Colin Goh and Woo Yen Yen

The following was published in the Sunday Times on 24 August 2008:
Sunday Times 24 August 2008
Some Monky Business in Maryland
by Colin Goh

A few weeks ago, before Michael Phelps had drowned Beijing in his sub-aquatic awesomeness, I was helping three Shaolin monks kick American ass in Phelps’ home state of Maryland.

If you’ve been reading this column, you’ll know that ever since we moved to Flushing, New York City’s largest Chinese enclave, the Wife has been learning Shaolin gongfu, which means I haven’t been able to win any of our arguments lately. (When she crouches like a tiger, I hide like a dragon.)

And that’s partially how I came to find myself attending one of America’s largest martial arts competitions, held in a town near Baltimore with the snigger-inducing name of Cockeysville.

It all began when the Wife’s three Shaolin teachers, in a fit of that mix of ennui and restlessness that we Singaporeans have come to call ‘itchy backside’, entered this national wushu competition.

However, being relatively recent arrivals from Henan province, they needed an English translator, and the Wife got arrowed, being the responsible bilingual scholar that she is. Meanwhile, she needed a beast of burden to drive and schlep stuff up, i.e. yours truly.

The competition was huge – there were teams from all over the USA, as well as from Japan, Brazil, Argentina and Spain, competing in all sorts of events.  Outside the competition arena, various stallholders hawked a wide array of gongfu-related paraphernalia: from qipao in various radioactive colours, to performance weapons such as cudgels and broadswords, to chop socky DVDs and even ‘oriental bilingual dolls’ that looked identical, but would squawk ‘Nihao!’ or ‘Konnichiwa!’ depending on whether they were clad in a cheongsam or a kimono.

As the monks were registering, one of the organizers came up to them and said, “First time, huh? You guys will learn a lot here!” He proceeded to rattle off the various American master pugilists who had entered their schools, and told the monks how if they really paid attention, they could pick up all sorts of skills that could help them pick up medals “in the future”.

I found this to be more than a little presumptious and condescending. I mean, these guys came straight from the Shaolin Temple itself – the place that practically invented martial arts.

And true enough, the three monks proceeded to win every single event they registered in, often taking gold, silver AND bronze. It was a Shaolin smackdown.

This was because most of the American contestants were trotting out virtually identical, standard-form routines, and being judged primarily on the speed and vigour with which they barrelled through them.

Meanwhile, the monks had spent weeks combining different moves from different traditional forms, even devising narratives to accompany their routines.  They were telling stories, not just regurgitating drills, and the judges were rewarding them for that.

But while there were those who came to congratulate the monks, there were also stirrings of resentment at how they’d muddied the cozy arrangement into which everyone had settled. Sitting in the audience, I heard mutterings from fellow competitors like, “Hey, they can’t do that! We weren’t taught that! It’s not fair!” and “These guys are in my event? Man, no way am I gonna get any medal now!” followed by an expletive or two.

Speaking later to the eldest monk as he put away his medals, I said, “So much for them having anything to teach you guys about gongfu.”

But his response was, “There is a lot to learn! These Americans! They teach only a few basic routines to their students, and yet they can build such a large, sustainable business from it. They sell their students colourful costumes, t-shirts and other merchandise, then they organize annual competitions with each other and collect big entry fees, and finally, they throw a big ceremony at the end and give each other awards.  Meanwhile, we work so hard, and for what? How much did it cost to manufacture each of my ‘gold’ medals? And how much did they make from me in entry fees? Who is the real winner in this contest? There’s so much I want to learn from them.”

Watching the coverage of the Beijing Olympics, and hearing the vaguely jingoistic humbug coming from both China and the US, I can’t help being reminded of what the monk said.

As we acquire power, we also often begin to believe we have less and less to learn from others. Perhaps that’s only natural, but it’s also a real mistake, and people who fall into this mindset deserve a kick up their behinds.

The kind of kick that certain monks I happen to know can deliver.

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