Aiki News Number 60, March 1984

Contents

     ● Editorial – Blueprint for the standardization of aikido testing, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Shoji Nishio Interview, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Morihiro Saito Technical Notebook — Tsuki iriminage, by Morihiro Saito
     ● Heard in the Dojo
     ● O-Sensei Biography — “The Kobukan Hell Dojo Period,” by Kisshomaru Ueshiba
     ● Letters to the Editor

“Growth of Aikido in Japan during the last thirty years has been steady while its development in foreign countries began to pick up momentum some twenty or so years ago. Unlike other martial arts such as Karate, Kung-fu and more exotic disciplines whose success has been uneven due in part to their fickle handling by the media, especially their portrayal in the movies and on television, Aikido has developed at a regular pace while consolidating its gains. This period of growth has been centered around the efforts of the Hombu Dojo Aikikai (Doshu Kisshomaru Ueshiba), Yoshinkan Aikido (Gozo Shioda Sensei), Tomiki Aikido (Kenji Tomiki Sensei, now deceased) , the Ki Society (Koichi Tohei Sensei), Yoseikan Aikido (Minoru Mochizuki Sensei), the Manseikan Aikido (Kanshu Sunadomari of Kyushu) and various other groups with numerically smaller representation but who incorporate the term “Aikido” in their names.”

Morihei Ueshiba with Shoji Nishio and students in front of Aikikai, February 1969

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I only have a target to aim for, an ideal of conflict resolution in which
peace and knowledge emerge, instead of a further spiral into violence

Ellis Amdur

According to the party line in the “soft” martial arts, we lead our opponents in the direction of their intentions and desires; therefore, aikido is nonviolent because we don’t “interfere” with what they are trying to do. Somehow, though, I never quite grasped the idea that my opponent was attacking me with a plea to be wristlocked into nikyo, or flung ass-over-tea-kettle in a kokyunage throw. OK, I’m being flippant; aikido is not so intellectually vulgar. Yeah, yeah, it is instead an embodiment of principle, of the smooth and economical resolution of conflict—of doing, as the Buddhist precept requires, no unnecessary harm.

However, that pretty caveat notwithstanding, how do we harmonize with something truly immoral, absolutely chaotic, or genuinely vile? One way out, of course, is to stand on morality—when an act or intent crosses certain lines, then the harmonious act, the act of love, is that which stops the beast dead in his tracks. I confess I’ve used that argument myself. Yet it is easy, then, to slip into the stance of what I call “God’s Own Sheriff,” where I believe my spirit to be untainted and righteous, and so I don my badge and my cloak, and with my trustworthy MAC-10 machine pistol firmly clasped in my fist, restore harmony far more efficiently than with iriminage and kokyuho… and in far greater numbers too! I could hop in my car and drive downtown on Righteous Street, shoot a couple of drug pushers spreading poison to young children, take a left on Ideology Avenue and plug a few corrupt politicians, and finally after a few rights on a winding course on the Road to Good Intentions, dead-end in the suburbs and shoot a child molester right between the eyes. Now there’s some harmony we can all sing along to!

Not choosing to don my badge and embrace insanity, however, I only have a target to aim for, an ideal of conflict resolution in which peace and knowledge emerge, instead of a further spiral into violence. I am prepared to fight if my aim falls short, but I do aim towards aiki, which, in this article, I choose to translate as “empathy.”

I’d like to explain this by means of a story. The name, description and identity of the individuals in this story have all been changed to protect their privacy. The story, in its essentials, is true. To begin, however, some background to explain to those mental health professionals among my readers how I ended up alone in such a crazy situation, against all standard operating procedures.

I was doing an internship in 1989 in a crisis intervention service when this incident occurred. In fact, I had only been working there about two months. However, because of the particular kind of training I had undergone in Japan, I was already quite well prepared to do crisis work, and was soon trusted as a full member of the team rather than as a mere intern.

I may have been quite good at face-to-face work, but what I didn’t know was how to work the mental health and police systems. This is not an excuse. If a warrior doesn’t know his weapons and his environment, then all his courage can do is carry him straight to the grave. If you leave it to others to protect you, and don’t acquire the skills yourself, then you have no one to blame but yourself. However, despite my ignorance which led me blundering onto the field of battle alone, it was aiki that carried me out again. But as you will see, harmony is not always a matter of the first, third, and fifth notes on the white keys— sometimes one must raise a truly ugly noise.

A Man of Pride

Alonzo marched into the clinic, angry and tight as a swollen bladder. He was so hostile at the front desk that it was decided that I would sit in on his meeting with Sonia, another crisis worker. He entered the room, a short, muscular black man, about forty years old, dressed in jeans and an old, very dean T-shirt. He sat upright in his chair, and in a formal, almost pedantic voice told of taking in a young street kid of nineteen or twenty, just out of jail, and how he had bought him things, given him a home, and then how he had been ripped off—his stereo, his VCR, his clothes, even his underwear. His words would slip every once in a while, and he would begin to swear, then turn to Sonia and apologize.

His eyes were red with anger and lack of sleep. He fumed about how he was shamed, and how the thought of that punk walking around in his underwear made him so mad that he no longer cared what happened to him or anybody else.

The upshot of all this was that Alonzo could not catch the kid; he was young and ran too fast. So he had acquired a .357 Magnum, and he was hunting for him to kill him. He knew the punk went to this mental health clinic, and he demanded that we tell the guy to give back the clothes or he was dead. If he didn’t return the clothes, Alonzo told us, we would have to give him the kid’s address—and if we didn’t do that, well, then, we had chosen to ally ourselves with the little punk and were thus full participants in the robbery, and Alonzo couldn’t say what might happen then.

We suggested that he go to the police. He snapped out his words in short bites, saying he had gone to the police and they told him he ought to bring the gun to them, and they’d try to catch the guy. He shook his head, saying that the police were hiding their smirks, laughing at him.

Alonzo told us that he had never been involved with the mental health system himself, that he was an ex-marine, currently working for a large computer company, but that he was about to lose his job because he couldn’t go to work in these old clothes, walking around in dirty underwear, ‘cause he only had one pair, ’cause he had no money to buy more, ’cause he hadn’t been to work, and the punk stole it all, and “I’m going to blow that mother-f****r (excuse me ma’am) away, and if I have to shoot through a crowd to get him, I will.”

We tried to talk consequences with him, how underwear and VCRs were, in the long run, trivial, compared to a life behind bars. He stated he would kill himself rather than go to jail, but that he would kill Jeff first. He was a man of honor and he wasn’t going to take anymore—he let something like this go last year, but not this time. As he spoke, his face contorted, veins twisting like eels under his skin, and his words came out in short spasmodic gasps. “I could not stay… on the face of the earth… knowing that punk was… running around town, laughing at me, wearing my… underwear.”

All we could offer were more rational cautions of possible consequences, and these he batted away like flies. Because of rules of confidentiality, we could not even say that Jeff was a client of the agency, but we did say that, if we ever had any contact with this individual—”Jeff is his name?“—we would surely let him know Alonzo’s feelings. Alonzo listened to this, chose to interpret that we were promising to get the things back for him in a week, and left.

I called the police. They told me that until a crime was committed, there was nothing that they could do, but if Alonzo shot someone, I should be sure to let them know. Then I called the County Designated Mental Health Professionals (CDMHP)—the only agents in the state of Washington who could commit someone against their will. They agreed reluctantly to do an evaluation, and got back to me the next day after visiting him at his home with police backup, saying that they agreed that Alonzo was homicidal, but he was not committable; according to their interpretation of the state statutes he was not mentally ill, just angry and dangerous.

Through his therapist, the punk, Jeff, was notified: he loved the whole idea of Alonzo’s anguish, thought it hilarious. Said, “Sure I’ll give the stuff back. He gave it to me, though. The old faggot!” Of course, he lied. He never tried to give anything back.

Digging back through old files, I found Alonzo. “Never been in the mental health system.” Hah! Major depression, commitment to Western State Hospital after a suicide attempt—a long history of taking in young street jackals, and getting ripped off. They were good chart notes. The man in the records had walked into our clinic—only much worse. So I called Alonzo, and he recognized me “Yeah, Ellis, you’re the one who sicked that county bitch on me.”

I replied that it was my responsibility under the law to request an evaluation, whenever someone came into my clinic talking of killing. I calmly said that I was sorry if he was upset but that I did it on both legal and moral grounds. “I don’t agree with what you are planning to do. I think it’s wrong.” He swore at me.

I asked him if he would come in to talk. He replied that of course he would, because I owed him some news, and he was expecting results. “I gave you a week, Ellis, and your time is up.”

“O-Sensei didn’t actually “write” the Dobun himself;
rather, they were based on some of the talks he gave.”

by Stanley Pranin
Aikido Journal #120 (2000)

Masatake Fujita, 8th dan Aikikai shihan, was born April 21, 1937 in Shinkyo (present-day Changchun) in Japanese-occupied Manchuria. He repatriated to Sapporo, Hokkaido in 1948. Fujita enrolled in Takushoku University in 1956. He entered Aikikai Hombu Dojo in November of the same year. After graduation, Fujita was employed for seven years at the Shin Seikatsu Undo Kyokai (New Lifestyles & Athletics Association). In 1967, he joined the office staff of the Aikikai. Aikido 8th dan.

