Ron Breines began learning Kakuto-ryu, a strip down and straightforward martial art, from his uncle and his friend Bob in 1970. Stressing combat readiness, Breines found that his training assisted him in acquiring and internalizing many different martial arts and military combatives. Framing Kakuto-ryu in the similar fashion of Ryukyute, Breines emphasizes the combative elements of the art. Today, Breines took some time to discuss Kakuto-ryu history, effective training in the martial arts, and training with Okinawan karate masters. This is the second part of a two part interview. Read the first part here.
MAYTT: Why is there that much hostility or taboo with the bunkai and application or anything else outside of kata practice?
RB: I think there are a couple of explanations for this, but the biggest one is that they simply don’t know it – they weren’t taught it the right way.
I’ll give you an example. There’s a dojo up north that a close Italian friend of mine trained at. I introduced him to karate and brought him to that dojo, where he spent five years. By the time he went there, I had already left. But in those five years, all he learned was kata. So I told him, “You need to go to this other guy.” He went and trained with a teacher who did the opposite; it was almost all bunkai and very little kata. Then I suggested another dojo near his house because I knew both instructors. Now, he’s training there and is really happy because they’re actually showing him the meaning behind the movements. His name is Taka, and eventually, he went back to Italy. Over there, he found a dojo related to the same style, and those guys really knew their bunkai.
So I realized that, for some reason, the knowledge of bunkai had been lost in many dojos here. Maybe it was because of the JKA. The JKA (Japan Karate Association) is essentially a Japanese bastardization of Ryukyute and it turned into a sport. That’s not to say that Shotokan can’t be effective. There are Shotokan practitioners, especially in the police force, who focus only on combative applications. Those guys know the oral teachings, and some of the masters do as well.
When I lived in Tokyo for four years, I trained with Hirokazu Kanazawa. He was an incredible martial artist and one of the nicest people I ever met. He taught in a very traditional way but was open to teaching bunkai. His fighting experience, however, was mostly within the JKA format. He had never been in a street fight.
I told him, “I grew up in New York. We fought all the time.” That’s just what we did when we were young, especially since we had martial arts skills. We’d go into the city, down to the Lower East Side – places like B Street – where you were almost guaranteed to get into a fight. And we used what we knew. Kanazawa never had that experience, but he was still a great teacher. He understood what worked and what didn’t. He taught the concept of omote (the outward, visible technique) versus ura (the hidden, deeper application). But like most instructors here, he mostly taught omote. And that’s the issue; many dojos never get to the ura.
MAYTT: Why do you think that was?
RB: I often wondered why that was. A lot of these younger dojo heads just don’t know it. One of the few exceptions is Akihito Yagi, the head of Meibukan Okinawa. He’s one of the only ones curious enough to seek answers outside Okinawa. He traveled to China and even spent time in the US because he wasn’t learning what he needed in his own dojo. That’s rare.
Another example is Kuba, who is very jujutsu-oriented. I met him at a seminar, and we got to talking. I asked, “Why did you start incorporating jujutsu?” Most karate practitioners here don’t seem to understand that there are judo and jujutsu throws embedded in the katas. Every turn in a kata contains a throw if you know how to see it. He told me, “Because I realized you can’t just strike your way out of everything.” This became especially clear in the 1990s when Ultimate Fighting Championships started gaining popularity. He saw how fighters like the Gracies were locking people up and dominating because their opponents only knew how to punch and kick – they didn’t know how to throw or grapple. That’s when he said, “But it’s in the katas.” Exactly. He ended up going to China and learning Qin Na, just like I did.
I believe the main reason is that they were never taught it. Take the sensei I mentioned earlier: he spent years in the dojo but was never taught beyond kata. He only passed down what he had learned: you do kata, you master it, and you learn the omote. If he ever learned the ura, I never saw it. Even when I tried to demonstrate my interpretation of a technique, he dismissed it as something I was making up. I told him, “Just follow the lines. It’s all there.” But he couldn’t see beyond the surface.
To me, if a movement exists in a kata, it’s there for a reason. That’s how the old masters thought – they focused solely on what worked because they had to defend their castles and their king. Today, there’s no real combat experience. Okinawa is one of the safest places in the world. I don’t even know where my house key is because I’ve never locked the door. I grew up in New York with Frank Rivera. My family was in Brooklyn, in some really tough neighborhoods. Fighting was just part of life. My uncle used to throw me into fights. I’d show up, and he’d say, “Fight this guy today.” And the guy would be huge. I’d protest, “I can’t fight him! I’m thirteen!” But I fought anyway. I got hit, knocked out, but I learned. That doesn’t happen here. Martial arts here have become more like a sport.
