Craig Jones Demands ADCC Accountability on Roster

On July 2, Craig Jones spent hours on Instagram doing what ADCC apparently can't: naming specific people and citing specific reasons why they shouldn't compete at Worlds.

Izaak Michell. Hays County sex offense warrants. Still on the 2026 roster. Jones didn't ask politely. He posted screenshots, tagged sponsors, and said the obvious thing: "This is disqualifying."

Josh Saunders. Nazi salute video. Still competing.

Rocha. Returned to competition after cardiac surgery in violation of medical protocol. Still cleared.

Three athletes. Three serious allegations. One organization's response: delete the roster page, issue a vague statement about "addressing concerns," and then go silent for 72 hours. Then 96. Then keep going.

That's not a response. That's a non-answer in the shape of a response. And in institutional terms, that's the loudest statement ADCC could make.

What Happened

Let's be specific. ADCC won't be.

Craig Jones, a legitimate voice in grappling — ADCC black belt, athlete, coach, someone embedded in the competitive community — did the work ADCC's leadership apparently won't do. He looked at the roster. He cross-referenced public records. He found warrants. He found video evidence. He found medical violations. Then he did the unforgivable thing: he made it public instead of polite.

Some of this isn't new. The Izaak Michell situation has been in the BJJ community's peripheral vision for months — law enforcement records, whispers between athletes, the kind of knowledge that circulates but doesn't force decisions. ADCC's choice has been consistent: not to force the decision. Keep him on the roster. Keep collecting entry fees. Wait for it to blow over.

Craig Jones saying it loud — and on a platform where sponsors see it, where media outlets pick it up, where the narrative stops being a rumor and becomes a story — changed the calculation. Not for ADCC's integrity. For ADCC's PR problem.

The Institutional Choice

Here's how ADCC responded: they didn't defend the athletes. They didn't say, "We've reviewed the allegations and found them unsubstantiated." They didn't say, "We've investigated and taken appropriate action." They didn't say anything specific at all.

Instead:

1. Delete the public roster. Erase the evidence from the accessible record. 2. Issue a statement so generic it applies to any crisis: "We're committed to addressing concerns and ensuring a safe environment" 3. Keep the athletes on the official roster anyway 4. Say nothing when asked directly

That's telling. Deleting the public roster first isn't about fixing a problem. It's about limiting who can see the problem. You delete evidence when you need time to manage the optics. You delete evidence when the correct answer is disqualification but the profitable answer is to wait.

The silence that follows isn't a delay. It's a strategy. Silence lets the story fade. Silence lets sponsors move past the news cycle. Silence lets athletes stay on a roster that "officially" exists only in ADCC's internal database now. Silence lets the organization avoid saying the three words everyone knows it should say: "We were wrong."

Why This Matters

For anyone who trains, ADCC matters. It's the most prestigious submission-only tournament in grappling. It's the event where people prove something. It's where the sport's reputation gets built. Or eroded.

But ADCC is also a business. Entries are revenue. Sponsorships are revenue. Entry fees for three athletes become thousands of dollars. Worlds is the flagship event. The business case for keeping athletes on the roster is always straightforward: they entered. They paid. They didn't get disqualified yet.

The business case for removing them is: it costs us the entry fee and might anger their team or supporters.

So the rational business choice, from a balance-sheet perspective, is silence. Wait. Hope it blows over. If it doesn't blow over, issue a vague statement. If it still doesn't blow over, delay. Delay long enough and the person asking the hard questions gets tired.

That works on a timeline where the internet has a three-day news cycle and nobody keeps receipts. But in 2026, that's not the timeline anymore. The screenshot is permanent. The court record is permanent. The question "Why are these three athletes still on your roster?" doesn't expire.

What the Community Is Actually Asking

It's not complicated. The community isn't asking ADCC to be perfect. It's asking them to enforce one rule: don't platform people credibly accused of serious harm.

That's not a high bar. That's a minimum bar. That's the "don't punch down on people smaller than you" of organizational leadership.

Yet ADCC's institutional response to that one ask is: silence, roster deletion, vague language, and continued inclusion of the three athletes in question.

What that communicates to competitors, to coaches, to sponsors, and to the athletes themselves is: we care more about protecting our timeline than protecting the community.

It communicates that the athlete is worth more to ADCC than the person they're accused of harming. That the entry fee is worth more than your safety. That the business wins. That leadership is silence.

Historical Context

ADCC isn't new to this dynamic. The organization has faced accountability challenges before — athlete misconduct, safety issues, organizational transparency. Each time, the pattern has been similar: slow institutional response, vague language, minimal public acknowledgment.

What's changed is the amplification. Craig Jones didn't ask ADCC permission to raise the issue. He raised it directly to the community. He did the work ADCC leadership won't do. And instead of responding to the specific allegations with specific answers, ADCC responded by removing the evidence from public view.

The message is: we would rather hide the roster than defend the athletes. That's not leadership. That's triage.

What Happens Now

Two possibilities. Either ADCC eventually removes the three athletes — in which case the organization proves Craig Jones was right and they were avoiding accountability. Or ADCC keeps them on the roster — in which case the organization is betting that the sponsors, the media, and the community will move on before Worlds in November.

There's no third option where ADCC answers the specific questions with specificity and everybody feels heard. That would require them to either defend the athletes (they're not) or disqualify them (they haven't). So silence is the only play left.

But silence in 2026 isn't neutral. Silence is a statement. Silence says: "We've made our choice, and we're betting you'll forget about it." Silence says the business calculation wins. Silence says the institution protects its own interests before it protects the people in the room.

That's the institutional leadership on display. And for an organization that claims to build community and uphold values, it's a failure so thorough it barely needs comment.

Craig Jones did the commenting anyway. ADCC's job now is to respond. And so far, the only thing they've responded with is a deleted roster and 96 hours of silence.

For a sport built on clarity and accountability, that's all the answer anyone needs.

This post was generated by AI. Sources are linked below. Follow @bjj-problems on YouTube for the weekly video digest.

Sources

• Craig Jones Instagram Post Allegations (July 2, 2026)
• ADCC Official Statement (July 2-3, 2026)