AJ: I understand your father learned aikido from Ueshiba Sensei in Manchuria.

At the All-Japan Demonstration, c. 1990

Fujita: Yes, he was originally a judo man and he continued to practice judo during his work posting in Manchuria. There was a group called the Manchuria Budo Society (Manshu Budokai) whose members got together to practice not only judo, but kendo, sumo and other arts as well. My father was one of those involved in running this group and so he knew quite a few of the people practicing other martial arts. It was through that connection that he learned aikido when Morihei Ueshiba was invited to Manchuria. He trained with people like Kenji Tomiki (1900-1979), who was a professor at Manchuria’s Kenkoku University, and sumo wrestler Saburo Wakuta (1903-1989, also known as Tenryu, a well-known wrestler who began learning aikido after being impressed by the techniques of Morihei Ueshiba).

In those days, aikido practitioners tended to be people with considerable experience in other martial arts, and often a personal introduction was required as well. Most of them were already quite strong in judo or kendo or whatever art they had studied.

AJ: What kind of work was your father doing in Manchuria?

Fujita: He was with the Concordia Society (Kyowakai), an organization established to do a kind of “behind-the-scenes” government work. The [Kwantung] army was very strong in Manchuria. The government was comprised of Chinese at the very top, in the ministerial and other high-ranking positions, and Japanese in the positions below those. Within this arrangement, the government, the army, and the Concordia Society served to balance one another. For example, if the army detained a Chinese national for some reason, my father would step in to offer the person assistance and support. In other words, these three acted as a triangular set of counterbalances to one another, and within that my father’s position gave him at least enough authority, for example, to be able to lodge complaints against the army.

*Kyowakai, formally the Manchu Teikoku Kyowakai (Manchuria Imperial Concordia Society), a political organization avoiding the character of a political party and avoiding the aim of securing political power, functioning as a background organization complementing the foreground activities of the government, striving toward the achievement of the ideal of “nation building” (kenkoku) and the creation of a more moral world.

AJ: I understand that you yourself were born in Manchuria.

Fujita: Yes, in 1937 in a place called Shinkyo that today is the city of Changchun. My father was from Sapporo in Hokkaido and went directly to Manchuria from there. He stayed there for a total of ten years before finally returning to Japan to be repatriated. It was a difficult situation there in those days; if even one mistake had been made I easily might have wound up left behind as an orphan. I can speak Chinese now, but that’s only because I studied it in university later; as a boy in Manchuria I went to a school where only Japanese was spoken. Unfortunately, even though I did eventually learn Chinese, poor relations between China and Japan prevented me from putting it to use in my career. Still, I’m pretty confident in my Chinese, and in fact just the other day in a Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles I was asked by the woman running it if I was Chinese or Japanese! My English is another story, though; my Chinese comes out okay, but the English always seems to be holding itself back and trying to hide!

AJ: Did you ever go back after the war to visit Shinkyo where you were born?

Fujita: No, I’ve never had a chance to go back there. I’d like to but I just don’t have the time. Since the war I’ve only been to China once, actually, as part of a group representing Japanese martial arts on a tour organized by the Nippon Budokan. We went to Beijing, Xi’an, and Shanghai, but the tour didn’t give us a chance to swing by Changchun.

AJ: You started practicing aikido after returning to Japan?

Fujita: Yes, after I went to Tokyo to enter university. Before that I was in Sapporo. I’d always been pretty physically active and used to do things like skiing, ice skating, and swimming. When I left for Tokyo my father told me to call on Ueshiba Sensei. He didn’t tell me I should go practice aikido, he just wanted me to convey his greetings. I arrived in April, which is when the new school year begins in Japan, but as it turned out I needed one more person besides my father to introduce me before I would be able to see O-Sensei. Consequently, it wasn’t until November of that year that I was finally able to meet O-Sensei and convey my father’s greetings. I remember it was a rather cold November day. I introduced myself as the son of Mr. Fujita and apologized for having delayed so long in coming. Until then I’d never really considered taking up aikido myself, and from what my father had told me I imagined it to be something like judo.

AJ: What was your impression of Ueshiba Sensei when you first met him?

Fujita: I knew nothing about aikido at the time, but from the moment I saw his face I could tell he wasn’t an ordinary person. I was immediately impressed. It didn’t matter to me then whether he was someone who did martial arts or anything else, I just knew that whatever he was doing there could be no mistake about it, and the very next day I joined the dojo.

It was my father who provided my introduction to Ueshiba Sensei, but the decision to start practicing aikido was mine entirely. I could have simply conveyed my father’s greetings and gone home, but for some reason that first encounter with O-Sensei got me thinking, and the very next day I was back asking to be accepted as his student. I hadn’t even seen aikido yet, but one look at O-Sensei’s face as much as made the decision for me, which I think is ather amazing. That sort of thing happens sometimes, and sometimes we’re lucky enough to meet someone like that.

AJ: What was it like at the dojo back then?

In front of the old Aikikai Hombu Dojo c. 1967. Architectural plan of new Hombu Dojo building seen in background.

Fujita: Back then O-Sensei traveled a lot between Tokyo and Iwama, so he was never in Tokyo for a long period of time. I went to the morning training sessions, which were taught by Kisshomaru Sensei. Some of the others there included Shigenobu Okumura Sensei, Nobuyoshi Tamura (now in France), and Masamichi Noro (also in France). And there was one other, a rather “unusual” fellow, I thought, by the name of Sadateru Arikawa Sensei. (laughs)

Back then Kisshomaru Sensei always trained together with whomever came to practice, teaching while taking ukemi and so on. There were usually only seven or eight of us, including those I just mentioned, so it was more or less decided who everyone would end up partnering with-except for one individual, and that was Arikawa Sensei-who didn’t seem to have a regular partner for some reason. (laughs) Back then Arikawa Sensei cut a startling figure, what with his hair standing straight up and everything, but I went right up to him anyway and gave him a cheerful “Onegaishimasu!” Before I even knew what hit me he’d thrown me with a blindingly fast shihonage, and that was my introduction to Arikawa Sensei! (laughs)

Many of those people I trained with back then are still active today. Some have even gone on to open their own dojos or lead Aikikai branch dojos. I think it’s important to value and maintain the relationships we form in the course of our training.

AJ: You worked for many years in the Aikikai office, but what did you do before that?

Fujita: I spent about seven years working for a government support agency called the Shin Seikatsu Undo Kyokai (New Lifestyles & Athletics Association). It was the type of work that required me to travel a lot, so I always took my keikogi with me wherever I went. The current branch dojo in Hiroshima, for example, began in connection with that, as did the Hiroshima University aikido club.

My office was in the Hibiya district of Tokyo, so I helped get together a dojo at the Tokyo Regional Court offices that were in the same neighborhood, and I used to train there during my lunch hour. That dojo is still there, and in fact became one of the first of many others that exist in the various government offices agencies today.

AJ: How did you come to start working in the office at the Aikikai?

Fujita: One of my university seniors was handling all the office work there himself, but eventually he left and I took over in 1967 as things started getting busier. It was around the time they were building the new dojo. It wasn’t finished yet, so in the beginning I worked in the old office in the old dojo. After about two years I started to become something like O-Sensei’s secretary. Kisshomaru Sensei became the chairman of the Aikikai Board of Directors around the same time.

A young Fujita Sensei at his desk at the Hombu Dojo, c. 1969

I accompanied O-Sensei quite often on his Omoto-kyo-related visits. For the last two years before he passed away I was often spending as much as half of every day with O-Sensei. Kisshomaru Sensei sometimes used to tease us by saying, “What, are you two doing something together again?” (laughs). Sometimes I spent so much time with him that I ended up having to neglect the office work.

Often when I traveled with O-Sensei the itinerary was the same. Whenever we went to Tanabe in Wakayama, for example, we stayed with Hikitsuchi Sensei in Shingu. I think we went to Tanabe together twice. It was a difficult trip that usually took a whole week.

O-Sensei used to walk extremely quickly, using irimi-like body movements to slip through the crowds, so it was always hard to keep up with him. He wasn’t very tall, either, so keeping track of him a crowd could be difficult, especially since I was carrying all the luggage.

AJ: Kisshomaru Ueshiba spent over thirty years as Doshu of the aikido tradition he inherited from his father. In what ways do you think aikido changed during that period?

Fujita: Kisshomaru Sensei was not the kind of person to put himself forward strongly, and I think that was reflected in his approach as Doshu. Mainly he strove to continue his father’s art faithfully, in a quiet, steadfast sort of way, without taking a particularly authoritarian approach in leading the other senior practitioners and teachers. I think that non-imperative approach has been part of the reason aikido has spread as far and wide as it has. In fact, when I was working in the office I don’t think I ever heard Kisshomaru Sensei give me an “order.” Never did he say “Fujita, do such-and-such!” He wasn’t that kind of person. In some ways that actually made it more difficult for me; normally when you work for a company your superiors tell you clearly what you’re supposed to be doing, but at the Aikikai office I had to figure a lot of it out for myself.

