Vietnamese martial arts are trapped between tradition and modernity — and no one dares speak the truth

I just watched a video of a young Vietnamese fighter training in a garage in Saigon. He was punching a torn punching bag, sweat pooling on the cement floor. He has no coach, no sponsor, no fight schedule. He only has an old phone to record himself and upload to YouTube, hoping someone will see him someday.

This is not a story about one individual. This is the full picture of Vietnamese martial arts in 2026.

I have followed martial arts for 48 years. I once stood in the corridors of Wembley Stadium eavesdropping on medical staff discussing De Bruyne's injury. I was banned from the 2026 World Cup for daring to say tiki-taka never lived at the knockout level. I received 47 angry calls into an Incheon radio station for daring to say Son Heung-min was not a world-class superstar. But never have I seen a martial arts nation with such a massive gap between potential and reality as Vietnam.

Context: The Paradox of Vietnamese Martial Arts

Look at the numbers. Vietnam has over 1,000 registered vovinam clubs, more than 500 traditional martial arts training halls, and at least 200 MMA/boxing gyms that have sprung up in the last 5 years. A young population — 60% under 35. Nationwide internet coverage. Martial arts culture runs in the blood — from the Trung Sisters to Quang Trung, from Ly Thuong Kiet to Tran Hung Dao.

So why don't we have a world MMA champion yet? Why don't we have a single Vietnamese boxer in the world's top 10? Why are we still proud of the past, while Thailand has dozens of international Muay Thai champions, the Philippines has Manny Pacquiao, and Japan has a massive martial arts system?

Core: Three Walls Holding Back Vietnamese Martial Arts

After 48 years of observation, I see three walls. The first wall is over-traditionalization. We love vovinam, we love traditional martial arts, but we turn them into museums. The forms are taught like religious rituals, never updated. While Thailand turned Muay Thai into a global commercial weapon, Vietnam is still arguing about whether to allow strikes to the face in vovinam.

Based on my experience following fights across 12 countries, I see this clearly: martial arts cannot develop if they refuse commercialization. Muay Thai allows strikes to the face. Boxing allows strikes to the face. MMA allows strikes to the face. What about us? We're still asking each other on Facebook whether to allow strikes to the face in vovinam.

The second wall is the lack of a professional tournament system. I've lived in South Korea for 7 years. Korea has K-League for football, KBO for baseball, and Road FC for MMA. Each has a selection system, youth development, and most importantly — money. In Vietnam, professional martial arts tournaments are still organized on a "who you know" basis. No national rankings. No promotion system. No salary structure.

The third wall — and this is the one I hate most — is the "fear of losing" mentality. I've witnessed hundreds of young Vietnamese fighters with good technique who don't dare compete abroad because they're afraid of losing. Afraid of embarrassing the nation. Afraid of online criticism. Afraid that failure will erase a lifetime of effort.

Contrarian: Where Could I Be Wrong?

Perhaps I'm being too harsh. Perhaps I'm comparing Vietnam to countries with 50-year head starts in martial arts development. Perhaps I'm forgetting that Vietnam only opened up 40 years ago, while Thailand was never closed. Perhaps I'm demanding too much from a martial arts tradition that just emerged from war.

But I'm 64 years old. I don't have time for sweet talk. I witnessed the Philippines — a poorer country than Vietnam — produce Manny Pacquiao, who won 8 world titles in 8 weight classes. I witnessed Thailand — with a smaller population than Vietnam — dominate global Muay Thai. I witnessed Japan — after the Fukushima disaster — still have 20 fighters in the world's MMA top 100.

Takeaway: A Verifiable Prediction

I predict: Within the next 5 years, if Vietnam does not have at least one fighter in the world's top 50 of any combat sport (MMA, boxing, kickboxing), then Vietnamese martial arts will fall behind for another generation. And by then, those kids training in garages won't be young anymore.

They lock the stadium gates, but no one can lock a pen. I write this not to insult anyone. I write because I love Vietnamese martial arts. And love, sometimes, means speaking the truth no matter how painful.

Additional Perspective from Korea

Living in Incheon, I see every day how Korea builds martial arts. They have Road FC — Asia's third-largest MMA promotion. They have a training system from high school through university. They have fighters like Jung Chan-sung (The Korean Zombie) — who fought for a UFC title and became a national icon.

Where did Korea start? In 2026, they had zero UFC fighters. In 2026, they had 2. In 2026, they had 15. It took them 20 years to build. Vietnam could do it faster if it leverages its advantages.

What are Vietnam's advantages? Young population. Low cost of living. Existing martial arts culture. And most importantly — hunger. I see that hunger in the eyes of kids training in garages. That hunger cannot be killed by any wall.

Conclusion: A Call from an Old Man

I'm 64. I've lived through war, through poverty, through pandemic. I've witnessed Vietnam rise from ashes to become one of the world's fastest-growing economies. I believe Vietnamese martial arts can do the same.

But to do so, we need change. We need to commercialize martial arts. We need to build a professional tournament system. We need to send fighters abroad to compete — whether they win or lose. And most importantly, we need to stop worshipping the past and start building the future.

Superstars are canonized by the audience, and dethroned by the audience. But before we have superstars, we need a foundation. And that foundation cannot be built on traditional forms and stories of glorious pasts.

2026 taught me that sports are just echoes of humanity in an era of silence. And that echo, in Vietnam, is still too quiet.

I will keep writing. I will keep stirring controversy. Because I know that one day, a kid training in a garage will read this article and prove me wrong. And that will be the happiest day of my life.