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変化 is a less sinister word than you might think from its parts. The kanji 変, hen, generally means “strange” as a word on its own. It can also mean “change,” but there's an implication that the change is unexpected and perhaps unwelcome. 化, ka, means “changing into” or “becoming.”
Despite the hint of strangeness in its etymology, in most contexts the word 変化 has a neutral or even positive meaning. It's the most common Japanese noun meaning “change,” and it can also mean “variety” or “diversity.” In a grammatical context, it means conjugation of a verb.
So far, so unexciting. But then there's the sumo henka.
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Sometimes, when sumo wrestlers charge at each other at the beginning of a bout (known as the tachiai), one of them steps to the side, leaving their opponent hurtling into thin air. Unless the opponent has exceptionally sharp reflexes, they will typically topple to the ground, losing the match; it's common for the wrestler who did the henka to tap them on the back as they do so, as if they'd caused the fall through strength rather than subterfuge.
The first time you see this, it's funny, like Wile E. Coyote running off a cliff. But people watch sumo for the thrill of the fight, not to see someone win easily with a cheap trick. Once you get a bit deeper into sumo, a henka can leave you feeling like both you and the loser of the match were cheated. But the rules of the game say otherwise.
A henka is a perfectly legal move in sumo. A wrestler who pulls it off successfully wins the match. The referee even christens the victory with a proper kimarite (usually hatakikomi, or slap-down). But a common feeling among fans is: Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
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There's another word spelled the same way as 変化, but pronounced “hen-ge” and meaning “supernatural shapeshifter” or “transformation into a monster.” A rikishi who does a henka, especially against a well-liked or struggling opponent, can seem pretty monstrous in fans’ eyes. But I'm told no one actually deploys this pun; it would sound obscure and archaic. “Henka” remains an everyday human term.
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There are three scenarios where henka generally occur. The first is when a rikishi desperately needs a win to avoid a losing record or falling too far in rank. Any wrestler may fall into this category at some point, although the higher ranked they are, the likelier fans are to see the move as proof of their decline.
Secondly, there are certain rikishi who make henka part of their personality. Chiyoshoma, a Mongolian wrestler who looks like he stepped out of an ukiyo-e print, used to be so notorious for henka that the Sumo Mainichi podcast used to run a sweepstake each basho to guess the first day he would do one. He's cut way back on them recently, though, possibly because opponents learned to expect them.
Interestingly, whether a wrestler gets a reputation for henka among fans doesn't depend entirely on the number of henka they do. Tobizaru, for example, is among the more frequent deployers of henka, but is seldom criticised for it, perhaps because people expect a rikishi whose name means “flying monkey” to be full of tricks.
The third scenario is when a rikishi deploys a henka as part of a planned strategy against a particular opponent. In these cases, the initial sidestep doesn't necessarily mean a complete avoidance of combat (and fans will often debate afterward whether it counts as a real henka or not).
We saw this type of henka on the first day of the current tournament in Nagoya, when the Ukrainian former ozeki Aonishiki fought Hiradoumi. Contrary to my prediction, Aonishiki sat out the whole of May's basho to heal from his injury and was therefore demoted to sekiwake for July. He needs to score 10 wins this time to regain his ozeki status.
Hiradoumi was a potentially tough opponent for Aonishiki's first day. Although he's several ranks below Aonishiki at maegashira 3, he's known for very versatile fighting tactics and an explosive attack at the tachiai.
Perhaps because he's still cautious of his left ankle, Aonishiki decided to avoid the latter difficulty and stepped to the side at the tachiai … then grabbed Hiradoumi's belt and flung him out of the ring with an uwatenage (over-arm throw). No one much seemed to mind.
If Hiradoumi had been fighting almost anyone but Aonishiki, I would've been cheering for him. I decided to support him on the very scientific basis that he's from Nagasaki and so is Fukuyama Masaharu. With the real Masha never having expressed an opinion on sumo that I can find, I decided that his oshi-nui, Chii-Masha, would support Hiradoumi when we went to the demonstration tournament at the Royal Albert Hall.
Although my support for him began half as a joke, once I began paying special attention to Hiradoumi, I developed a real appreciation for his fighting style. In fact, this happens with just about any rikishi I take an interest in, even the henka masters. It turns out some tricks aren't as cheap as they seem.
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When I first got into sumo, henka seemed funny; when I went a bit deeper, they seemed like cheating; and now that I'm deeper still, I can understand their place in the game.
Events in my own life have also helped change my perspective. Having recently spent time on the edge of respectability (mental illness, crashing out of work, being hit full-on while fighting for marginalised people), I have more tolerance than I used to for the permitted-but-frowned-upon. And I know not all transformations are monstrous.
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The 2026 Nagoya basho is on until 26 July. You can watch daily highlights and live streams of days 8, 14 and 15 on NHK World Japan's website.