Are belts in martial arts just a money grab?

This is a question I hear all the time.

Most often, it comes from one of two places: the backyard martial artist, or someone who trained for a short time, walked away, and decided to do their own thing. And while everyone is entitled to an opinion, if you’re passing judgment on instructors who charge for testing or belts, there are some real-world factors you need to consider first.

Let me be clear right up front: I absolutely understand that there are schools out there whose business model revolves around selling belts. I’m not pretending that doesn’t exist – we’ve all seen it.
What I am saying is this: just because a school charges a testing fee does not automatically make it a McDojo, and it doesn’t automatically mean it’s a money grab. That kind of blanket thinking ignores how legitimate schools and organizations actually operate.

Now let’s talk about one of the most basic – and often overlooked – factors: the cost of the belt itself.

When I was coming up, belts cost three to five dollars. No big deal, right? Except at the time, that was my hourly wage at my day job. Fast forward to today, and basic color belts start at $10, with many costing $20, $30, or more. And the cheaper belts? They’re cheap for a reason. They’re poorly made and don’t hold up.

If a belt is meant to represent years of effort – like a diploma – I want it to reflect that effort.

I also hear, “Well, what if it’s only a couple of people?” When I only had a handful of students, I didn’t worry about it. I absorbed the cost. But once you’re testing 20, 30, 40, or 50 people – multiple times a year – that adds up fast.

Let’s do the math.
Fifty people at $10 per belt, three or four times a year, is $1,500 to $2,000 annually. Over ten years, that’s $15,000 to $20,000 coming straight out of your pocket just to promote others.

The knee-jerk response is usually, “That’s what tuition is for.” But tuition already goes toward rent, utilities, insurance, equipment, and maintenance. Those costs don’t disappear. I remember when I had a 3,000-square-foot facility and paid $1,500 a month in rent. Promoting a large group of students could cost me the equivalent of an entire month’s rent.

Over the years, I’ve gone back and forth on including testing fees in tuition. Ultimately, I found it wasn’t the right move if I wanted to keep tuition reasonable. Yes, some schools include everything – uniforms, equipment, testing – but they’re charging $400 or more per month, when the national average is closer to $160. If someone walks into a school and hears $400 for their first month, most are already thinking about the exit.

There’s also another layer to this conversation that often gets ignored.

I’ve always belonged to an organization. That means a portion of testing fees goes to headquarters. That’s my role now. When members of our organization test, a portion of that fee supports the organization itself. That’s not a money grab – it’s how the organization functions.

I intentionally separate my school finances from the organization. The organization maintains a website, promotes active schools, lists events, and supports growth. Those funds have allowed us to develop new territories. For example, my initial trip to Brazil was funded by the organization – and thanks to the hustle of our Brazilian director, that investment was paid back in full.

If this were about padding my pockets, paying for vacations, or buying cars, I’d understand the criticism. But that’s not what’s happening.

With our overseas members, we recommend charging organizational membership and testing fees—but I don’t take a dime of that. Instead, I encourage them to reinvest those funds into strengthening their region and their education, whether that means virtual classes or traveling to headquarters for deeper training.

I know not everyone will agree with this, and that’s fine. But more often than not, the loudest critics are backyard martial artists or people who were burned once and now assume every school and organization operates the same way.

I’m always open to real dialogue. I’m willing to change my mind – if the other person is willing to give me the same opportunity. That’s how conversation becomes dialogue instead of a monologue. Even if we ultimately agree to disagree, at least we walk away with a better understanding of why each side thinks the way they do.

That’s how disagreements stay intellectual instead of turning personal.

Respectfully,
Datu Tim Hartman
Modern Arnis Tribal Chief

#martialarts #modernarnis #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