Author: hessam101

By Sensei David Johnston, (First printed in Ippon, the newsletter of the American JKA.)

Some time in the seventies, at a tournament, my teacher performed Kanku-dai as a demonstration. He looked very splendid in the hakama he kept for special occasions; the movements were bold and expansive; for a starry-eyed fan of Japanese samurai movies it was easy to feel a connection to a distant, heroic past. As he left the area, I complimented him on the performance. He scowled: “Looks only,” he grunted. “Power nothing!”

There was a large mirror at one end of his dojo and he often talked of removing it. He never did: perhaps he was afraid of losing students. The mirror was useful for occasional checking of form but some students seemed unable to perform kata without it. At each turn, instead of facing an opponent, heads would turn to find the beloved reflection.

As time goes by, however, it would seem that the mirror might be the most useful of all training tools if one wishes to do well (that is, to score high points) in kata competition. More and more, outward appearances seem to outweigh other factors. A lay audience can hardly be expected to appreciate the finer points of a performance. Judges, however, are supposed to have more sophisticated criteria. Yet what earns the most applause from the bleachers also earns the highest scores and I don’t think it’s because the audiences are more sophisticated than they used to be. It’s because judges are less so. They like what is easy to see: high kicks, high jumps and low stances, for example. That a contestant is unable to move from his beautiful rooted stance without raising or tilting the hips is of little consequence. To observe that the angle of a foot might indicate the absence of torque in a stance is to be pedantic. If the eyes show that a contestant is thinking of anything but a life threatening situation, it seems to pass unnoticed. (Japanese competitors are rarely guilty of the first two crimes: their stances, shifting and technique generally are superb. The third crime, and to my mind the most serious, I have seen perpetrated by top Japanese many times, even in prestigious events like the Shoto Cup.)

The general tendency to exaggerate (high kicks, low stances, etc.) does have more subtle manifestations. Sometimes, what is easy to see – what catches the eye – is movement of reduced magnitude. Take the inside knife-hand strikes in Gojushiho-sho: these used to begin close to the ear and little by little the movement became smaller. Smaller techniques are appropriate to a “sho”, and very advanced, kata but many performers now do little more than turn the hand over from the preceding outside strike. It has no meaning! But who cares, if it looks nice? (See addendum)

Often, first or second dan students see a technique like the aforementioned knife-hand strike performed differently from the large scale version they were raised on (at least, we hope they were) and they think, “Aha, advanced people make it small. The smaller I make it the more advanced I will appear to be!” The correct reflection, however, is that, having learned to make power from large movements and having developed a strong body through practicing those vigorous movements, one can get an edge in speed without too much loss of power by making the movement smaller. Beyond a certain point, however, diminishing the technique will diminish its usefulness.

Thinking about this just now made me think of dog breeding (not something I often think about at all)! Traits which characterize certain breeds are, I’m told, deliberately bred and over-bred to satisfy the artificial criteria of dog-shows. Sheep dogs, for instance, are bred with extra-narrow heads and a consequential loss of intelligence. They are bred for “looks only” and the usefulness of the breed is thereby diminished.

Some time around 1970, before the Japan Karate Association National Championship, a prominent competitor (Isaka, who for a time had instructed in New York) asked Nakayama Sensei if it would be all right to make the kicks in Nijushiho to the upper level. Traditionally they were done to the knee but, as the competitor pointed out, big kicks look better in a big hall. I don’t know with what misgivings Nakayama gave his assent – I don’t know if he ever regretted his decision. I do think it was a pivotal moment in the development of modem karate and that there might be cause for regret. At least, we must be on our guard against the “looks only” syndrome!

ADDENDUM: OK, so it could be a wrist release. The opponent having grabbed your wrist following the previous strike steps back, you follow and turn the wrist over to loosen the grip, and “hiki te” with the following strike completes the release. But this last outside strike would have to be from the hip so as not to break the timing (which in fact is sometimes done) and would be relatively weak. Incidentally, why does Nakayama (Best Karate Vol. II) state that “this technique is not suitable for freeing a captured hand” when he shows that very application on the same page? Is this “not” a typo?

