Ring of ire

Defying a scorching Spanish sun, the Palmers were all smiles as they sat in a packed, 12,000-­capacity arena in Seville. The couple from Cambridge, England, were enjoying their first visit to Spain and, hoping for a cultural experience, Darm, 63, and Hema, 57, had bought tickets to a Sunday afternoon bullfight.

“We’re only here because we want to experience, yeah, what a bullfight looks like,” Darm said.

With spectators in suits and dresses, the event’s atmosphere was formal, and the Palmers admitted feeling underdressed in shorts. Still, Darm was ready to live out his love for Gladiator, and Hema said she would try not to think too much about the doomed bull.

But from the moment the first bull came charging from the gate, Hema’s gasps didn’t stop. With every jab from the bullfighter’s ribboned darts, the bull’s back became bloodier and bloodier, and Hema gasped louder. Eventually, a final, fatal blow left the bull lying lifeless on the arena’s orange sand.

The Palmers left before three horses dragged the bull away—and they left before I could ask their thoughts.

Many tourists have a similar reaction watching Spain’s most controversial ­tradition. The Mediterranean region has hosted various forms of bullfights since Roman times, but the sport has become most closely identified with Spain.

For most outsiders, the bullfight is shocking, cruel, and inhumane. Yet for many Spaniards, especially in southern Spain, it’s a sacred tradition that brings jobs, excitement, and entertainment to the country. Millions of Spaniards oppose the practice, though, and regions like Catalonia and the Canary Islands have banned it. Animal rights activists also continue to call for a nationwide ban. In late May, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) lit up the Vatican with a projection calling for Pope Leo XIV to denounce bullfighting, which often corresponds with Roman Catholic festivals.

Bullfighting has been controversial for centuries. In 1567 Pope Pius V banned the sport, calling it cruel and base and threatening excommunication of attendees. But the ban was lifted eight years later under political pressure. Today, the season begins on Easter Sunday and runs until mid-October.

A typical bullfight lasts around two hours as three bullfighters each display their skill and bravery against two different bulls. In each three-act, 20-­minute fight, fighters on horses and on foot provoke the bull’s rage and test its bravery by prodding it with lances and darts, weakening it before the matador finishes the bull with his red cape and a stab through the heart. The bullfighter’s goal: avoid being gored while encouraging the bull to charge and fight. Though they can get picked up and thrown by the bull, the last time a famous bullfighter died during a bullfight was in 2016.

An estimated 7,000 bulls are killed each year in Spain, their meat taken to a butcher (bull tail is a popular dish in Spain). Brave bulls that fight especially well may get a pardon and leave the ring alive, but only on rare occasions.

Francisco Barreros, 38, trained as an amateur bullfighter in Trujillo. He argues that the bull’s final fight is fair. He says it experiences “a pure death,” since it isn’t butchered for hamburger meat without the chance to fight, and lives like a king in the countryside until turning 4 or 5 years old.

People like 50-year-old Antonio Alvares from Almendralejo, who enjoys attending bullfights with his 15-year-old son, says the answer to the controversy is simple: “Those who don’t like [bullfights], don’t come.”

Statistics from Spain’s Ministry of Culture show the percentage of Spaniards who attended bullfighting events decreased from 10% to 2% between 2006 and 2022. One survey last year by an anti-bullfighting organization, CAS International, found that 54% of Spaniards believe the tradition should be banned.

Evangelical Pastor Jaume Llenas, 63, opposes bullfights: “I mean, it’s horrible, it’s something that makes no sense just to entertain ourselves.”

Llenas lives in Barcelona where Christians and non-Christians alike consider bullfighting barbaric. He points out that God made humans to be stewards of creation: “I am not the owner, I am only an administrator … and bullfighting is not taking care of creation.”

Despite the bans in some regions, Spain’s national government placed legal protection on bullfighting in 2013, deeming it a cultural heritage. Bullrings throughout the country continue hosting roughly 1,400 bullfights a year.

PETA and CAS International are working to end bullfighting in Spain by hosting protests and educating people about the reality of the practice. Earlier this year, CAS amassed over 715,000 Spanish signatures to remove the cultural heritage status. The initiative still requires a review by parliament and doesn’t guarantee a removal of the protective status.

Bullfighting culture is also present in some Latin American countries and parts of France and Portugal. In March, Mexico City banned bloody bullfighting despite housing the world’s largest bullring. In 2017, Spain’s Balearic Islands modified the sport by prohibiting the bull from being killed in the ring and adjusting the fight to only 10 minutes. This trend of “bloodless bullfighting”—popular in Portugal—may be the only compromise between animal activists and bullfighting aficionados.

Those in favor of bullfighting believe bans are pure politics.

Manuel Fernández, 37, who fought by the name “Mazzantini,” is a retired bullfighter who now coordinates local bullfights in Extremadura. Despite survey data, he’s convinced more Spaniards are in favor of bullfights than against: “It’s clear that the bullrings continue to fill up, the fairs continue to feature star performers, people go. It’s a minority that is being loud.”

The bravery of both the bullfighters and the bull draws many to the ring. The possibility of something going seriously wrong also heightens the tensions.

Bullfighters admit feeling the danger when facing a 1,000-pound, charging bull. Though he had moments of glory, Fernández says the moments before a fight were the worst: “I wanted to die a while before going out to the bullring.”

Fernández learned to manage his fear, but he says life is more tranquil now that he doesn’t fight bulls regularly. He thinks the tradition should continue, though, because of its history: “It’s been here since before we were born.”

Llenas, the pastor, disagrees. “Even if it has been done for three or four millennia, when something is wrong, something is wrong.”