Aguascalientes, Mexico (AP) – There is a ritual that Mexican killer Diego Silveti repeats before facing a bull.
Dressed in the light suit that could kill or glory, the marriage ring is removed and leaves it on an altar that builds before each run. Then close your eyes, raise a prayer and leave for the square.
“By leaving my ring, I tell God: ‘Here is everything I am as a father, as a husband, as a son, as a brother,” says Silveti. “I will fulfill my task in life, which is to be a bullfighter.”
His last encounter with a bull was at the end of April in Aguascalientes, a state where bullfighting is considered cultural heritage.
Weeks ago, legislators from Mexico City banned violent runs in the capital. Matadores are still allowed to face bulls, but chop them with flags or cross them with a sword is discarded.
Animal rights activists celebrated the decision and the Secretary of the Environment, Julia Álvarez, said Congress made history. However, matters like Silveti, fans and livestock affirm that this tradition of Spanish origin has a deep meaning and would be affected if the bulls do not die in the square.
“What they propose is completely against the essence and rites of bullfighting,” says Silveti. “It is an evening prohibition.”
Mexican bullfighting originates in Spain
The European conquest of Mesoamerican territories in the sixteenth century brought with it Catholicism and cultural practices that ended up intertwining with indigenous customs.
The researcher and fan Antonio Rivera lives in Yucatán, a state of the Mexican southeast where bullfights today are merged with the patron saint festivities of the Mayan communities.
“In the local celebrations the root is of sacrificial rite,” explains Rivera. “Ancient cultures were certain that God had asked them sacrifices in their honor and blood fertilizes the earth.”
According to its records, on the Yucatan Peninsula every year some 2,000 bull festivities are held.
Like Aguascalientes, the Yucatecan Congress declared bullfighting as a cultural heritage in 2021. The decision sought to recall the legacy of the ancestors and honor the identity of the people, cites the official statement.
“Seeing the bull I feel enormous devotion,” says Rivera. “It’s a mirror of myself. I see a living museum of those rituals that we bring in collective memories.”
The legacy of a father
Silveti grew playing with crutches and capes, the fabric instruments that matadores use to direct the bull’s onslaught.
His dad was one of the most beloved matadores in Mexico. Until before his death in 2003, fans and journalists used to call him “King David.”
Many bullfights still remember him with love. During Silveti’s last run, a woman in the square told another who asked who she was: “It is Diego, the king’s son.”
“No one asked us where we wanted to be born,” says Silveti. “The love of the bull and the party of the bulls has been my life and that of my ancestors.”
His grandfather and great -grandfather were also killers. To them is added their uncle, current attorney or representative of Silveti. The killer says that his two children – 2 and 6 years old – will be free to choose his profession, but he would support them if they decided to follow their steps.
Neither they nor his wife accompany him to the squares, but Silveti looks for other ways to share his passion with them. In family they usually visit bull cattle and, sometimes, with one of their children in arms, Silveti Torea small cows.
“The youngest likes a lot,” he says smiling. “How can someone so tiny get to see the bulls and make it ‘olé’ with a rag or napkin?”
Spirituality in runs
‘The King’ did not see his son to become a professional killer in Spain in 2011, but Silveti still feels close.
-“I have many times his spiritual presence in my soul,” he says. “Sometimes, when I am concentrated, alone, I try to talk with him, to follow his example.”
As a child I did not usually accompany him to the square. He stayed at home with his mother and brothers and, without social networks to monitor the run, prayed and waited for the call to announce the result.
Like Silveti, dozens of matadores pray before leaving the ring. In the Plaza de Aguascalientes, the priest Ricardo Cuéllar blesses them in the chapel.
“My work is to serve the bullfighting family in the religious,” he explains. “The fans, those who distribute papitas and beers in the stands, those who clean the arena, the bullfighters, the farmers, the relatives …”.
According to Mexican bullfighting, the largest organization in the country, about 20,000 works depend on this activity in Mexico.
Perspectives on bulls
When the capital prohibition was approved, one of the organizations behind the initiative, “culture without torture,” said it would continue to advocate for the prohibition, since no animal should be seen as entertainment.
The farmers, on the other hand, ensure that the bulls are not raised for empty shows, but are fascinating creatures to which they dedicate a life of care.
Manuel Sescosse, who has a livestock, says that raising these bulls is as exciting as bullfighting itself.
“You have to make them look pretty in the square,” he says. “Offensive but at the same time noble. That they ram and allow to create that sensitivity for people to get excited.”
The ideal bull for a run is around four or five years and weighs around 500 kilos.
According to the farmer, when the rainy season approaches, a bull looks up with about 30 cows and its offspring is carefully monitored. Many receive a name. All feed only with grass and have enough hectares to exercise and grow strong and healthy. Upon reaching the right age, only a handful will be selected for bullfighting.
“You see them born, from calves and you see them how they grow and deal with,” says Sescosse. “That love you develop grows if it came out well and leaves any memory or is very applauded.”
Long life to sentinel
Not all those attending a place perceive bullfighting as something sacred, but for many it does have a deep meaning.
Daniel Salinas says that matters are governed by strict rules that demonstrate the appreciation for the life they take. “We celebrate death as a rite in which a human being faces with a brave animal,” he explains.
In Aguascalientes, when his second bull gave his last breath, Silveti stroked him and looked up respectfully before leaving the ring.
“I know that he is giving me what he has and I am also willing to give him my life,” says the matador. “I have 13 guns on my body and I have been willing to receive them because this goes much further.”
Although it does not happen frequently, when a bull creates an artistic communication with its matador, its life is pardoned. Instead of a sword he receives a flag (an elongated dart with a puya) and returns to his livestock, where his offspring will be treasured by generations of fans.
After Silveti’s task in Aguascalientes, the Spanish bullfighter Alejandro Talavante faced one of these bulls.
Centinela – the black hair you’ve seen, four years, 518 kilos – won the hearts of the attendees while Talavante passes made him spin and dance. The Spanish pointed to kill more than once, but the fans asked him not to do so and the judge agreed to forgive him.
Then Centinela undertook a last race, strong and vigorous, and his shadow was lost in the toriles. The afternoon was also glorious for him.
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