Is World Taekwondo the Owner of Taekwondo?
There are those who, upon joining an organization, come to believe that nothing exists beyond its borders. They convince themselves that everything of value happens inside—and that whatever comes from the outside is just noise. Within that illusion of absolute belonging, any form of criticism becomes heresy. And it is within that illusion that a significant part of the global Taekwondo community finds itself today.
Claudio Antonio Aranda
CEO y Fundador de MASTKD
Preparador Físico y Metodólogo de Alto Rendimiento
6º Dan
[email protected]
There are those who, upon joining an organization, come to believe that nothing exists beyond its borders. They convince themselves that everything of value happens inside—and that whatever comes from the outside is just noise. Within that illusion of absolute belonging, any form of criticism becomes heresy. And it is within that illusion that a significant part of the global Taekwondo community finds itself today.
World Taekwondo (WT), the federation recognized by the International Olympic Committee, has constructed a structure as sprawling as it is opaque. But does it truly represent the majority of Taekwondo worldwide? The numbers suggest otherwise. While WT claims a little over 32 million practitioners, global estimates place the number of Taekwondo practitioners above 130 million. In other words, WT accounts for less than one-quarter. The majority lies outside.
MASTKD began as a journalistic initiative with a clear mission: to shine a light into the shadows. To reveal the less visible side of Taekwondo—the one that impacts athletes and coaches, where politics overtakes sport, and where power structures corrode the very values they claim to uphold. For over a decade, we operated freely. Until one day, by invitation, we stepped into the very heart of the system: World Taekwondo.
It was María Borello who opened those doors. It would be dishonest not to acknowledge that. But it was also that access that marked the beginning of the end of our independence. We became privileged witnesses—but also silent accomplices—to a machinery that controls, conceals, and punishes. Much like in The Devil’s Advocate, we moved from youthful passion to a hardened cynicism, seeing too much and saying too little.
In that film, Al Pacino (playing the Devil) delivers a piercing line to his young protégé: “Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, but don’t swallow.” That’s precisely how World Taekwondo operates: it lets you come close, flirt with the truth—but never fully experience it, never speak it aloud. It is a system built to seduce, but also to silence.
Because WT doesn’t just regulate Olympic Taekwondo—it monopolizes its symbolism. Those on the inside believe everything begins and ends in their offices, their congress halls, their electronic mats. They’re wrong. Beyond that world, there are more practitioners, more schools, more stories. And above all, more truth.
Cover-ups. Silenced complaints. Drunk officials at elite events. Abuse cases that go unanswered. National and continental presidents cutting deals. Members of my editorial team locked in a room—treated like criminals—for publishing the truth during a world championship. The list could go on. And this isn’t just a matter of ethics—it’s a crisis of representation.
One day, I decided my phone shouldn’t ring every time we published something that unsettled an official. That no federation should be allowed to influence our editorial voice with advertising dollars. That journalism must be journalism—not a public relations arm for the powerful.
World Taekwondo is not the owner of Taekwondo. And every time someone forgets that, it becomes necessary to write it again.
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