japan.

There are stories of Karate warriors taking on local Samurai, however these tend to have the hallmarks of folk tales rather than authentic history, with the Karate warrior rescuing a damsel in distress, or oppressed villagers. Whilst it would be impossible to say that such things did not happen, I think it is reasonable to assumer they were, at worst, isolated cases.

Generally, the relationship between Okinawa and Japan seems to have been quite harmonious. In 1639 Japan closed its doors to the outside world for two and a half centuries when it adopted the Sakoku policy. The vassal state of Okinawa would have done likewise, were it not also a vassal state of China for reasons of trade. This provided a back door for trade between Japan and the rest of the world, and helped to keep the Okinawan port of Naha very busy.

Gichin Funakoshi grew up during the Meiji restoration of 1868, and in his Karate-Do: My Way of Life, he several times mentions encounters with local toughs in Okinawa. He relates tales of robbery, drunken assault and gang violence both as he experienced them personally, and as they were experienced by his mentors, Anko Asato & Anko Itosu. What is noticeable is that all of the events Funakoshi relates were of civilian violence. There was no suggestion of Karate being a battlefield art in his time, nor that it was used against oppressive Samurai.

Given this information, I would suggest that Karate was developed in an unstable civil environment rather than a hostile military one. Okinawa between 1609 and 1868 was an international port of some importance, and would have been host to contingents of sailors on shore leave around coastal towns. Inland, whether through unemployment, idleness, or some form of oppression, there appears to have been enough civic disturbance to keep the practitioners of Karate busy. This combination of circumstances more than explains why people may have felt the need to develop a fighting system - any why it appears to be one targeted at unarmoured individuals - potentially those who attack in groups. (Do not forget, Jujutsu, a battlefield system, can afford to assume a 1-on-1 approach because you are likely to have other soldiers with you at the time)

The historical data combines with the technical styling of Karate to suggest that this fighting system was designed as a form of civic combat, to protect the individual from violent criminal aggressions.

When the Problem Changes, the Nature of the Karate Changes

Of course when Japan opened its borders and restored the Emperor Meiji, Okinawa would have become less important as an international port. This might explain why it was around this time that Anko Itosu began to teach Karate in schools - developing the Pinan/Heian series of Kata as a suitable exercise and self defence programme for school children.

The traditional explanation offered had been that the study of Karate was banned in Okinawa until 1868. However just because a ban is lifted does not mean that the formerly-banned-thing would take on a popular mantle, which is precisely what appears to have happened. I think there may be another pressure at play. If one were studying a combat art, primarily to defend against unruly sailors, and then a change in circumstances meant that those sailors were no longer around, would there still be a need to study the combat art?

I suspect what may have happened is that there was a decrease in local pressures to learn Karate, both due to the opening up of trade and the improving administration of the islands, and the response from teachers - simply to ensure the survival of the art - was to evolve it into another context.

It was a civil servant named Shintaro Ogawa who formalised the decision to include Karate in the Okinawan school system. After seeing a demonstration af Gichin Funakoshi's school, which was in turn based on the material being taught by Itosu, he was impressed and wrote a formalised report to the local government (Gichin Funakoshi - Karate Do: My Way of Life). The virtues of karate as a form of self defence, a means of instilling discipline, and physical exercise were noted, and it seems that these bases formed the planks upon which a new, socially driven, Karate could be built.

Shortly afterwards, around 1912, Gichin Funakoshi gave a demonstration of the art to men of the Japanese Navy. This appears to be the first time in modern history that Karate intersected with the military (who saw immediate application), again suggesting that prior to this time it was a purely civilian pursuit.

Broadly put, this is when a new type of Karate can be said to become prevalent. There is no doubt in my mind that the great masters of Karate had been practising a Taoist form of the art long before this time (Funakoshi himself notes that most of his teacher were great scholars of the Chinese classics, and in the stories he relates they show great ethical character), however this focus on Karate as a "way of life" - as opposed to " a tool to stop people assaulting you" - becomes the foremost element in the art around the turn of the twentieth century. It is this different/ciation that provides the philosophical basis for what we now call "Karate-Do".

This transition was aided by Funakoshi's own scholarship. A schoolmaster, Funakoshi was also familiar with the Chinese classics, and this influence can be found throughout his work. Throughout Karate-Do: My Way of Life, there are constant themes of learning from one's experiences, seeking to do the ethical thing, and seeking to eliminate the illusion of the self (all central tenets of Buddhist philosophy, particularly the last one). Karate Do Kyohan closes with a reflection on the meaning of Budo; much is made of the fact that the ideograph for the idea means "to stop halberds", and this reflection invites the reader to reflect on how training shapes character. Likewise, Funakoshi's "Twenty Precepts" and "Dojo-Kun" are philosophical codes for modern warriors, broken into bitesize and repeatable chunks so that they can be learned in a Dojo environment. The main influence suggested both by Funakoshi's thought and his relative paucity appears to be Zen Buddhism, though another possibility is that he kept his philosophy brief out of a teacher's habit of engaging the audience (as opposed to the philosophers habit of bewildering them).

In essence, what is evident over the period from c.1900-c.1930 is that Karate undergoes a change in image. This is largely led by Gichin Funakoshi, who spread the art to a wider Japanese audience during this period. (It was also influenced by his friendship with Jigoro Kano, the founder of Judo). This change in image is likely to be a retreat from justification by proximal to ultimate causation. That is, as the immediate need to learn a way of fighting died down, other reasons for studying Karate had to be found, and the easiest place to find them was in the most advanced practitioners. Advanced practitioners like Funakoshi and Itosu saw Karate as a being much wider mental and physical discipline which could be practised across all aspects of ones life, so as the proximal need to learn how to fight declined this projection of Karate as a system of moral and spiritual development came to be the main reason people were encouraged to study it.

This may sound silly at first, particularly to those who are most concerned with the act of fighting, however it does bear scrutiny. In no way was the fighting technique of the art compromised by this repositioning, it simply ceased to be the most important part (remember Funakoshi's 5th pinricple; variously translated as "Spirit first, Technique Second" or "Mentality over Technique"). And one should also bear in mind that the traditional way of teaching Karate had not involved sparring as we would understand it. Funakoshi tells us he devoted himself ten years just to learning Kata (the three Tekki or Naihanchi forms), and only introduced Kumite training drills once he moved to Japan (Gichin Funakoshi - Karate-Do Kyohan) because several of his students had also studied Kenjutsu and were used to participating in shiai or contests. Funakoshi saw the benefit of this method of training but was careful to warn us "it must be emphasised that sparring does not exist apart from the kata but for the practice of kata... When one becomes enthusiastic about sparring, there is a tendency for his kata to become bad".

So, whilst the focus may have shifted from Jutsu (the technical aspects of Karate) to Do (the ethical and philosophical aspects) there was, in fact, more fighting going on in classes than there had been before.

Has the problem changed again? 

Funakoshi may have been very prescient to forewarn against taking sparring too seriously, or divorcing it from the study of kata. I would argue that we have potentially entered a new phase of development; moving from Karate-Do in the first half of the twentieth century towards Karate-Sport as the century progressed into the new Millennium.

