Being Japanese and very obviously Asian in complexion and physical stature, I have often been asked “do you know karate?” or “are you a ninja?” long before I started training in martial arts, and it only got worse once I wore apparel that clearly showed that I did. I suppose it is a form of stereo-typing that I had become numb to some time ago. It wasn’t till I started training that I didn’t realize how martial arts itself is often stereotyped or generalized to such a degree that everything was described as “karate”.
Karate is a Japanese art, but it has Chinese roots. This isn’t immediately apparent to most Americans, and even I wasn’t fully aware until I began my martial art journey. The college club I started at was called the karate club, even though the art we practiced was Tang Soo Do, a Korean art. The irony was most definitely not lost on me: a Japanese immigrant in America practicing a Korean martial art that also has Japanese (karate) influences, which can be traced back to China. Being fluent in Japanese helped in my pronunciation of the Korean commands and terminology, but in many ways it was frustrating since many of the words were close, but not quite the same, as Japanese words. I could read the Chinese characters (Hanja or Kanji) but the Korean writing (Hongul) was mystifying to me. And more often than not, people would ask me if I could read Hangul because I was Asian, because of course why couldn’t I? Such incidents haven’t lessened over the years, but I think my responses have softened. Just a bit.
When it comes to the Korean (or Japanese) terminology, it seems to me that there is a lot lost in translation, and while there are those who have delved deeper into the language and have a better sense on how to interpret what’s been taught, many just take the (poorly pronounced) commands they are given and repeat without thinking too much about what they are saying. When pronouncing Japanese commands, I can hear that Americans tend to over-emphasize certain sounds or have awkward breaks which almost make them unrecognizable to a lay Japanese person, or even sound like a different word entirely. Some can be humorous: for example, the term for “throw” in Japanese is “nage”, pronounced “nah-GEH”, but many Americans pronounce it as “NAH-gee”, which can mean “calm”, it can express the state of an ocean where there is no wind or waves, or it can also refer to the act of divine punishment. Another common mispronunciation is “uke”, which signifies the partner who “receives” the technique. In proper Japanese it is pronounced “u-keh”, while most Americans pronounce it as “u-kee”. The latter pronunciation is typically associated with the sound a monkey makes. Simple mis-pronounciations can mean drastically changing the meaning of what one is saying. I’ve tried to correct when I encounter it, but more often than not I let it be as the habit has been too ingrained.
As I’ve climbed the ranks and (uncomfortably) increased in visibility and responsibility, I find myself looking back at my roots and wanting to learn more about my heritage. The etymology of Chinese characters have intrigued me to no end, and I’ve begun to dig into the long and complicated history between Korea and Japan. The little I’ve learned has already enriched my martial art experience and given me a larger appreciation of how the many cultures have mixed and culminated into the style it is today. My own background certainly has given me an advantage that most in America are not equipped with, but without having encountered martial arts I would never have been able to appreciate the history and legacy of my own country’s martial art, let alone Korean and Chinese history and culture.
I suppose my advice to you, dear reader, is this: dig a little deeper below the surface of your martial art and see what you can find that wasn’t apparent before.
