3 Essential Elements of a Strong Dojo Culture

When a Club Is More Than Just Training

I’ve been part of a club when things were humming - a full floor, packed lineups, more volunteers than jobs. The kind of energy that made you want to stick around after training just to talk about training.

And I’ve also been there when it wasn’t.

Thin numbers. Patchy attendance. That familiar silence when you ask, “Who’s opening up tonight?” And one guy who always seems to be “just coming off a cold”.

So what’s the difference?

Honestly, it’s not just numbers. Or talent. Or who’s leading warm-up.

From what I’ve seen, the clubs that survive the quiet spells and still feel good to be part of, even when it’s just four people and a cracked floorboard, have one thing going for them: a strong culture.

Not the poster-on-the-wall kind. The lived kind. The kind that shows up in how people clean up after class without being asked, or check in on the new guy who took a bokuto to the temple.

From my perspective, strong club culture is not about perfect attendance or polished leadership. It’s about a shared sense of care. A subtle feeling that what we’re building here actually means something...and that we’re building it together.

And from what I’ve seen, three things make this possible.

1. A Culture of Give and Take

Some dojo run like clockwork. Others run on the fumes of whoever hasn’t burnt out yet.

The difference usually comes down to what people see as their role. Are they just here to train, or do they feel some responsibility for helping the club function?

In clubs where the culture tilts too far toward take, you’ll see the same pattern: members show up, train hard, and vanish the moment the bogu comes off. Not out of laziness. Most just don’t realise how much invisible labour keeps the place afloat - the gear checks, grading sign-ups, those “who’s got the keys?” panic texts. They assume someone else, usually the same someone, will sort it out.

Until that someone quietly disappears, too.

But in a culture of give and take, contribution is normal. Shared. Scaled to people’s capacity. It’s not about doing everything, it’s about doing something. And it’s not about who has what grade, it’s about who’s willing, who’s able, and who sees that the dojo runs better when more people pitch in.

Clubs that get this balance right last longer, burn fewer people out, and run smoother sessions for everyone. Here’s what’s helped me in the past:

Set expectations early. Make it clear (early on) that this isn’t UberKendo...you can't always rely on someone else to drive the whole thing. The dojo runs because people chip in. And once that’s the norm, you can ease into small asks: “Hey, think you could take warm-up next week?” feels like part of the culture, not a desperate scramble.
Shout people out. Publicly. A quick “Thanks for organising the club hoodies, Ayaka, they look great” at the end of class makes it stick.
Tap into what people can offer. You don’t need 12 sensei. You might need someone who’s good at spreadsheets. Or a Canva nerd. Someone who can order shinai without accidentally shipping them to rural Canada.
Build small roles. Little, regular jobs mean no one gets swamped and more people can get involved.

And don’t forget: sometimes people do need to take more than they give. When I was prepping for a WKC, there were years I could step back from everything but training because the club culture allowed it. People filled the gaps. I could focus, guilt-free. Other years? I was icing my knees while emailing sponsors and chasing grading forms mid-suburi. That’s club life. The point is, when the culture is healthy, it flexes. People lean in when they can, and lean out when they have to. But the thing still holds together.

Now, I get it. Depending on where your club’s at, this might be easier said than done.

Like I said, I’ve been part of a club when it was flying. And I’ve steered the ship when it was leaking - “who’s coming tonight?” texts met with silence and the vibe best described as “please let this not be just me and Brian.” What I’ve learned is that the ebb and flow is normal. Especially in volunteer-run clubs. Some years hum. Some years tank. The key is not to panic, but to keep nudging the culture back toward give and take.

And when things go quiet, don’t treat it as failure. Treat it as a reset. A chance to rebuild the culture with the next crew that walks through the door.

2. A Culture of Recognition

Let’s say one person organises a club trip. Another helps a beginner tie their men without making it weird. A third runs warm-ups for the first time and doesn’t accidentally invent a new kata. If none of these things get noticed, it won’t be long before people start thinking, “Why bother?”

And fair enough.

A culture of recognition isn’t about clapping for the sake of it. It’s about reinforcing the kind of behaviours that keep the club alive, and keep people feeling connected to something bigger than themselves. And the research backs this up. Social acknowledgment is one of the strongest motivators we’ve got (Fisher & Grout, 2011).

