Some questions on the Burmese martial arts.

[MarathonTmatt]

Most excellent. Thanks for sharing. Gets the fire up and inspiration to train harder.

[Stickgrappler]

Most excellent. Thanks for sharing. Gets the fire up and inspiration to train harder.

You are welcome. Mos def on the inspiration!

[GeneChing]

...but our thread here has been going since 2007.

More pix if you follow the link.

Punches, headbutts, knockouts: Asia's 'new' martial arts sensation
By Justin Calderon, for CNN
updated 10:00 PM EDT, Wed September 17, 2014


At Thut Ti Gym, the setting is typical of the improvised simplicity familiar across Myanmar.

Ignored for decades, Myanmar's traditional boxing form of Lethwei is experiencing a revival
Former champ now teaches foreign investment bankers and local celebs
Lethwei fighters use punches, throws, choking and head butts
In its traditional form, Lethwei is fought with bare knuckles bound by cloth

(CNN) -- It's been more than 20 years since he fought in a sandpit, but Lone Chaw still recalls the dusty village lots of his youth, unmarked except for footprints stained by sweat and blood.

Stamping about in a ritual known as "lat kha maung," he slaps his open palms against his elbows, imitating the wings of a fighting ****, as if attempting to summon its spirit.

Lat kha maung is performed before the matches as a kind of ritual that originated in farming villages.

This is the way of Lethwei -- Myanmar's traditional form of boxing.

Hidden from the rest of the world for decades, the sport, like Myanmar itself, is experiencing a revival and rediscovery both at home and abroad.

In August, the Woodlands Sports Hall in Singapore hosted an international bare-knuckled Lethwei challenger fight.

Similar events in Bangkok have helped usher in a new era for Lethwei.

Fighters turned trainers

Once derided as a sport fit for only rugged brutes -- Lone Chaw required eight stitches in his face after a fight at age 17 -- Lethwei is finding new respect at the Thut Ti Lethwei Burmese Boxing Gym in Yangon.

Here, Lone Chaw teaches introductory lessons to a stratum of society distinctly different from the fierce yet humble fighters he grew up facing in the Ayeyarwady Delta region.

His students are local doctors, foreign investment bankers and even Myanmar celebrities, including advertisement pinup Wutt Hmone Shwe Yi.

"Two years ago, foreigners began coming here," says Win Zin Oo, founder and director of the gym. "Today the Lethwei classes are, on average, half foreign and half local."

Weekend classes can attract up to 10 students, he says.

The boxing club is especially proud of having trained a headline-making Lethwei fighter from the UK, "Mr. Hammer" Sean Bardoe.

During a fight in 2013, Bardoe, 44, displayed a "mental and physical toughness," according to Mr. Win, that won over the crowd and landed him a draw in the ring.


Speed and agility come later. Lessons first create strong wrists and proper stances.

But those interested in taking up the sport don't have to have professional aspirations.

"The workout for extreme pro fighters may not be appropriate for starters so we use a more simplified form for our students," says Mr. Win, who by day is the Humanitarian and Emergency Affairs Director for World Vision, an American NGO.

Mr. Win (as he prefers to be called) is Mickey to Lone Chaw's Rocky.

He coached the Golden Belt freeweight champion until the fighter's retirement.

One of Mr. Win's fondest memories of coaching was Lone Chaw's first fight in Japan, 10 years ago.

Competing under Lethwei rules, a local jujitsu star went up against the then-29-year-old Lone Chaw.

Lone Chaw took him down in less than a minute, leaving the Nagasaki crowd astonished.

"They watched a country boy KO his opponent in the first round, unexpectedly," Mr. Win recalls with pride.

Fewer kicks, higher intensity

At Thut Ti Gym, Lone Chaw and Mr. Win now work as tag-team instructors, offering training sessions for 5,000 kyat ($5) per person.

The setting is typical of the improvised simplicity familiar across Myanmar.

An iron-wrought roof and plastic tarps are all that shield the gym from the elements.

Novices practice agility by bouncing on tires.

The modest ring vibrates with energy every Saturday, when practitioners spar.

