Day of the Dead in the USA, Second Edition: The Migration and Transformation of a Cultural Phenomenon 9781978821675

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Preface
Note on the Text
Glossary
Introduction
1 An Ancient and Modern Festival
2 Mexico’s Distinctive Relationship with Day of the Dead
3 Day of the Dead in the United States
4 Ritual Communication and Community Building
5 U.S. Day of the Dead as Political Communication: A Moral Economy
6 Day of the Dead in the U.S. Media: The Celebration Goes Mainstream
7 Appeal, Influence, and Ownership
8 The Commodification of Day of the Dead
Conclusion: What We Can Learn from U.S. Day of the Dead Celebrations
Methodological Appendix
Notes
References
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Day of the Dead in the USA

Z

Latinidad TRANSNATIONAL CULTURES IN THE UNITED STATES Matt Garcia, Series Editor Professor of Latin American, Latino and Ca­rib­bean Studies, and History, Dartmouth College This series publishes books that deepen and expand our understanding of Latina/o populations, especially in the context of their transnational relationships within the Amer­i­cas. Focusing on borders and boundary-­crossings, broadly conceived, the series is committed to publishing scholarship in history, film and media, literary and cultural studies, public policy, economics, sociology, and anthropology. Inspired by interdisciplinary approaches, methods, and theories developed out of the study of transborder lives, cultures, and experiences, titles enrich our understanding of transnational dynamics. For a list of titles in the series, see the last page of the book.

Day of the Dead in the USA

Z The Migration and Transformation of a Cultural Phenomenon Second Edition

R e g i n a   M . M a rc h i

rutgers u niversity press new bru nswick, camden, and newark, new jersey, and london

 Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Marchi, Regina M., 1965–­author. Title: Day of the Dead in the USA: the migration and transformation of a cultural phenomenon / Regina M. Marchi. Description: Second edition. | New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, [2022] | Series: Latinidad: transnational cultures in the United States | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021050395 | ISBN 9781978821644 (hardback) | ISBN 9781978821637 (paperback) | ISBN 9781978821651 (epub) | ISBN 9781978821668 (mobi) | ISBN 9781978821675 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: All Souls’ Day—­United States. | United States—­Social life and customs. | United States—­Religious life and customs. Classification: LCC GT4995.A4 M36 2022 | DDC 394.2660973—­dc23/eng/20211014 LC rec­ord available at https://­lccn​.­loc​.g­ ov​/2­ 021050395 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication rec­ord for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2022 by Regina M. Marchi All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written per­ mission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. References to internet websites (URLs) ­were accurate at the time of writing. Neither the author nor Rutgers University Press is responsible for URLs that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared. The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—­Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. www​.­rutgersuniversitypress​.­org Manufactured in the United States of Amer­i­ca

 For my f­ amily and friends, vivos y muertos . . . and especially for my godmother, Mary Ellen Welch, whose spirit is with me e­ very day

Contents

Acknowl­edgments ​ ​  xi Preface ​ ​ xiii Note on the Text ​ ​  xvii Glossary ​ ​ xix Introduction ​ ​ 1 A Multimedia Communication Phenomenon ​ ​  3 Chapter Details ​ ​ 7

1 An Ancient and Modern Festival ​ ​  12 Honoring the Dead ​ ​ 13 Background on Day of the Dead in Eu­rope and Latin Amer­i­ca ​ ​  14 Day of the Dead Customs in Latin American Countries ​ ​ 18 Central Amer­i­ca ​ ​ 18 South Amer­i­ca ​ ​ 21



2 Mexico’s Distinctive Relationship with Day of the Dead ​ ​ 25 Folk and Pop Culture Manifestations ​ ​  27 Calavera Imagery as Social Satire ​ ​  28

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Origins of Mexico’s Skull Imagery ​ ​ 30 Mexican Calaveras in Print and the Birth of La Catrina ​ ​ 32 Day of the Dead and Mexican Nationalism ​ ​  33 Government Campaigns and Tourism ​ ​  35

3 Day of the Dead in the United States ​ ​  40 Mexican American All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day Rituals ​ ​ 40 A Chicano Tradition Is Born ​ ​  43 Spiritual and Po­liti­cal ​ ​ 46 Inventive Traditions as Decolonial Practice ​ ​ 49 Early Chicano Day of the Dead Cele­brations ​ ​ 53 Chicano Innovations ​ ​ 55 Impact and Legacy ​ ​ 60 Negotiations over Owner­ship ​ ​  65



4 Ritual Communication and Community Building ​ ​  68 ­Imagined Community ​ ​  71 Communitas ​ ​ 72 Claims for Public Recognition ​ ​  75



5 U.S. Day of the Dead as Po­liti­cal Communication: A Moral Economy ​ ​ 81 Remembering Mi­grants ​ ​  85 Remembering ­Labor Abuses: UFW and the Braceros ​ ​  87 Remembering Victims of Gendered and Homophobic Vio­lence ​ ​  89 Remembering Journalists and H ­ uman Rights ​ ​  91 Remembering Victims of War ​ ​  93



6 Day of the Dead in the U.S. Media: The Cele­bration Goes Mainstream ​ ​ 97 Media Attention for an Underrepresented Population ​ ​ 99

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Media as Publicity ​ ​ 101 Media Coverage Attracts Financial Support ​ ​  104 Public Validation for Latinx Neighborhoods ​ ​  107 Digital Media ​ ​ 108 Movies as Educational Medium ​ ​  111

7 Appeal, Influence, and Owner­ship ​ ​  114 U.S. Attitudes about Death ​ ​  116 From Denial to Ac­cep­tance of Death ​ ​  117 Widespread Appeal and Impact: Adoption by Non-­Latinx Populations ​ ​  119 Hybridity and Debates around Authenticity ​ ​  124

8 The Commodification of Day of the Dead ​ ​  133 Marketplace Offerings ​ ​ 134 Made in China ​ ​ 136 Day of the Dead as Marketing Device ​ ​ 137 Day of the Dead as Tourism and Urban Redevelopment ​ ​ 137 Nostalgia for the Noncommercial Days (of the Dead) ​ ​  139 McMuertos ​ ​ 139 Coco ​ ​ 143 Día de los Muertos Barbie ​ ​ 144 Commerce and Culture: A Long History Together ​ ​  144 Communicating through Commodities ​ ​ 149 Agency, Creativity, and Intention ​ ​  151

Conclusion: What We Can Learn from U.S. Day of the Dead Cele­brations ​ ​  160 Methodological Appendix ​ ​ 165 Notes ​ ​ 171 References ​ ​ 189 Index ​ ​ 199

Acknowl­edgments

Early research for this book was generously supported by funding from the University of California San Diego’s Center for the Study of Race and Ethnicity, the California Cultures in Comparative Perspective Program, and the University of California San Diego Office of the President, as well as by a fellowship from the Center for Media, Religion and Culture from the University of Colorado, Boulder’s School of Journalism and Mass Communication. ­Later research for the second edition was supported by a Social and Racial Justice grant from the Rutgers University Social Science Research Council as well as research funding and a sabbatical from the Rutgers School of Communication and Information. I thank my colleagues in the Department of Journalism and Media Studies for their friendship and support, my editor, Nicole Solano, and the editorial team at Rutgers University Press. I am especially indebted to David Avalos and Terezita Romo, both of whom generously provided feedback on draft sections of the first and second editions of this book, responded to numerous emails, and kindly connected me to additional artists, curators, and scholarly resources. This book also benefited greatly from feedback provided by Rachel González-­Martinez and Pavel Shlossberg on selected chapters of the second edition, as well as from thoughtful comments on the first edition made by Michael Schudson, Stewart Hoover, Lynn Schofield Clark, Eric Rothenbuhler, Mark Mattern, Chandra Mukerji, and Dan Hallin. Of course, the book would not exist without the p ­ eople who kindly allowed me to interview them. While ­t here ­were too many to list ­here and some ­people preferred to remain anonymous, I am especially grateful to the late René Yañez, Terezita Romo, David Avalos, John Jota Leaños, Betty Avila, Consuelo G. Flores, Cesáreo Moreno, Erendina Delgadillo, Bea Carrillo Hocker, Ofelia Esparza, Rosanna Esparza, Maribel Simán DeLucca, Claudio DeLucca, Ariel Xochitl Hernandez, David Zamora Casas, Linda Vallejo, Sarah Chavez, Yolanda Garfias xi

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A c k n o w l ­e d g m e n t s

Woo, Carmen Lomas Garza, Amalia Mesa-­Bains, Tomás Benitez, Lalo Alcaraz, Barbara Henry, Evelyn Orantes, Nancy Chárraga, Patricia Rodriguez, Estela Rubalcava Klink, Pita Ruiz, Louise Torio, Ann Murdy, Deborah Kaercher, Ignacio Ochoa and the late Carlos Von Son. It was an honor for me to meet so many legacy artists of the Chicano Movement, as well as younger artists who are continuing the work. This book is a finer body of research ­because of the experiences and reflections ­these brilliant and creative ­people shared with me. However, any errors or oversights in the text are solely my own responsibility. The following artists, altar makers, photog­raphers, and curators generously allowed me to reproduce images of their magnificent altar installations and ­photos. My heartfelt thanks go to Consuelo G. Flores, John Jota Leaños, David Zamora Casas, Al Rendon, Sandy Rodriguez, Elon Schoenholz, Kathleen Kulbert-­Aguilar, Isabela Perez, Sheyla Perez, Peter La Delfe, Roberto Verthelyi, and Cesáreo Moreno, Chief Curator at the National Museum of Mexican Art. I thank my ­family for their love and encouragement and am deeply appreciative of my parents Roberta and Richard Marchi, my aunt Debra Cave, and my godmother, Mary Ellen Welch, all of whose community activism and sense of justice s­ haped my vision of the world. A special thanks goes to my b ­ rother, Christopher Marchi, whose heroic help taking care of pressing issues at home in Boston allowed me to finish this manuscript on time, and to Kevin Farrell, who volunteered to proofread the manuscript. For their steadfast moral support and friendship, I am deeply grateful to Barbara McDonough, Nancy Lee, ­Kathleen Collins, John Hannigan, and, especially, Roberto Verthelyi.

Preface

This revised second edition of Day of the Dead in the USA is published in the 50th anniversary year of the first secular Día de los Muertos cele­brations in the United States in 1972, when Chicano/a artists expanded the tradition north of the border as a multimedia phenomenon. This second edition is significantly updated and revised, incorporating data from more than thirty new interviews conducted in 2019–2021 and a review of hundreds of recent websites and social media postings related to U.S. Day of the Dead. ­Every chapter has been revised, and the book contains new material on many aspects that did not exist when the first edition was published. This includes new photos and new information about social media, tourism, video games, Hollywood films (such as Coco, Spectre, and The Book of Life), Day of the Dead Barbie dolls and other “Muertos” merchandise, recent developments such as “Catrina contests,” and the explosion in popularity of skeleton face painting for Day of the Dead. Th ­ ere is also a new section about Chicano innovations to the cele­bration (such as lowrider ofrendas, fashion shows, and poster art); new examples of Day of the Dead po­liti­cal expressions (from Black Lives M ­ atter and mass shootings to mi­grant ­children ­dying in detention centers on the U.S.-­Mexican border); new material about Day of the Dead’s influence on the growing death positive movement, and revised discussions about cultural hybridity, authenticity, and the impacts of commodification and commercialization on ethnic cultures.

On November 2, 1988, while living in the predominantly Latino Mission District of San Francisco, I was invited by a white Jewish friend to attend the annual Day of the Dead pro­cession on 24th Street. “You have to check this out!” he exclaimed excitedly. As a recent transplant from Boston, I knew l­ittle about el Día de los

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Muertos and listened with interest to my friend’s animated descriptions of the annual neighborhood festivities. As it grew dark, we assembled at the symbolic heart of the Mission—­the corner of Mission and 24th Streets—­a long with thousands of ­others, many dressed as skele­tons or wearing skeleton face paint. An expanse of flickering candles stretched for blocks, illuminating the ­faces of pro­cessants as they held photos of deceased loved ones, or g­ iant marionettes, or po­liti­cal signs condemning U.S. military intervention in El Salvador and Nicaragua. One group brandished a large U.S. flag inlaid with a pirate’s skull and crossbones to protest the U.S. government’s foreign policy in Latin Amer­i­ca. A few individuals wore rubber masks caricaturing President Ronald Reagan. Contingents of schoolchildren dressed as skele­tons walked in groups with their teachers and parents. El­derly p ­ eople conversed in Spanish, politely greeting neighbors. ­Giant papier-­mâché puppets lurched playfully over the crowd, and skeleton-­clad stilt walkers tapped out funky beats on tambourines and maracas. Congueros drummed in hypnotic synchronicity, while Aztec ceremonial dancers in shimmering garments and feathers marked their movements with the swishing sounds of chachayotl ankle rattles.1 Not sure what to make of this kaleidoscopic scene, I moved with the spirited crowd as it wended its way down 24th. Leaning out of home win­dows on both sides of the parade route, Spanish-­speaking ­children and adults watched and waved, amused by the proceedings below. A playground we passed on 24th Street had been converted into a multimedia electronic installation focusing on the afterlife, and numerous altars for the dead, colorful banners, streetlight decorations, and sidewalk chalk art awaited the crowd at vari­ous points along the route. With so many ­people jammed into a relatively narrow street, pro­cession participants inched forward intimately—­shoulders and feet often bumping into fellow marchers who smiled understandingly. Some forty-­five minutes l­ater, the pro­cession made a collective right turn from 24th Street into the narrow, mural-­fi lled alley of Balmy Street, passing u ­ nder multiple arches of flowers and banners. Illuminated with neon lights that projected hot pink, purple, and green fluo­rescent designs on the walls, the alley, I was told, represented a symbolic passage from this world to the next. A ­ fter traversing the mystical passageway, paraders emerged at Garfield Park, the ending point of the pro­cession and the beginning point of community altar displays. Curious to learn more about this cele­bration, I attended my first Day of the Dead altar exhibition the following day at the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts and began to gain a better understanding of the meaning of the tradition. In ­f uture years I would see rural and urban Day of the Dead festivities in Mexico, Guatemala, and El Salvador while working as a journalist in Central Amer­ i­ca. I would learn that ele­ments of the holiday ­were celebrated both similarly and differently throughout Latin Amer­i­ca. Even farther in the ­f uture, as a scholar of communication, media, and culture, I would realize that Day of the Dead—­t he

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largest Latinx cele­bration in the United States—­exemplified some of the paradoxes of life in the postmodern world, where socie­ties are both fracturing and integrating at an unpre­ce­dented rate. The evolution of this ritual observance in the United States, with links to a network of related cele­brations in Latin Amer­ i­ca, provides impor­tant lessons for ­t hose interested in the study of media, culture, and politics.

Note on the Text

In this book I use the term “Chicano” to refer to the historical Chicano movement in the United States and its participants, as well as events and activities that are grounded historically in the Chicano movement. “Chicana” is used for ­women who ­were part of the movement or identify with this designation. The more recent gender-­neutral term “Chicanx” is used as an adjective when referring to con­temporary related topics. “Latina/o/x” denotes persons in the United States who are of Latin American ancestry and m ­ atters related to them.

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Glossary

Calaca and Calavera. ​Spanish words for “skeleton” or “skull” La Catrina. ​Mexican illustrator José Guadalupe Posada’s most famous illustrated character, a female skeleton in Victorian attire. She ­later became synonymous with Day of the Dead. Chicano movement. ​With roots in the 1930s and blossoming in the 1970s, the Chicano movement began in California and the U.S. Southwest as a po­liti­cal and cultural movement that worked on a broad cross section of issues affecting the Mexican American community. Th ­ ese included farm workers’ rights, improved educational opportunities, voting and po­l iti­cal rights, Native American land rights, and the cele­bration of collective histories and cultural traditions. The movement also sought to address negative ste­reo­t ypes of Mexicans and Mexican Americans in the U.S. media and public consciousness via the creation of literary, per­for­mance, and visual art that validated Mexican American ethnicity, history, and culture. Chicano/a. ​The term “Chicano/a” began to be widely used in the 1970s as a  marker of self-­determination and ethnic pride by Mexican Americans who identify with the po­liti­cal and cultural goals of the Chicano movement. Not all Mexican Americans identify as Chicanos. Chicanos are a subset of Mexican Americans who are dedicated to progressive po­liti­cal organ­izing work and/or the creation of po­liti­cally meaningful public art. Indigenous. ​For the purposes of this book, a noun or adjective referring to the autochthonous ­peoples of the Amer­i­cas (­t hose whose ancestors had the earliest ­human presence in the geo­graph­i­cal region). This includes p ­ eople who identify as Indigenous, speak Indigenous languages, and live in Indigenous communities, as well as ­those who do not live in Indigenous areas but maintain Indigenous xix

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linguistic or cultural practices. “Indian,” often used synonymously with “Indigenous,” is an inaccurate and often derogatory term for Indigenous Latin Americans. Latino/a/x. ​A noun or adjective used to describe a person of Latin American ancestry living in the United States. This refers to ­people of Cuban, Dominican, Puerto Rican, Mexican, Central American, or South American heritage, regardless of race. It applies to native-­born U.S. citizens and Latin American immigrants in the United States. While often used interchangeably with “Hispanic” (a word that comes from the Latin word for “Spain”), “Latino/a/x” is the term preferred by ­t hose who reject the historical privileging of Spanish over Indigenous cultures. Mesoamerica. ​An area comprising southern Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, western Honduras, the Pacific lowlands of Nicaragua and northwestern Costa Rica, where Indigenous inhabitants share cultural similarities brought about by centuries of intra-­and interregional interaction. Th ­ ese include agricultural techniques (particularly a heavy reliance on the cultivation of maize), similar calendar and numerical systems, similar pictographic and hieroglyphic writing systems, shared grammatical traits, and many shared ideological and spiritual concepts. Mestizo. ​A Spanish term denoting ­peoples and/or cultures that are the product of racial mixing.

Day of the Dead in the USA

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Introduction

Day of the Dead, or el Día de los Muertos, is routinely referred to as an “ancient” tradition, but it is also a very modern one. As this book ­will reveal, its observance in the United States arose in response to the pressures of modernity and was a­ dopted by Chicano/a artists as a decolonial act. Based on a conceptual framework of Latin American Day of the Dead customs, U.S. cele­brations originated as multimedia, urban activities that included musical, dance, and theatrical per­for­mances, the creation of public altars, face painting, visual art, crafts, culinary arts, street pro­cessions, car caravans, and cemetery rituals in which participants honor the dead. What began as a Chicano ritual is now a new USAmerican holiday, and print, broadcast, film, and digital media have been crucial to the mainstreaming of this cele­bration, which was nearly unknown in the United States fifty years ago. This revised second edition of Day of the Dead in the USA marks the fiftieth anniversary of the first documented U.S. cele­brations of Día de los Muertos, in 1972. Since the publication of the first edition of this book in 2009, Day of the Dead has exploded in popularity in the United States and elsewhere. The cele­ bration’s sugar skull motif is ubiquitous as marketers use it to sell every­t hing from beer to clothing to lottery tickets (figure 1). Hollywood films such as Coco, The Book of Life, and Spectre have thrust the cele­bration into the international spotlight, intensifying its cultural currency, and Day of the Dead costumes and decorations are now standard offerings at major U.S. retailers each Halloween season. Calavera (skull) face painting and body tattoos have developed into stunning art forms, and Catrina dress-up contests offer thousands of dollars in cash prizes each fall.1 In the autumn of 2021 the U.S. multinational com­pany Nike introduced a Day of the Dead line of sneakers,2 the Los Angeles Dodgers hosted a “Día de los Dodgers” promotional day honoring ­family and friends “who first introduced you to the love of baseball and your Los Angeles Dodgers,”3 and even 1

Figure 1. ​Day of the Dead Arizona State Lottery scratch ticket. Arizona State Lottery website, accessed 9-1-21, https://­w ww​.­arizonalottery​.­com​/­scratchers​/­ended​-­games​/­1289​ -­celebrando​-­dia​-­de​-­los​-­muertos​/­.

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the usually sedate U.S. Postal Ser­v ice introduced four stamps commemorating Day of the Dead. How did this happen and what does it mean for the festival and ­t hose who celebrate it? This second edition of Day of the Dead in the USA revisits U.S. Day of the Dead in light of t­ hese and other new developments.

A Multimedia Communication Phenomenon How do populations with l­ imited access to official channels of power make themselves seen and heard in the public arena? How do they create a sense of shared knowledge and solidarity necessary to address issues of socioeconomic injustice? ­These are questions that anyone interested in democracy must ask, given the disproportionate influence of affluent and po­liti­cally power­f ul stakeholders on the production and circulation of ideas in the public square. This book is about the power of public art and ritual to serve as mediums of cultural and po­liti­cal communication and about cultural hybridity as a communicative practice. It is also a story of the key roles played by media and commercial forces in creating, promoting, and maintaining cultural traditions. Day of the Dead is internationally associated with Mexico, and while it is assumed to be a timeless ritual that has been continuously passed down within Mexican families since precolonial times, the cele­bration in the United States and in much of Mexico is a relatively recent “in­ven­ted tradition” (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983). Festivities in the United States, the focus of this book, are a syncretic mix of Latin American Indigenous and Roman Catholic spiritual practices that have been reconfigured by Chicanos and other U.S. Latinx populations to transmit messages of cultural affirmation and po­liti­cal expression. As we ­shall see, the survival of this cele­bration into the twenty-­first ­century has not happened seamlessly, but has been the result of vari­ous cultural, po­liti­cal and commercial initiatives, as well as abundant media attention. Many con­temporary Mexican Americans are familiar with Día de los Muertos, but many o ­ thers have only recently begun to learn about it (via schools, community centers, museums, the mass media, or Hollywood films), and still o ­ thers know nothing about it. In contrast to most Latin American Day of the Dead observances, which are primarily family-­oriented religious rituals carried out at private homes and f­ amily gravesites, most U.S. cele­brations are advertised “cultural events” held in public, secular spaces. Outside of the traditional Latin American context, t­ hese rituals communicate in radical new ways. Within a dominant U.S. society that has historically treated Latinx ­people with discrimination and vio­lence, salient aspects of traditional remembrance rites are reworked into public art and per­ for­mances that communicate about Latinx histories, cultures, and po­liti­cal strug­gles. ­Because California has the largest Latinx population in the United States and was the first place in the country where Day of the Dead was intentionally

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planned and advertised as a public cultural event (and b ­ ecause I lived t­ here for nearly a de­cade), my research centers on California cele­brations. However, to illustrate the scope of the cele­bration, I also discuss Day of the Dead practices in diverse regions of Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States, using information gathered from news coverage, the Internet, and my personal observations and interviews. Research for this book involved ethnographic observation of more than 200 U.S. Day of the Dead events as well as interviews with 112 participants, many of them legacy Chicano/a artists and curators who helped create the earliest Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States. Qualitative and quantitative data analy­sis was done on information available from a range of sources, including newspapers, TV and radio news transcripts, popu­lar magazine articles, art exhibition cata­logs, documentary films, digital media, archival materials from art galleries, museums, and community centers, and thousands of photo­graphs I took at Day of the Dead events I attended during the years 2000–2020. Please see the glossary and endnotes for impor­tant clarifications and context. Despite the fact that similar rituals for remembering the dead occur on November 1 and November 2 in many other Latin American countries, particularly in areas with large Indigenous populations, Day of the Dead is widely assumed to be unique to Mexico. The pro­cess through which the holiday became internationally associated with Mexico ­will be discussed in detail, but for now it is sufficient to briefly note a few reasons many p ­ eople in the United States consider the holiday to be exclusively Mexican. First, ­people of Mexican heritage are the largest Latinx population in the United States. Mexican Americans w ­ ere the first to celebrate Day of the Dead in the United States, and ­until the large influx of Central and South American immigrants to the country in the 1980s and 1990s, many Mexican Americans ­were unaware that the holiday was observed in other parts of Latin Amer­i­ca. Second, as the most populous and industrialized of all Spanish-­speaking countries in Latin Amer­i­ca, Mexico has an extensive tourism industry, highly a­ dept at promoting the country’s folkloric assets to national and international markets. Starting in the 1920s (Hellier-­Tinoco 2011) and growing im­mensely in the 1970s, the Mexican government has sponsored major campaigns aimed at tourists in which Day of the Dead has been heavi­ly promoted as representing “au­t hen­tic Mexico.” Anthropologist Stanley Brandes (1988) notes: “Recognizing that traditional fiestas can further its financial and ideological goals, the Mexican government since the early 1970s has systematically promoted the tourist development of par­tic­u­lar religious occasions, including most importantly the well-­k nown Day of the Dead” (88). Prior to the 1970s, as ­will be discussed, elaborate activities for Day of the Dead ­were carried out only in certain, predominantly Indigenous, areas of Mexico, and the cele­bration was not a national phenomenon. In fact, for many de­cades, educated, middle-­ class Mexicans repudiated Indigenous observances of the holiday as the “back-

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ward superstitions” of “peasants” who they felt w ­ ere preventing Mexico from becoming a modern country. Third, Mexico is the largest and closest Latin American neighbor to the United States and, therefore, has been the most vis­i­ ble and accessible Latin American destination for U.S. tourists, journalists, and researchers.4 This intense level of cultural contact between the United States and Mexico continues ­today, whereas ­people in smaller, more distant Latin American countries with less developed tourism infrastructure, such as Guatemala, Bolivia, Ec­ua­dor and Peru, have long carried out their Day of the Dead traditions in relative obscurity. Thus, although most scholarly and popu­lar publications refer to Day of the Dead as a Mexican holiday, Latin Americans from other countries, largely unaware of Mexico’s cele­brations, consider the holiday their own. Bolivians with whom I have spoken refer to the holiday as “Boliviano.” Friends in Ec­ua­dor call the Day “muy nuestro” (very much ours), and Guatemalan anthropologist Celso Lara, who has spent more than fifty years documenting the cultural traditions of Guatemala, calls the holiday “one of the most Guatemalan of all holidays.”5 As I reviewed articles and letters to the editor published from 1970 to 2020 in newspapers from Ec­ua­dor, Bolivia, Nicaragua, Honduras, Argentina, Guatemala, and Panama, it became clear that intellectuals, members of the clergy, and residents-­at-­large in ­t hese countries consider Day of the Dead to be a particularly au­t hen­tic part of their national culture, which they often contrast with the “invasive” and “foreign” character of Halloween.6 So, even though Mexico is internationally renowned for Day of the Dead, the cele­bration is not unique to Mexico. This is impor­tant to keep in mind when discussing festivities in the United States, b ­ ecause some observers hastily conclude that Central and South American immigrants have “­adopted” the “Mexican” holiday. As ­w ill be illustrated, they are, instead, reencountering and re-­creating in the United States practices that are already familiar to them. Nonetheless, it was Chicano/a artists who first pop­u­lar­ized the cele­bration in the United States and provided the artistic and ritual framework for ­others to participate. This book examines the po­liti­cal, social, and economic dynamics of Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States, illustrating the complicated intersections of cultural identity, po­liti­cal economy, media, consumer culture, and globalization. It focuses on Chicano-­style cele­brations involving art exhibitions, community altars, craft workshops, street pro­cessions, spoken word events, theater, film screenings, per­for­mance art, online videos, virtual commemorations, and other public events, and is not a study of private, f­ amily observances. Nor does it rearticulate a detailed history of pre-­and post-­Columbian Day of the Dead rituals in Mexico, which are amply discussed elsewhere (Childs and Altman 1982; Nutini 1988; Portillo and Muñoz 1988; Carmichael and Sayer 1991; Greenleigh and Beimler 1991; Lok 1991; Garciagodoy 1998). Instead, I w ­ ill chart the birth and

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growth of the cele­bration in the United States, noting continuities and changes over time and place, and elucidating the communicative significance of ­these developments. Cultural hybridity w ­ ill be a theme throughout this book. This subject ­matter bears upon a number of issues relevant to the fields of media studies, communication, cultural studies, Chicano and Latino Studies, anthropology, sociology, ethnic studies, folklore studies, and museum and heritage studies. First, as a form of ritual communication (Carey 1989), the cele­bration encourages a rethinking of traditional assumptions regarding the formulation of the public sphere, the definition of “media,” and what constitutes po­liti­cal communication. For Latinx populations that have been historically underrepresented and misrepresented in U.S. mainstream media, due to barriers based on language, race, class, or immigration status, alternative public spheres that d ­ on’t depend on written language, En­glish fluency, or citizenship status are impor­tant arenas for the creation and transmission of oppositional po­liti­cal discourses. Second, this book illustrates how vari­ous forms of media, combined with unpre­ce­dented levels of transnational communication (via tourism, commerce, migration, and media) have transmitted Day of the Dead to a wide public, defying historical dichotomies of “local” versus “global,” “au­then­tic” versus “commercial,” and “traditional” versus “modern.” The spread of ­t hese cele­brations to cities across the United States over the past five de­cades belies prior theories of modernity that assumed an inevitable forsaking of premodern traditions in f­ avor of Western (Anglo-­Saxon) cultural homogenization. The geo­graph­i­cal diaspora of the cele­bration from rural Mexico to Chicano/a artists in California, to thousands of art galleries, museums, schools, universities, community centers, and municipalities across the United States is a case of “Third World” or “peripheral” practices being reconfigured by a po­liti­cally marginalized population in the “First World” in ways that not only have influenced mainstream U.S. culture but have also recirculated to Mexico, influencing the cele­bration ­t here. Rather than obliterating this premodern ritual, the unparalleled flow of information, p ­ eople, and products that has characterized globalization since the 1970s has revived and sustained Day of the Dead, so that it is more widely known ­today than ever before. Third, the cele­bration illustrates the malleability of ethnic identity, based in practices of community building and s­ haped by po­l iti­cal economic contexts. Starting in 1972, Chicano/a artists in California ­adopted and reconfigured Mexican Indigenous Día de los Muertos rituals as a way to honor Chicano/a identities—­a response to de­cades of seeing Mexican culture disparaged by the dominant Anglo-­A merican society. From the 1980s onward, as California became home to large numbers of Central American and South American immigrants, most of whom faced the same types of discrimination and exploitation as their Mexican American pre­de­ces­sors, Day of the Dead cele­brations began

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to expand their focus, celebrating a pan-­Latinx, rather than strictly Mexican, identity. This dynamic has been repeated in other parts of the United States where diverse Latinx populations live together in the same neighborhoods, with Day of the Dead events fostering feelings of solidarity among ethnically diverse Latinx groups. But as we ­w ill see, ­t hese cele­brations have sometimes entailed tensions and contradictions around issues of repre­sen­ta­tion, concepts of authenticity, and cultural owner­ship. Fourth, the growing popularity of Day of the Dead rituals among p ­ eople of non-­Latinx backgrounds illustrates that expressions of Latinidad (Latin-­ness) are not ­limited to individuals of Latin American heritage, but are reshaping mainstream U.S. culture.7 We ­w ill consider some of the ways Day of the Dead has affected mainstream U.S. society’s attitudes t­oward death, including serving as one of the inspirations for the con­temporary death positive movement. A death ac­cep­tance movement, this phenomenon formally emerged in 2011 and is embraced by p ­ eople around the world who seek to cultivate a greater ac­cep­tance of and preparation for death.

Chapter Details To understand Day of the Dead in the United States, it is necessary to have some background on corresponding rituals in Latin Amer­i­ca and Eu­rope. Chapter 1 provides information on traditions in Argentina, Bolivia, Colombia, Ec­ua­dor, El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, and Peru, as well as in areas of Eu­rope. To date ­there has been no other consolidated scholarly discussion of the regional va­ri­e­ties of Day of the Dead rituals, so this compilation makes a unique contribution to the existing lit­er­a­ture by offering a hemispheric overview of observances. In order to contextualize the emergence of Chicano cele­brations in the United States, chapter 2 discusses the social and po­liti­cal ­factors that s­ haped the cele­ bration’s development in Mexico. It describes Mexico’s rural and urban Día de los Muertos cele­brations, critically examining common tropes about Mexico’s “fascination with death” that have fueled the modern association of Mexico and Mexicans with Day of the Dead. It also examines ways the cele­bration has been appropriated by Mexican government and commercial forces. In the pro­cess, the chapter offers a closer look at common claims regarding the allegedly Aztec origins of modern ele­ments of Day of the Dead, such as sugar skulls and skeleton imagery, and the political utility of such claims. Day of the Dead as we know it ­today in the United States would not exist if not for the Chicano movement. While two recent museum exhibitions have focused on the emergence of this “in­ven­ted tradition” within the movement, the Chicano legacy is often overlooked in discussions of the cele­bration.8 Chapter 3 traces the birth of public, secular Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States as a key component of the Chicano movement for po­liti­cal liberation.

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Noting how Chicanos incorporated both Catholic and Mesoamerican Indigenous symbols to express community identity and encourage unity among diverse Mexican American populations, the chapter discusses distinct Chicano innovations that have s­haped how the cele­bration is observed in the United States, Mexico, and elsewhere. Also discussed is the l­ater participation of Central American, South American, and Ca­rib­bean Latinx populations in U.S. festivities, transforming the cele­bration into an increasingly pan-­Latinx happening. Debates and negotiations in the Latinx community around issues of identity and owner­ship of Day of the Dead are introduced, illustrating the socially constructed nature of ethnic identity and the po­liti­cal significance of “tradition.” Chapter 4 examines the ritual communication aspects of Day of the Dead cele­ brations that, in the U.S. context, embody both “residual” and “emergent” practices (Williams 1991), as Latinx populations draw upon and revitalize ancestral forms of social solidarity while at the same time transforming them to serve con­temporary needs. Examining changes in meaning that occur when pre­industrial religious rituals are practiced in modern secular contexts, this chapter shows how ritual, myth, and affective aesthetics are used to create community across ethnic, racial, and class lines. Unlike most Day of the Dead altars in Latin Amer­i­ca, which are traditionally dedicated to immediate ­family members, U.S. altar installations frequently honor deceased Latinx cultural icons. From Argentine revolutionary Che Guevara to Cuban salsa queen Celia Cruz (figure 2) to United Farm Workers ­union

Figure 2. ​Altar in memory of superstar Cuban salsa singer Celia Cruz. Day of the Dead cele­bration at California State University, San Marcos, 2004. Photo by author.

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Figure 3. ​Ofrenda to Cesar Chavez by the Friends of Cesar Chavez. Día de los Muertos Exhibition, National Museum of Mexican Art, Chicago, 1995. Photo by Kathleen Kulbert-­Aguilar, courtesy of National Museum of Mexican Art.

co-­founder César Chávez (figure 3), a variety of diverse writers, musicians, artists, actors, activists, and other public figures are commemorated as the collective “ancestors” of U.S. Latinos. The chapter reveals how unofficial histories about Latinx contributions to U.S. society and the world—­ignored for de­cades by the mass media and other mainstream institutions—­are publicized and validated in altar exhibitions attended by thousands of p ­ eople annually, engendering a “Latino imaginary” (Flores 2000). Chapter 5 illustrates the radicalization of the cele­bration in the U.S. context, as Chicanos transformed religious rituals into vehicles for transmitting po­liti­ cal messages. From the inception of Chicano Día de los Muertos cele­brations in 1972, many public altars, pro­cessions, vigils, and related events have drawn

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attention to preventable sociopo­liti­cal ­causes of death—­such as police brutality, unsafe ­labor conditions, or dangerous border crossings—­t hat affect Latinx and other marginalized communities, invoking a “moral economy” form of social protest (Thompson 1991). The examples described in this book illustrate how the deaths of local individuals serve to personalize abstract po­liti­cal discourses about issues of national and global importance, encouraging moral reflection and po­liti­cal action. Chapter 6 explores the dialectical relationship between U.S. Day of the Dead and the media. In Latin Amer­i­ca most ­people are familiar with annual Día de los Muertos rituals for remembering the dead on November 1 and 2, but in the United States the Internet, magazines, TV, Hollywood films, coffee ­table books, museum cata­logs, classroom curriculum guides, and other media have been crucial in teaching U.S. audiences about the cele­bration. During the past fifty years, Day of the Dead coverage in the mainstream U.S. press has evolved from nearly non­ex­is­tent to conventional front-­page news each fall. While Latinx populations have historically been underrepresented and negatively portrayed in U.S. media, coverage of Day of the Dead is a form of widespread visibility that affirms Latinx communities. As we s­ hall see, however, it also extends the commodification and commercialization of the cele­bration and Latinx culture. Chapter 7 examines the appeal of Day of the Dead for non-­Latinx ­people who construct ancestor altars, attend cemetery rituals, view altar exhibitions, and participate in Day of the Dead street pro­cessions. ­After tracing historical U.S. attitudes ­toward death, this chapter looks at how Day of the Dead rituals have helped fill a cultural void in mainstream U.S. society by providing a public space in which to share stories about departed loved ones, collectively mourn, and heal. In so ­doing, the cele­bration was part of a cultural shift in the United States in the latter half of the twentieth c­ entury that helped cultivate the emergence of the death positive movement, a death ac­cep­tance movement that encourages ­people to prepare for death while appreciating life. Discussing Latinx reactions to appropriations of Day of the Dead by non-­L atinx p ­ eople and entities, this chapter explores concepts of cultural hybridity, illuminating issues of power, context, pro­cess, and repre­sen­ta­tion that are central to t­ hese conversations. Chapter 8 examines the role of consumer culture in the expression of ethnic identities, taking a closer look at the commodification of Day of the Dead art, rituals, and products by museums, folk art shops, online vendors, tourism, urban redevelopment organ­izations, Hollywood films, big-­box chain stores, and more. Foregrounding the voices of Chicano artists and other Latinx community members, it considers critiques of commercialization, nostalgia for a noncommercial past, and debates around authenticity. Examples of Day of the Dead’s commodification in Mexico and the United States help illuminate the complicated relationship between commodification and cultural survival and renewal.

