Last weekend, sitting quietly on a bench in Lisbon’s Saldanha square, I witnessed something surreal. A group of toreros, dressed head-to-toe in glittering traje de luces, stepped out of the ultra-modern Evolution Hotel. Tight-fitting pants, gold-threaded embroidery, carefully coiffed hair—walking across the sleek, glassy facade as if they’d landed from another century.

For a moment, it felt like a movie scene—a collision of timelines, tradition crashing into modernity. But then the realization struck: this wasn’t fiction. It was real life. Bullfighting is still happening in Portugal. And somehow, it still expects legitimacy.

That moment made me ask the obvious question: In a country with so much cultural wealth, do we really still need bullfights to define ourselves?

Culture is not cruelty

Bullfighting’s defenders call it heritage. They frame it as an unbroken thread from the rural past to the present—a ceremony of courage, artistry, and spectacle. But tradition alone cannot justify everything. If it could, we’d still be burning heretics or holding public executions in the Praça do Comércio.

The Portuguese version of bullfighting, they insist, is different from the Spanish one. No bulls are killed in the ring. There’s horseback choreography, and the famous forcados who face the bull bare-handed in an act of communal bravado.

But let’s be honest: it’s still a spectacle of fear and exhaustion forced upon a sentient being for public entertainment.The bull may not die on the sand, but it bleeds and suffers just the same.

Culture should not be measured by how much pain it inflicts.

A country rich in non-violent tradition

Portugal does not lack for cultural identity. We are a nation of music and poetry, of architecture and gastronomy, of language, craft, and shared memory.

We have Fado and Cante Alentejano, both recognized by UNESCO. We have the intricate tilework of azulejos, the filigree of Gondomar, the harvest chants of the countryside, the street festivals of the Santos Populares.

We are the country of Pessoa and Saramago, of Amália Rodrigues and Cesária Évora, of Ponte 25 de Abril and Padrão dos Descobrimentos.

Our identity has never depended on tormenting animals for sport.

The ethics of entertainment

Across Europe, countries are rethinking the ethics of spectacle. In Spain, bullfighting faces legal challenges and bans in some regions. In Colombia, the Constitutional Court ruled to end it altogether by 2027. And here in Portugal, polls show growing public discomfort, especially among younger generations.

Municipalities like Póvoa de Varzim and Albufeira have tried to stop bullfights, though courts have forced them to allow the events. Meanwhile, Lisbon’s Campo Pequeno, once the grand symbol of the Portuguese bullring, now hosts more rock concerts and food fairs than touradas. Attendance is declining. The culture is shifting.

And yet, public subsidies still help fund bullfighting events, even when hospitals are underfunded and cultural centers in small towns are closing.

Is this really the entertainment model we want to keep alive?

And yes, I’m an expat—an Austrian living in Almada. But I still feel the right to say “we”. Because this is my home, too.

An invitation to evolve

This is not an attack on rural Portugal. Nor is it a rejection of heritage. It’s an invitation to rethink which parts of our culture we carry forward—and which we leave behind.

Portugal has a chance to lead by example, to show that compassion is not weakness, but evolution. Ending bullfighting would not erase Portuguese culture. On the contrary, it would strengthen it—by aligning it with the values of empathy, dignity, and creative progress.

Tradition is not meant to trap us in the past. It’s meant to remind us where we came from, while leaving space to imagine where we could go next.

Let’s choose a future where culture unites, not divides.
Where art lifts us up, instead of pushing others down.
Where no animal bleeds for applause.

That would be a Portugal worth celebrating.