Vietnamese Martial Arts in the Global Flow: From Empty Training Halls to International Spotlight

The martial arts training hall in Thu Duc on a Saturday afternoon had no spectators. But the breathing of young fighters echoed more clearly than ever – that is a sound no television broadcast can capture. I stood in the corner of the room, a familiar position for an observer, and realized that we are standing at a turning point that no one is talking about: Vietnamese martial arts are being reshaped by forces beyond our borders, and those inside the ring are not yet prepared. When I left Busan to work in Vietnam for an extended period, I carried a question I had been nurturing for five years: Can Vietnamese fighters withstand the pressure of the international competition system when they have never experienced the harshest tournaments? The answer, as I am about to explain, lies not in technique or physical fitness – but in the ecosystem in which they are growing up. From Busan to Russia, I learned that a season never ends with the final match. And for Vietnamese martial arts, the story is the same – it does not end with SEA Games medals, but begins with how we build the foundation for the next generation. In 16 years of observing the sports industry, I have never seen a period where Vietnamese martial arts faced so many opportunities and challenges at once. International tournaments are expanding, major martial arts organizations are looking at Southeast Asia as a new market, and Vietnamese fighters – from vovinam, karate, taekwondo to MMA – are standing at a door that previous generations never dared to dream of. But is that door really open? Or is it just an illusion created by contracts that no one reads carefully? I remember the summer of the 2026 World Cup in Russia, when I witnessed Korean players crying over their victory against Germany. But I also remember the substitute players sitting in the corner of the locker room, crying out of fear of being forgotten. With Vietnamese martial arts, I fear that we are creating champions on paper, while forgetting those who truly make the value of this discipline. Data from international tournaments shows that Southeast Asian fighters are taking up an increasing proportion of Asian championship events. But what matters is not the number of medals, but the quality of the training system behind them. I have visited martial arts clubs in Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi, Da Nang – and what I saw is a picture full of contradictions. On one hand, I see dedicated coaches, young fighters full of aspiration, and facilities increasingly being invested in. On the other hand, I see a domestic competition system that remains fragmented, lacking connection with the international stage, and above all, lacking a long-term strategy for the development of each discipline. Players run on the field, I keep the rhythm of every footstep – the memory of an observer who never sits still. And what I have recorded from Vietnamese fighters is a fierce desire to reach out to the world, but also a confusion about how to do it. Let us talk about vovinam – the pure Vietnamese martial art that we take pride in. In international tournaments, vovinam has made significant progress. But the question is: are we developing vovinam as a martial art carrying cultural identity, or are we trying to turn it into a competitive sport according to international standards without thorough preparation? This is not an academic question. This is the question that determines the survival of vovinam in the next 20 years. I have witnessed how South Korea built taekwondo into a global sport – not just by investing in athletes, but by building an educational system, a philosophy, a national brand. And I ask myself: are we doing the same for vovinam, or are we letting it drift in the flow of sports commercialization? When the stands are empty, I hear the breathing of the players more clearly than ever – that is the sound that no television broadcast can capture. And in the martial arts training sessions I attended, I heard the breathing of young fighters – those who carry the expectations of an entire generation, but do not have enough tools to turn those expectations into reality. One of the biggest issues I observed is the gap between fighters trained domestically and those who have the opportunity to train abroad. This disparity is not just about technique, but also about competitive mindset, the ability to read a fight, and the confidence when facing opponents from different martial arts traditions. I remember an evening in Busan, when I sat with a Korean coach and he told me: "Martial arts is not about learning how to fight. Martial arts is about learning how to understand yourself." That sentence haunted me for years, and when I look at Vietnamese fighters, I ask myself: have we truly understood ourselves yet? The current domestic competition system has a fundamental weakness: it does not create enough pressure for fighters to develop. When you only compete against familiar opponents, when you do not have to face diverse fighting styles, when you do not have to adapt to different competition conditions – you will never develop adaptability, one of the most important qualities of a professional fighter. Data from international tournaments shows that fighters from