In October 2025, I travelled to Okinawa as part of my ongoing research for a historical fiction manuscript that is set in 19th‑century Ryukyu. This new book project follows a group of bureaucrats navigating the political and cultural pressures of the Japanese annexation, and I couldn’t write about that world responsibly without spending time there myself. Even though the work is historical fiction, I wanted to avoid grossly misrepresenting the people, the culture, or the context I was drawing from.
During the trip, I had the opportunity to teach at a Master Instructor Seminar held at Midorigaoka Park in Naha coordinated with Okinawa Karate Day. My session focused on Jion kata bunkai, using applications and tactical logic that tie into themes from the manuscript. The work blended structural mechanics, hard‑ and soft‑style concepts, and principle‑based interpretation. It was a good chance to share ideas in front of expert practitioners who enjoy the roots of these traditions as much as I do.
One of the moments that has stayed with me wasn’t from the seminar itself, but from a quiet visit I made with our small group to the graves of Matsumura Sōkon and Itosu Ankō. Standing there and speaking about their lives and contributions felt significant in a way that’s hard to articulate. It wasn’t about romanticising the past; it was simply to acknowledge the people whose work shaped so much of what we practise today. That experience grounded the rest of the trip for me.
Being in Okinawa helped me understand the environment, rhythms, and cultural texture I’m trying to represent in the manuscript. It also reminded me that martial arts is always connected to real people, real places, and real histories. That’s something I want to carry forward in both my writing and my teaching.
As I prepare for the American Karate and Taekwondo Organization’s 50th anniversary event next March 2026, I’m looking at how to integrate insights from this research, the Jion applications I’ve been finessing, and material that aligns with AKATO’s lineage. My aim is the same as it has always been: to contribute in a way that allows us to understand and celebrate the traditions we’ve inherited.
I’d love to hear what you think. If you’re on Goodreads, drop a question there. Or if you’re an Okinawan business or organisation that identifies with my work 琉球武術支援, I would love to connect with you. What would you like to see in a story that supports the lived experiences of martial art pioneers? What would you expect of these historical characters?
Have you come across the kata Bassai Dai or Passai? Bassai has ubiquity across many Okinawan and Japanese karate systems, and even in some classical Korean martial arts. What makes it so compelling is how it prepares practitioners for unscripted, dynamic encounters — situations where nothing seems to go according to plan, especially when one is under duress.
This kata is part of the legacy system I trained in during the early 1990s through the American Karate and Taekwondo Organization. Many decades later, it then became the foundation of a book project I embarked on during the COVID pandemic of the early 2020s.
Of course, Bassai is not the only pattern that teaches tactics, adaptability, or the transformation of disadvantage into advantage. Any martial art taught by an effective instructor should cultivate those skills. So why did I spend so much time with this one kata? My obsession with Bassai was sparked by an encounter with renowned martial arts author Hanshi Bruce Clayton, PhD, in 2002. I reached out to Dr Clayton after reading Shotokan’s Secret, his compelling exploration to understand Okinawan martial art and karate pioneers of the 19th century. His research examined the purpose of their practice and revealed how they were linked to the protection of the Ryukyuan royal family.
As my group and I returned time and again to Bassai’s choreography and applications, we discovered a training system built around anticipating resistance, expecting non‑compliance, and developing workarounds during collisions with an adversary. With the ideas Dr Clayton proffered about the inner and outer defenses of Shuri Castle, we began to see Bassai functioning as a cog in the broader security needs of the Ryukyu Kingdom. This meant the skills distilled from Bassai in the 21st century were guided directly from reflections on its functionality in 19th‑century Ryukyu.
To be honest, my focus on Bassai often came at the expense of the “normal” training done in a small martial arts school. Senior students benefitted from the deep dive into its source code, but junior practitioners may not have received the kind of attention they required during the early stages of their learning journey.
Even so, the benefits to our school were undeniable as we transitioned to using kata as a syllabus and framework for learning. Concurrently, we gained insights into what works in traditional training, insights that aligned with an oral method of knowledge transfer.
Bassai thus became a keyhole through which we caught glimpses of martial arts as it was practiced by karate pioneers who were now long gone. We could almost hear their words of encouragement, cajoling us to develop a mindset centered on flexibility, efficiency, and on‑the‑fly problem solving.
When we decided to publish our story, it was not to boast of newfound abilities, nor to proclaim superiority over others. We took on the publishing process because we felt we could no longer keep our findings to ourselves. We had learned early on that the more we shared, the more we received back in understanding. The book was simply an extension of that simple philosophy.
The name 抜塞 (Bassai) is often translated as “Break Through” or “Penetrate a Fortress.” Dr Clayton argued that, in the bodyguarding parlance of the Ryukyu Kingdom, a more accurate interpretation is “to extract from a fortification.” Either way, the term Breaking Through resonated deeply and became part of the title of my first book. It carries with it the hope that others will find inspiration to push past their own limitations, and find nourishment directly from the source material within their own lineage.
