Nunti-Bo

In Isshin-ryu we have three bo (long staff) kata. About 20 years ago I was pondering a particular characteristic of one of them. Let me see if I can explain this for you – If you marked one of a bo “right”, the other end “left”, and held it so that you had the “right” half in your right hand and the “left” half in your left hand, you could do two of the kata (Tokumine-no-kun & Urashi-no-kun) and your hands would stay on the proper side. In other words, these kata treat both ends of the bo as equal – when left side is forward, the “left” side of the bo is forward, and vice versa. This is what is known as “double end staff.”

However, in our third kata, called Shishi-no-kun-dai, it is different. This time, mark one end as “front” and the other as “back.” If you were to start the kata so that your right hand is on the front half of the weapon, you would find that whenever the right side is forward, the “front” is in the right hand, and whenever left side is forward the “front” is in the left hand. This means that, in Shishi-no-kun-dai, one end of the bo is clearly the front and the other the back.

So, I was pondering this, and I asked myself, “What’s special about the front end? Maybe that end is different somehow? What weapons are different on one end?” I considered the usual suspects, spear (yari), halberd (naginata), etc. But, among the uniquely Okinawan weapons, the one that stands out is called nunti-bo.

Nunti-bo is basically a bo with a sai on the end. But, the sai is a particular type of sai called nunti-sai, or manji-sai, which has a hook on one side, and a tine on the other. Attach it to the end of a bo, and you have a nunti bo. There has never been much material on the use of nunti-bo, but the few examples I have seen treat the weapon like a bo, with the extra benefit that the tine is used to catch an incoming strike in order to redirect an attack.

Anyway, there I was, those twenty or so years ago, performing Shishi-no-kun-dai, and imagining my bo was a nunti-bo. What happened was thrilling and terrifying. Instantly, all the movements of the kata made devastating sense; and instantly, I saw that nunti-bo was used in a manner which looked nothing like what people showed. And I became actually sick to my stomach. I was so accustomed to the “coolness” of martial arts, that I was unprepared for the brutal cruelty of weapon-based combat which the kata Shishi-no-kun-dai disclosed. Weapons work is for maiming and killing, pure and simple.

It took a few days for me to recover from the sense of revulsion I experienced, so that I could try my little thought experiment again (with the same results, the kata made absolute sense). So, I purchased a nunti-bo, and started practicing Shishi-no-kun-dai. With my imagination replaced by the actual implement, the kata revealed subtleties of handling that I hadn’t realized by visualization alone.

From that day on, I have practiced Shishi-no-kun-dai with nunti-bo. I have also come to recognize the occasional nunti-bo-specific movements in other bo forms. What has become evident to me is the historical function of these kata.

In feudal societies, there was minimal civilian law enforcement. Individual villages needed the ability to call up militia to deal with marauders and other threats. So, villages had traditional “war dances.” These contained the fundamentals of long-weapons fighting. (By the way, these local dances still exist today – brought out at festival times and performed for crowds, and, of course, they exist as kata practiced in the martial arts.)

So, most “bo” forms are actually “generic long-weapons forms.” And, because the staff is the most common tool available, most of the movements in these long-weapons forms are for the staff. But, villagers had other potential weapons, such as oars, hoes, rakes, etc., so, the forms also had to contain movements which applied to these implements. Once you become familiar with these weapons, you can recognize the specific techniques which don’t work well with the bo, but which are very effective with something else.

If a village had only one kata, it would follow the pattern described. But, if there was more than one kata from that village, the second form was likely to be specific to some other weapon. Knowledge of this second form might be limited to the person who was responsible for transmitting the village bo form to each generation (the village martial arts expert). This individual might also be the only person in the village who possessed a weapon which was actually a weapon, as opposed to a tool utilized for fighting. And, finally, this person might be the local constable. (Like the Japanese jutte, the sai and the nunti-bo functioned as law enforcement weapons and as symbols of legal authority – sai was both side-arm and badge.)

Shishi-no-kun-dai is such a number two kata. The number one kata is Shishi-no-kun-sho, a generic long-weapon kata, with characteristic double-end bo techniques. Shishi-no-kun-dai, the number two kata, is 100% nunti-bo.

