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Spain Abolishes National Bullfighting Award in Cultural Shift

Spanish bullfighter Juan Ortega fights the 528kg bull 'Vivaracho' bull during a bullfight in the Plaza Monumental of Aguascalientes, in Aguascalientes, Mexico, 28 April 2024. EPA/Tadeo Alcina
Spanish bullfighter Juan Ortega fights the 528kg bull 'Vivaracho' bull during a bullfight in the Plaza Monumental of Aguascalientes, in Aguascalientes, Mexico, 28 April 2024. EPA/Tadeo Alcina
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Spain Abolishes National Bullfighting Award in Cultural Shift

Spanish bullfighter Juan Ortega fights the 528kg bull 'Vivaracho' bull during a bullfight in the Plaza Monumental of Aguascalientes, in Aguascalientes, Mexico, 28 April 2024. EPA/Tadeo Alcina
Spanish bullfighter Juan Ortega fights the 528kg bull 'Vivaracho' bull during a bullfight in the Plaza Monumental of Aguascalientes, in Aguascalientes, Mexico, 28 April 2024. EPA/Tadeo Alcina

Spain scrapped an annual bullfighting award on Friday, prompting a rebuke from conservatives over a backlash against a centuries-old tradition they see as an art form but which has run into growing concern for animal welfare.
Spanish-style bullfighting, in which the animal usually ends up killed by a sword thrust by a matador in shining garb, is for supporters a cultural tradition to be preserved, while critics call it a cruel ritual with no place in modern society, Reuters reported.
The Culture Ministry said it based its decision to abolish the award on the "new social and cultural reality in Spain" where worries about animal welfare have risen while attendance at most bullrings has declined.
"I think that's the feeling of a majority of Spaniards who can understand less and less why animal torture is practiced in our country..., and much less why that torture gets awarded with public money," Culture Minister Ernest Urtasun said on X.
The national award came in the form of a 30,000-euro ($32,217) government check and has been bestowed on famous bullfighters such as Julian Lopez, known as "El Juli", or cultural associations related to the bullfighting tradition.
It has recently become a defining issue in Spain's culture wars, pitting left-wing parties such as Sumar, to which Urtasun belongs, against right-wing conservatives who support the tradition.
Borja Semper, spokesperson for the opposition conservative People's Party, told reporters the government move showed that it "does not believe in cultural diversity or liberty", and that his party would reinstate the award whenever it regained power.
The PP leader of the Aragon region, Jorge Azcon, said it would introduce another award. "Tradition should be something that unites us rather than divides," he said.
Opposition to bullfighting has also grown in Latin America, where the tradition was exported in the 16th century, and in southern France, where it spread in the 19th century.
In Spain, the average bullfighting aficionado has gotten older and the number of bullfighting festivals dropped by a third between 2010 and 2023.

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Three Rivers, One Bridge: Mahfouz’s Last Dreams Revisited

By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
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Three Rivers, One Bridge: Mahfouz’s Last Dreams Revisited

By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

With refreshing honesty, the Libyan British novelist Hisham Matar begins his translation of Naguib Mahfouz’s last dreams with a confession.

During their only meeting in the 1990s, Matar asked Mahfouz how he viewed writers who write in a language other than their mother tongue. The question reflected the concerns of a young writer born in America, raised partly in Cairo, and later sent to a British boarding school under a false identity to evade persecution by Gaddafi’s regime, which had disappeared his dissident father.

Naguib Mahfouz on the balcony of his café overlooking Tahrir Square in Cairo, 1988. (AFP)

Mahfouz’s reply was as concise and sharp as his prose: "You belong to the language you write in."

Yet Matar admits that, in later recollections of this exchange, he often caught himself embellishing Mahfouz’s words, adding an unspoken elaboration: "Every language is its own river, with its own terrain and ecology, its own banks and tides, its own source and destinations where it empties, and therefore, every writer who writes in that language must swim in its river."

In this sense, I Found Myself... The Last Dreams, published by Penguin's Viking last week, attempts to be a bridge between three rivers: the Arabic in which Mahfouz wrote his original text, the English into which Matar translated it, and the visual language of the American photographer Diana Matar; the translator’s wife whose images of Cairo are interspersed throughout the book.

No easy task. Mahfouz’s translations have often sparked debate—whether over inaccuracies, neglected context, or occasional editorial interference.

A touch of this affects Matar’s attempt without ruining it. For instance, in translating Dream 211, where Mahfouz finds himself facing Saad Zaghloul, leader of the 1919 revolution, alongside "Umm al-Masriyyin" (Mother of the Egyptians)—a title referring to Zaghloul’s wife, Safiya—Matar misinterprets the epithet as a symbolic allusion to Egypt itself, rendering it "Mother Egypt."

Beyond this, however, the first published translation by Pulitzer-winning Matar flows smoothly, matching the simplicity of his project’s origin story: it began one morning over coffee at the kitchen table, where he translated a few dreams for his wife, only to find himself having done dozens—eventually deciding to publish them as his first major translation.

The images complement the dreamlike atmosphere without attempting to directly translate any of them. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

Perhaps the concise, economical language of Mahfouz’s final dreams made the task easier.

Between dreams, Diana Matar’s photographs of Cairo—Mahfouz’s city and muse—appear shrouded in shadows, dust, and fleeting impressions, sometimes ghostly in detail, complementing the dreamscapes without directly illustrating them. Here, she joins Mahfouz in her love for Cairo, which became her "muse" after accompanying her husband to that summer meeting with the Arab world’s sole Nobel laureate in literature. Relying on black-and-white imagery and abstraction where possible, Diana seems to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s.

Diana Matar took most of the book's photographs between the late 1990s and early 2000s. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

In his introduction’s closing lines, Hisham Matar imagines Mahfouz flipping through the translation and remarking, in his trademark brevity: "Of course." But perhaps closer to the truth is that he would repeat his original verdict: "You belong to the language you write in."

Perhaps we must accept that translation—not just of this book, but in general—is a bridge, not a mirror. And that is enough.