Why my son and I took the bull by the horns

Sally Warren wouldn’t dream of taking her child to a bloodthirsty Spanish bullfight. But Nîmes, where the animals get out alive, was a different matter...

Ayear ago, if a parent had told me they were planning to spend their summer holiday in the south of France taking their child to watch men torment bulls, I would have been aghast. As a mother, but also as a psychotherapist who knows the damaging effects of witnessing violent acts, all forms of cruelty make me flinch.

And yet, last summer, that parent was me. My husband and I had booked an Airbnb just west of Nîmes, hoping that our distance from the Côte d’Azur would provide an inexpensive, not-too-touristy holiday for us and our 10-yearold son. Here, centuries-old customs dominated village life, tourists were not expected or catered for, and little English was spoken.

We were intrigued when, on our first trip to the village boulangerie, we noticed posters advertising what appeared to be a local bullfight. Then we saw signs in other villages warning that streets would be closed for bull running (this garnered a roar of delight from our son). There was even an advert for something called a taureau-piscine. What on earth would a bull be doing in a swimming pool? And would any of this be appropriate for my 10-year-old?

I would quickly decline any invitation to a Spanish corrida. But, our Airbnb hosts reassured us, there is no killing in the course Camarguaise, as this French genre of bullfighting, which dates back to Roman times, is called. In fact, they said, the bull is considered the star, the hero, if you like, and the men who taunt him look like the fools. In the course, the goal is to snatch a ribbon from between the bull’s horns. The animals aren’t injured or killed, but the men do taunt the bull as they dash across the arena, trying to attract its attention, and then jumping into the stands to avoid the beast as it charges.

Is taunting OK? Where do you draw the line? What if the “local custom” isn’t violent, but more unkind or annoying? Do you let your child sit on an alligator in Florida? Watch an ostrich race in South Africa? Does the awe your child feels in coming eye-to-eye with an elephant in Thailand trump the animal’s suffering in captivity? Have you seen the photos of Danish schoolchildren assembled to watch Marius the giraffe being dissected at Copenhagen Zoo? Is it OK to euthanise a young animal deemed surplus to requirement, then cut it up for educational purposes? Would you have let your children join in?

For a child – indeed, for anyone – witnessing an animal being tormented, bled and killed is a traumatic experience. No doubt many Spanish mothers would disagree with me.

So would my husband. He has seen a corrida as an adult and found it hypnotising, and would have been happy for our son to watch a real bullfight. His argument? The killing of bulls is part of a living, historic culture. Exposure to this experience would enrich our son’s outlook on life.

I’m not so sure. Few studies have investigated specifically the effects on children of witnessing animal cruelty. But one that looked at young people who had seen their domestic pet abused found they were more likely to report anxiety and depression in later life than those who had not. And the United Nations agrees. Earlier this year it called on Spain “to prevent the harmful effects of bullfighting on children”.

Psychologically, one of the problems with bullfighting is the public’s intense enjoyment of the event; one study has shown that it is less the violence of aggressive scenes that is damaging to a child and more the adults’ enjoyment of the spectacle. The arena erupts with joy as wounds are inflicted on an animal which has no choice in its fate. A child may feel disorientated or upset by this. But because the adults around the child seem to be celebrating the cruelty, a child may feel the need to bury their feelings of empathy or sorrow. You don’t need to have studied psychology to know what Freud had to say about buried feelings. The child may also lose the feeling of security or trust in their parents.

Fortunately for us, we were able to partake of the rich culture of the course Camarguaise without fear of any of the above. We spent our holiday watching many of these bullfights in several small villages around Nîmes and, as a by a group of 12 guardians mounted on white Camargue horses. Villagers try to grab the bull by its horns or tail. It was terrifying and thrilling and extraordinary and a tiny bit questionable.

Did the bulls mind their tail being grabbed?

While I had misgivings, our son adored it all. We had hoped he would fall in love with France, as his father and I had years before – and, for him, this was the way in. He roared with delight, gaped open-mouthed at the spectacle, and every now and then felt the absolute thrill of fear when a bull charged straight towards where we were sitting or standing, or even jumped over the barrier on to the stands. I did not worry about him at all, until he got rather foolhardy and told me it was not cool to hide behind the safety barrier during the abrivado.

Where do you draw the line?

Peta, the animal-rights organisation, has a long list of “animal attractions” that tourists should avoid. Elephant rides, for example, are considered cruel as the animals are either taken from the wild or bred in captivity, then “beaten into submission”. Swimming with dolphins, tiger selfies, marine parks and dancing monkeys are all off limits. I would not want my son to visit a marine park, either. (Watch Blackfish about a captive orca at Seaworld in Orlando and you will agree with me.) Peta is clear in its abhorrence of bullfighting, in which, the charity notes, thousands of bulls are slaughtered each year. It notes the panic the animals feel while running. While it calls out Portuguese “bloodless” bullfighting as cruel, it does not lump the course Camarguaise in the same camp. But there’s a fierce anti- corrida group in southern France, and bullfighting has been banned in almost all of France – on the grounds of animal cruelty – except for in southern cities and towns such as Nîmes and Béziers that can prove an unbroken historic tradition. And, indeed, the festivities surrounding the course are the real joy – the crowds in the streets, the food, the wine, the music – that unite to create an atmosphere unique to this place. Would it exist without the bulls? Not in the same way.

Having just returned from a holiday in New Zealand where we saw whales, orcas, dolphins, seals and stingrays in the ocean, I was left in no doubt about the overwhelming feeling of joy and rapture one feels at seeing these animals free and in their rightful environment. This cannot be said of the bulls of the Camargue. But on that French holiday we learned the majesty of these fantastic beasts. Let me tell you, if you have watched a bull charge straight at you and your small child (even standing behind the safety barrier) in a street in a small French village, you feel a renewed sense of awe and wonder – and, most importantly, respect – for these beasts.

We also watched a taureau piscine, which featured sharp-horned Camargue cows in an inflatable pool

Sally Warren is a London-based psychotherapist