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The most comprehensive scholarly history and analy­sis of U.S. Day of the Dead activities produced to date, this book examines the social, po­liti­cal, and spiritual meanings of the cele­bration for diverse Latinx and non-­Latinx populations. It is my hope that this research ­w ill stimulate further insights and discussions about identity formation, cultural hybridity, the dialectical relationship between economic forces and cultural practices, and the potential of art and ritual to serve as alternative public spheres for po­liti­cal communication.

chapter 1

Z An Ancient and Modern Festival It is the annual cele­bration of the Days of the Dead. Billowy white smoke meanders through the air, pungent with the musky-­sweet scent of copal incense made of crystallized pine resin, used for centuries by Indigenous ­peoples of Mesoamerica to communicate with the spirit world. The area is illuminated with countless candles and marigolds—­their dazzling orange color and penetrating aroma said to lure heavenly souls to earth. With a trail of ­rose petals arranged on the ground as a pathway leading up to it, a spectacular altar stands laden with flowers, grains, beans, corn, fruits, and other harvest gifts made to honor ancestors at this special time of year. Along with mementos of the deceased, festive foods such as tamales, pan de muerto (bread of the dead), and hot choco­late are placed on the altar, together with a glass of w ­ ater to quench the thirst of f­ amily spirits who have made the long trip from heaven to earth t­oday. All of t­ hese ­t hings are offerings—­ ofrendas—­for the deceased. But where is this? Is this a village in southern Mexico? A community in the highlands of Guatemala? A rural cemetery in El Salvador? No. This event occurs some 6,000 miles away in the Oakland Museum of California, with similar events happening at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and hundreds of museums, schools, and community centers across the United States.

How did Day of the Dead, virtually unknown in the United States fifty years ago, become so popu­lar? While usually associated with Mexico, Day of the Dead is also observed in varying ways in other Latin American countries as well as in Eu­rope. This chapter discusses the fusion of Eu­ro­pean Catholic and Indigenous remembrance practices seen in Day of the Dead rituals throughout Latin

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Amer­i­c a. ­A fter illustrating that ­t hese rituals are not exclusive to Mexico, we ­w ill explore sociopo­liti­cal reasons the holiday is perceived as being unique to Mexico. An understanding of how this holiday became synonymous with Mexican national identity ­w ill help contextualize the importance the cele­bration ­later had for Chicanos in the United States. The social construction of cultural identities within specific po­liti­cal economic contexts, and the historicity and fluidity of ­t hese identities, are integral themes of the book that we ­w ill return to at vari­ous points.

Honoring the Dead The cele­bration known in Mexico and the United States as El Día de los Muertos or “The Day of the Dead,” is a fusion of Indigenous and Roman Catholic rituals for honoring the deceased. In Mexico and the rest of Latin Amer­i­ca (as well as in other areas with large Catholic populations, such as Spain, Italy, France, Portugal, the Philippines, and Haiti),1 November 1 and 2 are the “Days of the Dead”—­t he two-­day period of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. While All Saints’ Day is officially referred to in Spanish as “El Día de Todos los Santos,” and All Souls’ Day is called “El Día de las Animas,” the two days are conceptualized as one holiday throughout Latin Amer­i­ca, with both days implied in popu­lar expressions such as “Todos Santos” (All Saints’ [Day]) or “El Día de los Difuntos” (The Day of the Deceased).2 In this book, the term “Day(s) of the Dead” is used to refer to remembrance cele­brations occurring on November 1 and 2 in both Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States. The observance of Day of the Dead traditions across Latin Amer­i­ca for more than 500 years makes this cele­bration a point of cultural continuity for p ­ eoples of diverse Latinx ancestries living as racialized minorities in the United States. Forty ­percent of the U.S. Latinx population have ancestry from Latin American countries other than Mexico, and as new Latinx immigrant groups participate in Day of the Dead activities, they manifest their regional traditions, transforming cele­brations into pan-­Latinx events. For example, Honduran and Bolivian immigrants have held Day of the Dead activities featuring their native foods and dances in Cleveland; Chilean immigrants have erected Day of the Dead altars in Minneapolis to remember ­t hose who ­were dis­appeared during the dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet; and Guatemalan communities in California have hosted Day of the Dead kite-­flying events in local cemeteries. Wide-­scale Latinx migration since the 1990s to the Midwest, the Northwest, the South, New ­England, and other regions of the United States with historically l­ittle or no Latinx presence has brought the cele­bration far beyond its birthplace in the Chicano communities of California. Now celebrated in all fifty U.S. states, the greater diversity of Latinx populations participating in Day of the Dead is

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reflected in newspaper headlines that increasing describe the holiday as “Latino” or “Hispanic” and not exclusively Mexican: The spirits awakened for Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, on Saturday, as Hispanics around Houston gathered at cemeteries to re­unite with their loved ones.3 The Mexican and Central American tradition of Día de los Muertos dictates that the souls of the dead return e­ very year to visit relatives.4 Día de los Muertos i­ sn’t celebrated only in Mexico, but in several other Latin American countries as well, including Guatemala, Peru and Bolivia.5

Background on Day of the Dead in Eu­rope and Latin Amer­i­ca Key practices of the cele­bration in Latin Amer­i­ca include combinations of the following: sprucing up ­family gravesites by weeding, cleaning, and repainting them; refurbishing old headstones and crosses; placing flowers and candles on graves; constructing home or graveside shrines/altars to honor departed relatives; preparing special holiday foods and drinks; praying and attending Catholic Mass. Th ­ ese customs are carried out in diverse ways from country to country and vary from region to region within countries. In some areas the holiday is celebrated by way of the standard Roman Catholic rituals of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, such as attending Mass, participating in novenas, and praying for the dead with rosary beads.6 In many areas ­these official Catholic rituals are mixed with practices of folk Catholicism such as shrine making, grave adornment, vigils, and street pro­ cessions. And in regions with large Indigenous populations, such as southern and central Mexico and rural areas of Guatemala, El Salvador, Bolivia, Peru, Ec­ua­dor, Colombia, and Argentina, the holiday is celebrated through combinations of official Catholic All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day practices, Catholic folk customs, and pre-­Christian Indigenous rituals of honoring ancestors by leaving them offerings of food, drink, and other items. The fusion of t­ hese diverse religious practices is referred to by social scientists as “syncretism.” Syncretic religious beliefs and practices are found among Indigenous communities throughout the Amer­i­cas, where ­people (the majority of whom are Catholic) commonly pray to Jesus, Mary, and the saints for protection, while also seeking help from traditional curanderos/as (healers) who employ Indigenous practices of communicating with the spirit world. In the worldview of the Aztecs, Ma­ya, Mixtecs, Zapotecs, Aymara, Quechua, and other aboriginal ­peoples of Latin Amer­i­ca, maintaining harmony between the worlds of the living and the dead was a crucial belief before the arrival of Eu­ro­pe­ans to the Amer­i­cas, and festivals to honor the dead ­were conducted throughout the calendar year. In contrast to highly individualistic U.S. attitudes of personal space and identity, the worldview in Latin American Indigenous communities is communally oriented,

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where the maintenance of extensive networks of social relations is considered crucial for physical and psychological survival. It is commonly believed that the spirits of the dead and the deities/saints are always pre­sent among the living and must be properly tended to on a daily basis, especially during the Days of the Dead, in order to ensure the well-­being of oneself and one’s ­family. When Eu­ro­pe­ans arrived in the Amer­i­cas, ancestor-­honoring practices ­were so deeply rooted in Indigenous populations that early Catholic missionaries found it impossible to eradicate “pagan” activities such as preparing offerings for the dead, ceremonial dancing, ritual drinking of alcohol, and other oblations for the deceased. ­These practices had some similarities with Eu­ro­pean folk Catholic rituals—­vestiges of Eu­rope’s pre-­Christian religions—­with which the Spaniards ­were already familiar. ­These included customs of shrine making, the offering of food, flowers, and mementos to the deceased, the adornment of gravesites, vigils for the dead, the use of incense and fire to communicate with spirits and deities, and ritual drinking and partying (at funerals and wakes, for example).7 Across the global Catholic diaspora, certain deeply entrenched practices of aboriginal populations have been “allowed” by Catholic missionaries in order to facilitate conversion to Chris­tian­ity. Thus, when missionaries in Latin Amer­i­ca could not eradicate Indigenous rituals for honoring the dead, they relocated them to the Roman Catholic liturgical dates dedicated to deceased saints and souls—­November 1 and 2. The resulting Latin American cele­brations ­were fusions of Indigenous customs, official Catholic practices, and folk Catholicism. An example of this amalgamation is the ofrenda (altar offering). Ele­ments commonly placed on Day of the Dead ofrendas in Mexico, Central Amer­i­ca, and South Amer­i­ca include pre-­ Columbian squashes, grains, legumes, fruits, and tuber vegetables customarily offered to the dead before the imposition of Chris­tian­ity, along with local delicacies that vary by country, such as breads, sweets, special dishes, and beverages. In ancient Mesoamerica, marigolds and copal incense ­were integral ele­ments of altars for the dead, along with valuable commodities such as salt, cacao, shells, and other forms of monetary currency, all of which are still placed on many ofrendas ­today.8 ­These pre-­Columbian ele­ments are typically combined with images of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, other Catholic saints, crucifixes, rosary beads, devotional candles (in tall glasses embossed with images of saints), statuettes of angels, and other Catholic iconography. Photos of the deceased may also be placed on altars. In both pre-­Christian Eu­rope and pre-­Christian Latin Amer­i­ca, the creation of altars to honor the dead occurred at harvest times, when bountiful food offerings w ­ ere pos­si­ble. Mesoamericans, like most other p ­ eoples of Latin Amer­i­ca, ­were agricultural socie­ties and believed that the fertility of the land was crucial for the continuance of f­amily lineages. Believing that ancestors w ­ ere deeply involved in a f­ amily’s ability to reproduce, the living constructed ancestor altars at each harvest and performed ritual fertility dances during ceremonies honoring

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the dead (Lomnitz 2005). Such dances ­were carried over ­after Chris­tian­ity was imposed and have continued to be ceremonially performed at con­temporary Day of the Dead cele­brations in areas of South Amer­i­ca (Milne 1965; Buechler and Buechler 1971; Coluccio 1991). The importance of the harvest in commemorating the dead illustrated an Indigenous philosophical worldview in which the living and the dead ­were intrinsically connected in relationships of reciprocity. Death was not considered the “end” of life, but instead the continuum of life, necessary for regeneration and rebirth. Like the native p ­ eoples of the Amer­i­cas, pre-­Christian Eu­ro­pe­a ns also believed that honoring the dead would bring agricultural fertility and h ­ uman reproduction, as seen in the example of the ancient Celtic harvest cele­bration of Samhain (celebrated on November 1). At this time of the year, h ­ ouse­hold doors ­were left unlocked, fires ­were kept burning in the hearth all night, and gifts of food and drink ­were arranged for the spirits of the dead, who ­were believed to visit the living on this date (Santino 1994). ­Because November 1 was the first day of the Celtic new year and the first day of winter, it was thought to be a transitional time when the gates that separated the worlds of the living and the dead ­were open.9 To facilitate converting Eu­rope’s “pagans” into Christians, the Catholic Church selected this pre-­Christian sacred period for the liturgical cele­ bration of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, which is why Día de los Muertos is celebrated on November 1 and 2 t­ oday. The symbolic association of life (harvest, fertility, sexuality) and death is vis­ i­ble in past and pre­sent rituals for honoring the dead in both Eu­rope and Latin Amer­i­ca. For example, life-­affirming events such as courtship and marriage traditionally occurred around All Souls’ Days in Eu­rope (Santino 1994, xiii). In Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, from the eigh­teenth ­century ­until the early twentieth ­century, All Souls’ Day was the time of the year for making marital matches or engaging in divination rituals and games of chance meant to reveal the name of one’s ­future spouse (Santino 1994, xii; 1998, 117; Rogers 2002, 44–48). In Bolivia and Peru, fertility rituals have been traditionally performed by young p ­ eople in Indigenous villages during the Days of the Dead (Buechler and Buechler 1971, 84; Coluccio 1991, 115). In Arequipa and Cuzco, Peru, courtship rituals are performed in which young men bring their girlfriends cakes made in the shape of babies, and in Tomaiquiche, Peru, men go out at dawn on November 2 to serenade their girlfriends (Milne 1965, 163; Coluccio 1991, 117). Throughout regions of Mexico, Ec­ua­dor, Peru, and Bolivia, Day of the Dead bread is made in the shape of babies, symbolizing fertility and new life. The cyclical association of mating (new life) and death is also seen in Mexico, where one of the most common con­temporary Day of the Dead motifs is a skeletal bride and groom. Yet over the centuries, official Catholic Church doctrine replaced many folk religious beliefs in Eu­rope, so that stark distinctions now appear between con­ temporary Eu­ro­pean All Souls’ Day and Latin American Indigenous cele­brations

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of Day of the Dead. ­These include differing perceptions of the relationship between the living and the dead. In the official Catholic version of the holiday, dominant in con­temporary Eu­rope and among Latin Americans who identify more with Eu­ro­pean than Indigenous customs, the souls of c­ hildren and other sexual innocents are believed to ascend directly to heaven, whereas t­ hose of adults are thought to suffer in purgatory, occupying a lower hierarchical position than the spirits in heaven. The role of the living in this scenario is to pray to the saints for intercession on behalf of deceased f­ amily members in order to hasten their journey from purgatory to heaven. Among many Indigenous ­peoples of Latin Amer­i­ca, however, the hierarchical structure between purgatory and heaven is not emphasized. Most p ­ eople assume that their deceased loved ones are already in a better place, f­ ree from the tribulations of life. The holiday is seen as a happy ­family reunion where reciprocal relationships with ancestors are reaffirmed, ritually maintaining social ties between community members and ensuring the support of the dead in the economic, po­liti­cal, and social lives of the living.10 Rather than asking saints to intercede on behalf of their relatives in purgatory, celebrants instead ask dead relatives to help them with their worldly affairs. On All Souls’ Day, Eu­ro­pean Christians pray for the souls, whereas American Indigenous ­peoples pray to the souls. Another distinction between Latin American and Eu­ro­pean cele­brations revolves around the meanings given to the dates. According to official Catholic doctrine, November 1 is the date when Catholics should pray to the saints, and November 2 is dedicated to praying for the souls in purgatory. However, Mesoamerican Indigenous p ­ eoples have infused ­t hese dates with additional significance, based on the pre-­Columbian belief that the souls of ­children and adults visit the earth on separate dates. The period from October 31 to November 1 is popularly designated as the time when the souls of ­children are believed to visit earth, and the eve­ning of November 1 through the dawn of November 2, the time when the souls of adults arrive (Rogers 2002, 144; Carmichael and Sayer 1991, 20; Bade 1997, 13; personal discussion with Ma­ya and Mixtec celebrants).11 ­There are also major differences between Eu­ro­pean and Latin American conceptualizations of death. Christian Eu­rope has historically had finite and frighteningly apocalyptic formulations of death, including medieval anguish about the end of the world, the eerie figure of The Grim Reaper clutching a sickle to sever h ­ uman life, and notions of hell as a place of excruciating torment (Reuter 1979, 73–74). In contrast, many pre-­Columbian cultures viewed the afterworld as a desirable province offering peace from earthly suffering. This distinct attitude ­toward death continues to characterize Indigenous Day of the Dead cele­ brations in Latin Amer­i­ca. Unlike official Catholic All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day observances, filled with thoughts of suffering souls and supplications to ­free them from their purgatorial incarceration, Day of the Dead cele­brations in Indigenous regions of Latin Amer­i­ca tend to reflect feelings of happy reunion

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between heavenly and terrestrial relatives. As one Guatemalan explained: “Day of the Dead ­here is similar to Thanksgiving in the United States, ­because p ­ eople travel across the country to be re­united with f­ amily members, living and dead.”12 ­Because cultural practices of the Amer­i­cas, Eu­rope, the M ­ iddle East, Asia, and Africa have influenced each other for centuries, affecting both Eu­ro­pean and Latin American Day of the Dead practices, it is sometimes difficult to determine the exact origins of traditions. One example of this phenomenon is the edible sugar skulls that are made in Mexico. B ­ ecause of their ubiquity during Day of the Dead season, t­ hese white sugar skulls decorated with colored frosting have become internationally recognized symbols of Mexican identity. The skulls are commonly said to be Aztec in origin, yet a deeper look reveals more complicated roots. The Aztecs traditionally made flatbreads and sweets with amaranth seeds as offerings for the dead, but the custom of making sugar-­based sweets for Day of the Dead was introduced to Mexico by the Spaniards (Brandes 1997, 293). The practice dates back to twelfth-­century Italy, where sugary skeletal treats w ­ ere “affectionate pre­sents for the Day of the Dead, which ­were offered to ­family and friends” (Carmichael and Sayer 1991, 46). ­These sweets are still made ­today in Italy on November 1 and 2.13 The fusion of Indigenous and Eu­ro­pean symbols and rituals is further seen in the following details of Day of the Dead traditions throughout Latin Amer­i­ca.

Day of the Dead Customs in Latin American Countries A description of Day of the Dead practices throughout Latin Amer­i­ca is necessary to understand why diverse U.S. Latinx populations identify with the Chicano-­initiated Día de los Muertos cele­brations. Although numerous scholarly and photographic books have been produced about Mexico’s cele­brations, relatively ­little has been published on Day of the Dead rituals in other parts of Latin Amer­i­ca. The following descriptions come from books on Indigenous traditions of South Amer­i­ca, articles published around the dates of October 31 to November 2 in Central American and South American newspapers, my personal observations while living and traveling in Central Amer­i­ca, and my research interviews. Details of regional Latin American Day of the Dead practices have not previously been published in one book, so this collection of information is a useful resource.14

Central Amer­i­ca Guatemala provides a good example of how Day of the Dead observances can vary widely within a relatively small country. The towns of Santiago Sacatepéquez and Sumpango, for example, are known for their Day of the Dead kite-­flying cele­ brations in which predominantly Ma­ya Kaqchikel villa­gers fly ornately designed ­giant kites (many are larger than a ­house) in the cemeteries to help traveling spir-

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Figure 4. ​Flying kites in Guatemalan cemetery on Day of the Dead, November 1, 2016. Photo by author.

its find their way back to earth (figure 4). Notes to the dead may be attached to the kite strings, ascending into heaven as a kind of telecommunication. To the delight of hundreds of participants and onlookers, a festival atmosphere prevails in and around the cemeteries, with vendors selling food, flowers, candles, and the hot corn porridge, atol de maíz. W ­ hether they are elaborate tombs or ­simple mounds of dirt, graves throughout the country are lovingly adorned with flowers, candles, and foods for the dead (figure 5). In Todos Santos, a Ma­ya Mam village literally called “All Saints,” festivities on November 1 and 2 include pro­cessions, competitive games, carnival rides, and much ritual drinking of the alcoholic corn drink chicha. Villa­gers prepare special foods for the ancestors and place them on ­family graves as offerings. ­Later the food is shared with ­family and friends (Milne 1965, 163; Cameron 1999, 705; personal interviews with residents of Todos Santos). In the tropical Atlantic Coast region of Izabál, Guatemalans repaint cemetery tombs in vivid colors, recarve wooden cross grave markers, lay wreaths of flowers (coronas) on graves, and hold ­family picnics in the cemeteries.15 In the town of Salcajá in Quetzaltenango, Day of the Dead is celebrated with nocturnal candlelight vigils in the cemetery, where mementos and flowers are brought to the graves and most of the town congregates to await the visiting souls. ­People carve small gourds (chilacayote) with intricate geometric designs, placing a candle inside to create lanterns for the tombs. ­Children go door-­to-­door, ritually begging for candles to illuminate the cemetery, singing: “Candelitas para las

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Figure 5. ​Mayan ­mother and ­daughter decorate graves on November 1, 2014 (intergenerational transmission of culture). Photo by author.

animas benditas!” (­little candles for the blessed souls!).16 During the night of November 1, friends and neighbors keep watch by ­family tombs and reminisce together about the departed. The atmosphere is happy, as ­children run about, live marimba m ­ usic is played, and the sweet smells of candles, marigolds, lilies, and copal incense fill the air. A similar nocturnal cele­bration occurs in the town

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of Huehuetenango, where families also walk from tomb to tomb serenading the dead with their erstwhile favorite tunes.17 In the capital, Guatemala City, small altars are set up in homes, stores, restaurants, bus terminals, and marketplaces. Trips to the cemetery tend to be more cursory than in rural areas, and greater emphasis is placed on the preparation of a special ­family dinner that features Guatemala’s most famous Day of the Dead food, El Fiambre (a cold dish made of va­r i­e­t ies of finely chopped sausages, meats, fish, poultry, and vegetables).18 Guatemalan anthropologist Celso Lara notes that Garifunas (Central Americans of Afro-­Caribbean descent living in Guatemala, Honduras, and Belize) observe the holiday by preparing special foods, decorating and pouring liquor around graves, and sending small rafts carry­ing fire, w ­ ater, and flowers to sea (Lara 1996). In El Salvador, colorful silk and waxed-­paper flowers, paper chains, and paper confetti adorn tombs, and wreaths made of flowers or fresh pine boughs are placed on gravesites for Day of the Dead. Hojuelas—­sweet, fried tortillas drizzled with honey—­are made specifically for this holiday and sold at busy food stands around the cemeteries. Families spend hours in the cemetery on November 1 and 2, visiting ­family graves. They pray, light candles, leave small mementos by graves, and sometimes tape letters to the tombs of loved ones. At a f­ amily’s request, bands play songs at the tombs of the dead.19 In Nicaragua, p ­ eople weed and clean ­family graves on November 1 and 2 and leave flowers on tombs for the deceased. Families may light candles at home for each deceased ­family member and prepare buñuelos (fried dough pastries) and tamales. In rural homes, ­people arrange candles as an “altar” on the floor.20

South Amer­i­ca The work of Hans Buechler, who conducted extensive research on the Indigenous customs of the Andes, reveals similarities between Mesoamerican and Andean Day of the Dead festivities. The following description shows that Bolivian Day of the Dead rituals of the Aymara ­people share commonalities with ofrenda practices of Mexico: The first of November is a day of food preparation. Any ­family who “has a warm dead” (i.e., who grieves the recent death of a sibling, parent or child) prepares an “altar” for the soul (or souls) of the deceased relative (or relatives) in the h ­ ouse where he or she lived. First, they shape an arch out of two sugar canes . . . ​over a ­table . . . ​and place two candles on ­either side; then they heap the ­table with bananas, oranges, bread, agricultural produce and quinoa or k’espiña dough figures and sometimes milk, alcohol and coca.21 The bread and k’espiña are prepared specially for the occasion. (Buechler 1980, 80)

Buechler explains that at this time of year special bread is baked in the shapes of wreaths, ladders, babies, and animals. In both its form and its use, this bread

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is similar to the pan de muerto made for Day of the Dead in Mexico. In the eve­ ning, f­ amily members, comadres and compadres (symbolic relatives connected via godparent relationships), friends, and neighbors visit to pray in front of the ofrendas and share in eating the specially prepared foods. “If the deceased liked coca during his lifetime or was inclined to drink beer or white rum,” notes Buechler, “the host may offer ­t hese items as well” (85). The praying and eating continue all night, while boys go from h ­ ouse to h ­ ouse singing and collecting bananas and oranges for the deceased (ritual begging) in exchange for their songs. On November 2, Buechler observes, “the entire community gathers in the graveyard. Each ­family rebuilds the ‘altar’ with the food not yet distributed the day before on top of the flat-­roofed, hut-­like structures that mark the graves. Renewing their prayers for the souls, relatives move from one grave to another . . . ​ groups of singing boys perform at e­ very grave” (85). Praying, singing, and food distribution in Bolivian cemeteries are sometimes followed by ritual fertility dances in the town plaza (Buechler and Buechler 1971, 84; Coluccio 1991, 115). Felix Coluccio (1991) provides a similar account of Bolivian Day of the Dead ofrendas and cemetery rituals, observing that on November 1, families leave graveside offerings of breads, fruits, and foods to be enjoyed by the dead. On November 2, having prayed in the cemetery for most of the preceding night, he notes, the relatives of the dead partake in “abundant food and frequent libations, ending the day with merriment and dancing” (115). Jean Milne (1965) likewise observes: “In the Andean countries it is customary to bring food and ­people feast, dance and make merry in the cemeteries ­until dawn of the third [November 3]. In some places, vendors sell food and drinks at special stands set up on the grounds. Andean Indians often pray to their dead for good crops and set up altars of their favorite foods, of which the dead may partake in spirit” (162). Both Milne and Coluccio also provide descriptions of Day of the Dead activities they observed in Indigenous communities in Peru, where tombs are adorned with multicolored paper decorations, flower wreaths, and freshly painted crosses. They note that families carry pots to the cemetery, filled with roasted pig, tamales, breads, and other alma micuy (meaning “favorite foods” in the Quechua language) presented as offerings for the dead. ­After a Catholic priest blesses the offerings, the food is l­ ater shared among ­family and friends (Coluccio 1991, 117; Milne 1965, 162–163). On November 2, in the region of Huancavélica, Peru, ­there are vari­ous types of competitive games, together with more eating, drinking, and partying (Coluccio 1991, 117). Offering a more recent discussion of Day of the Dead practices in Peru, César Vergara (1997) notes that on November 1, in the mountains of southern Peru, ofrendas are made for the dead “for whom dishes and drinks that they most liked in life are prepared and for whom vigils are held during the night.” On November 2, families visit the cemetery offering flowers, candles, and prayers. Headstones are replaced or repaired, and “­there is a festive atmosphere on the

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walkway leading to the cemetery where food and beverage booths are set up, and the population participates enthusiastically and massively” (57). Similar festivities have been documented in rural areas of Argentina where, according to Coluccio (1991), from the eve­ning of October 31 through November 2 in the Cochinoca, Rinconada, Santa Catalina, and Yavi regions, kitchen ­tables are converted into ofrendas, holding meals, special breads, fruits, jams, and chicha. Vigils and prayers for the souls are held during the night among ­family and compadres. ­Later the offerings are taken to the cemetery, where part of the offerings are buried and the rest are shared among friends and f­ amily. In other areas of Argentina, such as Palermo and Cachi, he notes, a game of chance involving the throwing of taba (cow ankle bones) is played while nocturnal vigils take place alongside the ofrendas (113). In the regions of Tafi and Tafí Viejo, Tecumán, families make ofrendas filled with doll-­shaped bread known as guaguas (meaning “infant” in Quechua) and prepare “the dishes most fancied by the deceased.” They carry pots of food to ­family tombs and arrange portions for the souls of the deceased: “It is the belief that the souls partake only of the essence of the food, leaving the meal for their kinsmen, who have spent the night praying, chatting and drinking fig brandy, ingesting coca, and drinking chicha” (114). In Caldimonte, Argentina, he reports, special foods for the dead are left in

Figure 6. ​Quechua w ­ oman placing food offerings (with guaguas in basket) on grave in Otavalo, Ec­ua­dor, November 1, 2002. Photo by author.

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a room with a closed door “so that the souls can enter without being both­ered” (14). The author also observes that in Colombia, cloth is draped over tombs during November 1 and 2, converting them into ofrendas of candles, flowers, and foods “most appreciated by the deceased.” A priest is invited to bless the offerings, and ­after much praying the foods are consumed by participants (18). In Ec­ua­dor, a bloodlike, sweet berry drink called colada morada is prepared specifically during Day of the Dead season, along with the doll-­shaped and baby-­ shaped breads (guaguas) found throughout the Andes.22 Indigenous Quechuas of Ec­ua­dor visit cemeteries to clean and restore grave markers. They place ofrendas of flowers, guaguas, and fresh fruits (particularly bananas, oranges, and apples) on top of f­ amily graves, and pray and picnic in the cemetery (figure 6). In Quito and other urban areas of Ec­ua­dor, it is common for both Indigenous ­people and Mestizos (­people of mixed Indigenous and Spanish ancestry) to visit cemeteries on November 1 and November 2, to clean, refurbish, and decorate ­family graves with flowers, candles, guaguas, and mementos. As one interviewee told me, “The cemeteries are packed on ­t hese dates!”23 Throughout Latin Amer­i­ca, ethnic, race, and class differences influence levels of participation in the cele­bration. In Mexico, Guatemala, Ec­ua­dor, Bolivia, Peru, and elsewhere, the Day of the Dead practices considered to be most au­then­ tic are ­t hose carried out by rural and Indigenous populations. By comparison, the upper classes (who usually identify more with Eu­ro­pean than Indigenous customs) and the upwardly mobile and aspirational ­middle classes who emulate them tend to engage in more muted activities tied to the official Catholic observance of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. Illustrations like t­ hese of the presence of this cele­bration throughout vari­ous regions of Latin Amer­i­ca and the similarities of certain practices across ethnic and geo­graph­i­cal locations help us understand why ­people of diverse Latinx ethnicities are able to culturally and spiritually connect with Day of the Dead cele­ brations in the United States. Chapter 2 reviews the modern history of Day in the Dead in Mexico, setting the stage for our discussion of Chicano cele­brations in the United States.

chapter 2

Z Mexico’s Distinctive Relationship with Day of the Dead In 2003, UNESCO proclaimed Mexico’s “Indigenous Festivity dedicated to the Dead,” or Día de Muertos, an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. UNESCO’s website defines intangible cultural heritage practices as “the traditions and living expressions inherited from ancestors and passed on to descendants” that should be safeguarded for posterity.1

Mexico’s Día de los Muertos is internationally renowned (figure 7). But how did it reach its current level of fame? In an internationally lauded essay published in The Labyrinth of Solitude (and republished in many editions and languages since its original publication in 1961), Mexican Nobel Laureate poet Octavio Paz offers an answer. He proclaims that Mexicans, more than any other p ­ eople, have a “special relationship with death.” According to Paz, Mexicans “caress” death, “sleep” with it, “celebrate” it, and consider it their “most steadfast love.” He states: “Death enters into every­thing we [Mexicans] undertake”; and “Our relations with death are intimate—­more intimate, perhaps, than t­ hose of any other p ­ eople” (Paz 1981, 47–64). Paz contends that con­temporary Day of the Dead cele­brations are the result of a “death obsessed” national character, allegedly inherited from the Aztecs. In conjuring up this essentialist national image, he ignores the many distinct ethnicities, races, and social classes that compose Mexican society. While Paz was not the first to claim that Mexicans had a special relationship with death, his international fame as a writer has carried ­t hese words to Mexican and international audiences for more than six de­cades. His essay is commonly cited in articles and films about Day of the Dead, and educators and artists in Mexico and the United States routinely point to Mexicans’ “special relationship with death” to explain the popularity of Day of the Dead in Mexico. But do Mexicans r­eally have a quintessentially death-­obsessed national character? Is the con­temporary popularity of Day of the Dead truly a palimpsest of Aztec beliefs 25

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Figure 7. ​Cemetery vigil awaiting the souls, Tzintzuntzan, Mexico, 2015. Photo by Peter La Delfe.

and iconography? Such views are contested by scholars who study the social and po­liti­cal utility of ­t hese narratives in achieving nationalist objectives that serve the needs of government, commerce, and the mass media (Monsiváis 1987; García Canclini 1987, 1995; Navarette1982; Garciagodoy 1998; Brandes 1998; Marchi 2009). Themes of death—­particularly the public commemoration of dead patriots—­ and the national appropriation of Indigenous customs have historically been central components of nation building (Anderson 1991; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983; Taussig 1997). Mexican writer Carlos Monsiváis dismisses the notion of death-­fi xated Mexicans who supposedly laugh at la muerte. He argues that this theme is a modern construct that arose in the popu­lar imagination during the Mexican Revolution, when the stoicism of revolutionary soldiers facing government firing squads was widely publicized in newspapers, oral stories, and folk songs. The soldiers’ refusal to show fear, he asserts, had nothing to do with Aztec philosophies of the afterlife, but was a typical reaction of captured soldiers anywhere who, out of pride, deny enemies the plea­sure of witnessing their discomposure. Monsiváis contends that the mythic relationship between Mexicans and death is the nostalgic creation of post-­Revolution Mexican nationalists who, in forging a new national identity, found it po­liti­cally useful to compare the triumphant revolutionaries to Aztec warriors. ­After the Revolution, this “my­t hol­ogy . . . ​ was so power­ful that it continued, now used by the mass media (the movies, the magazines)” (Monsiváis 1987, 16).

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Anthropologist Néstor García Canclini similarly argues that throughout the twentieth ­century, Mexico’s ruling oligarchies romanticized Indigenous ­peoples and traditions as embodying an “au­t hen­tic” national character in order to foster feelings of national unity. He notes that such discourses facilitated the governance of a racially heterogeneous and eco­nom­ically unequal society, allowing the country’s elites to advance their own interests while continuing to ignore the needs of Indigenous communities (García Canclini 1987, 1995). Critiquing essentialist assertions from another perspective, Mexican researcher Juanita Garciagodoy (1998) suggests that the ste­reo­type of Mexicans laughing at death reinforces a jocular fatalism that ideologically undermines grassroots strug­gles to improve living conditions and defend h ­ uman rights. The following section describes Day of the Dead traditions in Mexico, illustrating how, at varying points in time, they have been disdained, lauded, discouraged, and ultimately extolled by government officials, artists, educators, and the media. We ­will see that intervention by Mexican governmental and nongovernmental organ­izations, commercial interests, and the mass media ­were crucial in the metamorphosis of Day of the Dead in Mexico from a marginalized regional practice to a fervently venerated national holiday.

Folk and Pop Culture Manifestations As in the rest of Latin Amer­i­ca, many Mexicans visit cemeteries between October 30 and November 2 to clean, refurbish, and decorate gravesites. Papel picado (intricate crepe paper cutouts made for festive occasions in Mexico and Central Amer­i­ca to adorn homes, churches, and town squares) are ubiquitous during t­ hese days, garnishing every­t hing from tombs and altars to shoe stores, fast-­food chains, schools, parks, discotheques, and ­hotels. In certain areas of the country, particularly in Indigenous communities, cemetery vigils are held to await the souls traditionally believed to descend to earth at this time of the year, and home altars are constructed to honor the dead. Areas in Oaxaca, Michoacán, Puebla, Chiapas, Vera Cruz, and Yucatán (regions with Mexico’s highest concentration of Indigenous p ­ eoples), are famous for their phenomenally elaborate ofrendas for the dead. Th ­ ese include t­ables laden with pan de muerto, salt, grains, coffee, soda pop, alcoholic beverages, mementos, and favorite foods of the deceased (such as tamales, mole, chicha, and pulque), photos of the departed, candles, and Catholic iconography such as crosses or saint imagery.2 Vari­ous sizes of t­ ables, shelves, or crates are used to create multitiered altars, which may be crowned with large arches or square frameworks overlaid with marigolds and/or hanging fruits (said to be gateways to welcome the spirits home). ­These spectacular works of art, carried on by the Indigenous p ­ eoples of Mexico for generations, have gained worldwide attention, attracting millions of tourists each year, including photog­raphers, filmmakers, journalists, and university researchers.

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In most of Latin Amer­i­ca, including many areas of Mexico, Day of the Dead activities would be classified as “folk” rituals (carried out as a taken-­for-­granted part of the religious worldview of participants). However, unlike the rest of Latin Amer­i­ca, Mexico has both folk and humorous popu­lar culture manifestations of the holiday. In contrast to rural communities that have traditionally held solemn Day of the Dead pro­cessions in which participants walk together from the church to the cemetery holding foods and decorations to place on gravesites, some urban areas of Mexico hold boisterous street parades in which participants carry ­giant skeleton puppets, wear skeleton masks, or dress in motley costumes. Juanita Garciagodoy, a Mexican studies scholar who has written extensively about Day of the Dead in Mexico, refers to this dichotomy as the difference between “earnest” and “carnivalesque” cele­brations, noting that the latter sort do not necessarily preclude a level of earnestness or gravity. She notes that where folk culture dominates (often correlating with rural areas), Día de los Muertos consists almost entirely of “earnest” aspects such as cemetery visits to ­family graves and creating ofrendas. Where popu­lar culture dominates (often correlating with cities), some ­people observe earnest aspects of the commemoration, while o ­ thers choose to engage exclusively with carnivalesque aspects. In this latter group, “a number ignore the fiesta altogether, especially if their parents or grandparents did not celebrate it” (Garciagodoy 1998, 79–81).

Calavera Imagery as Social Satire The most prominent symbol of Mexico’s Day of the Dead is the calavera or “skull”—­often made of paper-­maché, clay, wood, plastic, metal, or tissue paper cutouts. In par­tic­u­lar, edible white sugar skulls decorated with colored icing have become internationally recognized emblems of Mexico (figure 8). Piled on trays by the dozens in shops and open-­air markets, t­hese fanciful treats adorn ofrendas and are exchanged between ­family and friends as tokens of affection. Mexico’s Day of the Dead skull art also takes the form of carved marionettes, molded choco­ lates, toys, masks, paintings, statues, posters, mobiles, and more. With humorous expressions that mimic the living and mock everyday be­hav­iors, ­these images are said to be reminders of the brevity of life and the inevitability of death, urging ­people to appreciate life t­ oday ­because death may be just around the corner. In addition, Mexico has a style of satirical poetry also known as calaveras. Emerging in urban Mexico in the mid-­nineteenth c­ entury as a carry-­over from nineteenth-­century Spanish lampoons or pasquines (Tinker 1961, 20; Carmichael and Sayer 1991, 58), ­these satirical stanzas are written and published, often anonymously, during the Days of the Dead. The poems can touch on any theme and take the form of joking obituaries to rebuke corrupt po­liti­cal leaders and other public figures. (The custom of writing satirical verses during the Days of the Dead is also practiced in Guatemala and El Salvador, especially among univer-

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Figure 8. ​Sugar skulls, Ocean­side, California, Day of the Dead Festival, 2009. Photo by Roberto Verthelyi.

sity students.)3 In Mexico, calavera poetry is now part of government-­mandated school curricula, and local and national competitions are held for the pithiest epigrams. This literary form of social satire originated as a practice of literate ­people in Mexico City and has been most common in urban areas where literacy rates are highest. A rendition of calaveras that emerged in Mexico in the latter half of the twentieth ­century is the miniature skeleton clay figurine known as a calaverita. About two inches in height, t­ hese mini-­skeletons humorously reenact scenes from daily life, including weddings, funerals, sporting events, workplace scenarios, and drunken brawls. Sometimes accompanied by written captions, a significant number of calaveritas express commentary on sociopo­liti­cal issues. In tourist shops throughout Mexico and in shops selling Mexican crafts outside of Mexico, one can find calaveritas dressed as police officers extorting bribes from skeletal motorists, waitresses fending off skeletal sexual harassers, skeleton-­ mariachi bands, and more. Masuoka (1990) and Garciagodoy (1998) document how ­t hese miniature figures, crafted by working-­class artisans, spoof the rich and power­ful, expressing commentaries on class inequalities and po­liti­cal hy­poc­ risy. Popu­lar with Mexican students, urbanites, and international tourists, calaveritas are three-­dimensional manifestations of the traditional satire expressed in calavera poetry.

