Saturday, December 17, 2011 by C. Michial Jones
For years, I have been puzzled by how instructors approach Bunkai (the application of kata). Many either ignore it entirely or reduce it to a simplistic “punch-kick-block” routine. Worse yet are those who teach the “theatrical” version: four attackers surrounding you, waiting their turn to strike in the exact order of the kata’s choreography.
In the chaos of a real fight, no one waits their turn.
Beyond the Pattern
I personally believe that the physical pattern (Embusen) of a kata is not essential to its application. More likely than not, an entire kata represents a series of possibilities against one person. The turns and angle changes aren’t necessarily meant to address a new attacker; they represent the practitioner changing their angle of entry or leverage against a single, resisting opponent.
Lineages vary wildly on this. My father and Glenn Keeney Sensei were never big on teaching formal bunkai. Conversely, Lloyd Johnson Sensei made it a priority, and Kimo Wall Sensei famously taught five distinct levels of Bunkai Kumite for his kata. Teruo Chinen Sensei was also a master of finding the sophisticated applications hidden in plain sight.
The Yudansha “Think Tank”
In my dojo, I treat Bunkai as a living research project. I get my yudansha (black belts) together and we pick a specific series from a kata. We use a “round robin” approach:
- Every black belt must offer their interpretation.
- We test the idea against resistance.
- We strip away the “pretty” movements to find the “nasty” ones.
My goal isn’t to find the most “artistic” application; it’s to find the most effective and devastating one.
The Professional Standard
My perspective is colored by my career in law enforcement. In my job, I deal with life-and-death situations. I don’t have time for a “point-sparring” mentality. I want the meanest, quickest, and most devastating applications I can find. I look for the Tuite (joint breaks) and Shime-waza (chokes) that end a confrontation in seconds.
Recently, during a class at my father’s dojo, he turned to me and said something that surprised me: “We need to do more bunkai, like you do at your dojo. They really need to know it.” It was a powerful moment—an acknowledgment that while the kata preserves the “map,” the bunkai provides the “territory.” Without a deep, functional understanding of application, kata is just a lonely dance. With it, it becomes a survival manual.
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