Ever since the Romans went all politically correct and stopped feeding Christians to the lions and hanging, drawing and quartering was seen as being a bit below the belt (well, technically speaking, just a bit above as well) the opportunity to witness live public executions are few and far between. So, it’s three cheers for bullfighting if watching animals suffer a gory end is your idea of entertainment.
For less than the price of a budget plane ticket, you can get ringside seats and watch plenty of pain and suffering as animals drown in rivers of their own blood.
There are millions of people in my adopted home of Spain who relish the opportunity to witness animals being tortured and slaughtered in public. In 2024, they could take their pick of more than 20,000 events, according to the National Association of Bullfighting Events Organisers (ANOET).
Bullfighting is deeply rooted in many towns and cities across the country, including the pueblo where I live. It has been practiced for centuries and is seen as a symbol of Spanish culture and identity. Matadors like Enrique Ponce and José Tomás are celebrated as national heroes, while artists, filmmakers and writers such as Ernest Hemingway have long drawn inspiration from the bloodshed, drama and cruelty.
Curiosity got the better of me
Since moving to Spain, I’ve been debating whether to go to a bullfight. Like an itch that won’t go away, my indecision was a constant source of irritation. There are occasional bullfights in my neighbourhood in a 19th-century bullring, and so recently, out of nothing more than curiosity, I went to my first one. It was also my last.
While I’ve no deep love for animals other than those that appear on my plate, I cannot abide animal cruelty. Now, you might think that statement contradictory from a rather enthusiastic meat eater, but the cow that ended up next to my peas and potatoes last night was not tormented and lanced with spears 20 minutes before croaking.
Surreal
I watched a traditional corrida where three matadors on horseback fought two bulls each during the course of an evening with the sole intention of killing them. There were thousands of spectators, and the atmosphere was wonderful. Families were tucking into picnics, old men chewed on fat cigars, wine was consumed by the gallon, women were dressed to the nines and looked stunning and children dressed in traditional Spanish costumes played amongst themselves.
There was a lot of laughter and joy.
It was easy to forget that we were here to watch six executions, and that’s what made it all seemed so weird. Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe it. The buoyant mood and giddy behaviour of the crowd contrasted sharply with the brutality of what was going on in the ring. I wondered if this was how people behaved in revolutionary France when Madame Guillotine went to work — partying hard while heads plopped into baskets.
I know supporters of bullfights view the spectacle as an art form and not a blood sport, but I couldn’t quite read it like that through the knife thrusts and the, err, blood … lots of it, in fact. To me, it appeared to be animal cruelty disguised as entertainment.
However, the riding skills of the matadors were breathtaking. I have never seen better displays of horsemanship as they moved their rides sideways at speed to avoid being gored by a charging ball. It was an impressive sight.
A fair fight?
Once a bull had bit the dust and checked out with more holes in it than a sieve, the crowd was on its feet waving white handkerchiefs. This was to petition the local dignitary to reward the matador’s courage with a bull’s ear or two. Now, there’s no way I’d want to enter a ring and stand opposite an angry bull, so some
form of courage is part of a matador’s job description.
But just how brave is he? After all, it’s not a fair fight.
The animal is at a significant disadvantage, and numerous reports indicate that it is often injured before entering the ring. I have no way of knowing whether this happened to the bulls I watched being destroyed, but when they entered the ring, each one had an object sticking out of its back.
I doubt it was something to ease the pain.
Even if the animal is at the wrong end of the spear before coming face to face with a matador, you know it’s not going to come out of the ring alive. Not only does it have to contend with the matador on horseback, but there are also picadors who repeatedly stab at the animal. If that’s not the definition of bullying (weak pun intended), I don’t know what is. It’s hardly a sport when you know the outcome before it starts.
Although interest in bullfighting is alive and well in some parts of Spain, its popularity has been declining since the 1980s, largely due to animal welfare concerns.
This expat can only hope that such a curious celebration of death is not long for this world.
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See more about Spain here in Dispatches’ archives.
Paul Arnold
Paul Arnold is a former BBC producer who worked on science, news and magazine programmes, traveling the world to interview Nobel Prize winners, politicians and celebrities. After 16 years, he left the corporation and moved to southern Spain, where he ghostwrites for publications across the USA, Canada and Europe.