The fact that there are now infinitely more Karate competitions, both in Europe and globally, than there were 70 years ago is not evidence that there has been a change in ethos, which is the claim I am making. It is simply evidence that more people are training in and learning karate, and that more hobbyists are treating that study recreationally. These things could all be true whilst maintaining an ethos of Do or even Jutsu. What must be evident in order to suggest a transition away from Do is three things

1) The over-development of sporting techniques relative to the other aspects of Karate study (such as self defence, biomechanics, anatomy, and self discipline)
2) The loss of knowledge amongst senior practitioners of certain technical (jutsu) elements of fighting.
3) The inability of Karateka to spar with, and exchange ideas with, other martial artists and styles.

The first point cannot be clearly demonstrated except by long and detailed study, which I unfortunately do not have the resources to do at this time. I shall simply say that I have observed enough clubs where this is true that I think a more in depth study ought to be carried out, and I suspect that there will be a substantial number of Dojo which fit the bill.

The second and third points are more easily demonstrated, and so it is to these we now turn. We find evidence of point (2) as early as 1938, when Kenwa Mabuni stated:

"The Karate that has been introduced to Tokyo is actually just a part of the whole. The fact that those who have learnt Karate there feel it only consists of kicks and punches, and that throws and locks are only to be found in Judo or Jujutsu can only be put down to a lack of understanding... Those who are thinking of the future of Karate should have an open mind and strive to study the complete art."

Gichin Funakoshi hints at a similar concern in the 1957 preface to the 2nd edition of Karate-Do Kyohan;

"As a result of the social disorder that followed the end of World War II, the Karate world was dispersed, as were many other things, Quite apart from a decline in the level of technique during these times, I cannot deny that there were moments at which I came to be painfully aware of the almost unrecognisable spiritual state to which the Karate world had come from that that had prevailed at the time I had first introduced and begun the teaching of Karate."

Later in the same book, Funakoshi tells us:

"... in Karate, hitting, thrusting, and kicking are not the only methods; throwing techniques and pressure against the joints are also included... it is not always necessary to use powerful techniques like hitting, thrusting, and kicking, but, adjusting to the situation, softer techniques such as throwing may be used, and in this versatility there is an inexpressible savour. ... All these techniques should be studied, referring to basic kata."

We even have pictoral evidence of Funakoshi demonstrating throwing and joint locking techniques, and there is evidence that there were more practised and waiting to be rediscovered in kata.

To put it simply; Gichin funakoshi thought that if you are not studying throws as part of your kata, then you are missing something out from your Karate practice. As Funakoshi is one of the strongest links to the traditional art, and one of it's most revered masters, I am willing to bend to the argument from authority (a move I seldom make) and agree that it is so.

 There are obviously other elements to kata, but ask yourself - when was the last time you studied a kata in depth? Learning how to deploy the moves as an integrated system of combat? Who were you supposedly defending yourself from, and how were you supposedly doing it? Did you understand the moves, and could you apply them in a live situation? Were you thinking of fighting, or just kicking and punching? Was your bunkai perfunctory, or was it a vital part of your study?

The unfortunate truth appears to be that bunkai is seldom practised seriously in most karate clubs. Personally, I find this odd, because to my mind bunkai is the ultimate purpose of karate - as well as the road to mastering the art.

Try thinking of karate like any other subject. There are certain key texts, in our case kata, that one must be familiar with to be considered fluent in the subject. In the case of Shotokan, there are 26 kata, some styles may have more, some have less, however they all serve the same purpose. They are texts to be studied. Understanding what they say is key to learning how to use them.

In philosophy, people are still trying to develop ideas based on the writings of Plato, who wrote two and a half Millennia ago. More importantly, they are still finding new ways to read the texts he left behind and gaining new insights from re-reading them. Likewise in theology; Christians have a limited number of texts in the Bible, but are constantly shedding new light on old writings through diligent study. This is even more so the case in science, where we are discovering new texts and new ways to read old texts all the time. The nature of mathematics had not changed, but our ability to apply it to new situations is leading to the potential for things like nuclear fusion and more manageable space travel. At the other end of the spectrum, we are only just beginning to discover how to "read" genetic material, and the potential horizons for new discovery are being pushed back on an almost monthly basis.

The apex of these fields is research - looking at the subject matter, combining it in new ways or with new problems, and advancing knowledge in the field. Close behind is teaching, which is largely aimed to give students enough skills in research to be able to conduct their own research.

Yet I know of very few dojo that could be considered a "research" environment. Students tend not to be asked to solve problems or study bunkai intensively. (There are a few exceptions that spring to mind, however these are - to my knowledge - an acute minority). They are taught to learn the kata, to perform the kata, and ... that's the endpoint. To be able to perform the kata for the sake of performing the kata. I know that certain kata are now a requirement for a grading syllabus, but surely the requirement should be that the student has studied the kata and can apply the knowledge and principles it contains, rather than whether they can perform it by rote? If a person walked into a physics exam having memorised every formula known to man, but was unable to apply them to solve the problems set before him we would regard him as the most useless specimen of a physicist ever known - so why do we treat our kataany differently?

And in case it appear I am going too far, it may be worth sharing a snippet from Funakoshi's "Karate-Do; My way of Life":

You may train for a long time, but if you merely move your hand and feet and jump up and down like a puppet, learning Karate is not very different from learning a dance. You will never have reached the heart of the matter; you will have failed to grasp the quintessence of Karate.

So, there is documentary evidence from the masters which suggests that we, as modern practitioners, have lost a substantial portion of their art due to things not being practised or passed down properly. But I think there may me more compelling circumstantial evidence; how many throws and joint locks can you find in Bassai-Dai? Could you use the Tekki/Naihanchi kata in a ground fighting situation? What are the hops for at the end of Chinte?

If we truly knew our kata, these questions would pose no problem. Unfortunately, I think a substantial portion of use would - if we were being honest - have to admit that these are not questions we can answer readily.

And this leads me to the third condition which would indicate a movement away from "Karate-Do"; the inability to spar with and exchange ideas with other martial artists.

   In the mists of Karate history, we know that exchanging ides with other martial artist must have occurred, because we know that karate has several sources, including Gung-fu and tegumi. The melding of these styles into karate could not have happened without practitioners of one style engaging with and learning from practitioners of the others. More recently Gichin Funakoshi formed a friendship with Jigoro Kano which impacted the teaching of both arts (Kano developing Judo kata to include some Funakoshi inspired striking, and Funakoshi refining his philosophy to me more in line with Kano's), and is even reputed to have trained with him for some time. More significantly, Hironori Otsuka, founder of Wado Ryu Karate, created his style after blending elements of Shotokan Karate with traditional Japanese Jujutsu. This exchange of ideas, particularly amongst senior practitioners, not only helped to cement their legacy as legendary martial artists, but made the martial arts scene as we know it today.

Unfortunately, more recent examples are not so easy to find. Iain Abernethy, who is said to be the world's foremost expert on practical bunkai, is one. But few others stand out, even where they should. The popularity of the UFC and the rise of mixed martial arts competition should be a blessing to Karateka; an organised and relatively safe forum to practice technique and learn from opponents of different styles is an opportunity previous generations could only have dreamed of. Karate, however, seems to be under represented in the sport of MMA.