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Origins of Mexico’s Skull Imagery Mexico’s humorous Day of the Dead skele­tons, found nowhere ­else in Latin Amer­i­ca, are regarded by many as representing an ancient Mexican perspective on death. This imagery is commonly said to be an inheritance from the Aztecs—­a point of national pride for ­t hose Mexicans and Mexican Americans who, as a decolonial strategy, prefer to identify with the country’s Indigenous rather than Spanish colonial history. Yet historical and anthropological sources indicate that associating Mexico’s skeleton imagery with the Aztecs is a relatively modern interpretation. According to Mexican historian Claudio Lomnitz (2005), sugar skulls began to be compared with Aztec tzompantli (skull racks) only in the 1920s—­“an association that is absent from eigh­teenth and nineteenth ­century sources” (48). Anthropologist Hugo Nutini (1988) writes that sugar skulls “are a good illustration of the difficulties in determining the functional, structural, and symbolic provenance of ele­ments in a syncretic situation. At first glance, sugar skulls appear to be a survival from pre-­Hispanic times. . . . ​But ­human skulls as a symbol of death have a long history in Christendom, and it could equally well be that the sugar skulls in the ofrenda are of Catholic origin” (222). Another indicator that sugar skulls may not have Indigenous roots is that they, along with other forms of skull art seen in Mexico, are a more urban than rural phenomena. Mexican historian Margarita de Orellana has observed that “skulls are an impor­tant part of the urban cele­bration of Day of the Dead, but they have l­ ittle or no presence in rural [indigenous] festivities” (de Orellana 2011, 65). The calavera represents “a relationship to death linked to defiance and laughter,” she notes, whereas Mexico’s Indigenous ­peoples treat death with “reverence and discretion.” U.S. anthropologist Frances Toor, who from the 1920s through 1940s studied Mexican Indigenous cultures, observed that “urban Mexicans encounter death with fun and games while rural Indians encounter it with absolute tranquility” (quoted in de Orellana 2011, 64). According to anthropologist Stanley Brandes (1998) t­ here is a lack of evidence to substantiate claims of lineage between pre-­Columbian and modern Mexican skull iconography (185–187). He suggests, instead, that con­temporary Mexico’s proliferation of skull imagery is more a colonial and postcolonial phenomenon than an inheritance from ancient Mesoamerican civilizations, and offers several arguments to support this theory. First, he notes that the presence of skull imagery in ancient Mexico was not unique, since many other pre-­Columbian cultures in the Amer­i­cas had skull iconography. Thus, the mere existence of skull iconography in Mexico’s ancient past does not explain why Mexico, alone, came to produce humorous skeletal imagery and sugar skulls in more modern times. Second, he points out that the pre-­Columbian Mesoamerican area known ­today as Mexico was not a single, undifferentiated entity, but a region of distinct cultures that had many dif­fer­ent repre­sen­ta­tions of death. Some of t­ hese cultures

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utilized skull iconography to represent death and ­others did not. For example, in addition to using images of ­human skulls and bones to represent death, Mayan cultures also used the distinctive iconography of long black hair tied into the shapes of bows; images of decomposing corpses; and images of dead ­people shown with open mouths and closed eyes—­none of which are pre­sent in the popu­lar Mexican art associated with Day of the Dead (190). For the p ­ eople of the Central Mexico area of Teotihuacán, skulls and skele­tons as motifs w ­ ere relatively rare (Berrin 1988; Winning 1987; Brandes 1998). Instead, Teotihuacán artists represented death through images of perforated disks or rings above the eyes or the forehead (Winning 1987, 58). The ancient cultures existing in what are now the states of Colima, Jalisco, and Nayarít, Mexico, rarely used skeletal repre­sen­ ta­tions, and even though the Toltec culture at Tula exhibited prominent skull imagery, the artistic design and function of the imagery w ­ ere vastly dif­fer­ent from con­temporary Day of the Dead imagery (Fuente 1974, cited in Brandes 1998). Aztec iconography included repre­sen­ta­tions of skulls but did not depict full-­length skele­tons. Fi­nally, ancient skull imagery had a stylized rigidity and seriousness that is vastly dif­fer­ent from jocular modern-­d ay calaveras. Brandes concludes: “­These archaeological remains display nothing of the playfulness and humor so essential to con­temporary Mexican skull and skeletal repre­sen­ta­t ions. . . . ​Contextually, the use of skulls among the Aztecs could not be further removed from that among Mexicans in ­today’s Day of the Dead cele­ brations” (1997, 193–194). In contrast, historical evidence points to a strong connection between Mexico’s con­temporary calavera imagery and the po­liti­cal caricatures of nineteenth-­ century Eu­rope. Popu­lar in Spain, France, Germany, Holland, and ­England, ­these caricatures, in turn, harkened back to traditions of medieval Eu­ro­pean art, which was rife with skeletal imagery (Childs and Altman 1982; Carmichael and Sayer 1991; Brandes 1998; Garciagodoy 1998). Given that for hundreds of years Mexico was the po­liti­cal and cultural capital of New Spain and, therefore, more closely connected to Eu­ro­pean culture than the rest of Latin Amer­i­ca was, it makes sense that Mexico, alone, developed the humorous calavera tradition popu­lar in Eu­rope. During colonial times, skulls and skele­tons ­were impor­tant features of Eu­ro­pean iconography, as illustrated in the Dance of Death (Danse Macabre) motifs in vogue across Eu­rope from the fifteenth through the nineteenth ­century. Dance of Death images ­were highly animated skeletal figures exemplifying a range of h ­ uman emotions such as gaiety, antagonism, lust, impudence, and sneakiness. Like ­today’s Mexican calaveras, ­these macabre depictions ­were a humorous form of social critique depicting ­human activities. They ­were part of a panoply of skeletal imagery popu­lar in Eu­rope from the late medieval through Victorian period, known as memento mori, which is Latin for “Remember you must die.” Memento mori decorated books, buildings, gravestones, coffins, and jewelry as reminders to Christians of the fleetingness of

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earthly achievements and an invitation to contemplate the afterlife. Th ­ ese images could be scary but often had a comedic quality, conveying a message to the public about death’s inevitability and equality for all—­t he very messages invoked ­today as being uniquely Mexican. Boase (1972), Ariés (1981), and Kastenbaum (1989) have documented the popularity of the Dance of Death motifs across Eu­rope from the early 1400s through the late 1700s, where they appeared in manuscripts, paintings, and gravestones. Jas Reuter (1979) suggests that it was prob­ably in the eigh­teenth ­century that images of Death as a comic skeleton ­were first made in Mexico. At this time, “Puppets and masks, figures made of clay, paper, and cardboard, toys and candies (from l­ittle sugar skulls to the bread for the dead) began to fill Mexico’s popu­lar markets with the image of the skull and the shape of the skeleton” (75). Garciagodoy (1998) also notes a probable connection between Mexican calaveras and Eu­ro­pean traditions: “It seems very likely that the spirit of social criticism and the comedy that infused Eu­ro­pean depictions and dramatizations of the dance of death ­were taken up and fitted to their new milieu in Mexico” (134).

Mexican Calaveras in Print and the Birth of La Catrina The earliest documented example of skeletal imagery in Mexico’s literary culture is thought to be the ­etchings accompanying the tragicomic protonovel, La Portentosa Vida de la Muerte, published in 1792 by Fray Joaquín Bolaños (Bailey 1979; Garciagodoy 1998). Both the narrative structure and the skeleton imagery of this play mirrored the types of publications produced in Spain and other areas of Eu­rope at that time. One of the earliest examples of skeletal depictions in Mexico’s penny press, a major vehicle for popularizing social and po­liti­cal satire in the mid-­nineteenth c­ entury, was the short-­lived literary magazine El Calavera, published in 1847. Providing burlesque and critical commentary on po­liti­cal events, the magazine included drawings of fully clothed, lifelike ­people wearing white skeletal masks. ­Earlier Eu­ro­pean publications, such as the French Voyage pour l’éternité (published in 1830) also portrayed satirical skeletal figures representing death, and French and other Eu­ro­pean magazine caricatures w ­ ere popu­lar in Mexico at this time (Bailey 1979). Although several examples of skeletal imagery in Mexican publications preceded him, the engraver José Guadalupe Posada (1852–1913), hired in the late nineteenth ­century by Mexican publisher Antonio Vanegas Arroyo to create graphic images for popu­lar texts, took calavera imagery in new directions. Posada is credited with originating several key innovations that are popu­lar in Day of the Dead t­ oday: the repre­sen­ta­tion of death as a skeleton without the usual scythe, the depiction of cavorting skele­tons adorned with ­human apparel, and the creation of skeletal animals (LaFaye 1979, 139). Posada created what has since become the most universally depicted of all calaveras—­La Catrina—­a female skeleton foppishly attired in the plumed, wide-­brimmed hat fash­ion­able with upper-­class

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Mexican w ­ omen during the regimes of dictator Porfirio Díaz (1876–1880 and 1884–1911). However, La Catrina was not originally associated with Day of the Dead. She was created as po­l iti­c al commentary to satirize the pretensions of the Mexican upper classes and their imitators who, like Porfirio Díaz, preferred Eu­ro­pean culture over the Indigenous foods, dress, and customs of Mexico.4 Spanish painter Francisco de Goya had made ­earlier satirical catrines (dandies or fops) in eighteenth-­century Spain. ­W hether Posada was familiar with Goya’s catrines is unclear, although reproductions of Goya’s work ­were imported into Mexico in g­ reat numbers (LaFaye 1979, 131). Posada’s caricatures addressed issues of a Mexican society in conflict, critically commenting on the changes wrought by modernity, the corruption of government officials, the hy­poc­risy of the rich, and the suffering of the poor. Childs and Altman (1982) observe: “Anyone and every­t hing was likely to be the subject of his illustrations, including po­liti­cal and revolutionary leaders, businessmen, members of the aristocracy, barmaids and o ­ thers” (56). Posada’s calaveras “breathed new life into Death” (Reuter 1979, 75), and repop­u ­lar­ized the traditional allegories of medieval Spain with a new twist (LaFaye 1979, 138). This is not to say that Posada was not influenced at all by Aztec skulls, but, rather, that the tradition of humorous skulls that he pop­u­lar­ized in Mexico had distinct roots in Eu­rope. Posada employed diverse skeletal images, including Christian allegorical skele­tons, the conventional pirate’s skull and crossbones, and skulls reminiscent of the tzompantli, or wall of skulls of p ­ eople who had been sacrificed at the ancient t­emple of Tenochtitlán. According to art historian Jacques LaFaye (1979), he was one of the first modern artists to incorporate Aztec imagery into his work: “Posada’s calaveras, if they are the reflection of the Hispano-­Christian tradition, mark also the emergence of the Aztec past into modern Mexican art” (138).

Day of the Dead and Mexican Nationalism Forgotten by the Mexican public t­ oward the end of his life, Posada died unknown and penniless. His work was rediscovered ­after his death when Mexican intellectuals and artists in the post-­Revolution 1920s sought to create a new cultural nationalism distinct from the dominant colonial influences of Spain, France, or the United States (Hamill 1999, 81–84; White 2001, 17–19; Rochfort 1993, 33–34; Brandes 1998, 202–205). This was the period known as the Mexican Re­nais­sance, when a burgeoning interest in Mexico’s popu­lar arts emerged among the country’s intellectual elite. Seeing both artistic merit and populist charm in the work of Posada—­a working-­class Mestizo whose art had widely appealed to the urban lower classes—­t he most impor­tant modernist paint­ers in Mexico, including Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, David Alfro Sisqueiros, Jean Charlot, and Dr. Atl, hailed his work as the embodiment of Mexico’s Mestizo culture and claimed his influence on their own work. Art and film theorist Peter Wollen

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writes: “The par­tic­u ­lar role assigned to Posada was impor­tant both in relation to Mexicanism and in relation to Modernism. It gave credibility to claims to be part of an authentically Mexican artistic tradition . . . ​and, at the same time guaranteed the modernity of the tradition by aligning it with the revival of popu­lar imagery among the Eu­ro­pean avant-­garde” (Wollen 1989, 16). ­These modernist artists refocused Mexico’s visual arts away from imitating Eu­ro­pean canons ­toward expressing a thoroughly Mexican spirit. With the newfound vogue for Mexico’s popu­lar arts in the 1920s came new veneration for the country’s Indigenous cultures (Hellier-­Tinoco 2011). This was the point in history when Aztec sculptures first acquired their status as classical art (Lomnitz 2005, 48; Errington 1998; Delpar 1992), and Rivera, Orozco, Siqueiros, and other prominent Mexican artists ­were invited by the Mexican education minister, José Vasconcellos (considered the “­father” of Mexico’s muralist movement), to tour the newly discovered ruins of Yucatán for artistic inspiration (Hamill 1999, 84). Vasconcellos had served alongside Pancho Villa in the Revolution and believed that in order for Mexico to be a truly in­de­pen­dent nation, it needed a revolution in culture that would fully embrace previously disregarded Indigenous ­music, dance, art, and architecture. Public murals, he felt, ­were a medium that not only would pre­sent a new Mexico to the world, but also would affect the way Mexicans thought about themselves (Hamill 1999, 82). Prior to this period, famed Mexican muralist Diego Rivera had spent most of his professional life living and painting in France and Italy, emulating Eu­ro­ pean artistic styles and subjects. During his 1921 visit to the Yucatán, however, he filled his notebook with Aztec-­inspired sketches and, having closely studied Posada’s calaveras, reincorporated Día de los Muertos imagery into Mexico’s modern visual arts. His prominent mural The Day of the Dead, in the National Ministry of Education in Mexico City (1924), tied calavera images of a soldier, a worker, and a farmer (a triumvirate of revolutionary heroes) to the po­liti­cal context of post-­revolutionary Mexico, associating the origin of the country’s revolutionary spirit with its Indigenous cultures. In 1930 Rivera wrote the introduction to a monograph of hundreds of Posada’s engravings, reintroducing the largely forgotten illustrator and his engraving of La Catrina to the general public. In another of Rivera’s renowned murals, Sueño de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central, done in 1946–1947, he painted key figures in Mexican history and, in the center, showcased La Catrina arm-­in-­arm with her creator, Posada. Frida Kahlo also depicted Day of the Dead skele­tons in her famous paintings The Dream (1940) and The Wounded ­Table (1940). Influenced by Posada’s calaveras, Rivera and Kahlo subsequently influenced generations of Mexican and Chicanx graphic artists, who repop­u­lar­ized La Catrina from the 1970s onward, transforming her into the quin­tes­sen­tial icon of Day of the Dead. Both Posada’s and Rivera’s Day of the Dead imagery have been reproduced internationally in countless postcards, books, posters, rec­ord ­album covers, T-­shirts, and other media depicting

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Mexican culture. National and international anthropologists and other scholars, inspired by the Mexican Re­nais­sance in art and culture, produced scholarly accounts of Day of the Dead that reinforced nationalist claims that the cele­bration was a one-­of-­a-­kind Mexican phenomenon derived from ancient Aztec culture. Power­ful ideological work is accomplished by asserting claims of lineage from pre-­Columbian iconography and rituals to con­temporary Day of the Dead practices. This has both positive and negative consequences. On one hand, identifying with Mexico’s ancient cultures has helped create a sense of unity and cultural pride among Mexicans and, as we s­ hall see in chapter 3, among Chicanos. On the other, associating con­temporary Mexicans with an ancient Aztec past reinforces essentialized and exotic ste­reo­t ypes of Latinx populations, who are typically portrayed in the media as being “steeped in tradition,” “closer to nature,” “more spiritual,” and more “connected to the past” than Anglos. Such associations can hinder Latinx ­people from being seen as capable actors in the modern world (Dávila 1999). Furthermore, the privileging of Indigenous over Eu­ro­pean ele­ments of Day of the Dead, common among Mexican and Chicano nationalists, decontextualizes the tradition from the effects of five centuries of colonization, forced cultural loss, and the resulting alienation from Indigenous languages and practices that has been a real­ity for de­cades.

Government Campaigns and Tourism Despite the admiration that Day of the Dead received from Mexican artists and intellectuals shortly ­after the Mexican Revolution, folk observances of the holiday waned by the mid-­t wentieth ­century as Mexico continued to modernize (Nutini 1988; Brandes 1988; Garciagodoy 1998). Indigenous-­t hemed murals on public buildings and the government’s promotion of Indigenous dances, ­music, and crafts did not eliminate the pervasive racism of non-­Indigenous Mexicans ­toward Indigenous ­peoples and practices (Dawson 2004; Friedlander 2006). ­Because of the contempt and discrimination with which Indigenous p ­ eople ­were treated by Mexico’s lighter-­skinned ­middle and upper classes (a legacy of colonialism), many rural and Indigenous ­people who aspired to middle-­class lifestyles distanced themselves from their native traditions. Through the late nineteenth to the mid-­t wentieth c­ entury, “educated” Mexicans who wanted to forge a modern (Westernized) Mexico considered Día de los Muertos an embarrassing anachronism. A nursery school teacher from Puebla, interviewed by Carmichael and Sayer in 1989, explained: In the 1950s, when I was a child in school, we ­were ridiculed for believing in ofrendas. If we admitted having one at home, we w ­ ere laughed at for our incredulity. ­Those who honoured Day of the Dead, so it was said, ­were the victims

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Day o f t h e D e a d i n t h e U S A of superstition and hallucination. . . . ​By 1972 . . . ​t he authorities revised their views. . . . ​Now the Government wants to shore up our sense of pride and national identity. . . . ​W hen official policy was reversed, La Secretaría de Educación Pública asked schools and nursery schools to promote Mexican culture; teachers, who had mocked our traditions, w ­ ere told to endorse them. (Carmichael and Sayer 1991, 118)

This passage depicts both the widespread lack of public appreciation for Day of the Dead in Mexico in the mid-­t wentieth c­ entury, and an increased national interest in the holiday a­ fter Mexico’s government began to officially promote it for tourism. The government’s re-­embrace of Indigenous culture from the 1970s onward was aimed at expanding economic development in Mexico’s rural regions and, like the Mexican Re­nais­sance of the 1920s and 1930s, sought to foster a united Mexican identity among an ethnically, racially, and eco­nom­ically heterogeneous nation (García Canclini 1995; Errington 1998; Dawson 2004). In the 1970s the Mexican Ministry of Tourism began to advertise Día de los Muertos as part of a concerted push to promote tourism and economic development in the impoverished southern states. Based on his fieldwork in the village of Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán, now a major Day of the Dead tourist destination, anthropologist Stanley Brandes (1988) noted that prior to 1971 the town “celebrated the Day of the Dead exactly as did countless other rural communities throughout Michoacán and Mexico as a ­whole, that is, in a relatively muted fashion” (367). He states that before the 1970s this fiesta was subdued and rather minor in Tzintzuntzan’s annual fiesta cycle: “Villa­gers would decorate home altars in s­ imple motifs. Some bereaved community members would spend several hours at gravesites, especially on the first anniversary of the death of a relative. Other­w ise, ­people paid ­little attention to the occasion; it certainly attracted few if any outside visitors” (89). In 1971, however, governmental agencies intervened to stimulate tourism. Incentives w ­ ere offered so that more local ­people would participate, and the variety of activities associated with the fiesta expanded enormously. Brandes concludes: “Tourism has virtually created Tzintzuntzan’s Day of the Dead, or at least, embellished the traditional observance beyond recognition” (89). By 1980 thousands of tourists ­were attending the Tzintzuntzan Day of the Dead fiesta, in which local townspeople participated but government outsiders ran the show. Heavy traffic became endemic, tele­vi­sion cameras flooded the cemetery with glaring lights, and the town became a stage for a “gala per­for­mance” of national identity (Brandes 1988, 89). Brandes noted similar upsurges in Day of the Dead cele­brations in other rural areas of Mexico during the 1970s. Folklorists Kay Turner and Pat Jasper (1994) concur that in the 1970s, “the Mexican cele­bration of Day of the Dead achieved a new status as a tourist attraction, especially in south and central Mexico” (133).

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Two of the most renowned Day of the Dead sites in Mexico are the now-­famous towns of Mixquic, a suburb of Mexico City, and Janitzio, in Michoacán—­both of which are relentlessly highlighted in glossy photo books, travel articles, and tourism websites. Referred to by Mexicans and foreigners alike as the places to experience Day of the Dead, ­t hese communities have become veritable pilgrimage destinations for tourists in search of “au­t hen­t ic” cele­brations. By the late 1980s a million foreign and Mexican tourists w ­ ere visiting Mixquic on November 2, and the numbers are even higher ­today.5 The island of Janitzio, with a population of about 1,500, receives more than 100,000 Day of the Dead tourists yearly, making the holiday the biggest annual source of income for the town’s families, many of whom convert their homes into restaurants and craft booths for the occasion. Ethnomusicologist Ruth Hellier-­Tinoco (2011) refers to this as “performism” in which local Day of the Dead rituals in Janitzio and surrounding towns have been “transformed into public spectated practices and referents of indigenousness, tradition and authenticity” (88). ­Today throughout Mexico, Day of the Dead is an exuberant commercial fiesta, complete with televised parades, concerts, theater productions, “Catrina competitions,” folk dance per­for­mances, ofrenda contests, “discos for the dead,” and a variety of other secular activities. Businesses, schools, and universities are urged by the government to construct ofrendas, and Day of the Dead is a mandatory part of Mexican educational curricula. Since the 1970s, Day of the Dead tours have been marketed to tourists from North Amer­i­ca, Eu­rope, Asia, and Australia, and many cele­brations in rural Mexican towns now have more foreigners and tele­v i­sion cameras pre­sent than native residents. Local traditions have been drastically altered by the intervention of government tourism officials who ignore the wishes of residents. In a poignant example, the Tzintzuntzan villa­gers’ desire for electric floodlights around the cemetery (rather than oil lamps and fire torches) was overridden by government officials bent on satisfying the romantic expectations of tourists (Brandes 1988). Illustrating the dialectical relationship between culture and po­liti­cal economy, policies employed by government and business leaders have encouraged ­people throughout Mexico to embrace as their “national heritage” Day of the Dead traditions that w ­ ere previously denigrated by the country’s non-­Indigenous majority. This dynamic is vividly apparent in the Mexican/U.S. border region— an area historically more connected to U.S. culture and less connected to Indigenous traditions than anywhere ­else in Mexico. U ­ ntil the 1990s, Day of the Dead traditions of Mexico’s Indigenous ­peoples w ­ ere not seen on Mexico’s northern border ­because most settlers to this region w ­ ere not Indigenous, and t­ hose who ­were often abandoned their Indigenous cultural patterns a­ fter migrating north. Historically, the majority of early border settlers w ­ ere single men, making it difficult to maintain cultural practices tied to rural village life, particularly ­because most relatives w ­ ere buried in distant home villages (Childs and Altman

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1982, 60). From at least the 1950s onward, Halloween, rather than Day of the Dead, was enthusiastically celebrated in Mexico’s border regions, and it is still popu­lar ­t here ­today. For a combination of reasons related to Mexican nationalism, Mexican American cultural pride, and tourist businesses on both sides of the border, Day of the Dead cele­brations have become common in both Mexican and U.S. border towns where they ­were not previously seen. My interviews with long-­term residents on both sides of the border revealed that public Day of the Dead events or­ga­nized by schools, community centers, art galleries, city governments, stores, restaurants, and h ­ otels are recent developments that exploded in popularity in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Dozens of middle-­aged and older natives of Tijuana, Mexicali, and Ciudad Juárez, for example, told me that they grew up exclusively celebrating Halloween.6 The business community’s desire for increased tourism and economic growth was key to the surge of Day of the Dead cele­brations in northern Mexico, as a 52-­year-­old Tijuana native and college professor observed: “Lots of h ­ otels, restaurants and stores noticed that Americans who came h ­ ere expecting to find Day of the Dead ­were disappointed when they realized ­t here w ­ asn’t anything. So, they started organ­izing activities, making ofrendas, and selling sugar skulls. You never saw ­t hese t­ hings in Tijuana when I was growing up. Day of the Dead was not something we did at home or learned about in school.”7 This phenomenon was the topic of a 1999 San Diego Union-­ Tribune article, which noted that vendors in the Mexican border towns of Rosarito, Ensenada, and Tijuana, who twenty years prior had not sold Day of the Dead crafts, ­were ­doing a brisk year-­round business with U.S. tourists. A Tijuana shop employee quoted in the article said, “Almost every­one who buys Day of the Dead art is American.”8 ­There are now or­ga­nized tours from the United States to Tijuana on November 1 and 2, such as one advertised in the San Diego Union-­Tribune that charged $59 per person to view Tijuana’s preparations for Day of the Dead.9 Aside from the commercial motivations of business and government (discussed further in chapter 8), some residents of northern Mexico have embraced Day of the Dead as a way to reject U.S. cultural and po­liti­cal hegemony. The rising popularity of Day of the Dead in northern Mexico coincides with growing feelings of nationalism among Mexicans who resent the expanded U.S. dominance over Mexico’s economy since the 1994 implementation of the North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). The following Los Angeles Times excerpt from 1997 connects the rise of Day of the Dead in northern Mexico to “fighting back” against Halloween, describing an “aggressive” Day of the Dead campaign promoted by Tijuana’s Instituto de la Cultura and municipal leaders: Tijuana has embraced Halloween for de­cades, something that might seem inevitable in a region where Mexican ­children grow up closer to US shopping

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malls than the wellsprings of Mexican culture. But now, schools and culture officials are fighting back with an aggressive campaign to pop­u­lar­ize Mexico’s venerated Day of the Dead. . . . ​The campaign is encouraging parents to take the ­family for a traditional Mexican cemetery picnic in which food is set out to invite deceased spirits to join the living. School c­ hildren are learning to write the traditional calavera poems. . . . ​Before long, sugar skulls and special Day of the Dead breads began appearing in Tijuana markets, officials say. ­People—­a nd strolling troubadours—­began to flock to beautiful candlelit graveyards. A funeral home kicked off the first altar contest . . . ​now ­t here’s a boom.10

In chapter 1, we learned that elaborate rituals for remembering the deceased on November 1 and 2 are not unique to Mexico, although Mexico is internationally known for its Day of the Dead traditions. The international popularity of Day of the Dead in Mexico can be understood in terms of the sociopo­liti­cal and economic motivations of elite actors in the “theatricalization” of Indigenous cultural practices starting in the 1920s and 1930s (Hellier-­Tinoco 2011) and more intensely from the 1970s onward. Chapter 2 has revealed how, as a postcolonial, nationalist strategy, Day of the Dead has been strongly associated with the Aztecs, and Eu­ro­pean aspects of the cele­bration have been downplayed. While Day of the Dead ofrenda rituals have been practiced by some Indigenous communities in Mexico for generations, many Mexicans—­particularly in Northern Mexico—­ have only recently begun to embrace the cele­bration. This has come in response to government educational campaigns and mass-­media coverage portraying the cele­bration as an icon of Mexican identity. Portrayals of Day of the Dead as the epitome of “Mexican-­ness,” ­were pop­u­lar­ized via government tourism agencies, travel guide books, school curricula, public murals, museum exhibitions, lit­er­a­ture, and other forms of media. As we learn about the adoption of the cele­bration by Chicanos in chapter 3, we ­will see how nonprofit organ­izations, the mass media, city governments, commercial interests, and foundation grants have been key ­factors in popularizing Day of the Dead in the United States.

chapter 3

Z Day of the Dead in the United States

Mexican American All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day Rituals Since at least the 1890s, Mexican American families in South Texas and the Southwest have visited local cemeteries on November 1 and 2 to clean and decorate gravesites (West 1989; Gosnell and Gott 1989; Turner and Jasper 1994).1 ­These customs resembled the grave-­decorating customs of other Catholic ethnic groups and did not include Mexican Indigenous practices such as making harvest-­laden, multitiered ofrendas or using copal incense.2 Nor ­were pan de muerto or sugar skulls part of Mexican American traditions. Before the 1970s most Mexican Americans did not identify with (or know much about) Mexico’s Indigenous cultures, and engaged in folk Catholic, rather than Indigenous, All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day customs.3 Southwestern grave-­decorating customs on November 1 and 2 ­were carried out ­because of the religious beliefs of participants and ­were not advertised or performed for a public audience. As holy days of obligation, sometimes t­ hese days included parish pro­cessions ­a fter Mass from the local Catholic church to the cemetery, but ­t hese resembled the solemn All Souls’ Day pro­cessions typical of small Latin American villages and lacked the carnivalesque revelry of t­ oday’s urban Day of the Dead pro­cessions. Attending Mass, having a special ­family meal, lighting candles for the departed, and making small home shrines w ­ ere All Souls’ Day practices that ­were familiar to most Mexican American Catholics. Families often brought picnic lunches to the cemeteries when they spent the day cleaning and decorating graves, but Turner and Jasper (1994) note that picnicking in cemeteries was related to transportation difficulties rather than to Indigenous rituals of offering food to the dead (45). When private automobiles ­were rare, a trip to the cemetery was an all-­day ­family outing, which often required walking for miles or taking lengthy bus rides, making it necessary to pack food for the day.4 As cars 40

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became more common a­ fter the 1960s, the authors observe, picnicking at gravesites decreased noticeably. Gosnell and Gott (1989) similarly observe that up u ­ ntil the post–­World War II period, it was common for families to “take food and a ­little chair and stay [in the cemetery] the ­whole day” (220), yet by the late 1980s their el­derly respondents from San Antonio, Texas, lamented the fact that ­people no longer did this (220). Grave-­decorating customs w ­ ere not practiced by all Mexican Americans but mainly by rural and/or geo­graph­i­cally segregated, working-­class neighborhoods, particularly in south Texas, where many families had lived and died in the same communities for generations, given the long historical presence of Mexicans in this region. San Antonio’s San Fernando cemetery (where both Gosnell and Gott, and Turner and Jasper, conducted research in the late 1980s and early 1990s) was located in the lower-­income Westside district, sliced away from the city’s heart by a freeway. This physical separation from the city’s Anglo neighborhoods contributed to a distinctly Mexican cultural milieu: “Groups in more flexible economic positions—­the professional, technical, and managerial Mexican workers—­tended to form enclaves away from the poorest sections or move to other parts of the city. The cultural as well as physical separation of the Westside discouraged or slowed acculturation for t­ hose who could not afford to leave” (Gosnell and Gott 1989, 218–219). Over time, younger generations of Mexican Americans, like adult c­ hildren of other immigrant groups, moved elsewhere as a result of their improved educational and economic status, abandoning the grave-­decorating traditions of their parents and grandparents. Texan John Gonzalez, whose ­father was the superintendent of cemeteries for the Catholic Archdiocese of San Antonio from the 1940s through the 1970s, observed t­ hese changes over time from a unique vantage point: Our home was on the grounds of perhaps the best known Catholic cemetery ­here, San Fernando Archdiocesan Cemetery No. 2, in the West Side barrio. Day of the Dead was an annual observance in my back yard. I grew up in the 1950s and 1960s and lived in the cemetery u ­ ntil the early 1970s. We never called it “Day of the Dead.” It was always All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. What I observed was nothing like nowadays. ­Today, throughout Texas, not just in cemeteries, t­ here are more Day of the Dead arts and crafts and other influences from Southern and “interior” Mexico. The stylized skulls and skele­tons are relatively new icons. At our San Antonio cemeteries, in the timeframe mentioned above, ­t here ­were no such artifacts or influences. The observances ­were ­simple. They involved bringing flowers (marigolds and mums) to the grave, tidying up around the grave and maybe having a picnic where p ­ eople sat around for hours as other relatives came by. . . . ​The high point was an All Souls’ Day Mass on the cemetery grounds, usually led by the Archbishop. . . . ​ Many Texan families incorporated Halloween traditions in the 50s, 60s and

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Day o f t h e D e a d i n t h e U S A 70s, they continued with grave visits, but the picnics and other long vigils faded, in my opinion, b ­ ecause that was viewed as a Mexican peasant practice.5

Carmen Lomas Garza, a Chicana artist who has created Day of the Dead altar installations in galleries and museums throughout the United States, remembered making gravesite decorations of paper wreaths and paper flowers (dipped in melted wax to protect them) while growing up in Kingsville, in south Texas, in the 1950s and 1960s. She recalled: “On November 2, we would all go as a f­ amily and take our picnic lunch and work clothes and gardening tools and go to the cemetery and clean off the graves, clean off all the weeds, and decorate the graves. And while we ­were d ­ oing this, our parents and grandparents and the elders would tell us stories about each of the dead ­people whose graves we ­were cleaning.” Like Gonzalez, Lomas Garza noted that calavera imagery was not part of ­t hese festivities: “I d ­ idn’t see any skele­tons or skulls or anything like that at the cemetery. It was mostly flowers and candles. I ­don’t remember p ­ eople using copal incense, ­either.”  6 Researchers at the Southwest Folklore Center at the University of Arizona, working in the early 1980s in Nogales, Arizona, and Nogales, Mexico, noted that November 1 and 2 customs among Mexican Americans living in the Arizona/ Mexico border region, like t­ hose in Texas, did not include ofrendas, sugar skulls, or pan de muerto. They observed that t­ hese ele­ments had “recently been introduced to Nogales e­ ither by immigrants from further south or by members of Nogales’ intellectual community” (Griffith 1985, 12–17). The authors recounted a story of a baker who moved to Nogales, Mexico, from Mexico City and began baking pan de muerto: “The first year he displayed his pan de muerto, every­one who came into his bakery wanted to know what it was. This custom was unknown in Nogales. Now, due perhaps to a combination of his efforts and to continuing immigration from further south, he makes and sells pan de muerto in a considerable quantity” (Griffith 1985, 17).7 In contrast to the border communities in Texas and elsewhere in the Southwest, Mexican Americans in large urban areas of the United States did not visit cemeteries as much on November 1 and 2. Reasons included the greater pressure to assimilate Anglo cultural norms faced by ethnic minorities living in large U.S. cities, and the fact that many city dwellers came from somewhere ­else and did not have relatives buried nearby. Therefore, many Mexican Americans in large cities such as Chicago, San Francisco, or Los Angeles had ­little firsthand experience with grave-­decorating cemetery rituals of November 1 and 2, although they often attended Mass and shared a f­ amily dinner to commemorate All Souls’ Day. In an essay about Chicano Day of the Dead cele­brations, Latin American studies professor Sybil Venegas notes that Day of the Dead was “virtually unknown” to urban Mexican Americans in the mid-­t wentieth ­century (Venegas 2000), a sentiment confirmed in the interviews conducted for this book.

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Nonetheless, the deep cultural importance of remembering the dead, w ­ hether through a ­family dinner, prayer, home shrine, or cemetery visit, was familiar to all Mexican Americans, making it pos­si­ble for Chicanos to quickly connect with the Día de los Muertos cele­brations of Mexico’s central and southern Indigenous communities.

