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To Belt or Not to Belt? The Real Issue Isn’t Rank – It’s Honesty

Every few years, this debate resurfaces: Should martial arts have ranking systems at all? And once again, Filipino Martial Arts finds itself in the crosshairs.

The common refrain is predictable: “Skill is rank.” It sounds good. It feels pure. But it’s also incomplete.

Skill is performance. Knowledge is understanding. Experience is context. Teaching requires all three. Pretending otherwise is romantic, not practical.

In a small, tight-knit group – where everyone knows exactly who the teacher is and who the students are—rank is irrelevant. That’s how my early Balintawak Eskrima training worked. There was no confusion. No need for labels. Just teacher and student.

But that model doesn’t scale.

Once you start teaching larger groups – once you take on the responsibility of educating the masses – you need a way to identify levels of knowledge, proficiency, and readiness. Not for ego. For safety. For efficiency. For clarity.

We already accept this in every other form of education. Kindergarten through high school. Undergraduate degrees. Graduate degrees. Doctorates. No one argues that a PhD invalidates intelligence – only that it marks depth of study.

And let’s clear up another convenient myth: I didn’t create a belting system to “modernize” Filipino Martial Arts. My teacher, the late Grandmaster Remy Amador Presas, implemented it decades ago. At a time when Filipino Martial Arts were bleeding students to karate and judo, he adapted – not by watering the art down, but by making it accessible. That decision is one of the reasons FMA survived and spread globally. History supports that, whether people like it or not.

Ironically, many who criticize belting today belong to systems that copied the same structural ideas – sometimes openly, sometimes quietly. Even now, numerous martial arts programs in the Philippines use literal belts. This isn’t foreign. It’s familiar.

What’s truly puzzling is the selective outrage.

If a system has multiple instructor levels, titles, chevrons, sashes, bandanas, or color-coded identifiers of any kind, then it already has a ranking structure. The argument isn’t really about belts – it’s about aesthetics and personal bias.

From an educator’s perspective, rank is a tool. I can glance at a student and immediately know what knowledge base they should have. That matters when teaching techniques that require safe falling, timing, sensitivity, or cooperative skill. I’m not going to put a beginner into advanced throws or high-level drills just to prove a philosophical point. That’s not tradition – that’s negligence.

Then comes the favorite accusation: “Belts are just a way to sell rank.”

No. Issuing belts does not mean belts are for sale. Awarding rank and selling rank are not the same thing.

And if we’re going to talk honestly, there are plenty of “grandmasters” in Filipino Martial Arts who hand out lofty titles to people who have never trained under them, never tested with them, and sometimes barely met them. No belts involved. Just paper, prestige, and politics.

So let’s stop pretending this is a belt problem.
It’s an integrity problem.

Rank can be sold through belts, instructor certifications, honorary titles, letters after your name, or a framed certificate on the wall. The delivery system is irrelevant. The ethics are not.

Here’s my position, clearly stated:

You don’t have to use a belting system. But if you use any structured levels and then condemn belts as illegitimate, you’re not taking a moral stand – you’re being hypocritical.

And hypocrisy, not rank, is what does real damage to the arts.

Datu Tim Hartman
Modern Arnis’ Tribal Chief

#martialarts #modernarnis #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