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RIP GM Roberto Presas

I’m writing this from Manila, Philippines, where I’m attending Bobby Taboada’s World Camp. Yesterday, I found myself reflecting – it’s been exactly 15 years since we lost Ernesto Presas. And now, just one day later, his younger brother Roberto has passed away.

Roberto was the last of the three kings of the Presas family of Arnis. If you’ve never heard much about him, it’s not because he lacked skill or significance. Quite the opposite – he chose a path of quiet strength and support. He stood behind his two older brothers, Remy and Ernesto, helping them build their legacy while dedicating himself to teaching at home in the Philippines.

I first met him in 2007, on my very first trip here. He personally took me to visit Remy Presas’s grave – making sure no one else was around – so I could have a private moment to say goodbye to my teacher. That simple act meant the world to me. From that trip forward, every time I traveled to Negros, I made a point to visit Roberto at his home. We shared many great conversations and memories.

One story that still makes me smile: his wife once told me she thought Arnis had “taken away” his two brothers, and that she gave him an ultimatum – stay home, or continue training and traveling alone. I laughed and said, “Well, clearly he made the right choice!” But funny enough, whenever I visited and she wasn’t home, Roberto always seemed to be waiting near the front door – with a stick in hand. And somehow, every visit turned into me buying a few sticks for my students! I think it’s safe to say that his love for the art never left him – he just trained when no one was watching.

We all know Remy was the founder of Modern Arnis. He was ten years older than his brothers, but when they came of age, Ernesto and Roberto were right there with him, helping shape what became one of the most influential Filipino martial arts in the world. Each brother had his own style, his own expression of the art. Roberto went on to found Hinigaran Arnis de Mano, a system closely related to Modern Arnis but with its own unique flavor – particularly in stick and dagger work.

Whenever his older brothers spoke about him, it was always with warmth and pride. Now, with Roberto’s passing, we’ve lost the last of the Presas brothers – the final direct link to the roots of the family art.

All we can do now is honor them by carrying the art forward – evolving, yet staying true to the heart of what they created: Modern Arnis, Kombatan, and Arnis de Mano.

People often say their loved ones are in a better place when they pass, and while I understand that sentiment, I’ve always felt the best place is still here with us. Still, I can’t help but smile at the thought of the reunion happening now in heaven – three brothers together again.

Tito Berto, you will be deeply missed. Please say hello to your brothers for me. And while I’m not in any rush to join you, I do look forward to the day we’re all reunited again – training, laughing, and sharing stories once more.

Respectfully,
Tim Hartman
World Modern Arnis

 

#modernarnis #martialarts #selfdefense #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