So, for 20 years I have practiced Shishi-no-kun-dai as “Shishi-no-nunti-bo”, always with nunti-bo, instead of staff. As different Isshin-ryu practitioners come to train with me, I have the occasion to show this material to them. The shock of recognition flashes across their faces, and many of them (ok, most of them) purchase nunti-bo for their own training.

With Shishi-no-kun-dai as my nunti-bo teacher, I have learned that, contrary to the usual demonstration of the nunti-bo (as a tool for catching an incoming attack in the tine), it is actually not about the use of the tine much at all (though, there is a nifty sword disarm that is only possible because of the tine, and some clothing entanglement that depends on the tine). Predominantly, nunti-bo is about using the hook.

In a nutshell, the to use nunti-bo is to strike with the wooden portion of the weapon, just behind the metal manji-sai attachment, then pull hard so that the hook pulls into and tears flesh (gross, huh?). One of the most basic nunti-bo movements is downward angle strike (called kesa-uchi or uchi otoshi), pull, then thrust. The strike is aimed at the neck area, the pull digs the hook into the trapezius muscle and brachial plexus, the thrust frees the weapon from the opponent’s body. However, if the opponent blocks the strike, the pull hooks his weapon and pulls him forward, into an oncoming thrust.

That is just one example. But, if you pick up a nunti-bo, and think about the hook, you will see just how devastating a weapon it is. Better yet, learn Shishi-no-kun-dai and let it become your teacher.

Thanks for reading,

Now, go train!

Chris Thomas

Chris Thomas

shotokan - download free pdf

Source: scribd.com

An article of mine which was published in Shotokan Karate Magazine, in July, 2004

It's Not a Block (and never was)

I recently was explaining our concepts to a man who had been training at a local martial arts school. It was almost as if the last 20 years never happened – as if the martial arts community had never heard of any of the things we teach. So, let me give you a way to explain and talk about one of the most basic aspects of our teaching – it's not a block!

In the usual training programs, there are a set of movements called "blocks." These are up block, inside block, outside block, down block, and knife hand block. Let's consider outside block (though, what I will say, applies to all of the blocks).

Outside block consists of two actions. In the first action, the front hand moves across the body at about hip level. This is sometimes referred to as the set position. Then the front hand moves outward to the side. This action is considered the block proper, and is taught as a way of knocking a punch passed the body.

Now, our premise is simple – this is not a block, and cannot be used as a block. Here's how you can tell. Listen to the sound of a punch (fump). Now, listen to the sound a an outside block (fa-fump). If you think of this in musical terms, in terms of rhythm, a punch has one beat, an outside block has two beats. Now, considering that the act of blocking is a response to an attack, reaction time is also a factor, an added beat. In essence, then, using an outside block to block a punch means that you are using a two beat action (three beats if you consider reaction time) to defend against a one-beat attack. This means that you have to be more than twice as fast as your opponent. And that means that only the youngest, fastest, strongest can ever hope to use their karate. And that means that karate is all but useless for anyone else.

Now, let's imagine that somehow I manage to use outside block to block a punch – What have I accomplished? Nothing. At best I have reset the encounter to the beginning. What happens next depends on who is faster. If the attacker is faster with his follow-up, I lose; if I am faster with my counter-attack, I win. But this means that the stronger, faster one wins, and that means that I can only use my karate if I am the better athlete in the encounter.

However, it turns out that outside block isn't "outside block" at all. In Japanese it is called chudan yoko uke. Uke doesn't mean "to block", it means "to receive". It is a way of dealing with an attack, to be sure. But, it is not a block. In fact, it has actually been painful for me to call these things blocks in what I have written so far. I always use the term "counter" as the English meaning of uke. I say, up counter, or down counter, but never block. Block is a banned word in my martial art.

The typical application for chudan yoko uke, is to use the movement of the"set" (the first-beat of the technique which corresponds to the one-beat of the punch) to actually strike the incoming arm. The outward movement is then a strike, typically to a vulnerable target on the head.

I have been following this concept for many years now. The longer I practice these techniques in the manner they were intended, the more I realize how genuinely intelligent and effective they are as fighting techniques. But this understanding comes only from realizing THEY'RE NOT BLOCKS!

Thanks for reading,

Now, go train.

