History preserves the effective and useful

An influential figure says that as China changes, it is inevitable that martial arts will do the same

Meetings with Ren Gang are hard to come by, so when I do get a slot, I am determined to make the most of it.

Within a short space of time with the former gymnast and now Party Secretary of the Sichuan Provincial Wushu Association, my understanding of martial arts in China doubles, and suddenly I find that everything I thought I knew about kung fu in China was wrong.

Let's explain right from the start: every form of martial art falls under wushu: wu meaning martial, shu meaning art.

Ren says that for every story explaining how commercialization is killing the kung fu spirit in China, another hints that commercialization is just the tip of a massive iceberg, which is growing the ancient pastime's fortunes and appeal.

In fact, his line is generally the same as that of any "new" martial artist I have met: that the exhibition and full-contact sport versions of today, all derived from traditional Chinese martial arts, developed after 1949 in an effort to standardize the practice of the traditional, was important for many people after the "cultural revolution" (1966-76), as it helped to promote their traditional arts once again.

Various government bodies - sports and cultural associations, and a renascent wushu association - sprang into action in the mid to late-1970s, setting up schools, recruiting young talent, and dusting off the old training manuals.

As a former gymnast, Ren was snatched up quickly by the wushu fraternity and, after a few twists and turns, ended up becoming one of the most influential martial artists and administrators of his generation.

His story spans four decades that trace the arc of wushu's emergence as a modern movement, separate and distinct from the modern arts of the early 20th century.

Its development is studded with names such as Huo Yuanjia, a Chinese martial artist and a co-founder of the Chin Woo Athletic Association school in Shanghai, Jing Wu School, founded as the Jing Wu Athletic Association, also in Shanghai, and Yip Man, a grandmaster of the martial art ving tsun and master of the 1970s movie star Bruce Lee.

Their arts are almost completely alien to those practiced centuries ago by soldiers, militia, pirates and imperial men-at-arms.

Today wushu is both performance art and sport, practiced in sports universities across China, and the overarching term for traditional Chinese martial arts in general.

From wuxia, which literally means "martial hero", a broad genre of Chinese fiction concerning the adventures of martial artists - to solitary, hidden kung fu masters in the mountains and their tai chi counterparts moving in slow motion across the nation's public parks, to household names such as the Shaolin Temple and more esoteric schools such as Emei, where Ren Gang is from, everything falls under wushu.

In the modern world, such an umbrella term can lead to confusion about what Chinese martial arts really are.

When is martial art a sport, and when is it dance, or a healthy exercise for older people?

Are martial arts actually effective in self-defense, or just an expression of culture and entertainment?

Today we have several threads within wushu operating on their own, with their own agendas and markets, overlapping constantly but never merging completely.

Performance wushu, tai chi, and the sanshou, Chinese boxing/kickboxing, are the three major threads. It is more than likely that this has always been the case.

Song Dynasty (960-1279) operas featured acrobatic performances inspired by martial arts forms; older, affluent people of culture probably found themselves drawn more to tai chi than to hand-to-hand combat; and the poor, the isolated and the beleaguered found some security and upward mobility in being able to entertain or defend crowds of people with their fists and feet.

The difference may now be that the character at the heart of the wuxia novels and films, the master who knew the forms, practiced tai chi, and could defend hearth and home and community from bandits, has no clear role in modern wushu.

The kung fu master, an icon and an occupation, is melting away and being replaced by the coach.

There just isn't enough money in being a kung fu master to attract and keep the disciples needed to keep a school going.

But it's largely irrelevant that wushu has been commercialized, and has diluted itself and killed off the classic kung fu masters.

It's more a story of China's overall commercializing, and the adoption of a more market-driven economy. The market today demands health, in the form of easy-to-learn tai chi, coupled with popular philosophy.

It also demands entertainment through sport, either the intensity of combat, or the beauty of dance.

And yes, there is a demand for protection, but a bodyguard, police officer or gatekeeper is a far cry from a kung fu master.

What is important to understand is that this development is not new. Martial arts have gone through this before, when the country emerged from some conflict or another, grew rich, and yearned for celebration rather than asceticism.

During one of my first conversations with Ren, he told me that history will preserve what is effective and useful. At the time I was taken aback at his harsh appraisal of kung fu - we had been talking about the decline of traditional kung fu masters at the time - but now after spending more time learning about martial arts in China today, I agree.

China as a country will preserve what is useful, and even if I feel that something beautiful is lost in the process, history has taught us something else: nothing is ever truly lost when it comes to knowledge, culture, and tradition.

The kung fu masters may yet rise again, and if and when they do, it will be right on time.

The author is a US-German citizen who has lived in Chengdu for 12 years and is the editor of Chengduliving.com. He started practicing kung fu in 2003.

(China Daily Africa Weekly 08/22/2014 page9)