The Hidden Ethics of Combat Sports
What's the difference between assault and a prizefight? Consent. To so casually dismiss combat sports such as MMA (mixed martial arts) and boxing as being no different than a street assault is to miss the significance of consent entirely. Consent isn't about the outcome; it's about the process for the outcome. This knee-jerk bias against combat sports is no different than how people reacted to tattoos, extreme performance art, and BDSM. (For many, perhaps this is still the reaction).
In legal and historical terms, consensual fighting is known as mutual combat and might predate any written history.
Despite what the UFC would have you believe, it is mutual combat where the origins of prizefighting begin, not the forced fighting of enslaved and imprisoned people in the Roman Colosseum. This, however, does not mean the practice of forcing prisoners to fight for entertainment and profit ended with the Romans.
Wrestling and early boxing existed as sports before the Roman gladiators, going back over 15,000 years. Egyptian sculptures portraying boxers and spectators go back to c. 1350 BCE. Wrestling was added to the ancient Olympics in 708 BCE, and boxing in 688 BCE. But the Roman gladiator period (105 BCE to 404 CE) is when the spectator sport of mutual combat nearly died in the West.
The forced fighting of enslaved and imprisoned people in the Colosseum replaced mutual combat as a spectator event. As a result, spectator combat became synonymous with violation. No longer seen as sport but violence.
The Roman people eventually wanted no part in gladiator fights, leading the Roman government to abandon it. Unfortunately, the perception of spectator combat as violence and violation was too great, and even the sport of boxing was abolished in 393 CE.
Romans knew gladiator fights (what it's still called today by prison guards who force inmates to fight) were wrong. Just as in the founding of the United States, people knew enslavement was wrong. When you purposely rob people of their freedom, it leaves a legacy of suffering, shame, and collateral damage. Because of mutual combat's similarities to gladiator fights, pugilism (Latin for boxing) disappeared into the annals of Western history along with the gladiators.
But it didn’t completely go away. Pugilism existed in pockets and whispers, eventually resurfacing in London in the late 16th century (over a thousand years later). What was once seen as an extension of enslavement became a new sort of freedom. The freedom to fight if one chose to. This was also when combat sports became prizefighting by instituting monetary prizes and championships (designated by the people involved rather than the government or ruling class). Becoming a fighter was no longer something you were born into; it was something you chose. (Mostly.)
In 1743, Broughton's rules were instituted (not by law or force, all voluntarily), which included gloves, no hitting of a downed opponent, and ending the fight if a fighter couldn't get up within 30 seconds.
Even if you consented to the match, others could intervene on your behalf if it appeared you were no longer in a rational mental state. You could also take a knee to withdraw your own consent. You were free to say yes, but also free to change your mind. Freedom wasn't temporary, and consent was conditional.
It was understood even then that consent was not a fixed event but a living agreement. Let me say that again—even in 1700s boxing, it was understood that a person could consent but also have the personal autonomy to change their mind. Yet even today, this same principle of consent applied to sex and personal autonomy is hard for many people and institutions to understand or acknowledge.
But the evolution of consent ethics in prizefighting didn't end here. In 1867, the Marquess of Queensberry rules were published. This introduced weight classes, referees, physicians, and corners—and more importantly, this gave nonparticipants the ability to stop the match. Even if you consent, it does not mean you always have the soundness to do so. Outside the ring, this concept stands in stark contrast to the laws of many states where the age of consent is 16. Only recently did Las Vegas start cracking down on intoxicated people getting married.
In prizefighting, you have to not only be in a physical and mental state to consent but to continue to participate, you have to keep consenting. If not, the contest ends. Declaring your consent repeatedly, like a broken record, is an explicit part of the contest, as the referee, doctor, and even your corner will keep asking if you want to continue. An omission is the same as saying no.
Then came the UFC in 1993. The UFC will tell you its great innovation was the lack of rules. But as far as consent ethics, its most outstanding achievement was the tap-out.
You could take a knee in boxing or say, "no more," and the fight would end. But for a long time, this was considered more of a loophole, not a legitimate way to beat an opponent. Perhaps the most famous example is Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Roberto Durán II from 1980, where Duran told the referee, "No más." This was seen as cowardice at the time.
