Every year one more step is taken; Every season, a few warn that this is not the way, that supporting bullfighting does not mean that everything is worth defending it from its enemies, that this avalanche of partying spectators who seek to amortize the price of admission with the volcanic granting of trophies is not the solution. What’s more, that swarm of handkerchiefs that whitens the clotheslines can be the prelude to a successful death, the one that awaits, like predators on the prowl, those who are aware that these ‘modern fans’ will leave the squares the day that seriousness gives way to a simulated bullfight and will look for another, more fun spectacle.
Because the essence of the bullfight does not lie in fun, but in excitement. And a celebration like the one held yesterday in Seville’s La Maestranza square is a red light, a fluorescent warning that we must stop, reflect and change our approach before it is too late.
Seville has earned its high prestige with knowledge, wisdom, equanimity, demand, generosity, silence and explosion of emotions, also, when the epic or aesthetics have exceeded the limits of what we understand as our human possibilities.
Yesterday, La Maestranza became a circus, packed with people willing to have a good time, with fiery affection for their idol, to overlook a cornered protagonist called a bull, to stage a rout without the ball, and leave the square with a smile on their mouth even if it was a fake rictus.
Or, perhaps, it is that, in their sincere will, as enormous as their ignorance, they believe that the party is like that.
The danger, however, does not lie with the public. He pays and considers himself entitled to do with his spirit and his handkerchief whatever he pleases. The problem lies in the box, where a man or woman who presides over the celebration sits. And presiding means preserving authenticity, protecting prestige and fighting to the last drop of sweat for the integrity of the show. Impart justice, in a word, from authority and respect for the norm.
But not. Yesterday, the president succumbed to the passionate ardor of a reveling public, he forgot the demand, he hid the Regulations – he approved some unpresentable bulls – and joined his handkerchief to the white noise knowing that he was committing a serious offense against the high dignity of the plaza.
But it is not the first time this has happened, not even with the president himself. Yesterday’s is a bad practice that is becoming a norm that dangerously sneaks through the cracks of the fans.
Who names the presidential teams of Seville? The Junta de Andalucía, which presumes, not without reason, to support bullfighting. Now he has the opportunity to show that he really cares about the permanence of the party beyond the empty rhetoric of the speeches.
The Maestranza ‘sinks’, but not the arches, nor the stands, nor the lines; Their prestige sinks, which is something as valuable as their history, their dignity, their honor…
And it is urgent to remedy it before the evil becomes irremediable.