A Chicano Tradition Is Born California is the epicenter for U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations, which ­were initiated t­here in 1972 as part of the Chicano movement for social and po­liti­cal empowerment. The 1960s and 1970s marked a decisive period in U.S. history, when ­people of color ­were very publicly engaged in strug­gles to gain civil rights, recognition, and re­spect from the mainstream Anglo society. As part of a multipronged po­liti­cal and cultural movement that included lit­er­a­ture, ­music, theater, film, murals, posters, and other public art forms, Chicano/a artists in California began to or­ga­nize Day of the Dead street pro­cessions as well as ofrenda exhibitions as a way to create community and honor their Mexican heritage. An urban, artistic, and po­liti­cal phenomenon that evolved into an intrinsic tradition of the Mexican American community, ­t hese cele­brations had vastly dif­fer­ ent purposes than e­ ither the All Souls’ Day observances of the U.S. Southwest or the Indigenous Día de los Muertos rituals of Mexico.8 Rejecting assimilationist theories that claimed ethnic minorities could only become “real” Americans by adopting Anglo norms, Chicanos embraced and transformed Day of the Dead to challenge conventional ideas of what it meant to be American. Terezita Romo (2000), a Chicana art historian and curator who has been deeply involved in Day of the Dead exhibits in California, Chicago, and other parts of the United States since 1975, says that given that Mexican Americans had long been marginalized by mainstream U.S. society, Day of the Dead cele­brations w ­ ere “a momentous statement of cultural affirmation” (20). She notes that the Chicano movement of the 1970s “grew out of the combined efforts to establish farm ­labor ­unions by Mexican farmworkers in California and Texas; to recognize the plight of dispossessed land grant o ­ wners in New Mexico; to acknowledge prob­lems facing the urban working class in Mexican American barrios across the Southwest and Midwest; and to integrate the concerns of the growing youth and student movement” (43). At the forefront of the movement ­were artists who ­were responding to the po­liti­cal, economic, and social oppression of Mexican Americans through the medium of arte contestatario—­a rt designed to challenge mainstream racist tropes about Latinos (Gomez-­Peña 1986, 86). Emerging at a time of widespread social justice activism by disenfranchised populations in the United States and throughout the world, the Chicano movement was influenced by the Black Power movement, the United Farm Workers

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­ nionizing efforts, anti–­Vietnam War protests, the American Indian Movement, u the w ­ omen’s liberation movement, and the gay and lesbian rights movement. Romo (2000) observes that “the Black Power Movement with its emphasis on po­liti­cal autonomy, economic self-­sufficiency, and cultural affirmation influenced the Chicano Movement greatly,” while the value Chicanos placed on their Indigenous history provided an impor­tant link to the American Indian Movement (93). At the same time, many Chicano activists identified strongly with anticolonial liberation strug­g les happening around the world (in Puerto Rico, Cuba, Vietnam, and Africa) and proclaimed solidarity with t­ hese movements for self-­determination. Locally, Chicanos supported the strug­g les of el­derly Filipinos in San Francisco trying to avoid eviction from their affordable housing and striking coal miners in Kentucky, while at the same time supporting international justice work such as the boycott of Nestlé’s ­because of that com­ pany’s aggressive promotion of costly infant formula to nursing ­mothers in Africa who could not afford it. Prior to the 1970s, public approbation of Latinx cultures was rare in the realm of U.S. arts, culture, education, and the mass media. When Latinx heritage was acknowledged at all, it was Spanish rather than Indigenous culture that was recognized. For centuries, both in Latin Amer­i­ca and the United States, Eurocentric racism had categorized Indigenous ancestry as a shameful impurity that consigned Latinx p ­ eople to inferior socioeconomic status vis-­à-­v is whites. As Chicana artist and educator Yolanda Garfias Woo notes, “I grew up [in California] in a time when Latinos ­were still changing their last names in order to get better jobs and promotions. If you w ­ ere light skinned and could pass for something e­ lse, you did, ­because it was easier and you had more opportunity. . . . ​It still happens in Mexico with the class system, where the ­middle classes are still afraid to associate too much with the Indigenous groups, which they consider to be below them.”9 Nancy Chárraga, who ran the Mexican folk art shop Casa Bonampak for twenty-­three years in San Francisco’s Mission District, expressed similar thoughts: “Mexicans are a fusion of Indian culture and Spanish culture and, as a product of colonialization, we have sort of this unconscious psy­chol­ ogy ingrained in us that we should hate the Indian aspect of ourselves, and that the Eu­ro­pean aspect is better. So, we ­really strug­gle with that and ­really undervalue our culture.”10 U.S.-­born art educator Bea Carrillo Hocker, author of Day of the Dead educational curricula that is widely used in U.S. schools and museums, recalls of her youth: “At one point, I was ashamed to be Mexican. You know, hearing yourself being referred to as a ‘bean eater’ and a ‘wetback’ and all of that. I went through the humiliation of being made fun of in school.”11 Her f­ ather was from Guadalajara, and although her f­ amily celebrated All Souls’ Day by visiting vari­ ous churches and praying for souls in purgatory, ofrenda making was not part of their traditions. She saw her first ofrenda in the 1980s, when she was in her

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40s, at the Chicano art gallery Galería de la Raza in San Francisco.12 Looking back on her involvement with Día de los Muertos, she said: “How enriching it’s been! I want my grandchildren to understand how blessed I’ve been in my lifetime to have been able to learn so much about what my parents ­didn’t know. They ­were immigrants and survival was their main objective.”13 As part of the Chicano movement’s rejection of Eurocentrism and Anglo-­ American po­liti­cal and cultural hegemony, artists held Day of the Dead cele­ brations and other Mexican cultural activities to publicly embrace the customs of working-­class Mestizo and Indigenous Mexicans who, occupying the lowest rungs of Mexico’s social class hierarchy, reflected Chicanos’ own strug­gles for equality in the United States. For many Californians of Latin American ancestry, t­ hese events ­were the first time in their lives that they saw aspects of Latinx culture acclaimed in the public sphere as artistically valuable and philosophically profound. Foremost in the model of Chicanismo (Chicano-­ness) was the integration of culture, art, and politics—­not simply for the sake of making art, but with the goal of creating progressive po­liti­cal change in the areas of ­labor, education, housing, race relations, and U.S. foreign policy. Chicano “artivists” (a portmanteau popu­lar among Chicanos, referring to social-­justice-­oriented artists) sought to build community and create a cohesive and culturally distinct identity that would express a collective history, creativity, and idealism. “Chicano art has always been focused on po­liti­cal engagement and dealing with social inequities and bringing that to the forefront,” explained artist and media professor John Jota Leaños.14 As they searched for methods and symbols, Chicanos looked to Mexico, including its Indigenous past, for inspiration, just as the artists of the post-­ Revolution Mexican Re­nais­sance had done in the 1920s.15 Romo (2000) explains: “Though Chicano art had begun by visually articulating the Chicano movement’s po­liti­cal stance, it also had as a central goal the formation and unification of a Chicano cultural identity. In visualizing this new identity, artists became part of a cultural reclamation pro­cess to reintroduce Mexican art and history, revitalize popu­lar artistic expressions, and support community cultural activities” (7). In the pro­cess, Chicanos utilized this unified cultural identity to confront legacies of racism and vio­lence, aiming to replace the resulting self-­ contempt, which had affected the community for generations, with “Brown” pride (32). The 1970s was a period in which many minoritized ethnic and racial populations in the United States sought to learn about and reclaim their cultural roots—­ languages, clothing, art, m ­ usic, religion, and other ancestral traditions that had been lost in pro­cesses of colonization, slavery, reservation systems, and forced assimilation. Even in regions of the United States with large Mexican populations, Mexican culture had not been part of school or university curricula at the time. Artist Linda Vallejo recalls: “It appeared that Día de los Muertos d ­ idn’t

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exist anywhere in the United States and that very few books, articles or publications about the cele­bration could be found” (Vallejo and Brown, 2017, x). Thus, Chicanos began educating themselves on the topic by d ­ oing their own historical research and visiting Mexico to gain a better understanding of Mexico’s cultural traditions (Romo 2000; personal interviews). As part of this cultural reclamation proj­ect, some Chicanos dedicated themselves to learning Indigenous languages, Mayan weaving, Aztec danza, or other Indigenous Mexican art forms.

Spiritual and Po­liti­cal Referred to ­today as neo-­indigenism (a movement to reaffirm and celebrate the contributions and achievements of Mesoamerican civilization), the collective espousal of Mexico’s Indigenous past became a dominant aspect of Chicano artistic expression. A major influence on Chicanos was the pageantry of Mesoamerican sacred rituals, religious symbols, and spiritual beliefs. At the same time, Day of the Dead in Mexico was beginning to rise in national prominence, as both a tourist attraction and a symbol of national identity. Chicanos who witnessed Indigenous Mexican cele­brations ­were captivated by their stunning aesthetics and profound spirituality. They realized that the creativity and devotion involved in remembering loved ones via ofrendas could also serve as a way to commemorate individual and collective experiences of the Mexican American community. For a minoritized population that was unaccustomed to seeing positive images of itself in the public sphere, the significance of publicly honoring collective experiences and cultural traditions cannot be overstated. Day of the Dead imagery became one of the most profound expressions of Chicano iconography, as Chicano/a artists expanded the definition of art to include all activities that affirmed Mexican cultural heritage (Venegas 2000, 42; Romo 2000, 7). Romo (2000) states: “The Día de los Muertos observance, including its indigenous philosophy, ofrendas, popu­lar art, and foods, became a focal point in this reclamation pro­cess and helped establish direct ties back to Mexican ancestors, both familial and historical” (7). Just as Mexican Day of the Dead traditions w ­ ere a fusion of Indigenous spiritual practices, Catholic rituals, and Eu­ro­pean literary traditions, Chicano Day of the Dead events w ­ ere a hybridization of all of ­these aspects, plus ele­ments of both U.S. and Mexican popu­lar culture and politics. Given that most Chicanos did not grow up celebrating Día de los Muertos (Romo 2000; Vallejo and Brown 2017; personal interviews), their commemorations ­were based on customs that they had read about, witnessed while visiting Mexico, or seen in Mexican films and artwork. Many Chicano artists ­were inspired by the Mexican printmaker José Guadalupe Posada’s satirical calavera imagery and began to create calavera-­t hemed art that critically commented on po­liti­cal topics.16 Some modeled their work on the traditional ofrendas of cen-

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tral and southern Mexico, creating altar installations made with ­family mementos, papel picado (decorative tissue paper cutouts), flowers, and foods. O ­ thers made altar installations displaying ironic expressions of Catholic and pop culture iconography to express critiques of sexism, homophobia, and vari­ous structural inequalities. Thus, Chicanos used “residual” Mexican cultural practices to develop alternative “emergent” cultural practices that contained new meanings and values with which to oppose the dominant culture (Williams 1991). Such eclectic and experimental expressions of Día de los Muertos, as public art, had not previously been done in the United States or Mexico. In most of Latin Amer­i­ca, observances of Day of the Dead would be classified as “folk” culture, which John Fiske (1989) defines as “the product of a comparatively stable, traditional social order” (169). This refers to beliefs and practices arising from the organic life of a community, not intended for promotion to a larger audience. A folk belief related to Day of the Dead, for example, is the widespread conviction that one’s own well-­being depends, in part, on respectfully remembering the dead. W ­ hether p ­ eople construct elaborate ofrendas or simply clean and lay flowers on f­ amily graves, t­ hese rituals are rooted in a shared sense of moral obligation to the deceased, embedded in both Indigenous and Catholic belief systems. Meanwhile in the United States, as Día de los Muertos cele­ brations ­were transposed into the secular spaces of art galleries, community centers, museums, and schools, t­ hese activities became a form of popu­lar culture. The term “popu­lar” ­here refers to cultural practices that are derived from folk culture, commodified for intended consumption by mass audiences, and utilized as signifiers of new meanings. This does not mean that U.S. Day of the Dead rituals are devoid of spiritual significance, but that when they occur in secular contexts as “art,” “ethnic culture,” or “po­liti­cal expression” they are not primarily undertaken as acts of religious devotion. In this context, their principal goal is not the fulfillment of moral obligations to the dead, but the public cele­bration of Chicano/Mexican/Latinx identity. Despite the secular location of U.S. Day of the Dead events, a residual aura of the sacred existed for many of the early Chicano celebrants, as they reached back to an ­imagined past for symbols with which to confront a racist dominant culture. Indigenous spirituality was considered a vital unifying component of Chicano identity, offering new perspectives on the metaphysical, apart from what many considered to be the restrictive scriptures of an historically oppressive Catholic Church (Romo 2000). As evident in El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán (The Spiritual Plan of Aztlán), a Chicano movement manifesto drafted at the 1969 Chicano National Liberation Youth Conference in Denver, Colorado and subsequently promoted by Chicano artists throughout the United States, the incorporation of ancient Indigenous beliefs and practices was considered integral to the strug­g le for cultural re­sis­t ance against a homogenizing and often

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hostile U.S. mainstream (Gonzalez 1972, 405; Romo 2000, 40). Romo refers to this as a “spiritual nationalism” that became a unifying force for Chicano farmworkers, artists, and community activists (2000, 32). Chicano spirituality was a hybrid assemblage of the diverse religious influences that ­shaped Chicano identity, woven together for the purpose of creating a feeling of cultural unity that would assist in strug­gles for po­liti­cal justice. Noting the comfortable coexistence in Mexican American communities of Catholic quinceañera17 Masses with Indigenous curandera healing rituals, Romo (2000) explains, “Chicano spirituality evolved from multiple sources by way of Spanish Catholicism, Moorish mysticism, African beliefs and a Mesoamerican Indigenous worldview—­a ll filtered through an American-­lived experience” (30–31). U.S. Day of the Dead installations reflect the hybrid nature of Chicano spirituality, as they often include Catholic iconography such as crucifixes, Bibles, saints’ candles, rosary beads, images of the saints, Jesus, or the Virgin Mary, together with Indigenous ele­ments, such as copal incense, marigolds, harvest symbols (corn stalks, grains, fruits), food offerings, and Mayan or Aztec symbols. Day of the Dead events may be blessed by Catholic priests, Indigenous elders, Aztec ceremonial dancers, or a combination of all of ­t hese, depending on the orientation of a given event’s organizers and participants, although many events have neither Indigenous nor Catholic functionaries pre­sent. Romo, who helped or­ga­nize the first Day of the Dead cele­bration in Sacramento in 1975, discusses the decision of the Royal Chicano Air Force, a collective of Chicano artists and activists, to include both Indigenous and Catholic ceremonies as part of the cele­bration: We had an Indigenous ceremony with dance offerings, along with a Catholic Mass, b ­ ecause t­ here w ­ ere a lot of older, traditional p ­ eople t­ here, and it’s a holy day of obligation for Catholics. We invited the Guadalupanas ­because we wanted to get that generation of ­people involved, like our parents and grandparents.18 And how do you get them involved if we ­were ­doing Indigenous stuff and they might see it as too artistic or not Catholic enough, or respectful enough? ­Because we w ­ ere a Chicano reclamation proj­ect, we wanted to incorporate all the t­ hings that we knew made up the culture. We wanted p ­ eople to start recognizing the Indigenous connections and foundations of a lot of what we took for granted as our culture. . . . ​We chose Día de los Muertos ­because of its specific connection to Indigenous thought. . . . ​And we also wanted to recognize that t­ here was a segment of the older population that was very Catholic and needed to be part of this, and we wanted to be respectful, in terms of their belief system, but not let one take over the other. And it worked.19

Historian of religion Davíd Carrasco (1990) sees an impor­tant basis of Latinx identity in what he calls “the religious imagination”—­a shared knowledge of symbols from Indigenous religions and Catholicism. Through m ­ usic, per­for­

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mance, murals, and other expressive and ritual forms, he notes, Indigenous and Catholic symbols have been used by U.S. Latinx ­people as spiritual resources to communicate messages of re­sis­tance against Anglo-­created ste­reo­types, oppression, poverty, and unequal opportunity (156). For more than 500  years, the influence of Catholicism in Latin Amer­i­ca has been so extensive that even ­today a majority of Latin Americans and U.S. Latinx populations are at least nominally Catholic—­a commonality that draws diverse groups of p ­ eople together at both social and po­liti­cal events. This has made it pos­si­ble for Latinx artists to redeploy such imagery in novel and po­liti­cally meaningful ways (Carrasco 1990; Gutierrez 1995; Pérez 2007; Romo 2000). The participation of religious leaders in some U.S. Day of the Dead ceremonies does not mean that participants necessarily consider ­t hese events within a religious context, although they may. Catholic symbols in U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations are open to a variety of meanings that may be similar to or vastly dif­fer­ent from the same symbols in a Latin American context. Regardless of their personal feelings about Catholicism or Indigenous spirituality, Chicano artists saw themselves as part of a larger community for whom ­t hese symbols had historical meaning. Day of the Dead rituals created by Chicanos ­were selectively ­adopted from a variety of Mexican Day of the Dead traditions, affording them the freedom to include or not include religious symbols and rituals, depending on the intention of a par­tic­u ­lar installation or event.20 In contrast to Mexican Indigenous celebrants who consider the holiday Catholic,21 Chicano cele­brations ­were (and are) secular, both ­because most Chicanos wanted to distance themselves from a religion closely connected with colonialism, and also b ­ ecause they wanted to make the cultural activities available to racially and religiously diverse U.S. populations through workshops held in publicly funded schools and nonprofit organ­izations. Thus, aspects of the holiday celebrated in the United States ­were t­ hose that could most easily be adapted to art gallery and classroom environments (i.e., history, language, or arts activities). C ­ hildren and families w ­ ere invited to bring in photos and objects to commemorate deceased loved ones, and Chicano/a artists and teachers emphasized the familial and cultural, rather than religious, aspects of the tradition.

Inventive Traditions as a Decolonial Practice Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (1983) coined the phrase “in­ven­ted tradition” to refer to newly created practices of a ritual or symbolic nature “which seek to inculcate certain values and norms” and which “imply continuity with the past” (1).22 In “using old models for new purposes,” they observe, an implied (but fictitious) continuity with the past is key to establishing group cohesion and identity (5). Although the term “in­ven­ted tradition” often connotes a falsification of history or manipulation from “above,” U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations exemplify agency from “below.” H ­ ere, traditions are reinvented, not to provide

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a dominant group with “the sanction of pre­ce­dent, social continuity or natu­ral law” (2), but to offer an historically marginalized population a sense of cultural continuity, belonging, and resources with which to ­counter generations of disparagement, discrimination, and vio­lence from the larger society. U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations have helped counteract a history of Latinx underrepre­sen­ta­ tion, misrepre­sen­ta­tion, and exclusion from the mass media, museum exhibition cir­cuits, academia, and other dominant institutions. They also counteracted the psychological harm done by de­cades of racially segregated public education, where Latinx ­children—­historically relegated to substandard schools and non-­ college-­track curricula—­were taught misleading histories that portrayed their cultures as abject. Through public rituals that transmitted narratives of cultural pride, Day of the Dead in the United States became a forum for expressing a community’s collective experience and memory of itself. This was a space to promote and validate unofficial histories regarding Latinx contributions to U.S. society that had long been ignored by mainstream media, cultural institutions, and official school curricula. Alicia Gaspar de Alba (1998) has referred to this as the transformation of Day of the Dead “from folk culture to popu­lar culture,” where ancient devotional expressions are converted into “ceremonial art whose main function [is] the ritual cele­bration and preservation of cultural memory” (76). Over time, Chicanos’ knowledge of Day of the Dead expanded via cultural exchanges between Mexico and California. Chicano/a artists traveled to Mexico and brought back artifacts, crafts, and ideas that they shared at workshops in the United States. They also invited Mexican artisans to hold workshops in the United States. Examples of this include visits to California by members of the Linares ­family of Mexico, internationally renowned experts in Mexican papier-­mâché crafts. The Linareses taught Chicano artists traditional Mexican techniques for making papier-­mâché calaveras. In another example, Arsacio Vanegas Arroyo, the grand­son of José Guadalupe Posada’s employer, publisher Antonio Vanegas Arroyo, traveled to El Centro Cultural de la Raza in San Diego in 1980 to show Chicano artists Posada’s original engraving plates and restrike prints.23 Chicano artists ­were allowed to make prints using Posada’s plates, many of them with calavera imagery. Artist David Avalos explains: “For Chicanos, it was very exciting to have a direct connection with the engravings of Posada. This was stuff we had only seen in Dover Edition publications, and we had the sheets and plates right in front of us!”24 ­These plates and broadsheets w ­ ere exhibited at El Centro Cultural de la Raza in San Diego and Southwestern College in Chula Vista, and then traveled to the Mission Cultural Center in San Francisco, La Raza Bookstore Gallery in Sacramento, the Con­temporary Hispanic Arts Consortium in Milwaukee, and the Goez Gallery in Los Angeles, providing direct links to history and a sense of continuity between Mexican and Chicano culture (Avalos 1981, 138).

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The unconventional skull iconography found within Day of the Dead rituals became proclamations of identity for the Chicano community, forcing the larger society to take notice of a population whose existence in the United States had been ignored yet exploited for de­cades.25 At the same time, this powerfully distinctive imagery also blatantly communicated about death in a country that avoided the topic in polite conversation, striking some onlookers as morbid, shocking, or even ghastly. The comments of an Anglo administrative assistant at an art gallery exhibiting Day of the Dead altars illustrates the jolting effect calaveras can have on p ­ eople unfamiliar with the tradition: “I c­ an’t get used to it. I just ­can’t. The blatant skeletal symbols bother me. They ­really do. ­They’re too garish. Too gory! The bones r­ eally turn me off. The sugar skulls are too much! It’s too reminiscent of a decomposed body. That’s not the memory I want.”26 And such visceral reactions are not ­l imited to non-­L atinx ­people, as the following comment by a Mexican American sales rep from San Francisco illustrates: “I ­don’t celebrate such holidays. Truthfully, it scares the living daylights out of me! Just the weirdness of it. Can you imagine ­people actually celebrating the dead?!”27 Aware of the larger public’s reactions, Chicanos emphasized that the skull imagery served as a reminder that death is part of the cyclical aspect of nature, and that remembrance is a way to keep the memory of deceased loved ones alive. Rejecting the assimilationist and white supremacist ethos that had dominated U.S. educational and cultural institutions for de­cades, Chicanos ­adopted Día de los Muertos as a counter-­hegemonic practice. From mid-­September u ­ ntil mid-­ November, workshops on how to make ofrenda altars, paper flowers, papel picado, pan de muerto, sugar skulls, and papier-­mâché skull masks became a major part of annual U.S. festivities that fostered greater understanding and re­spect for Mexican culture. ­These ­were offered to the public for ­free or very low cost at art galleries, community centers, and schools serving largely working-­ class constituencies of Latinx and other ­people of color.28 ­Today, programming in schools continues to be the main medium through which most ­people (including Mexican Americans) learn about Day of the Dead (figure 9). Over the years ­t hese workshops ­were combined with per­for­mance art and calavera poetry slams (where participants publicly read poems or told stories about the departed) (figure 10). “Altar installations” (the term used by Chicano artists to describe the ofrendas they make in public spaces) w ­ ere created from mixed media such as sculpture, paintings, silkscreen prints, mobiles, collages, computers, tele­v i­sions, sound systems, video footage, and digital media. U.S. cele­brations often include public lectures that educate p ­ eople about Day of the Dead, or that utilize the seasonal theme to discuss metaphysical topics related to death and the spirit world. They have also featured film screenings ranging from documentaries such as Death Day (Eisenstein 1934), Day of the Dead (Eames and Eames 1957), La Ofrenda: Days of the Dead (Portillo and Muñoz 1988), and La Muerte Viva, The Day of the Dead: A Living Tradition (Llamas 1989), to

Figure 9. ​Schoolchildren celebrate Day of the Dead with songs, art, and poetry, San Francisco, 2005. Photo by author.

Figure 10. ​Day of the Dead spoken word event, remembering deceased loved ones. Voz Alta Proj­ect, San Diego, Fall 2002. Photo by author.

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classic Mexican movies with Day of the Dead scenes, such as Macario (Roberto Gavaldón 1960) and Animas Trujano (Ismael Rodríguez 1962), to the Disney-­ Pixar animated film Coco (2017).29

Early Chicano Day of the Dead Cele­brations The first recorded Día de los Muertos cele­brations or­ga­nized by Chicanos—­t he model on which ­today’s U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations are based—­occurred in California in 1972, or­ga­nized separately by artists at Self Help Graphics & Art (SHG) in Los Angeles and Galería de la Raza, in San Francisco. Th ­ ese Chicano art galleries ­were founded, in part, ­because mainstream U.S. galleries and museums w ­ ere not interested in Chicano art at the time and would not exhibit it. SHG, a community-­based Latinx visual arts center in East Los Angeles, hosted a small Day of the Dead pro­cession in which p ­ eople dressed as skele­tons and walked to the nearby Evergreen Cemetery, where many members of the Mexican American community w ­ ere buried. Art historian Sybil Venegas notes that the Chicano artists who helped or­ga­nize this first ceremony w ­ ere not personally familiar with Day of the Dead,30 so they took their cues from the three found­ers of SHG (Mexican artists Antonio Ibañez and Carlos Bueno, and Italian American nun Sr. Karen Boccalero), who w ­ ere familiar with the cele­bration. She observes: “While ­these artists ­were initially unfamiliar with El Día de los Muertos, they ­were undoubtedly attracted to its potential to generate cultural awareness, ethnic pride, and collective self-­fulfillment for the East Los Angeles community” (Venegas 2000, 47). Through the influence of Ibañez and Bueno, the SHG artists w ­ ere introduced to calavera imagery and Indigenous-­style ofrenda making. By 1974 the cele­bration had attracted the participation of a cross section of the Chicano community, generating a plethora of silkscreen prints, posters, paintings, multimedia compositions, per­for­mances, and other Day of the Dead–­inspired art from Chicano artists throughout the greater Los Angeles area. Involving artists, local residents, schoolchildren, and grassroots activists, Day of the Dead at SHG became an annual event. Beginning at the nearby Evergreen Cemetery with a Catholic Mass, an Aztec-­inspired ceremony, and a street pro­ cession, it grew to include an annual art show and workshops teaching the public how to make papel picado, sugar skulls, plaster skeleton masks, and ofrendas. All of ­t hese would become key aspects of U.S. Day of the Dead festivals in the ­f uture. To support local artists and nourish the community, SHG sold Day of the Dead art, mementos, and traditional foods such as atol de maíz and pan de muerto during the cele­bration. In subsequent years, the Chicano po­liti­cal theater troupe El Teatro Campesino performed.31 Over time the street pro­cession grew to include m ­ usic, Aztec dancing, ­g iant calavera puppets, banners, “lowrider” cars, decorated floats, and more. Urban outdoor spaces became public per­for­mance sites, providing SGH artist with opportunities to reach larger audiences than a typical gallery exhibition would. ­Because SHG worked with local

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elementary schools to educate students and teachers about Day of the Dead, and held craft workshops at the gallery ­every weekend during October, hundreds of ­children attended the pro­cessions, wearing or carry­ing Day of the Dead art proj­ ects they had made. Inspired by SHG, community centers, schools, libraries, art galleries, museums, folk art stores, city parks, and commercial districts throughout Los Angeles l­ater developed Day of the Dead programming for the months of October and November. The influence of SHG’s Día de los Muertos cele­ brations went far beyond California and diverse areas of the United States. As Chicana curator and anthropologist Karen Mary Davalos (2017) notes, SHG contributed to and was “central to the formation of a transnational nexus of creativity between Los Angeles and Latin Amer­i­ca” (22). In the same year, Galería de la Raza, a Chicano art gallery located in the heart of San Francisco’s predominantly Latinx Mission District, held the city’s first Day of the Dead exhibit. Or­ga­nized by artists René Yáñez and Ralph Maradiaga, together with other artists, including Amalia Mesa-­Bains, Carmen Lomas Garza, and Yolanda Garfias Woo, the exhibit and related educational activities evolved into an annual tradition. According to Yáñez, “We spoke about ritual, spirituality—­what we felt was lacking (in the community). I had been to Mexico . . . ​and I had pictures of altars. So we had a meeting with the artists and spoke about the Day of the Dead . . . ​how we could make a hybrid h ­ ere and get ­people involved” (Romo 2000, 35). In 1981 Galería de la Raza or­ga­nized a small Day of the Dead street pro­cession with about twenty-­five ­people who walked around the block holding candles. A w ­ oman born in Ec­ua­dor and raised in the Mission described the earliest pro­cessions: “They w ­ ere very quiet and spiritual. ­People prayed and held photos of deceased f­ amily members.”32 The pro­cession soon burgeoned into an exuberant annual manifestation of thousands and included Aztec blessing rituals and danza groups, colorful banners, street ofrendas, sidewalk chalk art, ­giant calavera puppets, portable sculptures, Cuban Santería prac­ti­tion­ers, Irish bagpipes, and a Jamaican steel drum band on wheels. Over the years, individuals walking in honor of deceased f­ amily members and friends w ­ ere joined by contingents walking to draw public attention to vari­ous preventable sociopo­liti­cal ­causes of death, such as AIDS, gang warfare, police brutality, femicide, gun vio­lence, and U.S. military interventions abroad. Typically, the pro­cessions had an annual theme, honoring a par­tic­u ­lar group or cause. Now or­ga­nized by the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts, the pro­cession ­today attracts tens of thousands of participants, spanning all ages, races, and ethnicities—­making it the largest and most famous Day of the Dead pro­cession in the United States. La Galería’s Day of the Dead exhibits ranged from traditional ofrendas to high-­tech video displays and websites, to cross-­cultural installations created by students and artists from diverse ethnic and racial backgrounds. From the beginning, the themes and p ­ eople honored reflected a broad spectrum between the

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traditional and the avant-­garde, such as installations honoring Indigenous Mexican ofrenda-­making, feminist altars, commemorations for the victims of U.S.-­sponsored wars in Central Amer­i­ca, and tributes to deceased Latin American and Latinx revolutionary leaders, artists, and entertainers. The Galería’s Day of the Dead exhibitions and activities ultimately generated citywide recognition and inspired other parallel cele­brations throughout Northern California and beyond. One of the most profound influences of this small gallery on U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations was its encouragement of hybrid experimentation that took the ofrenda format in new artistic directions. Chicana curator Terezita Romo notes that by blending traditional objects with modern materials and designs, artists and particularly the Galería’s director at the time, René Yáñez, transformed the altar format into an “environmental space” and pushed altar making into the realm of con­temporary art installation while still remaining respectful of the traditional ofrenda as a source of inspiration (Romo 2000, 38). Both of t­ hese galleries had far-­reaching impacts on how the cele­bration would be celebrated in the United States as an urban, multimedia, artistic, and po­liti­ cal phenomenon, influencing Day of the Dead cele­brations in Mexico and within Mexican diaspora communities abroad.

Chicano Innovations Politically Themed Altar Installations In their cultural reclamation of Día de los Muertos, Chicanos transformed the cele­bration. One of the most profound innovations was the creation of altars as art installations. B ­ ecause U.S. Day of the Dead festivities ­were initiated as secular rather than primarily religious rituals, t­ hese public altars became key media for communicating messages of cultural affirmation and po­liti­cal consciousness. In addition to honoring deceased f­ amily members and friends, Chicano artists utilized the holiday’s focus on remembrance of the dead to raise public awareness about preventable sociopo­liti­cal ­causes of death. As a means of building community, they expanded a tradition originally focused on close ­family members into one that also remembered groups of ­people not personally known to the altar makers. Curator Terezita Romo explains: “The remembering and acknowledging of the dead—­even if we never knew them—­was and continues to be an impor­tant component of U.S. Day of the Dead observances. . . . ​connected to the [Chicano] Movement’s po­liti­cal origins.”33 (See chapter 5.) It is impor­tant to remember that Chicano Day of the Dead events emerged during the period of the Vietnam War and U.S. civil rights movements, when strug­gles between life and death ­were not abstract concepts for the Latinx community. At the time of the first Day of the Dead cele­brations in 1972, police vio­ lence against Chicanos occurred regularly, and the well-­k nown Chicano journalist, Ruben Salazar, had recently been killed by police in East Los Angeles while covering the National Chicano Moratorium March against the

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Vietnam War. As Chicano artist Harry Gamboa Jr. (2000) observed, for many Chicanos “death was not an accident or an act of fate, but the result of predetermined governmental, corporate and criminal policies which allowed for high death ratios amongst the Chicano population” (57). Poster Art In addition to public altar installations, another innovation facilitating Chicano po­liti­cal expression and cultural affirmation was the making of commemorative posters and prints—­a hallmark component of SGH’s annual Day of the Dead cele­bration since 1972. SHG artists trained in printmaking ­later spread out across California and the United States, influencing artists and organ­izations in other cities. To this day, many annual Day of the Dead event posters are stunning works of graphic art. While posters often feature Posada-­inspired calaveras, they reflect con­temporary settings and radical styles.34 Calavera imagery in Chicano posters has commented on po­liti­cal issues ranging from protests against ­labor abuses, war, and vio­lence against w ­ omen, to promoting hope for change. As we s­ hall see in chapter 5, U.S. Day of the Dead public art and ritual continue to be relevant forms of po­liti­cal critique t­ oday. Danza ­Because Chicanos embraced Día de los Muertos as an urban artistic phenomenon and cultural reclamation proj­ect, they had the freedom to celebrate in additional novel ways that creatively expanded upon the holiday. This included the incorporation of Aztec spiritual ceremonies and danza, a term referring to a pre-­Columbian style of dancing-­in-­prayer to communicate with the spirit world. In response to centuries of Western colonization and assimilation that had erased or devalued Indigenous cultures, Chicanos embraced Indigenous practices that w ­ ere marginalized in Mexico at the time, reappropriating them in novel forms as a way to reject eurocentrism. T ­ oday, danza per­for­mances are often part of U.S. Day of the Dead events (as well as cele­brations in Mexico), although this form of dance was previously not done on Day of the Dead in Mexico. Danzante leader Macuilxochitl Cruz-­Chavez, who founded the San Francisco Bay Area group Danza Xitlalli in 1982, learned danza as a teen in her native Hidalgo, Mexico. Discussing the evolution of danza in Northern California Day of the Dead cele­brations, she noted that this ancient form of prayer dance was originally done in private rather than public spaces: “It was done in the homes. . . . ​ When I lived in Mexico, p ­ eople d ­ idn’t dance on Day of the Dead. When I came ­here, p ­ eople ­weren’t ­doing it.” She and other danzante leaders in California connected danza with Día de los Muertos. “Now ­people h ­ ere think that all danza groups have always danced on Day of the Dead” said Cruz-­Chavez. “But that’s not the case.”35 Mario E. Aguilar, who began studying danza in 1974 and is the founder of the San Diego group Danza Mexi’cayotl, also noted that although

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danza is a form of honoring the deceased, it was previously not part of Day of the Dead observances in Mexico before Chicanos started to do it. “The danza tradition is very much a ghost dance in which you honor your ancestors through dance. You have to remember them, recalling them by specific names. But ­doing danza on Día de los Muertos is a totally Chicano creation.”36 In combining Aztec ceremonial dancing with Día de los Muertos ofrenda traditions, Chicanos enacted creative syncretism. Wearing synthetic re-­creations of Aztec clothing and colorful feathered headdresses, danzantes frequently inaugurate U.S. Day of the Dead pro­cessions, altar exhibitions, and community cele­brations in modern versions of ancient ceremonies. Sometimes t­ hese events are convened by blowing on a large conch shell, used by the Aztecs as a form of communication. In keeping with the ceremonial rituals of many Indigenous ­peoples of the Amer­i­cas, the four ele­ments (earth, air, fire, and ­water) and the four directions (north, south, east, west) are saluted, followed by dancing and prayerful singing. Indigenous rituals also serve to emphasize the Mesoamerican core belief of the interconnected cycle of life and death in nature. Lowriders Given that U.S. Day of the Dead emerged in California, it is not surprising that autos became another new aspect of the cele­bration. In the 1970s, stylized “lowriders” cruised in the SHG Day of the Dead street pro­cessions and the practice eventually expanded to other locations. Lowriders are customized vintage cars with lowered bodies, painted with intricate designs, that rise and sink on specially created hydraulic systems. Emerging among Chicanos in the 1940s and 1950s and hitting their heyday in the 1970s, lowriders represented Chicanos’ rejection of Anglo cultural norms. Chicano youth, long ste­reo­typed as hoodlums by Anglo society, expressed their mechanical and artistic genius through t­hese unique creations, which became synonymous with Chicanos. Public cruising in lowriders became an act of Chicano pride. ­Today, in communities with large Mexican American populations, lowrider exhibitions are often part of Day of the Dead festivals, and since at least the early 2000s the cars themselves have become sites for ofrendas that are created in open trunks, on top of hoods, or on seats and dashboards.37 (Figure 11.) Lowriding still thrives ­today, and ­because both Día de los Muertos and lowriders are iconic emblems of Chicano culture, it is not uncommon to see vehicles painted with calavera imagery year-­round.38 Calavera Face Painting and Costuming Another major Chicano innovation has been skeleton face painting (figure 12) and costuming, believed to have originated at SHG’s Día de los Muertos cele­ brations. Photos taken at SHG from 1974 onward show participants wearing skeleton face paint.39 In contrast, Indigenous ­people in Mexico did not paint their ­faces as skele­tons for Día de los Muertos. Given the religious spirit of their

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Figure 11. ​One of many lowrider ofrendas at the 2019 Day of the Dead cele­bration in La Colonia de Eden, Solana Beach, California, October 27, 2019. Photo by author.

cemetery visits during the Days of the Dead (to devoutly clean and decorate ­family graves, pray, and accompany the spirits), ­people miming as skele­tons in the cemeteries would likely have seemed disrespectful or out of place at the time. Even in urban areas of Mexico where carnivalesque observances of Day of the Dead occurred, photos taken prior to the 1990s show ­people wearing skull masks or holding papier-­mâché skulls and puppets, rather than painting their ­faces.40 Commenting on the phenomenon of skeleton face painting during the Days of the Dead, SHG artist Linda Vallejo, who traveled to Mexico regularly from the 1970s onward to research the cele­bration, said, “I never saw Mexicans with ­faces painted like skele­tons back then. The first time I ever saw it was in the 1970s at Self Help Graphics. I think it’s derivative of Halloween. It’s sort of an Americanized ­t hing, since Day of the Dead happens two days ­after Halloween.” 41 U.S. Day of the Dead festivities evolved to include bodies transformed into living art (a concept that grew by the early 2000s to incorporate elaborate calavera tattoo art). Karen Mary Davalos (2017) notes that early Chicano artists at SHG would “mix the ele­ments of the calavera—­the teeth or nose of a skull—­with glamorous, flashy, con­temporary make-­up—­exaggerated eyebrows, eyelashes, or

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Figure 12. ​Participant in Day of the Dead cele­bration at El Museo del Barrio, New York City, 2017. Photo by author.

eyeliner and full red lips” (24). Taking José Guadalupe Posada’s dandy El Catrin and La Catrina figures to more captivating heights, Chicanos who painted their ­faces donned top hats and tuxedo-­like attire while Chicanas wore feathered hats, boas, or lacey veils fash­ion­able in Victorian times, mixed with fishnet stockings, black leather, and stiletto heels from U.S. punk and goth cultures. Documentation of SHG’s Day of the Dead events in the 1970s and 1980s show p ­ eople posing, preening, or pantomiming for the camera as skele­tons, dressed in suspenders, zoot suits, punk rock outfits, wedding dresses, ponchos, sombreros, bowler hats, or flower headdresses, while some onlookers in the crowd w ­ ere also painted as skele­tons. Writing about ­t hese early photos, Davalos says: “Attendees arrive in calaca attire and pose for photo­g raphs throughout the eve­ning.42 . . . ​[The] bound­aries between art and life, artist and audience, are pierced by the event, making for a profoundly postmodern art form” (26). It seems this practice was

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not being done in Mexico in the early 1970s but, inspired by Chicanos, began to appear t­ here ­later. Exploding in popularity and evolving into an exquisitely detailed art form, especially since the 2010s, skeleton face painting is now a requisite aspect of public Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States and Mexico, often referred to in both countries as an “ancient” Day of the Dead tradition. Fashion Shows Related to stylish transformations in “Muertos” attire is another Chicano innovation: Day of the Dead fashion shows (Pérez 2021). The first Day of the Dead fashion show was held in 1982 at SHG.43 Participant Consuelo Flores recalls: “Initially, they w ­ ere called paper fashion shows. It was done with paper only, ­because every­thing was ephemeral. Every­thing was fragile. . . . ​Like life. You are born one minute, and you are also shedding, regenerating and d ­ ying. Life is ephemeral. Once y­ ou’re gone, ­t here ­will never be another person like you. And that’s the same ­t hing with the paper fashions we created and wore. The fashion show idea was ­later picked up in the early 2000s by Reyes Rodriguez from [the L.A. gallery space] Trópico de Nopal, but instead of paper, he said ‘Let’s do walking altars.’ And ­people took that literally, creating wearable altars on their dresses or what­ever.” 44 Since then, Day of Dead fashion shows have fanned out to schools, public parks, art galleries, and retail spaces in cities throughout the United States and Mexico. As ­t hese fashion shows migrated away from Chicano art galleries into commercial spaces, though, they focused more on showcasing the beauty of costumes and face painting than on the ephemerality of life or remembrance of the dead.45 Examples include Day of the Dead fashion shows at the California Flower Market in Los Angeles (2019), the Ave­nue Five Institute of Beauty and Massage in Austin, Texas (2018), New York City’s Fashion Week (2019), and the Doubletree Hilton ­Hotel in Dallas–­Campbell Centre, Texas (2020). In par­tic­u ­lar, “Catrina [costume] Contests,” in which p ­ eople compete for prizes and cash, had become the rage at Day of the Dead cele­brations by the 2010s (figure 13).

