Authors Note
This paper is a small segment of a larger project/ Book on the stories of women in judo. It has been assembled for the Evergreen State College Program In Search of Lost Time taught by Stacey Davis and Sam Schrager.
The Bibliography attached includes references for the complete project and is a work in progress.
Introduction
Even though women were a part of Kodokan Judo from the very foundation of the art, the history of female participation has only been told in the context of men’s stories; a line or short paragraph that mention one of the few well known women. There are a few books authored by female judo players, they also, only slightly touch on their lives and almost exclusively focus on the techniques. The history of women’s judo has not been treated with the respect and attention it deserves. For most, the women of judo are storyless: and to be storyless, is to deny women’s contributions, challenges and sometimes even our participation.
This is the story of women in judo as well as a personal memoir of growing up and participating in this sport beginning in the 1960’s. I discuss the changes that have occurred for women in the sport as society and female expectations have changed, how women’s judo has changed over time; and the obstacles woman had to overcome to establish a presence in a sport dominated by male standards and values. A sport which embodies combat skills, physical strength and is practiced today in mixed gendered, full contact, grappling classes. I tell the story of my family history which is intertwined with the history of Judo in the United States, along with the traditions of child abuse, teacher worship, forced/arranged marriage, and domestic violence that took place within the larger moral and philosophical teachings of Kodokan Judo.
The study of Judo and its history can teach us a lot, especially when we include the perspectives of women participants and their stories. It contributes to the broader discussion of the historical processes of gender exclusion and rights, and enhances our understanding of how changing culture and values shift society’s views of women’s place in the world.
Judo has been described as an inclusive martial art, its creator, Jigoro Kano, emphasized safety, etiquette and moral teachings regardless of age, size or gender of its practitioners. Most instructors today will tell you that there is no difference between judo for men and judo for women because the definition of judo itself shows that anyone can learn it, whether they are male or female, old or young. Making a distinction between judo for men and judo for women would be contradictory. There is just judo, which women also happen to practice and ‘women’s judo’ is just a fragmentary belief, left over from the history of the early Japanese culture.
One of the truisms of modern warfare is that whatever strategy you adopt your opponent will eventually discover and counter it. One of the counters to gender equality many male judo players maintain is that there is no longer any bias in the sport: It is all in the past and therefore no longer needs to be addressed. The issue has been corrected. They minimalize the history of women’s judo and deny the experiences of women in today’s clubs. To deny that the perspectives of women training in judo are different from men’s is to put blinders on and perpetuate the gender bias and deny women their stories.
Whether they were wise, revolutionary, foolhardy, silly, and insufferable or described as masculine, the women of judo have been on the forefront of women’s rights and have often paid an extravagant price.
One of the philosophical teachings of Judo says; “value is not in the perfectly executed technique; it is in how we can use the training to develop ourselves and our communities.” Challenges that arise in training often arise elsewhere in life.
I invite you to learn from the history of women’s judo. Help us overcome the numbness to what for many of us feels unendurable; and to remember what we forgot in order to survive. Celebrate and validate our identities as judo women. Listen to our stories and know that we were there, even in the beginning.
“Judo is not For Girls”
Dads going to take me to Judo with him! I only get to watch while my brother John and Dad get to play. Girls aren’t allowed in judo. I really hate being a girl.
When we get to the club, dad sticks me in the box that is used to store the mats and tells me to sit nicely and be quiet. I try, really try to sit still, but I want to play judo too. I wriggle around and fidget: then I decided that it wouldn’t really hurt anyone if I copied the exercises. I pull up my skirt to get it out of the way, spread my legs and start to stretch just like the boys.
Grandpa notices and he looks mad. Dad walks over and stands me up, straightening my skirt and tells me to sit and stay still “judo is not for girls”
I sit for a while, and then just can’t any more, and I start doing sit-ups with the class. Dad comes back over and this time, I get spanked and told “Judo isn’t ladylike and your mother would kill me- Sit”
A few minutes later, I just have to try a summersault. I look at my dad and see him talking with Grandpa and Sensei. They are not looking my way, so I try another. Suddenly, I’m lifted out of the box and handed a pair of judo pants, “go put these on” Sensei says as he pushes me toward the bathroom.
Breathless with excitement, I run to change. When I get back to the dojo, Dad and Grandpa are waiting for me with a lecture, and wanting a promise from me. “You can’t tell your mother” Grandpa says. He goes on to explain that if I want to join the class, I couldn’t tell anyone. Sensei tells me that he knows about a couple of ladies that do judo. So, if I follow all the rules and keep the secret I will be allowed to play. I’m good at keeping secrets, this isn’t the first one Grandpa has asked me to keep.
