On the night of November 15, 2026, at Phu Tho Stadium in Ho Chi Minh City, an elderly man with silver hair sat in the front row, waving a small red flag with a yellow star as he applauded enthusiastically when young Vovinam practitioners performed a forward flip. His clapping was irregular, sometimes interrupted by his age, but never stopped entirely. Beside him, a girl about 10 years old — perhaps his granddaughter — was covering her ears because the bass sound from the speakers was too loud. He turned to her, gently patted her shoulder, and whispered: "Long ago, your great-grandmother also practiced this martial art. There was no electricity, just an earthen yard and the sound of roosters crowing."

That small story, I believe, contains the entire big question of modern Vietnamese martial arts: Where are we between two worlds — one echoing memories of earthen yards and torch-lit matches, the other with LED-lit arenas, compressed sound, and multi-million-dollar sponsorship contracts?

CONTEXT: WHEN MARTIAL ARTS SCHOOLS BECOME BRANDS

Vovinam — a martial art founded by Grandmaster Nguyen Loc in 2026 in Vietnam — currently has over 3 million members across 64 countries according to the World Vovinam Federation statistics. This figure was announced at the Federation's Congress in 2026 in Ho Chi Minh City, making Vovinam one of the largest organized martial arts in Southeast Asia. But alongside this number comes a paradox: The number of seriously committed practitioners — those following the full path from beginner to advanced levels, competing in real combat, performing competitive sports — is not increasing proportionally.

According to data I collected from martial arts schools in Binh Duong, Dong Nai, and Ho Chi Minh City during 2026-2026, an average school loses about 40% of students after the first year. The main reason is not teaching quality, but competition from other physical activities: gym, yoga, kickboxing, and recently, online fitness applications. A Vovinam instructor in Tan Binh District — who requested anonymity for professional reasons — told me: "Parents now ask me first whether their child can compete after training, whether there are tournaments, whether there are prizes. In the past, people brought their children to martial arts schools because they wanted to teach them 'manners'. Now, manners must come with achievements."

That shift is not wrong. In an economy where consumers' attention is so fragmented that young people can decide whether they like or dislike a sport within 15 seconds of a short TikTok video, any traditional martial art must face the question: How do we retain practitioners without betraying our identity?

ANALYSIS: THREE PIECES OF A COMPLEX PUZZLE

Part 1: Sportsification — A Double-Edged Sword

SEA Games 2026 (held in 2026) was the most notable highlight for Vietnamese martial arts in the past decade. In Manila, the Vietnamese delegation won 4 gold medals in traditional martial arts, including Vovinam (2 golds), Kun Khmer (1 gold), and several others. This was the first time Vietnamese martial arts were officially recognized at a multi-sport regional event, not as cultural performances.

But that very success opened an internal debate. Many older masters believe that SEA Games scoring systems — based on technical criteria, difficulty, and aesthetics — have transformed Vovinam into a form of "aesthetic conflict fitness." Grandmaster Le Van Diem, 72, one of the longest-teaching Vovinam masters in the South, stated at a 2026 seminar: "Techniques in Vovinam are not meant to be scored. They are for survival. When students focus on how high they jump to get points, they forget that the real opponent is not sitting in the judge's seat."

I understand Master Diem's concern. In 11 years of covering Vietnamese sports, I have witnessed too many martial arts lose their "real breath" when entering official competition systems. Olympic boxing is a typical example: when transitioning to AIBA systems and later regulations on athlete protection, many powerful knockout techniques were restricted, creating a safer product but one with less "blood" in the eyes of traditional audiences. Vietnamese martial arts risk following a similar path.

Part 2: Media — The Overlooked Voice

During the 2026 World Cup, I stood at a coffee shop on Phu Loi Street in Binh Duong, counting Vietnamese fans cheering as Japan beat Germany. One million two hundred thousand views on my video within 24 hours. But when I posted a short video about a 12-year-old Vovinam student's training session in Binh Duong — the child performed three consecutive forward flips — the video only reached 3,200 views. No one shared it. No one commented.

That difference is not because the Vovinam video was less interesting. It reflects a structural problem: Vietnamese sports audiences have become accustomed to "packaged products" — Premier League football, UFC, K-pop boxing — more than traditional martial arts that require background knowledge to appreciate. A knockout in UFC can be understood by anyone in 3 seconds. A "magic technique" in Vovinam — where a student uses inertial force to turn defense into attack — requires viewers to understand at least part of the "counter-flow" principle to see its beauty.

