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Avoiding Bloodshed and Non-lethal Methods

There is a well-known story about the founder of the Masaki-ryu school of kusarifundo-jutsu (weighted chain techniques) being a guard at the Edo (presently Tokyo) Castle. Apparently, he developed the techniques with the weighted chain because he was seeking a weapon that would allow him to deal with criminals and ne'er-do-wells, be they armed or not, in a way that did not shed blood. At issue was a need to avoid defiling the gate, which was considered a sacred location.

The jutte (truncheon with a prong/hook) is another weapon that is associated with less lethal application of force. This weapon was used by Edo era police officers who were occasionally confronted with the task of bringing armed warriors to justice. The jutte came to be integrally associated with law enforcement, and, I have read, even functioned as does a badge for current police officers to identify them as authority figures.

The need to avoid bloodshed is a reality that faces current law enforcement and even, in limited but growing instances, military personnel. Of course, less than lethal force requirements only apply against non-lethal threats as far as US law enforcement or military personnel are concerned. This makes the situation a little different than the Edo era guards and officers who I understand were more bound by these requirements - even when faced with sword-wielding attackers.

I should distinguish between two requirements for clarity's sake. The Edo castle guards, as I understand it, were trying to avoid bloodshed, but I have not heard or read anything indicating that they sought to avoid being lethal. (e.g. If you wrap a chain around some brigand's neck and throw him violently over your back you may succeed preventing bloodstains on the gate without keeping the criminal still alive.) On the other hand, the Edo town police were supposed to keep suspects alive (if, perhaps, badly beaten down) for their "hearings." If any one knows whether this understanding is correct or not, I would be interested to know.

There is also a good deal of difference between present-day authorities and those of the Edo era in terms of the level of technology available. I have visited Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Maryland on a couple occasions. Aberdeen is the site of a wide variety of testing centers used to put all manner of weapons, vehicles, and equipment used by both the military and by non-DoD customers through its paces. Among the non-lethals I was shown were various projectiles such as bean-bags and rubber bullets, stun-gun like devices, and gas grenades. However, these were still at the low-tech end of the spectrum compared to devices in development such Area Denial Systems based on millimeter wave technology (only good for running the opposition and off not for detaining them.)

The Edo era Japanese did develop some interesting tools given the technology available such as clothing entanglers attached to long pole-arms. This type of tool allowed them to keep a samurai outside of sword reach while taking them under control. There was, of course, also an old-time version of the current CS gas riot control agent that could be blown out of a specially-designed box.

I am currently working on a concept for an article on Jinen ryu juttejutsu, kusari fundo jutsu, and tessen jutsu that considers the strategy of dealing with an armed opponent with non-lethal force. This is an challenging position to be in, and I believe requires intense will.

Strategy at the Speed of Instinct

Strategy is a term defined in many different ways depending upon the interests and perspective of the user. Traditionally, the military use of the word defines planning at a certain level of analysis, and its point of reference is tactics and, in some cases, operations. In other words, strategy from this perspective is a set of plans and high level intermediary goals intended to achieve victory in a war (or some other grandiose level of engagement.) On the other hand, tactics are concerned with battles, or other lesser forms of engagement. (Operations, when the term is used as it was by the Soviet Army, describes a level in between tactics and strategy.) In an academic environment, strategy is defined as a “game” or interaction in which the decision-making of more than one “player” determines the outcomes achieved. This is the game theoretic approach to strategy. Game Theorists distinguish “games of strategy” from “games of skill” in which the optimal outcome is attained by doing an action the best in absolute terms (i.e. one needn’t concern oneself with the opposition’s actions just with doing the action the best one can), and “games of chance” in which probability has a hand. A foot race is a game of skill. One merely needs to be concerned with running as fast as one can, and not with what the opposition is doing (I know track and field athletes will balk at this simplification.) [A fair game of] Roulette is a game of pure chance. In other words, the outcome achieved depends upon a probability distribution. Chess is a game of strategy in that there is no optimal game for one player devoid of knowledge about what the other player is doing.

Combat is a game of strategy carried out at the speed of instinct. Whereas chess, even played against the clock, is a game of thoroughly conscious thought; we know that conscious thought is like the deadweight of a chain and anchor around one’s neck in a fight. The question at hand is how one carries out a game of strategy at the speed of instinct?

I believe that first and foremost this involves developing a good intuition with respect to recognize critical distances for a variety of opponent body types and against a variety of types of weapons. The first layer of strategy then becomes dominating the distance to one’s advantage. The only way do develop this intuition is to train against a range of different opponents and to do so both against unarmed opponents and those with weapons. This must be done until there is no need to think about or consciously gauge distance.