I love the judo class; the physical exercise, the tumbling, the power of throwing someone and the feeling of belonging, being one of the boys- almost. The secret was hard to keep from my mother and it made me sad that I couldn’t share this wonderful place where I belonged.
At home and school I tried even harder to behave like a girl. I helped with the housework, stayed indoors except when accompanying my mother on one of her walks or forced to go out for recess. I tried to stay quiet, in the background, and be obedient.
My grandparents lived only a few blocks from our house and my brother and I often went there after school for dinner. One evening when Grandpa was watching us, John punched me, and I cried. Grandpa called me over and shook me by the shoulders; “If you are going to behave like a boy, then you better defend yourself. Either you stand up and beat him or I will beat you.” I turned around timidly, not really sure what was expected of me, to face John who is standing there laughing “She’s just a girl, she can’t beat me” he yelled, and I hung my head to cry harder.
Then, John pushed me, and I got mad. I wasn’t going to let him beat on me and then have to take another one from Grandpa. So I grabbed him and the fight was on. He punched me and pulled my hair. He bit and kicked and gave everything he had to hurt me. And with Grandpa yelling at me, I fought back. When he hit me, I threw him; when he kicked, I hit harder. Within a few minutes, John gave up and ran; and I ran after him. I had been restrained for so long; all my anger came out, directed at my brother, the bully. I grabbed him tightly and threw him one last time, and he didn’t get up. Grandpa was cheering and I was feeling great. Then Grandma came in the room, and we were all in trouble, including Grandpa. She demanded to know what was going on and why he was telling me to fight like a boy. Grandpa gave up our secret and told her that they had let me start Judo class. He also said that he didn’t think it was right that I had to put up with being hit by my brother at home, so he made me fight back.
A little later that evening, my parents came over and they all went into the living room and John and I were banished to the back rooms. We could hear lots of yelling and upset voices, but couldn’t really tell what was being said. We did know that it was about judo. I spent the evening wondering if I would be allowed back to class. John and I fell asleep before they finished talking, and we were taken home without waking up.
When I woke the next morning my dad was very quiet and Mom was mad. She told me to fix breakfast for everyone and to get dressed nice. After they had all eaten, I sat down to have my long hair brushed out and braded. Mom yelled at me that she wasn’t going to do that for me anymore, especially since I wanted to act like a boy. Dad herded my brother and me to his car, and told my mom that he would take care of it. I felt strange and kept running my fingers through my hair, trying to comb it out. I had never left the house without it being brushed and tied up. We pulled up in front of the barbers and got out of the car. I guessed that Dad and John were getting their hair cut like they always did. This time I was put in the barber’s chair, and Dad told the man to cut mine as short as he could without shaving it. I cried all the way through the haircut and didn’t recognize myself when it was done.
On the way home Dad told me something that confused me. I could be in judo, if I was a boy. But at home, I had to be a girl and behave like one and help my mother when she asked. The haircut was so I could remember that being a boy could only happen at judo. It seemed as if my Mom cried for weeks, and couldn’t even look at me.
I went back to Judo class that week and had the best time. I was finally allowed to participate with all the boys, learning as much as them. Only occasionally Sensei would tell me that I needed to do the technique like a girl or sit properly, like a girl. At home, I tried to stay out of Moms way, dress neatly, keep quiet and do as I was told. I still managed to get in trouble almost every day. All it took was a flicker of expression on my face when I was told to do something; a moment too long to respond to a call; a task not completed to perfection, anything at all and she would take out Dad’s belt and start swinging it like a whip. She frequently threatened to take my books or my other favorite possessions away in punishment; I lost all access to the outdoors both at home and for recess at school. I was not allowed to have any friends. The only thing that she didn’t threaten to take away from me was my judo class and it became my sanctuary. The only place I belonged and could be myself, a place of victory over my home life and my mom.
Many Sundays, Dad, John and I went to tournaments. At first Dad was the only one competing as John was too young and girls were not allowed. We sat on the side of the mat watching and cheering Dad on quietly. The rules of judo did not allow loud voices and cheering. John and I were proud of Dad and the medals he won.
At school one day, the girls were all talking about their mothers jewelry. I usually was ignored as the girl with “cooties” and boy hair, so I was surprised when they asked me what my mom’s favorite necklace looked like. I had no idea, but found myself promising to bring it to school the next day so everyone could see it. It was one of the first times any of the kids had talked to me, other than to call me names or make fun of me, so I had to do it.
