While Colombia’s vibrant culture is celebrated worldwide, a darker tradition is now under the spotlight—and it’s sparking fierce debate. As the nation moves to outlaw cockfighting, a recent night in Cartagena revealed the raw, unfiltered reality of this centuries-old practice. Far from the picturesque charm of the old city’s colorful facades and historic fortress walls, a crowd of 300 erupted in cheers—not for a football goal, but for the brutal climax of a cockfight. Blood splattered the white padded walls of the arena as bettors, mostly men, clinked drinks and collected winnings. Meanwhile, handlers removed the lifeless body of the defeated bird, and a worker swiftly swept feathers and wiped away blood, preparing for the next of over 100 fights scheduled that evening.
Cockfighting, introduced by Spanish colonizers, remains deeply entrenched in Colombian culture, but its days are numbered. A constitutional court ruling in September banned the practice, though it granted a three-year transition period for the government to provide alternative livelihoods for the tens of thousands who depend on it. But here’s where it gets controversial: while animal rights activists celebrate the ban as a victory against cruelty, many Colombians view it as an attack on their heritage. ‘I was horrified by the court’s ruling,’ said Alí Viveros, a 38-year-old breeder of fighting cocks and owner of a supply shop for fellow galleros. ‘Cockfighting is a tradition, it’s part of our culture,’ he insisted. Even literature reflects its significance—in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, a cockfight sets off a chain of events that leads to the founding of the fictional town of Macondo.
And this is the part most people miss: the economic ecosystem built around cockfighting. ‘A lot of families depend on it,’ Viveros explained. ‘It’s not just the galleros, but the food vendors, doormen, judges, cleaners, cage makers, and more.’ The national cockfighting federation estimates nearly 10,000 arenas nationwide and 270,000 to 290,000 families reliant on the activity. Animal rights groups dispute these figures, citing the informal nature of the practice, which the court acknowledged by ordering a government survey to assess its true impact.
‘We’ve fought long and hard against practices labeled as cultural but rooted in cruelty,’ said Senator Andrea Padilla, a key figure behind the ban. She drew a parallel to child marriage, once accepted in Colombia but now widely condemned. ‘Just because something is deeply rooted doesn’t make it morally valid,’ she argued. The same ruling also banned bullfighting, coleo, and corralejas, sparking further debate over cultural preservation versus animal welfare.
But here’s the counterpoint that’s dividing opinions: Fabián Montes, a leading cock breeder, questioned the ban’s logic. ‘What about the chickens and cattle we kill for food? Aren’t they sentient too?’ he asked. Montes, who keeps 1,000 birds, claims the animals are not mistreated and fight due to their ‘natural condition.’ He advocates for regulation over prohibition, a stance echoed by others in the community.
Scientific research, however, complicates this narrative. While some breeds have been selectively bred for aggression, training methods—like simulated bouts and confined chases—raise ethical concerns. At a recent fight witnessed by The Guardian, birds were forcibly pushed toward each other until they attacked, resulting in one death. Breeders also alter the birds physically, trimming combs, wattles, and feathers, and attaching artificial metal spurs—a practice critics call barbaric.
The question remains: Can a cultural tradition justify violence against animals? Animal rights advocates like Padilla argue the ban is necessary, but she warns of a looming problem: the lack of government support for transitioning workers. ‘What’s coming is rampant clandestinity,’ she predicted. ‘Staging a cockfight is easy—all you need is a small space and willing participants.’ A right-wing senator’s bill to overturn the ban is in early legislative stages, but its chances are slim. The court’s stance is clear: cultural tradition cannot legitimize harm to sentient beings.
As Colombia grapples with this issue, the debate rages on. Is the ban a step toward progress, or an erasure of cultural identity? And what responsibility does society have to balance tradition with ethics? We want to hear from you—share your thoughts in the comments below.