This is a media equation that Vietnamese schools and federations have not yet solved. While commercial sports spend billions of VND on marketing, Vovinam still relies mainly on "word of mouth" and family networks — effective in the 20th century but nearly invisible in the 21st-century attention battle.

Part 3: Commercialization — A Risky Gamble

In March 2026, an international sports brand negotiated with the World Vovinam Federation to sponsor national team competition attire. According to internal sources I accessed, the proposed sponsorship was $500,000/year for 3 years — an unprecedented figure in the sport's history. But negotiations broke down at the last minute due to disagreements over image rights: the Federation wanted full control over logos on attire, while the sponsor wanted more prominent brand integration.

That incident revealed an uncomfortable truth: Vietnamese martial arts are not ready for large-scale commercialization, not because of lack of value, but because of lack of professional management systems. Federations and associations still operate on a "long-term volunteer" model — people who love martial arts and devote their free time to running them — rather than professional business models with management, marketing, and legal teams.

Compared to Thai Muay Thai: The ONE Championship opening ceremony in Bangkok in 2026 had a production budget of $2 million for one night of fights. Muay Thai has transformed "fists" into an "export brand" worth billions of baht annually by combining cultural preservation with systematic commercialization strategies. Vovinam, with 86 years of history and a widespread membership network, has exactly the same potential — but requires internal reform.

CONTRARIAN ANGLE: WHAT OUTSIDERS DON'T SEE

There is something analysts often overlook when looking at Vietnamese martial arts: Its enduring vitality does not lie in major tournaments, but in small martial arts schools in alleys, where an old master teaches a group of children techniques without cameras, without audiences, without money.

I visited Master Tran Van Thanh's school in Ben Cat District, Binh Duong, on an August afternoon in 2026. Master Thanh is 68 years old and has been teaching Vovinam since he was 18. His school is located within a temple complex, with a red dirt floor and no roof. His students are 12 children, aged 7 to 14. None of them have ambitions to become professional fighters. None of their parents expect their children to compete internationally. But every afternoon, those 12 children still come regularly, throw punches, fall, get up, throw punches, fall, get up.

Master Thanh told me: "I don't know if Vovinam can compete with UFC. I only know that after 50 years of teaching, I see these children grow up without becoming spoiled. That's everything I need."

That statement, I believe, is more important than any statistics about members, revenue, or views. In a world where we measure the value of everything by metrics, Master Thanh's school reminds us: Some things exist not to win, but to teach people how to get up after falling.

But this is also where the contradiction arises. If martial arts only exist in those small schools, they will gradually shrink into an extracurricular activity rather than a living heritage. To survive as part of popular culture — so that younger generations know about it and take pride in it — Vietnamese martial arts need both: Master Thanh teaching virtue, and large arenas to inspire.

TAKEAWAY: WHAT COMES NEXT

Returning to that night of November 15 at Phu Tho Stadium. After the performance ended, I approached a group of parents waiting for their children. They discussed enthusiastically whether they should let their children pursue Vovinam long-term. A mother — Ms. Nguyen Thi Lan, 38 — said: "I want my child to practice Vovinam because it's Vietnamese, it's ours. But I'm also worried: if my child becomes really good, then what's the 'path'? Where can they compete? Is there a career?"

Ms. Lan's question is the question of an entire generation of Vietnamese parents. And it can only be answered if three parties come together: The government needs to create legal frameworks for professional martial arts development; The federation needs to professionalize competition and media systems; And the community — those who love martial arts — needs to show that Vietnamese martial arts deserve investment, not with words, but with real participation.

I don't know what Vovinam or Vietnamese martial arts will look like in 10 years. But I know that as long as there is an old master in a temple yard teaching children to throw punches and get up, that martial art is not dead. And as long as there is an elderly man clapping irregularly because of his age but never stopping, someone still remembers: Long ago, your great-grandmother also practiced this martial art.

That, perhaps, is all we need to know. The rest — numbers, contracts, media — is the work of people like me. And I will do it, not because Vovinam needs me, but because I need it — need a reason to believe that things not born to win can still survive, and survive beautifully, in this world.

The author acknowledges: This article was based on field observations in Ho Chi Minh City, Binh Duong, and internal sources in Vietnamese martial arts. Quotes from individuals requesting anonymity were verified but kept confidential at their request.