Chris Thomas

No Masters Here

A Buddhist friend showed me a video featuring some Tibetan yogis. These were people whom she greatly admired (some were her teachers). She saw masters, I saw ordinary men. In one of the old video-tapes sold by Taika Oyata, the voice over narration says, "Only master Oyata can properly interpret the kata." Clearly, these folks look at Oyata-sensei and see "the master." I just see a man. Now, those yogis were skillful and knowledgeable and well qualified to be teachers. And Oyata-sensei is skillful and knowledgeable and well qualified to be a teacher. And my friend is fortunate to have such teachers as those I saw. And Oyata's students are fortunate to have such a teacher as Oyata. But, the yogis and Oyata-sensei are not special, unique, elevated, superior beings. They are ordinary men who were fortunate to have good teachers, and who put in the time and the effort to become skillful, and then the additional time and effort required to become truly exemplary. But, they are still ordinary men.

I am an ordinary man. My teachers have been ordinary men and women. My dojo mates have been ordinary men and women. My students have been ordinary men and women. Each of us has mastered some aspect of living life. Each of us has become accomplished at something – accomplished and maybe even extraordinary. So, why should anyone think of me as "master", much less "grandmaster." I consider myself to be an average martial artist. And maybe it's just that I am average for someone who has trained for 40 years, but that doesn't make me special, just devoted.

My point is this, I am no Master – I don't even know what that word means. I know myself to be completely ordinary. Of course, some of you might think I am being all "gosh, shucks" humble here, but that is not true. Believe me, I have a plenty big ego. Other's might be reminded of the old saying, "No one is a master who thinks he is," and conclude that saying I am not a master somehow proves that I really am. I know the truth – ordinary.

So, why am I the guy people come to train with? It is because I was lucky enough to have good teachers, and having good teachers makes a huge difference. I have students (truly, they are really my teachers) who are much better martial artists than I am. They are more dedicated, train harder, have a more intense passion than I. Yet, I'm the guy helping them for the simple reason that they learned incorrect material. What would they be like if they were lucky enough to learn correctly from the start (look at my Yondan son or my Shodan daughter and you'll have a pretty good idea). And how quickly they are becoming better than me as they discard improper teaching for proper teaching.

So, it only seem to you that I am great if you learned poorly. But, once you know the martial arts properly, you see how ordinary I am. As my friend Dusty Seale and I like to joke, "It's not that we're great, it's that everyone else really sucks." And they suck because they have had poor teachers.

There is one more thing that makes a difference, too. If you believe that only Taika Oyata can properly interpret the kata, then you will never be able to interpret kata. If you believe that the yogi are special "fully realized beings", then you can never attain anything. But, when you realize that they are ordinary, then there is no reason (if you have the desire) why you can't also be great.

Now, go train,

Chris Thomas

Old Karate

I prefer "old karate." I mean this in three different ways.

When I first used the phrase, I had been training for about ten years. At that point I noticed that my movements felt familiar, well worn, broke in, "old" like that most comfortable pair of jeans, or like my battered fedora. This was muscle memory. Technique had become written onto the very fibers of my body. My nerves knew punching, kicking, moving, without any help from my brain. I remember thinking, at the time, how my karate had become old. It was an odd experience, because I found that karate was, well, soothing, to me. I found a relaxation from things like punching the makiwara (or a tree, or a wall, or...). And simply throwing kicks and practicing movement calmed me. It became my drug of choice. It was like an aged cheese, filled with flavor notes and complexity (Cheese? remember, I live in Wiscsonsin).

Secondly, I prefer "old karate" in the sense of the old ways (kodo or koryu). At first, I was drawn to the old karate by a kind of historian's interest. What did it look like originally? Are there more ancient (and more authentic) ways of doing some certain kata. I threw myself into a study of such things, hoping to discover, or learn, or reconstruct an earlier version of what I knew. Of course, I didn't have much access to historical sources. And I have to admit that I am glad. There are those who went off to Okinawa and sought out the oldest teachers and tried to find the oldest versions of kata. In this, they made great contributions to our understanding of the historical development of karate, and I am grateful to them. But, it seems to me that they also made a fundamental error – they assumed that, finding the oldest version of a kata would somehow make them wise.

I made the same error. At one point I was trying to learn as many kata and as many versions as I could. I was practicing 50 or 60 forms, and always looking to learn another "authentic" kata. Suddenly, one day, while trying to learn another such form, I realized that there was nothing there which wasn't also present in multiple other forms I already knew. And I began to suspect that there was no secret form which would provide the key to martial wisdom. When I met George Dillman, I realized why. Because I didn't understand what I was doing, the forms had nothing to teach. But, once I knew the function of form, rather than the form of form, I found I had too many kata. I stopped doing many of them, and still have too many for my own self (I need them for teaching and stylistic purposes).