There are a variety of strategies that are embodied in kata (practice techniques) that can be drilled the point of becoming instinctual. One is creating a false impression of an opening. One fools the opponent into attacking in a manner that does not really serve them well by facilitating a belief that one is vulnerable. A second is to repeat the same action a number of times to lure the opponent into an inappropriate anticipatory act. The first time an attack is done, the opponent has no reason to anticipate what might come next, but after the second similar attack (an over-thinking opponent) may begin to think he knows something – for example, that another attack will come next as an opponent would never do the same thing a third time or, conversely, that it will be the same attack. By the time the third attack done in the same manner comes around, the opponent may begin to think he has seen the sum total of one’s bag of tricks, and, at that time, be drawn into wrongly anticipating the next attack. It is important to note that stratagems based on deceit can be too obvious to work. It is true that, with limited reaction times, an opponent may fall for something they wouldn’t if they had had the ability to contemplate the situation more thoroughly, but a skilled opponent will have developed the instincts to avoid falling into glaring traps.

The bottom line seems to be the need to engage in a lot of both kata and randori (free form) training, and to do them both with a high level of awareness and recognition of the importance of the mind. One does what one drills, and so it is important to engrain sound principles into one’s movement. However, it is also important ensure one can apply principles in uncertain circumstance. It may be best to apply these two types of training in a progressively increasing ratio of randori to kata (i.e. starting with little or no randori and steadily increasing the proportion of free form training over one’s training lifetime.)

For the most part, the modern study of strategy, which is embodied in game theory, has little to offer by way of relevant lessons for a martial artist. After all, the domain of game theory is advanced mathematics, and it is supremely cerebral. John Nash, who many of you may know as the crazy guy Russell Crowe played in “A Beautiful Mind” and others may know as the man who extended Von Neumann’s concept of equilibria to non-zero-sum games, once said that [paraphrasing] ‘Game theory is like string theory, a mathematically elegant theory in search of empirical support.’ Also, I think Thomas Schelling, another Nobel Prize-winning Game Theorist who is considered the architect of Mutual Assured Destruction, said that the problem with eloquent mathematical solutions is that if the other player(s) is/are unable or unwilling to do the math, then the result one finds to be optimal may not be realized. However, there are concepts from game theory that are worth contemplation. One of these concepts is that it is often the case that both sides may end up with outcomes that are less than optimal simply because of imperfect information. One classic example of this is the prisoner’s dilemma in which two conspiring suspects could both get off Scott-free if they only had confidence that the other would keep his mouth shut. Because they can’t, they roll over on each other and end up with the worst possible joint outcome. While this may be of little value in combat, it may be of value before combat.

As I have now rambled inexcusably off topic, I will quit here for the day.

The Missing Cultural Context

I had an epiphany of sorts while sitting in a park in Beijing. Seeing a spry old man doing tai chi, I realized I could not imagine still being capable of training as an octogenarian - even in as slow and low-impact a martial art as this man's style of tai chi. Furthermore, I could not imagine many of the martial artists I know training at that age. Myself and most of the martial artists I know are in their 30s and 40s, and, though some have developed impressive powers such as the ability to tell when it will rain beforehand (albeit from the shooting pains in their knees), most seem to suffer from premature aging. I, myself, have joints that on occasion produce sounds not unlike dry gravel being rolled around in a wet sock. It is clear that the practice of martial arts can take a considerable toll on joints and bones.

Besides acting their age (i.e. adjusting their training to their stage in life), there seems to be a great deal inherent in the culture of various Asian countries that help keep older martial artists spry - rather than disabled. These factors are not necessarily directly related to the martial arts, but they form a context within which these martial arts developed and are practiced in their nations of origin.

In Japan, a lifetime of getting up from low seated position builds up joints, muscles, and connective tissue in a manner that is hard to duplicate for people who move off the floor by the time we are in kindergarten and only return for events such as tornados and bank robberies. Even spending a couple hours a day doing seated techniques (suwari gata) is not likely to compensate - particularly if one begins this practice as an adult when the skeletal system is mature and connective tissues have lost their pliability. Chinese people often squat in place rather than standing, and this too makes a life-long habit of working the legs through their full range of motion. Moving through the full range of motion seems to be quite important to developing a combination of flexibility, endurance, and strength.

There are other parts of this cultural context that serve Asians well such as the Japanese fondness for hot baths, a more holistic view of health and medicine, and a tendency toward a lean diet with less fatty foods and less refined sugar. I have been reading about Traditional Chinese Medicine as of late. It is interesting, while a fair amount of what I read does not seem to literally jibe with anatomy and physiology as modern science knows it, it is clear that that there is an understanding of the interconnectedness of body's systems based on centuries of observation and practice.

