Hardly any other topic divides opinion in Spain as much as bullfighting. Its origins can be traced back to ancient Iberian culture, when bulls were sacrificed or hunted during religious rituals and ceremonies. However, the “Corrida de Toros” in its present form only developed in the 18th century.
Even Ernest Hemingway was captivated by the archaic dance between bull and matador in his 1926 novel “Fiesta” and saw it as a fascinating symbol of courage, art, and intensity of life—but also as an existential challenge. For him, this Spanish tradition was a performance: a spectacle with the torero, the bull, and death as the main characters.
There is no question that bullfighting is an integral part of Spain’s cultural heritage. And anyone who has ever attended a spectacle in an arena will realise, based on the cheering cries of “¡Viva España!” and “¡Visca Mallorca!” from the audience, that this is a ritual that shapes identity. As a foreigner and non-Spaniard, it is difficult to understand how deeply this ceremony is rooted in Iberian culture. This makes it difficult to get involved in what is already a very heated debate.
Nevertheless – and let’s not kid ourselves – it is a brutal and cruel spectacle. Even though the bullfighter appears to be risking life and limb in the arena, the bull almost always loses the fight – and pays with his life. The protests of animal rights activists, who describe bullfighting in modern times as outdated, bloody carnage, are therefore understandable.
The Balearic government’s initiative in 2017 to introduce new rules on the islands and ban the killing of animals in combat was certainly a step in the right direction. It is just a pity that this was overturned shortly afterwards by a court ruling. Such a “softer bullfighting” would probably suit everyone – the advocates of testosterone-fueled spectacle, the so-called aficionados, the animal rights activists, and, last but not least, the bulls themselves.