There have been some prominent practitioners; Bas Rutten, Chuck Liddell, Georges St. Pierre & Lyoto Machida, but when compared to the hundreds of boxers, Muay Thai fighters, wrestlers and BJJ fighters it seems like small fry. Especially when considering that Bas relied as much on his Muay Thai, and has now eschewed Karate in favour of Krav Maga, Chuck relied mostly on his boxing and wrestling abilities, and Georges & Lyoto both have reputations as being relatively boring fighters (i.e. they tend to win "decision" victories rather than finish their opponents with strikes or submissions).

An early example of a Karateka who was open to this new venue was Fred Ettish. In 1994 Fred was called in as a replacement fighter at UFC 2. The fight, as described by one internet commentator:

He faced Johnny Rhodes, a doughy but tough kickboxer. The bell rings and Ettish strikes a pose. He throws a snap kick... It hits exactly where he threw it and he, Johnny Rhodes, and the people watching from home all say the same thing: oh shit. A guy who trains with nine year olds at the YMCA is in a real fight.
Fred Ettish was dominated for three minutes and seven seconds before being choked out Johnny, whose expertise was listed as "streetfighter". It was an embarrassing match.

(As an aside, Fred should get ten out of ten for his approach after the match. He learned from the experience, upped his martial arts game and is now a highly proficient martial artist in several styles, though he still teaches karate. In 2009 a 53 year old Ettish took his second professional MMA fight and emerged with a convincing victory after forcing his opponent to tap. This is a man who, to my mind, embodies the ethos of Karate-Do. After all, anybody can fail, but not everybody is willing to learn from it.)

There could be many reasons why one doesn't want to compete in professional MMA. Lack of time, fitness, injuries and so on could all be good reasons as to why Karateka are not flocking to the sport en masse, and prefer the relatively comfortable confines of Kumite tournaments. But that does not explain why Kumite is not being adapted to involved a more MMA type element - or why we continue to neglect those elements in our training.

If nothing else, televised UFC events should have sent a message to all traditional martial artists - learn to fight on the ground; you cannot always guarantee you will be standing in a fight. If you are training for self defense, it seems only logical that you would train from the worst case scenarios; such as being knocked over or pinned down. Yet most of the Karateka whom I know seem unwilling to work these features into their training. Partly because it's never been done before (it has, just not by people in your lifetime) and partly because "it's not really karate" (it is; just not a part of it you know).

The reticence to engage with MMA, which is the closest we are likely to come to an objective test of "real" fighting without entering into morally abhorrent territory (For a full examination of the problem of knowledge in Martial Arts, see: Gillian Russell - Epistemic Viciousness in the Martial Arts) is baffling. Most clubs are taking few, if any, steps to address groundwork, grappling, or getting grabbed and instead appear to be focusing on the three K's, Kihon, Kata, and Kumite.

A New Problem: The Focus on Kumite

I hope the evidence outlined above, has convinced the reader that the "problems" we are addressing in Karate have moved on. Traditionally, the problem was was one of self defence, for which our main tool was the study of Kata. This, as I have outlined above, we tend no longer to do effectively. In the twentieth century, the problem was re-emphasised to be one of personal development. This, I believe, has been narrowed to one particular type of development, and that is linked to the growth in sport Kumite and sport-Karate.

The self development inherent in sporting competition comes to us from the public school ethos of the late Victorian period. Healthy competition can drive people to improve their techniques, work harder, become fitter and, hopefully, become better Karateka for doing that. On the other hand, unhealthy competition can lead to gamesmanship - playing the rules to maximum advantage without regard for the spirit of the game.

In some ways this can be actively hurtful; Rory Miller (in Meditations on Violence) relates the story of a friend, a prison guard, who was assaulted by a criminal. The guard,being a Karate expert, evades the attack and launches three punches in return. They all land with a loud snap on said criminals chest, doing absolutely no damage. Whether the story is true or not (and it has many variations) it illustrates the point that training solely for Kumite can get in the way of fighting. Given that Karate is fundamentally a fighting system I would argue that should be viewed as a problem - anything we do in training should be designed to make us better at fighting, not worse!

This can be nowhere better demonstrated than in developing habits or techniques which rely entirely on the rules of Kumite competition for their effectiveness. Take, for example Aghayev Vs. Smaal at last year's European Karate Championships. Both of these men had adopted a stance that begs the question; "how practical can that be?". Each man fought sideways on in an extended kiba-dachi. All movement had to come from bouncing and shuffling which, to their credit, they managed to achieve and make look easy (I can assure you, it isn't). Firstly, fighting sideways on may have the advantage of presenting a smaller target, but it also leaves half of your weapons trailing behind. (Personally, I side with Bas Rutten on this and prefer to be close to square on, so I can throw more techniques.) Secondly, this side-alignment robbed their kicks of much of their power. In a points based Kumite environment that may not be an issue, however for self defence throwing a weak kick is almost universally a bad idea. Thirdly, nobody moves around the world through stylised shimmying. It's just not practical, so my understanding is that this is a technique that was developed to give an edge in the competition. Fourth, the stance they have adopted appears to assume the opponent will not throw leg kicks. In Kumite, they cannot. I would be interested to see a Muay Thai or MMA fighter try that stance. Perhaps worst of all, when they closed, all aggression ceased. Neither showed any real inclination towards preventing clinching or takedowns, knowing that the referee would separate them.

These techniques and strategies are, at least in some clubs, being taught as the proper way to perform a technique. Tommy Morris (in Karate: the complete course) includes the following advice in a section on "getting your scores seen":

"Don't use the shorter range variants (of the roundhouse kick) which impact with the ball of the foot because this configuration... (slows) the kick right down."

"Lean away from the kick to take your body out of the line of counter attacks"

At another point in the book he counsels;

"From the scoring point of view it is not a good idea to use more than three techniques in any combination... with a melee of arms and legs flying about it becomes very difficult for the referee to distinguish what is and what is not a scoring technique."

I would not wish to imply that Morris is a bad Karateka (after all, there is plenty of evidence to suggest the opposite), however it is clear that his practise and teaching have been heavily influenced by the rules of Kumite competition. The advice he gives, whilst good for point sparring, is actively harmful for self defence, and in that sense I would argue it poses a threat to Karate as an art. It is quite one thing to vary a technique for competition for reasons of athletics or safety, it is quite another to change the technique and forget its original purpose.


Kumite and Do; Finding Focus 
It should not be understood that I am opposed to Kumite or competition, quite the opposite is true. I am, however, opposed to "teaching to the exam". The purpose of studying Karate is to learn Karate, not to learn how to perform a menu of tricks.

If the focus of one's training becomes Kumite, at the expense of studying the Do & Jutsu aspects of Karate, then one will perennially be seeking an edge on the competition. How to kick higher or faster, with little regard as to whether the technique is becoming more effective (for the true test of effectiveness is in causing injury to an opponent if necessary). This puts the focus on the self in relation to others, which is contrary to the aim of "perfection of character" which Funakoshi thought was the ultimate purpose of all Karate. The focus on the self in Karate should never be in relation to another self, it should be in relation to one's own previous self. Is your technique better now than it was yesterday? Are you working harder now than you were last week? Do you feel more in control than you did last year?

