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Modern Arnis, Kombatan, Arnis de Mano: The Brothers Who Shaped FMA

Let’s cut through the noise.

Lately, people have been arguing about the Presas brothers – who created what, who “owns” which name. But here’s the reality: when we talk about history, especially living history, you don’t get to claim authority unless you were there – really there.

So the first question should always be: who’s talking?
And right behind it: how close were they to the source?

Casual encounters and secondhand stories don’t count. If someone barely spent time with the brothers, their version of events is shaky at best. And if they’re repeating what they heard because they weren’t around during the formative years, that’s not history – that’s hearsay.

I watched someone recently try to “set the record straight.” I responded publicly, and not long after, both the post and my response conveniently disappeared. So instead of playing social media games, I’ll give you my perspective – plain, direct, and unfiltered.

I didn’t just meet the Presas brothers. I lived those relationships.

I attended 180 events with Remy Presas alone – that’s well over 1,500 hours on the mat, not counting the travel, the meals, the late-night conversations, and the quiet moments in between. Remy stayed in my home. We shared hotel rooms and long road trips. Ernesto sponsored me for training camps in the Philippines. Roberto and I sat together at the Presas family ancestral home. I helped reconnect the brothers.

That’s not rumor. That’s family.

Now here’s the part many people miss – especially those looking at this through a Western lens.

In Filipino culture, ownership is collective. It lives in the family. It’s not about one person planting a flag and saying, “This is mine.” So when we talk about Remy Presas creating Modern Arnis, we also have to recognize that his brothers were part of that family collective.

That said, let’s be factual.

When Modern Arnis was created, Ernesto and Roberto were kids. As they grew, they contributed, refined, taught, and shaped the art – but the creation of Modern Arnis belongs to Remy Presas. That isn’t disrespectful to say. It’s simply the truth.

And then there are the names – because people love to obsess over names.

Arnis de Mano literally means “harness of hands.” It’s a generic term. I was buying Arnis de Mano patches from Remy back in the 1980s. Ernesto later developed Kombatan. Roberto eventually carried the Arnis de Mano banner forward.

Who used what name first? Honestly, that matters far less than people think.

What matters is the expression of the art.

Remy was the master of single stick.
Ernesto was the double-stick specialist.
Roberto excelled in stick and dagger.

They shared roots, training, and blood – but each evolved into a distinct pillar of Filipino Martial Arts. Arguing endlessly over names misses the entire point.

The brothers loved each other. Like any family, it wasn’t perfect. There were frustrations. I understand them. I was told things privately, and I was trusted with that knowledge – and it will stay with me.

I won’t disrespect the dead or break that trust. I won’t air family matters for clicks or attention. Respect still matters, even if it feels rare these days.

My own father wasn’t perfect. He was a great dad, but he had flaws. That doesn’t mean I broadcast his shortcomings to the world. Truth doesn’t require public humiliation.

So here’s the bottom line – clearly and without apology:

Remy Presas – Modern Arnis
Ernesto Presas – Kombatan
Roberto Presas – Arnis de Mano

They were the three kings of Filipino Martial Arts – to FMA what the Gracie brothers are to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

They’re gone now. And arguing over names won’t honor them.

Carrying the art forward will.

As long as I’m alive, these arts will not die. And if more of us shared that mindset, Filipino Martial Arts – and martial arts as a whole – would be better for it.

That’s how I see it.

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