I had never envisioned myself going to a bullfight, having always pictured these events as both boring and cruel. But son Brian and his friend Lloyd had it high on their agenda during our recent visit to Barcelona, so on a hot Sunday afternoon we took the metro to the Plaza de Toros Monumental and joined the jostling throng at the ticket windows for this unique experience.
I need to say at the outset that I would no more attempt to explain the significance or intricacies of this deeply cultural tradition than I would expect a Spaniard to understand Friday night high school football in Texas. All I can do is describe what I experienced as a novice spectator that evening.
(In places I will include excerpts from the evening’s printed program, in italics, in the verbatim English translation.)
We purchased our tickets for Sección 11, Fila 2, seats 10-13 (translated “Nosebleed Section”). Bullfight tickets are divided into three price categories: Sombra (“Shade”, most expensive), Sol (“Sun”, least expensive), and Sol y Sombra (mixed). Our seats (Sol) were rough concrete benches cushioned only by multiple layers of bird droppings. The bullring built in 1914 with a Moorish-influenced architecture featuring impressive domed turrets, seated just under 20,000. The ambience was spoiled only by the billboard advertising the movie “Pearl Harbor” and the exorbitant price for a cup of cervesa.
The ring itself was a large circle of sand, wetted down and dragged by the ground crew for the 6:30 pm opening. Bullfights, by the way, are typically held on Sundays, holidays, and special festivals. A friend from Spain told me that although punctuality is not a particularly strong value in Spain, the bullfight is an exception, always starting promptly on time. The program states:
“The bullfight always begins with astonishing punctuality. Otherwise,it would be very difficult to reach your seat until the first bull is killed, missing thus a nice part of the performance.”
A Spanish colleague opined that we would not see particularly good bullfighters or bulls. This evening’s crowd was heavy on tourists, with camera flashes illuminating numerous posed photographs and a lot of U.S.-accented conversations. (“This is gonna be SO cool!”) But every sport has its regulars, its hard core fans, and they were in evidence as well. A middle-aged couple sitting on the front row of the balcony in front of us was equipped with all the fan paraphernalia – binoculars, bandanas to sit on (bird poop, remember?), programs, and the obligatory white handkerchiefs to signal their votes on crucial issues (more later).
Tonight’s event was a corrida de rejones, a form of bullfighting done on horseback. As with all bullfights, three matadors (here called rejoneadors) would fight two bulls apiece. Here is a rundown of the cast of characters:
Human
There is a complex hierarchy of players, from the areneros who tidy up the various “messes” after each bull, to the men on foot who served in this format much like rodeo clowns, testing and distracting the bull in preparation for the main matador on horseback. The Top Dog of the event is the President, who sits in a box seat above the action like a Roman emperor and who has the final evaluation on how well each bullfight goes.
Similar to any sport, bullfighting has its levels of stars: The bullfighting world has its superstars – their LeBron Jameses and Lionel Messis. A poster trumpeted an impending appearance of Enrico Ponce (El Juli”) of Cordoba. This handsome young man has already faced 200 bulls as a matador, and he is only 18 years old. He has a huge following all over Spain. Tonight’s slate in Barcelona, however, promised less-stellar talent.
Non-Human
The real stars of Rejoneo are the horses. They are magnificent creatures that prance, strut, and practically moonwalk. Under the total control of the rejoneador, they gallop straight at a charging bull and at the last second fake right, then go left in a manner worthy of the best running back. Their flanks are often only inches from the bull’s sharp horns. And the bull’s horns are very sharp. And filing down a bull’s horns is a serious deal in Spain:
“…the authorities check the horns of the death bulls in order to verify if they have been filed for this is forbidden by law. If any doubt arises, the man proceeds to seal them and send them up to the Central Bureau if police.”
The other non-human principal is, of course, the bull. These animals are bred from pure bloodlines and are trained for years for their 15 minutes in the ring. I learned that if a bull or several bulls from the same mother prove to be not fierce enough, the mother may be killed to stop the propagation of these “inferior” genes. (Ironic that a mother is criticized because her sons are not bad enough…) Oh, and by the way, if you were wondering, the bulls really do lower their heads and paw the ground before charging.