When I got home, I snuck into my parent’s room and started looking for Moms Jewelry. I couldn’t find any, but I did find my Dads medals. I took the biggest and prettiest gold medal I found; surely this would impress the girls at school. It didn’t. When they saw what I had, they started laughing at me and grabbed it out of my hand. They ran away swinging it around, while making fun of me. I tried to get it back, but then they hid it. After the bell rang for class to start again, I went out to the yard to try to find my Dad’s medal. I looked and looked and couldn’t find it anywhere. When school was over, I went home, knowing I was in trouble. Nothing happened, my parents didn’t find out that I stole Dad’s medal. They didn’t even notice it was missing until years later.
As we were getting ready for a tournament one Sunday, Dad told both John and I to bring our uniforms. When we got there, he was filling out paperwork and we both had to weigh in. We were going to compete!! John was called first and he won his match. Then I was called and my match only lasted seconds before I was declared the winner. We went back and forth this way, both of us beating every opponent. Then both John and I were called up at the same time, we would be fighting each other. This match lasted a long time. John was afraid of what would happen if he hurt me and I was afraid of what would happen if I beat him. The referee stopped the match and called us both together and ordered us to fight “or else”. Neither of us knew what “or else” might be, so we began to fight in earnest. Just as the timer went off, I threw John and won the match.
As the awards for the tournament were being given, my name was called. I had placed 1st and would get a gold medal, just like the one I lost of Dad’s. Maybe I could put this one back and no one would notice. I stepped up to the front of the room to receive my award. The head instructor hesitated and bent over to me to quietly ask “are you a girl?” I thought it was an odd question, but answered anyway “Yes”. He said “oh; I need to talk to your instructor before I can give this to you.” I didn’t know what that meant. Dad came over and talked to the Sensei and then they announced a change to the awards. I had been disqualified- for being a girl. All I understood at the time was that I had no medal to replace my Dads.
My Instructor called me over to the side and told me that he needed me to meet someone. She was an older, tall, and red-headed, just like me, lady. Her name was Rusty Kanokogi and she did judo in New York and had been to the Kodokan to study. I was told that she had won tournaments and then had her medal taken away. We corresponded once or twice a year, for much of my childhood and she soon became a mentor as well as an example of a female judo player to me.
“Rusty Kanokogi
Rusty was born in 1935, in Brooklyn New York. Her father died when she was very young. Her mother was an immigrant from Russia’s Jewish Pale. (A region of Imperial Russia in which permanent residency by Jews was allowed and beyond which Jewish residency was prohibited) Rusty spent as much time as she could with her Aunt Lee Krasner, a well-known American painter. “Aunt Lee wasn’t afraid of anything; she just did whatever she wanted to do. She was someone I could look up to and someone I knew would always understand me.”
Rusty also spent much of her time on her own on the streets. She was a strong girl, a natural athlete in a time where there were no serious programs of sports for girls. Rusty joined street games and played as hard as the guys. She played hand ball as well as basketball. After watching men lift weights in a local gym, she began her own weight training program by pressing bus stop signs. She remembers feeling “that she had to choose between being a ‘scared person’ or a ‘strong person’. Fighting became my sport” she said. “It was partly survival and partly love. I was good at it.”
During this time period almost every neighborhood had its assortment of gangs. Rusty organized the Coney Island Apaches “The most notorious girl gang in Brooklyn” according to one reporter. The Apaches fought enthusiastically and engaged in “guts training”- Daring each other to do dangerous things. “Pain, getting hurt, broken bones- those were things you just had to put up with” she says. In fact, “getting hurt was glamorous- it meant you had done something dangerous.”
Rusty discovered judo at the age of 19. She was single, had a newborn baby, lots of bills and more energy than her job assisting the Physical Director at the YMCA could make use of. “The class was for men only, but I got my boss to talk to the director and I was given permission to enter the class. “Judo intrigued Rusty, partly because she couldn’t do it.” I thought power was power. I couldn’t figure out how to make my body light, how to make it fly up into the air the way they did. I had more bruises from falling the wrong way then you would believe possible. I was tall and it was a long way down.”
Rusty had to use a broom closet as a dressing room because the YMCA wasn’t set up to deal with female students. She worked out with a singular focus. She never missed a class. When it became time to form a competitive team, she was asked to be on it. They told me that “I was an exceptional woman. A woman who played judo like a man.” She said; “This was intended as a compliment, because everyone believed that women could not play judo.”
Rusty found out how far the men of judo in the United States would go to avoid having women do judo, when her team entered a competition organized by the YMCA Association under the supervision of the AAU. At that time, the application didn’t say “for men only” though it was assumed that all players were male. She cut her hair short and taped down her chest.
She entered the gym and waited for her turn on the mat. She thought she saw a few heads turn, but no one said anything. No one said anything when she won her match either. But when she lined up with her team to get her medal, she was handed a note. The director wanted to see her.
