The Foundation Myths of Wing Chun

Every martial art has it's own folklore swirling around it's foundation. Some are in the far distant past and others are documented by newspaper accounts and newsreels.

Below is an excerpt that appeared at Kung Fu Tea concerning the foundation story of Wing Chun kung fu, as related by Ip Man. The full post may be read here. 

Many of the debates in the Wing Chun world today focus on the question of lineage.  People want to know which expression of Wing Chun best captures its essential essence?  Which is truly “authentic”?  Often it is assumed that authenticity must be expressed in terms of history.  Some individuals then conclude that the branch of Wing Chun which is the oldest must the most “true.”

Needless to say this entire exercise is problematic.  There are too many undefined terms and leaps of logic in the foregoing statement to count.  Yet this sort of reasoning is what is driving a lot of the public conversation on Wing Chun these days, lacuna and all.  Side stepping the issue of “authenticity” for a moment (a topic complex enough to deserve a post in its own right), I have real doubts that the pure expression of anything is really linked to its oldest form (or better yet, our best attempt to recreate it). 

The truth is that things change for a reason.  Historically speaking, all martial arts, almost without exception, have been forced to reinvent themselves in every generation in order to survive.  Every true Sifu or Sensei instructs his or her students not just to be a clone, but to rise to ever greater heights.  And occasionally this actually happens.  As a result our arts change, grow and evolve over time.  They adapt to new markets and new economic conditions almost continually.  What was done in the late 1700s or the mid-Ming dynasty can never truly be replicated today.  Deal with it, and consider some other ways of defining “authenticity.”

The Wing Chun Creation Myth

Of course one of the first things that we need to do when approaching the history of any martial arts is to actually separate fact from fiction.  For instance, how should we think about the oral folklore that gets passed down in almost every hand combat school?  Do we dismiss it out of hand?

That is probably not a good idea.  Folklore is passed on precisely because it is meaningful to the audience.  The folklore of Wing Chun, or pretty much any other kung fu school, reflects the actual lived experience of those who have dedicated their lives to this tradition.  This material has immense ethnographic value.

But that’s not really what most participants in the Wing Chun wars care about.  What they really want to know is, does it have any historical value?  Will it lead me to locate a Wong Wah Bo or Leung Yee Tai in the cemeteries of Guangdong if I just look hard enough?  Did these stories really happen?  Do they contain some essential grain of truth sufficient to justify my faith in the art?

The sad truth appears to be “no,” at least for the historical questions.  The orthodox Wing Chun creation story was first recorded by Ip Man sometime in the early or mid-1960s for a proposed organization called the “Ving Tsun Tong Fellowship.”  This project never panned out.  In fact, the process of creating a home organization for his brand of Wing Chun was a long drawn out ordeal with many bumps along the way.

This document, found with Ip Man’s papers after his death and now displayed by the Hong Kong Ving Tsun Athletic Association (VTAA), contains the basic Wing Chun creation story that everyone is now familiar with.  It talks about the burning of the Shaolin Temple, the escape of the Five Elders and Ng Moy’s instruction of Yim Wing Chun to beat the marketplace bully.  It then lists the subsequent transmission of the art through the Red Boat opera company to Leung Jan, Chan Wah Shun and ultimately Ip Man himself.  Interestingly enough, this 1960s era document is the oldest recoded version of this story that exists.  There is no physical evidence (actual documents, not simply a different lineage’s folklore which claims to be older) that this story was ever told in the late 19^th century.

Many historical investigations of Wing Chun take this document as their starting point.  However, even a passing familiarity with the folklore of the martial arts of Southern China indicates that this will be a problem.  The burning of the Shaolin temple (either north or south) is a myth, it never happened.  The escape of the Five Elders is a motif drawn from gangster folklore.  Yim Wing Chun bears a suspicious resemblance to female martial heroes in both Hung Gar and White Crane legends (in fact I have argued elsewhere that she is probably derived from the latter).  Lastly is the issue of Ng Moy herself.