Though it bears some resemblance to the Muay Thai practiced in neighboring Thailand, Lethwei is different in a number of ways.

"In Muay Thai, kicks and knee strikes prevail, but Lethwei fighters use more punches and fewer kicks," explains Mr. Win.

"Traditionally, Lethwei fighters don't fight with gloves, and we use a lot of other components such as throwing, choking and head butts. At a more elemental level, the momentum and fighting intensity are much faster."

Bare-knuckled fighting

Watching matches, that momentum becomes evident.


Advanced lessons: Grappling, choking, head butts.

Strikes are uncompromisingly fierce. Knockouts come quickly.

"There are no five or six rounds in Lethwei," says James Ko, a 30-year-old private equity professional from Hong Kong, now living in Yangon. "Fundamentally, it's a bare-knuckled sport.

"If you get close and elbow [your opponent] once, then you got him. It's really about that one blow."

In its traditional form, Lethwei is "fought with bare knuckles bound by cloth," says Mr. Win.

Boxing gloves are a recent development.

As part of its current revival and reform period, contemporary mixed martial arts matches incorporating Lethwei fighters tend to enforce the use of gloves.

"Myanmar Lethwei fighters never put on gloves until now," says Mr. Win.

Still, the old sandpit spirit perseveres.

Having previously trained under Muay Thai rules, James Ko has over the past year become one of the most dedicated foreign attendees at Thut Ti Gym.

Above all, he says he's learned that in Lethwei, self-defense is crucial.

"Before taking up Lethwei, I didn't realize I was so unprotected," says Ko. "If you wear a 14-ounce [boxing] glove, your chin is protected, but when you are in a Lethwei fight it's much easier [for your opponent] to make contact, so you must be more on guard."

It's a lesson an increasingly diverse array of students is learning in Yangon and across Asia.

Thut Ti Lethwei Burmese Boxing Gym, Kabaraye Pagoda Road, Yangon; +95 9 731 87441; about $5 per session (5,000 kyat)

In Asia since 2006, Justin Calderon's work has been featured in The New York Times, Newsweek (Japan), CNN Travel, Global Post, Borneo Post and The Nation (Bangkok).

[GeneChing]

La Raw and Myu Htoi spar at the home of trainer Yaw Sau
SOURCE EMILY FISHBEIN

THIS MARTIAL ART KICKS FOR SURVIVAL
By Emily Fishbein

Few martial arts have had to endure what kaphrek has had to — simply to stay alive.

At 5 am in the northern Myanmar town of Myitkyina, the road is still, a cool mist rising. The faint outline of a motorcycle appears, followed by another. Silently accelerating, they reach the outskirts of the capital of Kachin state and ascend a steep hill. The young men park their bikes, cast off their flip-flops and stretch, mountain views emerging as the sun rises.

Fewer than 20 of them all told, these are the remaining practitioners of kahprek, a martial art form unique to the country’s Kachin ethnic minority. The sport is named after an exploding mountain fruit; according to lead trainer Sharaw Seng Du La, “When someone touches our body, we must explode.”


Trainees on top of Jaw Bum tower near Myitkyina.
SOURCE EMILY FISHBEIN

In contrast to the bloody lethwei — Burmese boxing — with its cheering crowds and cacophonous traditional music, during the nine-minute, three-round kahprek matches, the air is tense. The only sounds are the crisp rustle of black cotton pants, occasional slap of hand to arm and sharp draw of breath when a swift strike is delivered. Kicks and punches are relegated to the torso, a strike earning two points, a knockout ending a match.

Established in 1976, kahprek attracted tens of thousands of followers across the state. Seng Du La, 42, estimates he alone has trained some 5,000 youth. But the long-running civil war between the Myanmar military and Kachin Independence Army — which seeks political autonomy for ethnic Kachin from the central government — meant the military viewed the martial art with suspicion. Close monitoring by intelligence and then a total ban from 2011 to 2017 led to a dramatic decline in numbers.

