Chickening Out
Soon fight fans will be left with nothing except to punch and claw each other.
I'm happy to report that at long last, our statewide nightmare is coming to an end. Like you, I have hung my head in shame when visiting outside of our enchanted borders, but no longer. Now, we can collectively hold our noble chins high in the knowledge that we are now one of 49 states to outlaw cockfighting, leaving only backward Louisiana as a venue for pugilistic peckers. I know this comes as a big relief to everyone who has been forced to endure the rampant cockfighting culture so prevalent throughout New Mexico. Maybe now we can concentrate on more pressing legislative matters, like setting safety standards for soda straws and renaming streets after basketball coaches.
As a longtime resident of New Mexico, I can't tell you how the cockfighting issue has impacted my life. Not that it's painful or emotionally difficult—I just can't tell you, because I never saw a cockfight in New Mexico. Well, not unless you count the overly amorous roosters vying for attention in the family henhouse, in which two testosterone-fueled fowl will pummel each other into bloody chicken nuggets in pursuit of a sort of chicken-coop organizational chart. The only time I had an opinion of cockfighting was when some mentally defective rooster saw fit to slap its spurs against my leg, which caused me to boot the bird across the coop. In the world of professional cockfighting, my boot remains undefeated.
According to some of our lawmakers, though, New Mexico's rivers run red with the blood of maimed roosters. By allowing this kind of activity to continue, New Mexico was viewed by the other 48 states with the same disdain normally reserved for drug peddlers or Robert Mapplethorpe photo exhibits. To shrug off this yoke of shame, the state legislature and Governor Richardson finally passed a bill that makes it illegal to engage in cockfighting, effective this June. This radical piece of legislation promises to have a huge impact on the livelihoods of all 12 people who admit to engaging in cockfighting, which will undoubtedly cripple the state's ability to host future cockfighting competitions.
Traditionalists cry that this ban is unfair to the rich cultural traditions that celebrate hundreds of years of watching chickens fight each other, but that's only because the traditionalists don't receive satellite television. If they did, they'd find far more entertainment in "Baywatch" reruns than watching chickens fight. Advocates argue that cockfighting is a time-honored sport brought over from Spain hundreds of years ago, and one still appreciated by many Mexican-Americans. My European-American ancestors used to celebrate traditions of burning witches and killing the French, but I don't think anyone wants to preserve that cultural history. So arguing the activity based on cultural tradition may seem a bit weak. Maybe the time has come for us to outsource all the cockfighting jobs to Louisiana, where they definitely need something to do, anyway.
With all the big, important issues facing Santa Fe each day, I'm not sure passing a ban on cockfighting was more pressing than, say, raising the minimum wage, which is kind of a no-brainer. But never underestimate the ability of our legislators to order our priorities in a higgledy-piggledy manner. This year's legislation includes a bill completing the official state question ("Red or Green?") with an official state answer ("Christmas," as in red and green). A joint House memorial was proposed to reclassify Pluto as a planet. A resolution calling for the impeachment of President Bush and Vice President "Chaney" (misspelling courtesy of the sponsoring lawmaker) was crafted. The sum of $100,000 was earmarked to buy tickets so that public-school students can attend semi-professional basketball games. So, in the proper context, it's easy to see how the issue of cockfighting can become so overwhelmingly important.
If you're a fight fan, then the landscape is kind of drying up for you. It will soon be against the law to have a rooster fight, and I don't think you can have a bullfight on this side of the border. You can still take part in a bar fight or appreciate one in progress, but the law doesn't condone that kind of antisocial behavior, either. Cats and dogs are still allowed to fight, but I imagine it's not okay to place bets on the outcome. In fact, it seems all sort of fighting is out of vogue, and even the chickens are going to have to attend anger-management classes in the future, which means I won't be kicking roosters much longer.
It's for the better, I would think, though I can't help but wonder why banning cockfighting was more pressing than healthcare, minimum wage, tax relief or the other "big-picture" issues left unresolved. But I guess the rules of distraction require addressing issues of symbolism—and ignoring the ones of substance.
Henry Lightcap awakens each morning to the crow of a rooster—at least until he can get his hands on it—at his hacienda in Las Cruces.