Situating Ng Moy in the Historical Literature

The famous story about Ng Moy (related by the sons of Ip Man) watching a battle between a snake and crane is identical to the older and better established Taijiquan tradition.  Taiji was first introduced into Guangdong during the 1920s.  The appearance of this story in the Wing Chun canon appears to be a clear case of borrowing.  That is important to Ng Moy’s origins for another reason as well.  The 1920s-1930s are the first time that she appears in local literature and storytelling as a heroine rather than as a traitor and villain.

Ng Moy made her first appearance in the written record in the last few decades of the 19^th century in Guangdong province.  Unfortunately for those seeking to trace a lineage back through her, this first appearance was actually in an anonymously published popular martial arts novel titled Shengchao ding shen wannian qing (The Sacred Dynasty’s Tripod Flourishes, Verdant for Ten Thousand Years.)  Given its somewhat unwieldy title the story is usually simply called Everlasting in the English language literature.

John Christopher Hamm, in his study on Jin Yong’s martial arts novels (Paper Swordsmen 2005), spends some time discussing Everlasting and its impact on the evolution of the “old” and “new” school martial arts stories in Guangdong and Hong Kong (pp. 32-48).  Everlasting is of great interest as it was directly copied (often plagiarized) by a variety of other novels and it ended up providing almost all of the local Shaolin “lore” that ends up in subsequent films and radio plays produced in the region. 

This is a very important point to emphasize.  There is no evidence that there was ever a large body of Shaolin folklore that southern martial artists or story tellers drew from.  With the partial exception of the Triad story on the burning of the southern temple, these were not simply “folk characters” indigenous to the region.  Rather, one novelist wrote a book expanding on the escapades of the various Shaolin monks and the Emperor’s attempts to destroy them.  That book was so successful that it spawned dozens of copies.  It literally created a genera of storytelling that is still with us today.

Everlasting is very important to the question of Wing Chun’s origins as it is the very first time that Ng Moy is ever mentioned in print.  Unfortunately for us, this is not quite the same wise and loyal figure that Ip Man honors in his narrative.  The Ng Moy of the novel is crafty and prone to laying elaborate plans (a major point of continuity with her later figure), but she is also a traitor.  Along with Bakmei she betrays the Shaolin heroes to the state and ensures their destruction.  In fact, one of the underlying themes of this novel is the righteousness of Imperial authority against the lawlessness and chaos caused by the wandering, argument prone, monks of Shaolin.  Ny Moy is an agent of the order brought by the government.  She is quite literally the Emperor’s hand.  Clearly this is not the sort of character that a supposedly “revolutionary” art like Wing Chun would put at the head of its lineage.

Of course shifting assessments of “revolution” and its desirability run throughout any longitudinal discussion of martial arts folklore.  In the last few decades of the 19^th century the Chinese Imperial government was actually pretty popular among most of the population.  Yes there were cases of corrupt officials and tax revolts, but for the most part the government was seen as standing up to landowners and hated foreign intrusions.  Neo-Confucianism was accepted as the official arbiter of public morality and order.  For instance the Boxer Uprising was not a rebellion against the government, but rather a massive popular uprising in support of it against foreign religious and commercial interests. 

Somehow in Kung Fu folklore “revolutions” is always a good thing.  Yet it is pretty clear that most people in China in the late 19^th century didn’t actually think that way and had no plans to depose the Qing and restore the Ming.  Nor was aligning yourself with the hated Taipings or the criminal underground likely to improve your popularity around town.  That sort of rhetoric became markedly more popular and common around the time of the 1911 revolution.  It persisted through the 1940s due to the encouragement of both the Nationalist and Communist Party (both of which sought to use the social revolution to further their own political objectives).  Its ubiquity in martial arts folklore is really just one more piece of evidence that this is the oral culture of the 1920s-1950s that we are dealing with, not the 1820s-1850s.

