photo essay: Rolando Pellot

LA GALLERA

What you need to be aware of before you go to a Nicaraguan cockfight is that the two roosters placed in front of each other in the center of the ring will fight until one of them can no longer stand. Spectators will be calling for blood and cheer when they inevitably see it. It’s surprising how well regulated the system is. Roosters are weighed and pitted against others in their own weight class. An inspector checks to see that a metal razor claw fitted to the rooster’s spur is properly attached. Fighters’ owners may be admonished for exhibiting unsportsmanlike conduct, such as talking trash about another owner or his rooster.

After you’ve squared away the fact that these roosters will all become bloody, tattered messes, you can then actually witness a match and decide where this spectacle lies on the scale between entertainment and cruelty. I remember thinking, “I should really be horrified by this.” But I wasn’t. I was surprisingly comfortable watching the roosters peck and slash, turning each other into moist, red piles of feather.

[showtime]


ROLANDO PELLOT was born and raised in Brooklyn and picked up the camera in his early twenties. Over the last decade, he’s put down the camera countless times for various reasons, but still manages to make the pick-ups outnumber the put-downs by one. He believes that the presence of bacon burgers, Jack & Cokes, Wu-Tang Clan and Fiona Apple all make his life feel just a touch sweeter. A trip to Southeast Asia is on deck.