I am putting this article on the Black Dragon Ninjitsu Blog. It was first encountered on Facebook.
The link is below:
By Sumiko Nakano
TOO DEADLY TO SPAR? OR JUST AN EXPENSIVE GAME?
THE BUJINKAN CULT
At first, it seemed like there might be something real behind all the talk about ancient warrior traditions and secret ninja techniques. The idea of training in something with deep history, something passed down through generations, had a certain appeal. But the more I looked, the less sense it made. The training felt staged, full of choreographed movements that only worked because the partner let them. The explanations were vague, wrapped in mystical nonsense that sounded profound but meant nothing. And the worst part? No one seemed to notice. They just nodded along, repeating the same patterns, never questioning why none of it was ever tested under real pressure.
Then there were the ranks. People walking around with double-digit dan grades, handed out like cheap participation trophies. No real skill, no proof, just a number that meant nothing outside their own little fantasy bubble. And if you dared to ask why none of this was ever put to the test, you’d get fed some garbage about how “true warriors don’t need to prove anything” or that the techniques were “too deadly for sparring.” At first, it seemed like they actually believed it. But the longer I watched, the clearer it became—some of them knew. The ones running things, the ones making money off it, they weren’t just deluded. They were frauds.
And that’s what makes this whole thing worse than just a harmless fantasy. Because it’s not just a bunch of people playing dress-up in a dojo. It’s an entire system built on deception, convincing people they’re learning something real when they’re not. The moment one of these so-called warriors steps outside their controlled little training hall and reality doesn’t follow the script, the entire illusion shatters. And reality isn’t forgiving. It doesn’t care about ranks, about ancient scrolls, about made-up histories. It just steamrolls right through the bullshit.
The Bujinkan martial arts organization has long traded on exotic myths and untouchable mystique. But scratch the surface, and an ugly reality emerges. This critique pulls no punches, attacking Bujinkan’s claims and practices from every angle—its bogus history, ludicrous training methods, non-existent combat effectiveness, cult-like leadership, ninja fantasy marketing, and internal corruption. The organization boasts nine ancient ryūha (schools) including the famed Togakure-ryū ninjutsu with grand claims of unbroken lineage to feudal Japan. In reality, there is zero solid historical documentation to verify these ninja lineages existed before the 20th century. None of Bujinkan’s ryūha are recognized by Japan’s legitimate kobudō organizations, which authenticate classical martial lineages. In fact, evidence suggests the “history” was concocted in modern times by Takamatsu Toshitsugu (Hatsumi’s teacher) and Hatsumi himself to appear far older than it is. The Bugei Ryūha Daijiten (an authoritative encyclopedia of martial schools) bluntly states that Togakure-ryū’s genealogy was newly put together by Takamatsu, complete with embellishments to make it seem ancient. In other words, the ninja lineage Bujinkan sells as 800 years old is about as authentic as a comic book storyline. For decades, Bujinkan has peddled a fantasy narrative of ninja warriors passing down secret techniques through the ages. The truth is that Takamatsu recreated or outright invented Togakure-ryū in the 1950s, likely cobbling together bits of classical jujutsu and folklore. The unverifiable genealogy, listing names of supposed grandmasters back to 1162, exists only in Bujinkan’s own materials—independent historians find no trace of these figures in reputable records. This is genealogy by creative writing: a marketing ploy to lure enthusiasts with the romance of learning “ancient ninja secrets.” It’s telling that even the Iga-ryū Ninja Museum in Japan (an establishment dedicated to ninja history) recognizes no one from Bujinkan as an authentic heir to ninja traditions, naming someone else entirely. When actual scholars and historians examine Bujinkan’s claims, they conclude it’s a fraudulent lineage crafted to sell a story, not a bona fide martial legacy. The organization essentially packages myth as history—a dishonest sales pitch that insults the intelligence of anyone seeking genuine historical martial arts.