While the stories of Everlasting were very popular, the end of the book (where Shaolin and the government simply could not be reconciled) seems to have troubled some readers.  Perhaps the destruction of the Shaolin Temple was too definitive.  It did not leave enough room for new stories or imaginative play in the here and now.  And that is what readers really wanted.  I suspect this is still what many martial artists actually want today, a chance to enter the story for themselves.  To experience what Mircea Eliade might have called “sacred time” in the guise of a Kung Fu story.

The novel was subsequently republished (or more accurately stolen) a number of times throughout the first few decades of the 20^th century, occasionally without its bleak conclusion.  One of the most important of these rewrites was an undated novel published during the 1930s.  Jiang Diedie’s novel Shaolin xiao yingxiong (Young Heroes from Shaolin) put the foundations in place for the eventual creation of the Yim Wing Chun narrative. 

His work lacks originality.  Many sections of text are simply copied directly from the original book, published 40 years earlier.  However, in Young Heroes the story ends when Ng Moy is able to negotiate a truce between the various feuding factions of Shaolin monks.  Rather than destroying the temple and siding with the state (all of which happened much later in the original narrative arc), she is now left the savior of Shaolin.  More importantly, she comes to be associated with those values that the Shaolin monks of Everlasting stood for; independence, stubbornness, hubris, short temper, loyalty and a love of southern China.  In short, Ng Moy was for the first time transformed into a literary hero.  She became exactly the sort of figure who someone like Ip Man might have included in his narrative.  More than that, she became the sort of figure that martial arts students would have demanded in their pedigree.

To recap, Ng Moy is not an old figure in the regions folklore.  In fact, she never appears in the folklore record at all.  Instead she is a fictional character that was invented for a written novel in the late 19^th century.  Originally she was a problematic figure and was associated with the domination of the state over Shaolin (and by extension local society).  It was not until the 1930s that this perception of her changed as authors began to rewrite the classic novel in such a way that the stories would appear to be more open ended.  Now Ng Moy was free to use her plans for good and she joined the ranks of Shaolin’s heroes.

The Wing Chun narrative recorded by Ip Man shows no knowledge of the older, original view of Ng Moy.  In fact, it is conceptually dependent on versions of the Shaolin story that were circulating in the form of novels and radio programs in the 1930s-1950s.  The established literary record forces us to conclude that Ip Man’s story must have been composed in the 1930s or later.  QED.

 

 

Yoshinkan Aikido Demonstration

Mori Shihan of Australia.

Patience in Budo Training

There was a great article over at The Budo Bum on one of the characteristics of Budo training: Nin. 

An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

Nin (忍) is a Japanese term that is not often heard standing alone. Outside Japan it is most commonly encountered in the term ninja (忍者).  Nin has nothing that directly ties it to spies and assassins though. Nin is a character trait that may be the most important generic lesson in classical budo. Every ryuha has its own essential character that makes it truly unique: they all teach nin.  

In dictionaries nin is usually translated as “patience”. Patience nails a piece of the character nin (忍). As with so many things though, to simply say “nin (忍) equals patience” is to miss a great deal. Nin is not regular patience, but the patience that quietly endures suffering and trials.

There are the obvious trials in budo, like how much your knees and feet ache from doing the first iai kata for an hour, continuing even after you’ve worn the skin off your knees.  Or the never-ending torture that is the posture known as tatehiza. Learning to endure physical discomfort with quiet stoicism is the beginning of nin (忍). Anyone who sticks with budo for any length of time learns to do this. It’s just part of the physical territory. Everyone in the dojo hurts and no one is interested in hearing you whine about it. Everyone went through the pain of learning to take good ukemi, even if taking ukemi for Sensei can knock the wind out of you.  That’s the physical side.

The other side begins when Sensei says “Shut up and train.”  In that moment it becomes time to patiently endure not just the discomfort and stress of training, but also your own curiosity and desire for answers. This is the time when your questions will only be answered by your endurance of training with doubt and misunderstanding and ignorance that gnaws at your heart. I come from a background where I was taught to always ask a question if I didn’t understand something. Ask a question and get an answer. In budo though, most often the best answer to a question is not an explanation, but more training.