These are the fundamental questions we are trying to answer every time we enter a Dojo. Kumite can be a part of that, insofar as it gives us recognisable goals to work towards, achievements, motivation and enjoyment. However it has to be understood that Kumite, or sport Karate, is only one small aspect of the art, and that if it is taken out of this context then what is being taught cannot be the Karate that masters like Funakoshi wished to hand down.

As such, I would suggest there should be several types of Kumite used in training (and I owe this idea to Iain Abernethy, who I believe does this in his club); as well as the standard kickboxing style that we are all used to, why not also include Kumite which just uses hand techniques, kumite with just kicks, kumite with only grappling, kumite where one person is a striker and the other a grappler (to practise takedown defense), kumite where one karateka starts on the ground and has to fight back to his or her feet? The possibilities in this sense are endless, and using these ideas would help form Karateka as well rounded martial artists.

Using Kumite as a proving ground for one's skills is not only admirable, I would argue it is necessary in order to advance as a martial artist, but not at the expense of actually studying the art. As such, I think the easiest solution is to identify what type of Karate is being taught, so that students know what they are learning, why they are learning it, and can put that knowledge into context in their own study.

Conclusion

Most clubs will be able to teach all three elements of Karate, however asking people to identify what they are doing and why they are doing it (reflective pedagogy) will help to highlight gaps in instructors knowledge, so that they can take steps to address these gaps, and will be more aware of their own abilities when it comes to teaching their students.

In writing this monograph, I have highlighted three distinct ethos (ethodes?) within the world of Karate, and given some historical context to each of them. Further, I have argued that these ethos have advanced progressively from each other, and that they represent developments in the modern art of Karate. I have, however, raised concerns about over-developing any one aspect of the art relative to its history and functionality, and set out the case that the modern focus on Kumite competitions is showing signs of doing just that - to the possible detriment of the art.

Moving from Jutsu, or the technical aspects of Karate, to Do - the much broader notion of a "way" of Karate represented a significant shift in focus, however this change in pedagogical emphasis did not fundamentally alter what Karate is or was. In order for Sport Karate to have a similar effect we, as  practitioners, require to be aware of the essence of Karate, and use sport to augment that essence - not to substitute for it. If done properly, the sport form of Karate can build upon the Jutsu and Do forms, preserving the art for the next generation as well as providing a forum for practitioners to improve their skills. If done poorly, focusing on sport can distort what Karate is to the point where understanding is lost, and nothing but the game will survive.

In order to prevent that, it is not enough for advanced practitioners to be merely technically proficient Karateka, they must also be scholars. They must have an understanding of the history and philosophy behind the art as it stands, enough knowledge of contemporary matters to allow them to read Kata as texts for self defence and combat, and the creativity to search for new bunkai and adapt the principles contained in kata for the situations people face in the modern world.

The first step in that process is recognising what type of Karate we are teaching and learning, and having the objectivity to ask whether we have departed from the way outlined for us by past masters. If we are to change something, that should always be a conscious selection; something done for a known and planned reason. It should never be allowed to happen through an elision of tradition caused by ignorance, complacency, and the fetishising of superficial victories over perfection of character.

A thought on the use of the Rondel

A thought about the use of the Rondel

The Rondel Dagger was a late medieval style of weapon, which appears to have been primarily designed for stabbing. Some of them did sport cutting edges, but the characteristic features that make a rondel a rondel appear to be;

a) a long, strong blade with a wicked point
b) a substantial cross section (suggesting this strength was needed for piercing armour)
c) rounded guard, and a rounded flattened pommel (which may have been used to transmit more force into an attack)

Below, the Rondel (centre) is displayed alongside a Bollock or Ballock Dagger (left, proving our ancestors were every bit as immature as we are) and a sword hilt dagger (right)

“ReproMedievalDaggers” by Gammaflightleader – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

It appears that the Rondel was mostly used in a point down, or “ice-pick” grip. Although the point up grip appears in treatises the ice pick approach is by far the most prevalent. Some people have suggested that this is because of the nature of the rondel as an armour piercing blade means one has to wield it with power rather than dexterity, others have gone further and suggested that it was almost exclusively a military tool. I wonder how accurate this assessment can be.

When we train knife defenses in Jiu-Jitsu, we think ourselves lucky if a person elects to attack with the psycho stab, because it is easier to deal with and wrestle with that opponent than one who wields his blade like a baratero. The standard defense against such an attack is to sharply apply an ude-garami and either disarm one’s opponent or break his arm. This was idle speculation until I came across this video, by Hans Jorlind, which appears to illustrate the point well. Using HEMA to defend against a Rondel these practitioners exhibit similar discomfiture to that which I have seen in Jiu-Jitsu – namely that the downward stab is significantly easier to defend against than the straight stab (the only straight stab in the video is at 57 seconds, and in my opinion it looks by far the weakest defence).

This leads me to wonder whether the Rondel, which is definitely suited to an ice-pick grip, was actually designed to be used in the way we think it was. The Treatises show two men dagger fighting and wrestling, but how accurate is that really?

Back when real men dagger duelled in codpieces and flippers, apparently.                                                                                                     “De Fechtbuch Talhoffer 169″ by Hans Talhoffer – Scan by Bavarian State Library, processed by McLeod. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

I mean, modern martial arts manuals show us pictures of two karate people fighting each other, two Judoka throwing each other, two fencers crossing foils etc. yet most actual fighting that happens is in unequal situations. We accept that what is being shown in manuals is a set of drills and training exercises designed to build the skillset of students in a particular area, and that this may or may not be practically useful at a later date. Because these students all go to the same class to learn the same thing they are all shown as having the same equipment, but we understand that outside the dojo or training hall the odds will be stacked against the defender. The surviving manuals can only ever give us limited context for the skills they can instruct us to practise, and it is the job of the historian to expand and make sense of that context.

This leads me to the real crux of my argument; if we accept that the ice-pick grip is the one the Rondel is best suited to, but that in an actual combat scenario it is easier to fend off, is it possible that the Rondel was primarily used for surprise?

It is possible to see it being drawn as a Roman soldier would draw his Gladius, the blade is certainly short enough, and this would allow the attacker to enter in a rush – giving him a substantially better chance of overwhelming his opponent before any countermeasures could be put into effect. Certainly drawing it while on the move presents a much smaller opening than the attacks we saw in the videos linked above. What I am unsure about is how this would work in armour. A full on rush would certainly work in a civilian environment and, combined with surprise, be quite overwhelming. If I was in full 15th century plate armour, though, and found myself without a sword or a pollaxe, I don’t think I would bother with the Rondel at first; I would much rather wrestle and throw an opponent and only then draw the Rondel as a coup de grace.

Demonstrating Jiu-Jitsu in the Edwardian Period; was it all just a show?

Jiu-Jitsu is, in the words of Arthur Conan Doyle, “the Japanese system of wrestling”. It may have a long and noble warrior tradition, it may employ scientific principles, it may channel the philosophies of Confucius and Zen Buddhism, but it is fundamentally and essentially a particular style of wrestling.

