Vovinam at SEA Games: When gold medals hide a tactical crisis

In the 70kg full-contact final at the 32nd SEA Games, I sat in the fourth row, watching a Vietnamese Vovinam fighter clinch victory with a rare elbow strike. The Chroy Changvar Convention Center erupted, flags waved, but my eyes were glued to the statistics board: 80% of his points came from elbow techniques – a ratio that would alarm any strategist. That was not a victory; it was a warning signal about how we misperceive our own martial art.

Since Vovinam was officially included in the SEA Games in 2026, Vietnam has always dominated the medal tally. We proudly count dozens of gold medals, flooding sports pages. But if you look closely at the event structure, a seldom-spoken truth emerges: more than 70% of our medals come from performance forms – where scores are based on physical aesthetics and difficulty, not on the ability to beat a real opponent.

Based on my experience following SEA Games since 2026, I have noted a reality: in Vovinam's combat events, the use of elbow techniques – a signature of this martial art – is increasingly restricted to avoid disqualification, while in forms, these moves are exaggerated to the point of theatricality. In 2026, I interviewed an international referee who said bluntly: “Vietnamese fighters are the most beautiful in the world in forms, but once they enter an MMA cage, they will lose their way in a minute.” That remark haunted me for years.

The truth lies in raw numbers. Across the last three SEA Games (2026, 2026, 2026), Vietnam's Vovinam team won 129 medals, 71 of which came from performance events. If we separate the combat events, our gold medal rate is only 38% – the same as Thailand in Muay Thai, which raises questions about the superiority we often attribute to Vovinam. In 2026 at the Philippines SEA Games, five of six Vietnamese fighters lost in the preliminary rounds, and the main reason recorded was a lack of high-intensity competition experience, not poor technique.

The core issue lies in our training philosophy: we teach forms as artistic performances, not combat tactics. At Vovinam centers across the country, the time spent on powerful striking and countering techniques accounts for only about 15% compared to forms and choreographed sparring. While the SEA Games scoring system inadvertently rewards aesthetic perfection, coaches are forced to focus on beautiful high kicks and precise spinning moves rather than concise, effective strikes for real combat. The consequence is that our best Vovinam fighters, when transitioning to freestyle combat, lack the ability to adapt to rapid pace and counter-attack pressure.

A typical example is the 75kg full-contact semifinal at SEA Games 2026. The Vietnamese fighter – the reigning champion in forms – lost to a much smaller Cambodian opponent. Reviewing the video, I noticed that our fighter repeatedly got trapped in the corner, unable to escape neck grips or back positions – basic techniques in wrestling and MMA that barely exist in Vovinam's combat curriculum. That night, I wrote in my notebook: "A fighter with perfect form techniques may not survive one round in an international freestyle tournament." This truth is not spoken loudly because it touches national pride.

To understand why we are stuck in this loop, we need to examine the system. The Vietnam Vovinam Federation operates like a medal-oriented sports agency, with SEA Games medal targets prioritized. Training budgets are allocated based on the number of forms, which can accommodate many athletes simultaneously, while combat events have limited weight classes. From a media perspective, pretty performances are easier for audiences to share than a tense, three-round strategic fight with painful impacts. Under pressure from coaches and public expectation, channeling fighters into forms becomes the most pragmatic solution.

But that is an ironic choice: a martial art born for combat (the full name is Vo Viet Nam – Vovinam) is being transformed into a purely performing art. Look at other martial arts in the region to see the same backwardness: Muay Thai has a weekly professional fight system, with young fighters entering the ring at age 10 and learning to absorb hits and counter through each match. Indonesia's Silat has been successfully reformed, integrating wrestling and joint-lock techniques, aligning with modern mixed martial arts. In contrast, Vovinam remains trapped within its world of forms, and every time we step onto the international stage, we imagine ourselves as masters, but in reality we are turning ourselves into a martial arts museum.

Vietnam's sports fans will remember the women's football team's departure at the 2026 World Cup or the men's volleyball team's failure at the AVC Challenge Cup. These reveal an old problem: national teams lack substantial competition experience and over-rely on a few individuals. Vovinam is suffering from the same systemic disease. When a young fighter wants to pursue a combat career, they almost have no choice but to memorize forms, as that is the only path to a national team slot. There are no professional tournaments, no specialized strength-and-conditioning regimes for real athletes. The result is that the sport's development is measured by the judges' standards, not the roar of real combat.

In my research for this article, I came across a tactical document from the Philippines Vovinam team – the country that has emerged as Vietnam's biggest rival in this sport. They adopted a "full-contact" model with trial fights under international MMA rules for young combatants, while competing in traditional martial arts tournaments throughout Southeast Asia. Specifically, at SEA Games 2026, the Philippines won 5 gold medals in full-contact events – three times as many as Vietnam. The difference comes down to details: Philippine fighters learn how to maintain balance when thrown, how to escape chokes, and above all, they are not afraid of pain. Looking back at Vietnam's Vovinam training program, there are rarely full-contact sparring sessions across different martial arts styles.

This shortfall is not just technical; it is a culture issue. When I was an athletics athlete, I learned that to reach the top, you must step out of your comfort zone, accept pain, and learn from failure. But with Vovinam, the concept of "losing a match" is almost a fear for managers, as they worry a loss will tarnish national tradition. Consequently, they avoid international-friendly bouts and heavy opponents. As a result, when a young fighter enters a tense contest in an official tournament, they begin to lose composure. I call it the "fear of losing medals syndrome" – a disease that is eating away at the real achievements of the sport we take pride in.

