Growing up close to Hadrian’s Wall – erected during Rome’s reign of the British Isles – Paul Budden found his interest in history. His interest of Japanese sword – born out of his love of history – led him into a kendo dojo and has not looked back since. Throughout his time in kendo, he found that its history, both in Japan and in the United Kingdom, was rich and needed to be shared with other kenshi. Since 1992, Budden has published ten books, with his most recent one, The Secret Sword: A Study of Itto-ryu Mizoguchi-ha. Today, Budden took some time to talk about his recent publication, the varied history of kendo in the UK, and kendo’s future on the international stage. All images provided by Paul Budden.
MAYTT: One more question on British Kendo history; what do you feel makes UK Kendo history unique compared to other parts of the world?
PB: Okay, so this goes back to the origins. Before the Second World War, there were not many countries where kendo was practiced outside Japan. In Brazil, for example, most Japanese residents were working on plantations. Despite the large population – which remains the largest Japanese community outside Japan, through nisei, sansei, and yonsei generations – the level of kendo was quite low, simply because people were busy with work and had little time to practice. Hawaii also had some kendo, but the numbers were small for the same reason.
It wasn’t until you get to the United States that kendo began to flourish. In the 1930s, the Japanese American population on the West Coast was around 120,000, and estimates of kendo participants range from 12,000 to 20,000, though I think 12,000 is more realistic. Many Japanese Americans were successful farmers, fishermen, and businessmen with both the resources and time to support their children’s involvement. There was a desire to maintain a connection to Japanese culture, which had been diluted by American life: Coca-Cola, hamburgers, radio, and early television. Nakamura Tokichi arrived in America at that time and played a pivotal role in reestablishing this cultural connection through kendo. While there may have been other motivations for his presence, his contribution to developing kendo in the 1930s was remarkable.
In Canada, kendo existed within a smaller, less wealthy Japanese community, but it was documented and active. The Philippines also had a long history of Japanese settlement, dating back to the sixteenth century. During Tokugawa Ieyasu’s era, some samurai were allowed to emigrate, and many settled in the Philippines. By the early twentieth century, Japanese immigrants established at least two or three kendo clubs there.
In Manchuria, under Japanese occupation, kendo was organized through institutions such as the IBU, a university for budo practice. And then, of course, there was the UK. So prior to the Second World War, outside Japan, kendo was practiced in only seven or so countries: the United States, Canada, Brazil, Hawaii, the Philippines, Manchuria, and the UK. Contrast that with today, when kendo has spread to forty-eight or fifty-two countries, including places like Azerbaijan, which is amazing to see.
The UK was quite unique. The numbers were tiny; prior to the Second World War, I would estimate fewer than fifteen people practiced kendo in the London area. Even though Budokwai membership records may show forty or fifty members, not all of them practiced kendo. Still, it was established and, crucially, it remained established. After the Second World War, kendo in the UK was restarted and continued to develop. In all my research, I haven’t found evidence of any other European country practicing kendo before the Second World War. That continuity makes the UK situation particularly unique.
MAYTT: That is interesting that the UK was the first bastion of kendo in Europe and it also helped restart it right after the War. Very unique.
PB: Yeah, I mean, there are all kinds of aspects that keep popping up all the time. One of the reasons I started looking into American Kendo history is that I had already spent a long time on UK history. I think I wrote about four pieces on it in total. I started with a very short article, then gradually expanded. Then came the work on the legacy of the Budokwai, this book here, The Legacy of the Budokwai, is considered by many to be the definitive guide. For me, the cutoff point was 1974, when the association split. Most of the history had already been covered up to that point, so I didn’t go beyond it.
After finishing that, I became interested in the American history of kendo. Kazuyo Matsuda, my partner, publishes a magazine called Fine Ladies of Kendo Worldwide, which focuses on women in kendo. In this magazine, she interviews pioneers of women’s kendo around the world, including Japan. She asked me to write an article, so I began looking into the origins of women’s kendo, not just in America or the UK, but everywhere. It was the American side that really caught my attention. During my research, I found a very old photograph of Japanese junior women practicing at a seminar in America. I couldn’t find any background information, so I started digging deeper. I gained access to the Hoover Library, which has hundreds of newspaper articles detailing kendo championships, seminars, and Nakamura Tokichi’s activities. That’s when it really hit me: it seemed like kendo might have developed more extensively in America than in Japan at that time. I was genuinely gobsmacked.