”My teammates told me not to go; they said stay in line and get your medal and let him stew. To me it was a choice between being humiliated in public and being humiliated in private. I chose privacy, so I stepped off the line. The tournament director asked her if she was a woman. She nodded, and he stripped her of her medal. “The director was furious.”
Rusty describes the meeting; “It wasn’t an athletic thing with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t think I could do it- obviously I could. He didn’t think women should. A woman just had no place there and he couldn’t understand how I could have thought they did.”
Rusty says that she didn’t try to defend herself, she was afraid that she would be expelled from the class she was in at the Y. “It didn’t say male on the application” she apologized. “If it had I wouldn’t have entered.” After that applications from the AAU had the word “male”’ on them and Rusty was barred from competing. “Had I said no, I wasn’t a woman, I don’t think women’s judo would have been in the Olympics. It instilled a feeling in me that no woman should have to go through this again.”
Rusty continued to work hard during judo class “I was always getting injured, straining this, bruising that. We all were. Once when I had to check into the emergency room because of a separated shoulder, the doctor made a face and asked me how in the world it had happened. I didn’t want judo to get the blame, so I said I had fallen off a stool while I was hanging drapes.”
“If I couldn’t get a door open, my inclination was to try to run through it. Judo taught me to calm down, to think, to manipulate, and not to go charging in. And it helped me to correct my timing, to move faster and find better ways of doing things.”
In the summer of 1961 Rusty participated in an international tournament held aboard HMS Queen Elizabeth in New York Harbor. British women had been competing for years so her presence wasn’t that unfamiliar. What was unusual, the British woman competed against women; Rusty was matched to a man. “I won my match and that gave our team the winning point. It was wonderful.”
During this tournament, Rusty was introduced to the worldwide network of judo women that had been forming. Many wrote to her, women in the United States as well as many other countries. Phyllis Harper from Chicago had been training almost as long as Rusty had. She had also been teaching women. Rusty and Phyllis became allies in the fight to bring recognition to women’s judo in the US.
In June 1962 Rusty was promoted to black belt. The next month she headed to Japan to study at the Kodokan for the summer. Rusty checked into the women’s training hall like she was supposed to. “It wasn’t what I wanted or was used to” she says. “Japanese women were taught a much more refined, milder form of judo. My sensei said I could learn a lot about technique from them and besides I didn’t have any choice. At the Kodokan, women trained in their own separate area.”
Each day, senior instructors visited all the training halls, observing the students and exercises. Soon she was invited to play in the foreign dojo a small training hall for male judoka from other countries. A few days later a messenger from the main dojo, which also was for men only, entered the room and motioned her to follow him. “I thought, I must have done something wrong. I bowed off the mat and followed him. He didn’t say a word.” Randori was going on in the main training hall when Rusty entered. She stood on the side, near the instructors who were observing student’s .One of the instructors noticed her and pointed to the mat. “Please, Please” he said. Rusty stepped on the mat. Another player bowed and came toward her.
“I realized that the instructors wanted to see what I could do. I bowed and we began. I threw him as fast as I could and I just kept going. Two seconds didn’t pass without me doing an attack. I played like I was playing for my life. Then the command came to stop. We bowed and another student replaced him. Most of the players there were much better than I was and they had no mercy. It was I incredible. It was judo the way I had always dreamed it.”
After that day, Rusty checked into the women’s dojo every morning out of respect for the class. But she trained in the main dojo. She is the only woman ever invited to do so. “We were there nine hours a day, every day. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”
Rusty describes what if felt like to practice with the men. “When it’s something you love, you can do it as long as your body holds out. After a while you feel as though you are walking on air. You are clean inside, you are pure and happy. You don’t want to fight the world. You don’t have any anger in you at all, you are satisfied.”
Returning home, Rusty could not ignore the fact that things remained the same. She had been honored as an exceptional woman, but men were still the “real” judo players. Some of the rules had been broken for her, but they were still the rules. Being treated as an exception did not make things right. Rusty continued to teach and to train, but also committed to a larger goal, to change the beliefs and the rules of the judo community, to make a real place in it for women. It would prove to be a remarkably challenging struggle, one that continues today.
Rusty campaigned for the rights of women in judo. In 1970, the AAU finally agreed to allow women in competitions under certain women’s rules. Judo is a contact sport, but the AAU wanted women to have as little contact as possible. They almost eliminated mat work, modified almost every technique and outlawed others. They said “NO! NO! That’s not nice! Women shouldn’t do that! I think they thought we would catch on fire”
By early 1973, Rusty’s work had some success and there were no longer widely different women’s rules and men’s rules. She continued to fight for Judo women’s rights throughout her life, playing a major part in opening the Olympics to female competitors and mentoring hundreds of young female judo players. She is the only foreigner to receive Japan’s The Emperor’s Order of The Rising Sun and has been honored by women’s organizations around the world, including Billie Jean King’s Women’s Sports Foundation. She passed away November 21, 2009 at age 74.