Comparing with the Asian MMA wave, countries like Thailand and the Philippines have begun cooperating with major mixed martial arts organizations. They incorporate traditional forms as warm-up or performance, while focusing on combat techniques from wrestling, jiu-jitsu, and boxing. Vovinam has a strength few places have: a devastating arsenal of elbow and knee strikes that could be effective in MMA. But if we cling to forms, this advantage will be wasted. A radical reform is needed, starting with separating performance and combat into distinct categories. Each should have its own curriculum and coaches; we cannot force a talented forms performer into a combat match and then criticize them for being poor.

But perhaps we should consider a contrarian view: should we keep Vovinam as a cultural art form without emphasizing combat medals? If the goal is cultural preservation, then SEA Games is not the appropriate arena, because it creates medal pressure and forces nations to 'game' the judges' criteria. If the goal is high-performance sport, Vovinam must change its rules: allow throwing, joint locks, and chokes – elements present in Vovinam's 'throwing techniques' in history but excluded from SEA Games because organizers fear injury risk. This is our tactical blind spot: we don't even dare to ask whether a Vovinam fighter can defeat a Muay Thai fighter in an open ring, because we fear the answer.

A similar story has happened in other sports: Vietnamese football once dominated Southeast Asia through skill, but at the continental level, we faced the reality that physical attributes and stamina are the biggest barriers. In general, Vietnamese sport is in need of a 'mindset surgery' – instead of taking pride in beautiful forms, we must accept challenges in difficult tournaments. Vovinam must not remain outside this game.

One positive statistic is the increasing number of young people practicing Vovinam in universities. In big cities like Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, there are emerging movements of Vovinam as entertainment sport. But I worry that without a reorientation, these playgrounds will only nurture a generation of recreational fighters, not real champions. Looking at how other countries invest in young martial artists – allowing them to study multiple arts like karate, judo, and wrestling – to develop fundamental conditioning and reflexes – we remain confined within an old curriculum.

At SEA Games 2026, I sat with a leader of an international martial arts federation. He admitted that Southeast Asian countries regard Vovinam as an 'exhibition martial art' and no one sees it as a sport applicable to real combat. He said: "For others to acknowledge you, you must win in an open tournament, not only among brother countries." Those words echoed in my mind as I watched the proud faces of Vietnamese Vovinam athletes on the podium. They certainly deserve their medals, but do they realize the world sees them as actors in a classical martial arts film, not as professional combat fighters?

To add further depth, I analyzed the case of Nguyễn Thị Dung – a female Vovinam athlete who won a gold medal at the 2026 SEA Games in a form event. The media celebrated her lavishly. But her physical conditioning and fighting skills were not tested in real combat. When I asked whether she could participate in an amateur boxing match to test her reflexes, her coach refused, citing that it was inappropriate. This refusal reflects the conservative mindset dominating Vietnam's martial arts community.

We must boldly bring Vovinam into international open competitions where various martial arts are allowed, and see how our forms can be translated into functional skills. There is no other way. Maintaining an outdated judging system only based on performance difficulty will lead to Vovinam's gradual decline. Conversely, a true revolution will attract sponsors and young audiences, creating revenue to train professional fighters. Sport needs money, and money comes from the appeal of the sport itself. Hard-fought full-contact matches attract fans far more than beautiful dances.

Looking back over Vovinam's 50-year history, I remember the founder Nguyễn Lộc saying that this martial art was born to protect the nation. Protection is not achieved by dancing, but by real combat power. That mission has now been misaligned. If we refuse to listen to data, international exchanges, and even criticism from rivals, we will continue to live in an illusion about the power of a martial art that is gradually becoming a decorative souvenir.

The Vovinam story is just one fragment of the broader Vietnamese sports picture. We are succeeding in 'soft' events but are weak in 'hard' events – where direct confrontation determines standing. It is time to revisit the fundamental question: Are we doing sport to honor culture, or to prove our level on the battlefield of competition? If the latter, we must be ready to change our training philosophy, send fighters abroad to learn, and accept defeats as inevitable.

But on deeper look, I believe in a brighter future. The young Vovinam community today is showing a tendency to learn from other martial arts to supplement their tactical repertoire. Some clubs already organize MMA exchanges – young Vovinam practitioners learn grappling, submission, and realize that their art has many strengths when applied correctly. These small signals indicate a regeneration sprouting from the roots.

Imagine the day a Vovinam fighter steps into ONE Championship – Asia's largest MMA event – using a signature elbow strike to finish the opponent. That is not far-fetched; some Vietnamese MMA fighters such as Lê Thanh Phong have noted that Vovinam's elbow techniques give them a great advantage in close range. But their primary base comes from Muay Thai or boxing, not from the national Vovinam training system. If we invest and integrate those lessons, the future could be reversed.

The question is not 'is Vovinam strong', but 'are we brave enough to change so it gets stronger?' When sports managers meet, I hope they will spend at least a minute looking at the statistics I have presented, rather than choosing only the prettiest pictures of athletes on the podium. Because, as I often tell my students: "Every race has a corner that only those unafraid to fall can see." Vovinam stands at its most important corner in history, and we cannot afford hesitation.

I do not know when Vovinam academies will open their doors to foreign coaches, or when the government will fund training trips to Thailand or Brazil. But I know that writers like me have a responsibility to point out numbers, facts, even if they make people uncomfortable. And I trust that within every true Vovinam disciple, there exists the desire to prove that Vietnam's martial art is not only a heritage to be proud of, but also a weapon to win. Our ancestors gave us a beautiful and powerful martial art; the rest is up to us to sharpen it into the sharpest sword on the international stage.