countries with highly competitive competition systems (such as South Korea, Japan, Thailand) tend to have higher success rates in major tournaments. This is not because they have better technique, but because they have been trained in an environment where every match is a real test. From the observer's seat, I see that football is not a sport – it is a symphony of beautiful mistakes. And martial arts is the same. But to have those beautiful mistakes, you need to have the opportunity to make mistakes. And Vietnamese fighters currently do not have enough of those opportunities. Another issue I want to address is the lack of connection between different martial arts disciplines. In Vietnam, we have vovinam, karate, taekwondo, wushu, boxing, Muay Thai, MMA – but each discipline operates as a separate world. This lack of connection not only reduces the quality of training, but also weakens the power of Vietnamese martial arts as a national brand. Look at how Thailand built Muay Thai into a global industry. They not only have skilled fighters, they have a complete ecosystem: from training schools for foreigners, to professional tournaments broadcast live, to fashion and film brands. Muay Thai is not just a martial art – it is part of Thailand's national identity. And I ask myself: can Vietnamese martial arts do the same? The answer is yes, but only if we change our current approach. On my recent trip back to Vietnam, I spent time visiting several martial arts clubs in different provinces. What impressed me most was not the facilities or the technique of the fighters, but their desire. They want to reach out to the world, they want to be recognized, they want to prove that Vietnamese martial arts can stand alongside any other martial arts tradition. But that desire is being held back by a system that is not ready. Young fighters do not have enough opportunities to compete internationally, do not have enough financial support, do not have enough guidance from those who have experienced the international competition environment. I am the beat keeper – not for the match, but for the stories on the sidelines that are bleeding every minute. And the sideline story of Vietnamese martial arts is a story of wasted talents, missed opportunities, and dreams that have not been nurtured. One of the biggest mistakes we are making is focusing too much on achievements in regional tournaments, while neglecting to build the foundation for long-term development. We take pride when Vietnamese fighters win medals at SEA Games, but we do not ask: can they compete at the continental or world level? The training ground is empty of spectators, but the beat of the ball still echoes. And the beat of Vietnamese martial arts, I believe, is still beating strongly in the hearts of young people who are training day and night in modest training halls. But that beat may weaken if we do not act. International martial arts organizations are looking at Southeast Asia with increasing interest. They are looking for new talents, new markets, new stories. And if we do not prepare our fighters, they will be left behind. I have witnessed this happen in many other countries. Talented fighters are courted by international organizations, but they do not have enough preparation to face the harsh competition environment. They sign contracts they do not fully understand, they enter tournaments they are not ready for, and they end their careers in disappointment. That summer, I did not cry because we lost – I cried because I saw an entire nation stand up after the final whistle. And I believe that Vietnamese martial arts can also stand up, if we have the right strategy. That strategy must begin with building a domestic competition system with high competitiveness. Tournaments need to be held more frequently, with the participation of fighters from many different regions, with clear and fair regulations. Fighters need to be given conditions to compete against diverse opponents, so they can develop adaptability. That strategy also needs to include strengthening international cooperation. We need to send fighters to train abroad, invite international experts to share experience, and create conditions for Vietnamese fighters to participate in international tournaments more regularly. But above all, that strategy needs to begin with changing our mindset. We need to see martial arts not just as a sport, but as part of cultural identity and economic potential. We need to invest in martial arts not just for medals, but for the values it brings to society. At night in Russia, the sound of Korean vuvuzelas echoed in the June snow – I have never been so afraid of the cold. But I have also never felt so warm witnessing a nation united for a match. And I believe that Vietnamese martial arts can create similar moments, if we believe in its potential. Throughout 16 years of observing the sports industry, I have learned one thing: the biggest changes do not come from macro decisions, but from small actions of those who believe in what they do. A coach spending an extra hour teaching a young fighter. A fighter spending an extra hour practicing basic techniques. A manager spending an extra hour learning about international standards. From Busan to Vietnam, I carry a belief: martial arts is not just about punches, kicks, and locks. Martial arts is how