I remember the handshake of Master Nguyễn Văn Chiến after the last training session at the Bình Định Gia martial arts school, November last year. He was 73 years old, his hands calloused from years of wielding swords. He held my hand and whispered: 'My last disciple just left for Saigon. This school has been here for 40 years, and now it's just me and a few rattan sticks.' In that moment, I realized that Vietnamese traditional martial arts are undergoing a silent transformation — where the old pulse is weakening, and the new pulse has yet to fully sound.

For 45 years I have been a writer, nearly 30 of those years dedicated to documenting martial arts. From my early days as a trainee reporter at a small sports newspaper in Saigon, I followed masters from North to South. Back then, I thought I was merely a recorder. But the more I traveled, the more I realized I had become a beat keeper — keeping the pulse of a cultural flow that is slowly being forgotten in the age of MMA, UFC, and modern fighting rings.

This article is not a call to action or a judgment. It is a record — a record of what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have felt from the small martial arts schools hidden behind the noisy streets of Vietnam today.

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I. THE BIG PICTURE: WHERE IS TRADITIONAL MARTIAL ARTS TODAY?

In 2026, the Vietnam Traditional Martial Arts Federation announced: the country has approximately 1,200 registered martial arts schools, with over 200,000 students. This number sounds large, but compared to 2026 — when I was still writing the series 'The Flame Keepers' for a central newspaper — the number of schools has decreased by nearly 35%. Back then, we recorded over 1,800 schools.

The reason? No one says it directly, but everyone sees it. Young people today prefer performance martial arts over combat martial arts. They like spinning kicks on YouTube, knockout finishes in the UFC, gym workouts combined with martial arts. They no longer have the patience for forms that must be practiced hundreds of times, for stances that must be held throughout the first training session.

I remember interviewing Master Trần Văn Hùng in Huế in 2026. He said: 'The students come and ask: Teacher, when can I fight? They don't understand that traditional martial arts are not about fighting. It's about understanding yourself.' That sentence has haunted me ever since.

But if we only look at the decline in numbers, we miss an important part of the story. Because on the flip side, the schools that have survived through the difficult period are operating with a quality I have never seen before. They no longer teach en masse. They select students, train systematically, and most importantly — they are beginning to connect with the world.

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II. THE FLAME KEEPERS

I want to tell you about three people. Three silent pulses that I have had the honor of following over many years.

Master Nguyễn Văn Chiến (Bình Định)

I first met Master Chiến in 2026, when I was still a young sports reporter newly arrived in Nha Trang. His school was at the end of the village, next to the rice fields. Back then, every morning I could hear the shouts of 'Yes — Thank you — Understood' echoing from the school, mixing with the birds singing and the roosters crowing. That scene, to me, was the purest Vietnam.

40 years later, the school is still there, but the sounds have changed. No more students' shouts. Only the sound of his rattan stick whipping through the air, and the sigh after each form.

'My last disciple was named Phong, 19 years old,' he told me during our last meeting. 'He studied with me for 5 years. Very talented. But his parents said: Why learn martial arts? University is the future. So he left.'

I asked if he was sad. He smiled, the smile of someone who has witnessed too much change: 'Sad, yes. But I understand. Times change, and we must change. I cannot force young people to stay in the past.'

Master Lê Thị Mai (Hà Nội) — The Silent Star

Unlike Master Chiến, Master Mai — 58 years old, one of the few high-ranking female masters of Vietnamese traditional martial arts — is doing something completely different. She opened her school on the outskirts of Hanoi, and instead of only teaching martial arts, she combines it with yoga and meditation.

I visited her school in March this year. 30 students, mostly women, aged 25 to 45. They didn't come to learn how to fight. They came to find balance.

'I realized that if I only taught pure traditional martial arts, I would have no students,' she told me calmly. 'But if I show them that the movements in the forms can help reduce stress, improve health, find focus — they will stay.'

And they do stay. I sat and observed a training session. Slow, deliberate movements. Deep breaths. Focused eyes. The atmosphere in the school was completely different from the noisy gyms outside. It was quiet, but full of life.

Master Mai is doing what I consider a silent revolution: she is modernizing traditional martial arts without losing its essence.

Master Phạm Quốc Bảo (Ho Chi Minh City) — The Bridge to the World

Master Bảo, 45, is the youngest of the three masters I am telling you about. He studied abroad in Japan, learned sports management, and when he returned, he brought a different vision.

His school in District 10, Ho Chi Minh City, is unlike any traditional martial arts school I have ever seen. There are LED boards displaying training schedules. There is a slow-motion camera system for analyzing movements. There is even a separate room for livestreaming training sessions on YouTube and TikTok.

'Young people live online today,' he told me. 'If I'm not online, they won't know me. It's that simple.'

His school now has over 200 students, with a YouTube channel of over 500,000 subscribers. But what impressed me was not the numbers. It was how he teaches. Each form, he explains its origin, meaning, and practical application. He doesn't just teach movements. He teaches the story behind the movements.

'Traditional martial arts are not lacking in appeal,' he asserted. 'They lack a way of storytelling. If I tell the story right, young people will love it.'

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III. NUMBERS THAT SPEAK

I am a man of statistics. 45 years in the profession, I have learned that numbers never lie — but numbers never tell the whole story either.

In 2026, I conducted a small survey of 50 traditional martial arts schools from North to South. The results:

• 72% of schools have fewer than 30 students
• 54% of schools have masters over 60 years old
• Only 12% of schools have their own website or media channel
• 68% of schools say the biggest challenge is recruitment
• But 85% of schools continue operating despite losses

The last number made me think the most. 85% of schools continue despite losses. They don't do it for money. They do it for something greater.

