The World at War: WWI to WWII Era

Mitsuyo Maeda, a Judo master with experience in catch-as-catch-can wrestling, introduced Jiu-Jitsu to Brazil in 1914, teaching Carlos Gracie and later his younger brother, Hélio Gracie. Faced with physical limitations, Hélio refined the system by focusing on leverage-based ground fighting and precise submissions to defeat larger, stronger opponents. Throughout the 1930s and 40s, the Gracie family launched public challenge matches against boxers, wrestlers, and street fighters, proving BJJ’s effectiveness in unscripted combat without weight divisions or restrictive rulesets.

The influence of Catch wrestling was clear in BJJ’s arsenal of neck cranks, leg locks, and positional control, enhancing its adaptability for real-world encounters. Meanwhile, brutal Vale Tudo (“Anything Goes”) matches tested the system against a wide spectrum of fighting styles, reinforcing BJJ’s focus on ground dominance and submission mastery over striking exchanges. Brazilian police forces also began adopting BJJ for close-quarters arrest tactics, recognising its efficiency in controlling aggressive suspects with minimal reliance on weapons.

By the close of WWII, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu had carved a reputation as a practical, pressure-tested martial art—shaped in street fights, ring challenges, and law enforcement confrontations. Its foundations during this era quietly prepared it for the global surge that would follow in the decades to come.

During the build-up to and throughout World War II, as Brazil aligned with the Allies, the government worked to shift Capoeira’s public perception from outlawed street fighting to a legitimate martial art. Efforts to promote national identity and physical readiness raised Capoeira’s profile, sharpening its utility for both self-defence and law enforcement applications.

In Brazil’s urban centres, Mestre Bimba spearheaded a transformative evolution with his development of Capoeira Regional. Moving away from purely ritualised movements, Bimba focused on practical, street-ready techniques, integrating elements of boxing, Batuque grappling, and effective counter-attacks. This refinement enriched Capoeira’s arsenal, sharpening devastating kicks, headbutts, and sweeps for real-world application in street fights and confrontations with law enforcement.

The 1930s and 40s saw Capoeira shed its outlaw stigma, gaining recognition as both a cultural heritage and a practical combat system. Public demonstrations, growing acceptance in athletic circles, and official recognition as part of Brazil’s cultural identity helped anchor its place in Brazilian society. By the end of the war, Capoeira had evolved into a versatile and adaptive martial art, blending tradition with modern combat pragmatism—ready to influence not just Brazil’s identity, but future global martial trends.

During the Japanese invasion of China, Chinese martial arts endured as both a means of cultural preservation and, in some cases, localised resistance. Systems like Wing Chun, Xingyiquan, and Bajiquan continued to be practised by village militias and groups such as the Red Spear Society, where traditional techniques supported self-defence and ambush tactics on a limited scale. While formal military units like the Eighth Route Army prioritised firearms and guerrilla warfare, local fighters drew from inherited martial knowledge to defend their communities when forced into close quarters.

Although no formal system of Sanda existed at the time, fighters relied on the free-fighting traditions of the Republican era, particularly Lei Tai platform combat, blending strikes and grappling in rough, unsanctioned encounters. These proto-Sanda methods, born of necessity, saw Xingyiquan’s direct, linear attacks and Bajiquan’s explosive, short-range power applied in close-range ambushes and skirmishes.

Despite occupation bans and wartime hardship, Triad societies and underground martial arts schools safeguarded traditional teachings, ensuring continuity in secret safe houses and secluded training grounds. Weapons practice — particularly with staffs, spears, and improvised tools — remained essential for rural militias, while the symbolic use of concealed weapons like hook swords allowed for cultural defiance even under watchful occupation forces.

Meanwhile, Yip Man, though forced into obscurity, quietly refined Wing Chun, focusing on speed, economy of motion, and brutal close-range effectiveness. His dedication ensured that the art survived the war years, poised for revival in the turbulent era to come.