I continued my research on other countries. In the UK, for example, we cannot find records of a woman practicing kendo before 1958. In America, however, there are numerous records dating back to the 1890s, when a Japanese samurai and his wife visited to teach kendo to the military. By the 1930s, kendo in America was particularly focused on reestablishing Japanese identity for nisei children, and many girls were involved. In contrast, pre-Second World War Japan discouraged women from practicing kendo; naginata was the primary option for female martial arts training.
I discussed these findings with a researcher in Japan who slightly disagreed with my conclusions, but I think he missed the point. I’m not claiming that women’s kendo originated in America – kendo is, of course, Japanese. There were small groups in Japan, such as the daughters of kendo teachers, and some schools did offer kendo. But the programs Nakamura Tokichi and the Hokubei Butokukai organized for girls in America were structured and highly developed, more so than anything documented in Japan in the 1930s. That discovery really fascinated me and inspired the article. From there, my interest in Nakamura Tokichi deepened. I went on to write A Highwayman Story of Nakamura Tokichi, because very little has been written about him in Japan. He was a remarkable and unique figure, and uncovering his story felt important.
MAYTT: On the subject of women in kendo, why do you think there is this gender disparity in the postwar years for international kendo?
PB: Okay, so, as I said, for America, I think it’s fairly clear. You had all these children who were, in a way, a bit feral, running around, and while there was a strong sense of community, there was also a certain disparity between American and Japanese identities. Most nisei considered themselves American Japanese rather than Japanese American. The idea of reconnecting with their heritage or roots through kendo seemed to fit very well, and it was very well received.
We were very fortunate that Nakamura Tokichi’s youngest daughter, Fujino Tamae Sensei, is still alive in Japan. She is a really lovely lady and provided us with eight films that her father had taken in the 1930s, documenting all of the Hokubei Butokukai competitions. The films show hundreds, even thousands, of children practicing kendo. You would think you were in Japan, but it was actually California. What’s truly remarkable are the smiles on the children’s faces – they are so happy and fully engaged in the environment. It was clearly a huge success.
The structure of this success was also important. The children formed a kind of captive audience, and kendo spread organically. One child would bring a sibling or a friend, and soon more kids were involved. In contrast, the UK did not have that kind of motivation. Firstly, the Japanese population in the UK was quite small prior to the Second World War, as I mentioned earlier. Native British people would have had little to no idea what kendo was. They were playing football, rugby, cricket, rowing, and other traditional sports, but they would not have encountered kendo at all. Additionally, the age group in the UK prior to the Second World War was older. I haven’t seen any records of juniors training before the 1950s. The first recorded juniors appear around 1958-59: Ronald Knutsen’s son, Alex, and his sister. Before that, practitioners were generally in their twenties, thirties, or forties. A comparative women’s group of that age simply wouldn’t have existed. Societal expectations were different – women’s roles were largely domestic, or if they worked, they had little free time for exercise or leisure activities. That’s why there’s really no comparison between the two countries. In America, you had a native Japanese population – even though they were nisei – a kind of captive audience who understood the culture, and kendo was being actively promoted. In the UK, the situation was entirely different. There were no structured groups, and the population was small, so nothing comparable was recorded.
For other countries, the picture is similar. In Brazil, there were some girls practicing kendo, but only in small numbers. In Hawaii, I found only one record. Canada had some girls as well, following similar patterns to the American groups, which makes sense, as Nakamura Tokichi traveled up the West Coast and likely reached Canada, establishing strong Canadian groups along the same lines.
MAYTT: You have mentioned Nakamura Tokichi multiple times. Why do you feel his story is important for prewar American Kendo?
