Bullfighting: Culture vs Cruelty

By Sam Unsworth

Whilst wandering the streets of Jerez de Frontera last week, I chanced upon the bullfighting ring. While the gate was not open, nor was it the season for the spectacle, I was still intrigued to look around.  A small door broke the yellow walls and inside, an old man sat tampering with a photo frame. I knocked and went inside. At this point it is probably useful to mention that I speak little to no Spanish, and by little in this case I also mean none. Which strangely made this encounter all the more interesting. As I muddled through on Google Translate, I managed to ask for a look around, and what followed was an incredible story of bullfighting. Of bravery and pain, bravado and celebration, but also of cruelty. 

I have never truly had an opinion on the sport of bullfighting. The pictures of matadors dressed immaculately, flourishing a crimson cape, always looked appealing. However, it is difficult to look past what is often not shown in the photos. Stabbing at bulls with hooked barbs in a display of human dominion over beast, does not spark positive notions in the minds of most, myself included. Yet this experience of speaking to this man may have swayed me toward an opinion of tolerance or perhaps, an understanding as to why this sport is such a staple of Spanish culture. 

The ring itself was impressive, a modern-day Colosseum. The yellow sand masked the sprays of blood and the stands packed high, row on row, bearing down on the competitors. I was taken into the ring and the man, who now revealed himself as a former matador, began drifting and swirling in patterns around the arena drawing deep curves in the sand as he deftly manoeuvred his cape and sword. This seemed more like a dance or a ritual than a deadly game. The passion that he held for the games, and the esteem with which he spoke of other bullfighters, impressed the importance of the sport to not only him and his family, but to the community as a whole. 

There is a side however that is rarely seen: the inner workings of the ring. He took me through the swinging doors where bulls would charge through in the May festivals and through a small wooden fence winding our way through a network of hiding places and ratruns before entering a white room. The tiles of the room reflected the hanging bulb in the centre, illuminating the operating theatre. Every time there are bullfights there are injuries, some minor, some major, and some fatal. The host explained all this whilst tracing a scar that ran from his ankle to the top of his calf, the mark of his final bullfight. Moreover, he whipped out his phone and after scrolling YouTube furiously, spun it round to show a video. A matador leaps towards the horns of this bull with muscle and sinew bulging from its flanks. The man lands a stab at the base of the bulls neck, then falls. He scrambles on the floor as the horns of the bull rip his eye out. I stood in shock; the host however simply slowed the video and showed it to me again. It was utterly strange in my mind that this was something this man had devoted his life to. Then he pointed towards a poster on the wall. A matador with his face in his hands, almost modelling a sad clown, with an eyepatch obscuring his right side. This matador was still fighting. 

Despite all this, the host continues to support the establishment of bullfighting, even training his own son and nephews in the art. This is what I found inspiring about the man, that he would see this amount of violence and bloodshed, and yet continue to embrace this culture in order to uphold tradition and not allow this bastion of old Spanish society to be eradicated.

I appreciate that I have not necessarily given a balanced view on bullfighting here, and my account may purely come across as one of admiration. However, I think that you will have a far easier time finding articles that offer a wholly negative view towards these things than what I found in this encounter. This understanding was not something that I think I would have found by looking at a screen, but was found in the weather-beaten face of an old man who still had that thrill of the fight instilled in his eyes, that sense of adventure that never truly leaves you, and I must say it made me think twice about my views on bullfighting.

Featured Image: Sam Unsworth