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Recently, I found myself reflecting on the many discussions that follow major international kendo tournaments. To be honest, it was never really my intention to write about topics like these, but here I am, so be it! If you’ve been taking a sip of the ChikaraMizu, you’ll know that I recently tried to approach a controversial ippon from a logical perspective and explain why a referee’s decision can become the subject of intense debate (link below).
As we have seen, videos are shared online, footage is slowed down and analyzed frame by frame, and practitioners from around the world offer their interpretations. Some discussions are thoughtful and insightful. Others quickly become polarized. If you want to read an excellent rebuttal to all that noise read Alex Bennett’s article below. What interests me, however, is not whether a particular decision was right or wrong. Rather, it is what these discussions reveal about the way kendo itself functions.
At the heart of kendo lies something that is rarely discussed directly: consensus. This may seem like an unusual concept to associate with a martial art. Kendo is often experienced as a deeply personal activity. We train individually, compete individually, and are ultimately responsible for our own development. Yet beneath every match, grading examination, seminar, and referee decision exists a vast framework of shared understanding. Without it, kendo could not exist in its present form.
Consider some of the concepts that practitioners encounter throughout their training. What constitutes effective seme? What distinguishes a valid strike from one that merely lands? How should zanshin be expressed? What does it truly mean to apply the principles of the sword? None of these questions can be answered through simple measurement. There is no instrument capable of quantifying fighting spirit, no sensor that can measure pressure, and no formula that can determine whether an action embodied the principles that kendo seeks to preserve. These judgements rely upon something more complex. They rely upon the accumulated knowledge and experience of generations of practitioners.
This understanding is developed and transmitted through countless interactions. Teachers instruct students. Senior practitioners conduct seminars. Shinpan attend training sessions and discuss difficult situations. International competitions, as we saw at the 1AOKC, expose participants to different perspectives while simultaneously reinforcing common standards.
Through this ongoing process, a shared understanding gradually emerges. It is not fixed, nor is it immune to change. The rules themselves do not necessarily evolve, but interpretations are refined, and new situations arise that require fresh discussion or reaffirmation. Yet despite these developments, kendo maintains a remarkable continuity. Practitioners from different countries, cultures, and generations remain connected through a common framework of understanding.
I think this is a wonderful thing.
In many respects, this process resembles academic inquiry. Scholars frequently disagree with one another. Research findings are challenged, methodologies are debated, and interpretations are revised. Yet the purpose of such disagreement is not simply to prove another person wrong. The objective is to arrive at a deeper and more reliable understanding of a subject. Kendo operates in a similar manner. Disagreement is not evidence that the system is failing. On the contrary, thoughtful disagreement is often a sign that practitioners are actively engaging with the principles of the art.
The difficulty arises when discussion becomes detached from the broader process of learning and consensus-building. Modern communication platforms encourage immediate judgement. A clip is posted online, an opinion is formed, and a verdict is declared. While there is certainly value in analyzing difficult situations, there is also a tendency to assume that an individual’s interpretation is sufficient in itself. Traditionally, however, kendo has approached difficult questions differently. Practitioners may hold strong views about a particular decision, but they are also expected to understand how experienced teachers and senior practitioners interpret the same situation. The objective is not merely to defend one’s own position, but to deepen one’s understanding through engagement with the collective judgement of the kendo community. Through discussion, observation, and continued training (keiko), a broader understanding gradually emerges. This process requires patience and humility. It requires an acknowledgement that our own perspective, no matter how strongly held, may be incomplete.
What makes kendo particularly interesting is that this consensus is inseparable from tradition. While written rules and regulations play an important role, they do not exist in isolation. Concepts such as seme, tame, opportunity, and zanshin cannot be fully understood through a rulebook alone. They are transmitted through direct experience, observation, instruction, and practice. As a result, kendo depends not only upon written regulations but also upon a shared inheritance passed from one generation to the next. The rules provide structure, but tradition provides meaning.
This relationship between consensus and tradition may explain why certain debates in kendo are so difficult to resolve through objective analysis alone. Practitioners naturally look for definitive answers. Who struck first? Who moved first? Who made contact? These questions are important, but they are not always decisive. The deeper question is whether an action reflected the principles that kendo seeks to preserve. Answering that question requires judgement informed by experience, study, and a shared understanding of the art. It is not simply a matter of determining facts. It is a matter of interpretation within a tradition.
None of this suggests that shinpan are infallible or that difficult decisions should never be questioned. Mistakes occur. Judgement calls will always generate disagreement, particularly at the highest levels of competition. Yet if every discussion becomes solely an attempt to determine who was correct and who was mistaken, we risk overlooking the larger purpose of these conversations. The real value lies in the opportunity to examine our understanding of kendo itself. Through thoughtful discussion, practitioners refine their understanding and contribute to the continued development of the art.
Perhaps this is one of kendo’s quiet strengths. Teachers disagree. Shinpan disagree. Practitioners disagree. Difficult situations have always generated discussion, and they always will. Yet kendo continues to endure because practitioners remain willing to engage in those discussions while remaining connected to a tradition larger than themselves. Each generation inherits an understanding of kendo from those who came before. Through practice, study, competition, and debate, that understanding is examined, refined, and passed forward.
I believe sharing is caring, and A Sip of the ChikaraMizu will always remain free. Kendo is a shared experience of lifelong learning. If you find these reflections interesting or they give you food for thought in your own practice, your support will help me continue writing and sharing lessons from my own shugyō (修行).
Thank you!
In the end, consensus does not mean that everyone agrees. Rather, it reflects a collective commitment to seeking understanding together. It is through this process that kendo continues to evolve while retaining its essential character. That shared understanding, carried forward through tradition and renewed through each generation of practitioners, may be one of the most important reasons kendo still remains recognizably kendo today.
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