(716) 247-5254 admin@wmarnis.com

Beyond the Mats: Why Some People Don’t Understand the Loyalty to Professor Presas

This all started after I listened to a podcast where people were flat-out ridiculing the relationship many of us had with Professor Remy Presas. Not questioning it – ridiculing it. The tone wasn’t curiosity, it was dismissal. As if these family-style relationships were somehow fake, unhealthy, or just people engaging in idol worship.

And honestly, that’s where I take issue.

First, let’s get something straight: yes, I think extremely highly of Professor Presas as a martial artist. He was one of the best in the world, and most people will never have the opportunity to train with someone of that level. But I can separate his martial ability from who he was as a human being. In fact, I care far more about the man I knew than the techniques he taught.

What a lot of people miss – and this is huge – is culture.

In many Japanese and Korean martial arts systems, there are strict cultural protocols. Hierarchy is emphasized. Distance is maintained. Respect is shown through formality and structure. That doesn’t make those systems wrong – it just makes them different. But those same protocols naturally limit how close students and teachers become on a personal level.

Filipino culture doesn’t work that way.

Filipinos are warm. They’re open. They make you feel like family whether you planned on it or not. That cultural mindset absolutely carried over into how Professor taught and how he lived. He treated people like people, not subordinates. And when you do that, real relationships form.

I saw Professor close to 200 times throughout my martial arts career. Let that sink in. Seminars averaged five hours. Training camps ran 25 to 30 hours. That’s over 1,500 hours of face-to-face training – not online, not virtual, not occasional drop-ins. When he came to Buffalo, he stayed at my house. We talked. We shared meals. We lived real life around training.

And here’s the part that really gets ignored when people casually throw out the “idol worship” label.

I watched Professor bend over backwards to help his students. I saw him reach into his own pocket to help people who were struggling. He offered help to me more than once. The first time I went to Germany, he handed me a fistful of money and said, “Buy your ticket.” I paid him back, but I never forgot that gesture. On another trip, after buying emergency plane tickets home wiped me out financially, he offered again. I didn’t need it that time – but the fact that he cared mattered.

That’s not idol worship. That’s a relationship.

What I don’t understand – especially in today’s society – is how quickly people judge without asking questions. If you don’t understand something, ask. If something surprises you, ask. It wouldn’t take much to say, “Why did you feel that way about Professor?” or “What did he do that created that kind of loyalty?” If people actually listened to the answers, the evolution of those family relationships would make perfect sense.

Instead, some people would rather dismiss it as BS – while conveniently ignoring the fact that they weren’t around nearly as much as they like to believe, or as much as they want others to think they were. Time matters. Face-to-face time matters. You don’t get the same relationships from distance, formality, or occasional contact.

This is also the model I’ve followed in my own organization, the World Modern Arnis Alliance. We take care of each other. Our people feel like family – not a cult. I’m not idolized. People stick around because of how we treat one another: with respect, care, and support. When someone needs help, we try to help. And because of that, relationships naturally grow deeper. Some feel like father and son. Others like brothers and sisters. That’s what happens when people actually spend time together and look out for one another.

So no – this wasn’t about deifying Professor Presas. It was about respect that was earned through actions, culture, and time. And maybe, just maybe, if people asked questions instead of passing judgment, they’d understand that too.

Datu Tim Hartman, Modern Arnis Tribal Chief.

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