AJ: It’s been said that Kisshomaru Sensei made considerable efforts to arrange and organize his father’s aikido in order to make it easier to understand.

Fujita: You have to remember that Morihei Ueshiba Sensei hardly ever demonstrated his art for the general public. He might have done so for the benefit of certain specific individuals, but I don’t think it ever even entered his mind to rent a space like the Hibiya Civic Auditorium or the Budokan and give a public demonstration. Kisshomaru Sensei’s thinking, in contrast, was that such public demonstrations would give people of all kinds a chance to see aikido, which he considered necessary if aikido was to spread and grow. Aikido began to change because of that. Back when I joined the dojo you still had to write the names of the people introducing you on a sort of application form, whereas today anyone, foreigners included, can join the Aikikai.

AJ: What about changes to aikido on the technical level made during the time?

“A Long Journey Begins with the First Step…”

The veterans among visitors to our websites will know something about the history of Aikido Journal, and its predecessor, Aiki News. Here and there I have described our beginnings, but let me flesh out the story a bit more for you now.

The trigger for the research that began this long journey took place during the 1968-69 academic year at the University of California at Berkeley. I was a graduate student at that time and assisted Dr. Robert Frager of the Psychology Department with the instruction of the school’s aikido club. Dr. Frager who had spent several years in Japan had among his papers photocopies of newspaper clippings of a serialized biography of Aikido Founder Morihei Ueshiba. 17 articles of this series were published by a sports newspaper in Tokyo, although I didn’t know this at the time.

Bob Frager showed me the photocopies and I asked to get a set for myself to use to practice Japanese-English translation. Earlier, Bob had some of the articles translated by a Japanese student, but the translated texts contained many errors because of the translator’s lack of familiarity with aikido and the founder’s life. For example, the name “Tohei” was romanized as “Fujihira,” and “Omoto” became “Daihon.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to do anything right away because of my study load. But I made a promise to myself to one day complete the work. In fact, I would have to wait some three years for the opportunity to find a Japanese native speaker to assist me.

In the meantime in the summer of 1969, I was able to make my first trip to Japan where I spent 10 weeks practicing aikido at the Aikikai Hombu Dojo in Tokyo. I did a lot of training with some of the most famous names of the day studying with teachers like Doshu Kisshomaru Ueshiba, Koichi Tohei, Kisaburo Osawa, Seigo Yamaguchi, Yasuo Kobayashi, Mitsugi Saotome, and a few others.

I had great hopes of being able to conduct research on aikido history while I was there, but got almost no cooperation from the Japanese side. I did have one success of great importance on the research side. I had Bob Frager’s articles on O-Sensei with me in Tokyo, and one day sat down to take a good look at them. I knew I had only some of the articles, but did not know how many there were in the series, or when or where they were published. Let me tell you how I solved this problem.

I reasoned that the best place to start to look for the newspaper would be the National Diet Library, which is the Japanese equivalent of the Library of Congress. One of the articles had a portion of the masthead of the newspaper which had half of the kanji “higashi” or “tou” visible. Since Morihei was in Tokyo at the time and the Hombu Dojo was also located there, I guessed that the newspaper had “Tokyo” as part of its title. I discussed what I was looking for with a librarian and was directed to the periodicals room where most of the newspapers of any note from all over the country were housed. I was shown a list of the available periodicals and looked for those that had “Tokyo” in the title. Since this happened 43 years ago, I don’t exactly remember the sequence of events, but there weren’t so many periodicals that matched the criteria, so I thought I had a chance to find what I was looking for.

I sat down with a stack of each newspaper that had “Tokyo” in its title, and began scanning the pages looking for something with a similar layout and font. I think I spent an hour or so before I happened across something that looked very close to my articles. The title of the newspaper was the “Tokyo Times.” Very excited, I started quickly leafing through the pages, and lo and behold, I found a photo of O-Sensei embedded in an article of the series I was looking for! Needless to say, I was elated. I found there were a total of 17 articles altogether, and I pulled out my little Minolta half-frame camera which squeezed two 16mm images in a single 35mm frame, and started snapping away. I felt like James Bond with a spy camera bending over the articles and pressing the shutter which produced a sublimely cool click! I photographed all 17 articles, and was very proud of my research prowess!

“Arikawa Sensei was talkative, tireless, severe yet cheerful,
fearsome on the mat, and fiercely loyal to the Ueshiba family.”

On October 11, 2003, the aikido world lost 9th dan Sadateru Arikawa, one of the few remaining giants of the postwar generation of instructors that played a predominant role in the dissemination of the art worldwide. I had the pleasure of knowing and associating with this enigmatic figure over a 33-year period. During that time he taught me a great deal about Japanese martial arts history, research methodology, etiquette, and the ins and outs of the aikido subculture. Arikawa Sensei was talkative, tireless, severe yet cheerful, fearsome on the mat, and fiercely loyal to the Ueshiba family. There was no one more knowledgeable than he on all things aikido-related. He was a walking dictionary and a martial arts’ historian par excellence.

Sadateru Arikawa (1930-2003)

I initially encountered Sadateru Arikawa on my first trip to Japan in the summer of 1969. His reputation of being ferocious on the mat had preceded him and I wasn’t disappointed when I participated in one of his classes for the first time. With a big smile on his face he would apply painful joint-locks (kansetsuwaza) and powerful throws to any and all who would knowingly or foolishly volunteer a limb. I think I only attended two or three of his classes during that summer figuring that I would be tempting the hands of fate if I trained in his class on a regular basis.

At that time, there was a series of cartoons drawn by a British aikidoka circulating at the Aikikai Hombu Dojo. The drawing depicting Arikawa Sensei showed the figure of a cowering student crawling underneath the tatami in order to escape treatment at the hands of “Harry”–a pun on the first three letters of his name and a reference to his thick, black shock of hair–as Sensei was affectionately known among the foreigners at the dojo.

Our next encounter took place in 1973 when I again visited Japan over the year-end holidays. I have a single memory of him from that time. I ran into Arikawa Sensei near the office at Hombu Dojo one day and he proceeded to chat with me about aikido history. He seemed to know of my deep interest in that subject and cheerfully carried on. My Japanese was very basic at that stage and I was only able to understand a little of what he was saying. But this was to prove the first of scores of conversations we would have over the years that would prove so valuable to me in my historical research.

Cartoon by Eric George circulating at Hombu Dojo in 1969

Sadateru Arikawa c. 1960

In the early 1980s I moved to Tokyo from Iwama and Arikawa Sensei was a frequent visitor to my home which also doubled as an office in Yotsuya Sanchome, not far from the Aikikai.. He would suddenly call up saying he was in the neighborhood and ask if he could stop by. Sometimes we would spend six or seven hours together and end up going out to dinner. The conversations were always centered on aikido, O-Sensei, Aikikai politics, the publication of Aiki News, and related subjects. Arikawa Sensei truly had a photographic memory. I used to be amazed at how he would walk into my room filled with books and documents and proceed to scan their contents. Sensei would often spy a new item out of the many documents and ask if he could take a look at it. It seemed he had memorized every book, photo and paper in our archives.

My staff would dread these visits by Sensei because it would interrupt their work flow. Also, no one other than me had such an unquenchable interest in aikido history that I shared with Arikawa Sensei. Besides, many people found it difficult to understand his speech, myself included, because he talked in a scarcely audible, raspy voice. I never could figure out why Sensei talked in this way until much later when he told me the story. It seems that as a student in elementary school he got into a fight during which he sustained an injury to his throat. This required an operation and he was hospitalized for a month. From that time on his larynx was damaged and it hurt him to attempt to speak in a loud voice.

Aiki Shrine in Iwama

“The inconspicuous village of Iwama situated in a farming area of Ibaragi Prefecture seems an unlikely candidate for the birthplace of aikido.”

Ask even a beginning aikidoka who the founder of aikido is and most will be able to identify Morihei Ueshiba as the originator of the art. This is probably due to the fact that a photo of Ueshiba hangs on the shomen of most aikido dojos worldwide and sooner or later every aikidoka hears the founder’s name mentioned. Were one to extend this line of questioning to include intermediate and advanced practitioners and ask when and where Ueshiba developed his aikido, few would be able to give an accurate answer.

Actually, the truth of the matter is that the flavors of aikido that enjoy popularity today owe much more to Ueshiba’s direct students such as Koichi Tohei, Kisshomaru Ueshiba, Gozo Shioda, Kenji Tomiki, and Minoru Mochizuki than to the founder. The reasons for this have to do mostly with the events of World War II and its aftermath. At the time aikido began its first tentative steps as a modern budo in the early 1950s, Ueshiba was already in his 70s and most considered him to be in retirement in the countryside of Ibaragi Prefecture. Thus the tasks of establishing dojos, creating organizations, formailizing curricula and grading, and the dispatch of teachers within Japan and abroad were left mainly to those enumerated above.