In MMA, however, tapping out is not only seen as honorable but as an essential component of the sport. The unspoken mantra of every MMA fighter is: I choose to do this, and I decide when I'm done. But the unified rules go even further. Verbal submissions, yelling, not responding, not fighting back, all mean stop. Not only does "no" mean no but so does silence and the absence of consent. Consent requires an action, but withdrawing consent does not hold the same condition. The standard ethical rule most of us cite, the Golden Rule, needs an update because the emphasis is solely on action, even at the expense of consent.
In 1743, you could no longer punch a downed opponent, and in 1867, weight classes were instituted. But today, many people still don't understand or scoff at not "punching down." Rejecting this code denies asymmetries in power. Where are society's Broughton's rules? Or even the understanding that rules and norms need constant revision?
On May 26, 2000, Congress enacted The Muhammad Ali Boxing Reform Act, giving boxers more protection and autonomy as fighters. This is why so many MMA fighters who lack the same protections are asking to go to boxing. More rights equal more independence, more transparency, and better pay.
Uninformed consent and consent under duress are exploitations. Capitalism itself is coercive. Freedom and autonomy, therefore, need constant protection.
What runs counter to the "macho" stereotype of prizefighting is its open willingness to change. We as a society should be as open and willing. In fact, we should be better than prizefighting.
However, consent ethics in prizefighting is far from perfect. Prizefighting still lacks unions and collective bargaining rights that are standard in all other major sports. And in the UFC, athletes are neither employees nor independent contractors—the worst of both worlds. Yet I would argue the world outside of fighting, our day-to-day world, has yet to catch up to the standards of consent in prizefighting.
If you find prizefighting "primitive," then how primitive are we? Even allies of consent may have too simplistic a definition of consent and autonomy compared to what already exists in prizefighting.
If we're willing to look past the physicality, prizefighting has already done much of the legwork. The physical stakes are what make consent in prizefighting that much more critical. The ethics don't exist despite the physicality but because of it.
Perhaps part of why conceptions of consent improved quickly in prizefighting after its revival is because it initially only affected white men. White people were elevated above the enslaved. White spectators saw the consequences of prizefighting on white male bodies. As a result, white boxers were taking knees in prizefights before enslaved Black Americans were (arguably) released from bondage by the United States.
Today, you could make a case that the safest place for a Black person to take a knee is in the ring. American society's lag behind boxing isn't an ironic fact; it's an embarrassment.
"No más" is now no longer newsworthy because it happens all the time in boxing. Tapping out is canon in MMA. Autonomy is a fixture of modern prizefighting. The fighter has final say. It's their body—their literal skin in the game. Yet, why is this so hard to understand when it comes to women and Queer bodies?
Consent is not just about fighting or sex. It's whenever someone doesn't take no for an answer. When someone ignores you when you say stop. Or when they sense you want to say no but can't, so they coerce you. Push you. Insist. When they have to get their way no matter what.
It can be as common as grabbing your arm, patting you on the head, or placing their hands on your shoulders without your permission because they know they can. When they take an omission as "yes." Regular life can be the opposite of prizefighting in the worst ways.
Casual violations might be the norm for many women, BIPOC, and LGBTQ people. If it's not sex or physical violence, we might think that makes it okay—that it makes it normal. However, despite how the scenarios vary, the rules of consent remain consistent.
The most famous rule in Fight Club is not to talk about "Fight Club." But the club's most important rule is about consent. To continue to attack after consent is withdrawn is a violation.
Fighting tells a story. It's a convention in movies because fighting is a metaphor for struggle. We recognize it in our bones. So what is the lesson fighting is trying to teach us? What is the morality tale that we have missed for thousands of years?
Before we understood killing or stealing was wrong, perhaps our first moral experience was feeling wronged when forced to do something against our will. Fighting is consent and autonomy dramatized. So rather than the ubiquitous ethical question about people and trolleys, perhaps it's more useful to ask: What's the difference between assault and a prizefight? Because the answer to that should be consistent in all that we do and, more importantly, don't do. This is why the Golden Rule is incomplete because it doesn't account for consent. It's not only, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," but also, "Don't do unto others what you wouldn't have done unto you." Don't violate autonomy. Do go from bystander to referee when needed.
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