From Bullfighting to Belief: A Journey Through Tradition, Ethics, and Loneliness

Growing up, I was always fascinated by how traditions define the identity of a culture - yet I have seen firsthand how such customs, once rigid and unquestioned, can change dramatically within just a generation. A vivid example is Spain’s bullfighting tradition, which I remember as a deeply ingrained cultural spectacle. Decades ago, it seemed untouchable, proudly defended by Spaniards even as neighbors in Europe opposed it. Today, however, bullfighting is steadily losing popularity, particularly among younger Spaniards, and some regions have banned it altogether. This shift is not isolated: similar declines have occurred in other Spanish events involving harm to animals, signaling a broader cultural awakening to animal welfare and ethics.

This transformation in Spain reveals something remarkable about human societies: cultural norms, no matter how entrenched, are not fixed. They evolve - often rapidly - as new generations question the morality behind tradition and embrace different values. It is fascinating and hopeful to witness, especially when contrasted with other parts of the world where similar shifts seem far less visible.

Yet my own experience tells a more complicated story, especially when it comes to ritual and faith in Islamic countries. I spent parts of my childhood in Pakistan, where traditions involving animals - particularly the sacrifice during Eid-ud-Adha - are not only religiously significant but also socially reinforced. I still remember how children, were encouraged by elders to slit the throats of animals as a rite of passage, an act that I increasingly saw as a form of cruelty, not devotion. When I questioned these practices, I was often met with a question I found hard to answer: “Why do you eat meat then?” It was a conversation that exposed a deeply rooted tension - between accepted ritualized violence and personal ethics.

My parents, fortunately, were thoughtful people. They often chose to donate money to charity instead of performing the sacrifice themselves, a decision that drew criticism from relatives who viewed it as neglecting religious duties. Looking back, their choice was an early form of ethical resistance - prioritizing compassion over conformity in a culture where tradition and religious symbolism are tightly intertwined.

From a young age, I found myself questioning these rituals and many other aspects of faith and culture. My critical thinking led me to become agnostic in my early youth. I believe such rituals, when performed unquestioningly, contribute to social ills in Pakistan and many Islamic countries - fostering cruelty, suppressing empathy, and discouraging critical reflection. I am thankful that I moved back to Germany at the age of 15, where I found the intellectual freedom to explore these doubts without fear of ostracism.

But even with this freedom, I have often felt deeply alone. I look around at peers with backgrounds similar to mine - those who also grew up between East and West, tradition and modernity - and I see many who have chosen conformity over questioning, pride in identity over critical reflection. Some have even radicalized, doubling down on rigid identities in ways that puzzled and pained me. This loneliness, of standing apart in clarity while many around you remain bound by fear, belonging, or social pressure, is profound.

Why do so many choose conformity? For some, the struggle to reconcile multiple identities leads to clinging tightly to tradition as a source of belonging. For others, fear of exclusion, guilt, or the human desire for certainty in a chaotic world drives them to defend practices I find troubling. This leaves those of us who think critically and empathize deeply feeling like outliers, even among our own generation.

Still, I take solace in knowing I am not truly alone. There are others - often quietly - wrestling with the same questions and tensions. We are part of a growing diaspora, forging new paths that honor both heritage and humane values. Cultural and ethical change rarely begins with the majority; it starts with individuals brave enough to question, to endure loneliness, and to choose integrity over convenience.

The story of bullfighting’s decline in Spain reminds me that change is possible, even when it seems impossible. Traditions, no matter how venerable, can and do evolve. And sometimes, all it takes to start that shift is one person daring to think differently, to live authentically, and to hold compassion above conformity.

In the end, my journey from questioning cultural rituals to living with ethical solitude is part of a broader human story - a story of grappling with identity, tradition, and the moral compass. It is a story still unfolding, one I share not to judge but to understand and to hope that, like Spain’s cultural transformation, new generations will embrace change rooted in empathy and critical reflection.