Black Belt Times

TRADITIONAL TAEKWONDO
Is the Martial Art You've Dedicated Your Life to Really an Art?


	Traditional taekwondo is a wonderful way to develop self-defense skills and build character, author Andrew Breen says. And while there's nothing wrong with the art's sports-oriented cousin, instructors need to make certain their students know exactly what is being taught. (For illustrative purposes, former national taekwondo champion Clay Barber is shown walloping a focus pad.)
Around the world, millions of practitioners proudly trumpet that taekwondo is a martial art. Probably an equal number boast that it’s an Olympic sport. Who is right? Is the sport known as taekwondo the same as the art known as taekwondo? Olympic-style taekwondo has certainly reached a level of international recognition through an impressive level of standardization, organization and targeted promotion – but at what price? Just as a building is supported by strong, well-placed pillars, so to is martial art supported by pillars: basics, forms, real-world applications, pre-arranged fighting drills, free sparring, self defense techniques and philosophy. Competition may also be one of those pillars; however, if tournament participation becomes the style’s raison d’être, it ceases to be a martial art and becomes a martial sport instead. Although Olympic taekwondo is a relatively recent phenomenon, it has done an admirable job of supplanting traditional taekwondo in the minds of both neophyte practitioners and the general public which, by and large, is familiar with only what is shown on ESPN. First, lets acknowledge that what the public now views as taekwondo (i.e. Olympic taekwondo) is not the same martial art that many long-term taekwondo stylists have been practicing for years.
It is similar to the situation of judo and jujutsu: Jigoro Kano distilled techniques from the parent art of jujutsu - eliminating the most dangerous and stressing the most spectacular - to make judo palatable as a sport. Modern taekwondo has followed a similar blueprint. Enjoying a coherent vision and governmental approval, the Kodokan became judo’s physical, philosophical and political headquarters and started promoting the sport globally. Thus, it's no surprise that judo reached prominence as a recognized Olympic sport while leaders in the karate community were fighting over what amounted to little more than table scraps. Kukkiwon has played a similar role in that it has thrown its political weight behind the sport of taekwondo. Because judo and jujutsu have different names or more likely because they did not try to subsume each other's identity, there exists none of the confusion - and resulting tension - between the two Japanese styles that is found between modern and traditional taekwondo.	So what's the big deal? There have always been variations in name, form and technique within the Korean martial arts, so why should sport taekwondo be singled out just because its collective hierarchy wishes to pursue a well-defined competition agenda? Probably the most significant reason for making this delineation is that, for many instructors, Olympic taekwondo does not encompass the deeper values of that Korean art, which does a disservice to both practitioners and non-practitioners alike who do not understand the considerable differences between modern and traditional taekwondo.
	Traditional taekwondo is replete with effective hand strikes, but they are seldom seen in Olympic-style competition because kicks are more dynamic and exciting to watch, the author claims. (For illustrative purposes, Hee II Cho is shown chopping his opponent's neck.)	Technically Disparate One of the most striking differences between sport taekwondo and its traditional cousin is its reliance - or more accurately its lack of reliance-on forms. Taekwondo's original forms were called hyung and stemmed in large part from Japan's longtime hegemony over Korea. They were, nationalistic protestations notwithstanding, knockoffs of Japanese karate kata. That said, they were an important part of early taekwondo training and remain so in the more traditional schools. After those hyung evolved into what are now commonly called "patterns," modern taekwondo started paying little more than lip service to forms practice. It is usually the smallest division at Olympic-style events, and although it's still a recognized part of competition, fewer people typically enter the forms division than the breaking division. The forms that are done require little in the way of deep stances, focus or balance; for all intents and purposes, they are walkthroughs. Such perfunctory attention given over to forms is a telling barometer of the lack of respect with which they are viewed. Punching techniques are another seldom-utilized aspect of modern taekwondo. Granted, many Korean arts have long been said to rely too heavily on kicks to the detriment of hand
techniques. In some cases, this reputation is justified; in others, it is not. However, Olympic taekwondo doesn't even make pretenses in this area. Competitors routinely bounce around with their hands dangling by their sides because they have little fear of being punched in the face. The rules speak of the need of a kick to impart "trembling shock," but what type of shock are practitioners likely to receive when they spar with someone outside their own discipline and get nailed with a face punch because of their reflexive habit of keeping their hands down? Obviously, prohibitions against face punching are not unique to modern taekwondo. Kyokushin karate, Masutatsu Oyama's knockdown style, also bars face-punching during sparring. However, it more than makes up for this concession to reality by allowing leg kicks and full body contact without pads. Consequently, not too many people have expressed doubts about the combat validity of kyokushin sparring. The same cannot be said about Olympic taekwondo, where the favored defense against being pointed is often to fall to the ground. Need for Speed Olympic taekwondo makes no apologies for its rule system. Officials want to see head kicks and fast action. Doing all they can to promote that ideal, they winnow out anything that slows the pace. As a result, a competitor who prefers a methodical approach or evinces the "heretical" belief that punches are a logical complement to kicks usually finds himself viewing the action from the sidelines.	Some researchers claim that modern taekwondo has descended from traditional tae kyon, a kicking-oriented Korean art that includes plenty of hard-contact sparring.