The White Stripe
I excitedly get ready for judo class, anticipating the promotion ceremony. This occurred only 2 times a year. I had overheard my parents talking and I know that my brother would be getting his orange belt, and I should be too! This was a special moment in my life. All my hard work at learning the techniques and behaving correctly would be worth it. I was barely containing myself, skipping and jumping around the car as Dad drove us to class
Judo class is getting ready to begin. The students line up by rank, the black belts in front of the class and my best friend and I, the only girls, behind the youngest boy. Anticipation builds as I fidget, waiting for the promotions to begin. The Sensei starts with the older students; one by one they are called to the front of the class and given their new rank. With every student the sensei takes time to describe the students’ accomplishments and I wonder what he is going to say about me. My best friend and I hold hands and wait, trying not to move and attract attention. This is the last moment we want to be disciplined. My brother is promoted and he jumps back into line. The last boy is called to the front and I hold my breath to keep my excitement in.
And then the Sensei, tells us to spread out for warm ups and the class is starting. My friend and I look at each other and obey. Tears begin to run down my face, I look over to my friend and she is crying also. I don’t understand. We practiced, we were obedient, and I don’t know what else we could have done better to earn our ranks.
This was worse than the Christmas last year when the family gathered to open gifts and I was regulated to serving them, keeping the glasses full and making sure everyone had snacks to eat while they opened gifts. There was no need for me to participate; there were none for me. I had been fighting with my brother and refusing to do what he told me to, and so my Mom told me that if I wasn’t going to support the family, they didn’t need to give anything to me other than what the State required. At least, this was kept within the family, not being promoted was in front of everyone, and it was public.
Noticing the tears, Sensei stops the class and has everyone line up again. My friend and I are called to the front of the class together and we think maybe he remembered our promotions. As we stand there, he begins to explain the white stripe that is on our belts, admonishing us for crying. “The white stripe, running the length of your belts is only for the women and girls that practice judo. It signifies purity, gentleness, beauty, and obedience, all traits that are expected of a proper woman. If you want to move up in rank you need to demonstrate these traits in all aspects of your lives as well as have perfection in your techniques, because purity and gentleness applies to the quality of your spirit as well as the correctness of your techniques.” He explains how it is obvious that we are not ready to advance in rank, by the evidence of our jealousy, our tears. We should be happy and be celebrating the advancement of the men and boys in the class and remember our place as girls.
This was the first time that I felt treated different then the boys in our club, and was the beginning of a change in the way I was allowed to play judo. I hated being a girl.
What does rank mean?
In Judo we all tie belts around our waists, but few understand what they represent. In class today you can hear Instructors ask their students “What is a black belt good for?” They expect the response “To hold our pants up and our jackets closed” The reason they ask this is an attempt to teach competitors that rank doesn’t matter in competition. By doing this, the meaning of our belts and the grading system they represent seems to have been lost. Some think they indicate skill level or expertise. Others think they are misleading, only imported figments of Japanese culture, or symbols of an inflated ego. So what do they represent?
A Black belt means a graduation to a new beginning. First level black belts are known as shodans, “sho” meaning beginning, Reaching this first, beginning rank means you have achieved some proficiency in basics and are prepared to really start learning, and learning means a lot more than just techniques. A new shodan becomes a beginner again.
Beginners wear white belts or other colors of belts and are considered unranked, within this classification there are different levels known as kyu. New students start at the highest kyu (usually ten), the level decreasing with experience to first kyu, the last level before promotion to Dan, the rank level symbolized by the black belt.
The white belts, as well as the white uniform, also reflect budo values – purity, avoidance of ego, obedience and simplicity. There is no visual or outward indication of class or level of expertise. Everyone begins as an equal (without class) – a former noble could be standing next to a farmer. It also represents budo’s goal of spiritual and ethical attainment towards perfection of the self.
Historically women have been classified differently with their own rank system and with their own distinct belts, with a white stripe down the middle. The use of the white-striped belt for women’s ranks is an anthropological issue in itself, reflecting the persistence of a male-centered version of judo that is current still today. It creates gender boundaries in knowledge and practice, and reinforces the idea that women’s judo should not be equal to the full, male version of judo. Women are judged to not be able to develop the aspects of character that budo represents. The color white is also associated with new life through its association with womanhood and birth. White is associated with purity, pure intentions and honor.