Publishing Breaking Through: The Secrets of Bassai Dai Kata was an expedition in itself, but it nudged me onto another huge adventure. Soon after its release, I began the journey to acquaint myself intimately with those martial art pioneers. My decades‑long obsession with Bassai now targeted its architects.
Just saying I have gained more insight into the architects of Bassai would be selling the experience short. As I wrote the second book, I found myself transported back in time, commingling with the very people who depended on Bassai “for real.” These were the people who then developed karate as a hard‑style training system that would spread worldwide, eventually becoming the framework I had followed throughout my adult life. Like a detective, I worked meticulously through their lives, sifting between truth and fact, closing the loop on every fragment of information. Not stopping until I uncovered the origin story of these remarkable figures.
Embarking on my second publishing project was exhilarating, and my life’s mission had become clear. What we now practise came directly from the pioneers’ desperate efforts to resist subjugation by the Japanese Empire. Yet their legacy is not one of lamentation. Their message was one of hope, a dream for a better future and the nurturing of individual wellbeing.
While we may believe no other historical moment could rival the advancement and uncertainty of our own era, the Ryukyu Kingdom at the end of the 19th century shows otherwise. It was a time of incredibletechnological progress and prosperity as a regional trading hub. Then came incursions from Western powers, political instability, an imported pandemic, rising Japanese militarism, and even the obliteration of the Samurai class.
They were facing their death knell, yet still took the time to gift us lessons: staying self‑motivated, adapting under pressure, thinking critically, and transforming disadvantage into advantage. These remain profoundly relevant in the 21st century.
Whether you’re a martial artist or someone seeking personal growth, I encourage you to explore the insights I have gained through Bassai. Embrace its teachings. Apply its principles. You may be surprised by how deeply the practice of turning disadvantage into advantage can shape your journey.
We’re thrilled to share a milestone moment: the cover artwork from Breaking Through: The Secrets of Bassai Dai Kata was selected for the May 2023 Issue 171 of Totally Taekwondo Magazine (see TotallyTKD on Facebook).
The issue also featured a full article titled “Breaking Through: The Writing of a Martial Arts Book,” which traced the journey behind the project: reaching out to publisher GM Mike Swope of Moosul Publishing LLC for guidance, shaping the manuscript through the pandemic, and launching the book in Dallas with the support of GM Keith Yates and the American Karate and Taekwondo Organization during their annual seminar in March 2023.
A huge thank‑you goes to Editor Stuart Anslow, who took a genuine punt on promoting a book that, at first glance, looks like a karate publication. The irony, of course, is that the insights in Breaking Through were forged through decades of traditional Taekwondo training. We’re grateful Stuart spotted that line of thinking, and his willingness to introduce the book to a wider Taekwondo audience.
The accompanying article offers a behind‑the‑scenes look at the writing process, the research, the unexpected discoveries, and the long, sometimes stubborn journey of turning one kata into a book. It highlights the mindset and methodology that shaped the project, and the community that helped bring it to life.
Being featured on the front cover of Totally Taekwondo is a celebration of shared roots, overlapping histories, and the mutual respect that continues to shape an open‑minded martial community of engaged, intellectually curious practitioners. We invite you to explore the cover, read the article, watch our short video snippet, and enjoy this moment with us.
GM Kelly Cox and Master Colin Wee at Rendokan Dojo, Richardson, TX, 2023. GM Cox teaches a number of systems, one being a traditional system named Marudo Karate-do, and both he and Colin find great similarities in their approach to training.
For a long time, the relationship between Karate and Taekwondo has been framed as a rivalry. But when you peel back organisational identity, stylistic branding, and historical development, a different picture emerges. The real connection between these arts isn’t found in how they look today, but in how they function when practitioners are under duress and when stylistic expressions are not a value add to a combative exchange.
This article isn’t about proving that Karate and Taekwondo are the same. It’s about understanding why they diverged from a shared lineage, what they still share, and where their tactical advantage lies.
Early Korean Karate/Taekwondo: Hard‑Style, But Not Yet Standardised
Recent archival comparisons done by Ørjan Nilsen, show that early Korean Karate, the precursors of modern Taekwondo did not entirely resemble modern Shotokan (see Early Taekwondo was just Shotokan (it was and it wasn’t)). Early Korean practitioners did train in hard, direct techniques, and linear entries. They just lacked the polished standardisation that JKA would later impose on Japanese Karate, or that ITF would later impose on Taekwondo. While some stylistic comparisons from this era could even be made with Okinawa’s Shorin‑ryu lineage such comparisons could only occur because practitioners were still figuring out what “hard‑style” meant. Both groups had still some way to go towards the “pre‑refinement” stage of their hard‑style evolution.
