The slow demise of a gory tradition
The small chapel, decorated with Andalusian tilework and Catholic icons, is the last stop for matadors before they face a bull. ‘‘This is the worst part, at least for me. It’s hell. The fear is overwhelming,’’ says Manuel Escribano.
In the gloom under the stalls of the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballeria in Seville, a gilt baroque altarpiece glimmers. ‘‘Each one of us has his own way, but I’m one of those who pray.’’
Escribano, 38, knows well the risks of his art. Calmly, he describes near-fatal gorings, in which he lost lots of blood and suffered broken bones.
However, it is not his death or those of bulls that preoccupies him most now. Rather, it is the slow death of bullfighting.
The tradition, which for centuries was considered by Spain’s mainstream political right and left to be part of the country’s DNA, is in crisis.
Toreros like Escribano are fighting back. They argue that the art is not dying and still enjoys wide popularity. The problem, they say, is that it has been neglected by the Socialist-led government, which is in a coalition with the far-left Podemos party, a harsh critic of bullfighting.
Bullfighting’s health appears robust in Seville. Preparations are under way for the coming season, which opens at the Maestranza on Easter Sunday and is followed by the bullfights of the city’s April Fair.
Workers are daubing fresh paint on the bullring’s outer walls, while Spaniards and foreigners queue to enter the bullring’s museum.
Among those scheduled to participate in April’s bullfights is Pablo Aguado. The 32-year-old Seville native shot to fame in 2019 when his performance led to the rare honour of him being carried out of the Maestranza on the shoulders of his supporters. A report in El Pais observed: ‘‘Seville went crazy because his style was different. It smelt of classicism, of ancient bullfighting, the kind close to hearts excited by beauty.’’
Aguado points to this passion as evidence of the tradition’s rude health.
‘‘We are still the second-most popular spectacle in Spain after football,’’ he says. ‘‘We do not just fill bullrings one day a week, but day after day during festivals, and week after week.’’
This is certainly the case in Seville, where opposition to the tradition is muted. A bastion of bullfighting, the city is surrounded by toro bravo breeding farms, and its bars and streets recall the names of famous and fallen matadors.
Aguado concedes that ‘‘we should not make the mistake of comparing ourselves with the Golden Age of bullfighting’’. He adds: ‘‘But historically, this is just a low part of a cycle. A blip’’.
‘‘In 1567, Pope Pius V banned it, with the threat of excommunicating those who organised or took part in fiestas. In 1704, Philip V forbade it in all of Spain. We have survived worse problems than today’s.’’
In the members-only Real Club de Andalucia, which awards prestigious bullfighting prizes, the mood is not so upbeat.
‘‘When I first became a fan, in the early 1980s, 8000 passes covering all the fair’s bullfights were sold. Now the figure is only 2000,’’ says the club’s secretary, Eduardo Osborne, who has written a book about bullfighting in popular culture. ‘‘We are all talking about the crisis.’’
Other statistics reinforce a story of decline. A 2020 survey by Electomania, a polling company, found that over 46.7% of respondents were in favour of prohibiting bullfighting, while only 18.6% backed the tradition.
The number of fights fell from 1553 in 2017 to 824 in 2021, according to the government. Only 8% of the population attended bullfights in 2018-2019.
Enrique Moreno de la Cova Maestre, the club’s president, says that geographically, the tradition has shrunk as well. Some cities and regions already restrict or prohibit bullfights.
But for him, the tradition’s decline is principally because it is not profitable.
Totting up the ticket sales for Seville’s most prominent bullfight to be about €680,000 (NZ$1.18 million), Maestre calculates that after expenses, such as paying three matadors €100,000 (NZ$174,000) each, ‘‘there is nothing left’’.
Osborne argues that the government has a duty to fund the tradition because of a 2013 law that declares it to be part of Spanish heritage.
Last month the supreme court ruled that the government had been wrong to exclude bullfights from a list of events available to young people through a free culture voucher scheme. However, Canal Toros, Spain’s biggest television channel dedicated to showing bullfights, then announced that it was to close. It will be replaced by a streaming service.
Benito Lara, one of those painting the Maestranza’s walls, says he sometimes watches corridas on TV. ‘‘I like the art,’’ he adds, mimicking the movement of the matador’s cape with his brush. ‘‘But not the killing of the bulls.’’