Resistance to the use of the white-striped belt is a reflection of the struggle for the inclusion of women in the full practice of judo, especially during the late 1960s and 1970s. The International Judo Federation no longer allows female competitors to wear a white striped belt. Rank requirements for men and women are now equivalent and the distinctions are no longer needed. In the past few years, a number of women have again began to wear the white striped, women’s belt as a symbol of a woman who obtained her rank under the old gendered system.
Non-Tournaments and Secret Tournaments
Most Sundays were still tournament days, and I was told “break time” for my mom and so I was still able to go watch my Dad and brother compete. My best friend, Stephanie, went with us to keep me out of trouble. At first we behaved properly and sat quietly on the side, cheering in our subdued voices, trying hard not to be noticed. I shared my letters from Rusty about her adventures in Judo and how she was working hard to allow us to compete. She described training hard and talked about other, grown women she was training.
Sitting on the side of the mat, we always seemed to be under the watch of one of the Sensei’s and were often told to “be quiet, watch and maybe learn something.” Stephanie and I watched the matches closely and talked more about how the tournament was held and the way it was refereed than the judo taking place during the match, although we noticed some of that also. We paid attention to how the officials acted and how the points were scored. We explored the buildings and walked outside whenever we could. One location was especially tempting for us. The tournament took place on the mats in the main training area; we had found a room upstairs that was full of mats, unused and out of the sight of the tournament officials. They hosted tournaments here once a month.
It wasn’t long before we snuck our uniforms into the car so we had them at the tournament. We had noticed other girls sitting on the sidelines at the tournament, and quietly asked if they were doing judo and if they wanted to try to have a girl’s only tournament, in secret. There were only 5 or 6 and they all wanted to give it a try. We set a date and everyone brought their uniforms. At our agreed on time, we all snuck away and went to the room upstairs; taking turns being the “Referee” we held our tournament. Everyone fought everyone. We paired up, and had fun. The goal wasn’t to see who was the best or who could beat who, it was to see if we could fight like the boys. We discovered that we could, even if we were girls.
The next few tournaments, we made our plans, and more and more girls joined us. When one of the Sensei’s or parents asked where we were going, we said that we found a quiet place to play upstairs and we would stay out of their way. By the 5th or 6th secret tournament we had 15 or so girls playing with us. We were discovering that we could fight just like to boys, we could do the throws that we were forbidden to learn, because they were not lady like. We studied the tournament rules and tried to apply them. We also discovered that we could be “Officials” and act like we were in charge and knew everything. We learned how powerful we could feel when we weren’t restricted by being just girls.
One of the most important rituals of our secret tournaments was sharing information we found about women in judo in other parts of the country. I shared my letters from Rusty. Other girls shared letters or newspaper articles. Several of us were privileged to travel to National level tournaments with our families and made startling discoveries there. We developed a network of young judo girls throughout the country and knew that things were changing. Of course, not fast enough for us.
In England, British women were competing against each other in sanctioned tournaments. They had modified rules for competition where gentleness and the aesthetic execution of techniques were more valued than the decisive ones. Aggression and true competition was discouraged and non-resistant, cooperative judo encouraged. The tournaments were held in separate rooms with the windows draped so no spectators could see the matches, to protect the modesty of the women.
In the East, Women were holding Non-Tournaments. These had adults participating and were not held in secret. Because they were not really tournaments, they couldn’t really have medals or trophies. So the winners received tea cups or decorative knives, aprons and feminine trinkets. It didn’t matter what was awarded, It was the opportunity to compete that drew the women to these non-tournaments with their non-awards. They were un-sanctioned and un-approved and the men of Judo and the AAU fought against them. Women continued to show up and participation grew.
As secrets go, we managed to keep our tournaments to ourselves for much longer than we thought possible. One day we were discovered. One of the girls had gotten hurt. Arm locks were forbidden in the non-black belt divisions of the official, male tournaments. We allowed them in ours, after all everything was forbidden to us. This time our inexperience worked against us. One of the competitors caught her opponent in an arm lock and the unofficial referee didn’t understand what was happening. The players elbow was dislocated and we had to take her down to see the doctor. And explain.
I think the Sensei’s knew we were up to something when we all came down in our uniforms and headed to the doctor. The tournament matches were stopped and they all went into the meeting room along with the 3 oldest girls. The rest of us sat in a kneeling position on the mat close to the edge, in quiet terror. We knew we would all be punished. An hour passed and we were having trouble staying still. The competitors were trying to stay warm and we could hear them talking about what we had done. The spectators milled around wondering when the tournament would start again.
