Latest / The History of Portugal: The Small Nation That Built a Global Empire — Fexingo History / The Azores Bullfighting Ban of 1836: A Quiet Revolution
Transcript
- Lucas: So Luna, we've covered a lot of ground in Portugal's imperial story — the caravels, the trading posts, the fortresses scattered across three oceans. But today I want to pull back to something closer to home, literally. A tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic, where a single decree about bullfighting sparked a rebellion that most people have never heard of. Luna: Bullfighting? On the Azores? Lucas: Exactly. And not just any bullfight — the Azores had their own unique style, the tourada à corda, where the bull is let loose on a rope held by people on the ground. It's still practiced today, but in 1836, a local magistrate on the island of Terceira decided it was barbaric and banned it outright. That ban didn't just change the entertainment; it tore the island apart. Lucas: To understand why, you have to remember that the Azores in the 1830s were not some sleepy backwater. They were a crucial stop for ships crossing the Atlantic, a strategic military outpost, and the site of some of the most intense political conflicts in Portugal's civil wars. The islanders were proud, fiercely independent, and not used to being told what to do by Lisbon — or by anyone else. Luna: So what exactly did the magistrate do, and why did it cause such a stir? Lucas: His name was José Silvestre Ribeiro, and he was a judge sent to Terceira to enforce the new liberal constitution that had just been proclaimed in Portugal in 1836. The liberals were modernizing the country, and part of that meant banning what they saw as cruel and outdated practices. Bullfighting was high on their list. So Ribeiro issued a decree prohibiting all bullfights on the island, not just the tourada à corda but every kind of corrida de touros. Lucas: Now, bullfighting wasn't just entertainment in the Azores. It was woven into the fabric of community life — feast days, weddings, even religious processions often ended with a bullfight. The church, which had deep roots on the island, saw it as a legitimate celebration. The ban felt like an attack on their identity, their faith, and their autonomy. Luna: So did they just ignore it, or was there actual resistance? Lucas: Oh, there was open rebellion. Within weeks, crowds gathered in Angra do Heroísmo, the main town, to protest. They marched on the town hall, shouting that Ribeiro was a tyrant and a foreigner. The situation escalated quickly — there were clashes with the police, and Ribeiro had to call in the military to restore order. But the protests didn't stop; they just went underground. People started organizing secret bullfights in remote valleys, and the ban became a rallying cry for everyone who opposed the liberal reforms. Luna: That's intense. And what did the mainland do about it? Lucas: That's where it gets interesting. The liberal government in Lisbon was preoccupied with consolidating power and fighting the remnants of the absolutist forces. They didn't have the will or the resources to enforce the ban on a distant island. So they left Ribeiro to deal with it on his own. He was caught between his duty to uphold the law and the reality that he was facing an entire population that hated him. Lucas: Ribeiro tried to compromise — he allowed bullfights to go ahead if the proceeds went to charity, or if they were held in enclosed arenas where the bull wouldn't be harmed. But that just made things worse. The islanders saw it as a trick, and they rejected any form of regulation. The ban turned into a symbol of everything they resented about the new order. Luna: So how did it actually end? Lucas: It didn't, really. The ban was officially lifted a few years later, in the early 1840s, when a more conservative government came to power in Lisbon. But the damage was done. The episode had cemented the tourada à corda as a symbol of Azorean resistance, and it also exposed the limits of Lisbon's authority over the islands. The Azores were never quite the same after that. Lucas: And there's a twist that ties this to a larger story. The British navy, which had a base in the Azores during the Napoleonic wars, played a role in mediating the conflict. A British officer named Arthur Wellesley — not the Duke of Wellington, but a distant relative — was stationed in Angra and acted as a go-between, trying to calm both sides. He kept a detailed journal, and it's one of the reasons we know so much about what happened. Luna: Wait, a British officer just happened to be there? Lucas: It wasn't an accident. The Azores were a vital refueling station for British ships, and they had close ties with the island's elite. When the riots broke out, the British consul called on Wellesley to help protect British interests. He wasn't a neutral party, but his journal gives us a rare outsider's perspective on the events. He describes the islanders as 'a proud and stubborn people, but not unreasonable' — and he thought the ban was a mistake from the start. Luna: That's fascinating — a British eye on a Portuguese island conflict. Lucas: Right. His account also reveals how the ban affected daily life in ways you wouldn't expect. Without bullfights, the islanders lost a major source of income — not just from the fights themselves, but from the cattle breeding that supplied the bulls. Farmers who had raised bulls for generations suddenly had no market. Some went bankrupt. So the ban wasn't just a cultural issue; it was an economic disaster for parts of the island. Lucas: The whole affair also had a lasting effect on the relationship between the Azores and the mainland. It fed a sense of neglect and resentment that simmered for decades, and it's one of the reasons why the Azores developed such a distinct regional identity — one that sometimes feels more Atlântico than Europeu. Luna: So is the tourada à corda still around today? Lucas: Oh, absolutely. It's actually the most popular form of bullfighting in Portugal now, and it's practiced throughout the Azores. The bull isn't killed in the ring — it's a test of skill for the people holding the rope, and the whole community gets involved. In a way, the ban backfired: it made the tradition even stronger, more self-conscious, more defiant. The islanders turned it into a celebration of their unique heritage. Luna: That's a great example of a law having the opposite effect. Lucas: Exactly. And it's a reminder that history isn't always made in grand battles or royal decrees. Sometimes it's made in a small island town, by a magistrate with good intentions and a community that refused to give up its way of life. Lucas: You know, the more I read about this episode, the more I think about how similar stories are playing out today. Communities everywhere are wrestling with the tension between tradition and progress, between what's inherited and what's imposed from above. The Azores in 1836 is just one small, forgotten example of that universal struggle. Luna: And it's the kind of story we love to tell on this show — the human side of empire. Lucas: Yeah. And it's a good reminder that our work here — digging up these stories, sharing them with curious listeners — is only possible because of people who support the show. If you're one of those who enjoy these deep dives, and you want to help us keep going ad-free, you can buy us a coffee at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's not a big ask, but it makes a real difference in keeping this little project alive. Luna: Yeah, we really appreciate that. And it lets us keep finding stories like this one. Lucas: So, back to the Azores — what happened after the ban was lifted? Well, the tourada à corda became even more entrenched, and it spread to other islands. By the late nineteenth century, it was a symbol of Azorean identity, and it was celebrated in poetry, music, and local festivals. It also became a tourist attraction, which brought new money to the islands. So in a strange way, the ban ended up being a blessing for the Azores — it forced them to define and defend their own culture. Lucas: But the story doesn't end there. The conflict over bullfighting would echo in Portuguese politics for decades. In the 1850s, a national debate about abolishing bullfighting in mainland Portugal was influenced by what had happened in the Azores. Opponents of abolition pointed to the Azores as proof that banning bullfighting only made people more determined to keep it. And defenders of the tradition argued that it was a vital part of Portuguese identity. The debate was never fully resolved — bullfighting is still legal in Portugal, though with restrictions, while the Azores remain the heartland of the sport. Luna: So it's a story that's still being written. Lucas: Yes. And that's what makes history so compelling. It's not just about the past — it's about the roots of the present. The next time you're in the Azores, or you see a tourada à corda on television, you'll know there's a remarkable story behind it. A story of a small island, a well-meaning magistrate, and a community that refused to be told what to do.