The ritual starts with a brass band playing a fanfare as all of the participants march into the ring in strict hierarchical order. There is much posing and strutting and machismo, as the crowd cheers wildly. The lavish costumes add to the pomp. (Matadors’ handmade suits take 6 people a month to make and cost in the thousands.)
The bullfight is much more than a spectator sport – The audience participates fully. Like at a wrestling match, they clap, cheer, jeer, and boo (by whistling) both the matadors and the bulls. At the end of each fight (6 times an evening) they signal a positive performance by waving their white handkerchiefs and cheering. A matador who performs well may get a white handkerchief wave from the President and be rewarded the vanquished bull’s ear, or both ears, and may take a victory lap around the ring, where approving fans shower him with objects:
“The custom is to throw him hats, flowers, cigars, and the most incredible objects. Except flowers and cigars, everything is, of course returned to the owners.”
And even the bull may receive kudos, albeit posthumously:
“When the bull showed courage and fair temper in the fight, its dead carcass is slowly dragged around the ring while the people applaud the animal.”
The bullfight itself is a bloody event. After all, the whole point is that the bull is killed in a 10-15 minute ritual. (El matador – literally “the killer”.) Yes, the humans are at risk (many are killed or maimed), and they are skilled artisans of their craft, but that doesn’t mitigate the fact that the bull is stabbed repeatedly by daggers and swords until it dies. The blood flow starts immediately, and the outmatched bull gets progressively weaker until it goes down to its knees and is dispatched with a dagger blow to the base of the skull. We’re not talking about a level playing field here.
Well, I guess I have gone beyond describing, so what is my reaction and judgment? Is it possible to be fascinated and caught up in the pageantry and spectacle and be sickened at the same time? Yes, and I was both. I am against animal cruelty of course, and this fits that bill. But my judgment on bullfighting overall? I choose to suspend dogmatic judgment on the grounds of insufficient cultural understanding. Who am I to make an authoritative statement on a practice that has been around for many centuries and is rooted in this (and other) cultures? It’s more valuable to ask people from Spain. And reports are that Spaniards are increasingly divided over the sport. A growing number of the population question the artistic reasons to take the bull’s life in the name of culture. What was once Spain’s greatest spectacle seems to be going out of fashion.
The annual rate of attendance at bullfights has declined over the years, especially among young Spaniards. In 2018 the number of bullfighting events held in the country fell to a historic minimum of 1,500, down from 2,400 just seven years before.
In 2013, the Spanish Congress passed a law to regulate bullfighting as “cultural heritage”. The law’s preamble establishes the cultural character of bullfighting as “indisputable”: “Bullfighting is an artistic manifestation in which deep human values such as intelligence, bravery, aesthetics or solidarity are highlighted.”
What can I learn from this? Such a cultural dilemma is a good test of a person’s cultural awareness and tolerance. How do I react when a culture’s values clash with mine? Can I reject certain aspects of that culture and still remain tolerant? As one seeking to be more culturally aware and effective at relating to others, I do not necessarily have to agree with every cultural value or norm, but I still must work hard to understand more fully and to attempt to see things from others’ perspectives. I can arrive at the point of saying, “I don’t agree with it, but I can understand why he or they might behave/think/feel that way.” And that is a lifelong learning process.
This experience has motivated me to continue learning about bullfighting and the multiple complex cultures of Spain .
Now, if we could just do something about those cervesa prices.
[Author’s Note: This story was written in 2001. The Catalunya parliament voted to ban bullfighting in 2010, and the last bullfight was held in 2011. The Constitutional Court of Spain overturned that ban in 2016, a decision that simultaneously outraged separatists in the region and animal activists. The court ruled that lawmakers from the region could not prohibit a practice that the justices said was enshrined in the cultural patrimony of the Spanish state. At this time, I believe that no bullfights are held in the region.]