Just think how motivating it is to climb the dojo’s social ladder with a new grade. Kendo actually bakes recognition into the system - titles, seat order, the quiet pride of getting to stand on shōmen side for kihon. It matters. Sometimes more than we care to admit.

And when it’s missing? That’s when people start thinking, “Why bother?” Especially the quiet contributors - the ones who don’t ask for thanks, but probably need it the most.

Think about what actually burns people out in your club. Is it the give-and-take imbalance? Competing responsibilities? Some weird undercurrent of politics? Or just feeling like their effort disappears into the ether?

Whatever the cause, a healthy recognition culture can soften it.

Here’s what’s worked for me:

Say it out loud. “Thanks for covering warm-up today, Mai.” That’s it. Doesn’t need to be a TED Talk.
Make it public. A quick post on your club chat or social media can go a long way.
Annual shout-outs. Not just for performance. Effort. Leadership. Patience. That guy who always shows up early to set up, sweep the floor and never makes a thing of it.
Peer props. Encourage members to acknowledge each other. It feels different when appreciation comes sideways, not just top-down.

This isn’t about ego-padding. It’s about making sure people know their efforts don’t vanish into the void. And when people feel seen, they tend to stick around.

Even Brian. (Especially Brian.)

3. A Culture of Safety and Respect

Kendo is demanding. As it bloody should be. 😉

Hard training is part of the tradition. But there’s a big difference between tough keiko and a club environment that quietly permits harm.

Indeed, I’ve been part of clubs where hard training is framed as a rite of passage. You survive the keiko, you earn your place. But we also must recognise that the gap between “old school toughness” and “contemporary learner” expectations is getting wider. Parents are more involved. Students are more attuned to their own mental health. So if we, as kendo coaches and dojo leaders, don’t take the time to frame intensity as constructive, if we don’t talk openly about why we do what we do, we risk losing people. Not because they’re soft, but because they don’t feel safe or respected.

Put simply, if students feel like sessions are designed to break them, not build them, they disengage. Or more realistically, they leave.

So how do we build a culture where hard training is safe, but not reckless?

Be open about purpose. Don’t just run a hard session - explain why. What’s it developing? What should students focus on? What might they feel tonight and how can they mentally frame this?
Don’t let ‘tough love’ become open season. Make it clear that hard keiko isn’t a licence for seniors to go full Mortal Kombat on the newbie. ("Get over here...")
Safeguard the kids. If your club has younger members, protecting them is everyone’s job - not just the person who did a weekend course.
Teach self-awareness. Help members recognise when intensity is pushing them forward, and when it’s just pushing them (or others) away. The question isn’t just “Can I handle this?” - it’s “Can I see this as growth?” If they can’t, or if it isn’t, that’s when trust breaks down.
Check in regularly. Real safety isn’t just about injury prevention - it’s about knowing when someone’s close to burnout and helping them reset.

This isn’t about softening training. It’s about making sure the intensity serves a purpose. In my research on the psychological side of kendo, one thing’s become very clear: people push their limits best when they trust the people around them. That means training hard with each other - not at each other.

Final Thoughts: A Club Culture That Stands the Test of Time

Obviously, strong club culture doesn’t happen overnight. You don’t just run a few decent sessions and suddenly have a dojo that self-regulates, self-volunteers, and throws surprise appreciation parties for whoever bought the toilet paper.

It takes time. Reinforcement. And more than a few “can someone open tonight?” messages met with suspiciously silent group chats.

But if you can build a space where people feel like they matter - where they contribute, feel seen, and trust the folks standing across from them - you get more than just good attendance. You get commitment. Belonging. The kind of environment people make time for, even when life’s getting loud.

And, yes, leadership matters. Not because the leader does everything, but because they set the tone. They model the give-and-take. They ride the dips, reset the culture when it slips, and remind everyone what we’re building here.

Do that long enough, and the club keeps ticking. People keep showing up. And someone’s always there to have a bash with.

Not because they have to be there. But because they want to be.

Even Brian.

Though let’s be honest, he’s on thin ice.

ps

If you’re trying to build a club people actually want to keep coming back to, the culture matters, but so does the training. So I’ve put together a free 7-day email course that shows you how to design sessions that engage people, stretch them, and keep things from going stale.

It won’t fix your AGM, but it might stop your Tuesday sessions from feeling like one. Sign up for free now.