PB: It’s a very long story, and he is quite a fascinating person. The title, Nigh a Highwayman, comes from his early life. As a boy growing up in Japan and Korea, he was extremely rebellious. In Korea, he got involved in a fight while working for a firefighting group that had ties to the Yakuza. He was one of the top members – climbing buildings, signaling the firefighters – but he was always argumentative. One night, after a dispute, he was attacked in his home. In the dark, he drew the sword he kept by his bed and struck someone, only to realize when the lights came on that he had injured his own father. Distraught by this incident, he decided to become a highwayman and aimed to go to Manchuria to lead a bandit clan.
Before doing so, he wanted to improve his technical skills. People in Korea advised him to return to Japan, to Kyoto, to learn kendo properly. He did so, and over the three or four years he stayed there, his mindset changed. He realized that his goal should not be to become a bandit but to do something positive with what he was learning. He returned to Korea and opened a dojo, primarily teaching the children of Japanese settlers. He also hoped to expand kendo to the native population. One challenge he faced was funding, as Japanese settlers in Korea did not have much spare money.
He discovered that there was more financial opportunity in America, so he traveled first to Hawaii and then to the mainland United States. There, he began giving seminars and demonstrations to recruit students. Although he faced political disagreements and conflicts with local groups, he persisted. Over time, he realized his true mission was to educate nisei children and help them reconnect with their Japanese heritage. This led to the establishment of the Hokubei Butokukai. At its peak, the organization had some 10,000 members, as recorded in the historical documents Kazuyo obtained. She helped translate these records, many of which had previously been inaccessible.
We were also fortunate to meet Fujino Tamae Sensei, his daughter, who provided films her father had taken in the 1930s. These show thousands of children practicing kendo in California, and even she learned new details about her father from our research. His dedication and single-mindedness were remarkable. He would sleep in his car while traveling up and down the California coast, establishing groups, conducting seminars, and laying the groundwork for a hombu dojo.
He returned to Japan in 1938 due to a visa issue, which, in hindsight, was fortunate. After Pearl Harbor, over 110,000 Japanese Americans were sent to internment camps, their kendo armor and Hokubei Butokukai records destroyed. Many were wrongly suspected of being potential terrorists because of their nationalistic affiliations. It was a tragic period, and restitution for those injustices did not come until President Reagan’s administration. There may also have been lingering resentment due to the success of Japanese Americans in farming, fishing, and business, which likely contributed to the harsh treatment they received.
I covered this period specifically in the book. His story is remarkable not only for his resilience but for his vision, dedication, and the positive impact he had on preserving and spreading kendo among Nisei children in America.
MAYTT: Since we are on books, you recently released your new book, A Study of Itto-ryu Mizuguchi-ha. What inspired you to begin that writing and research process?
PB: The first book I wrote was in 1992. We revisited it about two years ago, and it has now been released again. This was a book about kendo kata. In kendo, the Nihon Kendo Kata consists of ten forms: seven longsword-to-longsword and three kodachi (short sword)-to-longsword. These forms were standardized around 1909 from the 300 or so schools that existed during the Edo and Meiji eras. They were consolidated into ten forms to be incorporated into the education system, which helped preserve kendo. These forms are still practiced today and are part of the grading system, though they are often neglected.
What fascinated me when I started kendo with Terry Holt was that he taught me these forms, but there were gaps in his knowledge. I had many questions, so I took extensive notes. When I met with teachers like Enomoto Sensei, I asked questions and added to my notes. Over time, I accumulated a large collection of observations about kendo kata. Risuke Otaki Sensei eventually suggested I publish them as a book. He said, “You’re an English student of kendo. Your interpretation is not a translation; write it down, and it might be useful to people.” Two years later, Looking at a Far Mountain was published. It included some translated historical content, but the main interpretation of the forms was based on my personal experience and the answers I received from teachers.
Many years later, I wrote a biographical book about R.A. Lidstone, considered the grandfather of British Kendo. He began kendo around 1930 and had an extraordinary life. He served as a naval officer during the First World War, was a master fencer, and later became a fight arranger for film productions. After the war, he became a dancer, performing in the UK, South Africa, and New Zealand. It was in New Zealand, in 1927, that he first saw kendo performed by the Japanese Navy, which sparked his interest. He eventually returned to the UK in the 1930s and restarted kendo in 1959 at the age of sixty-five or sixty-six, after being recruited by Paul Knutsen. Holt Sensei had been asked to write about Lidstone but passed the task to me, which led to my first experience writing a full biographical work.