Then one by one, the Sensei’s came out of the meeting room and asked everyone to clear the mats, except us girls. The head Sensei addressed the crowd and explained that we had been holding our own tournaments upstairs and due to our inexperience and lack of supervision one of us had been hurt. The reluctant solution that they had come to was to allow us to compete in the tournament against the boys. We each also had to demonstrate a Kata (formal demonstration of techniques) at the beginning of each tournament and take a test about judo history. They took responsibility for not supervising us and we received no punishment. It was an unexpected and terrifying outcome. And completely against the AAU sanction rules.
Unknown to us, a small, very quiet Japanese woman was a guest at the tournament. Her name was already known to some of us, but none of the girls had met her. She was Ms. Keiko Fukuda, the highest ranking women in the history of judo.
Break in the Story Line
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Through the Door
I was scared, beyond scared, terrified. I could hardly speak and was shaking so much I could barely even walk. My two young sons were with my grandmother and I was trying to do something, to be brave enough to go back to judo. Joining a judo class would require me to go on the mat, do exercises to strengthen my body and to get close- very close physically to men.
I was a black belt, that meant I was expected to manage myself and behave in certain ways, and being scared to even walk into the room, wasn’t one of those ways. It had been going on for a long time. That last weekend, just 8 days before I stood in front of this door, trying to make myself go in, ended it. He came home, I wasn’t expecting him, so dinner wasn’t ready. He was angry and wanted me to himself. Shoved up the stairs, stripped and locked in the bedroom, I waited. Then he burst through the door and it began. I didn’t know what he had done to my boys and so I did my best to appease him. He would leave the room every once in a while, locking me in. I endured and he finally settled down. It took 3 days. And then he left.
Crawling down the stairs in a t-shirt and panties, I peeked around the corner and saw that my boys were ok. I didn’t want them to see me this way, so I snuck out the front door. The Sheriff’s office was only 1 ½ blocks away. This was a very small town. Outside of a few odd looks, no one said anything to me as I walked down the street barefoot through the winter snow. I entered the Sheriff’s office and asked for help.
We left the next day, I didn’t tell anyone. I told the boys we were going on a vacation and to grab all their favorite things and some clothes. I went to the bank and took out what money I had- my rent money- and hoped it would be enough. We disappeared.
And here I was, trying to find something of what I used to be; a real person and a judo black belt. I had grown up in the sport, it was where I was strong, and it was a way of life and the culture I had grown up in. I had been away. Away from any resemblance of my life, of anything that was me. Somehow, I needed to get through that door and join the class. I needed the strength. Judo had been a place where I belonged. I knew that if I could only get there, I would begin to learn who I was again.
The doors were glass and I could see the families on the other side, having fun. I held my breath and looked at the ground. I didn’t know how I was going to do this. I didn’t have any money to pay for a uniform, much less the national registration I needed if I was to practice. I didn’t have any of my records to prove that I had done this before, and had a black belt. I had nothing to give; I was homeless, living on my grandmother’s good will. I still had to try. My boys deserved a mother that could take care of them. They deserved a mother with strength and confidence.
Taking another breath and holding it, with tears running down my face, I stepped through that door. I made it in.
Break in the Story Line
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Reflecting on a day of Refereeing
Sitting silently at a judo tournament in the moments before it starts, I look around, for the moment an outsider. The referees gather in one corner, dressed in black suit jackets, ties and grey pants, all male, greeting each other and catching up on each other’s lives and clubs. The youngest of these men is 16, quietly becoming one of the elite, a judo official. Some of them have put on their judo personalities just like they put on their jackets, others already are commanding, in charge and sure of their place as an experienced referee. Spread across the mats are groups of students, most often separated by club affiliation. They joke with each other and play around, until they are called to pay attention and warm up. Most are boys and young men. This year about a fourth are girls. There are many more of the younger girls then teens, and few adult women, but there are more this year than last; an improvement. The coaches also are spread around the gym, talking to each other, comparing results from the last tournament and telling each other about the students they brought with them today. If I look hard, I can find the 3 female coaches, one is the wife of a head instructor, helping him because he can’t coach two players at one time, one a black belt student assisting her sensei and surprisingly one woman has her own club; a club that teaches primarily women.
The excitement is starting to build as more and more competitors step onto the mat, and soon it is overflowing with young people ready to test their skills against each other, the warm up music is loud and the competitors louder. In preparation, the officials are called to meet, and now it is time for me to put on my jacket, to become an official, commanding, in charge, confident, masculine. I am the only female referee working today.
As the first competitor is called to his match, the head referee comes over to talk to our team. He says the usual things, “Keep control of the matches, support each other, you are not out there alone, protect her- she will need everyone’s help to stay in charge, especially when the adults fight.” I respond as expected, and thank everyone for their support, as I grit my teeth in frustration. All but one of the team is less experienced then me. A few of the men outrank me though, even those who began judo after I did. I don’t begrudge them their ranks, their skills or their authority. I resent the premise that I need extra assistance to maintain control of the match’s I am assigned to referee.
