Raising the Dead
November marks one of Mexico's most lively
traditions.
By Barbara Kastelein
The attitude towards death evidenced in the quintessentially
Mexican holiday of Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) might be
puzzling for some. It isn't difficult for foreigners to
interpret dancing skeletons, candy skulls and general drunken
revelry as disrespect for the dead and grief at human loss.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
For those accustomed to hushed voices, formal clothing, a
solemn priest and an absence of children as fitting for the
graveside, this festival flies in the face of propriety. Bright
flowers, loud music, colorful decorations and seasonal sweets
are characteristic of a popular cemetery in Mexico City on the
first two days of November.
This tradition has been relished in the past as uniquely
Mexican. Nobel laureate Octavio Paz said, "The Mexican . is
familiar with death, jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with
it, celebrates it; it is one of his toys and his most steadfast
love."
Profit-rich Tradition?
Some academics are critical of the historical roots of Día de
Muertos and say that it is more about profit than respect for
the dead. Certainly, in some parts of Mexico City, the holiday
has become a full-fledged tourist attraction. Entrance fees to
cemeteries have become the norm.
But the November 1 Noche de Muertos ritual goes on whether
tourists come or not. On the remote island of Pacanda on a lake
in Michocán, as well as Yunuen, one rarely finds a tourist.
Visitors to the far islands need to bring their own
provisions, as no tacos are sold, much less tourist trinkets.
Moreover, the vigil also takes place at an unexpected time-not
the witching hour of midnight. At the cementary on Pacanda,
visitors begin to trickle in between 1 and 2 a.m. with bundles
of food, stacks of long white candles, and materials to
construct elaborate altars.
In contrast to urban graveyards, no one laughs or drinks.
While the graves are decorated, the atmosphere is industrious,
and then settles into a reverie, as candles flicker and locals
settle into their blankets for a long, cold night. It is not
recognizably mournful, nor intensely meditative-more a sort of
limbo enhanced by the aroma of copal incense, mixed with the
smell of hot candle wax, fading damp flowers and weeds from the
lake. It seems perfect for spirits of the departed to return to
sit in a fond and melancholy communion with the living.
Preparing the Way
There is not just one Day of the Dead, but two - Day of the
Little Dead, for children, on November 1, and Day of the Adult
Dead, on November 2.
The core elements of the holiday are family visits to
decorate the tombs where their ancestors lay, and offer food,
drink and temporary altars. The gist of the fiesta is that the
spirits of the dead on these dates are able to come back from
the beyond to visit, if the living facilitate this communion
with petals of the cempazúchitl (an orange marigold
flower) pointing in the direction from the grave to the house.
Altars and tombs also feature candles to light the way, water
for the dead to drink and salt for the journey.
The poor walk between tombs, asking for the right to pray for
the deceased in exchange for food, a tradition shared with Spain
and other Latin American countries. Today, mariachis in the
Dolores Cemetery in Mexico City will sing a song for the difunto
for a fee.
Children throughout Mexico have long used Day of the Dead to
ask passers by for their "calavera" - any sweet or pocket
change. And sweets fashioned for All Saints' and All Souls' Days
are also featured in Catholic Europe.
However, Dr. Yolotl González, researcher with the National
Anthropology and History Institute (INAH), says that independent
of colonial and Christian influence, the tradition of
celebrating "Los Muertos" is basically a pre-Hispanic concept.
It is widely known that the Mexica, celebrated a fiesta
called "Miccailhuitontli" held in honor of dead children, and
"Miccailhuitl" in honor of the adult dead. But before the
Spanish conquest, these fiestas were not celebrated in early
November, but in the middle of the year.
The Spanish made them coincide with the Catholic holidays of
All Saints Day and All Soul's Day, which date to the Middle
Ages, says Dr. González. But here in Mexico Todos los Santos is
secondary to the pre-Hispanic festival.
"Even in Mixquic, which is just one big party contaminated by
commercialism, they put a clay dog on the altar-a clear
reference to pre-conquest custom of killing a dog and
incinerating it with the body of the deceased to help it on its
way," said González.
In pre-Hispanic tradition the dead had to cross a river, and
the dog was needed to help the soul cross over, she explains.
The humorous aspect was absent from the celebrations of the
Mexica, said González, just as it is from festivities in many
indigenous communities today.
"When I was little, in celebrations leading up to Muertos,
there were calaveras, little heads or skulls made of chick peas
. and those sugar skulls were continually made. The Toluca sweet
fair was a classic; you had coffins of sugar, toys related to
death, dolls. But I don't think this was really humorous. I
think it is that death was seen as natural, so much so that its
image could be a toy for little kids."
Urban Take
In Mexico City the holiday does not have much to do with the
way the Mexica viewed death. González says the urban spectacle
has become interesting not so much for its pre-Hispanic roots,
but rather because it is now an important part of Mexico's
identity, with the promotion of Día de Muertos as a resistance
to the incursion of U.S. culture, like Halloween.
"You see altars more and more in schools, offices and
supermarkets. We make an altar here at the Department of
Ethnology and Social Anthropology in San Angel, and place on it
photos of our researcher colleagues who have died."
Apart from the relatively new practice in Mexico of dressing
up children as witches, vampires or mummies, the Catholic
tradition for charity, which made its way into Día de Muertos,
is what is most likely to chime with Halloween.
Inevitably Halloween has come to Mexico via the United
States, where begging has been transformed into "trick or
treat." Indeed, now in urban Mexico, you are more likely to see
children touring the local square at night with orange plastic
pumpkins and asking for "mi Hjallo-gueen," rather than
"mi calaverita."
Susana Ibañez, headmaster of a kindergarten in Coyoacán,
Mexico City, has tried in vain to keep the different festivities
separate.
"It's not the children, it's the parents. We ask them not to
dress them up for our Día de Muertos party, but they insist. We
do teach the kids about Halloween, but in their English class.
Here in the school, the altar is the big theme and all the
children participate, bringing sugar skulls, pan de muertos, and
helping with the decorations."
Ibañez said that the element of national pride is increasing
in this fiesta. She pointed out that a supermarket was
criticized a few years ago for having too much imported
Halloween paraphernalia, and in response set up a proper altar.
While she does correct her students if they refer to the
festivity as Halloween, she does not see Halloween as a threat
to native traditions.
Mexican scholars agree that Day of the Dead leans to the side
of remembrance of the dead, rather than grief for them.
Addressing the strains of revelry and macabre humor,
ethnologist José del Val says, "Death is about separating the
sacred from the profane. The sacred is a serious matter, but
Muertos is also a festival. So this is a festival in a sacred
space, and this means everything is allowed without censure."
Barbara Kastelein writes about Mexico
travel and tourism for Fodor's Travel Publications, Condé Nast
Traveller (UK) and the Sunday Express newspaper in London.
¡En español!