In the meantime, I also published Devil’s Gloves and the One Cut: An Introduction to Ono-ha Itto-ryu Kata. I had been invited by Otaki Sensei to study Ono-ha Itto-ryu in Japan about thirty-five years ago. It is an extremely complex system with over 140 forms, and I never had the time to learn them all, as I was busy teaching kendo. I was able to focus on about twenty forms – the first fifty movements – over several years, which became the basis for the book.
More recently, I began studying koryu with Hiroshi Ozawa Sensei, who has been visiting the UK for annual seminars for about thirty years. He practices Itto-ryu Mizoguchi-ha, which originates from Ono-ha. This school is unique but incomplete; originally, there were far more forms, but most were lost over time. Only eight forms remain, with both omote and ura sides practiced, essentially doubling the number. Historically, the system was restricted to elite samurai and wasn’t publicly shown until the 1960s.
About eighteen or nineteen years ago, Kazuyo and I began training with Ozawa Sensei. Recently, we decided to publish the forms in English. We consulted Japanese textbooks, libraries, and Ozawa Sensei’s documentation to create a technical reference. The book has been well-received, and we practice the forms once a week in my dojo. We also run seminars in Greece, Moldova, and other countries. Koryu, as we practice it, represents the real essence of kendo – its historical and technical core.
MAYTT: Since you bring up the koryu aspect, what do you hope to achieve within the kendo world by publishing these koryu books and manuals? Do you see kendo practitioners bridging the gap between kendo and koryu?
PB: As I’ve mentioned, the practice of the Nihon Kendo Kata, which consists of the ten forms, is part of the grading process. In my opinion, based on what I see across the UK and Europe, these forms are sadly neglected. Most people only practice them because they are required for exams. As someone who sits on examination panels, I often observe performances, but I rarely see the deeper aspects of the kata. All I see are two people trying not to make mistakes in a set of movements that they may only partially know or may not practice regularly.
In examinations, partners are often paired randomly. They must perform the set forms according to the grade being tested, but I can’t observe the full impact of what the kata is meant to convey. I see two people trying to avoid errors, and that is all I can judge. I cannot evaluate the finer points of the kata, such as the ri – the underlying principle or method of the kata – and the relationship between the two practitioners.
In kata, one person is the uchidachi, the lead, and the other is the shidachi, the follower. The uchidachi moves first; the shidachi responds. Proper distance, technique, and cause-and-effect dynamics are critical. Unfortunately, most people don’t practice kata as kata geiko – as a method of training. They only learn it for grading purposes, which means they miss a fundamental part of kendo education.
This is closely related to the concept of shuhari. My interpretation differs slightly from the literal translation: Shu is to observe and learn; ha is to absorb and break down what you see; ri is to apply it naturally. Within this framework, practitioners develop feeling, understanding, empathy, and other qualities. Unfortunately, few achieve ri in kata practice, and it’s rare even to see proper ha. My sensei, Masatake Sumi, emphasizes kata geiko as a fundamental tool. Mistakes made in kata often mirror mistakes in Shinai Kendo, making kata an excellent learning method.
Once you understand the Nihon Kendo Kata, you can expand your understanding to the real essence of swordsmanship. For example, the Mizoguchi-ha is very different from the traditional Nihon Kendo Kata. It is darker, more direct: the goal is to “kill” the opponent in a practical sense, focusing on targeting tendons or areas that force a drop of the sword. In Mizoguchi-ha, the uchidachi – the lead – is the winner, not simply a teacher. The emphasis is on stalking the opponent, timing, and precise application of techniques.
In contrast, the Nihon Kendo Kata is about control, stopping attacks, and guiding the shidachi through the techniques. It is fundamentally a teaching method. The koryu systems, like Mizoguchi-ha, develop a different mindset. Even in Shinai Kendo, practicing with teachers trained in Mizoguchi-ha, like Ozawa Sensei and his dojo in Tokyo, you can sense this mindset. The way they approach combat, even in practice, reflects the deeper principles of the koryu.
MAYTT: I can really start to see that intent from the koryu and putting that into modern kendo so that people are not making the same mistakes continuously. Where does pressure testing and competition fall in both kendo and koryu training?
