From the Black Belt archives, Dave Lowry reflects on judo legend Keiko Fukuda and what her extraordinary journey teaches martial artists about rank, recognition and perseverance.
Keiko Fukuda probably won’t make the cover of Black Belt. At nearly 100, she’s not that fierce or imposing. And after all, she didn’t get a promotion in her martial art for more than two decades.
The other day I heard a black belt complain that he’d been stuck at third dan for six years and that the reason he wasn’t getting promoted was the national board that tests for his karate organization wasn’t fair. It made me think of Fukuda.
She’s the last surviving judoka who was personally trained by the art’s founder, Jigoro Kano. She began practicing in 1935 at a time when the Kodokan had just opened a women’s division for its two-dozen female judoka. Fukuda was allowed to take up the art primarily because her grandfather had been one of Kano’s jujitsu teachers. Even then, her family approved only because they thought she might meet a suitable husband on the mat.
Fukuda became captivated by judo. She continued training during World War II and took it up again when the martial arts ban was lifted after Japan surrendered. By 1953 she was among the senior-most female judoka in the world. She was awarded godan, or fifth-degree black belt. In 1966 she moved to the United States and opened the Soko Joshi Judo Club, where she still teaches today.
Fukuda has been given the Order of the Sacred Treasure by Japan for her work in judo. She’s written books, taught around the world and created a kata championship that’s one of the art’s most prestigious events. And as of 1973, she was still a fifth dan.
WHEN FUKUDA BEGAN JUDO, the Kodokan set up a separate rank system for women, recognizing only five grades of black belt. No matter how skillful one was, the rule was ironclad. Meanwhile, since 1926, men had been able to attain rank up to ninth dan. Not long thereafter, 10th dan was established.
The Kodokan has a long history of bumbling in the promotion and practice of judo. Often, the hierarchy has failed to recognize opportunities and remained reluctant to act in the best interest of the art. Its refusal to even consider changing the rank system for female judoka is a perfect example. Behind the scenes, beginning in the late ‘60s, enormous pressure was exerted on the Kodokan to update this system, primarily on behalf of Fukuda. It was outrageous that male judoka who were literally decades junior to her now outranked her.
The pressure was applied in a variety of ways. Some Japanese judo masters tried to use graciousness and oblique diplomacy. Some Westerners were blunt about it, almost threatening. The Kodokan refused to give in until finally in 1973, threatened with international embarrassment, it relented. Fukuda was promoted to sixth dan. It had been 29 years since her last promotion.
In subsequent years, perhaps to make up for its policy, the Kodokan promoted Fukuda again. She’s now a Kodokan ninth dan. (She holds a 10th dan from the International Judo Federation, but the rank isn’t recognized by the Kodokan.)
IT’S DIFFICULT TO IMAGINE the road Fukuda has traveled. Her father died when she was a child. Her uncle discouraged her participation in judo; it wasn’t something a girl of her caste should do, he said.
Instead of marrying and having children, which was expected of women of her generation, she practiced judo. She endured the same injuries, disappointments and challenges as any serious martial artist, but she also faced unique obstacles related to the culture and atmosphere of the male-dominated dojo.
She came to the United Sates while still relatively young and had to learn the language and customs of a foreign place. For a time, she had no home of her own and lived with one of her students. Like every other budo teacher of her time in this country, she faced enormous difficulties translating the spirit and values of the martial arts.
In all those years, Fukuda has never complained about the treatment she got from the Kodokan. Her status as a personal student of Kano should have elevated her to the realm of legend. If anyone has the right to say, “Do you know who I am?” it’s her. She could point to her accomplishments, to the awards and recognition she’s received, including having been inducted into the Black Belt Hall of Fame.
She could highlight the clinics she’s taught, the championships she’s founded, the scholarships she’s provided for young judoka, and ask, “Who has done more for judo than me?”
Instead of pleading or complaining, Fukuda has gone about following the way of judo. She’s taught, trained, supervised and coordinated events, tournaments and clinics. She isn’t focused on grades or rank; she’s focused on her art.
Irritated that you haven’t been treated “fairly” with respect to promotions in your dojo? Well, maybe you have a point. Maybe you’ve done more for your art than Keiko Fukuda has done for hers. Then again, maybe not.