During the Japanese occupation of the Philippines, guerrilla fighters relied on traditional bladed weapons and close-quarters combat tactics, drawing from the rich heritage of Kali (Eskrima/Arnis). Bolos, machetes, and knives proved essential for jungle ambushes and sabotage missions, enabling resistance groups like the Hukbalahap to launch effective attacks despite limited firearms. Beyond the battlefield, Kali became a vital means of cultural preservation, ensuring its techniques and traditions survived even under strict restrictions. Fighters adapted their training with farm tools and improvised weapons, keeping their combat skills sharp even when steel was scarce.

In Indonesia, Silat endured quietly as a cultural tradition, maintained through secret training and community gatherings. While resistance forces depended mostly on guerrilla tactics and smuggled firearms, Silat remained a symbol of resilience and national pride, laying the foundation for its revival in the post-war years.

In Burma, martial arts like Lethwei survived in rural villages, where local matches continued beyond the watchful eyes of colonial powers and occupying forces. Often staged as part of village festivals, these brutal striking contests preserved Lethwei’s techniques and spirit, keeping the art alive despite wartime hardships. Even without direct involvement in resistance efforts, Lethwei remained intact—ready for resurgence after the war.

In Vietnam, under French colonial rule and later Japanese occupation, martial arts such as Vo Thuat persisted quietly in rural enclaves and nationalist circles. While formal resistance groups like the Viet Minh focused on guerrilla warfare and firearms, these traditional systems endured as cultural symbols, awaiting their moment to re-emerge during Vietnam’s struggle for independence.

Though martial arts across Southeast Asia were not universally applied in guerrilla combat, their survival through occupation played a crucial role in safeguarding cultural identity. In the Philippines, traditional systems directly supported the resistance, while in other regions, they endured as symbols of resilience, poised for rebirth. These arts—once hidden in secrecy—would later surge into post-war revival movements, shaping national pride and informing military training in the newly independent nations of Southeast Asia.

During the early 20th century, Indian martial arts like Kalaripayattu, Gatka, and Pehlwani endured beneath colonial restrictions. After the 1857 Rebellion, British crackdowns forced many traditions underground, surviving through temple rituals, rural festivals, and discreet training in akharas and gurdwaras.

Though absent from World War II battlefields, these arts remained vital symbols of cultural resilience. Pehlwani thrived in akhara pits, preserving physical culture across generations. Gatka survived in Sikh festivals and ceremonies, keeping weapon skills alive. Kalaripayattu continued in southern India, safeguarded by family lineages dedicated to preserving its techniques and spiritual heritage.

Despite wartime pressures, the quiet perseverance of these traditions laid the groundwork for a powerful post-independence revival—restoring India’s martial arts as emblems of national pride and resilience.

Under Japanese occupation (1910–1945), Korean martial arts faced severe suppression, with traditional systems banned from public practice and forced underground. Arts like Taekkyeon survived quietly in rural villages and hidden gatherings, preserving deceptive footwork, fluid kicks, and open-hand strikes that had been passed down for generations. Similarly, Ssireum (traditional Korean wrestling) remained embedded in cultural festivals and rural communities, safeguarding Korea’s indigenous grappling traditions despite colonial efforts to erase native combat systems.

However, the widespread introduction of Japanese martial arts during this time—particularly Karate, Judo, and Kendo—had a profound, if unintended, influence. These arts were integrated into schools, police academies, and military training under the colonial regime. While aimed at controlling the Korean population, this exposure familiarised a new generation of Koreans with structured martial training and combat methods, inadvertently laying the groundwork for post-war hybrid systems.

Amid these pressures, a network of underground dojangs (training halls) and dedicated practitioners kept Korean martial heritage alive, nurturing both the physical techniques and the cultural spirit tied to them. Training was often secretive, passed between trusted students and masters determined to preserve national identity through martial practice. Though open combat was rare during the occupation years, the quiet perseverance of these arts ensured that, when Korea regained its independence, a foundation for revival remained intact—one that would soon evolve into modern systems like Taekwondo, blending traditional Korean techniques with the martial experiences gained during decades of occupation.