Vietnamese martial arts at a crossroads: Between world ambitions and systemic reality

In a small room at a boxing gym in District 10, Ho Chi Minh City, 26-year-old Nguyen Van Minh is training with a worn, dented heavy bag. A former amateur MMA fighter with a record of 7 wins and 3 losses, he now works an additional four hours each day at a convenience store to pay for his gym membership. Minh's story is not an exception. It is the echo of hundreds of Vietnamese martial arts talents struggling between two shores: the ambition to reach the international arena and a support system that is not yet ready to embrace them. In 2026, Vietnamese martial arts witnessed a significant turning point when international events like ONE Championship began taking notice of Vietnamese-heritage fighters. Names like Nguyen Duong Quoc Dat, an MMA fighter who previously competed in the UAE, and Truong Quoc Duy, a former national wushu athlete who transitioned to MMA, brought memorable victories to Asian fight arenas. But behind that spotlight was a stark reality: the vast majority of Vietnamese fighters have to self-fund their training, competition, and even medical expenses when injuries occur. According to a 2026 survey by the Vietnam Martial Arts Federation, only 12% of professional fighters under 25 have sponsorship contracts with domestic brands. This figure is significantly lower than Thailand (34%) or the Philippines (28%), despite Vietnam having a larger young population than both countries combined. A young Muay Thai fighter in Binh Phuoc shared that he had to punch heavy bags at small gyms to earn money for arm braces after breaking his arm in an exhibition match. No disability insurance, no support fund, just his hands and his dream. The problem is not a lack of talent. Vietnam has long been known for generations of wushu and traditional martial arts athletes with excellent physical foundations and techniques rated highly worldwide. In 2026, the Vietnamese martial arts delegation won 12 medals at SEA Games, the most in Southeast Asia. However, when transitioning to modern combat sports like professional MMA, boxing, or kickboxing, these talents often struggle to adapt to professional competition systems. The root cause lies in how we train. Vietnam's current martial arts training system primarily focuses on amateur competition results, where referees and organizers are funded by state budgets. Students are trained to compete according to national tournament rules, not market demands. Skills like contract negotiation, income management, and personal branding – things a professional fighter needs – virtually do not exist in the training curriculum. A prominent boxing coach in Hanoi, who has led many Vietnamese fighters to compete in Japan, said: "They have good technique, good physical conditioning. But when asked about strategy for each round, about reading opponents, about recovery after a long fight – they draw a blank. We teach them to fight, but we don't teach them to win." This deficiency is most evident in the performance of Vietnamese fighters at major international events. Over the past 10 years, only 3 Vietnamese fighters have reached the top 10 in the world in any weight class across professional combat sports. Compared to the Philippines – a country with nearly 70 million fewer people than Vietnam – which has had over 15 fighters reach top 10 in the world during the same period, including world champions from minimumweight to heavyweight, the gap is glaring. An interesting phenomenon is unfolding in Vietnamese martial arts: money is flowing into the system, but not reaching those who need it. Domestic events are proliferating, some offering prize money up to hundreds of millions of dong for main card fights. Martial arts gyms are sprouting up in major cities, attracting young people with MMA, boxing, and Muay Thai courses priced between 2 and 5 million dong per month. But when diving into the income distribution structure, the picture looks completely different. According to industry analysts, most revenue from professional martial arts concentrates in the hands of event organizers, media companies, and a few well-known coaches. Fighters, especially those without established brands, receive a very small share. One MMA fighter who competed in a domestic event shared that he received 15 million dong for a three-round fight, while the organizer grossed approximately 200 million from ticket sales and broadcasting rights. This is not a problem unique to Vietnam. Globally, the professional martial arts industry is notorious for income inequality. But in developed countries, fighter associations have gradually built collective bargaining power with organizers. In Vietnam, with only about 200 actively competing professional fighters, forming an influential association is nearly impossible. A sports law attorney in Ho Chi Minh City noted: "Vietnam's martial arts market is growing, but growth does not mean fairness. Without a clear legal framework for fighter rights, we will witness a generation of talents being eroded physically and financially, then giving up before they have a chance to shine." There is a reality that observers often overlook: not all Vietnamese fighters want to become international stars. A significant portion only wants stable income from teaching, performing, or competing at a more modest scale. For them, the current system, despite its flaws, is still functioning. The problem is that we are treating these two groups as the same, creating policies that only fit one of them. A noteworthy model is emerging in Da Nang: small martial arts clubs are beginning to self-organize into networks, sharing students, coaches, and facilities. They are not waiting for top-down support but building their own ecosystem. Some clubs have started negotiating sponsorship packages with local brands, sharing profits more equitably than major events. This could be a path for fighters who do not want to play by the rules of the larger system. Building personal brands on social media, creating valuable content, attracting students, and building a teaching career instead of relying solely on competition prize money. Some young fighters have already done this, with income from teaching and digital content significantly higher than from professional competition. But this path is also full of risks. No protection system, no clear advancement pathway, no recognized professional standards. A fighter may build a stable career, but could also suffer an injury and lose all income without any support. Returning to Nguyen Van Minh, the 26-year-old training in the small room in District 10. He does not know if he will ever compete on a major stage. He only knows that tomorrow, he must wake up early for the morning shift, then return to training in the evening. That cycle continues, but nothing guarantees that one day, his efforts will be adequately rewarded. Vietnam has martial arts talent. Vietnam has a developing market. Vietnam has a young generation full of passion and ambition to conquer. But do we have a system capable of turning these elements into real strength? The answer, for now, remains open. And that very openness, more than any defeat, is what should concern us most about the future of Vietnamese martial arts.