Record numbers of Spaniards oppose bullfighting. Are its days numbered?

In Madrid's grand Las Ventas bullring, an old-timey plaque banding strikes up an epical process. In clean up formation, teams of matadors, picadors and banderilleros file out onto the sandy arena floor.

Over the next two hours, each of them will face, in succession, one of six black bulls, weighing a minimum of half a tonne. First, the bull will be lanced by the picador on horseback. Then, three banderilleros will stab it with daggers. Lastly, the matador will emerge with his iconic cape, to strike the final blow.

But first, he will dance with the bull, dodging its charges left and right, to the sound of "ole" from the capacity crowd. A "good" death for the bull is applauded — an ugly one can end a matador's career.

"A bullfight, in the end, is a representation of life itself," said Pilar Martín, whose ranch furnished the bulls for Las Ventas. "In the end, death is a reality — [but] it's a huge social taboo. The only cultural event in which I've been able to see, feel and face that taboo, and see how it is overcome… well, it's the bullfight."

Fights like the ones at Las Ventas have been staged in Spain for at least 900 years. But today, a growing number of Spaniards view them as an archaic practice involving unacceptable cruelty.

Recent surveys have shown 77 per cent of Spaniards oppose bullfighting — including more than 80 per cent of those under 35. And while one in 10 Spaniards saw a bullfight in 2009, today, fewer than two per cent buy tickets, according to Spain's Ministry of Culture.

Now, animal rights activists are capitalizing on that diminishing support to push for total bans on bullfighting — beginning with the removal of its protected status as a part of Spain's cultural heritage.

"Bullfighting is a relic of the past," said Cristina García, vice president of Spain's PACMA (Animal Party), in an email. "We'll keep working until there is no trace of bullfighting left in our country."

But banning bullfighting won't be easy. Not only does the practice support an industry worth an estimated 1.6 billion euros ($2.5 billion Cdn) a year — it's increasingly becoming a culture war issue between Spanish politicians from the left and right.

"Spanish society has evolved," García wrote. "The difference is that our political leaders and decisionmakers have not done so."

The roots of Spanish bullfighting are ancient enough to be a matter of academic debate. Some trace its origins to neolithic times. Others say it originates with the pagan ceremonies of ancient Rome.

Since the 1930s, when the dictator Francisco Franco declared it Spain's "national fiesta," it has been a symbol of a unified Spanish national culture — one reason Catalan separatists backed a ban in the 2010s.

"Arguably, it predates football as the first form of mass entertainment," said Duncan Wheeler, a historian at the University of Leeds. "It's a massive part of Spanish and European history."

But as long as there has been bullfighting, there has been opposition to it. In the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, a succession of Spanish monarchs opposed the practice. In 1567, Pope Pius V went as far as banning Christian nobles from participating — but its popular appeal only increased.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, the pomp and ceremony of a Spanish bullfight became formalized, and becoming a matador became "a form of social advancement" for daring young men in the lower classes, Wheeler explained. "Really, it's the birth of celebrity culture in Spain."

At first, concerns about its violent nature were largely about "the loss of human life," Wheeler said. But as the decades wore on and medical advancements improved safety for matadors, opposition began to focus on the treatment of the bulls and horses. 

"To most Anglo-Saxons it is the most objectionable part of bullfighting," Ernest Hemingway wrote in Fortune magazine in 1930. "It is especially objectionable to Americans."

Since the 1990s, that sentiment has grown among native Spaniards, who are now much more likely to have a pet, live in a city and consider themselves close to animals.

"There's a bit more of a social cost [to going to a bullfight] now," said David Fennell, a professor of tourism studies at Brock University and founder of an institute for animal ethics in tourism. "We're asking new questions about what is morally acceptable."

That's one reason activists like García see total bans on bullfighting as a growing inevitability.

Already, Colombia and Mexico have banned bullfights altogether, or demanded that they be carried out without harming the bulls — something aficionados say would be impossible without risking the lives of matadors.

Earlier this year, more than 700,000 Spaniards signed a petition to remove bullfighting's protected status, paving the way for more regional bans like the one already attempted in Catalonia. Spain's Socialist government has promised to accelerate discussion of the result.

But bullfighting's proponents say animal rights activists are misdirecting their efforts. Some are quick to point to the hypocrisy, revealed in Spanish opinion surveys, that many opponents of bullfighting appear content to eat meat.

"They don't think through the philosophy of it," said Alexander Fiske-Harrison, an English journalist who trained as a matador for his book, Into the Arena: The World of the Spanish Bullfight. "We're all killing cattle for pleasure… Anyone who buys a burger is killing cattle for pleasure."

Many industry insiders, like Martín, assert that cattle raised for the arena enjoy a better life than those raised for meat.

Huge swaths of land are set aside for raising bulls in a largely natural state. According to Fiske-Harrison, as much as one-fifth of Spain's remaining natural landscape is used for raising fighting bulls.

Despite this opposition, by the numbers, bullfighting is actually enjoying a minor resurgence. The number of corridas has actually increased since 2019, as has the number of registered matadors, according to Spain's Ministry of Culture.

And it still has its supporters, like Spain's far-right Vox Party — at Las Ventas, it had a tent outside the arena, collecting signatures of support for its opposition to any bans. The party has run matadors in elections and is currently leading a fight for a 300-metre statue dedicated to bullfighting in Burgos. 

They have led calls to guarantee subsidies for bullfighting as protected cultural heritage and said its opponents "are poisoned by a false animalist ideology," turning bullfighting into a wedge issue in Spain's volatile parliamentary politics.

"Here's the thing: a government could fall by banning it," said Fiske-Harrison.

But with fewer and fewer Spaniards actually attending bullfighting events, observers say even without bans, it is only a matter of time before they become dependent on government support to survive.

"People are going to vote with their pocketbooks," said Fennell. "It very much is an economic enterprise — it continues on because someone is making money."

If the industry can't sustain itself, its future will be even rockier — and prohibitions on bullfighting may not be far behind.

John Last is a freelance reporter and producer currently based in Padua, Italy. He previously reported from Yellowknife, covering Northern Canada and the Arctic. His reporting work has taken him through Europe, the Middle East and the American South.

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