The sandan examination was ready to begin. The examiners’ panel included a kyudan, a hachidan, and half a dozen nanadans and rokudans. The lone candidate stepped forward. His examination lasted no longer than twenty minutes. He performed three kata and was asked a few questions about their bunkai. No kihon and, very disturbingly, no kumite. After the examination, he asked one of the nanadans about the absence of kumite and was told, “Don’t worry about it . . . we want to make sure you get through.”
I didn’t fabricate this incident. It occurred in March 2022. I know the candidate, but he did not authorize me to disclose his identity for fear of potential repercussions. Discussing his examination with me, he told me how deflated he felt after not being subjected to a properly rigorous test.
Here we see the great calamity now prevalent worldwide in Shotokan karate: the dilution of dan examinations (I don’t know what goes on in other styles). It’s a calamity because this dilution has caused and will continue to cause damage to what it means to be a black belt. We can ignore shodan and nidan—they are low levels that prove only that their owners can perform fundamental techniques consistently well. But from sandan and higher, we need a recalibration.
Historically in Japan, examinations for sandan always underscored for the apprentice kenshusei the importance attached to fighting with brute force. After perfunctory demonstrations of kihon and kata, candidates concentrated on the real business of kumite carried out within a circle all participants formed. The examiners quickly established a pattern: they briefly permitted those considered a probability for promotion to demonstrate their fighting ability, then paired them with instructors who proceeded to demolish their much weaker opponents, often dragged unconscious from the circle by their legs—an ignominious exit to failure.
The price of such defeat permeated the sandan examinations. Here the candidates comprised no more than five or six of the best seniors from the university clubs—young, strong, superbly conditioned individuals who delivered moderately controlled but excellent techniques against each other. Supervising instructors intervened only when blows appeared excessive but this did not reduce the intensity or blood flow. After five such bouts the senior instructors entered the fray, their sole purpose being to assail the candidates using any means to exploit their exhaustion and considerably weakened defences. The decisive factor was survival: if a candidate remained standing after this blitz, they immediately improved his chances of promotion.
There was a time in some countries when almost all dan examinations involved fitness challenges, impact work, board breaking, endless fights, performing every kata, and showing their bunkai/oyo. These tests might be conducted over several hours on one day or over a special two-day course. In some radical cases, candidates had to run around for an hour holding a chair above their head or perform in the sea.
I come from the old school of South African Shotokan where examinations, especially those conducted in the Stan Schmidt and Geyer dojos, long followed the Japanese model—except for the unconscious part. They regarded the sandan examination as the fighting examination. Kata was there, of course, but the distinctive feature was the mandatory five consecutive one-minute brawls, each match against a fresh opponent, always nice and bloody, where candidates had to demonstrate that they could actually handle themselves under real threat. Karate should not be compared to the mixed martial arts—it’s not supposed to be about wild grappling and throwing and facial rearrangement—but any respectable player must be able to fight convincingly. No doubt influenced by the changes brought by the Millennial-run soft society, tainted by compromise and “wokeness,” with students terrified of being hurt and their pathologically protective parents and attorneys hovering nearby, this model was doomed to fade away, replaced by dan examinations weaker in force, content, and value.
This dilution is quite rampant internationally. I’ve observed dozens of dan examinations where promotions are indiscriminately handed out in return for exorbitant fees. Genuine kumite is either not required or is laughably suboptimal, or we hear the usual vacuous excuses about there not being enough time or enough available fighters, or standards differ among instructors and organizations, or the politics of promotion impede authentic testing. The result is embarrassingly immature, unproven dan levels that demonstrate the race to the bottom of credibility for dan status, their owners impervious to that embarrassment but shamelessly quick to refer to themselves as shihan or sensei or “international master instructor.”
In my view, to thwart the belt hunters, karate examinations from sandan upwards ought to be conducted behind closed doors with strict adherence to the rules of engagement, where candidates younger than 50 years and not handicapped must receive a full thumping, with no squeamish spectators present. Yondans and godans, in addition to their physical test, must demonstrate they have applied their mind to the techniques they have learned, understanding the physical intricacies and assessing their mistakes.
Rokudan is a significant turning point—where are you going with your karate? This rank signals you are a kind of “learner master”—setting the example by training, leading, and improving your understanding of what karate is all about and preparing you to become a legitimate, recognized, credible nanadan and higher. You can make adjustments for your age or a physical handicap, but you still must chart your own course rather than follow others. You must be able to explain karate properly through research and thinking outside the constrictive traditional karate box, and to contribute something, however modest, to advancing the Shotokan. And you must be independent, not slavishly checking with your seniors what you can think, say, or do. Despite your high rank, you could be wrong, which means you must have a flexible mind, ready to repair your mistakes and be approachable. Arrogance is out. If you adopt an attitude of arrogant omniscience, you are performing a bad disservice to your students and karate.
Karate organizations are top-heavy with mediocre, undeserving high ranks. It’s not all their fault—their instructors lack integrity by cutting karate corners to push for inferior promotions while ignoring that no karateka possesses special skills or knowledge, or is an unverifiable “special case,” and instead allowing them to catapult over the minimum examination requirements. No candidate can cut those corners without somehow manipulating the system or coercing pliant seniors.
We need, but will never get, a karate revolution back to the old school when instructors and examiners conducted training and examinations with the appropriate gravitas so that successful candidates could retain a measure of dignity and self-respect and take pride in all of their ranks instead of ending up as charlatans in a quest to buck the system.