We're willing to regulate, but we need someone to talk to us first
En las primeras horas del 10 de octubre, trabajadores de la industria gallística colombiana detuvieron el flujo de la ciudad más grande del país para recordarle al Estado que las leyes tienen rostros humanos. La propuesta de prohibición del gallináceo en el Congreso ha puesto en tensión dos valores que las sociedades modernas aún no saben reconciliar del todo: la protección del animal y la dignidad económica de los más pobres. Detrás del bloqueo en la Avenida El Dorado no había simple resistencia al cambio, sino el miedo antiguo y legítimo de quienes no tienen red de seguridad cuando el suelo desaparece bajo sus pies.
- Cientos de trabajadores gallísticos paralizaron la arteria principal de Bogotá al amanecer, convirtiendo una ley en trámite en una crisis de movilidad y de conciencia pública.
- La federación Fenagaco advierte que una prohibición sin transición condenaría a miles de personas de los estratos más bajos a un desempleo sin salida en un mercado laboral que ya los excluye.
- Los manifestantes no rechazan toda regulación: exigen ser incluidos en el debate antes de que una decisión legislativa borre cuatro décadas de oficio y sustento.
- El debate en el Congreso sigue abierto, atrapado entre el argumento del bienestar animal —que gana terreno moral— y la realidad económica de una informalidad que el Estado aún no sabe cómo reemplazar.
La mañana del 10 de octubre, la Avenida El Dorado de Bogotá amaneció bloqueada. Trabajadores de la industria gallística habían salido desde el Monumento a los Héroes Caídos en caravana hacia la Plaza de Bolívar, deteniendo el tráfico en ambos sentidos para protestar contra un proyecto de ley que prohibiría las peleas de gallos en Colombia.
Detrás de la movilización estaba Fenagaco, la federación del sector, cuyo presidente Campo Elías Manotas explicó a la prensa que no se oponían a ser regulados, sino a ser eliminados. La mayoría de quienes trabajan en esta industria pertenecen a los estratos 1 y 2, los más pobres del escalafón socioeconómico colombiano, y llevan más de cuarenta años en un oficio que la ley 84 de 1989 reconoce como legal. Para ellos, la prohibición no es una reforma: es un desahucio sin alternativa.
El conflicto expone una tensión que muchas sociedades enfrentan sin resolver: cómo abandonar una práctica considerada cruel sin abandonar también a las personas cuya supervivencia depende de ella. Los defensores del bienestar animal ven en las peleas de gallos una forma de crueldad inaceptable; los trabajadores ven en su prohibición la confirmación de que el Estado legisla para otros, no para ellos.
Mientras las autoridades de tránsito desviaban el flujo vehicular y el bloqueo se mantenía, la pregunta real quedaba sin respuesta: ¿escucharía el Congreso el llamado al diálogo, o la causa animal avanzaría sin importar el costo humano? Los trabajadores habían logrado hacerse visibles. Si esa visibilidad se traduciría en poder político, estaba aún por verse.
On the morning of October 10th, Bogotá's Avenida El Dorado—the city's main thoroughfare, also known as Calle 26—ground to a halt. Hundreds of workers from Colombia's cockfighting industry had taken to the streets, their vehicles and bodies blocking traffic in both directions. They were there to oppose a bill making its way through Congress that would ban cockfighting entirely, a practice the industry argues has sustained low-income families for decades.
The protest began at dawn at the Monument to Fallen Heroes and snaked its way toward Plaza de Bolívar, the symbolic heart of Colombian government. By mid-morning, traffic authorities were issuing alerts and rerouting commuters around the blockade. The demonstrators were not there to cause chaos for its own sake—they were there because they believed their livelihoods hung in the balance.
The proposed legislation frames cockfighting as animal cruelty, a practice incompatible with modern animal welfare standards. But the industry's federation, Fenagaco, sees the matter differently. They argue that a blanket prohibition would devastate thousands of workers who have no other skills, no other income source, and no realistic prospects for employment elsewhere in Colombia's difficult labor market. These are not wealthy entrepreneurs; they are people from the lowest income strata—classified as 1 and 2 in Colombia's socioeconomic system—many of whom have spent more than four decades in this work.
Campo Elías Manotas, the president of Fenagaco, spoke to the press with a tone of resignation mixed with defiance. The federation's position was not that cockfighting should continue unchanged. They were willing, he said, to accept regulation—new rules, new standards, new oversight. What they were not willing to accept was erasure. They wanted a conversation. They wanted to be heard before a law eliminated their means of survival.
The industry's argument rested on a simple economic reality: most people working in cockfighting come from strata 1 and 2, the poorest segments of Colombian society. They have spent their adult lives mastering a trade that is legal under Colombian law 84 from 1989, which explicitly permits the practice. Now, suddenly, that trade was being criminalized. The workers blocking Avenida El Dorado were not protesting the principle of regulation—they were protesting the prospect of abandonment, of being cast out of the formal economy with no safety net and no alternative.
The tension at the heart of this conflict is one that many countries have grappled with: how do you phase out a practice deemed cruel without destroying the people whose livelihoods depend on it? Animal welfare advocates see cockfighting as inherently indefensible, a form of gambling built on animal suffering. The workers see it as their only option in a country where formal employment is scarce and informal economies are often the only path to survival for the poor.
As traffic backed up across Bogotá and city officials managed the disruption, the real question remained unresolved. Would Congress listen to Fenagaco's call for dialogue, or would the animal welfare argument carry the day regardless of the human cost? The workers had made their presence impossible to ignore. Whether that would translate into political power remained to be seen.
Notable Quotes
The majority of people working in cockfighting are from strata 1 and 2, with more than 40 years in the trade. Life in Colombia's labor market is very difficult—who will hire them? We are willing to regulate many aspects of our activity, but we need dialogue.— Campo Elías Manotas, president of Fenagaco
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did they choose to block the main avenue? Why not a smaller protest?
Because they needed to be impossible to ignore. If you block Bogotá's main artery, the city stops. The government has to acknowledge you exist.
But doesn't that anger people? Doesn't it turn public opinion against them?
Probably. But they're already losing. The bill is moving forward. They're out of conventional options. A blocked avenue is a last resort, not a first choice.
The federation says they're willing to accept regulation. Why didn't they propose specific regulations earlier?
That's the real question, isn't it? Maybe they did and weren't heard. Maybe they didn't think they needed to until the bill appeared. Either way, they're saying it now—but it might be too late.
What happens to these workers if the ban passes?
They become unemployed. Thousands of people with forty years of experience in one trade, suddenly illegal. No severance, no retraining program mentioned. Just gone.
Is there a middle ground here?
In theory, yes. A phase-out period, retraining funds, transition support. But that requires both sides to actually negotiate. Right now, they're just blocking traffic and hoping someone listens.