Judo beyond the gaze: when inclusion becomes strength

We often imagine disability as an insurmountable barrier in sports. Yet on a tatami in Brittany, a para judo event recently showed exactly the opposite: judo can become a powerful space for equality, discovery and social connection, for sighted participants as well as blind and partially sighted people or those with intellectual disabilities.

Organized by Jean‑Baptiste Ferlet, in collaboration with the Ligue de Bretagne de Judo and his club, Kawat Tocan, this introductory weekend had a simple but powerful goal: to show that you can practice, enjoy and excel in judo even with a disability. And above all, to remind us that before being “disabled” or “able‑bodied,” we are first and foremost people who share the same passion.

A gathering built around inclusion

The activity, held over the weekend of March 21, 2026, brought together sighted judokas, blind and partially sighted judokas, beginners, and one judoka with an intellectual disability. The idea was not to highlight “difference,” but to create a context where everyone, with their own abilities, could practice together.

For Jean‑Baptiste Ferlet, the goal is clear and long‑term: “to show judokas that you can have a disability and still do sports.” Being blind, visually impaired, or otherwise disabled should never mean being excluded from the tatami. On the contrary, judo becomes a concrete way to prove that everyone can perform, progress, and find their place, regardless of their limitations.

Beyond the sporting aspect, this event also carried a human message: judo is a unifying sport, a space where we can learn to understand each other and connect in spite of our differences.

Blindfolds to level the playing field

To make the experience meaningful for everyone, the organizers made a choice that was both symbolic and very concrete: they distributed blindfolds to all participants, including the blind and partially sighted judokas.

Sighted and non‑sighted participants alike practiced judo without using their vision, from the warm‑up through the entire introductory session. This simple decision completely changed how they experienced the sport. Sighted judokas discovered that taking away vision is not just losing a point of reference; it means changing their entire approach to movement, contact and balance.

This decision to “equalize” conditions helped dismantle a false, implicit hierarchy between non‑disabled and disabled participants. By temporarily blinding the sighted judokas, usual reference points were reversed: suddenly, those who seemed “advantaged” found themselves in unfamiliar territory, and those often perceived as “limited” demonstrated their skill, instinct and abilities.

When not seeing becomes an asset

The feedback from blind and partially sighted participants says a lot. They greatly appreciated being able to practice with sighted judokas, especially when those sighted participants were also put in a situation of blindness. It highlighted, in a very tangible way, that their level is far from “inferior” and that their technical and sensory skills are often very advanced.

By nature, judo is a sport of sensation. Of course, sight sometimes helps—but it can also get in the way. In judo, you work on balance, feeling the other person’s weight, the position of the feet, the hands, the center of gravity. Much of the sport is rooted in what you feel rather than what you see.

Blind and partially sighted judokas develop a particularly sharp instinct for movement: they are less afraid of falling, less anxious about the unknown, because all of that is part of their regular training. Whereas a sighted judoka can be held back by the fear of “not knowing where they’ll land,” a blind judoka has learned to trust their sensations and their body.

In this context, the absence of vision is no longer just a “limitation”; it can become an asset, a specific skill that enriches the practice of judo.

A disorienting experience for sighted judokas

For sighted participants, the experience was just as eye‑opening. In “classic” judo, a bout starts without a grip: both opponents must first try to grab the other’s judogi, find a hold and establish a guard. That phase is already a battle in itself.

In judo for blind athletes, it’s the opposite: the bout starts immediately with a standard grip already established. From the first second, both judokas are physically connected. There’s no downtime, no grip‑fighting phase—just four continuous minutes of combat.

Sighted judokas who took part in the workshop felt this very clearly: fighting four minutes of blind judo with an established grip means four minutes of nonstop engagement, without a break. Many found it more physically demanding than a usual bout. It’s no longer about “finding” your opponent, but about sustaining an intense engagement where every micro‑movement is deeply felt.

Through this, they gained a better understanding of what judo for blind athletes really represents: an extremely demanding, precise and rich sport, which should never be seen as a “lesser” version of judo.

Recognizing the strength of blind champions

Jean‑Baptiste Ferlet also shared a particularly meaningful relationship: his training with a blind judo instructor. Far from seeing this person as “limited,” he describes them as much stronger than him in judo—a true “force of nature.”

These athletes, he explains, train hard, every day. They have exceptional sensory awareness and, in many respects, surpass him. In front of them, Jean‑Baptiste feels intimidated—not by the disability, but by their level, commitment, and expertise.

When they teach, he listens. This posture of humility highlights an essential truth: disability says nothing about a person’s potential, talent, or value as an athlete. In many cases, these blind champions embody sporting excellence at its finest.

Sport as an outlet and a community

Beyond technique, this event shines a light on another crucial aspect: the role of sport in the daily lives of people with disabilities. Doing sports is a way to let out frustration, sadness and accumulated stress. During the activity, a visually impaired mother, put “in her daughter’s shoes” by experiencing blindness herself, realized just how much tension and pressure her daughter lives with every day.

In this context, judo becomes a vital space for expression, release and rebuilding. It’s not just a hobby; it’s a way to feel alive, regain confidence and reclaim one’s body and environment.

A judo club—or any sports club, for that matter—is not just a training venue. It is, above all, a friendly community. You find partners there, friends, people to talk to, share with and laugh with. It’s a place where you can exist as more than your disability or your difference.

Seeing the person, not the limitation

The key lesson from this initiative may well be this one: learning to see the person before the limitation. For Jean‑Baptiste Ferlet, whether someone is disabled or not does not change how he will talk with them or practice judo with them. He refuses to reduce anyone to their disability.

Including disabled people in a club is not a symbolic “gesture.” It is an acknowledgment that they fully belong on the tatami, that they bring human and athletic richness to the group, and that their presence benefits everyone.

Ultimately, this para judo event in Brittany reminds us of a simple truth: when a sport makes it possible, it is our responsibility to open it up, adapt it and welcome everyone who wants to take part. Inclusion is not just about technical accessibility; it’s about how we choose to see others.

And sometimes, it is precisely those who do not see with their eyes who teach us best how to look differently.

To go further

• Read our articles on the lived experiences of David Demers and Maxime Varin, two blind people deeply involved in digital accessibility.

• Do you have an accessibility project? We’d love to hear about it!