PB: Okay, so, how can we approach this? If we look at the origin of kata, it predates the use of protective armor in kendo. People would practice kata, or seho, or kumi tachi – whatever you want to call it – two people performing set exercises. These schools still exist today. We know about Ito-ryu, Yagyu, Shinkage-ryu, Kashima Shinto-ryu, and many others, all of which preserve these old methods of training.
Modern kendo, however, is a system that was introduced in the early 20th century. Certain elements we practice today did not exist before its introduction into the education system. For example, the idea of shouting kiai at the same time as striking, while calling out the target – men, kote, do, or tsuki – was introduced as a training method to develop coordination. This was combined with the concept of ki-ken-tai-ichi, ensuring that body movement, strike, and shout are unified. Restricted striking areas were also part of this development: in chudan kamae, only the right wrist can be struck; in jodan, both wrists are accessible. The tsuki point is limited to the small pad on the helmet. Similarly, the men, kote, and do are defined only as specific scoring areas.
This contrasts with traditional kenjutsu, where striking was aimed at unprotected areas of samurai armor, as in the Mizoguchi system. In modern kendo, the focus is on precise, controlled striking areas, paired with correct intent and body movement. After striking, the practitioner must demonstrate zanshin – awareness and readiness to continue or make a follow-up strike. Distance, accuracy, and proper handling of the shinai are all crucial. The striking area, or monouchi, must be correct: the bottom slot of the shinai, not the side, top, or base, aligns with the scoring areas in competition.
Kendo is not just about striking, however. The opponent is actively doing the same, which introduces strategic elements. One such concept is seme – approaching with intention, either to strike or to provoke a response from the opponent for a counterstrike. In this way, kendo can be thought of as a kind of chess, where strategy and timing are as important as technique.
Originally, shiai, or competition, had a different purpose. It was a mutual test, not a display of dominance or public acclaim. Victory was measured internally: mastering fear, clarifying intention, and achieving unity of body and mind under pressure. Today, however, the emphasis has shifted. With medals, frequent competitions, and commercial pressures, the technical principles of kendo are often subordinated to the rules, and form sometimes triumphs over intent.
A friend of mine, a retired sports psychologist named Ian Parker Dort, once explained that this is a broader late-twentieth-century phenomenon. Sports and educational activities, such as aerobics, were originally designed for everyone, but commercial and organizational pressures turned them into competitive spectacles. Ronald Knutsen also noted that the issues are not just about individual competitors but can be driven by inexperienced officials or organizational committees with agendas that do not align with the membership’s best interest or the sport’s future. Many external factors now influence competition, which has shifted away from its original purpose, and this is something I can clearly observe in modern kendo.
MAYTT: Is there any movement on either the national or international stage to combat the way competition has slowly started to change?
PB: No, I don’t think there is a solution. The general consensus seems to be to go with the flow. That’s my sense of it, and I can only follow my teacher, Sumi Sensei’s guidance. He always said that kendo is one thing, and competition is another. Competition has already developed into something else entirely, and we can see this clearly when we look at Olympic Judo. There are still grassroots judo clubs practicing traditional forms and kata, but they remain on the fringes.
I believe the only way to preserve the fundamental principles is at the grassroots level: teaching kendo correctly, according to the understanding passed down from my teachers in Japan and my own forty-plus years of practice. For me personally, I am too old for competition, so that is no longer a concern. But even for high-grade teachers, competition may not serve the art’s best interest. Many younger high-grade teachers have only recently stopped competing, so they continue participating in competitions. My discussions with other senior instructors suggest that demonstration practice – what we call embu – is far superior. Here, two senior practitioners demonstrate kendo on a high level, without referees judging points. For example, the Kyoto Taikai in May focuses entirely on these demonstration matches, showcasing what I consider “real kendo.” Everything else, in my view, often becomes stick fighting – about speed, about how fast you can hit – rather than following the principles of the Japanese sword. Many movements performed in modern competition could not actually be executed with a real sword; they are impossible, despite the sword being sharp.
