Sporting life: Judo

As the British know to their cost, codifying sports and defining them in your own image is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it offers a subtle but immense form of soft power. Few things are more emblematic of the reach and standing of Britain’s formal and informal empires than the worldwide diffusion of football, cricket, tennis and golf.

On the other hand, the empire can strike back. An early advantage is soon lost to bigger, more inventive competitors and global bureaucracies eventually come to control the sport. Football is now run by Fifa; the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews must defer to the US Professional Golfers Association. The tastes and preferences of south Asia now shape cricket and Britain still waits for a homegrown Wimbledon men’s champion.

A similar tale of decline and cultural anxiety was played out at the World Judo Championships in September. Not coincidentally, these were held in Japan, where the martial art originates, in the year that marks the 150th birthday of Jigoro Kano, father of judo. Kano systematised and civilised the panoply of jujitsu fighting systems to create judo, a way of life and action that was an idealisation of the moral rigour and mental equipoise the samurai class, Japan’s military nobility, were meant to possess.

While the British have come to accept grudgingly that we no longer produce the world’s best tennis players or national football teams, the Japanese have not abandoned the idea that they are—and must remain—the leading country at judo. Nor have they given up on the idea that judo’s authentic essence is Japanese.

While Japanese women are easily the strongest competitors in the world, men’s judo has been in trouble. At the 2008 Beijing Olympics, the men’s team won two gold medals out of ten, its lowest haul ever. The year after, the men failed to win any golds at the world championships, a national disaster which triggered some perennial Japanese neuroses. Judo’s decline was traced to the country’s ageing population and the lack of self-discipline amongst its comfortable, consumerist and increasingly cosmopolitan youth.

There is also a sense that Japan has lost control of the sport to the International Judo Federation (IJF) and the rest of the world. There are now 199 nations in the federation and Japan no longer has a representative on the 20-person executive committee. Kano, like many modernisers of his era, was an active but wary internationalist. He was happy to take judo to the world, but never imagined that its Japanese character would be diluted.

The IJF has been the key force in turning judo from a social and spiritual practice into a rationalised sport. Whereas Kano’s judo privileged randori, or freestyle sparring, the IJF has been almost exclusively focused on competition. This has brought rules and practices that outrage traditionalists. The introduction of weight divisions, for example, conflicts with Kano’s premise that a lighter, more skilful judoka (judo practitioner) should always be able to triumph over a larger, less skilled opponent. The IJF introduced coloured robes to make the sport more television-friendly—a move bitterly opposed by the Japan Judo Federation, whose competitions continue to be conducted in all-white. The problems of long stalemates and contests reduced to hidden micro-moves between grappling judoka have seen the introduction of point penalties for passivity and failure to attack, to the consternation of those who value the close battle for momentum and balance.

Perhaps the bitterest dispute has been over fighting styles. European judoka in particular favour leg work and wrestling above the more Japanese preference for standing combat, with collar and sleeve grips as a prelude to dramatic throws. The European tactics have made competition harder for the Japanese and, according to them, diluted the aesthetics of the sport.

In Kano’s judo, victory was only achieved by a single ippon; a throw of direct control and power onto the back. Less technical wrestling styles have led to victories based on scores for imperfect throws. Under pressure from the Japanese, the IJF introduced rule changes that outlawed low tackles and wrestling moves and most forms of leg grab.

At first glance, this year’s world championship seemed to mark victory for the Japanese in the face of globalisation. The team won ten gold medals, four of which were men’s. Best of all for the traditionalists, the open weight contest, which allows any-sized judoka to compete, was reintroduced and won by Daika Kamikawa. This triumph was made all the sweeter for the Japanese by the reactions of the defeated Frenchman, Teddy Riner. With the final still tied after overtime, Riner lost on a vote among the three officials. The Frenchman barely bowed after the bout, kicked the advertising hoardings and refused to have a group photo taken with the other medallists. But as the Japanese men’s coach put it: “All delicate decisions were in favour of Japan… it won’t be like this in Paris next year.” A home advantage cannot be exported.