So, "old karate" is not about which form one does, or how the moves are executed. It is about how the form is interpreted. It is about reclaiming original intent (which is the actual practical use of movement) and not some original pattern of movement. Sometimes, when I am talking about this meaning of "old karate" I use the term "classical" as opposed to "traditional." The traditionalist seeks to mimic the style's movements – the classicalist seeks to apply the style's concepts.

And finally, I prefer "old karate" in the sense that I am old. I am 52, and I have been studying karate since I was 12. My kicks are still pretty snappy, but when I was in my prime, my kicks were so fast that you couldn't see my foot (seriously). My stances are structurally better than when I was younger, but my legs are weaker, stiffer, creakier. So, I have to do a karate which works in two ways. First, it has to be something that I can do as an increasingly older man. And second, it needs to work effectively as a self defense method for an increasingly older man.

Hohan Soken told George Dillman (who, at the time was in his 30's) to "exercise today, the same way you will when you are 80." I think he was speaking of more than running and doing push-ups. I think he meant the entirety of karate training – train today, and always, doing what an aging and aged martial artist will continue to be able to do and apply effectively. So, I try to follow that advice, and in that way, I practice "old karate."

I prefer "old karate." It is the product of long years, it is simple, yet it has depth. It is not fancy or flashy, but, it continues to satisfy after all this time, and I see no reason for that to change.

Thanks for reading, now, go age your cheese (in other words, "Now, go train").

Chris Thomas

If You Don't Want to Teach Me, at Least Don't Mislead Me

Since I had originally trained in the Shotokan style, I decided to attend a seminar by Shotokan master Hirokazu Kanazawa. During the seminar, Kanazawa-sensei reviewed several kata; at one point during the discussion of a particular technique from the kata Jion, a black belt raised his hand and asked, “Sensei, could that move be a strike to the head?” At that moment I became somewhat hopeful. The question showed that this student was troubled by the woefully inadequate explanations for kata movements that he had been given over the years. It also showed that he was thinking and looking for knowledge. And, it was a pretty good question (as opposed to the usual, “What’s this move for?”). Perhaps he would be rewarded with a good answer.

“No,” Kanazawa answered. “It’s a block.” My heart sank as he then proceeded to demonstrate an obviously unrealistic and useless application of the movement. When he was finished, the questioner responded with a hearty and grateful, “Hai! Thank you, sensei.”

I shared this little episode via e-mail with a Shotokan practitioner in England. He responded by telling me that the only time he had seen Kanazawa demonstrate any “half decent” (his words) applications of kata movements was when he sneaked a peak during a private conversation Kanazawa-sensei was holding with Kato-sensei. This begs the question then, if the oriental instructors have better knowledge than they have shown us, why haven’t they shown it.

The area of pressure point knowledge is a good example of this very phenomenon. One of the truly great masters of the 20th century was Shogo Kuniba, the head of the Seishinkai karate organization. Kuniba-sensei loved to teach karate in the United States because his American students gave him permission to experiment and innovate (whereas, in Japan, he was expected to simply fulfill the role of soke/inheritor of his father’s karate style). As he was dying of cancer, Kuniba assigned the leadership of the karate organization in Japan to his sons, but he designated an American, sensei William Price, to inherit his own innovated karate system. According to Price, in the last few months of his life, Kuniba-sensei began to share information about pressure point techniques. Price says that Kuniba expressed regret that he had withheld the knowledge for so long, and that there was no longer enough time to fully divulge this aspect of karate to his heir.

Mike LaMonica is perhaps the western world’s most senior exponent of Hakko-ryu jujitsu, directly under the the system’s founder, the late Ryuho Okuyama, who awarded him the license of Menkyo-Kaiden. LaMonica-sensei and I only met in person once (at a baptism), but I did have occasion to talk with him on the phone. Our conversation was about the use of pressure points as part of the performance of Hakko-ryu kihon waza (the basic techniques of the system). As we talked pressure point specifics, LaMonica’s litany became, “Yes, but we don’t teach that until 5th dan.”