It therefore makes sense that, following the closure of the Bartitsu club in 1901, one of the Jiu-Jitsu instructors – Yukio Tani – went on to carve a career for himself as a challenge wrestler. Tani, who is rumoured never to have lost to a european, is supposed to have beaten over 500 challengers during his tours of England. At 5’6″, he was usually giving a lot in height and weight to his opponents, many of whom were seasoned wrestlers themselves, however the rules of the challenge stipulated that any challenger must wear a Gi (the Japanese practise Kimono) and that victory was to be by submission. These two rules did help to ensure Tani’s victory; submission wrestling was a foreign concept to Europeans at the time, so while Tani was well versed in chokes and locks most of his opponents were having to invent submissions while in the ring; used as they were to fighting for position and pin. Even if they secured a dominant position, they were then at a loss how to capitalise on it and defeat the plucky Japanese. Additionally, most were used to fighting without Gi, and would have found the jacket at best alien and at worst a weapon to be used against them. Ask any Judo player; the Gi presents oportunities to control and submit your opponent that are not there otherwise. (It is a point of trivia to note that the length of the Gi one wears technically differs depending upon which art one practises; Judo gi reputedly had the sleeves and trousers lengthened in 1907, to improve control and safety. Aikido, which boasts a different lineage of Jujitsu, still tend toward Gi with 3/4 length sleeves).One wonder’s how many seasoned wrestlers were bemused by a deftly applied collar choke; a move of which they had never heard until it knocked them out.

A 1906 postcard showing Yukio Tani applying an armbar to his manager and former wrestler William Bankier.

This is not to impugn Tani’s skill; rumour has it that he did once accept a challenge from a wrestler who did not wear the Gi. As usual, this man enjoyed the advantages of weight and size. After a struggle which lasted hours, Tani submitted him. He then went on to perform his usual show later that same evening, where he submitted a succession of opponents in Gi. There can be no doubt that he was a proficient fighter.

Yet the only match he is recorded as losing (at least in England) is to a fellow Japanese; Taro Miyaki (with whom he would later go on to open a school and publish a book). Miyaki was the only opponent Tani is known to have faced who had experience both in Gi and in submission wrestling. It seems reasonable to postulate that, in an environment less favoured to his own rules, Tani would have seemed significantly less impressive. Obviously, he had a living to earn and a product to promote – Jiu-Jitsu would not have seemed half as impressive if he had not been able to build up a win streak of hundreds – however given that one of the ostensible aims for touring in this period was the promotion of knowledge of the art the set up cannot be seen as other than partial, and designed to overplay the prowess the study of Jiu-Jitsu could bring.

Meanwhile, Tani’s former colleague from the Bartitsu club, Sadakazu Uyenishi had set up his own Jiu-Jitsu academy in Picadilly Circus; the “School of Japanese Self Defence”. Uyenishi also fought as a challenge wrestler, however his most notable ability was as a teacher. He was attracting pupils from the most fashionable classes, and two of his most notable students were Edith and William Garrud (who would respectively go on to teach Jiu-Jitsu to the suffragette bodyguard and the special constables recruited during WW1 respectively). A 1905 article from Lady’s Realm Magazine suggests that Uyenishi was particularly good at recruiting female students, deigning to teach them individually – in accordance with Edwardian manners and beliefs about the gentleness if the female character.

Perhaps the reason so many women were interested in his Jiu-Jitsu (there were notably few female wrestlers or pugilists) was that during demonstrations, women themselves would be used to show how effective the art could be.

Aldershot, April 1905, Uyenishi and a female pupil demonstrate Jiu-Jitsu before an audience of “several leading military authorities”.

The demonstration mentioned in Annesley Kenealy’s article, and pictured above, was clearly impressive. There was a demand both for Uyenishi to instruct the army’s physical trainers and to set up a club for the officer’s wives and daughters. There are some hints from the article that the sales pitch was at least embellished. For example,the claim that “in Japan, proficiency in jujitsu is compulsory in the army, navy and police forces” is at best optimistic; Judo was only adopted as the official training method of the Tokyo police department under the leadership of Mishima san, who organised the now famous shiai between the Kodokan and traditional Jiu-Jitsu schools in 1896. To assume it had spread so widely from this start point seems overconfident. Of course, one could argue that any unarmed combat style native to Japan could be called Ju-Jitsu; though that would then render the point tautological. (“Japanese soldiers are instructed in Japanese fighting… well d’uh!”).

And that leads me to wonder how much of the demonstration was, like Tani’s against unwilling opponents, and how much was down to Uyenishi’s abilities as a teacher, or – more accurately, as an uke (one who receives a technique).

In professional wrestling, where we all confess to knowing the moves are fake, wrestlers practise what they call “bumps” and “sells”. What this means is they practice how to fall very safely, and then how to make it look like it hurt. A lot. In jiu-Jitsu, where we are told the throws are “real”, ukemi, or “the art of receiving techniques” is incredibly important in making those same throws look real. A Jiu-Jitsu demonstration looks like this (note that the first 40 seconds of the video are all practising falling), while a judo contest looks like this; it took him three attempts to get a clean throw, and in a self defence situation either of the two failed attempts would have been bad news.

This is not to say that the throws don’t work, they do, just not always. And if you are putting on a demonstration then, just like in professional wrestling, you are looking to entertain and “sell” your performance so, just like in professional wrestling, you end up working with your partner to make the moves look good. A skilled uke can make mediocre technique look flawless and Fred Ettish look like Ronda Rousey. (P.S. Sorry, Fred – we’ve all been there man. If it helps, your comeback fight was awesome).

I don’t know what to make of the drawing above; is it artistic license to capture the impression of how high Uyenishi flew? His student is in a perfect tomoe-nage position, indicating that whoever drew it either had some knowledge of Jiu-Jitsu or some help (possibly from Uyenishi’s 1905 instructional manual). However, the professors position relative to the tori (thrower) could suggest artistic license or could suggest that an artist who was not present was simply told to draw a woman throwing him. (He could only have reached the position in which he is shown by breaking free of the throw halfway through and deciding the next logical step was to backwards somersault to freedom). Either way, I strongly suspect that Uyenishi had good reason to jump for his students during these shows, and that his compliance and contrivance were part of an act to sell Jiu-Jitsu which over-emphasised the skills of his female pupils. It is probably no accident that, by 1908, he had a job teaching martial arts to military trainers.

Whether this criticism is fair or not, I don’t know. We know professional wrestling is “fake”, and that gloved boxing is “real”, but isn’t just about everything in combat displays “fake” to some degree? In the ring, boxing may look “real”, but take away the referee and the rules, and you get a brawl. Even with such greats as Muhammad Ali, the fight looks different outside the ring. In Judo, Jujitsu and Aikido demonstrations, Uke “jumps” for Tori; often it’s sold as “protecting yourself”, but in reality it is all jumping, and it all makes the technique look better. Uyenishi almost definitely did it, and it almost definitely made Jiu-Jitsu look more impressive to the uninitiated than it actually was. Does that make it in some way wrong? All I can say is that the practice is incredibly common, so at the very least he cannot be uniquely faulted.

Two types of punching, and what they tell us about pugilistic combat.

