At this time of year, I’m usually immersed in Pamplona’s San Fermin festival, which burst into life on Sunday and runs until next Monday. The fiesta is famous for its daily bull runs through the narrow streets of the old town – an anarchic, life-affirming tradition in which I have participated six times. Unable to attend this year, I watched Sunday afternoon’s opening celebration on TV from southern Spain, feeling envious of each and every one of the 13,000 people present. But I was angered and saddened by what I saw.

Pamplona’s mayor chooses who lights the firework, or chupinazo, that officially launches San Fermin. This is done on the balcony of the town hall at midday on 6 July, after the phrases that officially ignite the fiesta have been shouted to the crowd below: ‘Viva San Fermin!, Gora San Fermin!’ (the latter of which is Basque for ‘Long live San Fermin’). Last year, the chupinazo was lit by a Basque dance group called Duguna; but on Sunday the honour fell to members of Yala Nafarroa, a local organisation that campaigns for a ‘free Palestine’ and defines Israel’s actions in Gaza as ‘genocide’. Sounding utterly demented, one of their members yelled: ‘Stop genocide, free Palestine!’ before lighting the rocket.

In the crowd below, soaked pink with tinto de verano, a huge banner carried the words: ‘Destroy Israel’. This year’s San Fermin was tainted from that moment on. I felt glad not to have been part of that mob, in which any Jewish attendees must have felt scared or at least deeply unwelcome.

The balcony of Pamplona’s town hall is not a podium for ideological pontification. Although there is always an inaugural speech on 6 July, it is typically used to pay homage to San Fermin, Navarre’s patron saint, rather than broadcast a political message. This is as it should be, because politics has absolutely no place at San Fermin. The atmosphere is characterised by tolerance and inclusivity; fights or any other kind of anti-social behaviour are rare, despite the huge amount of alcohol that is consumed. The crowds, though dense, have never felt menacing – at least not to me. Sadly, I doubt the same can be said for everyone who attended this year’s poisoned chupinazo.

Had someone yelled ‘Free Israel!’ over the wine-stained masses, or called for Basque independence, or screamed solidarity with Ukraine, or hollered for the resignation of Spain’s useless prime minister, Pedro Sanchez, they would also have deserved condemnation, along with the town’s mayor. The chupinazo is

not a political event. That said, the local administration was especially at fault in allowing members of Yala Nafarroa to froth and scream at the (apparently receptive) crowds.

Pamplona’s mayor, Joseba Asiron, is a member of the leftist group EH Bildu, which campaigns for Basque independence (although with rather less bombast than the defunct terrorist cell ETA did throughout the 1980s and 1990s). Explaining his choice of this year’s chupinzao-lighters, he said sententiously: ‘Pamplona, even at the sweetest time of the year, does not forget that in other parts of the world a real genocide is taking place’.

This is a highly contentious claim, not the unassailable truth that Israel-haters often present it as being. Reacting on X to this year’s chupinazo, the Israeli embassy in Madrid said that it is ‘intolerable that Spanish institutions support individuals or groups whose goal is to incite hatred against Israel and that in no way contribute to peace’.

Rabbi Menachem Margolin, chairman of the European Jewish Association, saw a grotesque irony in the fact that anti-Israel banners billowed next to ones supporting Basque independence: ‘For 3,000 years, Jews longed for independence. We won it. That radical independence movements hate us for defending the world’s only Jewish state speaks volumes about their politics. [To them] everyone can have a country, unless you are Jewish’. Conspicuous by their absence were banners calling for the eradication of Hamas, the genocidal terrorist group that triggered the latest war.

Whether Israel’s attack on Gaza is considered genocide or not is irrelevant. Revellers at San Fermin go to Pamplona to forget about the world’s evils for a few glorious days. Why the need to bring up global conflicts? Like many others, I do not attend San Fermin to have mindless slogans shouted at me from a balcony; I go to forget about life, to party with my friends and to experience deep emotions on the bull run. I’ll return in 2026, by which point I hope that this year’s hate-filled chupinazo is a distant memory and that everyone, including Jews, feels welcome once again.