Impact and Legacy The impact of Chicanos on Day of the Dead provided new models and inspiration for ­future generations of artists and “forever changed the tradition not only in the United States, but in Mexico, as well” (Romo 2000, 31). In the 1970s, Chicano artists who had developed educational curricula or craft workshops or had written books about Día de los Muertos, traveled to Mexico to educate urban Mexican artists and general audiences about Chicano renderings of Day of the Dead, conducting workshops and book talks. The esteem Chicano artists had for Day of the Dead helped elevate it in the eyes of urban Mexicans, many of

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Figure 13. ​Catrina Contest banner, Day of the Dead cele­bration at La Colonia de Eden, Solana Beach, California, 2019. Photo by author.

whom did not appreciate the cele­bration at the time. Ironically, while Chicanos embraced traditions of Day of the Dead, Halloween was gaining popularity in Mexico. Artist and visual arts professor Amalia Mesa-­Bains, who created an altar at the first Day of the Dead exhibit at Galería de la Raza, noted: “­There was this strange moment where Mexicans w ­ ere celebrating Halloween and Chicanos ­were celebrating Day of the Dead. A number of Chicanos began to go back to Mexico and assist in reclaiming the tradition ­t here. . . . ​In Mexico City and other large cities where t­ here was much more dominance from the United States . . . ​most con­temporary Mexican artists w ­ ere not interested in t­ hose traditions ­because to them they seemed rather old fashioned. So, we Chicano artists actually valued something that con­temporary Mexican artists did not.” 46 Mexican artists have also commented on the influence of Chicano Day of the Dead cele­brations on Mexico. Sculptor Guillermo Pulido, who was born in Guadalajara, Mexico, and moved as an adult to California in the late 1980s, noted the “regeneration” and “transformation” taking place with Day of the Dead in the United States and the “recycling of influences back and forth” (Morrison 1992, 362). An administrator at the Mexican Museum of San Francisco, who had moved as an adult from Mexico to California in 1997, was surprised to see how Day of the Dead was celebrated in the United States: “­Here, ­because of the

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Chicano Movement, it’s much more po­liti­cal.” He felt that Chicano cele­brations had inspired more politicized and artistic experimentation with altars in Mexico. “In Mexico, t­ here are new interpretations of altars, and you now see artists ­doing more experimental t­ hings around Day of the Dead.” 47 Chicano artist David Zamora Casas, who has created Day of the Dead altars in public spaces since 1989, believes that “the po­liti­cal climate in the U.S. about Chicanismo, being Brown and proud, had a lot to do with it,” referring to the influence Chicano artists had on the ways that Mexican artists perceived Día de los Muertos. “It’s inevitable that we si­mul­ta­neously influence each other.” 48 ­Because of their exotic appeal, early California Day of the Dead events soon attracted media attention from local newspapers and tele­vi­sion stations—­a phenomenon that continues t­ oday. The mass media (discussed in chapter 6), together with educational workshops and tourism, played key roles in promoting the cele­bration to wide audiences. But why, specifically, did Day of the Dead grab ­people’s attention? Chicana artist and educator Yolanda Garfias Woo, who has been teaching about Day of the Dead since the 1960s, notes that compared with Anglo holidays, Day of the Dead “was so far out. It was a shocking kind of ­t hing to be d ­ oing. It literally shocked the non-­L atino community. And that’s exactly the emphasis that Chicanos w ­ ere looking for. They wanted to make a statement and make it big!” 49 But the shocking skull imagery was also beautiful. In contrast to somber, sterile, or menacing skulls of the Eu­ro­pean tradition (such as the skull and crossbones of pirate flags, poison warning labels, and haunted ­houses), Day of the Dead skulls are colorful, smiling, and full of life. Their brightly colored floral designs reflect Latin American Indigenous worldviews on the cyclical nature of life and death. “Let’s be honest,” SHG artist Consuelo Flores, creator of altar installations for more than thirty years, says about calaveras: “­They’re cute! They ­wouldn’t be so popu­lar if they ­weren’t pretty to look at. But also, quite frankly, we know that ­we’re all skele­tons under­neath. So, t­ here is a primal attraction t­ here, too.”50 The aesthetic charm of calaveras attracts ­people to a topic they might other­wise shun, offering a nonthreatening entry point for reflection on death. Sarah Chavez, co-­founder of the U.S.-­based death positive movement, observed, “Skele­tons are seen as something evil, bad, satanical. . . . ​With Day of the Dead, p ­ eople are dipping their toe into the scary subject of death and mortality and grief, and it’s easier to engage with t­ hings that are beautiful.”51 Similarly, Erendina Delgadillo, an associate curator at the Oakland Museum of California, notes: “I won­der if calaveras give p ­ eople license to lean into the macabre in a way that feels kind of liberating? Our society in general has started to crack open around ­things that used to be taboo, ­things that ­were said in private but not alright to talk about publicly. And the calavera imagery is a kind of kitsch and funky way of advertising that.”52 From the 1970s to the 1990s, Chicano-­style Day of the Dead cele­brations extended from Los Angeles and San Francisco to Sacramento, San Diego, and

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other parts of California, and also became popu­lar in Mexican American communities of Texas, the Southwest, and the Midwest, particularly in Chicago, where the National Museum of Mexican Art began celebrating Day of the Dead in 1986 (figure 14). The newness of the cele­bration was noted in a 1995 New York Times article about San Antonio, Texas: “Rituals that ­were once shunned are now embraced, becoming a local alternative to Halloween. On November 2, teachers build classroom altars, ethnic, not religious, they say, and bring in pan de muerto. This year, for the first time, a community center arranged for 60 ­children wearing skeleton masks and makeup to march from an altar at the center to [a] cemetery, where they danced in circles.”53 The following comments made in the early 2000s by middle-­aged Mexican Americans in California and the Southwest corroborate that Day of the Dead was a new cele­bration at the time, a­ dopted enthusiastically by some and considered a curiosity by ­others. A San Diego librarian who had lived in Tijuana u ­ ntil she was nine (before moving to San Diego, where she had lived for forty years), told me that her f­amily never celebrated Day of the Dead while living in e­ ither Tijuana or San Diego, and that she had never heard of the holiday ­u ntil she saw altar exhibits at the university where she worked. A 40-­year-­old San Diego hairstylist, who spent her childhood in

Figure 14. ​Day of the Dead exhibition, Día de Los Muertos: Where Past & Pre­sent Meet, National Museum of Mexican Art, Chicago, Fall 1996. Photo by Kathleen Kulbert-­Aguilar, courtesy of National Museum of Mexican Art.

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Coahuila, Mexico, before moving as a teenager to San Antonio, learned about Day of the Dead through her ­children: I’m a dedicated Catholic, very active in the Church. Growing up, we never celebrated Day of the Dead. We never even heard about it. I ­don’t even ­really know what it is. It’s kind of funny how we p ­ eople from Mexico d ­ on’t know about Day of the Dead, but p ­ eople say it’s a Mexican ­thing. No one in my ­family ever celebrated it, not even my grandparents. No one I knew celebrated it, and I lived in a very Mexican neighborhood. My kids celebrate it now in school though. They go to the Spreckels School, which is bilingual. They make masks and do other ­t hings. At first, when they came home talking about Day of the Dead, I d ­ idn’t respond too positively. I d ­ idn’t know why the school was teaching my kids about this cult and I ­didn’t like the idea. I thought it was something weird. But they told me it was our Mexican heritage. Well, I never heard of it. I still d ­ on’t know what it is, exactly.54

A 42-­year-­old ­woman, who grew up in Tijuana and moved to the United States to attend college in San Diego, learned about Day of the Dead in the year 2000, when she purchased a home in the San Diego neighborhood of Sherman Heights. As an enthusiastic new homeowner, she became active in the Sherman Heights Community Center, where she first saw Day of the Dead ofrendas. She liked the concept so much that she began to participate annually in the Sherman Heights Neighborhood Association’s Day of the Dead cele­brations, commenting in 2004: My f­ ather’s ­family was from Oaxaca, and they celebrate it a lot t­ here. But in my neighborhood in Tijuana, we ­d idn’t celebrate it. I used to live in Chula Vista [a city with a large Mexican population in south San Diego County] and they d ­ on’t do it in Chula Vista. I’m surprised. I lived t­ here for ten years, but it’s not done. When I came h ­ ere and saw the cele­bration, I r­ eally wanted to be a part of it. . . . ​I feel so much closer to that part of my culture. And I’ve been able to teach my f­ amily about it. My m ­ other is ­really into it now! And my niece. She’s ten years old and she’s half Caucasian and half Mexican. She r­ eally enjoyed learning about it and making the altar with me. She ­hadn’t seen this before and if we h ­ adn’t done this, she would never have learned about it.55

The experience of a middle-­aged Mexican American employee working at the Folk Tree Gallery in Pasadena was similar: “I’m a third generation Mexican American, but we never celebrated Day of the Dead. I mean, we went to church and had a meal, but it was very solemn. I learned about it working h ­ ere and was 56 inspired by all the artists who participate.” Thus, despite its acclaim as a hallmark of Mexican identity, Day of the Dead is not something that all ­people of Mexican heritage know about or embrace. Its history is recent in the United States, just as it is relatively new to many areas of

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Mexico. In both countries, the cele­bration has been ­shaped by “outside” influences, and hybridized cultural expressions (such as danza, theater per­for­mances, po­liti­cal altars, lowriders, or face painting) have emerged. In both countries, public attitudes ­toward the cele­bration have changed drastically over the past fifty years. In Mexico the cele­bration was transformed from a regional and mostly rural one to a national extravaganza. In the United States it went from obscurity in 1972 to becoming a cornerstone of Mexican American identity.

Negotiations over Owner­ship Despite the fact that traditions of altar making, decorating graves, picnicking in cemeteries, holding vigils, and serenading the dead are practiced in many Latin American countries, Day of the Dead has been portrayed as uniquely Mexican in media such as the prose of Octavio Paz and the murals of Diego Rivera. With countless books, articles, documentary films, and websites produced in En­glish and Spanish about Mexico’s Day of the Dead, and comparatively l­ittle information available about corresponding observances in other countries, most ­people familiar with the cele­bration assume (and sometimes insist) that Day of the Dead rituals are exclusively Mexican. When I asked one Chicana artist about similarities between Mexican and other Latin American Day of the Dead customs, she emphatically replied: “Día de los Muertos is Mexican. Period!” In a sense she is right. The creation of internationally famous Día de los Muertos cele­brations is uniquely Mexican. The perception in the United States and elsewhere that the remembrance traditions are exclusive to Mexico reflects a mystique around the holiday that has been produced and perpetuated in Mexico. It also reflects the fact that Mexican Americans, comprising 60 ­percent of the U.S. Latinx population, have more po­liti­cal and cultural power than smaller U.S. Latinx populations to or­ga­nize cultural phenomena (such as Day of the Dead events, Christmas posadas, or exhibitions of milagros or exvotos) that are widespread in Latin Amer­i­c a, calling them “Mexican” traditions. This is not done in a calculated way to usurp regional Latin American cultural practices, but simply reflects views of the largest Latinx population in the United States. The fact that most Mexican Americans are unaware of other Latin American observances of Day of the Dead reflects an ethnocentrism that also exists in Latin Amer­i­ca, where many ­people are unfamiliar with Mexico’s Day of the Dead.57 However, since the early 1980s, Mexican Americans have been joined by large numbers of newer Latin American immigrant groups, as wars and economic restructuring have intensified unemployment and poverty in Latin Amer­i­c a, escalating migratory pressures. So many new immigrants from Central Amer­i­ca, South Amer­i­ca, the Ca­r ib­bean, and Mexico have migrated to the United States in the past four de­cades that Latinx are now the largest minority group in the United States. The traditional segregated settlement of

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U.S. Latinx populations (Mexican Americans in California and the Southwest, Puerto Ricans and Dominicans in the Northeast, and Cubans in Florida) no longer accurately depicts Latinx residential patterns. As new waves of immigrants travel both to and within the United States, following job opportunities that draw them far beyond the geographic locations of ­earlier Latinx communities, new educational and social ser­v ice agencies arise to serve them. Th ­ ese organ­izations provide administrative support, financial resources, and public space in which to celebrate Latinx culture, including Day of the Dead. In California, amid growing ethnic diversification of the Latinx population, younger Latinx artists and activists appreciate the Chicano movement’s achievements and goals, and at the same time strive to expand po­liti­cal, cultural, and artistic work ­toward a greater recognition of Latinx diversity. Day of the Dead—­ now the largest Latinx cele­bration in the United States—is one space in which negotiations over cultural repre­sen­ta­tion have occurred. For example, the November 2002 Day of the Dead exhibit proposed and curated by Terezita Romo at the Oakland Museum of California featured not only Mexican but also Guatemalan and Salvadoran altar installations. Instead of calling the cele­bration a “Mexican” tradition, as the museum had done previously, Romo’s exhibit, Espíritu Sin Fronteras: Ofrendas for Day of the Dead, featured ofrendas “that explore the Days of the Dead as a Mesoamerican tradition of shared spirituality among the p ­ eople of Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and their descendants ­here in California.”58 This expanded definition of Day of the Dead generated discussions between residents of Central American and Mexican descent living together in Oakland. A young Guatemalan-­born artist, raised in Los Angeles, who worked with the museum’s predominantly Mexican American Day of the Dead planning committee to or­ga­nize the exhibit, described the types of negotiations that took place: Living in California, of course, ­t here’s the Chicano experience. But not very often is the Central American Ma­ya experience recognized. You always get the Mexica-­Aztlán-­Chicano experience. For me, it was a real priority to have [the Ma­ya] voice heard within this institution, too. So, last year was the first year, with the help of Tere Romo, we expanded that part of our identity and incorporated more of the Ma­ya experience and the interpretations of El Salvador and Guatemala. It’s hard though. It’s definitely a push to get that voice heard. Even just changing the language, ­because now, instead of saying it’s a “Mexican” tradition, ­we’re saying “Mesoamerican” tradition. . . . ​Internally within the committee, it was a push to get them to do this. Th ­ ere’s always re­sis­ tance when you try to change anything. . . . ​­Here in California, if ­you’re not Mexican, ­you’re sort of invisible.59

California is not the only place where ­people of diverse Latinx ethnicities participate in Day of the Dead cele­brations, as can be seen in media coverage of

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t­ hese events from newspapers around the United States (see chapter 6). ­Today, Day of the Dead events occur in all fifty U.S. states, including in places historically not associated with Latinx populations such as Lincoln, Nebraska;60 Cicero, Illinois;61 Logan, Utah;62 Kokomo, Indiana;63 Rapid City, South Dakota;64 Winston-­Salem, North Carolina;65 New Orleans;66 and Birmingham, Alabama.67 Illustrating the diversity of Latinx ­people participating in New Brunswick, New Jersey, where I teach, the annual Day of the Dead cele­bration, or­ga­nized collaboratively by the nonprofit Lazos Amer­i­ca Unida, Rutgers University, and the New Brunswick Public Library, has included ofrendas and per­for­mances by Mixtecs and other Indigenous ­peoples from Mexico together with Indigenous Ma­ya immigrants from Guatemala, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Peruvians, Chileans, and ­others.68 Individuals of diverse Latin American ancestries living in the United States choose to participate in Day of the Dead for a variety of personal, social, and po­liti­cal reasons, constructing new relationships with each other in the pro­cess. In chapter 4 we ­w ill look at some of the ways ritual communication encourages feelings of solidarity among diverse populations during the Days of the Dead.

chapter 4

Z Ritual Communication and Community Building During its annual cele­bration of Día de los Muertos, the Sherman Heights Community Center in San Diego is bustling with activities that neighborhood residents have planned for months. On the front lawn, dozens of c­ hildren line up to have fast-­ setting white plaster tape smoothed over their ­faces for Day of the Dead masks. Sitting at nearby ­tables, youth and adults decorate sugar skulls with colored icing and cut intricate crepe paper adornments called papel picado. In the kitchen, a standing-­ room-­only crowd learns to bake pan de muerto as the bread’s aroma swirls through the building. ­Today the center is filled the delicious smells of smoldering copal incense, slowly burning hand-­d ipped beeswax candles from the markets of Tijuana, homemade tamales and atol de maíz from the kitchens of neighborhood ­women, and thousands of pungent marigolds planted ­earlier in the year by local ­children who diligently watered, weeded, and harvested them for this special day. Mexican folkloric m ­ usic is played, followed by Aztec drumming and danza per­ for­mances. Although predominantly Mexican American, the audience includes local residents from Central and South Amer­i­ca, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic and neighbors of Asian, African American, and Eu­ro­pean descent. The highlight of the annual cele­bration, which fills the center’s main salon and overflows into the corridors and outdoor spaces, is an exhibition of ofrendas created by Sherman Heights residents who have worked on them diligently for the past twenty-­four hours. Reminiscent of rural Latin American Day of the Dead rituals where ­people sit by ­family graves to await the arriving spirits, the altar makers sit next to their ofrendas, chatting with ­family and friends and answering questions from the public: “What is an ofrenda?” “Who is the person being honored? “What country are you from?” And always, some deeply moved visitors ask, “Can I make an ofrenda h ­ ere next year?” This contagious enthusiasm is something seen time and again at community-­ based U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations. Since Sherman Heights began cele68

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Figure 15. ​Day of the Dead walking tour of front porch and front yard ofrendas, Sherman Heights Community Center, San Diego, 2004. Photo by author.

brating the ritual in 1994, growing numbers of p ­ eople have volunteered to make 1 ofrendas each year (figure 15). The center’s director at that time, Estela Rubalcava Klink, recalled: “We started with two altars . . . ​t hen more p ­ eople asked if they could be a part of it. We got ­people’s names and numbers and it kept growing. In the beginning, it was altars from Oaxaca, Guanajuato, Michoacán, but then we started having altars from other parts of Mexico, Central Amer­i­ca, and the Philippines.”2 The ofrendas tell stories about families and communities, presenting aspects of Latinx culture and history to more than 3,000 ­people annually, including busloads of schoolchildren and tour groups who visit the center annually during the five-­day altar exhibition. Some ofrendas are created in styles typical of specific regions of Mexico or Central Amer­i­ca and honor ­family members. ­Others are constructed to honor icons of Latinx popu­lar culture or po­liti­ cal strug­g le, such as Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, Salvadoran ­human rights defender Archbishop Oscar Romero, and Tejana singer Selena. Participants use symbols and rituals derived from but not identical to Latin American practices in order to express messages about their lives in the United States. ­Because it involves rituals and occurs ritually each year, U.S. Day of the Dead is a form of ritual communication—­a term that refers both to viewing communication pro­cesses as rituals and to seeing rituals as an impor­tant form of communication (Carey 1989; Rothenbuhler 1998). Influenced by the

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work of John Dewey, the concept of ritual communication emphasizes the roots of the word “communication” in terms such as “common,” “communion,” and “community.” It focuses on the projection of community ideals via creative public expressions and examines the role of ceremonial pre­sen­ta­tion and participation in the structuring of p ­ eople’s lives. Dewey contended that artistic pre­sen­ta­tions (poetry, drama, novels) ­were often more accessible and effective than news media in stimulating the types of social inquiry and public debate crucial for turning the ­Great Society into a ­Great Community (Dewey 1927, 183–184). Communication scholar James Carey (1989) observed that social identities are symbolically constructed and reinforced while engaging the intellectual, spiritual, and/or physical participation of the public. While noting that “a ritual view of communication does not exclude the pro­cesses of information transmission or attitude change” (21), Carey provided the following general distinction between the dominant transmission model and the ritual model of communication: “The archetypal case of communication u ­ nder a transmission view is the extension of messages across geography for the purpose of control, the archetypal case ­under a ritual view of communication is the sacred ceremony that draws persons together in fellowship and commonality” (18). Embedded in the transmission model is the assumption that communication must convey new information. In the ritual model, however, the act of communication is often effective without relaying new information. It is more likely to be repetitive than unpre­ce­ dented, recycling deeply felt ideas, values, and experiences to retell rather than report a story. This form of communication has power­ful consequences in terms of consciousness raising and solidarity building. As “one of the most meaningful yearly cele­brations . . . ​t hroughout Latin Amer­i­ca” (Carrasco 1990, 142), Day of the Dead is a point of cultural continuity for ethnically, racially and eco­nom­ically diverse U.S. Latinx populations.3 Not all Latin Americans observe Day of the Dead, but most recognize November 1 and 2 as a time of the year when the dead are remembered via certain rituals. A Puerto Rican resident of San Diego explained, “In Puerto Rico, we d ­ on’t celebrate Day of the Dead the way Mexicans do, but we do go to the cemetery and bring flowers. Like a lot of p ­ eople, my m ­ other and grand­mother always had a ­little altar in the ­house, year-­round, so I can relate to the sense of devotion that is felt for certain saints or ­people w ­ e’ve lost.” 4 A Brazilian American commented: “I grew up in the back country of Brazil, in a very traditional type of atmosphere, folkloric, you might call it. So, for us, dealing with this is an extension of our own backgrounds. Even though we celebrate it differently than Mexicans, it is something we know about, and our cultural and aesthetic tastes are drawn to it.”5 A native of El Salvador living in California said: “You remember your dead . . . ​it’s a typical part of Latin American culture.” 6

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­Imagined Community ­ ecause Day of the Dead is an event with which p B ­ eople of vari­ous Latin American backgrounds can identify, its cele­bration in the United States brings together ethnically and racially diverse populations who, ­whether recent immigrants or native-­born U.S. citizens, may face po­liti­cal, social, or economic marginalization by the mainstream society. Rituals of altar making, walking together in pro­ cessions, holding vigils, and related communal activities can stimulate feelings of empathy and solidarity that create a sense of “­imagined community” or “horizontal comradeship among ­people who have never met” (Anderson 1991). Th ­ ese cele­ brations serve as cultural bridges that help increase understanding and exchange among diverse Latinx and also between Latinx and non-­Latinx populations. Public cele­brations are one of the primary methods through which Latinx ­imagined community is constructed and sustained in the United States (Rosaldo and Flores 1997; Cadavál 1991; Sommers 1991). The cultural identity that is exhibited and reproduced during Day of the Dead cele­brations illustrates anthropologist Renato Rosaldo’s concept of “cultural citizenship”—­a phenomenon whereby p ­ eople or­ga­nize their values, practices, and beliefs about their rights based on a sense of cultural belonging rather than on their formal citizenship status. Cultural citizenship develops during a range of public activities and per­ for­mances through which historically oppressed populations can exert their place within the larger civic arena. The concept of an ­imagined Latinx community is discussed by a variety of scholars (Flores and Benmayor 1997; Flores 2000; Rodriguez 1999; Lopez and Espiritu 1990; Sanchez 1993; Valdivia 2003; Molina Guzmán 2006) with a mix of wariness and hope. On one hand, the umbrella term “Latino,” used by corporations, the media, and the U.S. government for data-­collection and marketing purposes, ignores the ethnic, racial, linguistic, socioeconomic, and po­liti­cal diversity of the U.S. Latinx community. On the other, essentialist assertions of ethnic identity can fragment the Latinx community, reducing the potential for po­liti­cal solidarity. Sociologist Juan Flores (2000) distinguishes between “Latino” as a demographic unit of analy­sis created by outside institutions, and a “Latino imaginary” fashioned by Latinx p ­ eople themselves for the purpose of sociopo­ liti­cal solidarity (198). Despite cultural and historical differences among ­people of Latin American ancestry, including dif­fer­ent U.S. settlement patterns, dif­fer­ ent po­liti­cal relationships between countries of origin and the United States, and differences between recent immigrants and ­t hose with longer histories in the United States, common experiences of racism and structural in­equality form an impor­tant basis for an ­imagined Latinx community (Flores 2000; Gomez Peña 1996; Padilla 1985). Flores explains: “The Latino historical imaginary refers, first of all, to home countries in Latin Amer­i­ca, the landscapes, life-­ways, and

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social strug­gles familiar, if not personally, at least to one’s ­people. . . . ​The Latino imaginary . . . ​rests on the recognition of ongoing oppression and discrimination, racism and exploitation, closed doors and patrolled borders” (2000, 198–199). He observes that Latino communities are drawn together across ethnic, generational, and other lines by in­ven­ted traditions that display cultural values and practices that are self-­referential and affirming.

Communitas While celebrants in Latin Amer­i­ca observe Day of the Dead rituals ­because of a sense of religious or moral obligation (to the dead, to the saints, to God), most ­people in the United States, ­whether Latinx or not, participate as an optional activity or what anthropologist Victor Turner (1977b) called “leisure rituals” (39). Leisure rituals “are potentially capable of releasing creative powers, individual and communal, e­ ither to criticize or prop up dominant social structural values” (42). “Leisure” does not mean that the rituals are not serious. Chicanos who initiated U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations did so out of a felt moral obligation to ­counter racism, celebrate group identity, and promote sociopo­liti­cal change. Yet they ­were ­free from the institutional and social obligations that have traditionally characterized Day of the Dead observances in Latin Amer­i­ca. In Turner’s words, they had the “freedom to play” with ideas and fantasies, blurring the lines between art and politics. “Play frames allow participants to escape from the ‘should’ and ‘­ought’ character of ritual . . . ​and see themselves as f­ree to fabricate a range of alternative possibilities of behaving, thinking, and feeling that is wider than that current or admissible in . . . ​the [obligatory] ritual frame” (Turner 1982, 28). ­Free from the constraints of the traditional ritual frame, creative play has allowed U.S. Day of the Dead events to express both spirituality and politics, commenting on a range of social issues and identities. The primary intent of U.S. Day of the Dead events (affirming a marginalized population) differs from the primary intent of most Latin American events (fulfilling moral obligations to the dead). But both types of ritual activity create impor­ tant opportunities for the cultivation and maintenance of social relationships. Day of the Dead in Latin Amer­i­ca, particularly in Indigenous communities, is not simply a remembrance of the dead, but also a reaffirmation of social relations in living communities. Among the Mixtec p ­ eople of Oaxaca, for example, Day of the Dead is a time for “formally celebrating the support network ties of f­ amily, kin and community and maintaining access to the economic, po­liti­cal, social and psychological capital they represent” (Bade 1997, 8). Rituals such as refurbishing gravesites, constructing altars, or preparing special foods for the holiday require the collaboration of extended networks of f­amily and friends who come together to pray for the deceased, visit each other’s ofrendas to pay re­spects to the dead, and share festive foods. ­These actions reaffirm collective identity and solidarity.

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In the United States, Latinx p ­ eople of vari­ous socioeconomic and cultural backgrounds also develop a sense of shared community as they gather to plan Day of the Dead cele­brations (a pro­cess requiring months of meetings and preparatory activities) and engage in altar making, food preparation, craft workshops, vigils, or pro­cessions. Th ­ ese rituals can have the temporary effect of leveling social hierarchies, exemplifying Turner’s concept of “communitas”—­a period during ritual cele­brations in which the norms governing institutionalized relationships are transgressed. During such events, individuals have opportunities to “merge with the masses” and experience a sense of equality in the “liminality” of the experience (Turner 1977a, 202). This does not drastically change the status quo, but briefly offers a new perspective from which to observe and reflect on social structure. Although Turner originally discussed communitas in the context of tribal socie­ties, he ­later argued that ­people in modern industrial socie­ties who share impor­tant characteristics (such as ethnicity, race, or religion) and feel alienated from the larger social system in which they live, may “seek the glow of communitas among t­ hose with whom they share some cultural or biological feature they take to be their most signal mark of identity” (1977b, 48). Folklorist Olivia Cadavál (1991) noted this pro­cess at work during Latinx festivals in Washington, D.C., where solidarity was reinforced among dif­fer­ent social classes so that “individuals whose heritage may be Latin American but whose regular be­hav­ior and cultural patterns are not identifiably ethnic may become Latinos for the day” (212). Describing the cele­bration at Self Help Graphics & Art in Los Angeles, Lara Medina and Gilbert Cadena (2002) observe: “Despite diverse religious affiliations, the sense of a communal identity pervades the cele­bration” (85). Terezita Romo notes that the cele­bration has “brought dif­fer­ent aspects of the community together, age, gender, geography, politics, e­ tc. ­Because if some ­people ­didn’t agree with the UFW [United Farm Workers] or what­ever, they would still come to this event. Chicanos can go ­t here with Mexican Americans and Mexican immigrants, rightwing and leftwing ­people. It’s been a ­great equalizer.”7 While not all U.S. Latinx ­people attend Day of the Dead activities, a cross-­ section from dif­fer­ent ethnic, racial, class, po­liti­cal, and generation backgrounds do. Estela Rubalcava Klink observed that Day of the Dead festivals at the Sherman Heights Community Center in San Diego built both ethnic and intergenerational connections: ­ eople who may not even know each other ­w ill say, “­You’re from Michoacán? P I am too! Let’s do an altar together next year.” And they do it. They become almost like comadres and they build an altar together . . . ​It’s a way for dif­fer­ ent generations to interact. I remember one ­woman who was from Puebla came last year. She was ­really moved by the altars. . . . ​She went home and came back ­later with her ­daughter, who was 20  years old. She not only showed her

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Day o f t h e D e a d i n t h e U S A ­ aughter the altar, but explained the w d ­ hole tradition to her, and now she and her d ­ aughter want to do an altar from the Puebla region next year.8

The phenomenon of communitas during Day of the Dead is particularly in­ter­ est­ing with re­spect to relations between immigrant and U.S.-­born Latinx populations. As has occurred with other ethnic groups in the United States, class conflicts exist between long-­term and newcomer populations. This has been depicted in movies such as El Norte and Bread and Roses and in primetime TV shows such as American ­Family and The George Lopez Show. It is also evident in po­liti­cal developments such as the approval by a significant percentage of California’s Latinx voters of the anti-­immigrant Proposition 187 in 1994 and a large number of Latinx voters in Texas and nationally in 2021 who supported hardline immigration policies proposed by Donald Trump and other conservative politicians.9 Some Latinx U.S. citizens have negative feelings t­ oward Latinx immigrants, feeling that they represent tax burdens or job competition. The fact that Mexican and Central American immigrants have worked as replacement workers or “scabs” during UFW strikes, for example, has historically created resentment among Mexican Americans. Some middle-­and upper-­income Latinx U.S. citizens look down on poorer Latinx immigrants, while some Latinx newcomers feel discriminated against by U.S.-­born Latinx residents (Durand Ponte 2000, 106; Omi and Winant 1993, 106; personal interviews). During  U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations, however, the social tensions between newcomer and long-­term Latinx populations temporarily diminish, as both groups reflect on a perceived common cultural ancestry. It is a time when low-­income, monolingual Spanish-­speaking immigrants can gain admiration, based on the grounds of tradition, from middle-­class Latinx who have lived in the United States for generations and for whom the cele­bration is more a novelty than a lived real­ity. Observing community-­based Day of the Dead cele­brations in San Francisco in the 1980s and 1990s, Suzanne Morrison (1992) noted that Latinx class hierarchies ­were temporarily reversed b ­ ecause newcomers often held firsthand knowledge of traditions that most U.S.-­born, urban and middle-­class Latinx ­people lacked (301). My observations coincide with Morrison’s. In a Day of the Dead workshop I attended at a San Diego art gallery, for example, Salvadoran immigrants explained the meaning of the holiday to about twenty bilingual schoolteachers. Most of the workshop participants w ­ ere U.S.-­born Latinas who, judging from the intensity of their note taking and questions, appeared to have l­ittle firsthand knowledge of Day of the Dead. The Salvadoran immigrants, with their accented En­glish, held positions of higher status during the workshop ­because of their firsthand experiences with Day of the Dead. Similarly, during Day of the Dead workshops I attended at Sherman Heights, monolingual Spanish-­speaking immigrants discussed the significance of the ofrendas and demonstrated how to make pan de muerto, while a bilingual and

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monolingual English-­speaking Latinx audience listened intently, often from ­behind the viewfinders of their cameras.

Claims for Public Recognition While encouraging feelings of community among diverse Latinx populations, the holiday’s spectacle nature performs another impor­tant type of communication: the assertion of claims for public recognition within the wider society. Access to public space is a crucial ele­ment of con­temporary cultural politics, and public rituals are as much symbolic statements to outsiders about a group’s social and po­liti­cal presence as they are consolidations of internal values and meanings for insiders (Baumann 1992; Orsi 2002). The creation of a public sphere via the art and rituals of Day of the Dead has provided a significant aperture for the recognition of Latinx cultures within the U.S. mainstream. Before the 1970s, prestigious U.S. museums and art galleries typically shunned the work of Latinx artists, considering them neither truly “American” nor “Latin American” (Dávila 1999). W ­ hether representing magical realism, neo-­indigenist styles, experimental modern art, or revolutionary expressions, Latinx artists ­were considered to be outside of the conventional standards of Western art. This began to change in the 1970s, as Day of the Dead exhibitions and other public art created in the barrios of California eventually brought Chicano/a artists invitations to create installations in prestigious museums and universities. While the cele­bration helped draw positive attention to Chicano artists, it also brought positive mainstream attention to Latinx immigrants, who have traditionally been more marginalized by mainstream society than U.S.-­born Latinx residents. Cadavál describes how a Day of the Dead cele­bration at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., allowed local Nicaraguan, Guatemalan, Salvadoran, and Ec­ua­dor­ian immigrants to “take over” social space in one of the nation’s most prestigious institutions—­historically the realm of the (mainly) white upper-­middle classes. Although the holiday was not widely observed in D.C. in the 1980s, its cele­bration provided an opportunity for ethnically diverse Latinx populations to collaborate among themselves while si­mul­ta­neously receiving attention from the mainstream (Cadavál 1985, 186). This dynamic continues ­today. For example, Indigenous Mixtec immigrants from Oaxaca, living and working in Ocean­side, California, have gained public attention and admiration by participating in the city’s Day of the Dead festival since its inauguration in 2001.10 Mixtec immigrants are the most prominent actors in that city’s annual Day of the Dead festival, educating the general public about Oaxacan traditions and receiving recognition from local government leaders, businesses, public schools, nearby universities, journalists, and prominent artists. The relevance of this recognition is underscored by the fact that Mixtecs, who face intense poverty and racism in Mexico, are also the poorest and most discriminated against Latinx

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Figure 16. ​Altar done by local Mixtec f­ amily at Ocean­side Day of the Dead festival, 2009. Photo by author.

group in California. Of all agricultural workers in the state, they hold the least desirable and lowest-­paying jobs, suffer the most l­abor abuses, and live in the worst housing conditions. Unlike most of California’s Day of the Dead events, the idea for the three-­ day Ocean­side cele­bration was initiated by the city’s non-­L atinx Chamber of Commerce as part of a multipronged attempt to encourage cultural tourism and economic development in this financially struggling city.11 ­After contacting the pastor of St. Mary’s Star of the Sea Church (Ocean­side’s largest Mixtec congregation) to seek his support and connections with the Mixtec community, the Ocean­side Chamber of Commerce invited the city’s Mixtec population to build seven large altars in storefronts throughout downtown Ocean­side (figure 16). Initially surprised by the request to be part of a major city event, the Mixtec community accepted the invitation to publicly celebrate their Oaxacan culture.12 Becoming the talk of the town among both admirers and detractors, the ofrendas ­were made in the exact styles of ofrendas found in their home villages of Oaxaca, with no attempt to be intentionally “artistic” or po­liti­cal. While most Chicano initiators of U.S. Day of the Dead events avoided making exact replicas of Mexican ofrendas b ­ ecause “a transplanted Mexican version [would] be unrealistic and too removed” from the Chicano experience (Romo 2000, 40), Mixtec immigrants felt comfortable creating a transplanted Oaxacan version of the hol-

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iday. Unlike Chicanos, they had grown up making such ofrendas and saw the cele­bration as a continuation of their customary religious activities, rather than as a cultural reclamation proj­ect. A Mixtec man who had lived in Ocean­side for thirty years and helped or­ga­nize the first citywide cele­bration in 2001, explained to me how he felt about building an ofrenda in his restaurant, one of the most popu­lar eateries in downtown Ocean­side: I made it just like we always do in my village. I had a lot of food, mole, fruits. We had it up for four days and every­body came to see it. We decorated it with a lot of ­t hings, jicama and flowers and every­t hing just like over ­t here. ­Here we have about 95 ­percent American ­people as customers, so they ­were very interested to see it. They never saw something like that before. They w ­ ere asking me what it represented, and I explained to them that it’s something we do over t­ here in Mexico. They ­really liked it. A lot of them came in and l­ ater came back and brought more ­people. They brought their camera and started taking videos and pictures. Some even added ­t hings to the altar. Some of them told me they wanted to do it in their homes. A lot of ­people came in just to see it. They d ­ idn’t want to buy anything, they just came in to see it, just to learn about it. I’m glad about that b ­ ecause since I left Oaxaca, I’ve never seen any13 thing like that ­until now.

