What Has a Bull-Running Festival Got To Do With Civic Unity? Quite a Lot, Actually
Co-habiting the same political space or living under shared political institutions in an atmosphere of peace and toleration is no small feat, as the history of civil war, revolution, and civil breakdown demonstrate. Indeed, we need not look to some exotic past to understand the fragility of civil order: it should suffice to notice the crescendo of polarising political rhetoric and the rise of “Them versus Us” language in Europe and the United States to grasp the fact that Western nations may well be on a downward spiral toward a rupture or decomposition of the body politic.
Sometimes the source of division among citizens is described in terms of competing ethical values and commitments. There is obviously a lot of truth to this explanation: as citizens’ moral and religious values start to diverge dramatically, there is less common ground and more potential for ideas of civil life and public order to diverge. The breakdown of a shared moral and/or religious horizon surely has a lot to do with the breakdown of civic unity.
But if we stop there, we miss a crucial dimension of civil unity, namely the bond of friendship and mutual trust, and the common life and common rituals that perpetuate that bond. Citizens do not spend all their time - or even a majority of their time - sitting around tables arguing about legislation and public policy. They spend most of their time just getting on with their lives, working, resting, playing, eating, marrying, having children, etc.
The quality of the civic bond depends not only on whether citizens converge in their moral beliefs, but on whether they can recognise each other in their full humanity, as people who are more than just ideological adversaries.
But how can this come about? It comes about by spending time with a broad cross-section of our fellow citizens in circumstances that call forth attitudes of trust, goodwill, cooperation, and even play, rather than just attitudes of competition and rivalry. Trust and goodwill are not learnt in a textbook: they are learnt on the street, in the hallways of a university or business, sitting on public transport, or rubbing shoulders with a fellow citizen in a bar.
One of the most conspicuous social activities that fosters a sense of common life, goodwill and mutual trust is the public festival. If citizens can find an excuse to celebrate something together, they can learn to see each other as fully human, as fellow travellers who belong together and can enjoy the same things, in spite of whatever political differences they may have.
One of the great strengths of continental European societies is their strong attachment to street festivals. Street festivals bring the idea of a shared public sphere to life in a vivid way, as citizens swarm around a shared spectacle, exchange friendly banter, or help create spectacle themselves.
It is true that these festivals generally have their roots in medieval Christendom, and that many modern European citizens no longer have any special attachment to or understanding of the Christian roots of their festivals. Nonetheless, these festivals are performative and not primarily theoretical. Because of their performative character, they can accomplish what theoretical arguments cannot: to bring citizens with very different beliefs and values together in the street or townsquare, where they recognise each other as fellow citizens in spite of their diverging beliefs and values.
I have seen this firsthand in the San Fermín festivals that occur every July in my hometown, Pamplona, capital of Navarra, an autonomous regional unit of Spain. These celebrations, which last a full week, involve a wide array of festivities, from special Masses and religious liturgies to giants dancing through the streets to people being chased through the streets by bulls at the crack of dawn, to people spending many hours fraternising with old friends in the bars of Pamplona’s old town.
Most citizens are decked out in traditional white clothing with a red neckscarf as a symbol of the martyrdom of San Fermín, the first bishop of Pamplona, who is said to have been beheaded in Amiens, France, in 303 A.D, during a wave of Roman persecution of the Christian faith.
This is a city populated by monarchists and socialists, more or less traditional Catholics and those who no longer practice the Catholic faith, citizens who see their identity as firmly rooted in Basque language and culture, and citizens who are proudly Spanish and Navarran, recent immigrants and citizens born in Navarra. Whatever their political, cultural or ideological differences, Navarran citizens show up in droves to participate in the San Fermín festivities, decked out in traditional red-and-white garb.
The San Fermín festivals are more than just a “tourist trap” or a money-making operation: they are undoubtedly an instrument of civic cohesion. The fondness a Navarran has for the festivals transcends left and right and it transcends theological belief. It is a fondness that is shared by most citizens, irrespective of where they fall on the political spectrum. It provides a hook for a sense of shared humanity and even, to a certain degree, a shared sense of patriotism and civic belonging - a welcome pretext for setting aside political grievances and celebrating together, “no strings attached.”
This lays the seeds of mutual trust, reciprocity and civic friendship. It is not a panacea for the polarisation of the modern polity, but it might be a stabiliser to help keep the show on the road at least long enough for citizens to figure out a way to navigate their moral, cultural, and religious differences without collapsing into a toxic spiral of mutual resentment and recrimination.
Join The Thinking Society today for £99
Here's what members are saying:
"I wanted to learn how we’re manipulated and influenced, and this course gave me the tools to identify it and protect against it. I now find myself analysing interactions in real-time to understand what's happening underneath the surface.” Cher G.
"I already knew some of this, but the course gave me a deeper grasp of how manipulation works and how widespread it is. I’ve been using the ‘map is not the territory’ frame in conversations. It’s a powerful way to introduce others to the idea that perception isn’t reality.” Eugenie V