Perhaps even more damning than its fake history is Bujinkan’s atrocious training methodology. Walk into a Bujinkan dojo and you’ll see choreographed kata and one-step drills where uke (partners) obligingly fall over or freeze in place as the practitioner goes through the motions. What you won’t see is hard sparring, resistance, or pressure-testing of techniques. Full-contact sparring is virtually non-existent in the Bujinkan curriculum. Instead, training is a cooperative dance: attacks are fed with unrealistic slowness, partners play-act reactions (like dutifully doubling over from an indicated strike that never actually landed). The result is a delusional sense of effectiveness. Students rack up black belts without ever facing an unconstrained, resisting opponent. They’re like script-rehearsed actors who have never been in a real fight scene—primed to panic the moment the script is thrown out. Bujinkan apologists often trot out the tired excuse that “our techniques are too deadly to spar with.” This is nothing but a convenient cop-out. Eye-gouges, throat strikes, and groin kicks are found in many arts—yet those arts still spar by modifying or excluding the most dangerous moves. The truth is Bujinkan’s techniques fall apart against resistance, so the organization avoids live sparring to save face. Without pressure-testing, practitioners never learn timing, reflexes, or the ability to actually apply their moves on a non-compliant opponent. As a result, Bujinkan dojos become fantasy bubble environments. Students leave class believing they’re lethal ninja warriors, but this confidence is built on zero substance. It’s false confidence in the highest degree—and it will shatter upon contact with reality. Contrast this with training in proven combat arts: Boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Judo, Kyokushin Karate—these arts forge skill through contact and resistance. Practitioners spar hard, get hit, struggle against full force throws and submissions. They learn what it’s like when someone doesn’t play along. A judoka knows how to prevent a throw because her partners actively try to throw her every practice; a Bujinkan practitioner only knows compliant partners who politely flip when the throw is attempted. The difference is night and day. Bujinkan’s soft, compliant training produces what can only be called martial arts cosplayers—people going through ninja-esque motions in a comfortable dojo, never experiencing a punch in the face or a choke under pressure. It’s an insult to call it “training” when it so studiously avoids the one thing that actually builds fighting skill: resistance. Little wonder that those who cross-train in alive arts immediately recognize Bujinkan’s drills as pretend-play that wouldn’t last a second against a real attacker.
Given the above, it’s no surprise that Bujinkan techniques have a laughable track record in real-world combat. In fact, “track record” is being generous—there virtually isn’t one. You won’t find Bujinkan champions in MMA rings, kickboxing tournaments, or even full-contact karate competitions. Why? Because Bujinkan practitioners know better than to test their fantasy in a venue where failure is undeniable. Those few who have tried quickly discover that their eye-pokes and stylized kata falls don’t mean squat when a trained fighter is coming to take your head off. The lack of sparring and pressure means a typical Bujinkan black belt has never experienced the adrenaline dump and chaos of a real fight. When confronted with an aggressive, resisting opponent, they freeze like a deer in headlights, with no reliable skill to fall back on. Decades of rehearsed wrist-locks and choreographed responses prove useless when the opponent doesn’t follow the script. The over-choreographed, compliant training ensures that Bujinkan techniques are untested theories—fancy-looking moves that fall apart instantly under real pressure. It’s telling that even some experienced Bujinkan folks privately admit the art is a dead end for fighting skill. As one observer bluntly put it, “You won’t learn how to fight in Bujinkan. You’ll learn a lot of techniques, but not how to use them reliably in a fight.” Ouch. Real-world self-defense demands stress-tested tactics, quick reflexes, and adaptability—qualities Bujinkan simply does not cultivate. Instead, practitioners are spoon-fed a false sense of security: mystical philosophies about fighting without fighting, or defeating enemies with secret pressure points. It’s all smoke and mirrors. When reality strikes—whether a mugger’s punch or an MMA fighter’s takedown—the Bujinkan practitioner crumbles, overwhelmed by an assault they never prepared for. We’ve seen it time and again: people with walls full of Bujinkan certificates who can’t even throw a decent punch or defend a single-leg takedown. The claim that Bujinkan is practical for real self-defense is beyond absurd—it’s downright dangerous. It gives gullible students the confidence to try this stuff in a real confrontation, which is a quick route to getting knocked out or worse. If your martial art never pressure-tests its techniques, you have no business trusting it with your life. Bujinkan fails this most basic litmus test of a martial art, disqualifying itself from any serious self-defense conversation.