In addition to the ofrendas, the inaugural Ocean­side festival included two other aspects of the cele­bration that are crucial for Mixtecs: Catholic Mass and a public pro­cession that started at the church. On the eve­ning of November 1, 2001, nearly 1,000 ­people attended a bilingual Day of the Dead Mass held at St. Mary’s and participated in a candlelight pro­cession (figure 17) through the streets of this “all-­American” city, as Ocean­side is called on the city’s official website. Nearly half of the participants w ­ ere Anglo-­A mericans for whom this appeared to be their first exposure to Day of the Dead; t­ hose who w ­ ere part of St. Mary’s parish attended the Mass, while non-­parishioners waited outside the church for the pro­cession to begin. The Latinx public consisted of recent Mexican immigrants (mainly from Oaxaca), Mexican Americans, and Central Americans from Ocean­ side and surrounding towns, many of whom had read about the event in the San Diego Reader, North County Times, or Union-­Tribune newspapers. Non-­Mixtec attendees of the event described it as “in­ter­est­ing,” “beautiful,” and “dif­fer­ent,” although some thought it was “strange” and a small group of evangelical Christians protested across from the church, calling the event “satanical.”14 The following additional comments by the Mixtec restaurant owner illustrate how Ocean­side’s public Day of the Dead rituals have provided recognition and validation for Mixtecs and more broadly, Mexicans and other Latinos: When I first moved to the U.S., some Mixtec ­people would celebrate a very ­little bit in their home. Just a ­little bit, just making dinner for Todos Santos.

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Figure 17. ​Day of the Dead pro­cession through the streets of Ocean­side, California, November 1, 2001. Photo by author.

But a c­ ouple of years ago, somewhere out ­t here, it started ­really getting big. I guess every­body knows what it is now. For Latinos and Mexican ­people, it was hard for them to celebrate their own fiesta before. We thought prob­ably a lot of p ­ eople w ­ ouldn’t understand what we w ­ ere ­doing, b ­ ecause they never lived it or experienced it. . . . ​I think before, t­ here w ­ asn’t enough p ­ eople. We d ­ idn’t have a voice. You c­ ouldn’t hear our voice then. It was like being in a jungle and screaming and nobody could hear you. The voices just got lost. But now, ­t here’s enough ­people to make it happen.15

While hundreds of ­people waited outside St.  Mary’s Church (which was packed to capacity) for the start of the Day of the Dead pro­cession, an upper-­ class Mexican American from the affluent nearby town of Del Mar expressed her delight and gratitude t­ oward the Mixtec community as she excitedly said to me, “This is wonderful. This is absolutely wonderful! I’m so glad they are d ­ oing this!” As a light-­skinned, U.S.-­born Latina who spoke En­glish better than Spanish and did not grow up celebrating Day of the Dead, she appreciated the Oaxacan immigrants for bringing her closer to customs of her ancestral land. “They” ­were agents, in a way that she could not be, for publicly revealing the beauty of Mexican culture to the larger U.S. society. Although coming from a very dif­fer­ ent racial, linguistic, and socioeconomic background than the Latina from Del Mar, a Mixtec resident of Ocean­side noted that Mixtecs and other Latinx event participants felt similar feelings of pride and excitement:

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I know for sure that a lot of Latino ­people wanted to be ­there for the church and the pro­cession ­because that’s prob­ably the most impor­tant part. I think they felt like part of them came true. All the way from t­ here, it came true, and they just ­couldn’t pass it up. They had to be a part of it. For p ­ eople who ­were not Latino, I guess they ­were just interested and wanted to know what was ­going on. Just curious, I guess. It made me feel good, ­because at least they ­were interested. When I heard about it, I just c­ ouldn’t pass it by, ­because that’s what I did when I was young. I just had to be involved. When I saw all ­those p ­ eople, it made me feel like I was back twenty years in my life, as if I was home. It made me feel very nice. ­There was a lot of newspapers covering it. I was interviewed by a TV station too. It was in­ter­est­ing that they wanted to cover it. If we keep ­going like that, the younger p ­ eople can learn ­things. Like my d ­ aughter, she’s ten and she says, “Dad, I ­really like this.” In school, they are learning about t­ hese t­ hings now.16

As the candlelight pro­cession moved through the center of town led by a traditional Oaxacan band, Mixtecs ­were the center of attention, from TV cameras to speeches by the mayor and other city officials. Although many members of the Oaxacan immigrant community had privately constructed Day of the Dead altars in their homes in previous years, this was the first public cele­bration of what, for Mixtecs, is the most impor­tant holiday of the year.17 ­After the Mass, hundreds of p ­ eople from dif­fer­ent generations, economic classes, ethnicities, races, and citizenship statuses gathered together in front of the church, each holding a candle in memory of a deceased loved one. The flickering candlelight seemed to connect every­one as a single entity, walking slowly en masse down the cordoned-­off streets of the city’s commercial district, while pedestrians and motorists watched in bewilderment. In contrast to the (largely) college-­educated, po­liti­cally active Chicano/a artists who initiated U.S. Day of the Dead observances in major U.S. cities known for their cultural diversity and progressive social climate, most Mixtecs in Ocean­ side spoke ­limited or no En­glish and lacked the privileges of U.S. citizenship. Many did not have l­egal permission to work in the United States, so the community had maintained a low profile for reasons of survival, existing tenuously in a predominantly Anglo and po­liti­cally conservative military town. The Mixtecs of Ocean­side did not feel empowered to publicly celebrate their heritage u ­ ntil encouraged to do so by a mainstream institution. Yet the Chamber of Commerce would not have approached them had it not been for the impact of the Chicano movement on California’s cultural landscape. Day of the Dead cele­brations have been held in Ocean­side each year since 2001, becoming one of the city’s most popu­lar annual events. Mary Ann Thiem, an Anglo-­American volunteer who coordinated Ocean­side’s Day of the Dead festival during the years 2002–2006, described the intercultural community-­ building she observed:

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Day o f t h e D e a d i n t h e U S A Day of the Dead brings a lot of p ­ eople together who might not normally work together. The planning takes almost a year. ­There are lots of meetings. So, we have businesspeople, artists, Mixtec ­people, designers, teachers all working together. I’m originally from Nebraska . . . ​so ­t here’s p ­ eople like me who are new to the community, working with p ­ eople who’ve lived h ­ ere a long time. ­There’s p ­ eople who speak Spanish and ­people who speak En­glish and ­people who speak Mixtec or Zapotec. As I said, t­ here are a lot of Oaxacan families involved. We had the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts involved . . . ​On the day of the event, every­one is working together. . . . ​­People who know about Day of the Dead and t­ hose who ­didn’t know about it before all work together.”18

The Ocean­side event exemplifies how communitas operates internally among the Latinx community and also externally between Latinx and non-­Latinx populations. Day of the Dead rituals often engage non-­Latinx audiences in physical, psychological, or spiritual ways that they may not anticipate, creating feelings of unity among p ­ eople of diverse backgrounds. The communitas of t­ hese public rituals helps cultivate the community foundation necessary for po­liti­cal solidarity. As we ­shall see in chapter 5, Chicano/a artists and organizers often have overtly po­liti­cal intentions in mind when they design public Day of the Dead ofrendas and pro­cessions.

chapter 5

Z U.S. Day of the Dead as Po­liti­cal Communication a moral economy On November 1, 2020, the p ­ eople of Minneapolis observed Día de los Muertos with a g­ iant street altar at the intersection of East 38th Street and Chicago Ave­nue South, where George Floyd, an unarmed Black man, had been killed that year by a police officer who held him in a choke hold for nearly nine minutes. At the center of the altar was a large, silk-­screened poster of Floyd, surrounded by flowers, candles, art, plush toys, and other mementos brought by local residents. ­There ­were also handmade signs with the words Floyd spoke as he was being choked—­“I c­ an’t breathe”—­along with expressions such as “Black and trans lives ­matter,” “Rest in Peace,” “How many more?” and the ­Kenyan proverb “A man who uses force is afraid of reasoning,” referring to the widespread use of excessive force by U.S. police officers against p ­ eople of color.

Initiated in 1972 as one of the most prominent manifestations of the Chicano movement, U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations ­were conceived as media for critiquing and contesting dominant systems of power. At that time the mere act of publicly celebrating non-­European cultural forms in the United States was a po­liti­cal statement in itself, countering de­cades of Eurocentrism. Chicano/a artists found additional opportunities for po­liti­cal commentary within the framework of Day of the Dead b ­ ecause of the cele­bration’s historical association with social critique in urban Mexico (chapter 2). The holiday’s focus on the dead made it a fitting occasion on which to criticize government policies and social practices that caused death on local, national, or global levels, while the spirituality associated with the ofrenda ritual imbued the art installations’ secular themes with a sacred seriousness. In contrast to traditional private altars made in p ­ eople’s

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Figure 18. ​Papel picado and “shoe box” altar-­making workshop at Day of the Dead festival, El Museo del Barrio, New York City, 2015. Photo by author.

homes that are a refuge from the world of politics, Chicano public altar installations deeply engaged with the world of politics. At the same time, Day of the Dead cele­brations w ­ ere designed to be attractive to families and schoolchildren (figure 18), employing a combination of aesthetic creativity, crafts, and po­liti­cal commentary, depending on the orientation of event organizers. Some activities w ­ ere arts and crafts oriented (particularly ­t hose geared to c­ hildren), teaching about the tradition of Mexican ofrendas or holding sugar skull and mask making workshops as a way to expand cultural diversity and cross-­cultural understanding. ­Others ­were overtly po­liti­cal installations or per­for­mances that remembered the dead as a way to critique dominant systems of power such as patriarchy, white supremacy, and police brutality. The same gallery or community center might pre­sent a combination of both politicized and traditional ofrendas or a mix of radical spoken word events and theater together with noncontroversial craft workshops on how to bake pan de muerto or make papel picado. Through the artistic reappropriation of Day of the Dead, many Chicano/a artists ­were—­for the first time—­invited to pre­sent altar installations in prestigious museums that had previously not been interested in Chicano art. Altar exhibitions and related activities gradually spread from Chicano galleries in Latinx

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communities to elite museums such as the de Young Museum, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Smithsonian Museum of American Art, and the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. (to name only a few). At many museums and art galleries across the county, Day of the Dead exhibitions now draw the largest crowds of the year, with thousands of visitors annually.1 ­Today a significant number of U.S. Day of the Dead events at museums, galleries, community centers, universities, public libraries, parks, and business districts communicate about po­liti­cal issues, ­whether via the ofrenda format, street pro­cessions, or related art. In fact, it is rare to attend a Day of the Dead exhibition in any of ­t hese spaces without encountering at least one ofrenda dedicated to victims of a sociopo­liti­cal cause of death. ­These installations are created by Chicanx, other Latinx, and non-­Latinx populations and are viewed by thousands of eventgoers along with consumers of broadcast, print, and digital media that cover ­t hese events. Early po­liti­cal altars focused on the strug­gles of farmworkers in California, U.S. Indigenous ­peoples, victims of AIDS, youth gangs, and victims of domestic vio­lence. More recent examples have included altars and street pro­cessions remembering t­ hose murdered in anti-­LGBT vio­ lence and xenophobic hate crimes (figure 19), the mistreatment and deaths of mi­grant ­children detained on the U.S. border, police brutality against p ­ eople of

Figure 19. ​Altar installation honoring LGBT community by David Zamora Casas, Instituto Cultural de Mexico, San Antonio, November 2019. Photo by Al Rendon, courtesy of David Zamora Casas.

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color, and the disproportionately high number of deaths of Brown and Black ­people during the 2020–2021 Covid-19 pandemic. The public communication that occurs during annual Day of the Dead events is an impor­tant generator of knowledge both within and beyond the U.S. Latinx community, given the institutional racism and lack of financial resources that make it difficult for many Latinx and other historically marginalized populations to tell their stories in the mainstream media. In his discussion of the moral economy, E. P. Thompson (1991) argued that the working-­class uprisings of eighteenth-­ century ­England w ­ ere not merely compulsive responses to economic stimuli but “self-­conscious be­hav­ior modified by custom, culture and reason,” in which ­people used moral indignation to defend community rights and challenge official descriptions of real­ity (187). The moral economy was a “group, community or class response to crisis” that expressed re­sis­tance to exploitation and challenged the authorities, on moral grounds, to attend to the common good (188). Thompson believed that the widespread participation of common ­people in traditional rituals and ceremonies sustained collectivist values which, in turn, allowed the working class to maintain solidarity as they faced difficult social and po­liti­cal conditions. Similarly, the collective Day of the Dead traditions of Latinx populations living in the United States operate along a moral economy as they foster a sense of cultural solidarity in the face of tough po­liti­cal times—­rising unemployment, dwindling affordable housing, surging racially motivated hate crimes, the privatization of public resources, and precarious funding of health care, social ser­ vices, public arts, education, and youth programming. By publicly expressing the pain of populations who disproportionately experience an unnecessary loss of life, U.S. Day of the Dead expressions challenge the country’s predominant cultural norm of privatized mourning. Moral arguments are aided by “exotic” rituals that attract the attention of mainstream media and the general public in ways that conventional po­liti­cal messaging does not. Th ­ ese rituals create semi-­ sacred spaces that are si­mul­ta­neously sites for cultural affirmation, via the enactment of ancestral customs, and po­liti­cal expression, in which the dead support the living in the condemnation of injustice. Po­liti­cal Day of the Dead expressions reveal the h ­ uman cost of institutionalized government and corporate policies that spur the economic desperation necessary for individuals to undertake life-­threatening forms of survival—­attempting dangerous border crossings, living in dangerous environments, and working in dangerous and poorly paid occupations. The rest of this chapter describes some common themes of po­liti­cal Day of the Dead activities in the United States, illustrating how they encourage reflection upon the vio­lence, poverty, and exploitation facing many Latinx and other minoritized populations, as well as ways in which con­temporary events, legislation, and public policies affect them.

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Remembering Mi­grants With the end of the Mexican American War in 1848, the United States annexed more than 500,000 square miles of Mexican land, turning it into U.S. territory. This allowed Anglo-­Americans—­who had previously been foreigners on Mexican soil—to turn anti-­Mexican attitudes into discriminatory laws upheld by the U.S. government. For de­cades across California and the Southwest, in par­ tic­u ­lar, Mexicans suffered from mob attacks, lynchings, segregated schools, ­limited job opportunities, and substandard public ser­v ices. Anglo-­A mericans ste­reo­t yped Mexicans as simpleminded and unscrupulous, while enacting laws aimed at preventing new Latin American immigrants from settling in the country. This anti-­Latinx sentiment and vio­lence has continued through the early twenty-­first ­century, which saw dramatic growth in the number of white supremacist organ­izations. Anti-­immigrant hate groups are the most extreme of the hundreds of nativist and vigilante groups that have proliferated in the United States since the late 1990s, when anti-­immigrant xenophobia began to rise to levels not seen since the 1920s (SPLC 2020, 43). Since the mid-1990s, immigration-­related issues have been the subject of thousands of U.S. Day of the Dead altars and pro­cessions. Drawing attention to the growing surveillance, militarization, and vio­lence along the U.S./Mexican border, as well as anti-­immigrant policies and hate crimes occurring throughout the United States, Day of the Dead events have emphasized the ironic contradictions between Amer­i­ca’s appetite for low-­cost ­labor and its hostility ­toward immigrant workers. Since the 2000s, rampant poverty, gang vio­lence, and lack of economic opportunity in Central Amer­i­c a have motivated thousands of unaccompanied young mi­grants to journey North, where they have been apprehended by U.S. Border Patrol agents and ware­housed in detention centers for weeks or months. In 2019 and 2020, Day of the Dead altars throughout the United States remembered child mi­grants who died on the U.S. border. Some died in the arms of their families. ­Others died in the custody of U.S. immigration authorities, raising questions about the inhumane conditions in which they w ­ ere held. Media images of unaccompanied ­children and teens huddled ­behind bars in overcrowded cages shocked the world as the Trump administration implemented a “zero tolerance” policy in 2018–2019, which criminally prosecuted all undocumented border crossers, including asylum seekers. Child mi­grants, even infants, ­were separated from parents or guardians with whom they had entered the United States and ­were kept in cages, along with thousands of other minors who had crossed the border alone. Critics argued that this response exacerbated Central Amer­i­ca’s humanitarian crisis and v­ iolated both U.S. immigration law and international ­human rights, a theme represented again and again in Day of the Dead altars.

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As part of the 2020 Day of the Dead community cele­bration of the Oakland Museum of California (OMCA), local residents Sheyla and Isabela Perez and Isela Anaya created a four-­tiered altar in memory of dead mi­grant ­children. ­Under a ­giant arch of orange paper marigolds, a cage was displayed filled with artificial monarch butterflies, which Mesoamerican Indigenous p ­ eoples believe symbolize the flight of departed spirits. As the altar makers explained, the caged butterflies on the altar represented the “cruelty of trapping immigrants trying to fly.”2 On the shelf below the caged butterflies was a larger metal cage filled with sugar skulls representing dead mi­grant ­children and a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe incarcerated along with them. On each side of this cage stood a “Catrina” and “Catrin” set of skele­tons, representing parents of the c­ hildren, separated from their offspring by bars. On the shelves of the altar stood framed photos of the deceased youngsters along with packets of ­bubble gum, candy, chips, dolls, and other toys they would have enjoyed. Intricately cut papel picado was strung along each shelf, but instead of serving a strictly decorative purpose, each square was overlaid with a photo and newspaper clipping of a dead child, telling their name, age, where they w ­ ere from, and when they had died. Perhaps the most poignant aspect of all was a life-­sized Catrina “­mother” dressed in Mayan Indigenous clothing, huddled on one side of the altar looking at two more cages on the floor, each with a baby inside. The ­mother carried an infant on her back, snuggly tied in a traditional rebozo, or shawl, and over her shoulders was an aluminum-­colored Mylar emergency blanket (a widely photographed item in news media coverage that had become synonymous with the Border crisis). As she looked down at two more cages of ­children on the floor level of the altar, she was unable to help them ­because her skeletal hands ­were in handcuffs (figure 20). The altar’s bottom shelf had vari­ous foods and drinks from Central Amer­i­ca, where most of the mi­grant ­children w ­ ere from, and on the floor stood a clay incense burner with copal incense and a sage stick, typically used by Mesoamerican Indigenous p ­ eoples in religious ceremonies. Mixing traditional ofrenda ele­ments (marigolds, papel picado, candles, copal, food, sugar skulls, rosary beads, and the Virgin of Guadalupe) with news clips, cages, handcuffs, and emergency blankets, the altar offered a wrenching critique of U.S. immigration policy. An explanation of the altar’s meaning, given by the altar makers, was videotaped and posted on the museum’s website, where it was seen by numerous viewers. Mi­grant themes are not unique to California or the border states and have been a major subject of public Day of the Dead altars throughout the United States. They have even reached the upper legislative echelons of Washington, D.C., where, on November 1, 2019, the Hispanic Caucus of the U.S. Congress created the first official Day of the Dead altar on Capitol Hill, dedicating it to fourteen mi­grants who had died in U.S. custody that year.3 Th ­ ese altars and many ­others like them in cities across the United States have honored mi­grants in ways

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Figure 20. ​Altar in memory of dead mi­grant c­ hildren on U.S. border, with calavera ­mother’s hands in handcuffs, by Sheyla and Isabela Perez and Isela Anaya. Community Day of the Dead cele­bration, Oakland Museum of California, Fall 2020. Photo courtesy of Isabela and Sheyla Perez.

that sympathized with, rather than criminalized, the desperate circumstances of their migration. Expressing moral condemnation of U.S. Border Patrol policies and the po­liti­cal leaders responsible for them, they are visual reminders of the urgent need for humane and proactive U.S. government migration and asylum policies.

Remembering L ­ abor Abuses: UFW and the Braceros A theme common to Day of the Dead altars in California and the Southwest is the commemoration of the ­labor strug­gles of U.S. farmworkers, most of whom are Latinx immigrants. W ­ hether in grassroots community centers, art galleries, or museums, t­ hese ofrendas typically display photos of deceased UFW u ­ nion

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co-­founder César Chávez and other farmworkers. In a con­temporary twist on the Indigenous tradition of offering harvested crops to the dead, altars may display items such as wooden produce crates, empty pesticide cans, farming tools (hoes, shovels, work gloves), heads of lettuce, pints of strawberries, boxes of tomatoes, grapes (symbolizing the successful Delano grape boycott of 1965–1970) and other produce picked by farmworkers. Drawing attention to the longtime and continuing exploitation of U.S. farmworkers, ­t hese ofrendas sometimes include newspaper clippings, flyers and posters (­either on the altars or mounted on nearby walls) about farmworker strikes and strug­gles. A subset of farmworker altars created from the 1970s through the pre­sent commemorate Los Braceros, the 4.5 million Mexican “arms” or hired hands recruited from Mexico by the U.S. government from 1942 to 1964 to fill manual ­labor shortages during and ­after World War II. Admitted as temporary laborers but denied the possibility of permanent U.S. residency, braceros lived in poor conditions and suffered long-­term health effects from exposure to dangerous chemical pesticides. Th ­ ese workers w ­ ere underpaid by U.S. agribusiness and government authorities who withheld 10  ­percent of their wages for a social-­ security-­style program that was to be administered by the Mexican government. The vast majority of braceros never received the promised benefits of the $36 million in wage deductions. Since 2001, hundreds of surviving braceros and their families have held public demonstrations and filed lawsuits, both in Mexico and in the United States, in attempts to receive the compensation they are owed.4 An ofrenda I saw on November 1, 2003, at a Day of the Dead cele­bration of the Mayapán ­Women’s Collective in El Paso, Texas, included posters explaining the history of the Bracero Program and informational pamphlets discussing the illegal wage deductions as well as information on how braceros and their families could join ongoing ­legal strug­gles to get financial remuneration. This cele­bration, which included live m ­ usic, danza, and Mexican food, was attended by more than 700 p ­ eople, including families, school groups, undocumented workers, po­liti­cal activists, journalists, and se­nior citizens, some of whom w ­ ere former braceros. Illustrating the communicative potential of the ofrenda format, when a few el­derly Mexican men lingered in front of the altar, visibly surprised to see public recognition of their experience, a spontaneous discussion ensued between ­these former braceros and exhibit visitors standing nearby. The men spoke of their former working conditions and the difficulties they w ­ ere having in collecting the retirement money that was allegedly set aside for them.5 Most Americans have never heard of the Bracero Program, and the issue receives l­ittle media attention, so such public altar installations are valuable forms of education. Day of the Dead altars honoring los braceros and other farmworkers have continued to be created throughout the 2000s, constructed in schools, universities, public libraries, museums, community centers, and other high-­t raffic public

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areas. ­These altars si­mul­ta­neously promote Latinx cultural traditions and teach a bottom-up version of history that is generally not taught in schools and is largely absent from the national collective consciousness. By keeping alive the memory of past po­liti­cal strug­gles and contributions of workers, labor-­t hemed ofrendas honor the memory and sacrifice of the dead while reminding the public of current worker exploitation that requires the attention of the larger community.

Remembering Victims of Gendered and Homophobic Vio­lence From early Chicana altar installations of the 1970s through the pre­sent, ofrendas honoring ­women murdered by partners and ­family members have been part of U.S. Day of the Dead exhibitions, focusing attention on the systematic nature of misogyny in patriarchal socie­t ies. While some altars remember individual ­women, many draw attention to groups of ­women, such as sex workers, trans ­women, lesbians and other victims of sexual assault and femicide. For example, since the mid 1990s, Day of the Dead altars and pro­cessions across the United States have drawn attention to the rampant murdering of young w ­ omen, known as “the w ­ omen of Juárez,” who work in factories in the U.S./Mexico border region of Juárez, Mexico (figure 21). A ­ fter the enactment of the North American ­Free Trade Agreement in 1994, a surge of foreign-­owned factories entered Ciudad Juárez—­staffed primarily by young Mexican females who could be paid less than males. ­Women with factory jobs, earning their own money, challenged traditional gender roles in Mexican society, causing resentment among some men. Since 1993 more than 400 female factory workers have been murdered in Juárez while traveling to and from work—­many of them ­were raped, tortured, and mutilated before being killed. H ­ uman rights advocates believe the murders are a way of men putting w ­ omen “in their place,” and neither Mexican nor U.S. government authorities have done much to investigate the crimes or provide ­women workers with increased security. ­These Day of the Dead events highlight how our national desire for low-­priced consumer goods that depend on a Brown female ­labor force willing to work long hours in low-­wage jobs has rendered the w ­ omen of Juárez disposable. Chicana altar maker Consuelo  G. Flores has created many Day of the Dead altars for populations who suffer vio­lence and death b ­ ecause of their gender or gender expression. In the year 2000 she began focusing her artistic energy on building altars to raise awareness about the W ­ omen of Juárez. To prepare, she spoke with ­family members of the victims and with journalists and authors who had written about the murders. Her ofrendas humanized the dead workers, offering visual details about their lives in an attempt to make a disinterested public care: I learned a lot about the young w ­ omen who had dis­appeared. I collected the kind of items they would have had. An old hairbrush. Old shoes. An old

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Figure 21. ​Day of the Dead pro­cession through the streets of El Paso, Texas, to demand government action regarding the unsolved rapes and murders of w ­ omen workers in U.S. and transnational factories in the Ciudad Juarez/U.S.-­Mexican border region, November 1, 2003. Photo by author.

bureau. The first [altar] I made was at the point when about 320 girls had been killed. So, I made 320 l­ ittle toothpick dolls that had l­ ittle wings on them, and the dolls all had brown hair, not white skin. Variations of morenas [brown skinned ­women]. I put the bureau ­t here. I laid out a quinceañera dress. I put the shoes ­there. Shoes are particularly impor­tant ­because the material of shoes is hard to break down and that’s often how they identify the bodies. Even now the girls are disappearing. It has not ­stopped.6

Flores continues to create Day of the Dead altars annually to bring greater awareness to the situation in Juárez. P ­ eople who have seen her altars in museums, community centers or at events she has done with Amnesty International have sometimes broken into tears. She notes: “The reactions are often of horror, or of deep sadness, of ‘Why ­didn’t I know about this? What is ­going on that I ­haven’t heard about it?!’ ”7 Focusing on other populations targeted for their gender or sexuality, Flores has also constructed altars for trans and gay ­people who have been murdered. In 2016 at Self Help Graphics & Art, she created a large Day of the Dead altar called “The Pulse of Life” for victims of the June 12, 2016, mass shooting at a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, which killed 49 ­people and wounded 53. She noted

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the relatively superficial ways in which Americans reflect on mass shootings ­because such shootings are now routine: We are hit with mass shootings ­every week, and it becomes overwhelmingly difficult to ­really absorb and pro­cess. So, the altar format is an impor­tant way to bring p ­ eople’s attention back to something that s­ houldn’t be forgotten. With my altars, I want p ­ eople to understand. I want time to stand still for a moment so that ­people can take in the loss of life, and what value that life had. And how easily it could have been prevented. I focus on inequity. Why this life and not that one? And when p ­ eople start to reflect on that, it becomes more successful for me.8

Since 1980 a major focus of altar making for Chicano artist David Zamora Casas has been victims of AIDS and deceased members of the LGBT community. “When p ­ eople ­were ­dying of AIDS, that’s what began my conscious decision to put altars in public, instead of just in my home. . . . ​It is impor­tant to talk honestly and openly about sex and to give p ­ eople the information they need.”9 In 2020 his multimedia Day of the Dead altar installation at Bihl Haus Arts in San Antonio examined intersections of the AIDS epidemic and the Covid pandemic, displaying photos of victims of both diseases. “With Covid, ­people talked about how the pandemic was profoundly affecting our lives forever, and the trauma of ­people ­dying alone, and how horrible it was. And I thought, ‘That’s what happened in the queer community with AIDS,’ but a lot of p ­ eople ­didn’t care at the time. But with Covid, every­one’s ­dying and ­people are now seeing it the way we looked at AIDS.”10 The installation included paintings and symbols portraying the LGBT community, calaveras wearing blue surgical “pandemic” masks, and calaveras in sexually intimate positions with dildos and other sex toys placed throughout the altar along with po­liti­cal statements such as “Keep your politics out of my uterus” and “Quit stirring your base with my body” (figure 22). At his altar exhibits, Zamora Casas is often approached by LGBT ­people and their families who thank him for the visibility he has given them through his work. He has also created altar installations honoring other vulnerable populations, such as youth sexually abused by Catholic clergy; child mi­grants; and cancer victims.

Remembering Journalists and H ­ uman Rights Day of the Dead altars remember ­people who have lost their lives to a variety of ­human rights violations, raising awareness about topics such as Black Lives ­Matter, #MeToo, the death penalty, the disproportionately high incarceration rates of Black and Brown p ­ eople, modern-­day sex trafficking, “honor” killings, victims of war, and the genocide of Indigenous p ­ eoples around the world. Altars have also drawn attention to the murder of journalists in Latin Amer­i­ca and elsewhere who risk their lives to expose h ­ uman rights abuses and injustices related

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Figure 22.  Day of the Dead installation honoring reproductive and sexual rights, David Zamora Casas, Bihl Haus Arts Center Gallery, San Antonio, Fall 2020. Photo by Al Rendon, courtesy of David Zamora Casas.

to po­l iti­cal issues, corruption, and or­ga­nized crime. Latin Amer­i­ca holds the unenviable title of having the highest recorded number of journalists murdered per year globally, with Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras logging some of the highest annual journalist death tolls in the world. In 2020 the number of journalists murdered globally more than doubled from the previous year.11 Mexico was the deadliest country of all.12 From California to New York, one can find Day of the Dead altars dedicated to h ­ uman rights activists and/or the journalists who write about them (figure 23). In 2015 an enormous outdoor ofrenda dedicated to journalists was constructed in the heart of New York City’s Bowery District. One of New York City’s most popu­lar annual Día de los Muertos cele­brations, which includes ­music, dance per­for­mances, a Mexican craft market, public altars, and a nocturnal vigil for the departed, the cele­bration always attracts large crowds. On November 1 and 2, a six-­tiered ofrenda, nearly 12 feet long, displayed framed photos of many of the 110 Mexican journalists slain that year. In the center of the top shelf was a 27-­inch computer monitor on which digital photos and information about the journalists was projected on a continuous loop (figure 24). The ofrenda shelves held large vases of fresh marigolds, candles, papel picado, copal incense, calaveras, fruits, and journalistic tools (notebooks, pens, cameras). Nearby w ­ ere printed handouts explaining the dire situation of journalists in Mexico and the impunity with which they are murdered.13 The altar underscored not

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Figure 23. ​Detail of 12-­foot long altar honoring Latin American activists and journalists murdered for defending Native lands, the environment, and other h ­ uman rights issues. Created by students of Dr. Antonieta Mercado at the University of San Diego as part of a week-­long Day of the Dead cele­bration held t­ here in 2019. Photo by author.

only the need for greater journalistic protections in Mexico and elsewhere, but also the urgent need for journalism in democracies everywhere, including in the United States, where journalists confront decreasing funding and increasing hostility.

Remembering Victims of War ­ ecause solidarity with oppressed ­peoples is a major aspect of the Chicano moveB ment, Day of the Dead altar installations focused on the death and destruction caused by U.S.-­sponsored military interventions abroad (in Vietnam, Cambodia, Chile, El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Panama, Colombia, Iraq, and Af­ghan­i­stan) have been a regular part of U.S. commemorations. For example, on October 30, 2004, Mujeres Against Militarism and the Raza Unida Co­a li­tion sponsored a Day of the Dead Vigil Against Militarism in the majority Latinx community of Sylmar, Los Angeles. Beginning with a 4 p.m. pro­cession through residential and commercial sections of Sylmar, in which participants held candles, photos of the dead, and banners of skulls clad in army helmets, participants chanted, “No blood for oil!” and other antiwar slogans in Spanish and En­glish. Onlookers in nearby homes and stores s­ topped what they ­were d ­ oing to watch.14

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Figure 24. ​Altar remembering murdered Mexican journalists (their photos looped on computer screen 24/7), created as part of the annual Day of the Dead festival or­ga­nized by Mano a Mano and St. John’s Church in the Bowery, New York City, November 1, 2015. Photo by author.

The pro­cession culminated in a five-­hour Day of the Dead vigil outside of a popu­lar gallery-­café, where Latinx high school and college students spoke publicly about the disproportionately high percentage of Latinx young ­people ­dying in Iraq, relative to their numbers in the overall U.S. population. They condemned the aggressive recruiting tactics of the Ju­nior Reserve Officers Training Corps (JROTC) and other military recruitment programs that concentrate in Latinx and African American communities, noting that JROTC is much less common in upper-­income Anglo communities where young p ­ eople have access to high-­ quality educational and employment opportunities. Held on the sidewalk in a busy mini-­mall, the vigil area included a wall lined with marigolds and candles on which hung photos of thirty-­eight Latinx youth killed in Iraq. Below each photo was the ser­vice member’s name, birth date, death date, and a description of the youth’s accomplishments, goals, and dreams, such as the following: “Amy Lopez was a straight A student who had planned to attend

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college. She joined the army as a way to help fund her education and see the world. She loved animals and wanted to become a veterinarian. She was killed in a mortar attack in Fallujah. She was 19 years old.” Visibly sobered by the memorial, passersby at the mall s­ topped to look at the photos posted along the lengthy memorial wall. More recently, a large altar in Oakland, California, built by a local men’s group for Day of the Dead 2018, commemorated lives lost in the Vietnam War, remembering not only the soldiers killed and their civilian victims in Vietnam, but also the “lost” veterans who returned to the United States irrevocably damaged physically or psychologically, and the loss suffered by their families.15 I have seen Day of the Dead ofrendas and vigils in California, New Mexico, Texas, Pennsylvania, Mas­sa­chu­setts, Arizona, and New York commemorating victims of U.S. wars and military interventions. Looking back on the de­cades, it is clear that Day of the Dead altar installations reflect the po­liti­cal era in which they are created, celebrating Latinx culture and commenting upon a wide variety of con­temporary po­l iti­cal issues. Many altar exhibits created in the 1970s honored farmworkers who faced life-­ threatening pesticide poisoning and inhumane ­labor conditions. In the 1980s, altars ­were dedicated to AIDS victims, drawing attention to a lack of sufficient research and prevention work at the time. In the 1980s and 1990s, installations drew attention to regressive immigration policies and the destruction caused by U.S. military interventions that supported repressive regimes in Central Amer­ i­ca. In the early 2000s, altars across the country honored ­those killed in the September 11 attacks and in the two subsequent U.S. wars in the ­Middle East. In the 2010s and 2020s, observances have encouraged viewers to reflect on the unnecessary loss of life caused by gun vio­lence, police brutality, ethnic and racially motivated hate crimes, sexual vio­lence, and global warming, such as death and destruction caused by increasingly common hurricanes, floods and wildfires. In each case, t­ hese expressions have created opportunities for collective reflection and community building. In the strug­gle against racism and other forms of oppression, Chicana writer Gloria Anzaldúa emphasized the importance of sharing stories as a way to educate each other: “Before the Chicano and the undocumented worker and the Mexican from the other side can come together, before the Chicano can have unity with Native Americans and other groups, we need to know the history of their strug­gle and they need to know ours.” In order for society to change, she argued, ­people of diverse races and classes need to understand each other’s perspectives. “Nothing happens in the ‘real’ world ­unless it first happens in the images in our heads” (Anzaldúa 1987, 108–109). The construction of public ofrendas in the United States is an impor­tant storytelling medium that can render the “private” public, and stimulate the kinds of reflection necessary to engender feelings of empathy and greater understanding, w ­ hether cross-­class and intra-­ethnic solidarity among

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diverse Latinx populations, or cross-­cultural understanding across more general audiences. Not all Day of the Dead altars and activities are po­liti­cal, but as an impor­tant subset of Day of the Dead events, po­liti­cally themed altars and pro­ cessions raise public consciousness on behalf of t­ hose in society who are victimized, discarded, and ignored. As we ­shall see in chapter 6, the colorful aesthetics and creativity of Day of the Dead activities attract ample media attention, which generates even greater awareness of Latinx communities and the po­liti­cal issues affecting them.

chapter 6

Z Day of the Dead in the U.S. Media the cele­bration goes mainstream “Ten years ago,” said an el­derly Mexican American native of San Diego when I spoke with her in 2003 about Day of the Dead, “I saw just one article, one tiny l­ ittle mention in the paper. Now you see feature articles in newspapers, which ten, fifteen, or twenty years ago, you never saw. Nothing was ever done to honor the Latino culture anywhere h ­ ere in San Diego County, which is staggering, if you think about it, ­because we have lots of Latinos ­here and ­we’re kissing the border.”1

U.S. newspaper articles about Day of the Dead ­were barely on the radar in the 1970s, but the holiday t­oday is prominently featured each fall in the Metro, Region, Culture, Arts, and Calendar sections of newspapers across the country, as well as in mainstream lifestyle magazines, accompanied by colorful photos. If the cele­bration’s growth and coverage in the mainstream news was surprising to natives of California, where t­ here has long been a large Mexican presence, it is even bigger news in areas of the United States that, u ­ ntil recently, had few or no Latinx residents. Such news coverage places Day of the Dead not only in the U.S. cultural imaginary, but also in the rhetorical mainstream, publicly recognizing and validating Latinx migrations within the United States. The news headlines below illustrate how geo­graph­i­cally far the cele­bration has spread from its California roots. S. Porter, “Des Moines Art Center’s 20th Día de los Muertos Cele­bration Goes Virtual,” Des Moines Register, November 26, 2020 K. Ramirez, “Columbus [Ohio] Residents Prepare to Celebrate Day of the Dead,” NBC4 -­TV, 10/28/20 November 28, 2020

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Figure 25. ​Day of the Dead altar in memory of teachers killed in Ayotzinapa, Mexico, and the outsized number of Black and Brown victims of COVID, downtown Los Angeles, November 1, 2020. Altar and photo by Consuelo G. Flores.

C. Granger, “Day of the Dead Celebrated with M ­ usic and the Moon in New Orleans,” Nola​.­com, November 3, 2020 A. Imlay, “Latino Holiday Day of the Dead Alive in Utah,” Deseret News, October 29, 2020 This chapter ­w ill discuss the multipronged impact that mass media attention has had on U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations. On the one hand, media have helped teach about the holiday, dispel misunderstandings, and legitimize it in the eyes of the general public, funding institutions, and a diverse Latinx community. On the other hand, for many Latinx youth, the mass media have supplanted the educational role historically carried out by ­family and local community members regarding cultural traditions, changing the way the cele­bration is understood and experienced by younger generations. The following sections w ­ ill discuss print, broadcast, social media, and film portrayals of Day of the Dead. As we ­shall see, this media coverage has both extensively promoted the cele­bration and, at times, appropriated it in ways that some Chicanos worry may obscure or erase the cele­bration’s meaning.

