August 6, 2015

Young matadors in Spain bullish on bullfighting

They are trying to keep the tradition alive, despite economic and animal rights issues

(by Ashifa Kassam usatoday.com 7-11-12)

Javier López Maraver was 6 when he went to his first bullfight. It took just a few minutes of watching the blood-soaked pageantry to spark an obsession that's lasted more than two decades.

"The bulls come out, fight and die in that ring," he says, hand gestures punctuating his words. "It's the story of life."

It may also be the story of Spanish bullfighting that dates to the 18th century. Today, animal rights activists and an economic crisis that has left Spaniards with less money to spend on entertainment may be endangering the spectacle's survival.

López Maraver represents a younger generation of Spaniard that has inherited a love for bullfighting from the mostly graying, conservative fans of the tradition.

He is trying to rekindle interest in a cultural icon of Spain, romanticized as an artful display of man against beast by Ernest Hemingway in Death in the Afternoon. He is encouraged by the response when he invites acquaintances to a bullfight, something many people he knows have never seen.

"Most people think of art as something hanging in a museum," says López Maraver, now 28. "But this is art, too.

"Whether they liked it or not, they all say they didn't understand what a bullfight was before then," he says.

In Pamplona, thousands are visiting the famed San Fermin festival this week for the annual "running of the bulls." But that doesn't seem to spur interest in bullfighting.

Figures from Spain's ministry of culture illustrate bullfighting's decline. In the past five years, the number of bullfights across the country dropped from 3,295 in 2008 to 1,997 in 2012.

Bullfighting has been practiced in one form or another since ancient Rome. Today's tradition of a matador on foot facing off against a bull traces its origins to the early 1700s. While associated with Spain, variations of the tradition are found in Portugal, southern France and former Spanish colonies such as Mexico, Peru and Colombia.

A classic Spanish bullfight has several scenes before the final act. The bull is let loose in the ring. He first faces off against the matador, who uses his cape to goad the bull into running toward him, analyzing the animal's strengths and movements. The bull then comes up against two picadors on horseback armed with long spears. The bull is taunted into charging and slams into the side of the horse, which is protected by thick padded armor.

The picadors lance the bull, and then come the banderilleros, who rush up to the bull on foot and make a show of sticking long, colorful darts into the bull's shoulder blades. The matador then strides out again to encounter the panting and bleeding bull.

Dressed in an intricately embroidered outfit that recalls the 17th and 18th century clothing of southern Spain, the matador directs the bull's motion with his colorful cape. After several passes, the matador plunges a sword into the animal as cleanly as possible for a quick death.

The performance at its best is thrilling and graceful, says Antonio Lorca, the bullfighting critic for the Spanish newspaper El Pais.

Lorca says the fan base is getting older. "From a young age, kids in Spain are playing soccer and obsessively following their favorite players. Meanwhile, they identify less with bullfighting than ever before," he says.

Lorca says the bullfighting world has failed to adapt to the changes that have taken place in Spanish society. He blames globalization, Walt Disney films and cartoons that depict animals as human-like.
"So new generations of Spaniards have learned to love animals, which isn't a bad thing. But the result is that bullfighting becomes something bloody, a form of torture for animals," he says, a hint of nostalgia in his deep voice.

López Maraver believes younger generations would enjoy bullfighting if they saw it, describing it as adrenaline-fueled performance art in which the outcome is a surprise.

"From the moment the fight starts, life and death are so present in the ring," he says. "You know one of them will die."

But for Silvia Barquero, the fights are savage, and not worthy of Spain.

"Our society has evolved and part of this is recognizing when animals are suffering," says Barquero, a member of Partido Animalista, a political party founded in 2003 to defend animal rights. "These days it's hard for anyone to deny the cruelty of this tradition."

In the northeastern region of Catalonia, a ban went into effect last year and the government of the Basque city of San Sebastián recently voted to ban bullfights in the tourist-filled, seaside resort until at least 2016. Many interpret the bans as a push by Catalan and Basque pro-independence groups to distance themselves from traditional Spanish symbols.

Barquero disagrees.

"In Spain there are enough traditions and cultural practices that we can support. We don't need to maintain bullfighting."

López Maraver argues the tradition is no worse than killing an animal for meat.

"It's much more humane than raising an animal in a cage, electrocuting it and then eating it," he says. "If a bull impresses the crowd or the matador with its bravery, it can be granted a pardon."

Miguel Fernández Molina, 25, writer for leading bullfighting website mundotoro.com, says the arguments of the anti-bull-fighting crowd are "overly simplistic."

The Spanish fighting bulls brought to the arena are linked genetically to wild bulls, a distinct breed of Iberian bull revered for its aggression, strength and stamina. It is raised only for bullfighting, meaning that if the tradition ceased to exist, likely so would the bull.

"They're incredibly expensive to raise," he says. "They live like kings, wandering free-range for four or five years. So much is invested in them. If it weren't for bullfighting, nobody would bother."

Bullfighting in Spain adds more than $3.2 billion a year to the Spanish economy and directly employs more than 10,000 people. But it's not just about the matadors, their agents and bull breeders, Fernández Molina says. Madrid's annual San Isidro festival brings in more than $65 million to the city during its 30 nights a year of world-class fights, according to one study.

This revenue takes on even greater significance under Spain's current economic crisis.

"Before the crisis, every little town, no matter how small, hosted a bullfight. There were so many fights that were illegal or held in unsafe conditions."

The crisis has set in motion a "survival of the fittest" effect on the industry. "A few festivals have disappeared, as well as a few ranches.

"There's not enough room for everyone these days," he says. "But the best are still going strong."

On a hot spring evening in Madrid, a dozen young boys are spread out across the pale gray, concrete floor of a building, perfecting their footwork as they maneuver large, colorful capes.

"These are tough days," sighs Juan Alcoba, an instructor at Madrid's premiere bullfighting school.
Founded in 1982, the night school once regularly had to turn away students when it had reached its 150-person capacity. Today it has 52 students.

"My friends find it odd that I want to be a matador and not a soccer or basketball player," explains Francisco Javier Martin as he prepares to square off, cape in hand, against a young man holding a set of bull horns. "Bullfighting is not something they're interested in."

Decades ago, one or two out of this crop of students might make it into the top echelons of professional bullfighting. But in today's climate, Alcoba says, it's much more difficult. "There are less fights than ever for beginners," he says, shaking his head.

Last year, fans circulated a petition calling on the Spanish government to protect bullfighting as a vital part of the country's heritage. The petition traveled across Spain from one bullfighting festival to another, collecting 600,000 signatures.

The Spanish government is drafting legislation it says is based on the petition but has not said what the final wording will be. Bullfighting fans hope it will also offer tax breaks to promoters of bullfights and push the United Nations to confer special status on bullfighting in Spain.

Legislation will help, Conchi Ríos says, but it won't be enough to save the tradition.

In a small gym outside Madrid, the matador-in-training sweats as she methodically twirls a red cape around her. She spends an average of four hours each day synchronizing her capework and footwork as she visualizes coming face-to-face with a one-ton bull.

Despite being one of the most successful female trainees in Spanish history, she has yet to step into the ring this year. "There are just not enough fights," says Rios, 22.

Rios says for the sport to survive the traditionalists must do better at public relations. Soccer players are in the media all the time, but one rarely sees a matador speaking out, she says.

"We should be putting ourselves out there more, talking to people, visiting schools and leading excursions to the ranches that raise bulls," she says.

"People may or may not like what they see," she says, smiling. Her smile disappears as she adds firmly, "But they have to see it's not about cruelty or blood. This is our culture."

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http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2013/07/10/spain-bullfighting/2327089/

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