By Sensei David Johnston

It seems to me that Unsu and other very advanced kata are performed by lower grades at tournaments more and more. Shame on their instructors! In fact, a young, well-coordinated beginner can learn the outward movements of Unsu in an hour. To another beginner, the performance might look impressive; to someone experienced in Budo, (any authentic martial art, not just Shotokan Karate), it would appear hollow.

A kata which is too advanced will fail to express, or cultivate, a student’s understanding of the underlying principles of karate. Some of these principles were mentioned in Part I of this series. Among others, we should remember (especially) Master Funakoshi’s Three Imperatives:

1. (The interplay between) the expansion and contraction of body parts and muscles;
2. Fast and slow body movements; and
3. Soft and hard body conditions.

And whereas a beginner will not learn anything of any depth from the very advanced kata, an advanced student will always benefit – and deepen his understanding of all kata – through continued and serous practice of Heian Shodan. Thus, students of all levels can work together – using dojo time as well as space efficiently – each deriving the same and different benefits according to his or her level.

Different techniques can be substituted or added to the basic stepping pattern. Advanced students might sometimes use stances like Hangetsu or Fudo-dachi. One might take a free-sparring posture between changes of direction. All these variations have their uses on occasion but should not distract rrom the value, for everyone, of the kata pure and simple. I want to suggest different ways to practice using the standard techniques.

Very slowly is one way. Be aware of as many components of each movement (physical and psychological) as possible. At the start, for instance, you receive a danger signal – a sound, a movement, a reflection, or shadow. (It’s important that every time you practice you connect, in your mind, the technique with its purpose.) Your stomach tightens and eyeballs move, followed milliseconds later by your head. Hips sink and left foot slides out to make length and width for the stance (place it as precisely as you would your hand, dotting an “i”). Be aware that the foot moves milliseconds after the hips begin to sink and that as it moves the arms are raised in preparation for down block. At this point the hips are still facing the front and the body feels relaxed except for 50% tension in the abdominal muscles.

When the left foot arrives, pivoting on the ball, the heel is drawn into line. Simultaneously, the right heel pushes back and the knee straightens, helping to drive the hip into the block. Tension is felt to radiate from the stomach to the side muscles, chest, and finally the fists (be aware of little fingers and thumbs) as the technique is completed. (see addendum)

Fortunately, this is less tedious to practice than to read (or write) about! There are more components to the movement than I have mentioned (consider the coordinated breathing, for instance), but don’t enumerate them. Don’t think. Just be very aware of what’s happening. If it seems easy, turn the microscope up, go more slowly. Notice how the parts fit together and overlap. Things work differently when you slow down. Factors like balance, inertia, and momentum are affected. Learn how these interact with your body – it will improve your motor control. Above all, it will sharpen your concentration.

Some years ago, during a training camp at Brandeis University, I devised a strange competition. Participants were to perform the first five movements of Heian Shodan as slowly as possible. There was only one rule: some movement had to be visible to the judges at all times. The result were significant, I think, and surprising in their consistency. White belts all finished with 30 seconds; purple belts were in the 1 to 1 1/2 minute range; black belts all spun it out to 2 minutes or more. The winner, a nidan, made it to a little less than 3 minutes!

Practicing very slowly, tai chi style, develops concentration and control over techniques and combinations performed at speed. That, of course, is why some movements in kata are required to be slow in actual performance. These movements are, however, not numerous and are often performed without concentration. I believe that sustained slow practice can be beneficial to everyone, and thirty minutes or more should be included in the training routine at least one a month.

ADDENDUM: This block utilized direct hip rotation. To anyone trained in JKA Shotokan this is too obvious to be worth mentioning. I know of one local “shotokan” instructor, however, who tells his students that the hips are first turned square to the attacker then pulled to “hanmi”, as the block is completed. “Must use the hips for power!” he says. Actually, of course, direct rotation is stronger than reverse rotation, doesn’t beak the timing, doesn’t expose the groin, and is easier to perform. (The fellow claims to be 8th dan!)

By David Johnston

“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few. ” Shunryu Suzuki

Shunryu Suzuki was a zen teacher who taught in San Francisco from 1958 until his death in 1971. There is a book compiled from his talks during this period called Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (a very influential book which I recommend to some of my students as a fine karate text book). It contains this line: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.”