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Media Attention for an Underrepresented Population Since the mid-1990s t­ here have been Día de los Muertos episodes on popu­lar primetime TV shows such as FOX’s Beverly Hills 90210 (1994) and Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles (2009); Disney’s Lizzy McGuire (2001); PBS’s American ­Family (2002); and HBO’s Six Feet U ­ nder (2002) and Carnivale (2003). Animated ­children’s productions such as Disney’s Elena of Avalor (2016) and Nickelodeon’s Dora the Explorer’s Worldwide Adventure app (2016) have also featured Day of the Dead. The critically acclaimed John Sayles movie Silver City (2004) included a Day of the Dead scene, and Tim Burton’s box office hit Corpse Bride (Warner Bros. 2005) was filled with Day of the Dead–­inspired imagery. More recently, 20th ­Century Fox’s The Book of Life (2014) and Disney-­Pixar’s Coco (2017) have captivated audiences young and old, and the 2015 James Bond film Spectre opened with a dazzling Day of the Dead scenario that became more famous than the movie itself (see chapter 8). Widely read travel publications such as the American Automobile Association’s Horizons and Westways magazines, and the Elderhostel Annual Program have promoted Day of the Dead excursions in New Mexico, Texas, and California. Travel-­related websites such as National Geographic​.­com, TripSavvy​.­com, Afar​.­com. and World Nomads​.­com regularly feature stories about the cele­bration. U.S. lifestyle magazines and websites such as Better Homes and Gardens, Ladies Home Journal, Travel and Leisure, Southern Living, Holiday Cele­brations, Parade, Hallmark​.­com, and AARP​.­com, as well as fashion magazines such as Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Elle, and GQ discuss the festival and how to decorate, dress, and cook for it. Coverage is also provided by national news outlets such as the Associated Press, National Public Radio, US News and World Reports, Newsweek, the New York Times, the Washington Post, CNN, Politico, the Huffington Post, and myriad local radio and TV stations, documentary videos, and podcasts. While this interest may be primarily motivated by desires to increase audiences and comply with diversity initiatives, Day of the Dead season is one of the few times of the year when Latinx communities f­ actor so prominently in ­t hese media outlets. Some may dismiss this as a shallow form of performative allyship, but as we ­w ill see, ­t here are nonetheless benefits for the Latinx community, including public validation for Latinx traditions, audiences, and neighborhoods. During the “Muertos” season, which in the United States extends from mid-­ September through mid-­November, a given media outlet may publish multiple Day of the Dead articles and listings, ranging from coverage of ­children’s school activities, to instructions for holiday r­ ecipes and crafts, to discussions of cutting edge altar exhibitions, po­liti­cal manifestations, or diverse topics related to death. Unlike traditional home-­centered Día de los Muertos rituals in Latin Amer­i­ca,

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where cameras would be intrusive, U.S. events are designed to be publicly showcased, and journalists and the general public are encouraged to photo­graph them. Print, broadcast, and social media coverage of t­ hese cele­brations have been impor­tant ways of conveying information about Latinx culture to worldwide audiences, given that Latinx populations have been underrepresented in U.S. media for more than a ­century.2 Studies done from the 1960s through 2019 have concluded that mainstream U.S. newspaper coverage has reinforced many negative ste­reo­t ypes found in generations of Hollywood films, portraying Latinos primarily within “prob­lem” frames, as p ­ eople living in crime-­infested neighborhoods, lacking education and job skills, and who prob­ably are not legitimate U.S. citizens (Wilson and Gutiérrez 1985; Quiroga 1997; Carveth and Alverio 1997; Smith et al. 2019). Historically, U.S. news coverage has reinforced negative ste­reo­t ypes of Mexicans and other Latinx p ­ eople, depicting them as lazier, less intelligent, less moral, and more prone to crime than Anglos (Rodriguez 1997; Carveth and Alverio 1997; NHMC 2012; Reny and Manzano 2016). While such ste­reo­t ypes are not as blatant ­today as in the past, Latinx ­people are still often portrayed as objects rather than authoritative subjects of news (Gerbner 1993; Vargas, 2000; Sui and Paul 2017). The same pattern of underrepre­sen­ta­tion and negative repre­sen­ta­tion has existed in magazine and tele­v i­sion advertising (Hispanic Business 1999; Wilson, Gutiérrez, and Chao 2013) and Hollywood films (Fregoso 1993; Noriega and López 1996; Ramírez-­Berg 2002; Smith et al. 2019), where Latinx populations have long been ste­reo­t yped in tropes such as the bandido, the gang banger, the Latin lover, the dangerous temptress, or the dimwitted buffoon. The National Council of La Raza (now called UnidosUS), the largest Latinx civil rights advocacy organ­ization in the United States, has argued that such media imagery helps legitimize prejudice and undermine public support for policy interventions aimed at addressing discrimination (Rodríguez 1997, 18). Moving beyond sports and celebrity tokenism, sources quoted for Day of the Dead news stories represent a range of everyday Latinx voices—­educators, parents, youth, college students, artists, poets, elders, folk dancers, activists, homemakers, immigrants, and shop­keep­ers. When interviewed by the media about their participation in Day of the Dead events, t­ hese voices discuss not only cultural traditions of remembrance, but frequently po­liti­cal themes related to the deaths of the p ­ eople or groups being remembered (Marchi 2008). From their onset, Chicano Day of the Dead cele­brations ­were per­for­mances of identity whose creators anticipated public viewing. Media coverage has publicized Day of the Dead to millions in the general public who ­were not personally connected to the Chicano movement or issues facing the Latinx community. It has not only helped Latinx communities to be seen in new ways by the larger public, but has also facilitated the development of an ­imagined Latinx community—­a group that begins to imagine and feel ­t hings together, coming to see them-

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selves as ­people with historical, religious, social or po­liti­cal commonalities (Anderson 1991). Most participants I interviewed of Mexican and other Latin American ancestries expressed pride in the widespread popularity of Day of the Dead and media coverage portraying the cele­bration as valuable and profound, both in terms of its ritual practices and alternative metaphysical views about life and death. In a country where the commercial cele­bration of Halloween begins to occupy ­people’s minds (or at least store win­dows and magazine covers) from mid-­ August through October 31, news coverage often portrays Day of the Dead as a more meaningful way to engage with the spirit world: Halloween gets most of the hype, but of this weekend’s two spooky holidays, Día de los Muertos has the most heart and soul.3 Whereas Halloween is a dark night of terror and mischief, Day of the Dead festivities unfold over two days in an explosion of color and life-­affirming joy.4 Halloween’s connection to the afterlife has largely been stripped from the holiday. The aspects of the holiday that do touch on death—­such as the prevalence of ghosts, ghouls and other spirits in costumes and decorations—­tend to focus on our fear of mortality. . . . ​The Day of the Dead, on the other hand . . . ​ is about remembering lost loved ones, the holiday is more a time to celebrate their memories than to mourn their loss.5

Media as Publicity Unlike Day of the Dead celebrants in Latin Amer­i­ca, where the holiday’s ritual activities are part of the quotidian fabric of community life, most p ­ eople in the United States, ­whether Latinx or not, rely on some form of mass media to acquire information about Day of the Dead activities. In the weeks preceding November 1 and 2, newspapers and entertainment magazines announce Day of the Dead events, explaining the “who,” “what,” “when,” “where,” and “why” of the cele­bration. Promotional posters are hung in win­dows of art galleries, commercial establishments, social ser­vice agencies, and schools, while banners and billboards are placed in malls, parks, downtown areas, and university campuses. Each fall, art galleries, community centers, museums, universities, and Latin American folk art stores send thousands of postcards and/or emails to their constituents announcing the dates of their Day of the Dead exhibitions and festivities. The following are examples of the types of events listed in newspapers: Día de los Muertos is being celebrated all over town this week. Bazaar del Mundo has activities planned from Saturday, October 26, through Sunday, November 2, with traditional decorations, activities and artists’ demonstrations. Hours 10:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. . . . ​Admission is ­free.

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The Day of the Dead Festivities at Casa Familiar Civic and Recreational Center take place on Friday, November 1. ­There’s altar making all day, with the observance getting underway at 6:00 p.m. and a velacion [communal vigil for the dead] . . . ​from 8:00 p.m. to midnight. ­Free. Noche de Muertos, head to Voz Alta Cultural Center to celebrate life and death with a poetry reading honoring ­t hose who have passed away. . . . ​The event starts at 8:00 p.m. on Friday, November 1. ­Free.

­These listings exemplify how a primarily family-­oriented Latin American religious observance has been transformed in the U.S. into an advertised “cultural happening,” or­ga­nized primarily by nonprofit organ­izations that rely on the mass media to attract participants. Mary Ann Thiem, former chief or­ga­nizer of the annual Day of the Dead Festival in Ocean­side, California, explained: “We advertise it in the North County Times, the San Diego Reader, and the Union-­Tribune. We have a newsletter that goes out to all our Main Street members. Telemundo promoted it. . . . ​­We’re planning to do more advertising on Spanish-­speaking ­stations. It gets written up in Ocean­side Magazine. Last year the North County Times did a huge spread on it. ­There ­were something like 33 dif­fer­ent articles on Day of the Dead, in a huge spread. Not just writing about ours, but other events happening in the county.” 6 Estela Rubalcava Klink noted that while most participants in San Diego’s Sherman Heights Day of the Dead events ­were local residents, the mass media attracted ­people throughout greater San Diego County: “It’s ­really grown, and we have press releases in local magazines and newspapers. . . . ​We get ­people from San Ysidro, North County, Ocean­side, . . . ​Los Angeles. ­There are bus tours that come, or­ga­nized by another organ­ization. ­There are tourists, a mixture of Caucasians, African Americans, Latinos, and professors and students from universities. Last year we w ­ ere written about in Smithsonian Magazine and we w ­ ere announced in Night and Day and the San Diego Reader.”7 Similarly, the owner of the Folk Tree Gallery in Pasadena—­which holds annual Day of the Dead altar exhibits, sells Day of the Dead merchandise, and organizes Día de los Muertos tours to Mexico—­noted that media coverage helps promote Day of the Dead: “­There’s usually at least one article in the local papers about us. The Star News and the Pasadena Weekly. Once I was on the cover of the L.A. Reader. One year we got a blurb in an opera handbook. . . . ​Oh, and we w ­ ere in the New York Times. We ­were also in Travel and Leisure Magazine and AAA’s Westways.”8 In contrast to this widespread coverage, early California Day of the Dead events ­were publicized via hand-­t yped flyers and word of mouth. According to René Yáñez, one of the originators of Day of the Dead exhibitions in the Bay Area, “We w ­ ere too busy just trying to or­ga­nize the exhibits. We w ­ eren’t thinking about publicity.”9 A review of cultural news coverage in the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times during the 1970s yielded zero articles about

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Day of the Dead events in ­either paper.10 However, word of mouth spread quickly, particularly in arts circles, and growing numbers of p ­ eople attended the Chicano-­ organized events each year. Neighborhood-­based exhibitions eventually attracted the interest of major museums, which in turn attracted media attention from newspapers and TV stations. Chicana artist and educator Yolanda Garfias Woo, an early pioneer in conducting Day of the Dead workshops in Bay Area schools, recalls her surprise when all three major tele­vi­sion networks covered the opening of an ofrenda exhibit she was invited to create at San Francisco’s prestigious de Young Museum in 1975: It was the first time a major museum was interested in Día de los Muertos, something so ethnically outlandish. . . . ​Channels 4, 5, and 7 w ­ ere all ­there with camera crews, filming and asking all kinds of questions that no one on the museum staff could answer. They w ­ ere ­doing community interest stories. But channel 7 had an ABC program called Perspectives that was an hour long, and they returned and we filmed one hour about the exhibit and the ­whole history of Día de los Muertos. It was ­great b ­ ecause since La Galería was ­doing a Muertos exhibit at the same time, we got invited to a lot of TV programs to do a combined effort about the exhibits and about what this was. This was a real turning point for the community, as well as for me, in terms of being public.11

Other major museums began to hold Day of the Dead exhibitions of altar installations created by Chicano artists and, as the cele­bration gained popularity (and legitimacy) in the mid 1980s, full-­length articles and photos began appearing in newspapers with greater frequency. As t­ hese events became annual standards in Chicano art galleries and other Latinx nonprofit organ­izations, organizers sent press packets to media outlets, held press conferences, and conducted interviews with journalists to educate them about the tradition. The 1980s and 1990s brought an exponential growth in Day of the Dead activities across California, g­ oing from only five organ­izations holding cele­brations in the 1970s to double that number in the 1980s and more than t­ riple that number in the 1990s.12 By 1990 the Mission District’s Day of the Dead cele­bration was featured on page A1 of the San Francisco Examiner, with a large photo of the pro­ cession.13 By the early 2000s, coverage in California’s two largest newspapers—­ the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times—­had grown to an average of seven articles annually, accompanied by large photos and detailed event listings. The rise in Day of the Dead events during ­t hese years corresponded with a growth in funding for multicultural programming in schools and community-­ based agencies from public and private sources.14 Journalists I contacted cited rising public interest in multiculturalism as an impor­tant reason for newspapers’ increased coverage of Day of the Dead.15 “The editors of a lot of newspapers realize the importance of diversity and that

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celebrating diverse cultures ­will attract readers to their paper,” said one.16 “I think it’s the growing interest in multiculturalism. This is an in­ter­est­ing cultural event that many readers ­don’t know about but might want to see,” noted another.17 Two other f­ actors they mentioned as reasons for the increased news coverage w ­ ere the higher number of Latinx immigrants settling in the United States, creating larger Latinx audiences, and the higher number of Latinx reporters at newspapers in the latter de­c ades of the twentieth ­century. Increased national attention to racial diversity as a result of civil rights work had resulted in higher numbers of Latinx students being admitted to journalism schools—­previously rare in the historically white and male profession of journalism. Said one journalist, “More Latinos are graduating from college and entering newsrooms. More are ­running community organ­izations that alert editors of their community cele­brations.”18 Latinx journalists I surveyed indicated that their ethnic background played a role in their choice to write about Day of the Dead, reporting that they had personally initiated stories on the topic. John Gonzalez, former San Antonio bureau chief at the Houston Chronicle and a reporter for more than thirty-­five years at the time I contacted him, affirmed: “I’ve initiated any stories I’ve done on Day of the Dead, but I see my colleagues (both Latinos and not) in other parts of my newspaper d ­ oing so as well.”19

Media Coverage Attracts Financial Support In addition to educating the public about the tradition, media coverage has provided another tangible benefit for U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations: attracting foundation funding and commercial sponsors. This has made it pos­si­ble to expand activities to new sites and larger audiences. Almost all of the gallery curators and community center staff I interviewed showed me ­binders, gave me CDs, or sent me links of collected press coverage of their organ­ization’s Day of the Dead events. Th ­ ese displays included newspaper and magazine articles and/ or transcripts of radio and TV coverage done over the years. Such media coverage is highly valuable to community-­based nonprofit organ­izations and Chicanx artists as supporting material for grant applications and press packets. Some Latinx organizers asserted that if they d ­ idn’t have funding, their constituents would continue to engage in Day of the Dead cele­brations, even if it meant paying expenses out of pocket, but o ­ thers said that without continued outside funding, the exhibits, workshops, and other activities offered f­ ree to the public could not continue. Most spoke of the financial strain that funding cuts to the California Arts Council, the National Foundation for the Arts, and other funding sources had placed on their organ­ization’s programming. With more ­people than ever attending Day of the Dead cele­brations in the 2020s, Bea Carrillo Hocker, a Chicana educator who had taught Día de los Muertos craft workshops for more than forty years, explained how ­limited funding and growing popularity affected

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the community cele­bration at the Oakland Museum of California: “­Because of expenses, the exhibit is now ­every other year instead of ­every year. . . . ​We have a tight bud­get. We used to be able to get . . . ​more variety of materials and colors, but now we get thousands of ­people coming. We prepare to accommodate about 1,600 kids or adults—­adults also want to make the crafts—so it gets expensive.”20 Recognizing the power of the media to educate potential funders and the general public, event organizers have welcomed press coverage as a way to both promote the tradition and to prevent misunderstandings of it. Given the general unfamiliarity of mainstream U.S. audiences with non-­Western cultural practices and belief systems in the 1970s, a cele­bration replete with “offerings for the dead,” smoldering incense, and other unusual rites was initially misinterpreted by some as the handi­work of Satan worshippers. In response to the 1976 Day of the Dead exhibit at Galería de la Raza in San Francisco, for example, the word “necrophiliacs” was found scrawled on the front win­dows of the gallery.21 ­People who did not understand the tradition accused Galería de la Raza staff of being members of a death cult. René Yañez, who or­ga­nized the first Day of the Dead exhibit at La Galería in 1972, noted: “The Irish captain of the Mission police station refused to give me a permit to hold the Day of the Dead pro­cession. He called me a ‘dev­il’ . . . ​[and] said, ‘Over my dead body!’ ­People thought we w ­ ere a death cult. They made references to Charles Manson.”22 Such criticisms may have been Anglo-­American re­sis­tance to the growing movement of multiculturalism taking place in the United States at that time, or perhaps cultural anx­i­ eties about death in a society unused to publicly discussing it. Along with non-­Latinx ­people disturbed by what they perceived to be sacrilegious communing with the dead, I also met Latinx p ­ eople who w ­ ere unfamiliar or uncomfortable with Indigenous aspects of the holiday. As a legacy of five centuries of Eu­ro­pean colonization in Latin Amer­i­ca, wide-­scale internalized racism against Indigenous and Afro-­Caribbean Latin Americans has caused many Latinx, ­whether consciously or subconsciously, to privilege light skin, Eu­ro­pean cultural norms, and official Catholic observances on November 1 and 2. When she first began teaching schoolchildren about Day of the Dead, Yolanda Garfias Woo was criticized by both Anglo co-­workers and a Mexican American school superintendent: I taught in an area that was predominantly Black. It was a very difficult area. ­There w ­ ere a lot of deaths, a lot of murders, suicides, vio­lence. And ­because I realized that the students had no outlet, I began ­doing Muertos in the classroom and found that it was extremely successful in opening ­things up and being able to talk about death. I was criticized by the staff for teaching “witchcraft,” even though the teacher next door to me one year during Halloween was standing in her doorway, wearing a long black gown with a pointed witch’s hat, and she said to me, “You know you c­ an’t do that in your classroom ­because it’s witchcraft.”23

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­Later, when Garfias Woo conducted a teacher’s workshop about Day of the Dead, she learned from the teachers that the school superintendent, who was Mexican American, had adamantly resisted the teachers’ request for the workshop: “He had told the teachers that it was barbaric and that only the poorest areas of Mexico, only the uneducated p ­ eople did it, and that it ­wasn’t part of mainstream Mexican culture and had no place in the school curriculum. The teachers fought and fought to get him to approve the workshop.”24 ­Today ­there are still Mexican Americans and other Latinos who are unfamiliar with the cele­ bration or fear it may be demonic, as Betty Avila, director of Self Help Graphics & Art, shared: “­There was a group bused in for one of our Saturday workshops with families. And a Latina ­woman with a child in a stroller and a few other ­children with her actually had to call her pastor. She was like, ‘I ­don’t know if I can do this. I have to run this by my pastor.’ And she ended up choosing not to participate.”25 While some onlookers initially criticized the festivities as being “pagan,” “morbid,” or “barbaric,” ­others accused organizers of celebrating a “Catholic” tradition in publicly funded schools. Patricia Rodriguez, former gallery curator of the Mission Cultural Center in San Francisco, recounted: “I was teaching at the University of New Mexico—­doing an altar and talking about the tradition—­and the local newspaper wrote me up as being pagan. ­Others said it was too Catholic, too religious, and that religion ­didn’t belong in the university.”26 Given such misunderstandings, even among the Mexican American community, Chicano/a artists worked hard to clarify that the cele­bration bore no relation to zombies, witchcraft, or the devil, and that U.S. renditions of Day of the Dead w ­ ere cultural rather than religious. They regularly clarified the meaning of the cele­bration when meeting with school groups and other audiences, and published explanations of the tradition in exhibit brochures, museum cata­logs and event flyers. Explaining the meaning of the holiday to the public—­something that would be unnecessary in Latin Amer­i­ca—­has been a consistent theme in U.S. media coverage. From the 1970s to the pre­sent, articles, TV news, podcasts, radio segments, and websites have observed that the custom is joyous rather than morbid, and that it celebrates the lives of loved ones rather than death. Cognizant of the gruesome images that the words “Day of the Dead” might conjure in the minds of p ­ eople unfamiliar with the tradition, journalists often acknowledge the “strangeness” of the name to preemptively dismiss morbid associations, as in the following front-­page examples: “Día de los Muertos is not a worship of death, but a recognition that life and death are one in the same, part of the same cycle.”27 Los Angeles Times, November 3, 1985, Metro, 1. “This is not a grim, morbid affair. With touches of humor and a festive air, it is a form of honoring the dead and acknowledging death as a part of life.”28 San Francisco Chronicle, October 30, 1997, Datebook, E1.

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“Although it sounds macabre, celebrating the Day of the Dead is actually about life, affirming the belief that death is the final arc of life’s circle, bringing it to its inevitable close. And it is about love, about honoring the p ­ eople you once knew so intimately that death could not fully take them from you.”29 Fort Worth Star Tele­gram, October 13, 2001, Home, 1. “The Day of the Dead parade is meant to celebrate life, rather than be spooky.” CNN​.­com, November 1, 2020.

Public Validation for Latinx Neighborhoods For po­liti­cally and eco­nom­ically marginalized populations who do not generally occupy power­ful positions as newsmakers, mainstream media coverage provides public validation of their existence. The decades-­long media associations with crime, drugs, and poverty denied Latinx neighborhoods the cultural cachet necessary for inclusion in the Arts and Culture sections of citywide newspapers. However, Day of the Dead exhibits brought the barrio to the acad­emy—­ representing the first time, in many cases, that works of Chicano/a artists ­were exhibited in prestigious museums.30 And they also brought the acad­emy to the barrio. Exhibitions and pro­cessions or­ga­nized by community-­based Chicano art galleries and community centers drew art lovers and culture seekers to Latinx urban districts that had long been ignored by the cultural cognoscenti. Coverage of Day of the Dead exhibitions in major newspapers encouraged middle-­class suburbanites and wealthy city dwellers to venture into Latinx neighborhoods for Día de los Muertos art and fresh pan de muerto, helping to bring increased business and economic development to ­t hese areas. ­Today during annual Day of the Dead season, busloads of schoolchildren and tourists visit neighborhoods that ­were formerly off the radar for such excursions, including the Mission District in San Francisco, Boyle Heights in East Los Angeles, Sherman Heights in San Diego, the Pilsen neighborhood in Chicago, La Alma/Lincoln Park in Denver, Barelas/South Valley in Albuquerque, Mount Pleasant in Washington, D.C., Washington Heights in New York City, and many o ­ thers. (Yet this can be a double-­edged sword. Greater media exposure can bring increased tourism and economic development to struggling Latinx neighborhoods, benefiting Latinx businesses and homeowners, but it can also lead to gentrification, displacing Latinx residents.) Noting the increased visibility that media coverage of the Sherman Heights Day of the Dead exhibit (promoted in San Diego Magazine, the San Diego Reader, the San Diego Union-­Tribune, La Prensa San Diego, and Fahrenheit Magazine) brought to this predominantly Latinx neighborhood, resident Louise Torio explained: “­People from all over the place come to this inner city neighborhood—­ people who ­don’t know about it, or from what ­t hey’ve heard, they think of it as a bad neighborhood. Or they ­haven’t been h ­ ere for thirty years. So with this

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event, the impression of the neighborhood changes.31 Terry Alderete, former chief coordinator of the annual Fruitvale Day of the Dead festival in Oakland, similarly noted that media coverage of the event (in the Oakland Tribune, the San Francisco Chronicle, the San Francisco Bay Guardian, the East Bay Express, the Alameda Journal, AAA’s travel magazine, Southwest Airlines’ in-­flight magazine, TV networks Telemundo and Univisión, English-­and Spanish-­language radio stations, vari­ous websites, and small local newspapers) improved the public’s perception of Oakland. Initiated in 1996, Fruitvale’s Day of the Dead Festival became the “star” in a lineup of annual cultural events sponsored by the Main Streets Initiative for economic development, attracting more than 100,000 visitors annually from throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. As the largest one-­ day Día de los Muertos festival in the United States, the event not only put Fruitvale on the map of the Bay Area arts scene, but brought the neighborhood national acclaim with a listing in the U.S. Library of Congress as a “Local Legacy” for the state of California. Alderete observed: “In the late 1980s, Fruitvale was all boarded up, urban blight, crime. ­People ­wouldn’t drive ­here for fear they might get shot at. From the 1970s and into the 1980s, it was like a war zone. . . . ​ [Now] w ­ e’re getting a lot of publicity, and this brings a lot of pride. Our Day of the Dead festival is even listed on the Smithsonian Institution’s website.”32

Digital Media In addition to TV, magazine and news coverage, ­t here are now millions of YouTube videos and other social media posts about the cele­bration, which is the subject of more than 1.5 billion websites.33 When I conducted research for the first edition of this book in the early 2000s, Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube had only recently emerged, and Instagram, Snapchat, Pinterest, and TikTok h ­ adn’t yet been in­ven­ted. ­Today all of ­t hese platforms are used by news media, nonprofit organ­izations, businesses, and private individuals to share information about Day of the Dead, and are major ways that ­people of diverse races, ethnicities and ages learn about the tradition. Facebook and YouTube, in par­tic­u ­lar, are widely used by U.S. art galleries, museums, educational institutions, community organ­ izations, and businesses to share images and text about past and f­ uture Día de los Muertos events, while Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok are the preferred mediums for young ­people or businesses aiming to reach them. ­These sites serve “regulars” already familiar with Día de los Muertos (who simply want to download schedules or directions for events) as well as neophytes searching for information about the cele­bration’s history and meaning. Many websites are created by teachers who freely share their Day of the Dead curricula. O ­ thers are created by artists, art galleries, museums, community centers, or university faculty to display photos of their exhibits or art. Commercial websites sell Day of the Dead

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merchandise and tours, while unaffiliated individuals post personal photos, videos, and tutorials related to the cele­bration. Latinx youth and adults are among the most frequent users of social media in the United States.34 Recent mi­grants, particularly from Indigenous regions of Latin Amer­i­ca, use YouTube and other social media to view Day of the Dead and other cultural cele­brations in their communities of origin (Falconi 2018; Ramos-­Mancilla 2020), allowing them to stay connected to the cele­brations and share knowledge of ­t hese customs with ­family and friends in the United States. However, only t­ hose who can afford reliable Internet ser­vice and whose relatives in their communities of origin also have reliable access to the Internet, can maintain connections to their hometown Day of the Dead traditions via social media. Immigrants who lack Internet or whose families in Latin Amer­i­ca lack access are more likely to become disconnected from cultural traditions in their communities of origin. Meanwhile many second, third, and l­ater U.S. Latinx generations no longer have close ­family ties in Latin Amer­i­ca, due to pro­cesses of migration, f­ amily separation, and assimilation. Lacking the kinds of personal connections and intergenerational knowledge of Day of the Dead traditions that occur in interactions among families and communities in Latin Amer­i­ca, this group often relies on social media produced by strangers and commercial entities to fill the gaps in their cultural knowledge. Social media can offer a wide variety of resources for t­ hose who want to engage with their ethnic heritage, but they are also spaces for consumer industries—­ from ­hotels to breweries to tattoo parlors—to broker cultural knowledge in ways that cause concern among some legacy Chicano artists, who worry that the original intention of Day of the Dead rituals may be lost. For example, YouTube hosts thousands of videos of tutorials on how to make Day of the Dead ofrendas, sugar skulls, pan de muerto, paper flowers, or papel picado. Most of ­t hese contain useful information, particularly videos posted by legacy Chicana artists.35 But many tutorials are sponsored by commercial entities that are more interested in promoting their brands and products than conveying factual information on the history and meaning of Day of the Dead. In online searches, accurate information from experienced educators and altar makers is mixed in with myriad commercial posts on the topic. For example, when I googled “How to Make a Día de los Muertos Ofrenda,” the first seven sites to appear ­were not Latinx educational or cultural organ­izations, but commercial sites, starting with Trip Savvy​.­com, followed by Zinnia Folk Arts shop in Minnesota, Hip Latina (a digital lifestyle platform), L.A Taco​.­com (a news and information platform), Muy Bueno​.­com (a Latinx cookbook website), Remezcla (self-­described as “the most influential media brand for Latino millennials”), and Texas Monthly magazine.36 In commercially motivated online posts such as ­t hese, the profound spiritual aspects of the cele­bration can be subordinated to commodity culture.

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In Google searches done in 2021, the most searched Day of the Dead topics ­ ere “Day of the Dead face painting” and “Día de los Muertos face painting.”37 w While all sites that appeared in “face painting” searches showed examples of calavera face painting and Do-­It-­Yourself tips on how to do it, many w ­ ere sponsored by face-­painting schools, professional face-­painting artists, or cosmetics companies (such as L’Oréal and MAC) in which specific makeup brands and ser­ vices w ­ ere repeatedly mentioned. Other face-­painting videos ­were sponsored by Mexican restaurants, food and alcohol companies, the California lottery, Playboy Mexico, and an exotic sex toy vendor.38 Such entities utilize Latinx traditions to access Latinx consumer markets (Dávila 2001; González-­Martinez 2019), utilizing and trivializing Day of the Dead as a way to promote their products. Even videos created by ordinary “everyday” individuals (many of whom are, or hope to be, social media influencers who encourage viewers to subscribe to their channels) often have mandatory product ads one must watch before and during the tutorials, as well as product placement and brand name endorsements during the tutorials. Such videos not only normalize the association of Día de los Muertos with consumer culture, but also promote misinformation, as when a food com­pany representative stated that skeleton face painting “dates back to the Aztecs,” or a Tequila spokesperson claimed that “Catrina represents the Mexican tradition of welcoming death.”39 And while Chicano educators have strived for five de­cades to clarify that Day of the Dead is not “Mexican Halloween,” many of t­ hese sites create confusion by labeling their videos with conjoined names such as “Sugar Skull-­Day of The Dead Halloween Face Paint/Make Up Tutorial,” “Day of the Dead Halloween tutorial,” and “Easy Sugar Skull/Día de los Muertos Make-up for Halloween.” 40 One of the greatest concerns for Chicano/a artists I spoke with was that most online face-­painting tutorials focus first and foremost on achieving an attractive look, with the explicit or implicit goal of competing against ­others. In direct opposition to the collaborative emphasis of community-­based Day of the Dead rituals, face-­painting competitions, and Catrina dress-up contests for cash prizes emphasize neoliberal values of individualism, competition, and cash accumulation, diverting attention from actually remembering the dead and honoring them in more contemplative or spiritual ways. This mentality is evident in a clip from the popu­lar daytime TV show Ellen, in which celebrities from the film The Book of Life engaged in a timed calavera face-­painting race with no context given about what Day of the Dead is or what calaveras represent.41 Unlike in areas of Latin Amer­i­ca where Day of the Dead rituals are practiced and youth learn about ­these traditions via personal participation, immersion, and the intergenerational transmission of culture (see figure 5), many U.S. Latinx youth, who are expected to know about Latin American traditions as part of their identity, lack firsthand experience of them. They therefore seek “digital self-­education” about Latinx traditions via mass media and consumer pro­cesses aimed at attracting them as a

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demographic (González-­Martinez 2016). Digital media provide fast ave­nues through which to learn about Day of the Dead but can also convert traditions into advertisements and clichés, as when a 2019 makeup tutorial sponsored by a tequila com­pany (prominently featuring a “­limited edition” Day of the Dead tequila b ­ ottle) ended with the speaker saying, as she held up a shot glass, “My favorite part of this holiday is that I get to eat, be with my ­family, and drink Tequila Cazadores, baby!” YouTube videos and other social media are shaping shared narratives about the meaning of Día de los Muertos, affecting how the event is perceived and observed.

Movies as Educational Medium Since the early and mid-­twentieth ­century, U.S. anthropologists, folklorists, and photog­raphers have been intrigued with the vibrant rituals of Mexico’s (then remote) Day of the Dead cele­brations. Documentary films ­were produced on the topic, which ­later helped educate Chicanos and ­others before Day of the Dead became a ­house­hold term. Some of the best known are Day of the Dead (Eames and Eames 1957), La Ofrenda: Days of the Dead (Portillo and Muñoz 1988), La Muerte Viva, The Day of the Dead: A Living Tradition (Llamas 1989), and more recently Day of the Dead: A Cele­bration of Life (Richards 2020). While the viewership of such films has mainly been ­limited to students and researchers, three Hollywood films—­The Book of Life (2014), Spectre (2015), and Coco (2017)—­have pop­u­lar­ized Day of the Dead on a previously unimagined scale. All three of t­ hese films depict aspects of Day of the Dead and have been hailed and, in some cases, criticized for their portrayals. While the creative animation style of The Book of Life was lauded by graphic artists as stunning, the film is a hackneyed, “competition for the girl” story that sheds relatively l­ittle light on the cele­bration’s meaning. With ste­reo­typical macho men and highly sexualized ­women characters, the plot is more about two men competing against each other than about Day of the Dead. Images of ofrendas are mere background decorations, and the significance of skulls, seen on every­t hing from buildings, clothing, hot air balloons and mariachi sombreros, is not explained. Still, the film introduced Day of the Dead to global audiences on a scale that no other Hollywood film at the time had done, grossing nearly $100 million worldwide. The James Bond film Spectre, which emerged the following year, was a formulaic and forgettable 007 story. But its first six minutes w ­ ere set against the spectacular backdrop of a staged Día de los Muertos parade in Mexico City, complete with hundreds of colorful props, costumes, acrobats and 1,500 extras. Although it was merely the elaborate setting for a gruesome murder, shedding no light on the meaning of Day of the Dead, this festive scene became more famous than the film itself, portraying a Día de los Muertos parade so convincingly that Mexico City’s

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mayor de­cided to copy the parade in the following year, hiring hundreds of actors and even borrowing props from the movie set.42 Comparing YouTube clips of the 2016 parade with scenes from the 2015 film, one sees nearly identical props, floats, ­music, and dancers. In a classic example of life imitating film, this was the first large-­scale Day of the Dead parade ever held in Mexico City, a “tradition” that has continued since 2016, with hundreds of Mexicans enthusiastically volunteering to participate annually. Day of the Dead was previously observed in a muted fashion in the country’s capital, but following Spectre, unpre­ ce­dented numbers of domestic and international tourists now travel ­there each November to attend the parade. While the film inspired Mexico City to embrace Day of the Dead, it portrayed only one version of the cele­bration—an urban carnival with extraordinary costumes, face painting, and skeleton props—­without contextualizing the tradition’s Indigenous and spiritual roots. Of the three films, Coco received the greatest critical acclaim for its animation, m ­ usic, and plot, in which Indigenous beliefs related to the afterlife, ongoing connections between the living and the dead, and ­family remembrance rituals ­were vividly portrayed. Incorporating ofrendas, cemetery vigils, marigolds, holiday food, and other Day of the Dead customs, the film is now used in U.S. schools and Latinx community centers to educate ­people about the holiday. However, the initial making of the film, which was originally ­going to be called “Día de los Muertos,” caused massive protest among the U.S. Latinx community when Disney-­Pixar applied to trademark the term Día de los Muertos. “The sheer arrogance of trying to trademark one of our most sacred cele­brations is beyond belief!” said one Chicana I interviewed. In the early stages of the film, ­t here ­were few Chicanos involved in the creation pro­cess, which helps explain why such a massive misstep occurred. Chicano cartoonist Lalo Alcaraz, one of the leaders of the protest, explained: “I saw a post about it on Twitter and shared it a lot on several social media platforms and ­there was a petition being circulated [signed by more than 20,000 ­people]. . . . ​ So, I thought, ‘Well, I can do something. I can do a cartoon about this, showing Disney’s ­really bad idea.” 43 The cartoon was called “Muerto Mouse,” and portrayed a ­giant, fanged calavera mouse wearing Disney’s ubiquitous mouse ears, trampling through a city, much like King Kong, and destroying every­t hing in its path. The text at the top of the cartoon warned: “Muerto Mouse. It’s coming to trademark your cultura!” Alcaraz, who does a nationally syndicated daily newspaper comic strip, published it as his regular syndicated editorial cartoon and also posted it on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and his website.44 It immediately went viral. Disney quickly withdrew the trademark application and reached out to the Chicano community for guidance on the film’s development. Illustrating the importance of involving community members from the onset in any work purporting to represent them, the final version of the film received near-­universal acclaim from Mexican and U.S. audiences. Grossing more than

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$807 million worldwide, Coco has been seen by more ­people around the globe than any other film about Day of the Dead and ­will continue to be, for many, their first introduction to the cele­bration. This chapter has examined the multiple roles played by mainstream print media, films, and social media in popularizing the formerly little-­k nown tradition of Day of the Dead in the United States, helping to turn the ritual into a routine autumn activity for USAmericans of diverse backgrounds. But beyond media attention, what attracts ­people of all races and ethnicities to Day of the Dead, inspiring many to participate year ­after year? Having explored the importance of this cele­bration for Latinx communities up ­until now, in chapter 7 we ­w ill next look at how Day of the Dead has influenced non-­L atinx ­people and spaces.

chapter 7

Z Appeal, Influence, and Owner­ship You arrived at the Día de Los Muertos ceremony shipwrecked, a refugee from a culture that suppresses grief, hides death, banishes it, celebrates it only in the most morbid ways—­horror movies, violent television—­death is dehumanized, without loving connection, without ceremony. You arrived at El Día De Los Muertos like a Pilgrim, starving, unequal to survival in the land of grief, and the indigenous ceremonies fed you and took you in and revived you. . . . ​And what have you done? Like the Pilgrims, you have begun to take over, to gentrify and colonize this holiday for yourselves. I was shocked this year to find Day of the Dead events in my native Oakland Bay Area not only that w ­ ere not or­ga­nized by Chican@s or Mexican@s or Latin@s, but events with zero Latin@ artists participating, involved, consulted, paid, recognized, acknowledged, prayed with. —­“Dear White People/Queridos Gringos” blog by Afro-­Latina novelist Aya de Leon Day of the Dead is a way of coping with death in a country where nobody wants to talk about it. For p­ eople like me, who d ­ idn’t know what to do with death, it’s ­really helpful. Death hurts and sucks and it’s hard. This gave me a place to put my energy and make something positive and share with other ­people. —­Anglo-­American artist who lost a baby to sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) and makes an annual Day of the Dead altar for her deceased child.