A similar comment is made by aikido exponent Morihiro Saito. Saito-sensei has stated (apparently quoting the teachings of aikido founder Ueshiba) that atemi, or the attacking of vital points, is essential for better than 90% of aikido technique to be successfully applied; yet, this portion of the art is not taught prior to 5th dan (achieved after about 20 years of training!) ostensibly so that students can concentrate on other aspects of the training. It seems odd that the very element that is required for the successful execution of aikido techniques is intentionally left out of student’s practice.

A friend provided me with a video taped seminar taught by Taika Oyata. Oyata-sensei was the first to demonstrate pressure point techniques in a public manner. He often demonstrated pressure point knock-outs and listed kyusho-jitsu (pressure point fighting) as a part of his curriculum. In the video, Oyata-sensei was teaching a small group of eager students (one of whom – I was surprised to see ­– was an old dojo-mate of mine from back in the 70’s). At one point, Oyata began to lecture on a knock-out technique. He slowly and deliberately demonstrated the technique so that everyone attending could follow. The students watched intently and imitated his movements (heck, I was imitating the movement as I watched the tape). Then suddenly, and without prior notice, Oyata knocked out the student he was using as uke.

The students in the seminar were all delighted to see this technique so convincingly proven. I, on the other hand, had a different reaction. Being a pressure point practitioner, I realized immediately that the technique Oyata-sensei had actually used to knock out the student was not the one he had been teaching. (And just to be sure, I backed up the video and watched it again in slow motion.) He had been pointedly misleading those students! (By the way, the technique is revealed at the end of the book TUITÉ: Advanced Pressure Point Grappling, which I co-authored with my teacher George Dillman.)

Pressure point expert George Dillman trained under Oyata-sensei in the early 80’s (and received 7th dan from Oyata). It was Oyata who taught him the fundamentals of kyusho-jitsu which formed the basis for Dillman’s own research and study. Clearly, Oyata-sensei had shared accurate information with Dillman, yet, Dillman himself says that he often saw Oyata teach wrong information in seminars.

Now, I must be careful here lest I seem to be criticizing Oyata-sensei. If it were not for his willingness to share knowledge about pressure point methods, this information would still be the subject of myth and fantasy. And, I don’t want to judge another person’s decision to withhold information from unproven students, since I myself have certain techniques that I simply will not teach anyone who is not at least a black belt and a person I have some measure of confidence and trust in. And there are also cultural realities. Instructors like Kanazawa-sensei, and Oyata-sensei probably feel that access to their knowledge must be earned through years of devoted, unquestioning, adherence. Ok, I get that, but there is a clear difference between withholding some information, and intentionally mis-teaching. It is not just that Kanazawa saves the decent application for private conversation, it is that he teaches bad application to the faithful, who accept it with a hearty thank you. It is not that Oyata holds back information, it is that he presents wrong information. I am not Japanese! So, understanding this from a cultural perspective doesn’t mean that it I am not offended to be treated this way. Withhold information, if you must, but at least don’t send me chasing my tail.

George Dillman is the exact opposite as an instructor. I have, many times, had him show me some secret technique, insisting I tell no one, only to have him tell me a few weeks later how he just taught that “secret” to 100 people at the latest seminar. I came to understand that he was not actually sharing secrets that I was to keep, he was giving me a head start on the the things he was working on and planning to introduce to others. And this is part of the reason why the DKI (Dillman Karate International) instructors are so knowledgeable and skilled. As one astonished newcomer said to me, “I figured Dillman could to do it; I never thought all his people could, too.” And this is why there are competing organizations out there, teaching and presenting pressure point knowledge (they learned it by being part of the DKI, where knowledge is freely shared).

It turns out that, when knowledge is held back, it is lost. Just as Kuniba-sensei was not able to pass on all he knew in the short time he had between his diagnosis and his passing, so knowledge has been lost across the ages. But, when knowledge is shared openly, then it not only endures, it prospers. Because Dillman would share everything he knew, his students were able to explore new areas of practice. They then shared that, and we all got better. I believe we actually understand pressure point fighting methods better now, than at any point in the last century. And this is not because we are great masters. We just are generous in our teaching and sharing. In this we are simply following George Dillman’s example (who, in fairness, was following Professor Wally Jay’s example), and the result is magnificent.

So, share what you learn, and we will all become better.

Thanks for reading. Now, go train.

Chris Thomas