Take the Motobu Udundi dojo I trained in; hardly anyone in Okinawa even knows about it. I was lucky to get in and experience it. I probably would have stayed with them instead of a karate dojo, but my friends in the States kept pushing me to get more information from my master. Eventually, I realized there wasn’t much left for me there. That’s not to say all dojos are the same. Eugenio’s dojo, for example, is different. When I visit, they ask me, “What does this mean?” I show them, and suddenly they realize that this simple movement is a neck snap. The same motion they’ve drilled a thousand times has an entirely different application. It’s obvious once you see it, so why make it complicated?
I used to practice aikido. The flowing movements where you redirect an opponent’s force—it looks beautiful, but it’s not practical in a real fight. Tai Chi, however, has similar movements, but with immediate application. If someone grabs my arm and I pull back while my other hand moves in the opposite direction, I can break their arm, prevent them from striking, or send my hand straight into their throat. That crossing motion is critical, but no one here seems to recognize it. It’s so obvious, yet overlooked.
The issue is that because they were never taught it, they don’t teach it. Another problem is a lack of curiosity among the older generations. They’re preserving the art, but I feel like they’re steering it in the wrong direction. I have hope for the younger generation, though. They can see techniques online now and start asking, “Why don’t we train this way in the dojo?” That curiosity could drive change.
MAYTT: What is the current climate of martial arts in Okinawa?
RB: There’s provincialism. Every dojo thinks their way is the only way. “If you’re not in Meibukan, you don’t know what you’re doing.” “Jundokan is the only real school.” But historically, there were no rigid styles. You had Naha-te, Shuri-te, and Tomari-te (which has mostly disappeared). Naha-te evolved into Goju-ryu, and Shuri-te became Shorin-ryu, but they were never truly separate. The masters were only three miles apart! If a student needed to learn throws, his teacher would send him to another master who specialized in them. There was constant exchange, and they were all friends. Now, it’s all divided. One dojo dismisses another as illegitimate. I keep telling them, “You guys need to unite. It’s Okinawan martial arts, not a dozen competing factions.” If they don’t, it’s going to die out. It’s just nonsense at this point. Just like Krav Maga. If you go through the Krav Maga programs in Israel, it’s essentially the same principles I was taught and that we practice; it’s all about survival.
I remember one situation when I was in the old part of Jerusalem. My training in Krav Maga served me well, just as my Kakuto-ryu training did. But now, Krav Maga has become more about looking flashy, with big throws and big movements. It’s about putting on a show rather than focusing on what actually works. And because the world is so much safer now, many practitioners don’t have to understand the true essence of it. They’ve become complacent, too comfortable with their own style.
I’ve noticed this same attitude in traditional martial arts as well. I remember my old sensei – at that dojo, I was a senpai – he would always bad-mouth Morio Higaonna Sensei. But I’ve always admired Higaonna Sensei. I never trained under him because he was too far away, though I would have loved to. Later on, I got to know him well when I ended up teaching a couple of his seminars after he had heart problems. That gave me a chance to meet his students. Some of them were a little too cult-like for my taste, but Higaonna Sensei himself doesn’t encourage that at all. He’s one of the most down-to-earth, humble people you’ll ever meet. And yet, my old sensei never had a good word to say about him. I’d think, “That guy is the reason the world knows Goju-ryu. He made it famous.” When I was younger, I had no idea what Goju-ryu even was, and I was already training in it! But that’s just how it is in some martial arts circles – they criticize each other constantly, but then they drink together like it’s nothing. It’s just their way, but to me, it always felt uncomfortable. I see this same pattern in other fields too, like with Avi.
He’s alive and doing well, and I had told him I was going to help him get a job teaching with the Marines. So I asked him, “Just send me some of your certifications.” Next thing I knew, I was getting flooded with hundreds of certificates just kept coming in. But the sheer number of qualifications he had just proved that he was the real deal. And yet, despite all that, people kept attacking him, putting him down to the point where he finally said, “I’m out. I’m not representing Krav Maga anymore.” He ended up changing the name of what he taught, but that created new problems as well. Eventually, he settled on calling it CQC (Close Quarters Combat), or something similar. I remember asking him, “Why did you change the name?”
He said, “Because I don’t want to be part of Israeli martial arts anymore. It’s all become commercialized.”
And honestly, I understand. I know for a fact that a lot of these so-called sensei are selling belts.
MAYTT: You have had experience in that?