I WANT TO PREVENT IT FROM DISAPPEARING.
NDUP BUMTSAW NAW, 16-YEAR-OLD KAHPREK PRACTITIONER

Today’s practitioners are fiercely fighting the odds to keep kahprek alive. They’re counting on legends, present Kachin icons and camaraderie to inspire a new generation. Trainers like Seng Du La — who also works in a jade mine — are juggling families and professional responsibilities while teaching young practitioners. And they’re maintaining a distance from the KIA. Assisting or promoting nonstate armed groups like the KIA can mean a prison sentence of up to three years.

“Kahprek is only fitness training,” says Lazing La Htoi, the 65-year-old founder of the martial art. He claims no responsibility for trainees who joined the KIA in the past. “Where [trainees] go doesn’t relate to me.”

That’s not how Myanmar’s military regime viewed the sport. Undercover intelligence joined kahprek training, says Lazing La Htoi, though he didn’t know it at the time, “When we met again, they greeted me: ‘Sir, don’t you remember us? We are from the military,’” he recalls. In 2003, he and two other trainers were detained, questioned and released without charge. “They thought kahprek was a kind of underground movement,” he says. The incident led him to hand over his role as lead trainer; he has kept a low profile since.

Despite these setbacks, kahprek training continued until 2011, when a 17-year cease-fire collapsed between the KIA and Myanmar military. Kahprek was banned — just as authoritarian regimes, from the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia to the British in India, did with local martial arts they feared could emerge as symbols of resistance. “The government might have thought we were trying to revolt,” says Seng Du La.


Training at Kachin National Manau Park.
SOURCE EMILY FISHBEIN

During the ban, kahprek all but vanished, a few practicing alone or at each other’s homes. The ban was lifted in 2017 by the current government effectively led by Aung San Suu Kyi. Though kahprek has struggled to regain its numbers, those who remain make up for their scarcity with dedication and grit.

They have role models too. Like many Kachin youth, Ndup Bumtsaw Naw, 16, dreams of following in the footsteps of international MMA fighter and Kachin sensation Aung La Nsang. “From kahprek, I feel more comfortable to initiate friendship,” says the shy but cheerful Bumtsaw Naw. “The trainers encourage us to be humble, sociable and to respect others.”

Bum Tsawnaw lives in a camp for those displaced by conflict. To reach training, he cycles 10 miles, returning along unlit roads. He says he is motivated by legends of kahprek masters who, it is said, could lift logs with the strength of five men and slice bamboo with an open palm.



While these characters may be larger-than-life, a real-life legend is kahprek’s first female practitioner, La Awn Seng Raw. When she joined in 1985, alongside 97 males, her parents banished her to sleeping outside their home. For conditioning, Seng Raw ran barefoot around her neighborhood before dawn and did push-ups on gravel, enduring biting red ants and furtive glances from fellow trainees, which she preempted by calling out, “‘Hey, you! Never say any loving words to me!’” She drove the message home when knocking out a male opponent with one kick.

Kahprek has five belt levels, upgrades attained through a grueling three-day exam. Seng Raw earned her green (third level) belt doing 200 push-ups and countless sit-ups that left her back covered in blisters. “My mentality was like that. I have an athlete’s mind; I never give up,” she says. For the highest level, red, the exam includes 500 clapping push-ups, 500 jumping squats and 3,000 sit-ups, as well as a nine-minute, three-round match, scored by a number of strikes to the torso. To date, seven people have earned a red belt, and Seng Du La is the only one since 2000.


Kahprek trainees show respect before starting practice at Kachin National Manau Park in Myitkyina.
SOURCE EMILY FISHBEIN

Even with the ban lifted, joining the martial art is challenging for some. Shinggawn Myu Htoi, 23, began training in 2017 against the wishes of his parents, who feared kahprek would make him aggressive. Myu Htoi concluded that “kahprek makes me more ambitious; I have more of a dream.”

Seng Du La worries that, with a generation of trainees lost to the ban, kahprek will die out. Nonetheless, today’s trainees present a glimmer of hope for the sport’s continuation — a responsibility that is not lost on them. “Kahprek is part of [Kachin] cultural heritage,” says Bum Tsawnaw. “I want to prevent it from disappearing; I want to train the next generation.”

Emily Fishbein, OZY Author Contact Emily Fishbein

Fascinating story. I was completely unfamiliar with this style before.