How to talk about BJ Penn?

Most people came to know him as a martial artist and professional fighter, which is how I still prefer to think about him, even if it’s becoming harder and harder to see the UFC Hall of Famer as just a fighter.

But, man, was he a fighter. A uniquely great one. After practicing Brazilian jiu-jitsu for three years, he not only earned a black belt, he became a black belt world champion – the first non-Brazilian ever to do so. He was the second person to win a UFC title in two weight classes, an elite accomplishment that only eight other fighters can claim. 

He was the sport’s preeminent big game hunter, fighting and beating opponents who were well above his weight class and at times comically bigger than him. His highlight reel is an iconic montage of blitzkrieg knockouts, impossibly acrobatic submissions and one-sided drubbings of pound-for-pound greats.

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He walked out to the cage to a medley of Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s “Hawaiʻi ‘78” and “E Ala Ē” – an appropriate pairing with Hawaii’s other larger-than-life local talent – with a Hawaiian flag waving behind him, and “Just Scrap” written across his clothing and coursing through his veins. 

If you were a sports fan from Hawaiʻi in the 2000s, Penn was a prime source of pride and inspiration. His nickname, “The Prodigy,” is apt: he’s a virtuoso of violence, one of the most naturally gifted fighters to ever compete in combat sports.  

Yet it’s exactly these traits that make his recent behavior so alarming.

Alarming Posts On Social Media

In the past few months, his Instagram posts have become increasingly disturbing. He’s made bizarre posts for years, about maps of Earth on the moon and a secretive CIA operation called “The Sabotage Squad” dedicated to ruining his life and fight career. His brief 2022 gubernatorial run toned down his most outlandish posts, but since losing in the Republican primary – and subsequently claiming the election was rigged – he’s indulging his worst social media impulses more than ever. 

He began suggesting various powerful people, including Mark Zuckerberg, Elon Musk and Gov. Josh Green, were played by actors wearing skinsuits. In recent months, he turned this accusation on his own family.

On March 10 he posted two videos of his mother doing chores around the house and walking a dog. He accused her of attempting to steal and sell his home. “If I attack her, she’ll try to do something,” he said.

That video has since been deleted. At the time I started writing a column where I asked, “At what point is it time for someone to step in? Is it no big deal to openly threaten people on social media? Do we have to wait until he harms himself or people around him?” 

This week he was arrested twice in Hilo for allegedly abusing his mother. He posted bail for $2,000 and $1,000, respectively.

Numerous other posts remain on his Instagram where he makes similar claims: that his family has been murdered and replaced by actors who are trying to steal his money.

It might be tempting to dismiss all this as mere social media nonsense, the consequence of a nonstop diet of conspiracy theories and being online too much. But his behavior has not just been a matter of deranged Instagram posts. 

Since 2015, Penn has been involved in a number of bar fights and brawls. In 2019 his girlfriend of over 10 years filed a restraining order against him, alleging years of domestic and sexual abuse. In 2021 he was arrested on suspicion of DUI. Footage of the arrest showed Penn, handcuffed, yelling profanities as he was stuffed in the back of a police vehicle. The DUI charges were dropped when a court summons did not get served.

The Retirement He Should Have Had

Penn’s capacity for violence and his deluded justification for committing it make him a genuine threat to the people around him. I reached out to him for a comment about his recent posts – and later, about the abuse allegations – but he was understandably hesitant to talk about any of that. 

Instead, we talked about fights, and the golden era of Hawaiʻi MMA. It made me sad to think that could’ve been the retirement he had: talking story about the glory days, receiving the flowers his fight career deserves. But as most of us combat sports fans know, there aren’t many happy endings for fighters.

Look through the comments of Penn’s posts and you’ll see some true believers and supporters, a lot of people making the kind of jokes you’d expect in unmoderated comment sections, and a number who seem, like me, genuinely saddened and concerned. A lot of commenters mention chronic traumatic encephalopathy and Capgras Syndrome, and it’s not hard to understand why.

CTE is an affliction caused by repeated, sustained brain trauma — the kind fighters regularly endure in training camps and competition throughout their careers. It’s the ever-looming boogeyman of combat sports, initially diagnosed as “punch drunk syndrome” after being discovered in boxers at the turn of the 20th century. 

CS is a disorder “characterized by a false belief that an identical duplicate has replaced someone significant to the patient.” CS is believed to be the result of brain damage and degeneration — neurological, not psychological. In a 2023 study of CS, researchers stated “The propensity of violence in CS patients requires its speedy recognition and timely intervention.” 

Penn fought at the highest levels of mixed martial arts for nearly 20 years — his professional debut was in the UFC — and ended his career with a seven-fight losing streak that saw him take numerous prolonged, brutal beatings. It’s understandable to make a connection between the brain trauma he’s endured over his career and neurological conditions that, on the surface, match his behavior.

But we should be wary of peanut gallery diagnoses. Medically speaking we can’t know someone has CTE until after they’ve died — Penn has stated that it’s fake, for the record — and CS is rare and difficult to diagnose.  Best to leave actual diagnosis to the experts.

But it doesn’t really matter if Penn’s erratic behaviors are symptoms of CTE or CS or neither. They are still alarming on their own.

He doesn’t seem to want help, even as he so desperately and obviously needs it. What is there to do then? What happens when someone whose life was an inspiration spirals into a cautionary tale? Should we allow people to tragically decline in full view of the world?

Penn’s situation is all the more complicated because he’s a public figure, and still, in spite of everything, a beloved one. For most of us, we want his family to be safe, and we want him to get whatever professional treatment he needs. 

But this isn’t just about Penn. There are plenty of people all over Hawaiʻi suffering from all kinds of hidden maladies.

If we can’t find solutions for someone who is wealthy, famous and loved, what hope is there for those who have no resources, whose names we’ll never know, who are alone?