The day goes by fast, match after match is decided. I’m having fun as I almost always do at tournaments. Since I have reached the point where competition is no longer possible for me, refereeing is the nearest I can get to it. Throughout the day, my referee team does exactly what they were told to do, protect me, help me maintain control- even when I don’t need the help. Matches are conducted by a center referee and two others that act in support of the match; who sit on the sidelines with the advantage of a video to replay events and correct calls if misjudged. A throw occurs and my arm is on its way up to signal the score, before I can even complete my action, the support team makes the call for me. Over and over this happens; a few times the scores are different than I started to call, but not often. The room is deafening and my voice isn’t always heard by the intensely focused competitors, this time I had to call “stop” twice to get their attention. As I rotate off the match, I get called over to the head referee’s table for advice “you need to lower the tone of your voice, the competitors ignored you because they didn’t recognize your voice as a referee’s voice.” In other words, I need to sound like a man, not just look like and act like one, in order to referee effectively. When the black belt divisions begin, I am asked if I think I can handle them. I say “of course,” I have the best match of the day, exciting, fun and with a great powerful throw, just as the supporting referee called stop and I ignored him. I am called to the side for a conference, and there admonished for not following directions, and then contritely congratulated on making the right call, at the right time. The throw will count for the win; the player will be awarded a gold medal, because I didn’t follow directions well.
At the end of the day, the ritual of working together at a tournament continues. Everyone shakes hands and bows to each other, thanking them for their support and occasionally for their advice. One after another, my referee team comes to shake my hand and tell me that “I did well today.” The 16 year old, who had just refereed his 2nd tournament approaches and pats me on the shoulder and tells me that he hopes I learned something today and assures me that with time, I will get better. He has already being indoctrinated into the male role of the judo official.
As always, I have a several hour drive home and have time to reflect on the events of the day. I review each match that I arbitrated and each match on my mat that left me with questions or concerns; I walk myself through the events of each overturned or missed call and closely review the matches that had injuries or controversy- such as a coach protest. To assist with my review of the day, I have kept a log of matches and refer to it whenever my memory is not clear. Later, I will review past tournaments to see if there are patterns in the injuries or errors. If I am lucky, I will have photos or film to review as well. The goal is to always learn something and improve my performance.
As I think about the tournament, I also remember the many conversations I had with the competitors today. As an official, I am supposed to refrain from these exchanges, after all I might show bias. But they still happen. One of the young girls approaches me and asks what she is supposed to do when she is told to strip on the side of the mat, when I get clarification, I understand that her uniform was too small and she was told to change. I spent a few minutes telling her how to prepare for this at tournaments, what to wear under her uniform that won’t interfere with her techniques, and I tell her to make sure a female official accompanies her to the side of the mat. This is the regulation, although it is hard to do when all the officials are men. As she runs off to tell her coach what I said, I wonder about the way she was told to change her uniform. She was escorted to the side of the mat by a male authority figure, and in full view of anyone who walked by, she was told to “strip”.
Another girl asked me why she has to fight girls and can’t compete against the boys. A young man approached me and asked if I was a black belt, as he didn’t know that all referees were required to be black belts and that women could earn the rank, as he hadn’t seen any on the mat before today. Many other quick conversations or quick interactions occurred throughout the day as I told a competitor “good throw” or “nice technique”, “good luck at Nationals this summer”, or as I often have to say, “Use this loss to learn what you can do better next time.”
As I get close to home, I turn my thoughts to the struggles women have had to endure, just to participate in this “sport”, and how they are still continuing. The books we have and the stories that are told about judo’s history, barely mention women. Pick up just about any book on judo and you will find only a paragraph or two on the history of women judo players. Heilbrun says in her book Writing a Woman’s Life “The ultimate anonymity—to be storyless. Anonymity, we have long believed, is the proper condition of woman.”[1] The women of judo have been almost storyless. The story of most of the many judo woman have not been told at all. “Power is the ability to take one’s place in whatever discourse is essential to action and the right to have one’s part matter”[2] My part matters. So do the stories of all the women who live in the world of Judo. For it is much more than a sport we play, it is who we are, our identity, our extended family. As with most families, there is conflict, bad times, and wonderfully good times. Our stories occur in a time of revolution, of changing feminine roles and we have a place in the history of judo.
[1] Heilbrun, Carolyn G. Writing a Woman’s Life. 1st Ballantine Books ed. Ballantine
[2] Heilbrun
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