Ueshiba’s background

Before describing the circumstances of the birth of aikido in Iwama, let us look briefly at Ueshiba’s background up until the point where his connection with this Ibaragi farming community begins. Morihei Ueshiba was born in the seacoast town of Tanabe in Wakayama Prefecture on December 14, 1883. He was from an upper middle-class family and his father served on the Tanabe town council for many years. Morihei received a formal education up through middle school. At the age of 19, he moved to Tokyo in pursuit of a career as a merchant but returned to Tanabe after less than a year and soon abandoned the idea of entering the business world.

Morihei finally found his calling when he led a group of colonizers from his hometown to the wilderness of northeast Hokkaido in 1912. There the group from Tanabe established a small village called Shirataki. In 1915, Ueshiba met the famous jujutsu expert Takeda Sokaku in a nearby town. Fascinated with Sokaku’s expert martial arts skills that far exceeded his own, Morihei devoted himself to Daito-ryu aikijujutsu training for the next five years becoming of one of Takeda’s top students.

After spending a total of seven years in Hokkaido, Ueshiba left Hokkaido upon receiving news that his father was critically ill back in Tanabe. On his return to Wakayama, Morihei detoured to the town of Ayabe near Kyoto where he met Reverend Onisaburo Deguchi, the co-founder of the Omoto religion, to pray for his father’s recovery. Soon thereafter in 1920, Morihei settled in the Omoto community with his family and became a staunch supporter of Onisaburo and the religous sect. Deguchi in turn encouraged Morihei to cultivate his martial skills by giving instruction to members of the religious sect.

With Onisaburo’s blessing, Morihei relocated to Tokyo from Ayabe in 1927 to begin to disseminate his aikijujutsu on a full-time basis. After spending several years teaching the elites of Japanese society from various temporary locations, Morihei finally opened his own dojo in Shinjuku ward in Tokyo in 1931. The Kobukan Dojo served as Ueshiba’s base of operation and its students consisted mainly of prominent persons from military, political, and business circles and those having a connection with the Omoto religion. He also taught self-defense classes at several military institutions in the greater Tokyo area including the Toyama Army School. At this point in time, the focus of Morihei’s teaching was mainly Tokyo where he had built up a strong network of highly-placed connections that opened up many opportunities for him to expand his activities.

Zenzaburo Akazawa in front of home where Budo Senyokai sessions held (1999)

Iwama and the Budo Senyokai

The inconspicuous village of Iwama situated in a farming area of Ibaragi Prefecture seems an unlikely candidate for the birthplace of aikido. Yet today the website of the Iwama Town Office proudly claims aikido as one of the community’s main attractions and remarks that foreigners who have come from abroad to learn the art can frequently be seen on town streets. Iwama is located between Tsuchiura and Mito on the Joban line—the railroad connecting Ueno with Sendai—and today has a population of only 16,750. 70 years ago when the initial events linking aikido with Iwama occurred it was a farming village of only a few thousand.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Morihei Ueshiba’s involvement with the Omoto religion provided the nexus for his connection with Iwama. In 1932, an association for the promotion of martial arts called the Budo Senyokai was established under the auspices of the Omoto religion. This organization was created on the initiative of Onisaburo Deguchi who had set up a series of other auxiliary groups to appeal to different segments of Japanese society. This approach worked well and, by the early 1930s, the Omoto sect had more than a million adherents from a wide range of economic and social levels.

Morihei had been a member of the inner circle of the Omoto sect since the early 1920s. He was somewhat of a “poster boy” for the Omoto as Onisaburo was fond of welcoming talented people from different walks of life into the religion with an eye toward their potential for promotional purposes. Ueshiba was regarded as a consummate martial artist—even serving at one time as Onisaburo’s bodyguard—and an important asset to the Omoto sect that was so often courting the displeasure of government authorities.

The Budo Senyokai created a network of martial arts study groups that held class sessions in conjunction with the Omoto chapters operating throughout the country. Although in theory a number of martial arts were included in the curriculum, the main focus was on Morihei’s aikijujutsu as is evidenced by the fact that he was the association’s first chairman and most of the training involved Ueshiba’s aikijujutsu. The creation of the Budo Senyokai provided Morihei with a ready-made All-Japan network of affiliated groups thus enabling him to build a student base much more rapidly than before.

The Omoto chapter in Iwama was among those that started aikijujutsu training sessions. The person in charge of training there was a man named Yoshikatsu Fujisawa. Fujisawa had undergone a brief training stint in the town of Takeda in Hyogo Prefecture where the Budo Senyokai conducted intensive practice seminars. The training in Iwama was conducted in the home of the town postmaster, Mitsunosuke Akazawa, father of Zenzaburo, the latter one of Ueshiba’s prewar uchideshi.

One person who participated in the Budo Senyokai training in Iwama was a young man named Shigemi Yonekawa who happened to be a relative of the Akazawas. Yonekawa soon became an enthusiastic pupil of aikijujutsu and entered Ueshiba’s Kobukan Dojo as an uchideshi later in 1932. In an interview in conducted in 1979, Yonekawa describes his introduction to aikijujutsu:

“… I was asked if I might not be interested in participating in a martial arts seminar [in Iwama] and so I decided to attend. Before attending this seminar, I had had some experience taking breakfalls in judo. So I helped out at the seminar under the mistaken impression that it would be a lot of fun. I practiced for four or five days but was totally out of my element. The teacher handled me with great ease and I was so impressed by the uniqueness, subtlety, and depth of this art that I knew I wanted to learn it.

When I talked to Mr. Fujisawa he told me to come with him and be his assistant. We traveled around Ibaragi Prefecture and when we arrived in Tokyo he introduced me to Ueshiba Sensei. I was told that the fastest way to learn the art would be to become an uchideshi. Then I requested Mr. Akazawa’s help and he asked Ueshiba Sensei’s permission on my behalf. That’s how I joined as an uchideshi.”

Aikido Founder Morihei Ueshiba demonstrating atemi prior to executing technique. Noma Dojo, 1936

The Akazawa home where training took place is still standing in Iwama today and is used for town Omoto gatherings. On display are photos of the foundress Nao Deguchi, Onisaburo and his wife Sumiko and the interior looks much the same as it did some 70 years ago when it was used as a make-shift dojo for Budo Sen’yokai training sessions.

Aikijujutsu training in Iwama came to an abrupt halt in December 1935 when the Japanese government brutally suppressed the Omoto religion in the notorious Second Omoto Incident. Many of the top Omoto leaders including Onisaburo and his wife were imprisoned and some, notably Hidemaro Deguchi, tortured. Morihei escaped incarceration only due to the intervention of one of his students who happened to be the Osaka prefectural police chief at that time. Even Zenzaburo’s father Mitsunosuke was detained for several weeks.

Preparing a retreat in Iwama

Although the Budo Senyokai practice sessions had been suspended, Ueshiba’s connection with Iwama had been firmly established. In the late 1930s, Morihei began discussing the idea of building an outdoor dojo away from Tokyo to serve as a training facility. He had been teaching at the Toyama Military School for army officers and at various other military institutions for a number of years. However, Ueshiba was limited as to the type of training he could conduct. He wanted to set up a dojo in a setting removed from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo where he could engage in more realistic practice. Mitsunosuke Akazawa mentioned earlier—whose son Zenzaburo was then one of Ueshiba’s uchideshi—assisted Morihei in the purchase of about 4 or 5 hectares of land in Iwama and plans were made to construct an outdoor training facility. Ueshiba began visiting Iwama as the open-air dojo was being constructed starting about 1939.

At the same time, the advent of the Pacific War led to the rapid depletion of members of Ueshiba’s Kobukan Dojo as his young students were inducted one by one into military service. By 1942 there were only a handful of students practicing in the Kobukan Dojo.

Even though there were few students at his dojo, 1942 was a hectic year for Morihei as he was conducting classes at several military institutions simultaneously. In earlier years, Ueshiba had been assisted by his leading uchideshi who helped him teach by making the rounds to the various military facilities. Now few were left to assist in this capacity. The Pacific War was in full swing and the first bombing raids on Tokyo had begun. Although originally conceived as a retreat for intensive budo training, Morihei’s land in Iwama now offered a refuge for him and his wife to escape the dangers of Tokyo.

Morihei began to plan his move to Iwama in stages. He built a 36-mat dojo as a private training facility and also a small shrine dubbed the “Shinden,” both completed in 1942. This shrine was dedicated to a budo deity and ceremonies presided over by Omoto priests, further evidence that Morihei’s faith in the Omoto religion had not wavered despite the occurrence of the Second Omoto Incident. As a further important step toward his retirement to Iwama, Morihei appointed his son Kisshomaru—then a 21-year-old Waseda University student—as the Dojo-cho of the Kobukan Dojo and turned over most administrative responsibilities as well. Kisshomaru was assisted in the operation of the the dojo by Minoru Hirai who later went on to create Korinkai Aikido.

