014 — The Okinawan Spirit of Not Losing, Part 4: Sōken Hohan and the Woman

An AI-generated photorealistic likeness of Sōken Hohan, based on historical reference images.

"True Karate is not for fighting, but for peace." – Sōken Hohan

Sōken Hohan (1889–1982) was a master of exceptional pedigree and presence—one of the last direct links to the earlier training methodologies of Authentic Okinawan Karate before it evolved under modern pressures. Born in Nishihara, Okinawa, Sōken was the nephew of Matsumura Nabe (c. 1860–1930), a direct descendant of the great Matsumura Sōkon. From a young age, he was immersed in the teachings of his family line, training under Nabe in the art known as Shuri-Te, Karate characterized by precision, speed, and internal discipline.

In his youth, Sōken was known to be quiet, observant, and serious about training. His relatives recognized his potential early, and his uncle Matsumura Nabe provided him with strict instruction. Later, Sōken would preserve and teach what he called Matsumura Seito Shōrin-ryū, believing it to represent the original teachings handed down within his family.

Following World War II, Sōken moved to Argentina, where he lived for about 15 years. While there, he taught Karate privately, eventually returning to Okinawa in the early 1950s. He resumed teaching from his home and in public parks, passing on his knowledge to a new generation of students during a critical period in Okinawan Karate's postwar recovery.

Despite his traditionalism, or perhaps because of it, Sōken was known not only for his technical proficiency but also for his calm temperament, moral clarity, and above all, his humility. He taught that Karate was not for show or violence, but a means of protecting oneself and others with restraint and respect.

This principle comes to life in the story for which he is best remembered.

The exact date of the incident is uncertain, but most accounts place it in the 1960s or 1970s, sometime after Sōken's return to Okinawa. By then, he was an older man, likely in his sixties or seventies, but still sharp, strong, and well-respected in the community. According to oral tradition, it went something like this:

One day, Sōken was walking through a public area—possibly a street or park—when he observed a group of young men harassing a lone woman. Whether their behavior was verbal or physical is unclear, but the intent was evident: they were intimidating her, emboldened by their numbers.

Many would have averted their eyes or kept their distance, but Sōken did not. Quietly and without posturing, he approached the group. His demeanor was neither confrontational nor fearful—only calm, direct, and composed.

One of the young men, seeing an older man interfering, stepped forward with bluster and aggression. Sōken moved swiftly and without hesitation. With a simple movement and ease, he dropped the man to the ground.

There was no follow-up strike, no shouting, no further display of dominance or control, as these were unnecessary—just decisive action.

The rest of the young men froze, shocked by the sudden turn of events. Their bravado evaporated, and they fled.

Sōken then turned to the woman, offered a polite bow, and walked away.

This brief incident contains within it a complete lesson in Karate's moral essence. There was no need for violence beyond what was required. No ego to satisfy. No need to "win." Sōken did not lose his temper, escalate the situation, or assert dominance. He acted decisively, protected the woman, and dissolved the threat with the quiet efficiency of a master.

This is the Okinawan spirit of not losing.

It is the wisdom to understand that not all victories come through prolonged confrontation. Sometimes, the most powerful thing one can do is act with just enough force—tempered by clarity and compassion—to resolve a situation without leaving destruction in its wake. It's about winning without the need for a fight, about maintaining peace and harmony, and about using martial arts not for aggression, but for protection and defense.

Sōken's conduct also reveals a quiet form of courage. At an age when many would retreat from conflict or defer to younger strength, he stood firm. But more importantly, he stood for something. His age and experience didn't make him weak, but rather, they gave him the wisdom and self-mastery to handle the situation with calm and restraint, without the need for unnecessary force or aggression.

In a world that often glorifies domination and public victory, Hohan Sōken's story reminds us of something different: that mastery lies in the ability to de-escalate, to defend, and to protect—not just oneself, but those around us.

Sōken didn't just defeat a group of young thugs. He prevented the moment from becoming something worse.

He lived the truth of his own words: "True Karate is not for fighting, but for peace."

Up Next
In Part 5, I'll conclude this series by reflecting on what it means to embody "the Okinawan spirit of not losing" in the modern world.