60 bulls in 10 days
The "Running of the Bulls" in Pamplona: Death awaits every bull.
Officially, it is a massive festival in honor of the city’s patron saint, San Fermín. Yet the bulls driven through the city in the morning are forced to “fight” in the arena that afternoon—and die a wretched death.
I had intended to post this entry on Sunday morning, but some unfortunate circumstances prevented me from doing so. I suppose it was meant to be this way, because the video from Pamplona that I’m about to post here cuts deep into my heart. That’s probably why I first posted the mundane (?) “feel-good” memories of my last days in the Scottish Highlands—to escape the unbearable for a moment—and now to be able to come to terms with it.
Today, July 14, 2026, is the last day of the annual slaughter and animal cruelty in Pamplona, Spain, euphemistically known as the “Bull Run Festival.” A joint team from the animal rights organizations AnimaNaturalis and CAS International spent an afternoon in the arena documenting the events on camera and subsequently also in words.
The “bull-run” festival in honor of the city’s patron saint, San Fermín, traditionally takes place from July 7 to 14 and attracts around one million visitors each year. It’s a major economic driver that, according to estimates, brings in between 100 million and 260 million euros to the capital of the autonomous region of Navarre. Many arrive the day before, when the starting signal is given at noon from the balcony of City Hall, and the crowd ties the traditional red scarf around their necks.
The same sequence is repeated every day for the remainder of the festival. After the approximately 800-meter run, the bulls are taken to the arena, where they must wait until the evening bullfight (corrida) to be killed by a matador with a dagger or sword. This happens on each of the eight days of the festival, with six bulls each day, meaning that 48 bulls are killed during this time. In addition, two extra bullfights with six bulls each take place on the two days before the first running of the bulls. In total, 60 bulls are killed during the festivities in Pamplona.
On July 8th, a joint team from AnimaNaturalis and CAS International documented the second afternoon of bullfights at the Pamplona Bullring. There, the six bulls from the Cebada Gago ranch in Cádiz—which had dodged the crowds that morning—were killed with swords just a few hours later.
On their website, the animal rights organizations describe their observations:
“The investigation team witnessed the full cycle that morning and afternoon: the run the city celebrates as a feat of daring, and the death the broadcasts prefer not to show in detail. These bulls deserve to be remembered as individuals, not just as a stampede. Palillero, branded with the number 13; Filósofo, number 64 and light grey; Branador, number 66, black with a white-marked underside; Pintado, number 70, mottled black with white streaking and markings; and Cepillito, number 78, black, ran ahead of the crowd for barely two minutes and twenty seconds. Hours later, five of them were fought and killed by sword in the same ring.
The sixth spot that afternoon wasn’t filled by any of the bulls that had run that morning. One of them arrived at the ring’s pens in no condition to fight; it may have been an injury, a fall, or a fracture, mishaps that are common after the run. Manijero, one of the reserve bulls the organization always keeps on hand for last-minute substitutions, took his place. He, too, died that afternoon.”
You can this butchery on YouTube here. Or click below (the age restriction may apply only within the EU, and the video might be freely accessible elsewhere):
Another video shows the 2025 massacre here. Or directly here:
If you’d rather not watch the videos, the photos on this page tell you enough.
The six bulls in the arena, the AnimaNaturalis website continues, face the same script: “the lance that tears into the neck muscle, the barbed sticks driven into the back as the animal, already exhausted, tries to twist free, and the final sword thrust that doesn't always land clean on the first try.”
There is nothing extraordinary about that death of the bulls in Pamplona: they are ordinary bullfights, like all the rest.
“The first lance already leaves the animal panting: the horse’s padded protection presses against the bull’s neck muscle, and the bull charges into the blade again and again, losing with every charge the strength in the neck it will need to hold its head up for the rest of the afternoon. The bleeding starts then, dark and thick, spreading across its back as the animal stays on its feet, forced to keep moving for the show.
Then follows the “banderilla” phase, the animal rights activists write: “two or three more barbed sticks are driven in near the first wound, and the bull, breathing more and more raggedly, gasps for air with its mouth open and tongue out as its steps falter. The final stage isn’t always clean either: if the sword doesn’t pass cleanly through the lung, a second thrust or a dagger strike to the spinal cord is needed to finish off the animal once it’s already down, with nothing left, before the mules drag it out of the ring.”
The scene repeats itself on eight afternoons during every “bull-running festival,” but animal rights organizations report that fewer and fewer people are attending each year. According to a survey published by the Ministry of Culture, only 8 percent of the Spanish population attended a bullfighting event in 2025. According to recent studies, seven out of ten Spaniards oppose bullfighting, with opposition on the rise, particularly among women and people under 30.
Even so, the "Not My Culture" Popular Legislative Initiative, which gathered more than 715,000 signatures to strip bullfighting of its cultural heritage status, was rejected this past October in Spain's Congress of Deputies. Apparently unfazed by the fact that people repeatedly lose their lives at these events, too. Just as happened recently in Pamplona: a 23-year-old runner from Gipuzkoa was gored, and two other people were injured. Since data collection began in 1910 (some sources cite 1924), there have reportedly been 16 additional deaths during the running of the bulls. Of course, people choose voluntarily to take part in the spectacle, while the bulls are forced to suffer an agonizing death.
It is not only the breeding farms and the city of Pamplona that profit from this suffering: The bullring, where six bulls die every day during the festival, is not operated by the Pamplona City Council, but by the Casa de Misericordia (“House of Mercy”), a centuries-old charitable institution whose name evokes a sense of compassion. In fact, it is funded, among other things, by revenue from the bullring, which is owned by the foundation. “Its profits, generated by a Bull Fair with a budget of close to 4.9 million euros this year, go toward residential care for vulnerable elderly people”, writes AnimaNaturalis. And: “Pamplona’s mayor, Joseba Asirón, also chairs that same institution’s board.” That is why, as early as July 5, activists from AnimaNaturalis and PETA, smeared with fake blood, demonstrated in front of Pamplona City Hall. They held signs reading: “Bullfighting is a sin.” And they posed the provocative question: Can a Catholic foundation manage death and animal cruelty without betraying its values?
According to AnimaNaturalis, veterinary associations such as AVATMA complain that ranches in the fighting-bull industry — including names tied to the great estates that breed fighting bulls, such as Cebada Gago — benefit from European Common Agricultural Policy subsidies, a fund meant to sustain agricultural activity in rural areas. Cas International, with support from AnimaNaturalis (Spain) and ANIMAL (Portugal), has launched sn online petition that calls for an end to EU funding for farms that benefit directly or indirectly from bullfighting.
Some regions, writes AnimaNaturalis, several Spanish towns have already replaced festivities involving animal suffering with popular celebrations that don't include fighting bulls, without losing either the festive spirit or local identity. Public pressure is also forcing institutions to publicly justify every euro they spend. “Every signature, every complaint, and every awareness campaign bring closer the day San Fermín can be celebrated without any animal having to die to sustain it.”
Today, however, this killing will happen six more times. At 6 p.m., the last bullfights of the year will begin in Pamplona. None of the six bulls that ran through the city this morning will still be alive by sunset.
This text was first published on my German website and translated by me.