My first and last bullfights: Artistry, courage and brutal slaughter
AP file
Lawmakers in Catalonia outlawed bullfighting Wednesday, after an impassioned debate that pitted the rights of animals against preserving a pillar of traditional culture.
By Chris Hampson, NBC News’ director of international news
LONDON — I was a student of Spanish when I went to watch my first bullfight.
I sat in the Las Ventas bullring in Madrid one hot and sunny evening, and watched this most emblematic of Spanish spectacles unfold before a 25,000-strong crowd.
To my side sat an old man — a true ‘aficionado’ of the ‘noble art’ — who had loved it all his life. He had absorbed it into his very bones, and talked passionately to me about every move, every pass of the bull.
His knowledge and passion were extraordinary — even more so because he had lost his sight with old age. He was blind.
His teenage granddaughter had become his ‘eyes,’ describing what she saw with a passion all of her own. Through them I saw the artistry and breath-taking courage. But the brutality of what was happening was lost to me beneath the cover of the matador’s cape.
Fiesta
It was inconceivable then that a region of Spain would vote, as the Catalan parliament has now done, to ban ‘la corrida’ — the bullfight.
It has long been engrained into their nationally identity, a symbol of their tradition and culture.
Some weeks after that first bullfight, I found myself at another, this time away from the capital. I traveled on a humid and rattling bus to a small town a couple of hours from Madrid, where they were holding a fiesta to celebrate their patron saint.
In the centre of the town, a makeshift bullring closed off the square and roads leading into it.
At the appointed hour, the young bulls were run through dusty streets to the arena, the young men of the town running with them, showing off and trying not to fall victim to their horns or feet.
And there, one by one, the bulls were dispatched by six aspiring bullfighters, hoping to become fully-fledged matadors. Some, for sure, knew what they were doing. But to me it looked less World Series — more Slaughterhouse Works League.
Trail of blood
My most vivid memory is of a matador striving to kill an exhausted young bull. The man was as artless as he was nervous, and made several failed attempts with the sword.
As the crowd jeered and whistled, a stocky gray-haired man climbed over the railings from the public seating, grabbed the sword, and finished the kneeling, panting creature off.
As my friends and I left the square, we walked through the trail of blood to see the carcass lying in the street, its throat cut by a butcher.
It was indeed a spectacle, but it didn’t look to me like sport, and I never again went to watch.
Those who love the bullfight — and there are many — say the Catalan vote will not affect the rest of Spain. This was politics as much as a protest against animal cruelty, they say, and they may be right.
But opponents are celebrating what they hope is the beginning of the end for a tradition they don’t believe has any place in their image of a modern Spain.
Bullfighting may not be dead, but soon, they hope, it too will be on its knees.