The tragedy is that many well-meaning people have wasted time and money in this organization, genuinely wanting to learn self-defense or connect with Japanese tradition—only to be sold snake-oil in the form of bogus lineages and ineffective techniques. Meanwhile, the Bujinkan leadership continues to laugh all the way to the bank, spinning ever more fantastical tales to keep the cult alive. If you’re considering training in Bujinkan, open your eyes. Don’t buy the hype. Recognize the glaring problems laid out above. Realize that wearing a black belt and calling yourself a ninja means nothing when it hasn’t been earned through blood, sweat, and resistance. In a real fight, your attacker won’t be impressed by your ancient lineage certificate or your Grandmaster’s autograph—they’ll just kick your ass if you haven’t trained for reality. In short, the Bujinkan stands as a stark example of everything that can go wrong in the martial arts: history distorted into fantasy, training devoid of realism, gurus elevated to godhood, ranks divorced from skill, and commercialism trumping integrity. It’s high time the martial arts community stops giving this organization a pass. The emperor has no clothes. The “ninja” grandmaster is peddling illusions. And the sooner people walk away from the Bujinkan’s cultish dojo halls and seek out real martial training, the better off they’ll be. But of course, the moment anyone dares to call out this nonsense, the same predictable responses come rolling in—personal attacks, weak deflections, and the classic “who are you to judge?” argument.
I already know what some of these Bujinkan defenders will say next. “Oh, but who are you to talk?” “What have you accomplished?” “I bet you couldn’t last five seconds against a real Bujinkan master.” It’s the same predictable nonsense every time, as if my argument somehow collapses just because I’m not a world champion. So let’s get that out of the way now—I don’t claim to be some top fighter. I’m far from it. I’m an amateur, and I have no problem admitting that before anyone thinks they’re making a clever counter-argument by taking shots at my skills. Go ahead—laugh, call me inexperienced, tell me I have no right to criticize. But here’s the thing—even as an amateur, even with all the flaws in my own game, I know the difference between reality and bullshit. I train under pressure. I’ve been hit. I’ve been thrown. I’ve been choked. I’ve sparred with people trying to take my head off, and I’ve felt what it’s like to be completely outclassed by someone better, stronger, faster. And no matter how much that sucks, no matter how humbling it is, it’s real. It makes me better. It forces me to adapt, to improve, to survive.
That’s the difference. I don’t need to be some world-class fighter to see that Bujinkan is nothing but a fraud wrapped in mysticism and delusion. I don’t need a championship belt to know that training against a compliant partner who willingly falls over isn’t real. I don’t need to be the best in the world to understand that if you never spar, never face resistance, never get tested under real pressure, then what you’re doing is worthless. The fact that I’m an amateur and I can still see through the nonsense should tell you everything. Because even at my level, I know one simple truth—if something doesn’t work when it’s tested, it doesn’t work, period.
That’s why I have no respect for the frauds at the top who know exactly what they’re doing—peddling lies, collecting money, and keeping people trapped in a system that will fail them the second they actually need it. They aren’t just misguided; they’re predators. They take people who genuinely want to learn how to defend themselves, who want to connect with something real, and they sell them an illusion that won’t hold up outside their little dojo bubble. And if you still want to waste your time chasing shadows and bowing to fake ninja masters, that’s your choice. But don’t expect reality to care when the fantasy crumbles.
Because at the end of the day, skill isn’t built on myths, and fighting ability isn’t earned through certificates. Either what you train works, or it doesn’t. And if it doesn’t, what’s the point?