Founder Morihei Ueshiba, 1942

“Retirement” to Iwama

The founder became quite ill toward the end of 1942 with an intestinal ailment and this may have affected the actual timing of his withdrawal to Iwama. The contrast with his hectic life in Tokyo was dramatic as rural Iwama had only a few thousand residents. As Ueshiba recovered from his illness, he began to devote his time to farming, training and meditation. His few aikido students consisted mainly of local youths and members of families of Omoto believers who still had to keep a low profile after the crushing blow dealt the religion in 1935. Freed for the first time in many years from heavy teaching duties, the founder could at last pursue his personal training and ascetic activities without distraction. He made the Iwama dojo and the surrounding fields into a training laboratory. There Morihei experimented with endless variations of techniques while continuously making refinements, and further expanding his awareness and ability to perceive his opponent’s intent.

Koichi Tohei, 10th dan, teaching in Hawaii c. 1960

“Who is Koichi Tohei and why is he so important to
an understanding of the development of aikido?”

In May, 1974, an event occurred that shook the roots of the aikido world to its very foundations. It was then that Koichi Tohei, the chief instructor of the Aikikai Hombu Dojo, resigned from his post and left the headquarters organization to form his own school.

Many aikido associations, dojos, instructors, and students, particularly in Japan and the U.S.A., were compelled to make a choice of whether to stay within the Aikikai system or join Tohei’s newly-created Shin Shin Toitsu Aikido organization.

The impact on those who remained within the Aikikai system was nonetheless traumatic because they saw the illusion of harmony at the highest level of leadership in the aikido world shattered. Regardless of where one stood on the issue, aikido at large had suffered a huge black eye.

From the viewpoint of the Aikikai, Tohei’s actions and attempts to dictate the technical curriculum and teaching methodology were unacceptable. In Tohei’s eyes, the aikido headquarters had snubbed his leadership and failed to sufficiently acknowledge his many accomplishments and contributions to the postwar spread of aikido, both in Japan and abroad. The contentious issue was further complicated by a web of long-standing personal relationships that had gone sour.

The upshot of this tragic situation was that in the aftermath of Tohei’s departure, neither he nor the Aikikai has wished to revisit this unfortunate episode and the issue has been effectively swept under the rug for more than 35 years.

Who is Koichi Tohei and why is he so important to an understanding of the development of aikido? Should he be unceremoniously deleted from aikido history due to past grievances or should he be given due credit for his role in the shaping of the art of aikido?

Early Years

Koichi Tohei was born in Tokyo on January 20, 1920. His well-to-do family soon moved to its ancestral home in Tochigi Prefecture where the young Koichi grew up. He studied judo as a teenager, but his training was interrupted while a student at Keio University due to a bout with pleurisy.

In 1940, in an effort to regain his health, Tohei joined the Ichikukai and engaged in intensive misogi breathing and meditation training. It was shortly thereafter that he received an introduction to Morihei Ueshiba Sensei who operated a private martial arts dojo in the Shinjuku Ward of Tokyo. Tohei immediately joined the dojo and practiced intensively under the Aikido Founder up until the time of his induction into the Japanese Imperial Army in October 1942.

Tohei saw action in China and was stranded on the continent at the end of the war until his repatriation in 1946. Soon thereafter, Tohei reestablished contact with Morihei Ueshiba who had retired to his country home in Iwama, Ibaragi Prefecture. Tohei resumed training in aikido traveling to Iwama from his nearby hometown as his schedule permitted.

It was also during this period that Tohei began training under Tempu Nakamura, the person who introduced yoga to Japan. Nakamura would have a major influence on Tohei and his approach to aikido and ki.

Ueshiba promoted Tohei to 8th dan at the young age of 32 in 1952 in recognition of his status as the Founder’s leading student. Tohei’s promotion would also serve to stimulate the growth of the Aikikai whose activities had been all but curtailed in the aftermath of World War II.

Koichi Tohei applying sankyo on huge Hawaiian, c. 1953

Establishing Aikido in Hawaii

In February 1953, at the invitation of the Hawaii branch of the Nishikai health system, Tohei visited the islands for an extended stay to introduce the then unknown art of aikido. Despite many challenges and hardships, Tohei established himself as top-tier martial artist and built up a network of Aikikai-affiliated dojos all over Hawaii. During this time, he provided financial support to the struggling Aikikai from donations he collected from his students and patrons. Tohei returned to Hawaii in 1955 and again in 1959 where he further strengthened the aikido base he had created several years earlier.

Back in Japan, the Aikikai gradually began to emerge as the leading aikido organization with Tohei assuming a leadership role as chief instructor, a post he was appointed to in 1956. A network of schools in various cities, universities and companies gradually formed and the art began to receive some exposure in the media.

“Cutting people means being defeated by the world. Those who
are cut are losers, too. Both are losers in that type of practice”

Morihei Ueshiba, Founder of Aikido, c. 1965

Interviewer: Aikido is increasing in popularity, isn’t it?

Ueshiba Sensei: It is all due to you and people like yourself, Sir.

No. No.

Yes, it’s all thanks to your support.

You are good at making compliments, not Aikido!  I wonder how old you are?

I have forgotten my age… I was born in 1883, but I tell people I’m 25 years old. Please keep that in mind. (Laughter)

You are the same age I am then! (Laughter) They say that people stop growing physically at about age 25.

I didn’t stop growing. I grew until I was 55 years old. I became taller, too. I was my strongest when I was 50. I didn’t have much strength when I was in my twenties until the age of 32 or 33.

How about your skill in martial arts?

I get better with age.

It’s strange though. You kept growing taller until you were 50 years old!

Take it any way you please. (Laughter) If I emphasize that too much, I will be criticized.

You must be joking! You’re a difficult one to talk with!

Well, Sir, you and people like yourself know well about what’s going on in the world, and so we, the people, follow you. By the way, it is the martial arts which lead us to the way of harmony. Anything which strays from the path of harmony is useless. I believe that the martial ways of our nation will only last in the presence of harmony. “The beautiful form of heaven and earth is a manifestation of a single family created by the Kami.”

We should become a single family spiritually and make an effort to improve the nation of Japan. We have to try to achieve harmony at least here in Japan. We should become good friends with one another, all taking care of each other. The foundations of this harmony is Aikido. It is this Aikido which is the true budo. Budo used to be used for military rule or by feudal lords in battles for dominance among clans. I want to get away from that hostile world.

Your talk on Aikido philosophy started suddenly, didn’t it?

Democracy means the principle of nonresistance. True Japanese budo is the principle of nonresistance.

But unless you resist, it isn’t budo. That is why I don’t like it.

You’re talking about budo used for military rule. Kendo and Judo are said to be Japanese budo, but they are concerned with winning, aren’t they? Since Aikido pursues harmony, it is different from those arts.

So you throw your partner saying, “Be friends with me!”, don’t you?

How can I reply when someone like you says such things?

Please forgive me if I said something to offend you. I am the one in favor of military rule, you know! (Laughter)

When an opponent comes to attack you, you just move your body slightly to avoid his attack, and let him go wherever he wants. This is Aiki. In other words, you give him freedom.

I see there are many ways of expressing this idea, aren’t there?

Ueshiba I am not just explaining it that way. It’s really true!

Is the sword used in Aikido?

Yes, it is. A sword is opposing mirrors (awasekagami) of Heaven. It represents an act of celebration.

Now I’ve started to get lost! (Laughter) I personally think that a sword is nothing but a weapon to kill people. Therefore, I feel only sympathy towards those who look at blades in all seriousness and think how foolish they are.

Swords are dangerous. One shouldn’t play with dangerous things. Think of the world for once. The world is a site of religious worship (saijo) given to us. Therefore, we worship the path of Heaven and apply the rules of Heaven to the earth, and conduct the affairs of state according to the way of harmony. There is no war in Heaven, is there? Those dwelling there have lived in harmony for tens of thousands of years, haven’t they? If the earth is ours, we should celebrate this bounty and make friends of one another.

The sword is not good for making friends. I have a feeling that we will fare better if we make friends without swords.

The sword you are talking about is different from mine.

Aikido Journal Number 108, 1996

Contents

     ● Editorial – Aikido & Weapons: The Last Word?, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Journal News, by Diane Skoss
     ● Letters to the Editor
     ● Seigo Yamaguchi: In Memoriam
     ● On Writing Zen Combat, by Jay Gluck
     ● Interview with Fumio Toyoda, by Mark Binder
     ● Improvisations, by Ellis Amdur
     ● In My Own Way, by David Lynch
     ● Takemusu Aikido — Yokomenuchi Iriminage Kihon, by Morihiro Saito
     ● The Omoto Religion and Aikido, by Yasuaki Deguchi
     ● Kicks & Aikido, by Roger D’Onofrio & Hans Goto
     ● Famous Swordsmen of Japan: Toru Shirai, by Takefumi Hiiragi
     ● Heard in the Dojo
     ● Daito-ryu Aikijujutsu: Kubi Hineri, by Takeshi Kawabe as transmitted by the Takumakai
     ● Events & Announcements
     ● The Book Page
     ● Our Contributors

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Aiki News Number 49, 1982

Contents

     ● Editorial: “Criticism of O-Sensei”, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Interview with Hisao Kamata, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Morihiro Saito’s Technical Notebook — Ryotedori shihonage omote, by Morihiro Saito
     ● The Founder of Aikido, Morihei Ueshiba, “Enlightenment at the Edge of Death, Chapter IV – Part 8(a), by Kisshomaru Ueshiba
     ● The Honorable Morihei Ueshiba — Part 2, from Kishu Seiji Keizai newspaper

Download the pdf file of Aikido Journal Number 49 by right clicking on the link below:

“Sokaku went into the kitchen and ladled out water for himself using a dipper, and then placed it in the flames of the fire. He put the tea leaves into the dipper and toasted them. I guess he was concerned that the tea might be poisoned.”