we understand ourselves, our opponents, and the world around us. And if we can pass that belief to the next generation, Vietnamese martial arts will not just survive – it will thrive. The young fighters I met in Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi, Da Nang – they have good technique, they have good physical fitness, they have the desire. What they lack is opportunity. The opportunity to compete against stronger opponents. The opportunity to learn from other martial arts traditions. The opportunity to prove their worth on the international stage. And the responsibility to create those opportunities belongs not only to managers, but to all of us – those who love martial arts, those who believe in the potential of Vietnamese martial arts. When I left a martial arts club in District 7, Ho Chi Minh City, it was already dark. But I could still see the lights in the training room, and I could still hear the breathing of young fighters training. That is the sound of hope. And I believe that, if we know how to nurture that hope, Vietnamese martial arts will have a bright future. The biggest lesson I learned from following the Korean national team at the 2026 World Cup is: victory does not come from luck, but from preparation. And that preparation is not just about technique or physical fitness, but about spirit, about confidence, about belief in oneself. Vietnamese martial arts is standing at a crossroads. We can continue on the current path – competing in the region, taking pride in small achievements, and missing big opportunities. Or we can change – build a stronger training system, strengthen international cooperation, and create conditions for fighters to develop their full potential. The choice is ours. And I believe we will choose right, because I have seen the eyes of young fighters – the eyes of those who never give up on their dreams. The training ground is empty of spectators, but the beat of the ball still echoes. And the beat of Vietnamese martial arts, I believe, will grow stronger. On my travels, I always carry a physical notebook. I record my observations – small details that others might overlook. And in that notebook, I have a page dedicated to Vietnamese martial arts. That page is gradually getting thicker, with notes about talented fighters, dedicated coaches, and developing clubs. But that page is also gradually revealing a clear picture: Vietnamese martial arts has great potential, but that potential is being held back by limitations in the system, in resources, in mindset. One of the things that impressed me most is how Vietnamese fighters face difficulties. They do not complain, they do not give up. They train harder, they find ways to overcome limitations, they believe that if they are good enough, they will be recognized. But that perseverance can only take them so far. To truly reach out to the world, they need support from the system – from managers, from organizations, from society. I have seen how South Korea built taekwondo into a global sport. They did not just invest in athletes, they invested in the system: from training schools, to tournaments, to educational programs, to cultural promotion. Taekwondo is not just a sport in South Korea – it is part of national identity. And I believe that Vietnamese martial arts can do the same. Vovinam, with its philosophy, its history, its uniqueness, can become a symbol of Vietnamese culture on the international stage. But to do that, we need to change our perspective on martial arts. We need to see martial arts not just as a sport, but as a cultural asset, an economic potential, a diplomatic tool. On my recent trip back to Vietnam, I had the opportunity to talk with a vovinam coach in Da Nang. He told me: "We do not just teach martial arts, we teach how to live." That sentence reminded me of the Korean coach I met in Busan: "Martial arts is learning how to understand yourself." And I realized that, whether in South Korea or Vietnam, whether it is taekwondo or vovinam, martial arts has a common value: it teaches us how to face difficulties, how to overcome limits, how to become a better version of ourselves. That is the value we need to pass on to the next generation. That is the value we need to bring to the world. Vietnamese martial arts is standing before a great opportunity. International martial arts organizations are looking at Southeast Asia, international tournaments are expanding, Vietnamese fighters have more opportunities than ever to showcase their talents. But that opportunity may pass if we do not act. And that action needs to start now, from small decisions, from changes in how we perceive martial arts. I am the beat keeper – not for the match, but for the stories on the sidelines that are bleeding every minute. And the sideline story of Vietnamese martial arts is a story of people training day and night, nurturing dreams, hoping that one day, they will stand on the international stage and prove their worth. I believe that day will come. And when it comes, I will be there, recording that moment, just as I recorded the moment Son Heung-min cried after scoring against Germany at the 2026 World Cup. Because that is my job – not just to record matches, but to record the human stories behind those matches. And the story of Vietnamese martial arts, I believe, will be a story worth telling.