The family of Scottish immigrants who set up jiu-jitsu in Brazil still dominate the world’s toughest fighting art, writes Alex Bellos
>From Robert the Bruce to Trainspotting’s Frank Begbie, the Scots have earned a reputation for their terrier-like fierceness. So it comes as a comforting proof of the stereotype that the man who created the toughest fighting art in the world had his roots in Dumfries.
Carlos Gracie, the godfather of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, was the grandson of Scottish immigrants to Brazil and the kind of man even Begbie would avoid in a dark alley.
Perhaps he inherited some of his aggression from his father, Gastao, a dynamite wholesaler from the Amazonian port of Belem, who became legendary for blowing up the electricity company when it cut him off for not paying his bill.
It was Gastao Gracie’s idea that his street-fighting son should take lessons from a Japanese jiu-jitsu master who in the 1920s was visiting the fledgling Japanese Amazonian immigrant community.
The mix of Pictish temperament and samurai discipline proved to be a potent cocktail in the mind of young Carlos. He finished his apprenticeship believing he was the hardest nut in Brazil.
He set out to prove it and moved south. Lacking in language the eloquence he had in the ring, he put an ad in a Sao Paulo newspaper: “If you want to get your face beaten and well smashed, your butt kicked and your arms broken, contact Carlos Gracie at this address.”
Carlos Gracie was only 1,69m tall and weighed 70kg, yet – according to Gracie lore – was undefeated until his death three years ago aged 94. His open challenge to practitioners of all styles, regardless of age, size or weight, has since become the clarion call of Brazilian jiu-jitsu fighters.
Whenever “no-rules” fights bring together champions from other martial arts, it is generally the jiu-jitsu guys that win.
Jiu-jitsu wins over judo because judo just immobilises the opponent, whereas jiu-jitsu has several ways of getting out of immobilisation using strangleholds and leg or arm-locks. Karate and Thai boxing also lose in comparison because jiu-jitsu moves can harness the hits and punches and use them to destabilise the other fighter.
Brazilian jiu-jitsu is in essence no different from the elite martial art the Japanese have been practising for centuries. The crucial difference is in attitude and the structure imposed on the bouts.
The Gracies turned it into a sport with rules, and gave the organisation of the sport a structure. Carlos Gracie taught his four younger brothers his fighting skills, who in turn taught their children, and their children’s children, creating a dynasty unparalleled in perhaps any other sport. Since competitions started, the surname of the world champion has always been Gracie.
In the last few decades Brazilian jiu- jitsu has changed from an obscure form of combat to a growing fashion in Brazil and the west coast of the United States.
In Rio de Janeiro it is now one of the most popular sports after football and in Los Angeles its gyms have attracted film stars such as Mel Gibson and Chuck Norris.
The Gracies dominate the scene because there are so many of them. Carlos Gracie had other manly ways apart from fighting. When not beating people up, he found time to father 21 children. If having so many children was not confusing enough, his numerological obsession with the 18th letter of the alphabet meant that there was not much room for manoeuvre when naming his kids.
Most of his and his brother’s children have names beginning with R: Robson, Reylson, Rose, Reyson, Rosley, Rolange, Rolls, Rocian, Reila, Rilion, Rorian, Relson, Rickson, Rolker, Royler, Royce, Rerika, Robin, Ricci, Ricardo, Renzo, Ralf and Ryan make up some of the vast Gracie clan.
The most successful R Gracies have left to live and teach in Los Angeles. But there are several left in Brazil, where many of them run jiu-jitsu gyms. The martial art has left its mark on Rio in subtler ways too. Carlos Gracie developed a special diet based on fruit types. He championed the use of the Amazonian blackberry-like acai, which has a famously high nutritious content.
Five years ago it was only found in specialist shops. Now every corner juice bar sells it and at breakfast time every self-respecting beefcake is slurping it down in energy-giving concoctions that have names such as Mike Tyson or Evander Holyfield.
As jiu-jitsu has gained popularity it has caused a split within the Gracie family. The first generation – of which Carlos Gracie’s baby brother, 85-year-old Helio, is the most outspoken member – were by and large weasily built types. Jiu-jitsu for them was a way for the small weakling to beat the big tough guys. But look around the sport now and its contenders look like bodybuilders. The second and third generation of Gracies are bigger too. Helio has said he will refuse to attend another competition.
“Since jiu-jitsu became professional and started to be a sport, it had to have rules. Before, fights could go on for hours. Now we have had to restrict fights to 10 minutes. So it favours the heavy people and so the contestants get bigger,” says Robson Gracie, aged 63, and president of the Rio jiu-jitsu federation.
Robson Gracie is at the forefront of the campaign to try to make Brazilian jiu- jitsu an Olympic event. The first hurdle is its image, because in Rio the sport has a terrible reputation for attracting and inspiring associated violence. A “no- rules” fight last year between a Gracie and a street wrestler turned into a massive brawl when gangs associated with different jiu-jitsu clubs in the audience turned on each other. Gunshots were fired. The state governor subsequently banned all no-rules competitions.
Robson Gracie’s attempts to negotiate the sport into acceptability are especially ironic because as well as being Brazil’s most famous fighting family, the Gracies have for even longer been an established family of diplomats. The current foreign minister, Luiz Felipe Lampreia, is a relation.
Carlos Gracie’s father Gastao was the first who broke the line. “He said he was not going to be a diplomat because Brazil has never made war with anyone,” says Robson Gracie . “He didn’t want to be a diplomat just to make peace.” His son did him proud.
ENDS