Of course, the value of cultural context can be seen in mental as well as physical aspects. Buddhism emphasizes the value of living in the moment and non-attachment, both of which are invaluable in the martial arts. These issues, of course, do not tend to be a major point in Western religion or philosophy.

I'm not entirely certain what my point is here. It is certainly not that one needs to forsake one's own culture in order to practice budo. However, I think just being aware of how a broader cultural context influenced these martial arts is useful to the ability to make subtle beneficial changes in one's life that may extend one's training life.

Conquered by My Own Weapon: Battling a 12ft. Spear

My arch-nemesis appears to the left in the foreground under the window in the above photo of the Jinenkan Honbu Dojo. (Unfortunately the heads are cut off.)

Lest some of my more serious-minded postings leave the misleading impression that I take myself too seriously- or actually know what I am talking about for that matter- let me convey my humbling experience learning how to use a twelve foot long spear (i.e. yon tatami / ju-ni shaku, or 3.7 meters for Japanophiles or people from scientifically-sophisticated parts of the planet, respectively) as a means of disabusing readers of these impressions.

In June I had the great fortune to be able to learn from Manaka-Sensei at the Jinenkan Honbu Dojo in Noda City, Japan and to train with the students there for a week. In addition to the Jinen-ryu Juttejutsu (hooked truncheon weapon training) that I was taught during the week, I attended the weekly scheduled classes during which Sensei was teaching Shinden-Fudo Ryu Jutaijutsu Okuden Gata (unarmed grappling skills of a particular school and level) and Kukishin-Ryu Soujutsu (spear - fighting from the "9 Demons" school). The most challenging training of the week, it seemed, involved warm-ups consisting of the basic thrusts done with a 12 foot long spear.

Now the 12 foot spear is about 3 foot longer than anything I have trained with, and about 6 foot longer than anything I have trained with extensively. Also, it is a little beyond the ideal length for doing kata agilely (i.e. up to 9 foot). In contrast to just walking into the opposition or letting them ride/walk into the spear point in the manner of a foot-soldier. However, it is a workable length for kata (if you have the space), and, sadly, at this point there was no one with a bokken (wooden sword) parrying my thrusts and advancing in on me (or anything else that might be a challenge to my movement.) On the contrary, all I had to do was perform five simple tasks each time I thrust:

1. Use the full length of the spear. (i.e. always end up at the very butt-end of the spear)
2. Keep the lead hand palm down.
3. Squeeze the shaft under my armpit just before impact.
4. Pull back the spear point at least as quickly as I attacked and strongly.
5. Keep on balance throughout the thrust. (i.e. don't lean, or be carried, forward)

Whether it was a lead-hand thrust, a rear-hand thrust, a thrust in which both hands were raised together in conjunction to swing forward like a battering ram, or, the ultimate challenge, thrusting from jizuri gedan no kamae-which essentially involved slinging the spear its entire length while getting all of the above elements locked in before it flew out of my hands- those five points were all I really had to perfect. Unfortunately, this proved to be about three points too many for any given thrust.

The training proceeded as such. I would concentrate intently in order to try to avoid throwing the spear out the side of the dojo or else wise making an ass of myself. When I thought I had it together, I would thrust. And Sensei would say: "Roll your lead hand over more."

On the next thrust I would concentrate on that, and he might say: "Don't lean forward."

And so it would go with Sensei displaying saintly patience as he cycled through reminders about whatever my single most egregious error was in the previous thrust- neither over-burdening me about all my mistakes, nor letting me slide with a substandard technique.

Having now been training for quite some time (it is 20 years this year since I first began attending training in budo), I have had progressively fewer opportunities to remember what it is like to be a rank amateur. This is not to imply that I am not frequently challenged by training. However, it is one thing to find difficulty in performing impeccable footwork, timing, breathing, or awareness when faced with a live training partner who is moving, adjusting, and countering; and quite another to have such difficulty carrying out the rote actions of thrusting air. This, I think, is a good way to reinvigorate one's training.

Chinese Martial Arts in 20th Century Conflicts?: An Open Question

Last month I was in Beijing and visited the China People's Revolution Military Museum. From the outset I should say that I have virtually no knowledge of Chinese Martial Arts, historical or otherwise. This, in fact, is the cause of this post which is intended as a question to any reader knowledgeable on the subject- rather than my usual pontification.

The heart of the museum is a series of chronological displays covering the fight against Japan during World War II, and, even more extensively, the Communist perspective on the Chinese Civil War that resulted in the rise of the Communist Party to power. As I walked through these halls, I saw extensive collections of hand weapons that I associate with Kung Fu (Wu Shu) such as halberds, spears, forked spears, steel multi-sectional "whips", what in Japan / Okinawa would be called a "sai" (a truncheon with two diametrically opposed prongs), and swords. What I am wondering was the degree to which such close-range hand weapons actually played a part in the conflict? Furthermore, if they did, was it kung fu or just crude application of these kung fu weapons in a kind of impromptu "street-fighting"? My curiosity arises because this is so far into the era of dominance of firearms and warfare ruled by much longer range weapons (artillery, tanks, etc.). I have always had a deep fascination with people who choose to fight against opponents holding overwhelming advantages, be it the Melians of Thucydides's "Peloponnesian War" or the Afghan Mujaheddin versus the Soviets. While I suspect people armed with such weapons would have had, at best, limited success, any success at all could present very interesting case studies in strategy.

At first I thought that they might have simply been sloppy in mixing weapons from different periods together, but very quickly the English signage and the thorough organization of the museum made it clear that this was not the case. My impression of the Communist Party's views on the martial arts during that period was one of open hostility. (As opposed to the present day, during which they are paid hommage as a cash cow.) I know that the Cultural Revolution and its attempts to eliminate kung fu came much later, but even before that I had thought that Mao did not have a very friendly perspective on the martial arts because he believed students would have too great a loyalty to their teachers - to the potential detriment of their loyalty to the party and the nation.

Another possibility that arose in my mind had to do with the propagandistic nature of the museum. (A sign showing the typical level of propaganda displayed in this museum can be seen above.) It seemed as though the People's Liberation Army (PLA) really wanted to create an image that the Communists defeated the Kuomintang against all odds so as to bolster the myth that they had all of the people on their side and thus were able to overwhelm the technological advantage of their opposition. There is a great deal of emphasis placed upon how the US supplied the Kuomintang with the latest weaponry, and there were a lot of these hand weapons to reinforce the image of peasants fighting against machine guns with what amounted to pitchforks and machetes, because such was the intense love for the Communist Party in the cockles of their heart.

I would be interested to hear the comments or views of anyone who knows something about this.

Those interested in China's People's Revolution Military Museum more generally can see a more detailed post on my other blog at: http://vimdy.wordpress.com/2008/06/25/in-beijing-military-museum-a-must-see/

The Virtuous Life of Kusunoki Masashige

I took the photo of the statue to the left in a park outside the Imperial Palace in Tokyo on a recent trip to Japan. The warrior that the statue honors is Kusunoki Masashige. The statue is not there because of any role that Kusunoki had in Edo (predecessor name for Tokyo), his exploits were carried out to the southwest in the area closer to Osaka and Kyoto. Rather, it is because he is considered such a paragon of virtue that his statue has such a prominent place in the nation's capital.

It should be noted that the legend of Kusunoki Masashige has probably been inflated beyond reality. Kusunoki is a major character in the war tale called the "Taiheiki" that chronicles the war between the Northern and Southern courts in the 14th century, and this book serves as a major source of information about the man's life. However, while there is almost certainly exaggeration, there seems to be a great deal of consensus about the gist the events of his life, and, even by a conservative reading, he is an estimable individual.

Kusunoki was not particularly noteworthy in terms of his position or his activities before he became involved in the war against the Hojo Shogunate. He was head of a small rural fief. Instead, he is remember as a brilliant strategist who was able to defeat forces that held overwhelming advantages, and, even more so, as an exemplar of epic loyalty.

As a strategist, he is most well known for his success at Chihaya, a crucial fortress that he took control of and then maintained against a ten week siege by a vastly larger force of the Hojo Shogunate army. He used guerrilla tactics to both defend, and, on occasion, to make swift attacks against the opposition. One method he used to defeat a large number of men with only a few was to lure the opposition forces into position to crush them with falling boulders. He had large boulders positioned so that his forces could roll them down on the opponent. He then used a deceit by setting up dummy warriors to draw the warriors into position. He was then able to use a small force to take the remaining prisoners. He is also known to have taken advantage of vanity by taunting opponents into unwise attacks.

However, what Kusunoki is most beloved for by the Japanese people is his supreme loyalty. He fought for Emperor Go-Daigo without wavering. His tragic tale ended when he followed an order that he knew would lead to his ultimate demise. He died by sepuku with his brother and, apparently, much of the remainder of his force after having fought a hard, but doomed, battle at the Minato River. His story stands in stark contrast to that of the man who defeated him. Ashikaga Takauji fought with Emperor Go-Daigo's forces to oust the Hojo Shogunate, but later fought against Kusunoki on a course that would allow Ashikaga to eventually start his own Shogunate. While loyalty and honor are seen as core samurai values, it is none-the-less true that the more self-serving Ashikaga was likely more typical than the exemplary Kusunoki.