It took me years to understand that my teachers were trying to tell me that the answers to most of my budo questions were to be found in training, study and contemplation. I asked Hikoso Sensei about foot sweeps in judo one evening, and I can’t imagine a more rudimentary answer. I was looking for a deep explanation of the timing and how to understand it. He showed me the proper way to move my foot when sweeping.  That’s it. The answer was that I needed to train more to understand the timing.  No amount of explanation would ever give me that. I had to put up with not understanding the timing until I did understand it, and I had to to do it knowing there was no guarantee that I would ever get it. 

Nin is about patience where you hold your tongue even though the most satisfying thing in the world would be to respond to someone’s unkind, callous or outright mean comment with a righteous comeback. Wisdom, discretion or simple maturity demand that you let it go. Without escalation, there will be no conflict.  Without nin no one would have been able to abide by the rules laid out in so many keppan (training oaths) not to engage in fights and duels until you mastered the art. If you wanted to keep training with Sensei, you had to master your emotions and learn to forebear not just the little slights, but the big insults as well. Once you joined a ryuha, everything you did reflected on the ryuha. If you got into trouble because you couldn’t hold your tongue or control your anger, it could bring the wrath of the government down on everyone in the dojo.

 

Growth in Martial Arts Training

There was a very good post at Okinawan Karate on what constitutes growth in one's training, in the context of the article, for realistic self defense. I believe the post has further implications.

An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

In a recent posting on FB by Marc MacYoung he addressed some issues regarding one's training. It is how things differ according to what you do in your training involving what he references as, "Perpetual Students." I can't get to the original at the moment but will add into this post when I find it. 

I quote, "BUT when you move into the 'doing,' your emphasis on training changes. While you return to certain training you do it to fix problems and figure out solutions to issues you didn't know existed while you were originally in training. You also expand your training into different subjects, not just variations of the same type of training over and over again." Then MM goes on to say, "Constantly repeating the same kind of training isn't growing, it's a different form of stagnation while telling yourself you're growing." 

Both of these statements are telling, to my perceptions, of the model that karate uses, mostly, to train and teach students, well, "Karate." What I see herein, until more data changes my perceptions, is in fact a fact about how karate uses "repetitive training" and especially those who are a certain kind of traditionalist where deviating or diverging from the "exact way the master" teaches things like basics, kata, drills, etc., is blasphemy. 

I am an advocate of using the traditional forms as a basic entry level training model and emphasize strongly that once you get to a certain point, especially if for self-protection for self-defense, you have to let that form go in a way somewhat described by MM's quote, you have to use it for change, i.e., "to fix problems and figure out solutions to issues you didn't know existed while you were originally in training." 

Caveat: Listen, karate is a good thing when it emphasizes ONLY sport, competitions and a more philosophical "the way" types of practices and I strongly believe that for self-protection for self-defense you MUST diverge away from the traditional and into a reality-based created model that does what I said in the last paragraph, i.e., you must use it "to fix problems and figure out solutions to issues you didn't know existed while you were originally in training." Especially, in my view, when tested against the reality of violence and conflict with emphasis on any actual experiences you may have had. 

I also agree, in my own way, that the way many practice karate today, and in the past, have created a comfort zone of stagnation, as MM refers to in his quote, that presents and places limits, obstacles and obstructions of both body and mind on the practitioner for efficient and practical use toward conflict and violence… you know, out there, in the streets of life. 

Reading a bit more, I believe the quote in the picture of the FB post was the trigger to MM’s comments. The quote on a picture of Dan Inosanto was, “I train as many arts as possible. I’m constantly learning all the time. Once you stop being a student you stop growing.” Now, I have to do some fact checking because this quote may or may not be from Mr. Inosanto but let’s focus on the quote. 

William Fairbairn Explains Martial Arts

 Below is vintage video of the legendary William Fairbairn explaining martial arts. Enjoy.

 

 

Zanshin: The State of a Fighting Mind

Zanshin is an important concept in Japaneses martial arts. Below is a post that appeared at Shotokan Times, which discusses Zanshin; particularly in Karate. The full post may be read here.

