Recently, I introduced the practice of shiai into our classes here. Observing and participating in shiai with individuals unfamiliar with this kind of study led me to reflect more deeply on the nature of engagement and the meaning behind the announcement of Ippon Gashi.
I am increasingly convinced that a true ippon can only arise when both individuals are genuinely engaged – or at least in pursuit of sincere engagement – within the shiai. An ippon does not occur merely because one person throws another with speed and precision. That view reflects a sporting mindset, one that strips away the depth at the heart of the practice.
Historical footage from the early days of judo, in the era of Kano and Mifune, reinforces this. Both practitioners commit fully to their actions. Their engagement is whole. Unfortunately, I have yet to find similar archival material showing women in such contexts, but the principle remains: ippon emerges not from technical execution alone, but from the totality of mutual presence and intent.
It is akin to an exchange of ideas. One cannot simply speak – one must listen, and listen with the same depth of sincerity. The engagement must be continuous, active, and authentic. This is what gives life to the practice.
In this context, engagement manifests through action – what I now refer to as attack. For that action to carry meaning, it must be sincere. Sincerity, here, is not something to be deduced through analysis; it is felt in the moment, recognised intuitively. When an action drifts from the principles of Junomichi, the practitioner should not halt, but rather redirect, staying aligned with the five principles.
The common expression “he or she scored an ippon” begins to feel inaccurate. If we consider the judge’s role: it is not the practitioner who scores, but the judge who declares. The raised hand announcing Ippon Gashi is a gesture of arbitration. Yet this removes the heart of the event from the two participants, who are the ones truly engaged.
In my view, the decision must belong to those two people. Only they can sense whether what passed between them was true, and whether the symbolic death marked by ippon was met sincerely.
This symbolic death – when embraced without resistance – becomes transformative. The practitioner who meets it without clinging, who does not seek to avoid it or stop at its edge, begins to move differently. Not from fear, nor from ego, but from freedom.
In that space, shiai becomes something more than combat or demonstration. It becomes a shared path. Both practitioners continue to engage, even after ippon. For without this continued engagement – this quiet meeting of death, free from fear – there can be no true liberation.