Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 20, Number 04, 1 April 2003 — LUA: Modern warriors revive the ancient fighting art [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LUA: Modern warriors revive the ancient fighting art

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By Naomi Sodetani As dusk falls over Honolulu, a dozen men and women clad in black t-shirts and shorts line up on padded mats. "Ha, he, hu! Ha, he, hu!" The room echoes with the guttural chorus of their breathing, eaeh breath inhaled and expelled in an explosive mantra. Their powerful, fluid movements evoke a curious mix of disciplines: martial drills, hula, Asian combat moves. They lunge forward and back, dodge from side to side, then whirl and pivot in unison, as ann strikes aim for an invisible opponent's eyes, then throat. Their deep breathing and vigorous stamping of their feet, punctuated by chanted shouts, produce a hypnotic rhythm. Assuming the mokomoko posture of the ki'i image — legs and elbows deeply bent, fists clenched, eyes blazing — they are ready to nimble, glistening with sweat and purpose. With eaeh 'ai, or move, these modern warriors are reclaiming a cultural legacy: the ancient Hawaiian fighting art of lua. In olden times, lua warriors were the chief's elite commandos. Secretly, in the dark of night, they practiced hand-to-hand combat in sacred compounds dedicated to the war god Kū. On the battlefield, they killed efficiently. Precise nerve strikes paralyzed, followed by a methodical process of "bundling up" the opponent by dislocating his joints, breaking every major bone in his body, and, finally, snapping his back. But in their daily regimen, warriors also trained to develop their mental and spiritual sides, through practices associated with the moon goddess Hina, the yielding, feminine counterpart to Kū's aggressive male pnneiple. Warriors commonly "composed poetry, danced, surfed and excelled in sports and games," says 'Olohe Lua (lua master) Jerry Walker. They were also master healers adept in practices developed to restore the wounded. 'Olohe Lua Mitch Eli says that warriors applied lomilomi massage to aid circulation and alleviate muscle sprains, the art of lā'au lapa'au (herbal healing), and mended fractures and joint dislocation through ha'iha'i iwi (bone-setting). The word lua means the number "two," "duality," and "pit." 'Olohe Richard Paglinawan explains lua's paradoxical wisdom: "Lua is both Kū and Hina. It is sky and earth, sun and moon, day and night, male and female, fire and water, good and evil, life and death." Paglinawan, Walker, Mitch and Dennis Eli and Moses Kalauokalani head two lua pā in Hawai'i. Paglinawan, a former OHA administrator, manages projects at Queen Emma Foundation. Kalauokalani works at Hawaiian Electric. Mitch and Dennis Eli are both chiropractors, and Jerry Walker is a retired hospital administrator and former OHA deputy administrator. Thirty years ago, they studied with the last surviving 'olohe lua, Charles W. Kenn. The Hawaiian-Japanese-German kahuna (expert or priest) was honored as a living treasure for his pioneering work documenting Hawaiian language, culture and spiritual traditions long before the present-day Hawaiian cultural renaissance. After Kamehameha's consort Ka'ahumanu converted to Christianity, lua was condemned as barbaric by missionaries, and banned along with hula and other traditional arts. The already secretive practice went further underground.

Kenn learned lua from two teachers who had trained at a royal lua school established by King Kalākaua in tbe late 1800s. He also studied with jujitsu founder Seishiro "Henry" Okazaki, who had incorporated lua 'ai taught to him by a Hawaiian practitioner into his style of aikido. In 1978, Kenn anointed his five haumāna (students) as 'olohe — meaning "hairless," because the bodies of master warriors were plucked bare and oiled to prevent an enemy from obtaining a sure grip — he required their promise that they would teach lua only to Hawaiians, to help restore their connection with their culture. After Kenn's death in 1988, fearing that lua knowledge would pass with their teacher, the five resolved to perpetuate the discipline and its underlying philosophy. Over the years, hundreds of Hawaiians throughout the islands and from all walks of life have been drawn to learn lua. Women number among both pā's haumāna, just as stories tell of female lua warriors who fought under Kamehameha's command. "Lua is the mother of hula," Mitch Eli says. "It was martial practice disguised as dance, an integral part of lua training to develop halanee, leg strength, stamina and grace." Hula allowed warriors to practice their techniques without giving away battle tactics. During the day, warriors practiced haka, or fighting postures, in a sacred dance reserved for the temples of Kū. These 'ai were later known as "ha'a," then "hula," Eli says. In 1991, the Native Hawaiian Culture and Arts Project organized a project to research and resuscitate a practice that the Bishop Museum had earlier classified as a "lost art." The fruits of that effort, funded by the museum and the National

Park Service, will be published this year in the first comprehensive sourcebook on the subject: "Lua: The Hawaiian Martial Art." After centuries of strict secrecy, Paglinawan says, "sharing the knowledge is the only way we ean keep this art form alive." Eaeh pā trains twice a week, alternating days at Kekūhaupi'o Gym at Kamehameha Schools. Aptly, the gym is named after the legendary lua master who taught the arts of war to Kamehameha the Great. Haumāna leam techniques of hakihaki (bonebreaking), ku'iku'i (punching), hākōkō (wrestling) and a'alolo (nerve pressure to cause paralysis). Students also learn to wield and construct their own traditional weapons of wood, stone, shark tooth and bone. Among the ancient tools of battle are the ka'ane (strangling cord), ma'a and pōhaku (sling and stone), pololū (long spear), ko'oko'o (stafī), leiomano (shark tooth club), single- and double-edged pāhoa (wood daggers), and blunt hand clubs. Last year, nine veteran students attained 'olohe status in 'ūniki, the first graduation ceremonies held by the two pā. Paglinawan ponders the relevance of the ancient art form today: "Obviously, you're not going to walk down the street with a 20-foot pololū. So, why do we practice using them? The point is, when we make these weapons and learn how to use them, we understand the technology and the wisdom of our ancestors. "Lua's key lesson is to become spiritually balanced and flexible," Paglinawan says. "There is a time to be hard like Kū, and a time to be Hina, soft. Lua teaches us to ho'omau (persevere) — to flow with life, not fight it." ■

Ssntar Olohe Lua Mltchell Ell (at top of steps) looks on as Bllly Rlchards, one of the new generation of 'olohe lua, downs Henry Deta Cruz, In a Pō Ku'l-a-Holo demonstratlon of the marttal art performed at the cMc clubs' Hō'lke'lke celebratton honorlng Prlnce Jonah KQh»'s blrthday. Kūhlō (ln framed photo) was a lua practltloner.

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