In answer to your question, I don’t believe kendo will change. In fact, I think it will probably worsen. There remains a desire, for whatever reason, to make kendo an Olympic sport, likely due to concerns about declining participation. But this approach misses a crucial point: once kendo becomes Olympic, control is lost. The IOC will dictate what they believe is in the best interest of the sport, and that will not be good for kendo.
MAYTT: What do you see as kendo’s future, either in the UK or internationally? Is it going to keep moving towards this idea of competition where it is going to be “commercialized” that it will look completely different from what a majority of people have experienced in decades prior?
PB: I think it’s already happened, as I said. You can look at YouTube – there’s plenty of footage of modern kendo matches from all over the world, and you can see what I mean. I can look back to my sensei, Sumi Sensei, competing against another eighth dan, and it’s completely different. That level of skill and understanding is probably gone now; those practitioners are of an age where there are no successors at that same level. Some of their students may continue their approach, and I’m sure some will, but it becomes a watered-down process of how kendo continues.
Unless something radically changes, I just see it getting worse: more competition, more stick fighting, more hitting rather than the disciplined art of the sword. It’s difficult now because of the media’s portrayal of swords – every time there’s a terrorist act, it’s someone with a samurai sword running amok. It’s never Excalibur or a Viking axe; it’s always a samurai sword. So we have to be careful when discussing swords. Swords are for cutting and stabbing, yet now we have to use words like “thrust” instead of stab, or “hit” instead of cut. I don’t like that. If the essence of kendo is the Japanese sword, then it is about cutting.
Interestingly, in European fencing here in the UK, they still talk about cutting when using a sabre – they acknowledge it as a cutting weapon. We have to be equally careful in teaching and explaining that this is Japanese fencing, Japanese swordsmanship. There’s an inherent martial principle in the equipment we use and how we use it.
As I said, I don’t think it will change. If anything, I believe it will get worse before it gets better – if it gets better at all.
MAYTT: What do you think would be a major event or the catalyst that would force the international kendo community to stop moving on its current trajectory and revert back to what kendo used to be?
PB: I think any significant change would have to come from the All Japan Kendo Federation, because they are the main governing body and the benchmark for what we follow. Any radical change in the concept of kendo – how sport kendo is practiced – would need to originate from them.
It’s interesting when I think about this in comparison to European fencing. I was learning fencing at the advent of electric scoring, when electric foils were first introduced. With a normal foil, there had to be a certain level of penetration for a valid touch. But with the electric foil, you didn’t need the same level initially; just touching the opponent would trigger the button. Over time, the system was modified to require a certain amount of compression to register a point. I wonder whether similar technology could ever become an element in kendo.
Currently, kendo has no electronic scoring; it relies entirely on three referees. From what I understand, one reason kendo has not been accepted as an Olympic sport is the refereeing system. The IOC was concerned about the lack of electronic scoring and replay; at the time, there were also not enough countries participating. Today, of course, we can review matches on YouTube, slow them down, and analyze whether a point was valid, but in Japanese competitions, the referees are remarkably accurate. They have a precise eye for judging the necessary elements.
So, in answer to your question, any change in direction would need to come from the All Japan Kendo Federation if they decide to alter the rules or the practice of sport kendo in any significant way.
MAYTT: Do you have anything that you would like to add or expand on before we wrap up?
PB: These views are basically my own. I also draw on the guidance, experience, and wisdom of my teachers, of course, but they are not necessarily the thoughts of everyone else. The opinions I express about kata, in particular, are very much my own, because I specialize in kata and run kata courses. For me, it is an important part of kendo, and I believe it should be emphasized more. Perhaps if kata were practiced more widely, it could even influence the course of competition.
There are even kata competitions, which I don’t entirely agree with. But, as with anything, competitions can be organized for almost any activity – after all, there are aerobics competitions – so why not? For example, we recently had the European Iaido competition in the Czech Republic. From my perspective, it’s a bit strange to watch people performing individual sword-drawing techniques judged against each other. I don’t see the necessity for it.
Personally, I would much rather see a high-level teacher demonstrate their form. That, to me, is far more beneficial than observing individuals being scored on their performance. But that’s just my perspective.
MAYTT: Thank you for your time and for this in-depth discussion!
PB: It was a pleasure to be a part of it!
