Trigger warning: this article contains images of bloodshed.
I blame Ron Van Clief.
Let me tell you my own story and how Ron has a part in it.
When I started training in Wado karate in the early 1970’s we had very few reference points as to what we were trying to achieve. There was a scarcity of books, and martial arts magazines were in their infancy, and a lot of them were pandering to the appetite of the Kung Fu boom anyway.
VHS video tape wasn’t invented until two years into my karate training (the Victor Company of Japan [JVC] started mass production in 1976). So, in terms of what could be achieved we were struggling to latch on to any ideal model – we couldn’t get a decent view of the mountain we were trying to climb; the summit was obscured by mist.
The only time the clouds seemed to part was that once a year event; the National Championships in London, where we were treated to a top-class demonstration of skills by the team of resident Japanese instructors who electrified us with a highly-energised, athletic and, above all, a dramatic set-piece thrill-fest! Now this was more like it… or so we thought.
Otsuka Hironori Sensei – a grand old gentleman.
Then, in 1975, we were indeed honoured to have in attendance the founder of Wado Ryu karate Otsuka Hironori Sensei, 10th Dan Meijin, AND he was to give a demonstration of his skills.
In retrospect, it was interesting how the audience reacted. I think we all realised how special this was; the Japanese Sensei seemed in awe of the presence of the great master. He was eighty-three years old at the time and appeared in his keikogi as a delicate and dignified presence.
Inevitably, his demonstration of defence and attack did not have the same athleticism of the younger Japanese Sensei. What he did was solely paired kata, defending against sword and dagger. I can only speak for myself, but I knew there was something special happening, although my skill level was too low to really appreciate it. It created an atmosphere of hushed reverence, that remained unbroken, despite what was about to unfold.
Otsuka Sensei and his son - note the position of his hand and how it’s tucked out of the way.
For it was during this very same demonstration that a tiny, though significant error occurred in Otsuka Sensei’s performance, and not one he could easily hide, and was apparent to everyone there, irrespective of their skill or knowledge.
This was where, for a fraction of a second, he left his fingers in the path of the razor-sharp sword he was defending himself against.
Despite the blood, he carried on to the end, as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Otsuka Sensei on that day in 1975 in London.
Photo credit, Combat magazine, photographer, Norma Harvey.
Only thinking about it now, all these years later, do I realise the irony of it.
On the day, the reality of the ‘danger-filled’ performances was not in the chair-jumping, high-kicking, rolling breakfall performances of the younger Japanese Sensei, but it resided instead in the interstice of the honed edge of an antique katana, in the hands of an expert who has just one brief; to make his aim purposeful and true.
Otsuka Sensei’s very real blood attested to this fact. No sham, no fakery, no showmanship. (Not that the other Sensei demonstrated those qualities, of course).
I have to ask myself the question; how come, at the same event we have two demonstration styles that were in complete contrast with each other, yet, being purely objective, the demonstration that was of greater value (even without the blood) was that performed by the old master?
I believe that it is a common mistake to conflate the two. They may have been presented at the same event; they may both be labelled as ‘demonstrations’, but their content and mode of expression were quite different.
Rather like books; one is a thriller, and the other is a high-powered authoritative technical textbook. It’s that simple.
I fear that both at the time and now some people struggle to see the difference between the two, irrespective of how well-written they are.
Here is where Ron comes in.
Sometime in the late 1970’s someone loaned me a VHS video tape of Ron Van Clief, The Black Dragon. It had been going round the Dojo, the same way teenage boys used to pass porn mags around.
To us Ron Van Clief was just… Wow.
It was probably this video:
I watched this recently after a gap of nearly fifty years, and, of the many things I have seen in terms of martial arts performances, all I can say, to be kind, is that it is showing its age.
But, for us the moves were slick and we genuinely believed that Ron was showing us something that we needed to pay attention to, and giving us a target to aim at.
Bear in mind, that at the time I had no idea that there were such things as karate ‘styles’; karate was karate, like boxing was boxing and judo was judo. Here was the flashness of Bruce Lee and Jim Kelly, with a certain brutality that seemed unique to RVC.
My admiration for Ron Van Clief was probably appropriate for the time; but ultimately misguided. Don’t get me wrong, I have the highest esteem for Ron Van Clief. The hard-as-nails old guy is still around and has the honour of being the oldest man to fight in the UFC. His single fight was against Royce Gracie in 1994, he was fifty-one years old and lost to submission after about four minutes – total respect.
My main issue is that whenever karate (or any martial art) is presented to the public in any form as a demonstration (which is ultimately a statement) as to what it is all about, the categories all get jumbled. What are you REALLY saying?
Allow me to present a slightly more extreme example:
A few years back a real handbag fight appeared on-line in the comments section of a YouTube video of a demonstration of Wado karate’s ‘Tanto Dori’. These are the formalised paired kata featuring unarmed defence strategies against a knife. Note; ‘formalised paired kata’, they are NOT choreographed fight scenarios, they are NOT movie-style stunt performances, and they are certainly NOT hands-on direct ‘if you are faced with a person attacking you with a knife, you must do exactly this’. This last point was what the most vocal of the critics was using as his argument.
So, what are they then?
Here are some clues:
· As a rule, the Tanto Dori of Wado karate are really only trained by the highest-ranking trainees. This makes the assumption that they are there to enhance already well-developed skills, adding an extra layer to long-established expertise. Never are they ever introduced as self-defence techniques.
· The Tanto Dori are a link to the older tradition and root of Wado karate. They are the embodiment of a cultural representation that goes beyond technique.
· These are ‘kata’ and as such, are intended to represent a multi-faceted package of learning experiences, an energised and physical meditation on Principle.
I will develop this theme in the next post.
To be continued.
Great story! In all honesty, though, I couldn't get the ear worm of the song "Everyone Was Kung Fu Fighting" out of my head while reading. It must have been your thumbnail that triggered this memory!