Contents

     ● Editorial – “Aikido and Daito-ryu: The Unacknowledged Symbiosis”, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Reminiscences of Minoru Mochizuki — Direct Disciple of Jigoro Kano and Morihei Ueshiba
     ● Heard in the Dojo
     ● Book Corner, by Koshu Masuda
     ● Tokimune Takeda: Conversation with the son of Sokaku Takeda, by Stanley Pranin
     ● O-Sensei Biography — “Passing On” (Chapter 7, Part 4), by Kisshomaru Ueshiba
     ● Morihiro Saito Technical Notebook — Sword Partner Practice III, by Morihiro Saito
     ● Aikido and Police Tactics (1), by John Lamont
     ● Groups interview featuring Yasuo Kobayashi, Mitsugi Saotome and Yoshio Kuroiwa, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Dojos of the World
     ● Letters to the Editor
     ● Aiki News Back Number Index
     ● Aiki News Video Catalog

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Aiki News Number 82, October 1989

Contents

     ● Editorial, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Interview with Riki Kogure, by Stanley Pranin
     ● Interview with Hakaru Mori (2), by Stanley Pranin
     ● Aiki Forum – Discussion with Hiroshi Ikushima,
     ● Daito-ryu Master Yukiyoshi Sagawa, by Tatsuo Kimura
     ● Heard in the Dojo
     ● Questions & Answers
     ● Sokaku Takeda Biography, by Tokimune Takeda
     ● Jigoro Kano Autobiography (3), by Stanley Pranin
     ● An Aikido Life, by Gozo Shioda
     ● Morihei Ueshiba Biography, by Kanemoto Sunadomari
     ● Appearance and Reality (II), by Yoshio Kuroiwa
     ● Letters to the Editor

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“If you keep focusing on technical (gi) and physical (tai) training only, if you neglect to train your spirit (shin) and refuse to change your way of thinking and the way you live, then you won’t adapt to the changes in your aging bodies and one day you will no longer be able to move your bodies.”

Patrick Augé Sensei

The highlight of the gathering was lunch when everyone started sharing personal stories which included everything from facts to how the practice of Budô under Mochizuki Sensei’s guidance had been an essential part of their lives.

It is always interesting to hear the same stories from different people. Everyone has his own angle of vision. Some had vivid memories of Ueshiba Sensei’s visits on his way back to Tôkyô. For example, one hot summer afternoon, when Sugiyama Sensei was a beginner, an old man showed up at the dojo genkan (entrance): “Is Mochizuki here? Tell him that Ji (the old man) is here!” Sugiyama Sensei recalls, “I rushed to the second floor to announce the visitor. . . . A few minutes later Ueshiba Sensei was in his underwear, sitting and talking informally with Kanchô Sensei. . . . He had the body of an athlete in his twenties with the head of a man in his seventies! I couldn’t believe it!” Ueshiba Sensei ended up staying for several days until Kisshomaru Sensei had to come to Shizuoka to take him back home. They remembered Ueshiba Sensei as an eccentric, dynamic, warm, joke- and pun-loving gentleman, not the side of him that seems to fit the popular belief.

Morihei Ueshiba and Minoru Mochizuki, c. 1951

Often, Mochizuki Kanchô Sensei lectured us on the importance of evolution. “If you keep focusing on the technical (gi) and physical (tai) training only, if you neglect to train your spirit (shin) and refuse to change your way of thinking and the way you live,” he would say, referring to those who escape the uncertainties of the insubstantial by searching for more techniques, more training, more ranks, more trophies, and the like, “then you won’t adapt to the changes in your aging bodies and one day you will no longer be able to move your bodies.” Unfortunately, few of us listened and even among those who listened, few understood the meaning, unless we went directly to Sensei and asked for clarifications.

In Bujutsu, one trains under an instructor solely to develop technique and the body so as to achieve a tangible result: survival, a medal, a rank (belt), a title, or a victory on the battlefield, in the gym or in the arena. In Budô, one uses technique and body under a teacher’s guidance as tools to manage the challenges encountered in the dôjô, namely, dealing with physical discomfort and pain (as in the case of a beginner learning ukemi and kihonwaza), and with mental struggle such as lack of concentration, low self-esteem, doubt, etc. Then one applies the same skills to manage challenges outside the dôjô.

Let’s briefly clarify the difference between an instructor and a teacher. An instructor focuses only on techniques and strategies. His lifestyle has nothing to do with it, whether he instructs as a job or a hobby. His relationship with the student, whether business-like or chummy, will remain superficial. He will retire or quit depending on his personal circumstances. A teacher on the other hand is a student who teaches in order to continue his study. His whole life is focused on sharpening his physical and mental skills, in and out of the dôjô. While an instructor may study and teach in order to support and upgrade his lifestyle, a teacher will set his lifestyle in order to support his study and teaching. His relationship with the student will become an essential part of his study since he sees his student as a reflection of his teaching, whether the student makes himself teachable or not. A teacher never retires. Mochizuki Sensei taught us the lessons he received from his own teachers through the example of his daily life.

Koichi Tohei at Ki Society Headquarters in Tokyo, c. 1996

“I was there and I was one of the multitude who admired — no idolized! — the man.”

From Aikido Journal #110 (1996)

Aikido Journal has, over the years, championed many causes. We have been both complimented and roundly criticized during our twenty-two years of publication for our unconventional views on Morihei Ueshiba, Aikikai Hombu Dojo, Iwama Aikido, Daito-ryu Aikijujutsu, Shin’ei Taido, and an assortment of other topics. Readers who have appreciated our efforts have praised us for our fairness and objectiveness in our presentation of the aiki arts. But alas, it is not true! We are neither fair nor objective. We are guilty of having as many biases as the next person. We can only confess that we have often focused on certain teachers and subjects of particular interest to the staff and neglected other topics which readers have clamored for. We are extremists to the extreme, independent to the end, and proud of it!

In recent issues we have had a new cause to champion. We are intent on restoring the good name and accomplishments of one of aikido’s greatest teachers who has too long been overlooked or forgotten in many aikido circles. The man of whom I speak is Koichi Tohei.

Koichi Tohei instructing in Hawaii c. 1965

Indulge me for a short while as we board together a time-machine to the golden years of aikido’s infancy in the USA in the mid-1960s. We see a totally different landscape when compared to the art of today. The name of Koichi Tohei is on everyone’s lips. He is now in his vigorous 40s, handsome, charming, and physically gifted. He is a fluent speaker of English, the author of best-selling books on the art. He is supremely confident, a wonderful teacher. He is the chief instructor of the World Headquarters Dojo, the Mecca of aikido, and he is the “ambassador of ki.” Yes, Koichi Tohei is the man every devotee wants to see in the flesh, the one whose techniques are to be emulated, the one who inspires. His interpretation of techniques represents “the” standard. His views on the principles of aikido and the “mysterious” concept of ki are unending topics of conversation. He is the motive power driving the spread of the art. Koichi Tohei IS aikido!

Yes, all of this is true. I know because I was there and I was one of the multitude who admired—no idolized!—the man. For those of us who fate brought to the doorsteps of aikido in the early years, the founder, Morihei Ueshiba, was but a symbol. He was aikido’s distant past while Tohei was its dynamic present. How is it that things have come to be so different nowadays? How could it come to pass that many practitioners today don’t even know who Koichi Tohei is? Perhaps, the answer lies partially in the success of the art itself. While other martial arts seem captive to the boom or bust cycle, the whims of the times, or the success of the latest martial arts movie, aikido has spread relentlessly to the point it has become a household word in the world’s major societies.

Minoru Mochizuki Sensei demonstrating tachidor at his Shizuoka Dojo in 1992

“The next step consists in applying the antidote to fear: familiarity. Little by
little, we become accustomed to the thought of the obstacle that bothers us.”

Patrick Auge Sensei

The point is to develop awareness, a by-product of concentration. Here, if we reflect on the fact that we are strongly attracted by some things and hate others, especially those that prevent us from getting the things that attract us, then we can look for the root of the cause. It may be associated with a strong emotion that arose sometime in the past. For example, our mother might have given us something at a moment when we were feeling happy and that became a favorite; or we might have received something after being scolded and we have hated it ever since; or we may face something that we don’t know and our conditioning, fear of the unknown, makes us reject it automatically.

