Balintawak Has No Live Hand? Don’t Kid Yourself. Here’s Why I Still Choose Modern Arnis.

Lately, I’ve been hearing this wild claim that Balintawak “doesn’t have a live hand,” and that somehow makes Modern Arnis the superior art. Supposedly, this was even something Professor Remy Presas said. Let’s get real about this.

First off—Balintawak absolutely has a live hand. Anyone who’s actually trained in it knows this. Look at Group 1 in the grouping methodology—lifting and clearing. Unless you’re doing Jedi no-touch powers, you’re using your hand. To say otherwise isn’t just wrong—it disrespects an art that has shaped so much of what we do in FMA.

Now, did Professor really say that? I seriously doubt it. The man respected Balintawak and its community. He knew its value. My own experience confirms it: I had a solid live hand in Modern Arnis before I ever touched Balintawak, but once I trained there, I realized how hard it is to find another system that sharpens live hand work the way Balintawak does.

So why would someone spread this? Maybe politics. Maybe fear of losing students to Balintawak. Who knows. But let’s not twist the truth to push an agenda.

Here’s the bottom line for me: Modern Arnis is still my first choice. Not because Balintawak is “missing” something—it’s not—but because Modern Arnis is more versatile for the world I live in. Balintawak was designed for dueling stick fighters. Modern Arnis? It prepares you for the chaos of everyday life—grabs, punches, stabs, swings. That’s the stuff we’re more likely to face.

Does that mean I dismiss Balintawak? Absolutely not. Balintawak made me better. It gave me a deeper understanding of where Modern Arnis came from and how Professor built his synthesis. It’s part of my roots, and I respect it fully.

But when it comes to what I need in my martial arts journey, Modern Arnis is the art I’d bet on every single time.

So no, Balintawak doesn’t suffer from a “dead hand.” Don’t kid yourself. But for me, Modern Arnis is the art that truly delivers for real-world training.

Respectfully,
Datu Tim Hartman
Remy Presas’ Modern Arnis
Bacon–Buot Balintawak Eskrima

#balintawak #modernarnis #martialarts #filipinomartialarts

Learning From a Master Doesn’t Always Make You a Student

Recently, I was listening to an FMA discussion podcast featuring several Modern Arnis practitioners when a comment by Bruce Chu of Florida really made me think.

He said:

“Professor had a lot of followers and participants, but not a lot of students.”

At first, that statement might sound controversial, but the more I thought about it, the more I understood exactly what he meant.

Professor Remy Presas introduced Modern Arnis to thousands of martial artists through seminars, camps, and demonstrations around the world. Those who attended absolutely learned from him, and many even hosted his events. His influence is beyond question.

But it raises an interesting question:

Does learning from a master automatically make you their student?

I don’t believe it does.

A student-teacher relationship is built through consistency, guidance, correction, accountability, and mutual commitment. It is an ongoing relationship, not simply a shared experience.

Here’s one way to look at it.

I’ve spoken with people who say they trained with Professor for ten years. That sounds impressive until you learn they may have only attended one seminar each year. If each seminar lasted five hours, that’s roughly fifty hours of instruction over an entire decade.

Now compare that to your own school.

If someone attended only five hours of class each year for ten years, would you consider them one of your active students? Most instructors probably wouldn’t. We’d likely describe them as someone who participated occasionally.

So why should the definition change simply because the instructor lived in another state or another country?

Distance doesn’t redefine the relationship. It only changes the opportunity for interaction.

My own experience was different.

I began training in Modern Arnis in 1985 and trained with Professor regularly for many years. Between monthly training, seminars, camps, private instruction, and extended weekends together, I estimate I accumulated well over 1,500 hours of direct training with him.

I don’t mention that to elevate my experience. I mention it to illustrate what an ongoing student-teacher relationship can look like. It was built over years of repeated instruction, correction, conversation, and mentorship—not just memorable seminars.

That doesn’t diminish anyone else’s experience.

A single seminar with a master can change the direction of your martial arts journey. You can learn lessons that stay with you for life.

But inspiration and mentorship are not always the same thing.

Learning from a master doesn’t always make you a student.

I’ve always made a distinction in my own school between participants, members, and students. Every person who walks through the door has value, but occasional participation isn’t the same as an ongoing student-teacher relationship.

The same applies to me.

I’ve attended seminars taught by exceptional martial artists throughout my career. I gladly give those instructors credit for what they taught me. But if I trained with someone once—or even several times—I wouldn’t honestly claim to be their student. I was a participant who had the privilege of learning from them.

The same principle applies outside of martial arts. I regularly attend business conferences and seminars where I learn from outstanding presenters. Their knowledge has helped me grow, but attending a presentation doesn’t make them my mentor. Just as in martial arts, a true student-teacher relationship requires an ongoing connection.

None of this diminishes Professor Presas’ legacy.

If anything, it highlights the extraordinary reach of his influence. Thousands learned from him. Thousands were inspired by him. His impact on Filipino Martial Arts is immeasurable.

At the same time, I believe we honor our teachers best by honestly describing the relationships we had with them.

Words matter.

Relationships matter.

Giving proper credit doesn’t diminish anyone’s experience—it puts it into its proper perspective.

So I’ll leave you with this question:

Where did your relationship with Professor fit? Were you a long-term student under his guidance, or were you someone who had the privilege of learning from him through seminars and camps? Both experiences have value—they’re simply different.

The original thought came from Bruce Chu, and I wanted to give him full credit for planting the seed for this discussion.

My goal isn’t to divide anyone or diminish anyone’s journey. It’s simply to encourage thoughtful reflection about what it truly means to be a student.

I’d genuinely like to hear your perspective.

Respectfully,
Datu Tim Hartman
The Tribal Chief