What Hard‑Style Actually Is (And Isn’t)
Colin Wee with his teacher Shodai Bryan Robbins, Dallas, TX, 2006. Mr Robbins taught Colin Traditional Taekwondo and Aikido. Here Mr Robbins “catches up” Colin on both hard style and internal concepts he’s missed over intervening years.
Most modern definitions of “hard‑style” come from a Shotokan‑centric lens: linear acceleration, percussive techniques, rigid stances, and Shotokan’s muscle lock-down. But this is an aesthetic definition, not a functional one.
A more accurate definition is that Hard‑style is blitz‑fighting tactics. This means rapid entries, chunked sequences, and the reuse of high‑yield solutions that overwhelm an opponent. Yes, linear acceleration matters. But the real power of hard‑style lies in pre‑emptive striking and overwhelming pressure.
This is why beginners rehearse single techniques in line drills, and why upper belts should be “chunking” functional combinations until they become fluent. Hard‑style is not about looking rigid. It’s about revving a tactical engine that compensates for low fight IQ.
Why Karate and Taekwondo Diverged
Both JKA and ITF faced the same organisational challenge, they both needed to scale a martial art to thousands of students.
Like all member-based organisations, the answer relied on standardisation.
JKA created a precise, repeatable system that depended on a muscle lock down called ‘kime’ for power transmission, taught concurrently with an ethical code, and supplemented by a text written by the Father of Modern Karate titled “Rentan Goshin Karate Jutsu.”
ITF created a codified, rhythmic, prescriptive system packaged with Taekwondo’s Tenets. This was differentiated by a sine wave concept of power generation, and a reliance on the Founder’s Encyclopedia of Taekwon-Do.
The words used sound different, but also so similar. Even across the divide, these were the moves necessary for growth. But there’s a cost to this standardisation.
Internal Mechanics: The Part Everyone Forgot
Colin Wee attends AKATO Annual in 2016, representing the Korean MA lineage through choice of uniform, while standing behind his teacher Sensei Mike Proctor, and enjoying the camaraderie of cross-training.
Recently, through research into my second book, I had the good fortune to explore Chinese internal arts and its influence on Ryukyuan fighting systems. Yes, indeed, research into an Okinawan ‘hard-style’ kata led me to fajin and how it utilised concepts like leverage and directional vectors. From that insight, I was able to gain a unique perspective of Taekwondo’s Sine Wave, though not the stylised version performed in tuls.
Master Colin Wee showing tactics that are not quite hard style, AKATO Annual and 50th Anniversary Celebrations 2026, Dallas, Texas.
Similar to the engine behind White Crane, Southern Chinese boxing, and early Okinawan Tode, the Sine Wave’s use of compression, expansion, and the release of energy along specific angles had more in common than most could see.
During a recent seminar with an ITF group, I used these internal Chinese principles and sent a black belt flying. Not because I was doing “Karate” or “Taekwondo,” but because I was using functional mechanics which underly both arts. In all honesty, I could have compared the movement to Taekwondo’s Sine Wave as much as I could to Karate’s Kime.
This ITF group shows that good training doesn’t make them less good at Taekwondo. ApproachTKD Seminar in Aberdeen 2026.
The irony is that ITF practitioners perform sine wave every day, but its prescriptive choreography might not lead to this deeper potential. As my martial art colleague Dr Sanko Lewis has previously pointed out, sine wave has real value. Some of it comes to the fore in stand‑up grappling but only if practitioners are allowed to train in that manner (see The Sine Wave Motion as a Mnemonic Device for Joint-Locks and Throws).
The Acid Test: Free Sparring
When Karateka and Taekwondoin engage in dynamic exchanges, something predictable happens: many Karateka start punching like boxers, and many Taekwondoin start kicking like kickboxers.
Master Colin Wee mixing it up at Kidokwan Perth, 2014.
Under pressure, practitioners reach for the simplest, most accessible combative analogies available. Boxing and kickboxing offer simple mechanics, high‑yield tactics, intuitive movement, and a plethora of training resources available through YouTube.
Under duress, and when stylisation drops away, almost all practitioners simply default to functional movement.
The Real Bridge Between Karate and Taekwondo
Karate and Taekwondo do not need to be stylistically similar. They do not need to agree on aesthetics, pedagogy, or organisational identity.
What they do need is an understanding of where their tactical advantage lies beyond blitz logic, and functional mechanics. Style is a school’s training pedagogy. Style is their training method. Aesthetic style however is not the end goal.
When practitioners mature, many transcend stylistic signatures and move toward functional, adaptive, and personal expression. And that is where Karate and Taekwondo finally meet. Not in how they look, but in how they prepare students for growth.