If we force ourselves to behave according to what we think is expected from us (“If I don’t do it, I won’t get promoted!” Or “I will look stupid, ignorant, etc.!”), then we act out of obligation (rigidity). We bottle up all the frustration, and we set an internal time bomb that will detonate as rebellion, mental and/or physical disease, etc. If we force ourselves to do something out of fear, it will bring the same result as running away from it: unfinished business that will haunt us as long as we avoid managing what scares us.

The next step consists in applying the antidote to fear: familiarity. Familiarity implies moderation. Little by little, we become accustomed to the thought of the obstacle that bothers us. For example, we have a disagreement with our teacher. We sit down in a quiet place and do deep breathing meditation (shinkokyû mokusô) until our mind starts calming down. It may take several minutes and multiple start-overs, according to our training and the intensity of the emotion. However, the point here is not to eliminate the emotion (rigidity)—it acts as a signal of something that should be paid attention to and is also a reminder of our humanity—but to develop the skills to work with it (flexibility).

Once the mind is calm—and it will become calm—we can ask ourselves the following questions: “Am I here to learn or am I here to prove that I am right and that my teacher is wrong? Which is more important to me? Is my teacher teaching in order to continue his study and does he have his students’ best interest at heart; or is he just doing it for himself?” These are important questions that a serious student should ask himself. The teacher-student relationship is not a smooth path; it is paved with obstacles to overcome, such as greed, fear and doubt. Once our answers to those questions are clear, we develop understanding and wisdom (intelligence of the heart). We should contemplate this new understanding for some time in order to make sure it’s internalized and will be there when emotions arise again. The intensity of the emotions will depend on how long and to what degree we have let the chatter of the mind (the bat in the belfry) nourish them uncontrollably.

Then we are ready to go back to our teacher and confirm our will to continue our study under his guidance. This may be a humbling experience for us, but what better way is there to cultivate humility—an essential quality of a teacher—than humbling ourselves? On the other hand, if we look at it as humiliation, it’s an indication that our ego (the little dictator) stands in the way and that we have more reflecting to do.

The same process can be applied to relationships. We may have a broken relationship with a parent for example. One or both of us refuse to meet. But if I decide to apply the principle of flexibility and efficiency, I may think something along these lines: “He/she has been suffering as much as I have, or more, whatever the cause of the split. As his/her child, I am younger and his/her life will likely finish before mine. Who knows what he/she will face at the moment of his/her death? Once he/she is gone, it will be too late to do anything about it, and I will be haunted with that thought until the end of my life. Therefore, I will take the first step and I will let him/her know in an appropriate way—kindly, respectfully, truthfully, and in a timely manner (on his/her birthday, at Thanksgiving or at Christmas, for example)—that I wish for us to see each other. Once the seed has been planted, I will let it take care of itself.”

Mochizuki Sensei also said that Budô was forgiving. We forgive our enemy, but we do not forget his negative actions lest he repeat them. He still has to correct himself and repair the damage caused; it’s all part of his study and of the other students’ study, those who are mindful. That’s the meaning of shugyô.

Mochizuki Sensei had to expel some students due to their recurring negative behavior. However, he always kept his door open in order to make it possible for the student to go back to Sensei, apologize and correct his behavior. To Sensei, Budô was forgiving (yurusu), which means that expelling a student (hamon) was a wake-up call for the serious student to review his motivation and correct his behavior. It’s an aspect of the evolution of Bujutsu, in which hamon was final, into Budô.

Unfortunately, few took advantage of that opportunity to improve themselves and preferred to quit or start their own rônin organizations.

Minoru Mochizuki being interviewed at his home, c. 1987

“When I began teaching in the fifties and mentioning aiki jujutsu, Kotaro and Kenji Yoshida, and the Daito-ryu, everyone said that I was a phony and there are no such people and no such art as aiki jujutsu. Now aiki jujutsu is the new buzzword!”

This video captures an outstanding demonstration by one the unique martial artists of our time, Don Angier Sensei, Soke of Yanagi-ryu Aiki Jiu Jitsu. The tale of how he came to learn his incredible martial arts skills is really something out of a storybook. You can read all about it here on the Aikido Journal Members Site. This is a rare video by an outstanding budoka.

Yanagi-ryu is influenced by Daito-ryu Jujutsu and the Yoshida family arts. Angier Sensei was trained as a teenager by Kenji Yoshida, son of Kotaro Yoshida, who was, incidentally, the person who introduced Morihei Ueshiba to Sokaku Takeda way back in 1915.

This demonstration of Angier Sensei took place at Aiki Expo 2002 held in Las Vegas, Nevada. He performs a number of knife disarming techniques, multiple-attacker throws, and soft-touch aiki techniques. His poise and execution are superlative.

Duration: 4:32
Please log in to view the video of Don Angier Sensei’s demonstration at Aiki Expo 2002

“One of the most interesting things about the All-Japan demonstrations is that you can see an entire range of aikidoka from hobbyists to the world’s finest teachers in a single venue, in a single afternoon.”

Aikido Journal #118 (Fall/Winter 1999)

I recently attended the All-Japan Aikido Demonstration sponsored by the Aikikai Hombu Dojo for perhaps the 20th time. The 1999 event was held on May 22 at the Nippon Budokan in commemoration of the late Aikido Doshu Kisshomaru Ueshiba (1921-1999). There was a huge portrait of Kisshomaru Sensei hanging above a flower display behind the shomen. An impressive sight, indeed, and a constant reminder of his legacy! I think this year’s demonstration was especially important in a psychological sense in that, among many things, it represented a strong show of support for the new Doshu Moriteru Ueshiba. Moriteru Sensei is now 48 years of age and, coincidentally, the same age as his father when he assumed the title of Doshu.

For many years now, I have received permission to go down on the floor where the demonstrations take place to shoot pictures from close range for this magazine. It is from this vantage point that I have not only been able to see the numerous performances close up, but also visit with the many teachers and guests who are regularly on hand. It’s always a pleasure to see the same faces year after year and a few new ones as well.

I’ll never forget the first time I attended the event in 1973 when it was held at the old Hibiya Hall (Hibiya Kokaido). That year’s demonstration turned out to be significant in several regards as it marked the last All-Japan performance by 10th dan Koichi Tohei before his departure from the Aikikai. It was also the last time that Sadateru Arikawa, now 9th dan, gave a public exhibition and, on that occasion, it was a veritable tour de force. I clearly recall—I can indeed say “clearly” because I shot several rolls of 8mm film—a fascinating performance by Mitsugi Saotome who did a scary randori against five or six attackers armed with knives! It was quite breathtaking to watch him duck and dodge while avoiding engaging a single opponent for more than a split second! That year there were also fine demonstrations by several top teachers who have since left us like Kisaburo Osawa, Bansen Tanaka, Seigo Yamaguchi, and the late Doshu Kisshomaru Ueshiba. If I’m not mistaken, Gozo Shioda Sensei of Yoshinkan Aikido was also in the audience.

It occurs to me that few people other than the old-timers of the Aikikai will remember the beginnings of this famous event. It all started back on May 5, 1960 when the first All-Japan Demonstration was held at the Yamano Hall in Tokyo. This was of course well before my time, but recently I came across a pamphlet which lists the dates and locations of all of the demonstrations since the inception of the event. Two years later in 1962, the second demonstration was held at the Asahi News Hall, after which the site was moved to the Hibiya Hall. Except for the demonstration of 1969 at the Budokan, the yearly All-Japan Demonstration was held at the Hibiya Hall through 1977. This is an old facilty built about 70 years ago that seats around 2,000 people. Incidentally, the Hibiya Hall was the site of the 1935 Kobudo Demonstration in which Admiral Isamu Takeshita demonstrated Daito-ryu Aikijujutsu techniques as the representative of the Kobukan dojo of Morihei Ueshiba! Starting in 1978, the Aikikai event was moved to the Nippon Budokan, the famous martial arts arena in downtown Tokyo that was built in 1964 and served as the site for the Judo competition at the Tokyo Olympics of that year. For those of you who have never seen this magnificent structure, it is octagonal in shape and seats some 14,000 people. The acoustics are excellent, too, and it is also used for concerts. I remember hearing the late John Denver sing there in the early 1980s.

The 1978 demonstration was my second one and the first I attended after relocating to Japan. I recall Morihiro Saito Sensei’s thrilling kokyunage demonstration using Shigemi Inagaki and Bruce Klickstein as ukes. Saito Sensei moved with the power of a freight train and Inagaki-san ended up with a separated shoulder on that occasion! I also have a vivid recollection of Hiroshi Isoyama wowing the audience with his spectacular technique which included a finale where he lifts his opponent up over his head before sending him crashing to the mat. Parenthetically, Isoyama Sensei suffered a serious hip injury a number of years ago but is again in top form. We will have a fascinating interview with him in our spring in which he describes how he overcame his injury by devising his own therapy against his doctor’s advice.!