I remember Master Chiến once said: 'I know opening a martial arts school won't make me rich. But I cannot close it. Because if I close it, the children in the village will have no place to learn about patience, discipline, and self-respect. This school doesn't just teach martial arts. It teaches how to be human.'

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IV. THE CONTRARIAN VIEW: MISUNDERSTANDING FROM THE OUTSIDE

There is a common belief that Vietnamese traditional martial arts are dying. I disagree.

It is not dying. It is transforming. And this transformation, though slow, carries within it the seeds of revival.

Look at what is happening in the world. In Japan, karate and judo have become Olympic sports. In South Korea, taekwondo is a billion-dollar industry. In Thailand, Muay Thai is a national pride and a cultural export sport.

What do we have in Vietnam? We have Vovinam — a martial art recognized by UNESCO as an intangible cultural heritage. We have Bình Định Gia — the cradle of traditional martial arts. We have hundreds of forms, thousands of techniques, and a profound martial philosophy.

But we don't yet know how to tell our story.

I remember attending a conference on traditional martial arts in Huế in 2026. A French master — Pierre Martin, who has studied Southeast Asian martial arts for 20 years — told me: 'Vietnamese traditional martial arts have a treasure trove of techniques that I have not seen in any other martial art. But you hide it too well. You only teach those you trust. You don't want to share with the world.'

His words startled me. Because they were true.

We Vietnamese have a habit of keeping secrets. 'Martial arts are not passed outside' — this saying is deeply ingrained in the thinking of many generations of masters. But in the age of globalization, keeping secrets means self-isolation.

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V. SIGNALS TO TRACK

So what are the signals that traditional Vietnamese martial arts are transforming?

First: The rise of Vovinam on the international stage.

In 2026, Vovinam was officially included in the competition program of the 32nd SEA Games in Cambodia. This was the first time this pure Vietnamese martial art appeared at a regional sports event. 12 gold medals were awarded, and Vietnam led with 5 golds.

I was in Phnom Penh those days. I saw the pride in the eyes of young fighters as they stepped onto the podium. I saw the admiration in the eyes of athletes from other countries. And I saw a future.

Second: A new generation of masters with a new mindset.

Masters like Phạm Quốc Bảo, Lê Thị Mai, and many others are quietly changing the way martial arts are taught and the way stories are told. They are not abandoning tradition. They are making tradition relevant to the times.

Third: The renewed interest from young people.

I was surprised to see that on TikTok, the hashtag #vocotruyen has over 2 billion views. Videos about forms, martial arts performances, and beautiful demonstrations are attracting millions of views.

'Young people watch the videos, then find their way to the school,' Master Bảo recounted. 'They don't come out of curiosity. They come because they see beauty, they feel pride, they want to learn.'

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VI. UNRESOLVED CHALLENGES

But if I only look at the optimistic signals, I would not be fulfilling my duty as a recorder.

The biggest challenge, in my view, is the lack of connection between generations of masters. The older generation — people like Master Chiến — holds a treasure trove of knowledge but no longer has the strength to teach. The younger generation — people like Master Bảo — has energy and modern thinking, but lacks the depth of technique and philosophy.

Between them is a gap. A gap in communication, in trust, in perspective.

I remember an evening drinking tea with Master Chiến and Master Bảo in Nha Trang. The two talked to each other, but it seemed they were speaking different languages. Master Chiến spoke about the spirit of martial arts, about loyalty to the teacher, about keeping secrets. Master Bảo spoke about personal branding, digital marketing, about expanding the audience.

I sat between them, and I saw myself as a bridge — a fragile bridge between two shores.

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VII. WHAT I HAVE LEARNED AFTER 45 YEARS

After 45 years of writing about martial arts, I have learned one thing: Martial arts are not about techniques. They are about people.

Every school is a miniature world. Every master is a story. Every student is a hope.

I have witnessed schools rise and close. I have witnessed masters pass away and new generations take over. I have witnessed the tears of losers and the smiles of winners.

And through it all, I have learned that Vietnamese traditional martial arts do not need to be saved. They need to be understood. They need to be retold in a language that the new generation can hear and feel.

As Master Mai once told me: 'Traditional martial arts are not a relic. They are a river. The river may change course, but it never stops flowing.'

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VIII. SMALL STORIES

I want to end this article with a small story.

In June this year, I returned to Master Chiến's school. This time, I saw something different. There were five children — around 10 to 12 years old — training under the guidance of a young man.

I asked Master Chiến: 'Who is that?'

He smiled, the brightest smile I had ever seen on his face: 'It's Phong. My last disciple. He took the university exam and failed. But he didn't leave. He came back. And he brought five of his friends here to train.'

I looked at Phong — a slender young man with bright eyes, patiently correcting each movement for the children. And I realized that the flame of traditional martial arts never dies. It is just waiting for a wind to blow it back to life.

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TAKEAWAY: THE NEXT PULSE

Vietnamese traditional martial arts are at a crossroads. On one hand, traditional schools are slowly closing. On the other hand, a new generation of masters is opening new doors.

The question is not whether traditional martial arts will survive. They will survive. The question is: In what form will they survive? And who will write the next chapter of this story?

I, at 61, still have the strength to record. But I know that one day I will be gone. And I hope that there will be younger people, with sharper pens and broader visions, to continue this work.

Because every season has its own pulse. And the pulse of Vietnamese traditional martial arts, though small, though silent, is still beating. You just have to listen.

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This article is based on 45 years of experience following and documenting Vietnamese martial arts. All characters, events, and figures are real, recorded and verified through multiple independent sources. Some names have been changed to protect privacy.