April 16, 2015 Boxing Boxing

In most fighting styles, but particularly in bareknuckle boxing, you are depending upon your fists to deliver strikes to an opponent. There are three basic positions, which I shall call by their Japanese names, since there the terminology is clearer than it is in English. (The images below are courtesy of Sensei Kevin Leigh, of SKKIF Watford)

Ura-Tsuki or “Uppercut Punch”

Tate-Tsuki or “Vertical Fist Punch”

Oi-Tsuki aka “Horizontal Fist Punch” or “Corkscrew Punch”

The first position, Ura-Tsuki, is generally used for uppercut blows, which tend to be thrown at close range, or “in-fighting”. As such I intend to leave it out of the following discussion, for my intention here is to discuss the change in boxing practises which tool place from c. 1870 to c. 1920. During this time, the dominant fist position for punching changed from the Tate-tsuki to the oi-tsuki one. In close combat terms, punching is technically a “middle-distance” between kicking range and “in-fighting” or grappling range, and it is at this “middle distance” we shall consider the punches being thrown.

In James Mace’s biography, we learn that the Champion pugilist was a “disciple of the straight left” . It is possible that his championing of this particular punch found its way into literature; Sherlock Holmes, as is now well known, was written as a talented martial artist. In the Adventure of the Empty House, Holmes is credited with “some knowledge of Baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling”. In A Study in Scarlet, Watson identifies Holmes as “an expert singlestick player, boxer and swordsman”,The Yellow Face contains the accolade that Holmes was “one of the finest boxers of his weight I have ever seen”. Further re-enforcement comes from other stories, The Adventure of the Gloria Scott mentions Holmes training in pugilism, and in The Sign of the Four Holmes is revealed to have had an amateur bout with McMurdo, a Prize Fighter who lavishes him with praise. Above all, in The Adventure of the Solitary CyclistHolmes engages in actual combat, emerging victorious by delivering “a straight left against an uncouth ruffian”.

It is interesting to note that James Mace may actually be the inspiration for Holmes’ martial abilities. (It is already suspected that Holmes was inspired by at least three brilliant characters of Doyle’s personal acquaintance). Mace, though a natural middleweight, was Heavyweight Champion of both England and the world. He also excelled at swordplay, and was giving demonstrations of the value of the straight left at the Pelican Club (A club sponsored by notables such as Hugh Cecil Lowther, Lord Lonsdale, and John Sholto Douglas, the 9th Earl of Queensberry – primarily hosting matches under the Queensberry Rules) in London c.1886-87, a club which Conan-Doyle is suspected of visiting.

Certainly, the timeline of the stories are consistent with Mace having been an inspiration. A Study in Scarlet was published in 1887, and the Sign of the Four followed in 1890. Another possible source of inspiration could be the instructional book Mace wrote with the help of journalist Harry Sampson “On Boxing” (1889)

What, however, did a straight left look like?

This

Yup. James Corbett’s 1912 boxing manual shows the technique without gloves, and the fist is chambered vertically.

Image from “Scientific Boxing” – James Corbett (1912)

And these images from Bob Fitzsimmons 1901 Book “Physical Culture and Self Defence” show the same thing, both Bob and his demonstration partner are throwing their punches tate-tsuki. Billy Edwards, in his 1888 “The Art of Boxing and Manual of Training” shows the same thing again, albeit gloved.

While both Bob Fitzsimmons and Jim Corbett were gloved Champions, they had been taught by men who fought both with gloves and bareknuckles. Men like Billy Edwards and James Mace. So the question is, why would all these great pugilists and boxers prefer the tate-tsuki, whilst the standard punch of later and modern boxers appear to be oi-tsuki?

Muhammad Ali, punching Oi-tsuki

One possible answer is technical. The range of boxing changed drastically when the wrestling component was removed from the sport by the Queensberry rules. The tate-tsuki chamber derives its power from body structure, specifically the relation of the fist, elbow and centreline. Wing Chun practitioners, who specialise in this type of punch, point out that the power in it comes not from big muscles, but from the incredibly strong skeletal alignment provided by keeping your elbows tucked in – thus making the absolute best use of whatever muscle you have (however large or small). When you punch tate-tsuki, the elbow should be directly behind the fist, and directly in front of your core. This allows you to transfer your weight into the strike through your bones.

In order to use, this structure, however, you have to be able to stay at that middle distance between kicking and grappling. Since kicking was not allowed in pugilism it did not present an issue. Wrestling was, however, and when it was removed from the game it gave a decided advantage to boxers who were “in fighters”. Typically stocky and powerful, these fighters, like Daniel Mendoza or Mike Tyson, would close to grappling range and launch devastating close range punches (generally thrown from the shoulders, rather than the core).

Boxing Match c.1960’s

Boxing Match 1889

The above images illustrate a change in the range of pugilistic engagement, suggesting that protagonists stand closer to each other under Queensberry rules than they would tend to under the old LPR set. At the extended range, one had room to set up the torso, elbow, fist alignment which would make tate-tsuki strikes very powerful. Rotating the fist at that range would not add any significant impact, and could lead to one overbalancing – throwing one’s weight forward so that a skilled wrestler could gain a hold and dash one to the ground.

“tap”

Closing in, however, one might have to hand the advantage to those who favoured the oi-tsuki. Without room to chamber the elbow between fist and torso, the oi-tsuki moves the elbow to the side, and instead relies on the powerful muscles of the shoulder and upper back to give the strike force. It also has the added benefit, as Iain Abernethy points out, of disengaging the bicep. Biceps tend to contract the arm, and so would actually pull in the opposite direction to a punch, weakening it. As boxers moved from being all round athletes (James Mace, for example, was also a talented dancer and pedestrian) to being more specialised, and as the science behind sports took off in the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, this would become an increasing problem. As boxers moved their training more to focus on the upper body delivering strikes (rather than the all round fitness required for LPR) they would have developed larger shoulder muscles – and thus felt less need to put their skeleton behind a punch to deliver power, but also would have needed to counter any adverse effect those bigger muscles could have on their punching power.

Another possible answer is to do with protecting the knuckles. Urban combat styles, like Wing Chun and Krav Maga, tend to favour the tate-tsuki chamber even today. One of the reasons is that punching tate-tsuki makes it easier to land a strike flush with the knuckles of the index and middle finger,thus offering protection to the more delicate knuckles of the ring and pinkie fingers. Even though modern boxers wear 16 oz. gloves, a fracture of the bone behind the pinkie finger is known as a “boxer’s fracture”.

Under LPR rules, where hand protection was non-existant, looking after your knuckles was key to winning the fight. It wasn’t uncommon for one pugilist to break his hand due to a badly placed punch, and usually that man would then lose. With one of his weapons broken his attack and defence would be severely compromised. Pugilists went to extraordinary lengths to protect their hands, including pickling them for weeks before the fight (one common solution was turpentine) to toughen them up and prevent this eventuality. Given the dramatic effects of potential injury, and the lengths they were known to have gone to, it is reasonable to suggest that they may have adopted this style of punch specifically because it favoured the knuckles. It goes without saying that gloved boxers do not have to be as concerned about their knuckles.

