The martial arts community has once again found itself debating the role of symbolism on the mats. This time, the spark came from a post by Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu black belt Tom DeBlass, who argued against hanging any kind of flag in his academy—be it national, religious, or ideological.
The conversation began after Stephan Kesting suggested that gyms looking to keep out toxic personalities could screen out most of them by simply hanging a Pride flag. Kesting later clarified that he never said gyms should do this, only that it would serve as a useful filter. We apologize if Kesting believes this to be misconstrued on our behalf, the comment as is details that gyms should do this if they want to ‘screen’ for toxic traits.
DeBlass took issue with the premise altogether.
“Recently a black belt said that every academy should hang a pride flag to show inclusivity. I 100% have gay people in my academy and they are great. I also have former felons and current law enforcement, all awesome humans. I have Jewish, Muslim, and Christian students, all amazing people. I don’t even have an American flag hanging, and I am a proud American. Everyone already knows that in my academy each person is treated with respect, regardless of their sexual preferences, politics, or religion. My culture has been set for two decades, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.”
For DeBlass, the point is simple: respect is demonstrated through leadership, not decoration. His academy’s inclusivity doesn’t come from hanging a rainbow flag or even the American flag, but from a culture built consistently over two decades. In his words, “My Academy doesn’t do drama and gossip. Everyone is welcome, from all over the world.”
Kesting’s position is tactical: symbols can serve as quick deterrents, filtering out problem students before they even step on the mats. The Pride flag, in his framing, is less about internal culture and more about external messaging.
DeBlass rejects that framing entirely. He claims his gym has never had a white supremacist walk through the door in twenty years, nor has he had issues with politics, religion, or sexuality disrupting his community. For him, the quality of leadership and the daily example set by coaches is what dictates inclusivity—not signals to the outside world.
He even pushed further, noting that he never shut his gym during the pandemic and “never got the poke,” underscoring his stance as someone uninterested in following symbolic gestures, political trends, or external pressures.
This isn’t just about flags—it’s about competing visions of what a martial arts academy should be.
The “symbolic” approach (Kesting’s view) argues that visible markers of values, like a Pride flag, serve both as a welcome sign to marginalized groups and as a repellent to people with hostile worldviews.
The “neutral sanctuary” approach (DeBlass’s view) holds that martial arts should strip away outside politics, religion, and ideology, letting the mats be a rare space where individuals from vastly different backgrounds can train together without tribal markers.
The tension comes from the fact that both sides want the same outcome: a safe, respectful, inclusive gym. The disagreement lies in whether inclusivity should be declared through symbols or lived quietly through culture.
Martial arts academies have long been viewed as sanctuaries—places where students leave the chaos of the outside world at the door. But as society becomes increasingly polarized, those outside debates inevitably find their way inside. The question then becomes: should dojos respond by adopting visible markers of alignment, or should they hold the line as neutral ground?
Ultimately, every academy owner has the right to shape their gym’s identity. Some hang national flags, others display martial arts icons, and some embrace ideological symbols. But the hard truth is that success in running a BJJ school depends less on signaling to a niche and more on cultivating a community. Carving out a niche audience may feel bold, but carving too narrow can make it impossible to grow.