RB: We had a couple of guys from India come to us – they were Shorin-ryu practitioners looking to connect with Okinawa. But the Okinawan Shorin-ryu masters wouldn’t grant them their rokudan rank. They had been promoted to rokudan in India, but Okinawa wouldn’t recognize it. So they came to us. I told them, “Well, we practice Goju-ryu.”
They replied, “That’s fine. We’re rokudan…” and went on about their rank and experience.
I told them, “If you want to study here, that’s fine.” So they trained with us for a while. But then they asked, “Will you promote us to rokudan in Goju-ryu?” Their reasoning? “If you do, we’ll help make your style really big in India. You’ll make a lot of money from it.”
I told them, “No. You have to start as a shodan. You can’t just jump ahead.”
A true teacher will watch you, see how you punch, how you execute your gari, and then start you at the beginning, just like I did when I started. But they didn’t want that. They needed a rokudan rank, because anything less wouldn’t be recognized. And unfortunately, there are people out there granting rokudan ranks in styles these guys don’t even practice. It’s happening right now. If you’re going to go down that road, then just get rid of the styles altogether. Call it Okinawan Karate, come together, and agree on a curriculum that incorporates kata from different styles. But don’t hand out rokudan ranks to people who aren’t qualified, and don’t bend the rules just because someone isn’t following the proper time-in-rank requirements.
One of the reasons I left my former sensei was because of a situation involving a guy from Italy. I introduced him to our dojo, and he claimed to be a godan. But as soon as we started training, I knew right away that there was no way he was a godan. He was a big, strong guy, but he only knew up to Seiunchin; he didn’t know Sepai, Seisan, Suparinpei, or any of the advanced kata. How can you be a godan without knowing those?
Later, he invited us to do a seminar in Italy. The previous December, he had tested for shodan under us. I trained him, and he earned that rank fairly. He had originally claimed to be a godan, but we recognized him as a shodan, and that seemed reasonable. Less than a year later, in October, we traveled to Italy for the seminar. Suddenly, he was a nidan. I knew my sensei had promoted him, so I confronted him, “Why would you give him nidan?”
He replied, “Oh, because he’s going to promote the style. He’s the only representative in Italy and Europe.”
I told him, “But your own time-in-rank requirements say one year for shodan, two more years for nidan. That means he should have trained with us for at least three years before being promoted. He’s only been with us a year and a half.”
Sensei insisted, “No, no, he’s been with us for three years.” But that wasn’t true. The guy had lied and said he had been training with us for two years when he hadn’t. Sensei didn’t remember, and he just accepted it.
A year later, during covid, I wasn’t around much, and most people weren’t training. Next thing I knew, sensei had promoted him to sandan. That was just a year after nidan!
I told him, “You can’t do that. How can you justify this?”
We ended up having a big argument over dinner. He accused me of being jealous because the guy had climbed the ranks so quickly. I told him, “I never even asked for a belt! I kept telling you I didn’t want one, but you insisted because you were embarrassed that I would go and teach without a rank. You told me other masters would be insulted if I didn’t have a title.”
Eventually, they gave me a godan, but it never meant much to me. However, seeing them hand out a sandan in just three years, when it should have taken six, was the last straw. I left. Not long after, the head senpai also got fed up and left. That’s what it has become, a business. They’re not interested in truly understanding the roots of the art. They stay within their own schools, doing the same thing over and over. It’s also a very Japanese mindset; once they have a master, they remain loyal and only learn what that master teaches, without looking beyond it.
There are exceptions, like Akahito. He explored different ideas and introduced new things into his dojo. But did it change Meibukan, his grandfather’s style? I doubt it. They’ll probably just keep teaching the same kata. And more and more, it’s turning into a sport. You can see it in competitions, the movements have become choppy instead of smooth. I watch them and think, “You’re never going to use that movement in a real fight, so why teach it that way?” Someone like Kanazawa in Shotokan was beautiful to watch. His movements were fluid, and I think it was because he spent time in China, training in Tai Chi and other Chinese martial arts. That understanding of flow set him apart.
MAYTT: You and Kakuto-ryu are part of the American Jujutsu Association, where it attempts to bring in all the different styles of jujutsu, like you were saying with the Okinawan styles. How much have you personally had experience with the AJA in terms of that mutual cooperation and respect between the different styles?
RB: It was a larger governing body that would provide legitimacy. I’m not sure I needed to do it, but I didn’t want the whole thing to die out. I was looking for something, because while you can call yourself a dojo and operate indefinitely, if you’re not connected to some organization, especially in the States, it doesn’t look legitimate. So I became friendly with George Kirby. I did a lot of writing while I was here, and he would reach out to me. If he was working on a book or something, he’d ask me questions about how things were being done in Japan, especially after I came to Okinawa.
