The rift was hard to miss.
At dingy curbside bars, patrons dressed in red sat in red plastic chairs and guzzled red cans of beer. Their rivals, clad in blue, leaned into blue plastic chairs and downed blue cans of beer.
Three-wheeled rickshaws zipped by, as riders bounced on benches tinted ruby red or royal blue. Banks and shops and crosswalks were also painted — one half red, the other blue.
Here, in the small Brazilian city of Parintins, staying neutral isn’t an option. “If you’re born here, you’re either red or you’re blue,” said Kellen Pinto, 48, whose family has lived here for generations. “You have to choose.”
This is no rivalry over soccer or politics though. In this city of 100,000 people, perched on an island in the Amazon River, something else is driving a wedge: fierce allegiances to two rival bull mascots, represented by the colors blue and red.
The red bull is known as the bull of the people. The blue bull is known as the darling of elites. The strife began over a century ago, though the question of which bull came first is the subject of fiery debate.
In 1913, a family began entertaining children in their neighborhood of fishermen and descendants of enslaved Africans with an oversized puppet of a white bull. Worn by a performer, the bull would dance to the rhythm of drums as a way of showing gratitude to St. John the Baptist — who is regarded as a guardian of rural communities — for a cured illness.
Across town, four siblings also began to honor the saint with a dancing black bull during solstice festivities at the end of harvest, a tradition brought by Portuguese settlers. The bull, contrasting with its white rival, was a way for the siblings to fulfill a vow they had made when migrating here from Brazil’s arid northeast in search of rain and prosperity, residents say.
The white bull, named Garantido, Portuguese for “guaranteed,” eventually gained a red heart on its forehead. The black bull, named Caprichoso, roughly translating to “whimsical,” was marked by a shiny blue star.
Over time, the local festivities evolved from rustic backyard affairs to elaborate processions that snaked through town, drawing thousands of revelers. In addition to celebrating a plentiful harvest, they also used costume and song to tell stories about local folklore and Indigenous rituals.
These parades eventually morphed into enormous spectacles held in an open-air stadium, where competing troupes representing each bull put on dazzling artistic performances for three nights in a row.
Judges score the presentations and, at the end, one bull is crowned the winner. The rivalry has swelled, as each side has rushed to outdo the other with more elaborate floats, more lavish costumes and more enthusiastic spectators.
But this town’s feud, passed down over generations, goes beyond the yearly festival.
Those loyal to one bull, residents insist, must never utter the rival bull’s name. Mothers fret about their children falling prey to school classmates who might lure them to the wrong bull. And lovers quarrel, and even split up, over mismatched allegiances.
In the neighborhood where the blue bull was born, huge stars were pinned onto storefronts and blue flags hung out of windows.
On the porch of a blue house, Ivanete Vieira da Silva, 86, and a half dozen of her relatives lounged in blue rocking chairs and drank from blue plastic party cups. On the wall behind them, a banner displayed a crossed-out cartoon image of the rival bull. “Entry prohibited for anyone wearing red or similar colors!” the sign warned.
“Our family has always rooted for the Caprichoso,” said Ms. Silva, 86, whose father, a farmer, was one of the blue bull’s early devoted followers. “Nobody chose the other one, thank the Lord.”
Her niece, Alessandra Lopes, 55, takes her allegiance seriously: beside not letting anyone wearing red enter the house, she has also blocked friends who cheer for the rival bull on social media. “We were taught this,” Ms. Lopes said. “And I passed it down to my children.”
Her daughter, Carol Lopes, 27, nodded and pointed a long, blue fingernail toward her family. “And we want to keep this tradition alive,” she said. “It’s our ancestry.”
On the other side of town, in the courtyard of a tomato-red home, Ms. Pinto and her husband, Telo Pinto, lingered by a pool lined with red tiles.
“Our bull is authentic, it has history,” said Mr. Pinto, 49, an artistic coordinator for the troupe that performs at the annual festival. “It truly represents the people.”
Supporters of the red bull, popular among the working class, accuse their rivals of using flashy high-tech performances to mask an uninspired message aimed at elites. Those who root for the blue bull say their opponents are stuck in the past.
When family members land on opposite sides, it can get complicated.
For years, Mayra Cavalcante, 41, urged her two sons to cheer on the blue bull. Their father, Marco Aurélio Costa de Medeiros, 37, lobbied for them to root for its rival.
“We each tried to pull them over to our side,” Mr. Medeiros said. He couldn’t sway their oldest son, but won over the youngest, Matheus.
“The bull chooses you,” Ms. Cavalcante said, as Matheus, 7, clad in red pants and red sneakers, danced around the living room underneath a miniature bull mascot. “I lost that battle.”
Ms. Cavalcante and Mr. Medeiros eventually divorced. It wasn’t just because of the rivalry, she said, but it certainly didn’t help. “In matters of the heart, you don’t get to choose,” said Ms. Cavalcante. “But you need a lot of love to make it work.”
Even for couples who stick it out, the annual festival can stir trouble. “When results come in, I don’t want him anywhere near me,” said Sidiane dos Santos Fonseca, 28, dressed in blue, as she glanced at her red-clad boyfriend, Victor Ferreira Macedo, 25. “There are definitely fights.”
Residents say that, deep down, the rivalry is mostly in jest. But, occasionally, it can veer into more hostile territory.
Some years, the festival has been marred by accusations of bribery, biased judges and score manipulation. And, lately, a spat between two of the festival’s key performers has captured local headlines.
In the arena, João Paulo Faria and Caetano Medeiros, a pair of local musical stars, are tasked with mocking their rival with improvised lyrics. But each has claimed the other has gone too far, launching personal attacks on and off stage.
“We used to play on the street as kids,” said Mr. Faria, who represents the red bull. “Then he totally changed.’’
Mr. Medeiros, who performs with the blue bull, scoffed at the idea, accusing his opponent of picking fights. “Who threw the first rock?” he asked. “I only defend myself.”
As the sun set over the Amazon River, the audience began packing the arena for the first day of performances. Those in red cheered on the right side. Their rivals, in blue, bellowed from the stands on the left. Some whispered prayers.
Just after 8:30 p.m., the blue bull began its show. Clad in feathers and rhinestones, dancers embodied local heroes, forest creatures and Indigenous warriors. The red bull followed, performing scenes from Indigenous folklore in the shadows of mechanical floats adorned with roaring leopards and hissing snakes.
The battle lasted three nights, each group putting on hours of grandiose shows for the euphoric crowd. When it was all over, the judges tallied the score. The blue bull won by less than a point.
At watch parties around town, those rooting for the blue bull erupted into chants and tears of joy.
Their defeated rivals crumpled into chairs, dejected by the news.
“Someone has to win and someone has to lose, right?” said Rosiete Freitas Viana, 55. “There’s no harm in a bit of rivalry.”
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