What does Zanshin mean?

Literally translated, zanshin means ‘left over or remaining heart /spirit/mind’. However, for the dedicated karateka, it means the state of total awareness. Being still within, while aware of one’s surroundings, and being totally prepared for anything.
It also conveys the fighting spirit of the individual after the fight. If victorious, the fighter needs a forward-looking awareness and should not lose focus by the victory. If by chance the fighter loses, he will carry an indomitable spirit with honor and grace. Then no real defeat of the character takes place. To encapsulate in a single sentence:

‘Zanshin can be said to be a state of total, calm, alertness. Before, during and after combat a physical, mental and spiritual state of awareness.

Some Western Interpretations

I’ve heard many attempts by instructors to translate the concept into English for the western student to understand:

• being in the zone, a mental state of focused concentration on the performance of an activity; while dissociating oneself from distracting, irrelevant aspects of one’s environment.
• a state of readiness to do again what you have already successfully done.
• to focus intently on the moment (without emotion)… a state of sustained, committed concentration.

Other Arts also Require Zanshin

Zanshin is not the exclusive property of karate, or even the martial arts in general. It is a necessary characteristic of any credible soldier, police officer, security operative or martial artist. Also, outside of any fighting formats, the Japanese art of ikebana (flower arranging), Chado (the tea ceremony) and Sumi-e (ink painting) requires zanshin: a state of being ever ‘present’.

In kyudo, the Japanese martial art of archery, it refers to the body posture after the loosing of an arrow. The posture reflects the mental aspect (zanshin) maintained before, during, and after an action.

In kendo, the concept describes the continued state of alertness, spirit, mind and body, and readiness to meet the situation maintained throughout the whole situation . Zanshin – maintained before, during, and after an action – is one of the essential elements that define a good attack.

In iaido, the practice is calm and quiet, and the most important feature of iaido is the development of zanshin (a calm, reflective mind) throughout.

Zanshin in Shotokan Karate

In Budo karate competition, shobu sanbon or shobu ippon, to score with a technique requires zanshin. Fighters must maintain the mental aspect before, during, and after the scoring technique and not just a show at the end for performance.

Without zanshin, kata would appear only as a number of techniques performed in a dramatic arrangement (as seems to be the case for most sport karate performers). Enoeda Keinosuke Sensei (whom I had the good fortune to have as my chief instructor in my formative karate years), for instance, performed kata like the midst of battle.

Certainly, as well as kime, one of the aspects that a Shotokan karateka should be displaying, at the very latest, in preparation for shodan (that first blackbelt grading) is a solid understanding of zanshin.

A Brief History of Chinese Martial Arts

At National Geographic, there was a surprisingly good article that offered a brief history of Chinese Martial Arts. Below is an excerpt. The full article may be read here.

Qi Jiguang certainly knew his way around a battlefield. A military leader in the 16^thCentury, during the Ming dynasty, he spent many years defending eastern China from attacks by Japanese raiders and pirates, and later oversaw a massive reinforcement of the Great Wall of China. He is also credited with being the first person to document Chinese martial arts – in his military manual New Treatise on Military Efficiency (or Jixiao Xinshu).

According to Jonathan Clements, author of A Brief History of the Martial Arts, this is “the earliest, verifiable source that actually explains martial arts as a practical set of moves or ideas”. In its 14^thchapter, translated as ‘The Fist Canon and the Essentials of Nimbleness’, Qi explains the importance of unarmed combat as a vital tool to train soldiers. 

Of course, martial arts had existed for centuries before Qi defined them. One legendary exponent of the practice – Hua Mulan, the 5th-century Chinese warrior of folklore, and the hero of Disney's Mulan – is today honoured with an eponymous style of tai chi. (The Walt Disney Company is majority owner of National Geographic.)

And while this hints at the venerability of the activity, it's literally not even the half of it. “There are mentions stretching back more than two thousand years,” Clements tells National Geographic. “[The philosopher] Confucius himself mentions the ‘war dances’ of the Bronze Age, which are liable to be the ancient term for some kind of weapons-based calisthenics. But we don’t know what these war dances actually comprised.” 

