The True Meaning of Karatedo

“Martial Arts” is a term loosely applied. The term includes thousands of different methods of fighting, from Egyptian Stick Fighting, to Karate, to Jousting. For our earliest ancestors, throwing rocks was a martial art. Doshinkan Karatedo is a style of martial arts that stays close to the original intent of karate, an intent and understanding that has been lost by most schools of karate. Modern karate has become a spectator sport – that is fine for those who seek that path, but we offer something we believe has far greater meaning and value.

Legend has it (with some good supporting evidence), that about 1400 years ago an Indian monk called Bodhidarma traveled to Northern China to spread Buddhism. He found willing disciples, but also found that they could not endure the physical demands of training. Believing that the body and soul are inseparable, he devised a series of exercises to strengthen his students, called  “18-hands of Lohan”. These exercises became the basis of Quan-fa: way of the fist.

One of Buddhism’s efforts is to rid the partitioner of ego. Taoism (another strong influence on Karatedo), teaches compassion, moderation, and humility. Compare this to the actions and attitudes of competitors in the sport of mixed martial arts!

We say Karatedo, not just karate, because this emphasizes “the Way”.

The concept of Do was reflected by the  Okinawan Scholar Nago b.1663:
No matter how you may excel in the art of te,
And in your scholastic endeavors,
Nothing is more important than your behavior
And your humanity as observed in daily life.

Funakoshi (b.1868): the true art of karate lies not in the defeat of the opponent, rather in the perfection of one’s character.

Most martial arts schools participate in sparring, believing this is necessary, and that it is part of karate’s heritage. But Funakoshi felt free-fighting belittled karatedo. He said, “There are no contests in karate.”

In pre-World War II Okinawa, there was no kumite (sparring). In fact, some karateka were ousted from their dojo because they adopted sparring after having learned it in Tokyo.

Neither of the great 19th century masters Higashionna (Goju-ryu) and Kunihoshi (Kempo) felt it morally right to fight the other in order to try to settle who was best – such activity was deemed unseemly and beneath the actions of responsible people.

Sparring was not practiced until the 1930’s, and was the result of popularization in Japan. Full contact was started by Masutatsu Oyama b.1929, post WWll.

We believe that the use of karate for aggression is morally repugnant except for defense. Karatedo should be a tool to prevent fighting, not promote it. It is not a game.

What is it then?

It is about making each of us as healthy as possible. It is about strengthening our minds and bodies, and about living a philosophy that promotes ethical behavior, and compassion. It helps us get in touch with our bodies and live healthier and happier lives. It instructs us to be fully alive.

Karatedo Doshinkan

 The founder was Hanshi 10th Dan Isao Ichikawa. After his passing, it was led by Hanshi 10th Dan Nobuo Ichikawa, and now by Hanshi 10th Dan Fujimoto-Stock Masako. The school is headquartered in Austria, and has Dojos, or schools, in many countries throughout the world. Shihan Michelson started training in Doshinkan in 1974 and has been teaching in Palo Alto since 1988.

Karatedo Doshinkan incorporates movement that has been developed over many centuries to produce the greatest level of health. The emphasis is on cooperative partner training in a safe, noncompetitive environment. We do not participate in tournaments.

People of all ages, male and female, in different states of health and fitness, train together, each getting what their needs require. Not only are classes not dangerous, but they help protect against the stresses, illnesses and injuries of everyday life in our society.

When karatedo was originally practiced in Okinawa, training consisted mainly of basic exercises and techniques, and kata (kata are series of movements and techniques, completed in a specific sequence). In Karatedo Doshinkan, we continue this tradition.

The movements in Doshinkan are varied – from the strong, fast movement generally associated with karate, to the slow, graceful movements typified by Tai Chi. We use the entire range of movement because such variety is healthier, and allows us to choose movements our bodies and minds need for different situations. For example, “fast” can be an explosive release of energies, while “slow” is meditative and calming.

The movements are balanced between all parts of the body – there is no emphasis on either lower or upper body styles seen in many other martial systems. Self-defense becomes a byproduct of the training that builds not only our bodies and techniques, but our awareness so that physical confrontation can be avoided. In order for a person to be healthy, the entire body must be considered – balance, strength, flexibility, posture and attitude.

We learn to overcome weaknesses in ourselves by better understanding our selves. We learn to build from our strengths to strengthen our weaknesses.

• White Karatedo uniforms (Gis) are required, though new beginners are welcome to train in non-restrictive gym attire. They can be obtained either through the Dojo or at Martial Arts supply stores.
• Colored belts corresponding to various ranks generally cost about $10-$15 each.
• Doshinkan insignia cost $5, and are sewn on the jacket in the heart position.

Gis may shrink significantly after being washed and dried. It is recommended that you wash and dry them without special precautions. Don’t wash the belts since this will generally cause them to shrink too much.

At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the after-noon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into the car. He wore laborer’s clothing, and he was big drunk and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that the baby was unharmed.

Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it Out of its stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.

I was young then, some twenty years ago, and in pretty good shape. I had been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training every day for the past three years. I liked to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.

“Aikido,” my teacher had said again and again, “is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection to the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.”

I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.

This is it I said to myself as I got to my feet. People are in danger. If I don’t do something fast, somebody will probably get hurt.

Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage. “Aha!” he roared. “A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!”

I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.

“All right!” he hollered. “You’re gonna get a lesson.” He gathered himself for a rush at me.

A split second before he could move, somebody shouted, “Hey!” It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it-as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something and he had suddenly stumbled upon it. “Hey!”

I wheeled to my left; the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.

“C’mere,” the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. “C’mere and talk with me.” He waved his hand lightly.

The big man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman, and roared above the clacking wheels. “Why the hell should I talk to you?” The drunk now had his back to me. if his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I’d drop him in his socks.

The old man continued to beam at the laborer. “What’cha been drinkin’?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest. “I’ve been drinking sake,” the laborer bellowed back, “and it’s none of your business!” Flecks of spittle spattered the old man.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” the old man said, “absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake too. Every night me and my wife (she’s 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it Out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing. My great-grandfather planted that tree, and we worry about whether it will recover from those ice storms we had last winter. Our tree has done better than I expected, though, especially when you consider the poor quality of the soil. It is gratifying to watch when we take our sake and go out to enjoy the evening even when it rains!” He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling.

As he struggled to follow the old man’s conversation, the drunk’s face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched. “Yeah,” he said. “I love persimmons too….” His voice trailed off.

“Yes,” said the old man, smiling, “and I’m sure you have a wonderful wife.”

“No,” replied the laborer. “My wife died.” Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. “I don’t got no wife, I don’t got no home, I don’t got no job. I’m so ashamed of myself.” Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of despair rippled through his body.

Now it was my turn. Standing there in my well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was.

Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically. “My, my,” he said, “that is a difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it.”

I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man’s lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair.

As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.