To draw out the differences between Olympic and traditional taekwondo in a conceptual way, it is helpful to look at boxing. In the boxing ring, a power puncher is said to set down his punches. Instead of flicking out punches with little or no physical and mental commitment, he puts his weight behind the blows. However, power isn't the objective in modern taekwondo; speed is the primary concern. When speed becomes the main goal, a fighter is pressed to	deliver flurries of mediocre kicks rather than one or two solid techniques which would, if landed in a self-defense situation, actually do some damage. That is not to say that Olympic-caliber athletes lack power; on the contrary, talented athletes will always be able to get more from less. But what about the average practitioner who lacks those compensating attributes?	A classic example of this mind-set is the evolution of the classical roundhouse kick into the 45-degree kick. The roundhouse kick requires martial artists to chamber their knee sharply with their inner thigh parallel to the ground. They rotate their hips with the kick, pivoting their supporting foot between 90 and 180 degrees as their leg builds rotational force by moving in a semicircle.
	"Competitors routinely bounce around with their hands dangling by their sides because they have little fear being punched in the face. The rules speak of the need of a kick to impart "trembling shock," but what type of shock are practitioners likely to receive when they spar with someone outside their own discipline and get nailed with a face punch because of their reflexive habit of keeping their hands down?”
The 45-degree kick is self-explanatory. A hybrid between a regular ro undhouse kick and a front kick. It strikes with the martial artists’ instep. To increase speed, the dedicated chamber and circular delivery are eliminated. The usual target is the lower abdomen. In addition to its obvious speed advantage, one of the reasons the 45-degree kick is employed so frequently is the audible “pop” it makes when striking the opponent’s padded torso. Note that it is often the sound - not the power - of the technique and its related effect on the judges that make it a favorite on the circuit. The comparison of the 45-degree kick and the roundhouse kick is but one example, yet it typifies the divergent paths of these two heirs to the taekwondo throne. This is not to suggest that there isn't a place for the 45-degree kick, high stance, fast-paced sparring or any other convention of modern taekwondo. If practitioners wish to bounce around with their hands dangling by their sides and trust that their opponent will abide by the no-face-punch rule, that is their prerogative. Rather, the main objection of traditionalists lies in labeling this sport derivative as the taekwondo. Is Olympic taekwondo the legacy of the art that Gen. Choi Hong Hi formulated and named 50 years ago? Is it the legacy of such pioneers as Jhoon Rhee, S. Henry Cho and Ki Whang Kim? Arguably it is not. This is not to say that traditionalists believe that competition conflicts with the tenets of taekwondo. Indeed, competition was fostered by many of those ground-breaking masters. In fact, Rhee is credited with the invention of foam safety equipment, and Cho has run prestigious East Coast tournaments for years. These are clear indicators that the leaders of taekwondo were not averse to competition.	Growing Apart Although Americans have been more receptive to point and semi-contact tournaments, Koreans have watched their competitions evolve along a different path. A full-contact sparring style with protective body vests gained popularity there. Although this was unquestionably the forerunner of today’s Olympic style, the fact that those cumbersome vests were reinforced with bamboo or similar materials tells us something about the ruggedness of those early competitions. It should be remembered that in Korea taekwondo shares the stage with a gamut of martial arts-some with an ancient lineage and others with a more modern history. With styles ranging from tae kyon (which some credit as the father of taekwondo) and hwarang-do to tang soo do and hapkido, it is inaccurate to lump all of these disciplines under the taekwondo umbrella. That noted, why have the powers that be-on both sides of the fencefailed to clarify their differences in the public's eye? Do they want it both ways? If they do, they're misleading the public because when each is examined side by side and technique by	technique, it is clear that Olympic taekwondo and traditional taekwondo are separate entities. If both are to prosper, those powers owe the public an explanation of their respective goals and means for achieving them. Only in that way will a middle-aged practitioner not quit in disgust after practicing a year of fast-paced drills and high-energy sparring – and being left with little in the way of viable self-defense skills. On the other hand, a 16-year-old athlete who has visions of competing in the Olympics will know better than to join a school which teaches that pad sparring is merely something to be practiced for variety. The martial arts offer a world of diversity, and within that world exists a style for almost every student's taste if he or she knows the whole story up front. For those who have the talent and temperament for competition, Olympic taekwondo can be a fulfilling endeavor. For those who don't, it can leave them feeling empty and frustrated even cheated. Sport is not art. Before practitioners assume that taekwondo instruction is a generic entity, they should take a hard look at whether they are participating in a martial sport or a martial art. If they don't like what they see, they might want to look for a school that puts character and commitment at least on an equal footing with competition. About the author: Andrew Breen is a free-lance writer, photographer and taekwondo instructor based in Somerville, Massachusetts.