I think it is important to note that the aficionados do not see bullfighting as a sport. It is more of a ritualistic art form. There is no contest. The bull is going to die in the end, but if there is a contest it is between the bullfighter and his fear, because in the arena he is putting his safety and perhaps his life on the line. The action is ritualized, and the only freedom the bullfighter has is how he performs—the intelligence, bravery, control, and artistry in his movement. Humans, especially men, are inherently attracted to high-impact experiences for which the outcome is in doubt and in which they have a stake, even if it is only their identification with the participants.
Consequently, bullfighting has an appeal to many, but perhaps the most important factor in the persistence of bullfighting in Spain is the degree to which it has been engrained in the Spanish culture for centuries if not millennia. Given that we rarely question the elements of the culture we are raised in, bullfighting is a given for many Spaniards and seems a natural part of life. That obviously is not true of all Spaniards given the declining importance it has for many today, but in the late 1980’s I saw how important it was for some, especially in the countryside.
Three occasions showed me how “natural” bullfighting is in Spain and how important it may be to the definition of a Spanish male.
First, every town has it’s annual bullfight or bullfight season. We lived in a suburban housing area outside of the small town of Camarma de Esteruales near Alcala, Spain. It was a tiny place, but even Camarma had its annual bullfight with a running of the bulls, although in this town bulls were run through the fields herded by cars and trucks before entering the town. One year a bull escaped from the herd and ended up walking around our neighborhood for a while.
Second, when Gary Bogle and I attended the bullfight in Madrid, a boy and his father sat in front of us. He had a notebook with a reproduction of a poster from the Tyrone Power movie Sangre y Arena (Blood and Sand) on the cover. The notebook contained annotated pictures of bulls and bullfighters, and throughout the evening he paid careful attention and made notes in the book. The boy’s English was better than our Spanish, and he answered some of our questions and said he wanted to be a matador when he grew up. Bullfighting was obviously a big part of his life.
The third event occurred one weekend about three months later when I took a group of visiting colleagues down to Toledo. On the way, back we came across a group of people gathered outside of a bar in a small town. There were men on horseback, men on foot, and a small village band. We stopped to see what was going on, and learned that they were getting ready for a bullfight in honor of their patron saint. We followed their parade to the bullring and bought tickets for a “cultural experience” in a small Spanish pueblo. One of our party did not want to attend a bullfight, but we convinced him to go with us by noting that by going he would be able to speak of the barbarity of the bullfight from experience, and the experience provided concrete evidence for his distaste of bullfighting.
The ring was located in a big dusty lot vacant of anything but a temporary metal and wood bullring. Outside the crowd was buying snacks and their tickets. We bought our tickets, went inside, and found good seats. The ground in the center of the arena was hard, natural soil and had not been prepared in any way. It was a far cry from the well manicured sand of the Ventas bullring.
When we entered, a children's drum and bugle corps was performing. They seemed to range in age from about 7-18 and wore red satin shirts and white pants or skirts. The boys wore red berets and the girls had large red and white ribbons in their hair. The whole pueblo had turned out for this important community event.
When the children were finished, the first bull was fought entirely from horseback. The third bull was small but the largest that we saw that day and was fought by the men of the village in an informal way. It was the fighting of the second bull that was the most revealing of the power of bullfighting on the psyche of the young people.
The second bull, a very young one, was fought by a boy of about eight or nine. It was obvious from his posture, his movements, his bearing, and his attitude that he had had lessons. I wished that I had brought my camera to capture images of the fight—
- the arrogant gestures of frustration from the little boy when the bull just stood there looking at him,
- the boy kneeling in the dust before the bull with his cape and plastic sword disdainfully thrown aside,
- the boy scrambling up the side of the ring with the bull butting at his dangling legs,
- the boy being picked up by some men and held over the walkway just outside the ring so little girls could lean over from the stands and give him kisses on the cheek,
Perhaps the most poignant image of the day was the little boy holding aloft for all to see the ears and tail he had been awarded in the same hand as the bag of candy someone had thrown into the ring—a candy-loving little boy learning how to be a man.
A couple of months later we went to see a Spanish folk ballet performance in Madrid, and I wrote this entry in my journal.“It has been interesting to see a common attitude running through the bull fighting and the dancing. I suppose it is pundonor, Spanish pride. In the dancers I could see that little boy from the bull ring in Cabanas de la Sarga striking the arrogant and defiant pose before the little bull. “Look how brave, serious, and in control I am. I feel things deeply. I am master of my fate and care little about yours.” If all Spanish males identify with the bullfighter or the Flamenco dancer, then it should be no surprise that the traffic death rate in Spain is extremely high, easily the highest in all of Europe--10.6 deaths per 100 million miles, about three times the U.S. rate. This summer 1,400 people were killed in Spain during June, July, and August. They seem to see themselves as invincible.
The dancing was not happy. There is very little that is light or frivolous in the Spanish culture, or at least in southern Spain. It is a hard country, and they have had a hard history. Mastery and domination seem more appropriate adjectives to describe the Spanish outlook than collaboration and adaptability. Can they compete in a modern world in which negotiation and compromise are important? It may be a good thing for the Spanish that soccer is taking interest away from bull fighting because soccer requires teamwork to achieve a goal. Many people are against bullfighting because of its cruelty. I see it as more of a danger because of its emphasis on the individual, the way if fosters vivo jo.”
That passage was written with broad strokes almost twenty-two years ago to the day, and obviously did not apply to all Spaniards, but I think it echoes aspects of the national culture, at least for men, and bullfighting seems to appeal more to men than women. A BBC aficionado covering the last bullfight in Barcelona ( http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-15096943 ) wrote. . .
"They came from all over - serious men from Seville and Madrid filling trains and planes with their fine suits and Havana cigars, their tanned and buffed consorts in tow.
The flamboyant French had poured down over the border to celebrate "Los Toros" with extravagant "ole's and elegant wines.
Studious Americans, wealthy Mexicans, Basques and Swedes - even the sole Japanese torero, El Nino del Sol Naciente (the son of the rising sun), was among those who had managed to secure the scorching-hot tickets for the big show in town.
The last show in town - ever."
I expect that whether you love or loath the bullfight depends largely on who you identify with—the matador or the bull. Some tend to identify with the torero while the more sympathetic (more likely female) spectators focus on the bull. The buffed consorts can cover their eyes as they attend the corrida with their serious men.
Finally, a thought on the life of the fighting bull. He lives a free life on some of the best pasture in Spain with access to cows, and he pays for it with a few minutes of pain, fatigue, and his life. Is that so much more cruel than the lives of castrated steers who live part of their lives in filthy, stinking feedlots and then die? The steer may die quickly from a blow to the skull, but the bull had a full life until entering the ring.
The bullfight may be barbaric, especially in the small towns were the bulls, at least in the past, were tortured more brutally, but I found it to be a fascinating event, and it made me appreciate the fact that when I went to work each day, I did not have to face a 1000 pound fighting bull with only a cape.