When you think of yourself as an expert you have stopped learning. A white belt can be dyed any color at all; a black belt cannot. Please take the symbolism seriously.

In Japanese, the concept is shoshin. Shin is mind or spirit; sho means first or beginning with the connotation of opening to possibilities. This is why sho is used instead of ichi to describe (and not merely assign a number to) the first kata. With Heian Shodan a beginning student learns the most basic principles of karate: sustained awareness, placing the feet for optimum stability whichever way he turns; using changes of position or direction for power. None of these and other principles is masked by complex surface techniques: the slightest violation of them stands out clearly. This is why Heian Shodan never gets easy (indeed, as the ability to detect ever more subtle flaws develops, it should get harder) and why the kata is essential for students at every level. If an advanced tournament fighter were to select just one kata as part of his training schedule, it would probably most usefully be Heian Shodan. (This is not a recommendation, however, that he should neglect other Kata!).

Actually, the hardest aspects of Heian Shodan are identical with those of more advanced kata. An anecdote occurs to me which may illustrate the point. In 1974, preparing for sandan, I worked intensively on Nijushiho, often repeating it 100 times. Techniques which had seemed difficult – kicking without moving the line of gravity; the wrapping block at the end – became easier, but standing in yoi with the right feeling of preparedness (and the milliseconds of transition from stillness to movement) became more and more difficult. I mentioned this in some bewilderment to my instructor, Yutaka Yaguchi, who grinned broadly: “That is karate,” he said.

If you really did master Heian Shodan, you probably could be called, with justification, a karate expert. Just don’t call yourself one!

By David Johnston

On Saturday night in April, 1965, I witnessed the most impressive demonstration of karate I’ve ever seen. And it couldn’t have been less specatacular.

It took place at the lower end of the strand, in London. A group of us, seven or eight I think, had earlier met with a quartet of young but already legendary senseis, taken them to a pub, and then a Chinese restaurant. They were Kanazawa, Enoeda and Shirai – all ex-All – Japan Champions, and 5th dan – and Taiji Kase, 6th dan. We were mostly beginners, and had been awaiting the arrival of these super-men for months, our excitement building as Vernon Bell, our first instructor, fed us stories of techniques too fast for the eye to see and uniforms that snapped like rifle shots. Of course, we were proud to be in their company – after all, we were karate-ka too! – and as we strolled around Soho, Kanazawa had to warn us not to swagger. “Walk naturally” he said gently.

After dinner, of course, another pub. Then, as we drifted South from Soho, we split into smaller groups, which casually formed and reformed throughout the evening, I remember passing the National Gallery with Shirai, who asked in excellent English about the French Impressionist collection there. I was naively impressed that he was so well-informed. Continuing across Trafalgar Square, we reached the Strand and that’s where I found myself alone with Kase.

The streets had been getting crowded. I realized that it was after 11:00pm – closing time (in those days British life revolved around the rituals of Opening and Closing times) – and the patrons of many pubs were spilling out through the open doors, along with the mingled sounds from many jukeboxes. I do remember after all these years that the Stones’ song “Satisfaction” – ‘I can’t get no girl reaction…’ – came through loud and clear at one point. Sensei was relaxed and smiling, talking about his family, which he said he missed. In his dark suit, white shirt and maroon tie he looked like just another Japanese businessman, comfortably rounded, not obviously athletic. But then I saw his face change.

A bunch of Irishmen had been shouting at us, unintelligibly but obviously aggressively. I guess that they had something against the Japanese, as many did in those days. At first, Sensei ignored them, continuing to walk and to smile; I, meanwhile, was getting quite excited. These drunken fools were messing with perhaps the most dangerous man currently in Europe. (These were the heady days of early ‘007’ and my imagination was no doubt colored by having seen ‘Dr. No’ quite recently). Boy, was I going to see some action!

Then it was over. It had become impossible for us to walk further because they were now blocking our path. And, as I looked at Sensei, his face, which had been glowing with affability, turned into something like stone. He turned his head slowly, eyes sweeping across each of their faces in turn but not stopping. And they were gone, not running but walking away very, very quickly.

Sensei blinked and his face became as it was. He simply picked up the conversation where he’d left off. He seemed disinclined to talk about what just happened, and I didn’t ask.