Shaolin commercialism

[Cat Nap]

I can understand what you are saying. However, MA teachers do have to support themselves too. Yes they are spreading and teaching martial arts but it is also a business if you rely on the income. Many do. Both can be managed well.

As for the prices, well the average monthly tuition rate for most schools around Houston is $100 (depending on how many days you train, etc.). Some places or more some are less....it just depends. Olympic gold medalist Steven Lopez and his family have a TKD school in the southwest Houston area. Their monthly rates are far more than I ever paid at a shaolin school. If you want to train hard and get a shot at the olympic trials that's the place to go. The Lopez family are wonderful people and have a great staff. I really consider it an investment in yourself rather than paying too much money for lessons. It just depends how you look at it.

I agree with that if your intent is to compete and yes, it certainly costs money. However, if you're teaching children and regular working stiffs (I make only $36,000 a year), it's offensive to act like you're doing them a favor and charge that price. While I understand the need to profit, anything higher than 60 a month for just one or two nights a week - most working people can't train everyday - I find it excessive. But then I have wonderful teachers that are more interested in what absorb in class than making their next house payment off me.

[GeneChing]

I still regret not saving a Shaolin sausage label. Given the copyright laws in China, it was a major victory. I never thought they'd get rid of that stuff.

Going global with modesty
Offering the world meditation and martial arts, ancient Shaolin order wrestles with commercial success
By Bill Schiller Asia Bureau
Published On Mon Oct 12 2009

DENGFENG, CHINA–Like shadows in saffron robes, they start assembling in the darkness before dawn – their shuffling sandals filing into chapel.

Soon the shuffling subsides into silence – then a deeper silence.

A single candle burns on the altar.

Gilded Buddhas look down from above. Outside, an autumn moon shines through cedars.

Then a bell sounds – and so begins the ritual of morning prayers for China's Shaolin monks, a ritual carried out here, with rare exception, for more than 1,500 years.

Many people know of Shaolin's famed monks for their prowess at kung fu – the disciplined art of self-defence and exercise at once muscular and mystic, long a focus of fascination for the West.

Others have heard of the Shaolin Temple, the monks' home in the Songshan Mountains of Henan province, and one of China's top tourist destinations that attracts more than a million visitors a year.

Beneath this tide of tourism and fame, burrowed deep inside the Shaolin enclave, resides a community of 200 monks ranging in age from younger than 10 to older than 80, who lead a life of meditation and prayer.

For them this is a holy place.

But can it last?

In recent years, under the leadership of Abbot Shi Yongxin, Shaolin Temple and its monks have become a commercial success, branching out with Shaolin Centres around the world offering meditation, martial arts training and vegetarian foods in Europe, the U.S., and soon – they hope – in Canada.

Adherents have approached the Shaolin monks to start a centre in Canada, officials here say. Discussions are still in the early stages.

But some wonder whether such international commercialization is compatible with the ascetic life?

"It's not a problem," affirms the abbot, also known as Master Yongxin, seated in Abbot House at Shaolin Temple. "Nor is it in conflict with the goals of our community."

The core values of charity, wisdom and mercy, he says, have not changed. "And sharing the fruit of human experience is a good thing.

"Of course fame has naturally brought commercial opportunities," explains the Master, his left hand clutching a string of prayer beads. "But it is up to us to ensure that such opportunities are directed in a positive way. We want to prevent evil-minded business people who might seize such opportunities to malign our good name."

The Master has a point.

During the 1980s and '90s – unbeknownst to the monks – the Shaolin brand was being used to market everything from cars and furniture, to cigarettes and even liquor.

Alcohol consumption is not allowed in Shaolin monastic life.

But it wasn't until 1993 when a purveyor of ham launched a nationally televised ad campaign using the Shaolin name, that the problem of copyright infringement was finally brought to the monks' attention.

The monks were appalled: they're vegetarians. They sued and went on to set up Shaolin Intangible Assets Management Co. – a team of lay believers comprising lawyers and business managers – to protect their intellectual property rights.

Hundreds of companies across China, and even some abroad, were infringing on the Shaolin name. They were swiftly reined in.

Today times have changed, and so – in some ways – have the monks.

Though Master Yongxin is now a thoroughly modern monk, he arrived at the monastery at 16 from impoverished Anhui province carrying little more than a cotton quilt and the clothes on his back.

The temple and monastery were in ruins, he recalls.

It was 1981, the early years of China's new "opening and reform" policy which had just begun allowing Chinese people greater personal and economic freedoms.

"Shaolin seemed poised to be reborn," he says. The temple, which dates from 495 AD, had survived plundering bandits, wars, government land reforms and the reckless years of Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution when almost everything "old" came under attack.

But in the mid-1980s, with the support of a government that recognized Shaolin's historic value, Shaolin was slowly rebuilt.

Today, Master Yongxin – his name means "Faith" – shows the signs of Shaolin's success and modernity: he carries a laptop, relies on cellphones and has an immaculately kept SUV to whisk him to meetings across the region.

He has also travelled to South America, the U.S., Taiwan and Africa – where he met with Nelson Mandela. This year NBA star Shaquille O'Neal dropped in for a visit.

"We cannot avoid or ignore the modern world," the Master says calmly. "If we do, we'll have no chance at survival."

But Master Yongxin has also managed to retain his humble demeanour and his piety.

Each day at 5 a.m. he leads the monks at morning prayers. Afterward, he repairs to the dining hall and eats as they do: boiled vegetables, a piece of rustic bread, and a bowl of soy-based porridge.

Thereafter, meditation follows. For adult monks, that amounts to 10 hours daily. Shaolin is, after all, the birthplace of Zen Buddhism – a unique strain of Buddhism with heavy emphasis on meditation.

For younger monks, like Yan Qun, 14, who arrived at age 7, the routine includes hours of kung fu training.

"Here everything is calm; everything peaceful," Yan says. He won't have to commit to a lifelong monastic life until he is 18.

"But I look forward to that day."