Shadowy beginnings

In their broadest definition, martial arts – systems of combat, essentially – have existed for as long as humans have been killing each other. Depressingly, that’s the entire history of our species.

According to the International Wushu Federation, the governing body for wushu (or Chinese kung fu) in all its forms worldwide, “the origins of wushu may be traced back to early man and his struggle for survival in the harsh environment during [the] Bronze Age, or even earlier, a struggle that led to the development of techniques to defend against both wild animals and other human beings”. 

Throughout ancient Chinese historical writings there are numerous references to different codes of unarmed combat. Crucially, though (like the aforementioned Hua Mulan herself) none can be historically verified. For that reason it might be wrong to accept them as more than myth or folklore.

As Clements stresses: “It’s very frustrating for the historian, because we go overnight, in the 16th century, from having no evidence at all to having claims that martial arts have been around for at least 500 years or even longer. But there’s no intermediate stage that allows us to verify that information.”

In any history of Chinese martial arts, there is one early pioneer who crops up again and again – that’s Sun Tzu, author of the 5^thCentury BCE treatise, The Art of War. Clements is not so sure, however.

“There are plenty of martial arts teachers who will quote from The Art of War and say it’s a manual of martial arts, but Sun Tzu makes no mention of unarmed combat – and really doesn’t have a whole lot to say about armed combat either. So some of his aphorisms can be applied to unarmed combat, but were never intended for that purpose.” (In 2012 Clements published a new translation of Sun Tzu’s book). 

Around the same time as The Art of War, stories arose of the Maiden of Yue – a female martial arts instructor who famously counselled her king, Goujian, on fighting methods. Clements points out that there’s no proof the story is based on real events, but that “it’s fascinating to see the matter-of-fact way in which one of the earliest martial arts teachers in the records is a woman”.

“There’s this chauvinist assumption that war is a man’s job and a man’s calling, but Goujian doesn’t seem to care,” he adds. “He knows she’s the best and so she’s the one he wants to hire.” 

This story itself has echoes with that of Hua Mulan, who as the fable recounts, disguised herself as a man in order to take the place of her ailing father in the imperial army. Her subsequent mastery of the skills of combat and rise as a warrior was the subject of The Ode of Mulan, an anonymous folk poem believed to have been written in the Northern Wei Dynasty (386-534 AD).     

What is Taiji Mantis Kung Fu?

 

Below is a short video from Monkey Steals Peach describing Taiji Mantis Kung Fu.

 

 

 

Tadashi Nakamura: From Kyokushin to Seido Karate

Tadashi Nakamura was one of the earliest students of Mas Oyama of Kyukushin Karate and was considered by many to be the heir apparent to lead the organization. Nakamura however, broke away and formed his own style and organization.

Below is an excerpt from an article that appeared at Finding Karate about this remarkable man. The full post may be read here.

For a long time, Tadashi Nakamura was one of Mas Oyama’s top students. He won national recognition when he fought for the honour of Japanese Karate. He has also gone on to lead his own Karate organisation, with over 20,000 students worldwide.

Tadashi Nakamura was born on 22 February 1942. He came from a middle-class family. His mother was a doctor and his father a banker.

In 1953 Nakamura was introduced to Karate by his older brothers, who studied Wado-ryu and Goju-ryu Karate.

Mas Oyama opened a small dojo in 1953. The dojo was located behind Rikkyo University, Tokyo. Nakamura switched styles and dojos in 1956, becoming one of Oyama’s first students. At the time Oyama taught elements of Goju-ryu, Shorei-ryu, and Kobayashi-ryu Karate, all styles he had learnt.

Training with Oyama was extremely tough. Students frequently left training sessions very tired. There were four classes a week, with each training session lasting 3-4 hours. Sparring sessions in the class lasted for over an hour and were filled with a lot of intensity and violence. Many students joined and left the dojo, finding the training sessions too tough. Injuries were no excuse for not training.

