Analysis

UFC fans are grappling with what they perceive to be a far-right-leaning culture that alienates minority fans and at times eclipses the sport itself. 

Just this year at the campaign opener in January, fighter Bill Algeo referred to main card fighter Giga Chikadze as a “skinny-necked Biden voter.” In addition to the politically polarizing nature of the remark, it left some on social media questioning whether Algeo had mistaken Chikadze’s native country of Georgia for the American state.

This is far from the worst right-wing cringe you’ll see in a UFC event. During UFC Vegas 43 this past November, the undersized Cody Durden celebrated his victory by screaming for his opponent, Mongolian fighter Aoriqileng, to “go back to China where he came from”—a phrase that surely tickled commissioner Dana White considering his push to expand into the vaunted Chinese market.

In combat sports, trash talk is part of the show. Yet the targeting of one’s culture and beliefs is not only commonplace, but often seen as charming and refreshing by its viewers, who are often white, male and working class. Martial arts have long been a sanctuary in which all are invited to partake, creating opportunities for respectful cultural exchange. But in 2022, as MMA and its corporate purveyors continue to expand globally, why must it condone bigotry to do so?

Nonwhite fighters are often the target. Take the infamous Colby Covington, who perhaps paved the way for right-wing clout-chasing in MMA with his ardent pro-Trump, anti-BLM statements. This, at one point, led to his public mocking of Kamaru Usman’s Nigerian heritage: “Did you get a call from your little tribe? Did they send smoke signals for you?”

Then there’s the self-proclaimed “Notorious” Conor McGregor, who for years has stirred controversy, often utilizing racist language in his path to building a legion of fans. “If this was a different time, I’d invade his favela on horseback,” went one of his many highlighted barbs toward Brazilian fighter Jose Aldo before their featherweight clash. On another occasion, he mocked the traditional wedding garb of Khabib Nurmagodemov’s wife, calling her “a towel” in a since-deleted tweet.

The linkage between Covington and McGregor is one steeped in Western combat culture; using offensive language to shock the populace into engagement, and to stir up loyalty from groups with xenophobic politics.

“MMA is not an outlier, it’s actually just unfiltered America,” said Sam from the Southpaw Podcast, which has built a reputation as a rare champion of leftism within combat sports fans and martial arts enthusiasts. Sam, along with co-founder Paul, has steadily built an audience by providing political discussions alongside fight analysis—demonstrating that progressive ideals not only have a place within MMA, but an extant audience waiting to be tapped into. (To protect their identities, the two go by their first names only on the show.)

It’s difficult, though, for that audience to gain visibility within a culture seemingly dominated by right-wing leadership. Athletes from up and down the UFC’s divisions espouse far-right values, including endorsing controversial politicians like Donald Trump or Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro, often leveraging these views to increase their own popularity; white British fighter Darren Till overly (and perhaps successfully) angled for fan support in Brazil by endorsing Bolsonaro after a win in 2017. 

White fighters frequently stoke controversy at the expense of nonwhite people and continue to be greeted warmly by fans, who either condone and support this conduct, or dismiss it as trash talk to sell fights. But when it reaches the point where thousands of fans are rallying behind this type of rhetoric—even booing foreign fighters simply for being foreign—at what point should UFC leadership intervene?

Of Durden, Sam notes that “you find out this is a pattern with him, because fans found other racist remarks he’s made online.” But little was done by the UFC as an organization to condemn the fighter’s comments. “This isn’t new for UFC fighters, which is why the UFC can move on from this so quickly; because it gets lost in all their other problems.”

Most discussed among these problems lately is that of fighter pay. A lightweight non-title scrap between Dustin Poirier and Conor McGregor earned McGregor $5 million upfront despite losing decisively. The same McGregor who mocked religions and countries, invoking racist imagery all the while, made more than five times the Cameroonian Ngannou’s championship purse just to lose a far less meaningful fight.

Of course, exploitative fighter pay is not inherently a racism issue; combatants of all races are paid $10,000 to get brain damage on live ESPN broadcasts. However, racism exacerbates the existing fighter pay disparity for fighters of color given the UFC’s empowerment of white fighters like Covington and McGregor.

And where do those clicks come from? In a video of Covington’s lambasting of the Black Lives Matter movement, right-wing commenters hail what they see as bravery. “Respect for speaking up and going against the mainstream agenda,” says one. Another comments, “We need more of this. LOVING it.”

How can one reconcile these values being so dominant in martial arts, a space wherein supposedly, everyone is welcome, cultural exchange is celebrated, and all participants are deserving of respect? 

“Fighting is a cornerstone of toxic masculinity, and toxic masculinity and bigotry are interconnected,” said Sam, who argues that martial arts in the U.S. exploits the country’s centuries-long ideologies of American exceptionalism. “The UFC is international but is very branded an American company. I don’t know anywhere else, not even pro wrestling, where you still hear this much ‘USA’ chants and American flags.”

Meanwhile, the UFC’s actions leave Black American communities ostracized and unsafe in its audience and its octagon. By offering significant payouts to fighters for the size of their fanbase, fighters are empowered to invoke racism to build an audience of like-minded fans. This presents a missed opportunity; the company’s supposed product, martial arts, has been a cornerstone of Black neighborhoods for decades. The scholar and martial artist Maryam Aziz writes that “martial arts schools served as critical sites for Black artistic production, resistance, and empowerment.” 

How can the MMA community embrace martial arts’ capacity for empowerment, instead of selling belittlement? It starts with speaking up. 

“A lot of [the UFC community] are calling it out when they see it, but mostly on social media,” says Sam. “The more difficult part is doing it in your gyms or dojos. Especially when the people spreading racism can kick your ass. But if that’s happening in a gym or in your circles, then don’t give them your money. Go somewhere else. There’s a lot of cultish loyalty in martial arts which enables this behavior. You have to recognize: this is a hobby I like, but this is not my life. That means I can demand better from my hobby, because I have that power.”

Today’s top stories