Do you know George at all?
MAYTT: Yes. We have had some correspondence over the years.
RB: He’s just a wonderful man, a truly wonderful human being. You’ve got to give him credit. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ve seen his curriculum, I know how it works, and I understand what they do. He’s been doing this since, I think, 1967. I remember hearing about him in the ‘70s and ‘80s about what he was doing, how he was teaching. I think we first connected in the ‘90s. That’s when I met him and had a real conversation with him. There’s actually a book where he gives me some credit, because I had given him a lot of information about how things were being done here in Japan. He’s always been open-minded and never closed off to new ideas. He really tries to think things through. I think that’s what made me interested in talking with him in the first place.
There were a couple of organizations I looked at, but what I liked about AJA was that they weren’t as formalized. They did require a curriculum, so I had to submit the one that Mitch has. I don’t remember exactly how we started out with them, but George was always open to everything. He invited me a few times to come and do seminars, but I just never had the time. When I was over there, I was already busy; I’m still here now and I still don’t have the time. There were a couple of summers when he ran a camp and asked if I could come over and teach. I couldn’t, because that’s when I’m usually doing other things, either traveling or working as a professor. I just couldn’t make it happen. But honestly, the main reason I connected with AJA was because of George. That connection mattered more than anything technical.
As far as technique goes, there’s definitely some overlap between what I do and what they do, and I agree with some of it. But like I said, I don’t usually think in terms of specific names like kote gaeshi. I appreciate the ideas, though, “do it like this” or “move like that,” allows you to flow and not be locked into rigid technique descriptions. George lays everything out clearly. Every technique is described so you can understand it. So when I made the curriculum for AJA, I did break things down into specific techniques to meet their structure. In that way, yes, the curriculum I use is influenced by what I needed to submit to AJA. But we haven’t had much contact with them, aside from me occasionally talking with George. I haven’t done any seminars with them. Most of the ones I’ve done were in New Mexico.
A lot of those seminars were with Frank, who did Hung Gar Kung Fu, and Phil, who taught Wing Chun. The three of us, plus Andrew, who does Judo and Aikijujutsu, we all had the same philosophy: “I take from you, you take from me, we give back and forth.” We shared ideas and brought them into our own teaching. For example, Wing Chun has so much to offer. It’s all close combat. Hung Gar, the way Frank did it, had both long and close-range techniques, and it was brutal. Frank never had more than six or seven students at a time because people would drop out. He was super easygoing and fun, but his dojo was tough. Lots of body conditioning, lots of sweating and striking. And if someone did something wrong, he’d make them do extra. We’d be in there for hours.
At one point, I had about thirty students, but eventually I said, “This isn’t working.” I went back to Frank’s model. I prefer just two or three students – five or six at most. When we had thirty in the dojo, it was just too much. I couldn’t give individualized attention, and honestly, how many of them really wanted to be there? If you don’t really want to do it, you should find another dojo. If someone is genuinely interested and can accept the pain that comes with real martial arts training, because that’s part of it, then it works. I don’t care if I have two students or ten. It’s not about money at all. Commercial dojos have to focus on income. They have no choice. I’ve only had to go that route once, when I was in Moriarty, New Mexico, and the markets crashed in 2008. I needed more cash flow, so I opened it up and ended up with thirty students. I was even teaching on the Pueblos in the mountains of New Mexico, and they were paying me for that. But I started to hate it. What do you do with fifty kids? I couldn’t teach Ryukyute to them. I had to teach a version of karate that was safe and wouldn’t get anyone hurt. That lasted maybe a year, and then I said, “I’m not doing this anymore.”
With AJA, I’d say they gave us a legitimate organization to work through, and they accepted the way that I do things, which to me is great. That means George is open to different ideas, even if we both call it jujutsu and what I do is a little different from his approach. I remember watching a few seminars he did, just videos, and I noticed they started bringing in a few cops. They were asking things like, “Would this work? How would it work?” They were looking critically at the techniques, maybe because George and I had a conversation about that kind of thing. But they were clearly testing the practicality of what they were teaching, and to me, that’s the right mindset. In that seminar, there was a guy, I think he was a cop, though I can’t remember his name, who was introducing that kind of material. And I thought, “Good for him. Good for George.” If something doesn’t work, take it out. If it works, keep it, and keep looking for better ways. That’s how you should teach.