Nakamura stuck to his training. In 1959 he was awarded his 1st Dan by Oyama. At the time he was the youngest student to be awarded a black belt by Oyama.

In 1961 Nakamura took part in his first tournament, the All-Japan Student Open Karate Championship. He won the tournament. He was 19 years old at the time. This would be the first of many tournament successes.

Nakamura began teaching Karate at Camp Zama, a United States military base, Near Tokyo. He was the Chief Instructor at the camp until 1965.

An international match was set up in 1962, to find out whether Thailand or Japan had the best martial art and artists.

The Thais had said that Japanese Karate was dead. They issued a challenge to the Japanese, which Oyama accepted. He sent his three top students, Kenji Kurosaki, Nakamura, and Noboru Ozawa. The challenge took place at the Lumpinee Boxing Stadium, Bangkok, Thailand. The Japanese won two of the three fights. In his bout, Nakamura fought the Thai kickboxing champion, knocking him out. This made him a national hero back home in Japan.

In 1964 Oyama officially founded Kyokushin Karate. He also established the International Karate Organisation (IKO).

On 21 May 1965, Steve Arneil became the first person after Oyama to complete the 100-Man Kyokushin Challenge. The challenge was devised as the ultimate mental and physical test. On 15 October of that year, Nakamura became the next man to successfully complete the challenge.

By 1966 Nakamura had graduated from university, with a degree in Architecture. He was offered a position at the company, Daiichi, at a very good salary. However, much to the disappointment of his parents, he dreamed of travelling the world and teaching Karate.

On 5 April 1966, Nakamura got his wish. Oyama selected him to go to the United States to spread Kyokushin Karate. He became the first overseas Kyokushin Karate instructor in the country.

Aged 24 years at the time, Nakamura set up his first dojo at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, in New York.

In the beginning, things were slow to pick up. Nakamura faced challengers who wanted to test him and his style of martial arts. His reputation had preceded him. Many of these challenges eventually became his students. He conducted numerous seminars and demonstrations across the United States, to build up interest in Kyokushin Karate.

By 1971 Kyokushin had begun to grow in the United States. Nakamura was now the recognised head of Kyokushin Karate in America. He had established the North American Kyokushin Karate headquarters, which had over 30 schools affiliated to it.

By 1974 Nakamura had been ranked to 6th Dan. Interest in Kyokushin had spread around the world. There were many requests for instructors to conduct seminars. He and Shigeru Oyama (no relation to Mas Oyama) were sent to run a national training course in New Zealand.

Nakamura made a momentous decision in 1976, by deciding to break ties with his mentor, Mas Oyama, and Kyokushin Karate. This had been a very difficult decision for him. With the rapid growth of Kyokushin around the world, he felt something had been lost in the quality and in the teaching of the Karate style.

Nakamura’s decision was not well received, back in the IKO headquarters in Japan. He had been seen by some as the heir apparent to Oyama and the Kyokushin empire. He was vilified and defamed. Oyama had even wanted him banished from the martial arts world.

Wanting style of Karate that represented his own beliefs, Nakamura established his own style called Seido Juku Karate. Seido means ‘Sincere Way‘. On 15 October 1976, he established the World Seido Karate Organisation.

There was still a lot of resentment by some, towards Nakamura for leaving Kyokushin Karate. In February 1977 he was shot in a Manhattan parking lot. Luckily he survived the attack and persevered with building his Seido organisation.

Through most of the 1980s, Nakamura worked hard at establishing Seido Karate. 1989 saw the publication of his autobiography, ‘The Human Face of Karate: My Life, My Karate-do‘.

By 1996 Seido Karate had become established internationally. On 20 October Seido celebrated its 20th Anniversary at an event held at the Avery Fisher Hall, at the Lincoln Centre, New York. Nakamura received many congratulatory letters from people like Bill Clinton, Al Gore, Nelson Mandela, and Boutros Boutros-Ghali, in admiration and respect of what he had achieved with Seido Karate. At the event the 1st World Tournament also took place.