Some time ago, there was an interaction on social media that revolved around a video about aikido history. After reading the comments, I was left feeling unsettled; I was disappointed and frustrated by how the online exchange unfolded. However, before explaining what happened, it may be best to come to terms with the idea, definition or the label, of what is a “martial arts historian.”
At its most basic level, a historian looks for change over time – how something has shifted from the past to the present – then bridging the gap. But that is only the surface. A historian is also expected to interrogate sources from the period being studied, as well as sources written afterward, whether those are primary accounts produced decades later or secondary analyses shaped by hindsight. Historians are also tasked with making sense of past practices, symbols, rituals, and customs that no longer exist in the present. The goal is to understand what those particulars meant in their own time and how, if at all, they relate to us as modern people studying or practicing something inherited from the past.
When it comes to martial arts, however, much of what passes as “history” is story-based. There is often little interrogation of sources because the narratives usually come from one’s instructor or from senior figures within an organizational hierarchy. Many practitioners have experienced the moment of thinking, “I’m not sure that’s really how it went, but okay,” followed by a polite nod. That bias is built into how martial arts history is transmitted. At the same time, there is often an unspoken agreement that says, “This is what tradition tells us.” Even when certain details do not hold up under closer scrutiny, the story is allowed to continue because there is nothing else available to either corroborate or disprove it.
That last part, I think, is missing from much of what I would call the “popular history” of martial arts, whether it focuses on a specific person, a particular style, or the reasons a system developed one way rather than another. We could even argue that, just as there is “no true Scotsman,” there is no single, definitive “martial arts historian.” Instead, it is an ideology: anyone who contributes historical perspectives, through interviews, articles, books, research, opinion pieces, or even thoughtful questions that push an audience to consider the past and its relationship to modern practice, is, in some sense, acting as a martial arts historian. It may not be perfect, but it is what we have.
If we look at martial arts studies as an academic field, it is often far removed from the blow-by-blow narratives practitioners want. Scholars are more concerned with broader questions: what martial arts mean culturally, how they change over time, what forces (social, economic, psychological) shape those changes, and how martial practices intersect with larger systems. Meanwhile, the general public wants action stories, grand personalities, and something relatable – larger-than-life figures who feel human and accessible.
With that context established, I now return to the social media interaction that sparked this editorial. Someone posted a short, very general historical overview of aikido. Because it was broad and created by someone who was not a long-term aikido practitioner, it repeated several historical claims that have since been challenged, revised, or outright corrected in the literature. That happens. If you are not deeply embedded in an art or its historiography, you may not know those nuances. Yes, we can argue that it is the researcher’s responsibility to ensure accuracy, and I agree with that in principle. But as someone with academic training in history, I also know that many sources readily available to academics are hidden behind paywalls and institutional access. That is a form of gatekeeping, whether intentional or not.
The researcher was sharply criticized by a member of the aikido community, who essentially said, “Your research is wrong. If you had done proper research, you would have known this.” The researcher responded by pointing out that this was unpaid work, done in their free time out of love for martial arts. The reply from the aikido commentator was simply, “Do better.”
To me, what was really disheartening was that the critic in question is also someone widely regarded as a source for aikido scholars and historians, particularly on the Japanese side of the art. This member has shared resources, translations, and references that were previously inaccessible to many. That contribution is valuable and important. But in this case, instead of offering sources, guidance, or even pointing the researcher in a more informed direction, the critic offered none of that. No citations. No alternative references. No attempt to improve the situation; only dismissal and criticism.
This reaction cuts directly to why I started Martial Arts of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow (MAYTT). I wanted to create a free repository – a chronicle, archive, and resource – where people from all martial arts backgrounds could engage with their respective histories. More importantly, I wanted MAYTT to be a space that encourages discussion, curiosity, and deeper investigation, which is why I conduct so many interviews. They are primary sources. Yes, interviewees may repeat stories they have heard, but those narratives are documented, preserved, and made available for future interrogation, expansion, and comparison.
I make no secret of the fact that I am an aikido practitioner, and that many of my posts and interviews reflect that background. I am biased in that sense. But I have also worked within the HEMA community, kendo, iaido, judo, jujutsu, and other areas that remain underrepresented in mainstream scholarship. The point remains: if we consider ourselves historians – martial arts historians or otherwise – and someone is seeking resources or direction, it is our responsibility to help. That means providing sources, guideposts, leads, and context. We cannot hoard information, hide it away, and let it surface only by accident decades later or criticize people for not having access to said information.
If we have resources sitting in a closet or under a bed, collecting dust, then gather them. Do something with them. Publish a book. Write articles. Collaborate with others. Make a documentary, a video series, or anything that brings that knowledge into the open. And when we do publish, we must remember the “historian” part of the title: we must cite our sources. We must tell people where the information comes from, whether it’s an interview, a journal article, a book, a magazine, or a documentary. Then, once the work is out in the world, we should make those sources accessible whenever possible so others can check our conclusions, build on them, or even challenge them.
That is how historical discussion grows. Others may arrive at the same conclusion, refine it, or disagree, coming to a completely different interpretation. All of those outcomes are valuable. What matters is that the conversation continues and expands.
Within the martial arts, we need more unity, more openness, and more safe spaces for discussion. History can be a powerful unifying force. We have seen this repeatedly, for better or worse. What I am trying to do with MAYTT is use history as one of the pillars that brings practitioners closer together. Once we understand that there is no “secret history,” only shared history – whether in aikido, karate, HEMA, kendo, bartitsu, or anything else – we can move toward camaraderie instead of division.
There are far more pressing issues in the martial arts community than withholding sources from people who genuinely want to learn. Constant gatekeeping of techniques, teaching methods, responsibilities, or historical information creates artificial hierarchies: those in power and those outside it – elites and everyone else. This approach does nothing to improve curricula, pedagogy, application, or leadership. Withholding knowledge does not strengthen a united front against ineffective training methods, declining membership, or poor leadership.
If we stop gatekeeping and start sharing; if we build open archives, open libraries at the school, regional, national, and international levels, we create transparency. Transparency about the past can lead to transparency in the present. And that, in turn, gives us a stronger foundation to ensure these arts continue forward.