I noticed they started incorporating some strikes, which they weren’t doing earlier on. Then I saw they were going to the ground more, doing things like elbows to the groin to escape, real practical stuff. Instead of going full BJJ style, like getting into a guard and working around it, they asked the simple question: why bother? The guy’s groin is right there; just tear it up. Why spin around and try to set up a triangle or something? Just go for the opening.
MAYTT: Would you describe the AJA as hands-off for its member dojo or is it a little more involved with its membership?
RB: With us, it’s a bit more hands-off, I think, probably because George and I are compadres. I don’t know exactly how he works with other dojos, but I think they’re more organized and formalized with most of their member dojos. Since I’m so far away, I’m not involved in what’s happening day to day. Most of the other AJA dojos are right there in the States, and I know they hold seminars regularly and stay active. I get a lot of emails about it, though Mitch is the one receiving most of them now – things about requirements and what needs to be done to stay current with the organization.
So yes, they do have requirements. But I think because George and I respect each other so much, it’s a little different for us. Honestly, if they ever said, “You have to meet this requirement,” and I couldn’t, I’d just say so. And if that meant parting ways, I’d be fine with that too. But I’ve always felt comfortable with George and the AJA. Otherwise, we would have left a long time ago. I’m just so far removed in terms of location now. Mitch used to be in New Mexico like I was, but now my whole family’s in Florida, so we’re all spread out. Mitch stays in touch with George somewhat, and George and I used to have a great line of communication. We’d share ideas, trade information, and it was a good relationship. So, I think out of courtesy to me, things have been more lenient than they might be for other dojos. And honestly, if I were in George’s position, I’d probably do the same. But I really can’t say for sure how he runs things with others, because I just don’t know enough about that side of it.
I know other organizations who just accept anybody that apply. Take one example: there’s this one guy who claims to teach jujutsu, but it’s honestly the worst stuff I’ve ever seen. And I know it firsthand. We all know who this guy is, and the truth is, anyone trying to use the techniques he teaches would get seriously hurt, or worse. He’s part of a judo association that gives him all kinds of certifications, which unfortunately lends him credibility. I honestly don’t know how. I don’t think George would tolerate that for a second – he’d send him away. And George does know him. At one point, we even brought him in. George was the head of the association, and this other guy was leading the martial arts program at the University of New Mexico. I was on the board back then, and I ended up stepping down. I just said, “This isn’t jujutsu. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not legitimate.” George agreed with me and also stepped away. So I know George holds much higher standards than whatever organizations this guy is part of.
To be clear, I’m not saying the judo association is bad, but judo is not jujutsu. This guy is in the judo association, yet he claims it somehow also legitimizes his jujutsu. I don’t know how that works. It’s like someone practicing karate, joining a judo organization, and saying, “Okay, now I’m officially recognized in karate too.” It makes no sense. That’s why I see the AJA as a legitimate organization for representing jujutsu. George is open-minded; he’ll say, “Okay, if you say this is jujutsu, let me see what you’ve got.” And if he agrees, then yeah, you can become part of the organization.
MAYTT: Is there anything you would like to add before we close?
RB: I mean, there are a million things I could say. I think you’ve already got a lot to work with, at least when it comes to what I’m doing with Kakuto-ryu and what it’s really about. It’s been around since 1970 officially, but really, it goes back to the 1950s. That’s when it all started. We just didn’t have a name for it until 1970. But the foundation was laid in the ‘50s, shaped by experiences during the war, so it has that kind of background.
My own vision of martial arts was shaped through a military lens. That perspective helped me in some ways and hurt me in others. I saw martial arts more as a form of training, not just an art. In contrast, someone like Kano developed judo into a spiritual path, a “way.” And that’s fine. But for me, I’ve always focused on the application: Does it work? When does it work, and when doesn’t it? That’s why I can’t accept a lot of what’s taught in many dojos. I look at some of it and just think, “Come on, no.” But on the other hand, I get it; you can’t be teaching everything. They did the same to me.
But yeah, I think the strength of Kakuto-ryu is that it’s so reality-based. The downside? Maybe it’s not “artistic” enough for a lot of people. So it’s always going to have a limited reach. Will it continue after me? I don’t know; we’ll see. Once I retire, I’ll probably have more time. I might set up a dojo, maybe even in Portugal. My brother wants to do something in Florida too. So who knows? It may still grow into something. I talked to Andrew and Phil a couple of months ago, and they’re still interested in building it.
MAYTT: Thank you for this great conversation, Breines Sensei!
RB: It was a pleasure!
This is the second part of a two part interview. Read the first part here.
Martial Arts of Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow 