Why Traditional Martial Arts Still Matter
(Even If You’ll Get Smashed in MMA)
Traditional Martial Arts get a bad rap these days.
What once struck fear into the average person now elicits quite the opposite response. If someone told you they were a black belt in Shotokan Karate in the '90s or early 2000s, you’d most likely make a mental note to either not mess with this dude or befriend him as a possible ally should shit hit the fan.
Now they’d most likely be laughed at, and the slightly overweight bloke who once respected it will give you an armchair Joe Rogan-esque analysis of why Shotokan Karate wouldn’t work in the streets.
The rise of the 'just see red' bro has made a mockery of what were once some of the most feared fighting styles ever conceived.
And to be honest, for good reason.
MMA was still in its infancy around that time. The UFC was cast as barbaric and brutish, destined to only be viewed on a sketchy VHS tape bought from the slightly unhinged bloke at the pub.
I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. I started when I was young and it took me around five or so years to reach the coveted belt. I’ve also dabbled in Shaolin Kung Fu, Wing Chun and can still swing a pair of nunchaku around for a few minutes before cracking myself in the balls. Intimidating stuff.
But, if you’ve been reading along, you’ll know that I wasn’t exactly a fighting prodigy, often losing more fights than I’ve 'won'. Both regulated within a sports hall, and in the middle of a road at 2am.
So if not to fight, what the fuck did all of those years teach me? Because although I love to poke fun, I’m super grateful to my parents for supporting it, and I really wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
Tae Kwon Do gave me an incredible foundation physically. I remember vividly in my first lesson being taught how to punch correctly, the instructor untucking my thumb from my fist and explaining that it would break if I hit anything.
I still see grown adults do this.
I was taught that power comes from the hips. I learned how to whip my legs into nasty, powerful kicks. My balance and stability strengthened as a result. Hell, back then they even taught us a few joint locks and chokes.
Our master was a man called Michael Dew, at the time a 6th degree black belt and very high up in the International Tae Kwon Do Federation. Our academy acted as the HQ for the Tae Kwon Do Association of Great Britain, and was held in very high regard.
Mr Dew was brilliant and beloved by all. He was understanding, patient, empathetic, and a brilliant teacher. It was no wonder he was so respected in the community.
You couldn’t really get more traditional as a martial arts school.
I did notice things even back then that would now be regarded in modern martial arts as 'red flags'.
There was a black belt at our academy called Conan. A super friendly dude, if not a little unhinged in the eyes (which also didn’t quite look in the same direction, which somehow made him seem even more crazed).
Conan would take the class if the other instructors couldn’t make it, where he would teach us every illegal technique under the sun. Spinning backfists, crotch shots, eye pokes—the whole shebang.
Remember, this was a class made up mainly of 12–16 year-olds. We fucking loved it.
Word got back to the owner and soon Conan wasn’t allowed to teach anymore, much to our disappointment. But if you were lucky to get paired up with him, he’d sneakily teach you a few nasty moves. Legend.
The above I can understand—the last thing Mr Dew needed was a bunch of tweens running around Bristol kicking people in the dick and gouging their eyes out.
I remember seeing a letter pinned to the noticeboard one day. It was from an old student who had moved to another school. Handwritten, begging Mr Dew and the academy to allow them to train again. This person was willing to start fresh from white belt and work their way up the ranks all over again.
The letter had two words scrawled over the top in permanent marker:
"YEAH RIGHT!"
It was a warning.
Loyalty was paramount. The letter served as a reminder that you were already at the best TKD school in the country. Any cross-training or moving to another gym would label you traitorous. Or a 'creonte', as the BJJ community will be familiar.
Lee, another black belt, once expressed his desire to fight MMA. He was told in no uncertain terms he would be kicked out, never to return, if he was to pursue the idea.
We also paid for gradings, another 'no-no' in today's world. Gradings were huge affairs—students from all over the country would travel to Bristol to be assessed for their next belt. The highest-ranked black belts would be in attendance, the training room would be transformed into a formal space with room for family and friends.
Personally, I don’t see a problem with this. I know some people will scream fraud or greed, but it was clear how much effort would go into these days. It made the whole event special and anticipated.
These gradings were where I first learned to deal with nerves. An environment where I was able to feel stressed and anxious, and perform anyway. A hugely valuable lesson for a young man, in my opinion.
These gradings were every six months or so—teaching me patience. I was made to understand that you cannot have things in life the moment you want them. If you’ll allow me to wear my old man hat for a second sentence: patience seems to be a fast diminishing trait in a lot of today's youth. In a world where every single piece of human knowledge ever to exist can be accessed by a little rectangle in your pocket instantly, why wait for anything?
The environments traditional martial arts provide may be one of the last true bastions of patience that still exist.
My time doing Tae Kwon Do instilled discipline within me too. Reaching that next belt required it in abundance. Often I wouldn’t want to go, but would anyway (sometimes with some persuasion from Mum) and I would always have fun and be filled with a sense of satisfaction.
There were patterns (or Kata) to learn, new techniques, even the Korean language! We would go through the movements over and over again, cementing it into muscle memory. It required a great deal of study outside of the training room too. I would barely get my homework done on a good day, but my TKD student handbook was dog-eared and falling apart with how much use it had.
Five years is an eternity for a kid. Training twice a week, competing, and studying for the entire duration is a massive achievement and deserves to be celebrated. It’s not the Russian ballet dancer's level of commitment, agreed. However, there wasn’t the incentive of not having acid thrown in my face. Swings and roundabouts, innit.
Socially, the impact was massive. Sure, we had slightly cooked but loveable units like my man Conan, and the equally cooked, not-as-warm people like Lee. But the majority of people there were super normal, lovely humans from all walks of life.
I made some brilliant friends through the academy, often hanging out together outside of the gym. I was exposed to differing family dynamics like single parents, kids who had it worse than me, and kids who had it 'better'.
One summer I joined the annual camp. A long weekend of outdoor activities, campfires, and training. I was bullied relentlessly by a younger kid for the first day or so—the little cunt putting greasy food in my sleeping bag, keeping me and the other lad in the tent up all night screaming his head off, and rallying his other little minions against me. It was the first time I’d experienced such personal, targeted attacks and was a very real lesson in not letting people who don’t matter—or I’ll never see again—have an impact on me.
That same camp I had an amazing time with other, less cunty children. I clicked with my other tent-mate over our mutual love of Pokemon, building dams in the creek in our free time. I fancied the pants off an older girl who was a red (hot) belt. Despite my Olympic-level somersaults into the pool, she didn’t even look my way. Her loss.
There are five tenets to Tae Kwon Do: courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control and indomitable spirit. All relevant then, and even more so now. Even though I left TKD behind over twenty years ago, and have learned many more lessons in those two decades, I still find myself coming back to them in some way.
Courtesy: I try to treat everyone with respect and kindness.
Integrity: If I say I’m going to do something, I’ll do it.
Perseverance: I keep going, even when the path is difficult.
Self-Control: I am in control of my emotions, not the other way around.
Indomitable Spirit: This one kept me from killing myself. Which is pretty dope.
Sure, maybe traditional martial arts aren’t as effective in a real fight as we once thought. And yeah, there are some dodgy people out there peddling snake oil in white gis. But maybe it’s time we stop focusing so much on the “martial” and start giving a bit more love to the “art”.
Except Aikido.
Great read as always Sam!