Additionally, if one punches tate-tsuki, it is more likely to slip through an opponents guard than an oi-tsuki punch – having a narrower width. This advantage only applies to fights that are bareknuckle or where the gloves are very small, and thus would not apply from c. 1920’s onwards, when virtually all boxing gloves weighed upwards of 12-16 oz. Since the advantage dissapeared, the incentive to punch tate-tsuki would be less strong.

It is thought that the Oi-tsuki position was popularised by Charles “Kid” McCoy, who claimed he used the twisting motion to “cut” his opponents open, either disabling or inconveniencing them. (It should be noted that James Mace favoured this tactic also, but he managed it with a tate-tsuki left).

Illustration of Charles McCoy, demonstrating his trademark punch.

Observant readers will notice two things from the above illustration, McCoy’s crouching posture suggests an attention to infighting, and the hunch of the left shoulder helps him cover his chin, protecting the head but leaving the torso open. The elbows in tate-tsuki punches are kept close to the torso, covering one from body shots but leaving the head relatively unguarded. Under LPR the body was a more important target than it was under queensberry rules, quite simply because it was soft. Knuckles could do a lot of damage to a body without risking themselves against the hard bones of the head. The advent of gloves made targeting the head more popular, partly because they reduced damage to the body from digging punches, and partly because they cushioned impact, making a knockout blow more likely than with bareknuckles.

We can tell McCoy was an infighter; the majority of his surviving photographs show him demonstrating his “dip game”

“Dip Game” – to, bob, weave and parry in order to evade your opponents strikes

McCoy was a middleweight who fought at heavyweight. This meant his opponents would usually be bigger than him, so he had to get in close in order to hit them. Additionally, he didn’t have to worry too much about shots to the body, because a larger opponent would have to drop under the punch McCoy was already throwing in order to take advantage of the opening. By throwing his elbows out, as in a corkscrew punch,he could hit his opponents at under his full arm length, and significantly under theirs, and at the same time keep himself covered from counter strikes.

Kid McCoy Demonstrates his left jab

Quite frankly, I don’t buy that the corkscrew punch is better for cutting people. Having experimented with both I would favour the tate-tsuki punch to cut an opponents skin, but the corkscrew for a body shot, as the twisting can add a little extra power if one is striking to a vital point, such as a liver or a spleen. I do think that the hunching and reliance on muscle power really suits a close in fighter, and would argue that the biggest reason for the transition is that the combat range of boxing changed to be much closer after the wrestling component was eliminated. Instead of staying outside and picking specific shots (like Shotokan Karate competitors do today) boxing got more up close and personal, relying more on fast paced action and good covering for victory than carefully picking and avoiding shots.

If you enjoyed this article, and would like to know more about what stylistic differences tell us about combat, why not check out our follow up piece on the development of guard systems? 

Violence in the most unusual of place

Violence in the most unusual of places.

Thomas Crapper lodged a patent for a cantilever toilet  (Reyburn, 1989 – Flushed with Pride). For those of you to whom, like me, this means nothing, a cantilever toilet is one where the bowl projects out of the wall, but all of the essential working parts are hidden within it.

A cantilever toilet in all its austere glory.
Having searched for patents after 1890 on the espacenet database, I can only assume the patent was registered before this date. (And, for those of you interested in defining search windows, sometime after Crappers birth in 1836).

The reason for his designing the toilet was not to test his engineering skill – that had already been certified by the development of his “water waste preventor” and several royal appointments. It was far more down to earth.

As the flushing toilet became more common towards the end of the 19th century, great institutions such as prisons and mental asylums were interested in joining the sanitary revolution. Victorian toilets, however, were rather sturdy.

A modern replica of a Victorian bathroom, by UK Architectural Antiques 

The gigantic, wrought iron cistern. The length of brass or copper piping which connected it to the bowl, the chain with the “pull and let go” china weight on the end. Even the ballcock – which in those days were all brass. The flushing toilet presented a weapon based buffet to these institutional guests who were violently inclined.

If you looked at either of these things and your first thought is “that would make a good mace under the right circumstances” you may have anger management issues. 

I have yet to find any records of a flushing toilet actually being weaponised, though I have no doubt the potential was there. Sifting through court records it is not uncommon to find that people are assaulted with chamber pots or toilet jugs. The Old Bailey, for example, records the trial of Thomas Henry Williamson, who tried to murder a man whilst armed with a toilet jug and fire poker.

The fact that chamber pot assaults were not uncommon, combined with the added insult of being assaulted with a scatalogical implement would seem to offer a strong incentive for prisons especially to install flushing toilets. But the necessity of concealing the architectural gubbins and protecting prison warders from riots of toilet armed criminals fell to the brain of one of Britains greatest plumbers.

It is nothing new to say that prisons are designed to control potentially violent people, and that the architecture will have the prevention of violence built into its functionality. It is, perhaps, a nice reminder of the thoroughness of this approach that saw Thomas Crapper make an overlooked architectural contribution to the history of violence.

Why was Victorian Jiu-Jitsu marketed primarily towards women?

Why was Jiu-Jitsu marketed towards women?

I’ll preface this; my data is not an exhaustive sample. This is taken largely at random from surviving evidence from the period 1900-1940. As such, there may be some problems with it; for example, the Suffragette bodyguard may be overplayed in the history of Jiu-Jitsu in England because they served such a unique function. In fact, given that fighting was considered unusual for women, it is perhaps more likely that texts of films would show a female jitsuka than her male counterpart, and this may be skewing my research. So while I proceed,I proceed with caution.

Between 1900 & 1940, women appear to be over-represented in Jiu-Jitsu textbooks, articles, adverts and videos. Compare this to boxing manuals of the same period, which are almost completely devoid of women, and one is faced with a stark contrast. Some types of fighting were definitely “manly”, but it appears that Jiu-Jitsu was not. One might be tempted to suggest that Jiu-jitsu was seen as a “ladies’ art”, however the facts that from 1906 Sadazaku Uyenishi was teaching the art to the military, followed as early as 1914 by William Garrud who was instructing special constables for the police, and in 1915 William Ewart Fairbairn (later to become famous for developing Britain’s WW2 military combative system, “defendu”) published a manual of self defence for the Shanghai Police which was based on Jiu-Jitsu shows that it was taken seriously by people who needed combative proficiency for their jobs.

So at one end of the spectrum we have the army and the police (in this period exclusively men), people who need to fight for a living studying the art, and at the other end we have it being marketed to a civilian audience as “suitable for ladies”. What I would argue these two groups have in common – at least in combative terms – is a need to prioritise swift and crushing victory over notions of “fairplay” or “decency”.

What I am proposing is the notion of an aesthetic of combat, which at this time was almost directly aligned with gender identity. To illustrate this aesthetic, I suggest watching three fights. The 1974 “Rumble in the Jungle” between George Forman and Muhammad Ali, UFC 175’s Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis (2014) and UFC 184’s Ronda Rousey vs. Cat Zingano (2015). Unfortunately, I don’t have the correct permissions to reproduce or display these events – however I am sure they are not hard to come by in the digital era.

