The first (and last time) I saw a bullfight was early morning in a cafe in Valencia. I felt so sick watching I couldn’t even finish my coffee, even though I was watching it on a screen across the room. I sat there perturbed as I saw multiple spears oscillating in the bull’s back and a crowd cheering as the animal bleeds profusely whilst running to the swooshes of a red cloth swooned dramatically by some hero torerro.
Culture, tradition, art, amusement, call it what you want – how could anyone take pleasure in watching the slow death of an animal?
As I spoke to Spaniards about this ghastly game, whilst many were neutral, the majority strongly opposed it. With the “sport” legally banned in Barcelona and otherwise predominantly showcased only in tourist season, it thankfully seemed to be on the verge of obsolesce.
Until the legendary matador Jose Tomas decided to spring back into action. Local news channels and the general population seem to be rejuvenated with his comeback. Perhaps the pure ‘hero’ value he left lingering when he abruptly retired in 2002 has overwhelmed people and made them forget that the brutal killing of innocent animals is also at stake with this revival.
This mix-up and mess-up of tradition, art, bravery, and fame, with hypocrisy and human morality leaves me disappointed and confused; and I don’t like it.
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