The Truth About Rank in Modern Arnis

People love to ask, “Who are the highest-ranked black belts in Modern Arnis today?”
On the surface, it sounds like a simple question. But the truth?
Most people aren’t prepared for it.

When Professor Remy A. Presas passed away, he took with him the only legitimate authority to promote anyone further in Modern Arnis. He was the founder, the source, the standard. His authority didn’t get transferred, inherited, or absorbed.

It ended — full stop.

Years ago, I had a conversation with Rene Tongson that confirmed exactly what I already knew. He said,
“Tim, the only person who could promote in Modern Arnis was Remy. After he passed, all we can do now are recognitions.”

And that’s the distinction most people conveniently ignore.
A promotion carries the authority of the founder.
A recognition carries the opinion of peers.
They are not equal — not even close.

Grandmaster Ernesto Presas made that crystal clear as well. After years of training with him, he promoted me to Grandmaster — in Kombatan, his art. Not his brother’s. He told me directly:
“Tim, I cannot promote you in my brother’s art. Only in mine.”

That’s integrity. That’s boundaries.
And that’s exactly what’s missing from many of today’s rank discussions.

Because let’s address the elephant in the room:
When Professor was alive, rank meant something.
To earn a Modern Arnis black belt, you got it from his hands.
Not from a committee.
Not from a council.
Not from a popularity vote.

Today, a lot of promotions happen — but far too many mean absolutely nothing.
Some groups have turned advancement into a you-promote-me-and-I’ll-promote-you arrangement. It’s an echo chamber of titles built on convenience, not contribution.

Let’s be real:
When people promote each other just to climb the ladder, the ladder isn’t worth climbing.
Rank earned that way has the shelf life of a cardboard sword.

If your rank comes from effort, sacrifice, teaching, and building the art — that has value.
If it comes from group politics, handshakes, or “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” — it’s just embroidery on a belt.

Here’s what actually matters:
What have you done? What are you doing? Who are you raising to the next level?

For context: I was one of Professor Presas’ highest-ranked black belts, outranking roughly 99% of his students except for a few quiet promotions in the Philippines. But that’s not what defines my legacy — and it shouldn’t define anyone’s.

This past May, during my birthday camp, I saw something that did define it. Not the celebration. Not the attendance. Not the milestone.

But this:
Four generations of black belts in my lineage on the floor, training side by side.

That is something a certificate can’t manufacture.
That is something politics can’t create.
That is something no self-appointed council can grant.

That is legacy.
That is the real measure of rank.
That is longevity in action.

Because titles fade. Paper fades. Belts fade.
What remains is the community you build, the students you train, and the generations you inspire to continue the work.

The best way to honor Professor Presas isn’t by chasing higher stripes.
It’s by doing the work he modeled:
Teach. Build. Share. Spread the art.
And prepare the next generation to surpass you.

That’s the kind of rank that actually matters — the kind that will outlive all of us.

Respectfully,
Datu Tim Hartman
Modern Arnis’ Tribal Chief

#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