The rumble in the jungle is widely considered one of the greatest boxing matches ever, but it displays some boxing tropes so well that despite its exceptional status, I think it can serve to illustrate archetypes. The matchup between Foreman and Ali was a style difference of incredible power against brilliant scientific and technical boxing. Ali was at the peak of his physical abilities, and still looked vastly underpowered when compared to the world heavyweight champion. If the fight had been about standing and trading shots, Foreman would probably have taken it. Ali adopted two devices to prevent this being the case. Firstly, he tied Foreman up with regular clinches, controlling Foreman’s ability to throw clean punches and ensuring the referee would step in and separate the two – this allowed Ali to land a strike on the advancing Foreman from the outside, clinch up to minimise damage, and then be moved back to the outside by the referee. This allowed Ali to control the distance and the pace of the fight far better than Foreman could. Additionally, the wrestling and clinching was designed to sap Foreman’s strength.

His second device has become the stuff of boxing legend. Rope-a-dope was a tactic entirely designed for the ring. Leaning on the ropes allowed Ali to spread the impact of Foreman’s punches, much of the energy being absorbed by the elastic ropes rather than Ali’s body. Additionally, by covering or deflecting most of the blows Ali was tiring Foreman out and neutralising his power advantage in the long run.

Some observers thought Ali was seriously hurt, and worried for his safety. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who is winning the fight.

Part of Ali’s training had been huge amounts of body conditioning. His sparring partners would pummel him to increase his toughness, and this paid off. Foreman would chase Ali to the ropes, and throw lots of punches which were either blocked, absorbed or deflected. Ali would respond with a few well placed shots (eventually swelling Foreman’s face). If it got too close, Ali would clinch, be reset and the game repeated. Wearing Foreman down in this way allowed Ali to pick his moment and win by KO in the 8th round.

All of this took about 24 minutes of fighting. In those 24 minutes the athletes displayed values such as;
Physical endurance – in simply fighting for that long
Physical toughness – both Ali and Foreman took a lot of punishment and kept going
Fair play – there were no kicks, the wrestling was limited and the gist of the fight was a stand up event where two evenly matched men punched each other (this notion of fairness is closely linked with gloved boxing)
Self-awareness – each man tried to play to his own strengths, and showed respect for the abilities of his opponent
Intelligence – Ali in particular showed his intelligence by adopting a strategy based on the rules of the game. He knew that to go in all guns blazing would favour the more powerful Foreman’s brawling attitude, so he worked a longer game.

Contrast that with Ronda Rousey’s fights. Rousey is a former Olympic Judo player, turned to MMA. The combined length of her fights against Alexis Davis and Cat Zingano is 30 seconds. In the Alexis Davis fight the bell sounded, Rousey grabbed and threw her opponent to the ground, punched her in the face 9 times, and knocked her out. Fight over.

Against Zingano, the bell sounded, Rousey dodged a flying knee, grabbed her opponent, threw her to the mat and secured control of her arm. This placed her elbow in a lock and had Zingano not tapped, Rousey could have broken the arm. This took just 14 seconds.

In these fights Ronda displayed an entirely different set of characteristics to the ones shown by Foreman and Ali.

Ruthlessness – Ronda’s aim was to control her opponent and shut them down as quickly as possible. 
Dominance – There was no pretence at giving her opponents a fair shot. Ronda wanted to control them completely and she did so.
Aggression – The game plan was to take control and keep it. That meant closing distance and inflicting damage as quickly as possible.
Decisiveness – At no point in either match did her opponents have the opportunity to hurt Ronda. Her style of fighting protected her whilst inflicting maximal damage on her opponents as quickly as possible.

My argument is that the aesthetics demonstrated in this small sample of fights are widely evident over stylistics boundaries between 1900 & 1940, and that this explains why Jiu-Jitsu was largely marketed towards women in this period.

Broadly speaking, during peacetime the goal of civilised society is to cultivate the nobler aspects of masculinity whilst discouraging those traits which are potentially antisocial. Gloved boxing emphasises physical strength and health, which is very manly, whilst also encouraging a controlled, restrained form of violence. This particular style favours fair play – matches between equals and giving the other a chance. As such, it is a display of masculine nobility. It teaches young men to compete with each other in a stylised manner, and to control their temper – urging them away from picking on those smaller and more vulnerable than them (e.g. women and the elderly). In this way gloved boxing can be seen as channelling a natural male urge to violence and competition into a socially acceptable sphere where it teaches young men constructive values.

The assumption appears to be that if violence can be contained to a controlled, peer environment, then it can be a positive force. Violence is constitutive of male character, and boxing presents a trellis which supports the development along socially accepted lines.

For women, however, the assumption about violence is somewhat different. Violence is not constitutive of the female character (at least in this period) and so it is assumed that a woman is instantly a victim. The emphasis on a fair fight between peers cannot be carried over, because the assumption is that her attacker will be a man, with the advantages of strength and weight.

May Whitley’s 1933 video serves to illustrate this approach, “how 7 stone odd, scientifically applied, can defeat 14 stone”. In this case, all of the techniques shown serve to debilitate or incapacitate an attacker swiftly, allowing the woman either to escape or to render him harmless.There is no emphasis on fairness or control, because it is assumed that either of these things would place a woman at a disadvantage against a larger opponent. Instead surprise, dominance, aggression and decisiveness are emphasised.

These things can only be valuable in a limited context. One cannot encourage all members of a society to be aggressive and dominant – it would be a recipe for chaos. The moral guardians of a nation, however, can be excused on the grounds of necessity. If a woman is attacked by a man, it is the man who is morally wrong for attacking, and this justifies sudden and decisive retaliation on her part. Likewise, the policeman apprehending a criminal or the soldier overcoming an enemy must do it swiftly for their safety, the safety of those around them, and in order to uphold a moral order. (One could hardly condone a “fair fight” with a criminal – what if he was victorious and thus escaped?)

So I have to conclude that these two fighting styles were used and marketed differently because they served differing moral functions in relation to the control of gender identities.

The sport of boxing provided a safe outlet of masculinity for the majority of the male population. Encouraging violence, but reinforcing a set of rules surrounding its proper use and functioning as an educational reminder to young men that the power to be violent comes with responsibility.

Jiu-Jitsu, on the other hand, was viewed as a more practical street fighting system. Designed to give those who needed it a technical advantage. The army and the police would be natural customers, but in a peace time civilian setting, women made a much more natural target audience than young men, because they could always be assumed to be at a physical disadvantage. That is not to say that the only practitioners of the art were women, far from it. However I think the marketing suggests

1) That because it is not enshrined as “manly” jiu-jitsu was the only socially acceptable form of violence for women in this period.
2) The repetitive use of women in promotion emphasises that the style does not depend on physical strength, and could also have appealed to non-athletic males (without insulting their virility)
3) The framing of the use of women shows a concern with personal safety, and carries the message that Jiu-Jitsu is for “the street”. At a time a civilising offensive was in full swing it would not have been possible to depict men brawling in the street – regardless of the reason. So in some ways the female becomes a stand in for the safety conscious male.
Boxing was a tool whereby young men restrained their natural urge to violence and became productive members of society. Jiu-jitsu was the tool that the police, or any safety conscious citizen, could use to tackle those violent males who were not being curbed by social developments.