Aikido Founder Morihei Ueshiba (1883-1969)

“The attraction for me, a teenager at that time, was the flashy action scenes, the cool detachment of the heroes, and the exotic language and settings. I was fast becoming a Japanophile! “

I have been asked by my staff to write about how it was that I embarked on the path that I have chosen as my life’s work. I can only say that as a young man I could never have dreamed that my life would follow the strange course it has. How did it happen that my professional career became devoted to documenting the life and times of Aikido Founder Morihei Ueshiba? It’s a question I sometimes ask myself as I recall the sequence of events that led to my connection with Japan, my beginning the practice of aikido, and the thirty years of publication of Aiki News.

You might consider it merely a romantic notion that one is predestined to follow a certain course of action or is somehow closely linked to a certain person or group. I can’t say one way or the other if this is true. However, I myself find it quite odd that I was drawn into this line of research to the extent that my travels and whereabouts and my meeting of hundreds of people over three decades have been directly influenced by the actions of Morihei Ueshiba in times past. There was no particular planning on my part to make things happen the way they have, but each small step I took along the way seemed to pull me irrevocably in a specific direction.

This having been said, let me search back through my memories to see if I can identify some of the key events that led to my embarking on the path I have chosen.

Bound by destiny to Japan before birth

When my mother was expecting me in the spring of 1945, my parents planned to call me “William” if I turned out to be a boy. All of this changed suddenly when my father’s younger brother Stanley was killed while serving in the navy in the Battle of Okinawa. Stanley became my name instead. Through this tragic occurrence, a fate shared by hundreds of thousands on all sides who paid the ultimate price, my link with Japan was forged even before my birth. I think about this event often and what it might mean and wonder if it is not somehow related to my deep ties to Japan.

Bringing home a Japanese newspaper

One of my memories as a child of 7 or 8 involves visiting the home of a Japanese-American family in my neighborhood to play with their son. Living with them, was the boy’s “bachan,” his grandmother, who spoke almost no English. She was very kind and always smiling and would often serve me ice water on hot summer days. One day Bachan showed me a Japanese newspaper that she had been reading. I was captivated by this strange writing system that appeared to a child’s eyes to be a jumble of incomprehensible symbols.

As I looked closer, I could see hundreds of little pictographs that obviously had some meaning for Japanese. The writing system seemed so complex compared to English, the only language I had been exposed to up to that point. Fascinated, I asked and was given permission to take home an old Japanese newspaper which I proudly showed my mother. I remember that I kept it as a treasure for a long time. This seemingly inconsequential event would prove to be a harbinger of events to transpire many years later as I would come to use Japanese regularly in my personal life and work.

Beginning aikido

As I lived in a multi-cultural community in southern California, there were many children of Japanese descent some of whom became my friends at school. Apart from that, I don’t recall any particular connection with Japan or things Japanese when growing up. However, that changed abruptly in the spring of 1962 when I witnessed a demonstration of a little known Japanese martial art at my high school. The martial art was of course aikido and I was duly impressed by its obvious self-defense potential and its dynamic, flowing techniques.

During the summer I had an experience where I witnessed first-hand a violent act that occurred right before my eyes and this was the trigger that pushed me to start training. My decision to study aikido proved to be a life-determining decision. I first attended a nearby Yoshinkan Aikido dojo and then, about half a year later, joined an Aikikai group that trained at the local YMCA. Regular training in aikido gradually began to transform me both physically and mentally and the art soon became the main focal point of my life.

Again fascinated by kanji

One day while attending aikido class, my teacher, Isao Takahashi Sensei, began writing Japanese characters on the blackboard to explain the principles behind the techniques we were practicing. Since I had been exposed to kanji as a child more than a decade earlier, I watched very attentively as Sensei stroked out the characters on the board accompanied by a distinct clacking sound. The rhythm used for writing Japanese was very different from that of English cursive script. The hand-drawn characters themselves were pleasing to look at as they revealed a balanced beauty and complexity. I marveled that each kanji had a concept-based meaning derived from ideograms thousand of years old in contrast to phonetically based English. I must confess that, despite my fascination, I felt not a little frustrated being unable to to read them. I promised myself that someday I would learn this language.

A screenshot from the first film of O-Sensei I ever saw!

Another occasion that proved a turning point which took place early in my training was the day that our dojo members were treated to a showing of an 8mm film of the founder of aikido, Morihei Ueshiba. It was inspiring to watch the figure of O-Sensei performing techniques for the first time. There was something markedly different about the way he moved compared to the aikido I had seen thus far. The founder’s techniques were dynamic and powerful, with a centered grace that was a beauty to behold.

Shortly thereafter, I was able to borrow the film for a time and I watched it over and over and showed it to family and friends. That movie really left a deep impression on me. It would have been too much of a leap to imagine that this very film and others I collected over the years would provide the basis for the business I was to build much later.

Through friendships I made during my first years of aikido training I became exposed to other aspects of Japanese culture. I started attending “chambara” (samurai sword-fighting) movies quite often and also saw several classics of Akira Kurosawa, many starring Toshiro Mifune, one of my early heroes. The “Samurai Trilogy” (Miyamoto Musashi) and “Red Beard” were among my favorites. Of course, the attraction for me, a teenager at that time, was the flashy action scenes, the cool detachment of the heroes, and the exotic language and settings. I was fast becoming a Japanophile!

This steady input of aikido and things Japanese led me to begin studying Japanese formally as an elective course at my university. Since there were a number of Japanese speakers at the Los Angeles dojo which I was attending at that time, I had a chance to try out a few Japanese phrases here and there and this made the aikido training and dojo experience all the more enjoyable.

Memoir of the Master

The 1963 book titled “Aikido” by Kisshomaru Ueshiba that contains the “Memoir of the Master”

Although the translated English of the text is imperfect, these paragraphs are profoundly inspiring for their moral depth and original thinking, particularly when viewed from a Western standpoint. The idea of a martial art, normally associated with fighting and violence, being conceived as a tool for peace struck a responsive chord in me for it set forth a series of ethical principles that has served as a guide for me ever since.

A couple of examples of O-Sensei’s words provide an idea of the idealistic content of “Memoir of the Master”:

“True budo is the loving protection of all beings with a spirit of reconciliation…”

“True budo is a work of love. It is a work of giving life to all beings, and not killing or struggling with each other…”

If you read through these aphorisms carefully you will realize that the founder is offering a veiled criticism of the destructive use of budo during Japan’s militaristic era. It would become apparent to me much later that the language used in “Memoir” had been edited to eliminate references to Shinto and Japan’s imperial past and “universalize” the vocabulary for consumption by a postwar readership. Many aikido schools printed up little booklets containing these paragraphs for distribution among their members. In those days, most of the aikidoka in the USA and other English-speaking countries were reading “Memoir of the Master.”

Of course I thoroughly enjoyed aikido training, but the added dimension of a strong spiritual foundation that aikido offered was deeply satisfying to me in a moral sense.

The 10th installment of the “Kawaridane Nihonjin” series published in 1966

“O-Sensei was asked to give a special demonstration in the presence of
the imperial family, but initially refused saying he couldn’t ‘show a lie’…”

Aiki News #92 (Summer 1992)

The scene is the annual All-Japan Aikido Demonstration held at the Budokan one fine spring day several years ago. A high-ranking shihan commits a slight error of timing during his performance and fails to unbalance or even touch his uke. The uke, obviously at a loss at what to do, looks to the left and then the right, and after an interminably long one or two seconds, falls down.

All of us have witnessed similar incidents at one time or another. Clearly, in aikido there is an unspoken agreement between tori and uke to the effect that the latter will execute a controlled attack, not offer any significant resistance, and take the fall regardless of whether he is thrown. This is especially true for demonstrations, but the situation is common in dojo practice as well.

What is it we are trying to show by our demonstrations? Is our purpose merely to display the beauty and softness of aikido movements? Is it our intention to exhibit a spirit of cooperation with a martial veneer? Idealistic, abstract words such as “harmony,” “peace,” “love,” and similar terms are often used glibly in connection with aikido. However, the meaning of such labels can be misleading since they are often used in everyday conversation in association with notions such as meekness, passivity, or lack of action in the face of violence. The founder used these lofty concepts in a particular spiritual context and the element of martial strength was always implicit in his vision of budo. We do a disservice to Morihei Ueshiba if we turn our public demonstrations into “dance displays.”

I am reminded of a famous episode involving the founder recounted by Gozo Shioda Sensei of Yoshinkan Aikido. O-Sensei was asked to give a special demonstration around 1941 at the Imperial Saineikan Dojo in the presence of the imperial family but initially refused the invitation saying he couldn’t “show a lie.” By “showing a lie,” he was referring to the fact that real martial techniques are so devastating to the attacker they cannot be shown for demonstration purposes. He finally consented to “show the lie” and in that demonstration his uke, Tsutomu Yukawa, failed to attack strongly enough out of deference to Ueshiba Sensei’s weakened physical condition (he was then suffering from jaundice), and ended up getting his collar bone broken.