The cele­bration of Day of the Dead in the United States (figure 26) is not l­ imited to Latinx communities but is enthusiastically embraced by p ­ eople of diverse races and ethnicities. The mainstreaming of this cele­bration is an example of the Latinization of U.S. culture that has occurred over the past fifty years in which Latinx Americans, the largest minority population in the United States, are influencing the country’s vocabulary, culinary tastes, m ­ usic, dance styles, politics, and more. By covering Day of the Dead as a routine autumn event, the media

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Figure 26. ​“Reunion 2020” altar by Sandy and Eliza Rodriguez in honor of their ­mother, Guadalupe Rodriguez. Day of the Dead exhibition at Self Help Graphics & Art, Los Angeles, Fall 2020. Photo by Elon Schoenholz courtesy of Sandy Rodriguez.

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have played key educational, promotional, and legitimizing roles. Yet media coverage alone does not explain the appeal of the cele­bration to mainstream U.S. society. This chapter ­w ill explore some of the reasons non-­Latinx populations are drawn to the cele­bration, sharing the reactions and reflections of legacy Chicano/a artists regarding the impact they feel diverse p ­ eoples and practices have had on it. The views expressed reveal valuable lessons about cultural hybridity and authenticity. A brief historical review of mainstream Anglo-­American attitudes ­toward death is helpful in illuminating some of the reasons non-­Latinx populations are drawn to Day of the Dead.

U.S. Attitudes about Death ­ ntil recently death was a topic to be avoided in mainstream U.S. society—­a kind U of obscenity not to be uttered in public. The country’s relative affluence and technological ability to prolong life have created a sense of invulnerability among the general population, where it is not uncommon for individuals to live twenty or more years without experiencing the death of a f­amily member. This has enabled a cultural reluctance to confront mortality. The reluctance to accept death as a natu­ral part of life fits with a consumer culture that emphasizes the new and improved version of every­thing. From ubiquitous anti-­aging products to constant offers to upgrade technologies designed to become obsolete within months, concepts of physical degeneration and fatality are contrary to dominant U.S. ideologies of competition and productivity. Con­temporary U.S. society is obsessed with looking and acting young, and p ­ eople are socialized to believe that with the right diet, exercise, grooming products, and cosmetic surgery, they can be youthful and “alive” forever. With ­little social space for thoughts about aging, illness, and the impermanence of life, most Americans lack positive models for contemplating death. Young ­people, in par­tic­u ­lar, often form their earliest notions of death from the ghoulish images of Hollywood slasher films, zombie-­ infested video games, and commercial haunted h ­ ouses. In socie­ties with harsh living conditions and low social mobility, p ­ eople hold more accepting attitudes ­toward death. Seeing it as a peaceful, even joyous release from the hardships of life, they play active roles in preparing bodies for burial, planning funerals, or engaging in mourning and remembrance rituals (Metcalf and Huntington 1991). However, in the United States, with its strong cultural emphasis on individualism and upward mobility, p ­ eople tend to hold less-­ accepting attitudes t­oward death and play more passive roles in death rituals (Metcalf and Huntington 1991). The twentieth-­century funeral industry in the United States tended to physically separate most Americans from their dead. The deceased ­were no longer cleaned and dressed by ­family members. Wakes ­were no longer held at home. Professional morticians transported corpses to funeral parlors for institutionalized viewing and, for many Americans, active commu-

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nity rituals of leave-­taking, mourning, and remembering w ­ ere lost. For all of ­t hese reasons, modern U.S. society has lacked sufficient outlets to contemplate death and adequately pro­cess the loss of loved ones. This was not always the case. U ­ ntil the early twentieth c­ entury, death was widely contemplated in the United States and occupied an impor­tant place in mass culture, where mourners readily found sources of community support. In the mid-­nineteenth ­century, U.S. religious movements “sought to promote a homely, even domestic view of the world to come” (Metcalf and Huntington 1991, 208). Cemeteries w ­ ere considered schools of moral philosophy where the living regularly engaged in meditative promenades to contemplate the shortness of life and learn from the exemplary lives of the interred. So widespread was the desire to stimulate retrospection regarding life and death, that U.S. magazines, newspapers, and advice books of the 1800s encouraged families to take Sunday walks in cemeteries to cultivate “a cheerful association with death” (Meyer 1989, 295). Visiting the United States in 1847, En­glish writer Harriet Martineau observed that thoughts of death “filled a large space in ­people’s minds” (Meyer 1989, 298). As recently as the early twentieth ­century, the U.S. public still viewed death as an expected part of life. Catholic school students w ­ ere taught to begin each day 1 by “praying for a happy death.” Parents routinely purchased life insurance policies for infants, aware that many ­children, stricken by commonplace illnesses, would not reach adulthood. As the c­ entury progressed, however, life-­extending technologies and the move t­ oward scientific rationalization made reflections on death increasingly rare and seemingly morbid. North Amer­i­ca’s commercialized version of All Souls’ Day—­Halloween—­lacks any serious commemoration of the departed, and Memorial Day, the official U.S. holiday for visiting cemeteries, focuses primarily on honoring veterans.

From Denial to Ac­cep­tance of Death A number of developments suggest that many con­temporary Americans feel dissatisfied with the mainstream culture’s method of ­handling death. Increasingly, individuals are contemplating and preparing for death, as evidenced by the appearance of Death with Dignity legislation in vari­ous states and the growing popularity in the past two de­cades of creating living w ­ ills.2 As an indicator of changing public attitudes, only nineteen books w ­ ere published in the United States on the subject of death during the de­cade of the 1950s, whereas more than 26,000 books ­were published on the subject from 1990 to 2000 (McIlwain 2005, 19). By 2021 ­t here w ­ ere over 50,000 books about death and ­dying listed on Amazon​ 3 .­com​.­ This growing cultural openness is also seen in the sharp upsurge, since the 1990s, of popu­lar U.S. tele­v i­sion series revolving around themes of death, ghosts, and the afterlife, such as Six Feet U ­ nder (HBO), Dead Like Me (Showtime), Pushing Daisies (ABC), Time of Death (Showtime), The Good Place (NBC),

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Miracle Workers (TBS), 13 Reasons Why (Netflix), and Sorry for Your Loss (Facebook Watch), to name only a few. All of this marks a distinct cultural shift from the avoidance of death that distinguished Western society in the mid-­twentieth ­century, outlined by anthropologist Ernest Becker in his 1973 Pulitzer-­winning classic, The Denial of Death. At the same time, the latter twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries have seen growing interest in non-­Western forms of spirituality in the United States. The historical roles of dominant Judeo-­Christian religions in promoting and profiting from patriarchy, capitalism, and imperialism is troubling to many who have been raised in ­these faiths. ­Those disenchanted with the individualism and materialism of the latter twentieth c­ entury have sought more holistic lifestyles by way of practices such as yoga, meditation, mysticism, African and Afro-­ Caribbean religions, Native American spiritualities, and earth-­based goddess religions. Th ­ ese practices hold in common the integration of mind, body, and spirit, along with beliefs in the interconnectedness of the living and the spirit worlds. One Anglo respondent remarked, “My traditional Catholic upbringing has left me extremely unfulfilled when it comes to dealing with death. In the past few years, I’ve found myself actively pursuing other cultures’ rituals and practices around death in an effort to unravel my own feelings.” 4 By the early 2010s, “death dinners” and “death cafes” arose in the United States as spaces for ­people to collectively ruminate on the physical, psychological, and spiritual aspects of death.5 College courses with names like “Death in Perspective” and “Happiness, Death and the Meaning of Life” now have long waiting lists at hundreds of universities nationwide.6 Thanatology (the study of death, ­dying, and bereavement) is a burgeoning academic field.7 ­There are now death-­related professions, such as death doulas and memorial videographers. Blogs such as Morbid Anatomy, Death Salon, and the popu­lar YouTube web series Ask a Mortician have large followings in the “death positive” death acceptance movement, which encourages greater awareness and agency concerning end-­of-­life care, the d ­ ying pro­cess, and funerary arrangements.8 Researchers in the fields of medicine, psy­chol­ogy, and anthropology now realize that talking about death with loved ones before it occurs can relieve anxiety for every­one involved and motivate p ­ eople to better appreciate life. To this end, nonprofit initiatives such as Transitions and Decisions and The Conversation Proj­ect emerged in the 2010s to offer guidance on discussing death with loved ones in order to plan end-­of-­life care and funerary arrangements.9 The Chicano cele­bration of Day of the Dead in the United States was a harbinger of the death positive movement and, in some ways, helped inspire it by offering mainstream U.S. society alternative ways to think about death. In the 1990s, Chicano ­mental health professionals recognized that creating altars for deceased loved ones could help their communities pro­cess grief and heal. Holding Day of the Dead altar-­making rituals with clients, ­these ­mental health work-

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ers expanded the cele­bration throughout the Bay Area, opening up cultural spaces for p ­ eople to communally pro­cess feelings related to death and d ­ ying.10 Such open conversations around death w ­ ere early models for the types of discussions happening ­today in death cafes, death dinners, and popu­lar death-­ related blogs and websites. Chicana Sarah Chavez, co-­founder with Caitlin Doughty of the death positive movement and a founding member of the Collective for Radical Death Studies, is the executive director of the Order of the Good Death, a death ac­cep­ tance organ­ization founded in 2011. Organ­izing public events, sharing resources, and ­doing advocacy work regarding death ac­cep­tance to help ­people plan ahead for the inevitable, the Order of the Good Death’s mission statement has many similarities to philosophies inherent in Day of the Dead. Th ­ ese include “Making death a part of your life. Staring down your death fears—­whether it be your own death, the death of t­ hose you love, the pain of ­dying, the afterlife (or lack thereof), grief, corpses, bodily decomposition, or all of the above. Accepting that death itself is natu­ral, but the death anxiety of modern culture is not.”11 When asked w ­ hether she felt Day of the Dead had any influence on the death positive movement, Chavez replied, Absolutely. Without question. And it’s ­because Chicanos not only made space, right t­ here on the t­ able, for honoring the deceased, but also created a space that honored the living experience of grief and loss, and I think that’s what ­people ­were attracted to, and that’s why Chicanos had that experience of being bombarded with other p ­ eople who wanted to be a part of this. And you see so many cultural institutions, and throughout the death doula community, and in death cafes, the way that so many of ­these p ­ eople and institutions are opening up and creating space to have ­t hese conversations to introduce the topic of death and d ­ ying and grief is through sometimes appropriating the practices of Día de los Muertos.12

Widespread Appeal and Impact: Adoption by Non-­Latinx Populations Amid growing openness to non-­Western spiritual practices, Day of the Dead cele­brations have been embraced by ­people interested in learning about alternative worldviews. The object of the cele­bration—­remembering the dead—is universal enough to appeal to individuals from diverse religious backgrounds as well as to atheists. Key concepts of Day of the Dead, such as remembrance of ancestors, an integrated cycle of life and death, and ongoing connection between the living and the dead, are common to many non-­Western religions, making the holiday readily understood by ­people raised in other belief systems. As a Japa­ nese American explained, “My Mom is Buddhist, so I grew up g­ oing to Obone.

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It’s pretty much exactly the same cele­bration—­a night where the spirits come to earth to visit, play, eat, and drink. . . . ​Dif­fer­ent cultures, no ­matter what continent t­ hey’re on, can relate.”13 A Ghanaian American said, “Have you ever been to a Ghanaian funeral? We make altars with photos of the deceased, flowers, foods, candles. ­There is singing and dancing and the w ­ hole town is invited. Remembering the dead and staying connected to our ancestors is paramount in Ghanaian culture.”14 Terezita Romo describes the variety of Day of the Dead participants she has seen over the years: “It’s one of the few exhibits that you can walk into a gallery and see a crowd that is totally diverse. . . . ​African Americans, Asians, Latinos, whites, all ages, moms with their kids, schoolchildren, old ­people, and ­every age in between. It has an attraction across generations and ethnic groups.”15 Day of the Dead cele­brations have helped normalize and pop­u­lar­ize public altar-­making activities that, fifty years ago, ­were ­limited to the domestic or religious spaces of ethnic immigrants. Americans of all races now remember the dead by creating public shrines. Examples of ­t hese altar-­making practices include visitor interactions with the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C., where individuals regularly place flowers, candles, uniforms, hats, boots, and photos by the wall; the creation of a spontaneous shrine composed of thousands of mementos (stuffed animals, baby shoes, hair ribbons, poems, and such) tied to the wire fence surrounding the site of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing; and the ­hundreds of makeshift public altars (with photos, flowers, letters, candles) that appeared along sidewalks, parks, schools, office buildings, subways, and fire stations throughout New York City in memory of ­t hose killed in the September 11, 2001, attack on the World Trade Center. Similar public shrines are now common at the sites of tragedies such as mass shootings, explosions, dis­appeared ­children, or road accidents, and signal a growing public desire to collectively remember, grieve, and heal. This is a noticeable shift from the more stoic, private, white Anglo-­Saxon Protestant-­oriented forms of remembrance considered appropriate by mainstream Amer­i­ca during most of the twentieth ­century. The change coincides with increased levels of immigration to the United States by Latin American and other populations with strong altar-­making traditions, such as Filipinos, Chinese, Cambodians, Viet­nam­ese, East Indians, and Africans. The custom of erecting roadside shrines to mark the site of car-­related deaths (previously seen only in regions of the United States with large Latinx populations) is now a phenomenon vis­i­ble in ­every U.S. state and carried out by Latinx and non-­Latinx ­people alike (Collins and Rhine 2003, 222). However, it was Chicano/a artists, in par­ tic­u­lar, who consciously transformed ­family altar-­making traditions into public art forms, inspiring p ­ eople of diverse backgrounds to express themselves through the altar format.

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Many con­temporary Americans find themselves longing for emotionally satisfying community-­building experiences to offset feelings of isolation. Day of the Dead cele­brations help fulfill this longing, providing a public medium through which to express repressed emotions about death. Sentiments of gratitude for the opportunity to pro­cess feelings about deceased loved ones are frequently expressed by attendees of the annual Day of the Dead pro­cession in San Francisco’s Mission District. When asked about the cele­bration’s appeal, an Anglo volunteer involved in organ­izing the pro­cession replied: “During Day of the Dead, ­t here’s no negative energy, but an incredible solidarity. A completeness of p ­ eople coming together to celebrate their loved ones and their own emotions, which rarely happens ­here. It’s a time to acknowledge that ­we’re all ­human and are dealing with some pretty heavy emotions.” She felt that the Day of the Dead pro­cession in the Mission served as a communal healing pro­cess in which the presence of so many p ­ eople si­mul­ta­neously remembering deceased loved ones was a healthy form of bereavement: “What makes Day of the Dead unusual is that ­you’re literally walking in the street with hundreds of ­people, thousands of ­people who you ­don’t know, but ­there’s a feeling of community. . . . ​ You see strangers hugging each other . . . ​crying together. It meets a ­human need for affiliation, on a r­ eally elemental level.”16 In Sacramento, California, non-­Latinx participation in Day of the Dead events became so prevalent that a roundtable discussion was held at Sacramento State University to discuss the reasons for it. One participant in the discussion explained: “­There is no venue in American tradition which lets us honor and celebrate our dead. Once ­people have died, their memory becomes a private ­matter for the f­ amily. . . . ​­There is no public remembrance past the funeral. It’s as if they ­were swept ­under the carpet and we move on to the next ­t hing. With Día de los Muertos, the entire community is involved in a public acknowl­edgment of the dead.”17 The popularity of Day of the Dead among non-­Latinx ­people was mentioned by staff from a dozen museum shops and folk art stores I visited where Day of the Dead merchandise is sold. Shop man­ag­ers informed me that Day of the Dead season is their most profitable time of year, and that at least half (and frequently more than half) of the clientele buying Day of the Dead items are not Latinx. The owner of Back From Tomboctou, a San Diego folk art shop that distributes Day of the Dead merchandise ­wholesale to retailers across the United States, noted: “Day of the Dead is our busiest time of the year . . . ​prob­ably sixty-­five ­percent of our clients are non-­Latinos.” Similarly, the owner of Casa Bonampak, a fair-­trade craft store in San Francisco, noted: “October is our big season. You would be amazed at how many sugar skulls we sell h ­ ere. I sell over a thousand. For a small store, that’s a lot! I think every­one I know, at this point, is making altars at home now. It’s sort of like decorating the Christmas tree—an annual

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ritual. Schools have altars. Museums have altars. Companies have altars. . . . ​I would say my clients are about 50 ­percent Latino and 50 ­percent non-­Latino.”18 Day of the Dead is celebrated not only by diverse ethno-­racial populations who attend Latinx-­organized cele­brations, but is also celebrated by organ­izations and groups with few or no Latinx members. For example, since 1999 the predominantly non-­Latinx congregation of the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Solana Beach, California, has held an annual Day of the Dead community altar ceremony. Each year worshipers and the general public are invited (via church bulletins and newspaper listings) to bring photos, stories, and favorite mementos of departed loved ones to share at a communal altar. When I attended this event in November  2001, the congregation consisted of approximately 150 middle-­class white ­people (predominantly young families and se­nior citizens). One by one, individuals placed candles, photos, books, jewelry, or alcoholic beverages on an ofrenda adorned with fruits, tamales, Mexican choco­late, marigolds, pan de muerto, papel picado, Guatemalan tapestries, and El Salvadoran art, then took the microphone to speak about someone they had lost. The atmosphere was both happy and emotional, as ­people related jokes and stories about dead loved ones. Numerous participants mentioned that it was the first time they had ever spoken publicly about the deceased since his or her death, which in many cases had occurred years ­earlier. As a non-­Latinx person celebrating a Latinx tradition in a non-­Latinx space, the or­ga­nizer of the event stated: “I try to stay true to the original intent, giving a history of it. . . . ​My big fear was that nobody would participate. But e­ very year, I have more p ­ eople participate than I expect. . . . ​I’ve had ­people tell me they w ­ ere very moved. Th ­ ey’ve said t­ hings like, ‘I ­wasn’t ­going to get up and say anything, but the level of sharing was just so strong that I de­cided to do it.’ ”19 All of the non-­Latinx Day of the Dead participants interviewed for this book discussed what they felt was a dearth of opportunity for honoring the dead in mainstream U.S. society. A Korean American from Los Angeles observed, “Americans tend to be morbid and depressed about death, while the Latino culture honors their ancestors and celebrates their life through their death.”20 An Irish American from Boston who had recently lost her ­father said, “I think it’s a much healthier version of dealing with death and d ­ ying. Making the altar is very healing. It makes a connection with the ­people who have gone before us and affirms what they did in life.”21 Other respondents stated that participating in Day of the Dead helped them mourn the loss of ­family members, such as an Anglo native of Kentucky who participated for many years in San Francisco’s Day of the Dead pro­cession: “I loved the somber yet celebratory tone of the marchers. I took the time to reflect on the loss of a favorite aunt who died unexpectedly that year. I ­hadn’t been able to go to her funeral. My experience that night gave me some much needed closure on her death. It was wonderful to reminisce about her in such a supportive atmosphere.”22 A Chinese Canadian artist

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who learned about Day of the Dead while living in San Diego said, “I ­don’t understand Day of the Dead the way Chicanos do, but when I see the altars, it affects me and inspires me, as an artist and as a ­human being. My husband is your typical unemotional, stoic German. But a­ fter attending cele­brations in San Diego, he now makes a Day of the Dead altar ­every year with our ­daughter. It is very heartfelt and it’s a way for her to learn about her deceased relatives in Germany and China.”23 Non-­Latinx respondents also described a dichotomy between “U.S.” ways of relating to death, which they considered “unfulfilling” or “depressing,” and the personalized, communal rituals of remembrance common in Latin Amer­i­ca, which they called “celebratory,” “supportive,” and “healing.” An Italian American native of Jersey City explained the dissatisfaction she felt with the U.S. style of privatized mourning: “I’ve got ­people who have passed away in my life that mean so much to me, and in thinking about their memory or seeing their picture, it seems so shallow to remember somebody in such a quiet way when they ­were so impor­tant in your life. . . . ​In the modern world, we have gotten away from our ability to form strong relationships and bonds lasting beyond our physical life. Day of the Dead is a reminder of that. The bonds ­don’t end when our time above ground ends.”24 The theme of healing was also discussed by Barbara Henry, chief curator of education at the Oakland Museum of California at the time she was interviewed. The museum has held Day of the Dead cele­brations annually since 1994, and more than 20,000 ­people attend the six-­week exhibit each fall, making it the best-­ attended show in the museum’s annual calendar.25 The event receives enthusiastic feedback in the form of letters, emails, and guest book comments from visitors, and Henry felt an impor­tant part of the exposition’s popularity was the opportunity it provided for p ­ eople to publicly reflect upon and talk about death: “A number of p ­ eople have said that they d ­ on’t have anything from their culture that helps them deal with death. One ­woman sent me a letter about three months ­after the exhibit closed, telling me how it helped her deal with the death of her ­mother. We’ve had a number of grief counselors and p ­ eople from the ­mental health profession who have come h ­ ere and used this exhibit with their clients to help them pro­cess death.”26 Another employee at the Oakland Museum also felt the exhibit was a “healing tool” for visitors: “We’ve received lots of letters from ­people thanking us and saying that it’s helped them reflect, or telling us how ­t hey’ve a­ dopted the tradition. Not just Latino ­people. One of the ­great ­t hings we have h ­ ere is a wall of reflection, where you can write messages to p ­ eople who have passed on. I’ve seen families crying, hugging each other. So, ­t here’s something we can offer ­people who are in pain, to help them heal.” The cathartic aspect of the rituals was similarly noted by a U.S.-­born ­woman of Portuguese Hawaiian heritage, who participated in a Day of the Dead pro­cession in Chicago: “One ­t hing I thought was neat at a pro­cession at the local cemetery was almost a roll

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call, where p ­ eople could call out the name of a dead f­amily member or friend and the entire group would answer ‘Presente,’ acknowledging their presence among us. It was amazingly soothing for me, as I had just lost my mom and found that many p ­ eople ­were just too uncomfortable with death to even talk about it.”27 In Ocean­side, California, more than 30,000 ­people attend the city’s annual Day of the Dead Festival, begun in 2001.28 David Avalos, a visual arts professor at California State University at San Marcos, who created an altar for his f­ ather at the 2002 festival, noted that Day of the Dead provides spiritually nourishing opportunities to learn about and publicly share f­ amily histories: “For students who a­ ren’t of Mexican ancestry, and even t­ hose who are and d ­ on’t practice the tradition, it gives them an opportunity to connect with their own personal history and that’s a spiritual resource that w ­ e’re often denied. When you find out more about dead relatives, you find out more about yourself.”29

Hybridity and Debates around Authenticity Day of the Dead has clearly attracted the attention and participation of mainstream U.S. society. But how do Latinx ­people feel about the participation of so many non-­Latinx ­people in the events? Nearly every­one I interviewed expressed pride that the cele­bration is now observed across the country. However, some Chicano/a artists expressed mixed feelings about the impact of non-­Latinx populations on the cele­bration, concerned that they w ­ ere misinterpreting and altering the rituals in ways that strayed too far from the original tradition. The word “tradition” is regularly used in discussions of Day of the Dead, even though ­there is not one but many traditions emanating from diverse geo­graph­i­cal regions and Latinx populations. In the U.S. context, what does “tradition” mean for a cele­bration that is relatively new? Does it mean recreating, as closely as pos­si­ ble, the types of ofrendas made by Indigenous Mexican families? Does it mean designing radical renditions of ofrendas as po­liti­cal commentary? (Figure 27.) Does it mean embodying the ironic humor of Mexico’s frolicking calaveras? Or the carnivalesque tone of festivities in urban Mexico? Does it mean keeping the cele­bration within the Latinx community? The annual Day of the Dead pro­cession in San Francisco’s Mission District is one site of debates around ­t hese questions. First or­ga­nized by René Yáñez in 1981, when a few dozen local residents walked around the block holding candles and photos of deceased loved ones, Yáñez noted: “By the third year, it became massive, with thousands of ­people.”30 The pro­cession now attracts more than 20,000 participants annually, at least half of whom appear to be non-­Latinx.31 In addition to local residents and schoolchildren, it includes stilt walkers, jugglers, bagpipe players, steel drummers, and ­people bearing po­l iti­cal banners. Feeling that the pro­cession had gotten out of hand, staff at the La Galería s­ topped organ­izing the event a­ fter Yáñez took a job elsewhere. It was then or­ga­nized for

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Figure 27. ​Altar remembering rappers Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, and local youth killed in gang-­related gun vio­lence. Reggae icon Bob Marley is also honored for his messages of peace. Day of the Dead exhibition, Oakland Museum of California, 2003. Photo by author.

a few years by the Mission Cultural Center, whose staff also de­cided it was too large to ­handle and eventually discontinued sponsorship. Despite the fact that the pro­cession lacked a sponsoring organ­ization, thousands of ­people spontaneously showed up the following year, illustrating that the event had become a popu­lar San Francisco ritual, existing in­de­pen­dently of the Chicano/a artists who started it.32 Expressing the resentment that some Latinx ­people feel t­ oward the large non-­ Latinx presence in the pro­cession (what some refer to as “colonizing” Day of the Dead), a 53-­year-­old native of Ec­ua­dor who grew up in the Mission District told me that she no longer attended ­because she felt the pro­cession had become “too gringo.” A 42-­year-­old Salvadoran American who had lived in San Francisco since she was seventeen was also turned off by the pro­cession’s metamorphosis: “I ­stopped ­going for a number of years. But then we started again b ­ ecause my ­daughter’s school participates. The kids dress up like skele­tons and make a g­ iant skeleton puppet and her friends and teachers are t­ here, so we go.” About half of the Latinx San Franciscans I interviewed expressed feelings similar to the following Chicana artist: “When René started the pro­cessions at Galería de la Raza, they ­were real. It was somber, sad, and beautiful, like the [village] pro­cessions that happen in Mexico . . . ​But in San Francisco, every­one who w ­ asn’t part of the tradition jumped in with their drums, jumped in with their caricatures, cartoons, skates, and puppets that have no meaning to the pro­cession. So, it turned

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into a kind of carnival. It has no meaning. Not in a real sense. . . . ​It’s just cool and popu­lar to be ­there.”33 Another Chicana artist explained: “­People come from all over the Bay Area, which is a good t­ hing, but . . . ​perhaps unintentionally when ­people like something, they begin to change the very essence of what it is.”34 Commenting on the participation of non-­Latinx artists in Day of the Dead altar exhibitions, a Chicana artist in her mid-60s stated, “The only t­ hing that worries me is when I think that the person d ­ oing the installation actually misunderstands what [Día de los] Muertos is. It concerns me only b ­ ecause I d ­ on’t want the tradition to get lost. It was so hard to find it, to get it in the first place.”35 The above comments come from p ­ eople who remember a time before Day of the Dead was popu­lar, a time when Latinx Americans ­were automatically treated as second-­class citizens by the dominant society. ­These words reflect their personal knowledge of how difficult it was to initiate the cele­bration, given the racism and rejection they encountered from the larger society and, sometimes, from within their own community. As cultural midwives of a ritual practice that was intended to honor Mexican culture, ­these artists feel a strong sense of owner­ ship regarding appropriate and inappropriate observations of the tradition. But ­there are divergent views within the Chicano community about what constitutes appropriate and inappropriate observances. Th ­ ese include debates not only about the effect of non-­Latinx participants on Day of the Dead, but also about the repercussions of work by Latinx artists who have taken the rituals in unconventional directions. Some feel that U.S. cele­brations should mirror the solemnity of rituals in Indigenous Mexican villages, while o ­ thers feel they should reflect the cultural fusion of p ­ eoples and experiences found in the United States. René Yáñez, for example, welcomed nontraditional interpretations of Day of the Dead from the cele­bration’s onset, curating unique and provocative exhibitions, such as his famous “Rooms for the Dead” at the Mission Cultural Center and Yerba Buena Cultural Center, and “City of Miracles” at the SomArts Cultural Center.36 Receiving both admiration and criticism for his work as an artist and curator, he noted: “Some p ­ eople think it’s too far out. . . . ​They want to see paper cuts and traditional altars.” When he began inviting ­people from dif­fer­ent cultures to participate in Day of the Dead exhibits, Yáñez received negative reactions from some of his Chicano peers: I got a deluge of objections from p ­ eople in the community who wanted to keep it Latino. First it was Chicano and Mexican only, and I started opening it up to other Latinos and t­ here was an objection to that. Then the objection went. Then I opened it up to other ­people and ­there ­were more objections and debates. I started feeling pressure from p ­ eople, mostly academics, who w ­ ere saying, “You should keep it strictly Latino, Chicano, Mexican American.” I ­wasn’t comfortable with that, ­because part of the pro­cess and evolution that happened was that ­children from all over the city would come see the Day of

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the Dead in their schools and with their families. And when ­t hose kids w ­ ere growing up and coming to me and saying, “I want to participate,” I ­didn’t feel comfortable telling them, “No you c­ an’t participate. Y ­ ou’re Black.”37

Like any other community, the Latinx community is heterogeneous. ­People have a variety of views about Day of the Dead and a variety of spiritual, social, educational, and po­liti­cal reasons for participating. And like any other cultural form dislocated from its original context, this cele­bration takes on vastly dif­fer­ ent meanings in its new context, reflecting the intersections and interactions of the host community and the mainstream culture. Some Latinx observers object to the introduction of new ele­ments in Day of the Dead cele­brations, believing that au­t hen­tic traditions can be identified and should be preserved. This group equates cultural change with assimilation and cultural extinction. O ­ thers feel that Day of the Dead has survived for centuries precisely b ­ ecause it has adapted to changing cultural environments. They argue that incorporating new ele­ments increases the cele­bration’s con­temporary relevance and is, in fact, crucial for its continued survival. I found that Chicano educators and artists who ­adopted the cele­bration as adults w ­ ere more stringent about maintaining “pure” traditions than p ­ eople who grew up with the custom in Mexico. For example, while Halloween symbols such as plastic jack-­o’-­lanterns and orange and black paper decorations are often seen on ofrendas made by Indigenous families in Mexico (figure 28), as well as on ofrendas made by recent Mexican immigrants in the United States,38 most Chicano artists I interviewed expressed alarm at such cultural mixtures. They considered the presence of t­ hese ele­ments on ofrendas to be cultural imperialism, while Indigenous families I spoke with considered Halloween items to be pretty additions to their ofrendas. A Chicana artist, who had visited Mexican schools to view Day of the Dead altars, expressed the following dismay: “I got to one classroom and I said to the young man, ‘­There’s something wrong with this altar, do you know what it is?’ And he said, ‘No, I ­can’t see what you mean.’ And I said, ‘­You’ve picked up the Halloween colors. Why is your altar done in orange and black?’ He said, ‘Oh, Maestra, b ­ ecause it’s very popu­lar ­here.’ I said, ‘Honey, ­you’ve got the wrong colors! ­Those are Halloween colors. You ­shouldn’t be including them in your altar.’ ”39 Meanwhile, ­t here are also Chicanos who do not want to be associated at all with Day of the Dead and resent what they feel are rigid and exoticized discourses about racialized difference. They wince at the automatic associations of Mexicans with calaveras, ofrendas, and death, and eschew assertions that Mexicans are intrinsically “more spiritual,” or “more connected with the dead” than other populations. When I contacted a prominent Chicana artist to ask for an interview, she declined saying, “I ­don’t do Day of the Dead.” A Mexican-­born artist who had a highly successful ­career in the United States for over fifteen years,

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Figure 28. ​Day of the Dead altar in home of Mixtec ­family, Tijuana, Mexico, 2002. Photo by author.

stated emphatically, “I hate Day of the Dead! I only do Halloween. With Halloween, you have much more freedom to do what­ever you want.” This artist held Halloween art exhibitions in his San Francisco gallery as a way to reject common assumptions that all artists of Mexican heritage create Day of the Dead altars. Other Latinx artists noted that while Day of the Dead season brought them invitations to create installations in museums, providing them with income and opportunities to have their work seen by large publics, it also pigeonholed them. While ­t here are non-­Latinx ­people who engage superficially with the cele­ bration, ­there are many who find the altar making rituals deeply comforting and healing. ­W hether or not they celebrate with Latinx artists or in Latinx spaces, they have a­ dopted Day of the Dead traditions in an earnest way. Affirming that tensions over “tradition” are not l­imited to Latinx versus non-­Latinx dichotomies, David Avalos noted: “Even young ­people of Mexican ancestry ­here in the United States bristle at the constraints they feel are imposed on them by an older generation. They want to make art that reflects and informs their Chicano identity in ways that are dif­fer­ent than some ­recipe handed down from 1970.” 40 New generations of Latinx artists, who have grown up seeing Day of the Dead celebrated in U.S. schools and communities, approach the event from a dif­fer­ent perspective than “old school” Chicano artists. While maintaining re­spect for the groundbreaking work of ­earlier generations of Chicanos, many of the younger

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generation seem less concerned with the gatekeeping of authenticity. In fact, a group of young Chicana artists I interviewed enthusiastically praised the very pro­cession scorned by older Chicanos, expressing excitement rather than concern at its nontraditional aspects. In contrast to the elder Chicana who said, “Every­one who ­wasn’t part of the tradition jumped in with their drums, jumped in with their caricatures, cartoons, skates and puppets that have no meaning to the pro­cession,” a Chicana artist in her early 20s who helped or­ga­nize the Mission District’s Day of the Dead pro­cession exclaimed, “Last year, we had p ­ eople dancing all night! We had fire dancers and p ­ eople sharing food with one another. A lot of musicians came out, bagpipe players and drummers. It’s so cool . . . ​ ­people of all ages and cultures . . . ​­people ­really get into it. Wearing all kinds of costumes, using all kinds of creative props, ­music, anything you can think of!41 The same young artist also discussed feeling a “pull” from older Chicanos to adhere to tradition, while feeling an inner desire to embrace the multiple cultures that constituted her world: “­People have views of how it should be. . . . ​You have your elders, whom you need to re­spect, who have their rituals and their understanding of the way it should be. . . . ​For me, being Latina, it’s been a bit of a strug­gle. I’m of Mexican descent, but I ­don’t speak very good Spanish. So sometimes I’m accepted by the community, sometimes I’m not.” She compared the fact that some bilingual U.S. Latinos view Spanish fluency as proof of Latinx “cred”—­implying that monolingual English-­speaking Latinx ­people are less valid “Latinos”—to calls by older Chicanos to keep Day of the Dead traditional, stating that neither stance allowed room for the hybrid experiences of the U.S. Latinx population. “In the U.S. you have your dif­fer­ent types of cultures, often within the same person. You have one side and another side in you and a constant pulling. In d ­ oing Día de los Muertos, I want to experience a minimal amount of pulling.” Regarding the differing factions and opinions about Day of the Dead, she continued: “­There’s a lot of po­liti­cal bullshit that’s deeply rooted in artists that have been ­here for like thirty-­five or forty years—­since ­we’ve been alive!—­t hat I ­can’t even begin to understand. But I understand that in order to do a community event, you need to work together with lots of dif­fer­ent ­people.” 42 Ironically, while Chicano traditionalists strive to maintain the Mexican-­ness of U.S. renditions of the cele­bration, Mexicans who view Chicano altars often comment on how “un-­Mexican” they are. One native of Mexico City who first saw Chicano altar exhibits in San Francisco in the mid 1990s told me: “Most of ­t hese ­aren’t the traditional altars with the three levels and the five ele­ments that ­every altar ‘must’ have [smiling], but that’s just dif­fer­ent interpretations. What happens in California with Mexican American, Chicano, and Latino artists is ­really dif­fer­ent. It’s not Mexican. It’s not Latin American. It’s a w ­ hole dif­fer­ent t­ hing.”  43 Carlos Von Son, a professor of Spanish and also from Mexico City, felt similarly when he first observed Chicano Day of the Dead cele­brations:

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Sometimes, if I use terms that are Spanglish, my f­ amily in Mexico laughs and says, “Look how pocho you are,” b ­ ecause they think I’m not speaking real 44 Spanish. The same ­t hing happens ­here with Day of the Dead. Mexicans sometimes laugh when they see the cultural cele­brations we do over h ­ ere . . . ​ ­because they feel ­t hey’re not “au­t hen­tic.” . . . ​Being honest, I felt the same way when I first came to the United States. My instinct was to correct [Mexican American] ­people for the way they spoke Spanish, or tell them they ­were making quesadillas the wrong way. When I would see Day of the Dead cele­ brations h ­ ere, I would say, “­Don’t use ­t hose ele­ments that are foreign to the way it is in Mexico.” But it d ­ idn’t take me long to realize that ­t hese ­t hings are not wrong. It’s not a degeneration of the original. . . . ​I started looking more closely at the changes and loving the way that culture gets adapted to new surroundings.45

Tomás Benitez, a Chicano artist and former director of Self Help Graphics & Art in Los Angeles, observed that the cultural diversity of Chicanos naturally leads to diverse interpretations of Day of the Dead. Benitez is part Irish (and still keeps in touch with relatives in County Cork, Ireland), while his son is half Jewish. They celebrate Day of the Dead as well as Hanukah and Seder. “That d ­ oesn’t take away from my Chicanismo, it adds to it,” he states. “Day of the Dead is the same way.” When interviewed in 2004, he noted that racial and cultural diversity have been integral parts of U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations from their beginning: Let’s not forget that our experience, which is only about thirty years old, is predated by an experience in Mexico that was several hundred years old. So, ­we’re already knocking off. What ­we’re talking about is the authenticity of how Chicanos celebrate it. Which means t­ here’s a flexibility to it to begin with. . . . ​ From the get-go [at SHG] we w ­ ere a mixed group of Chicanos and Mexicanos with a Franciscan nun who was an Italian girl with a Jewish stepfather and a ­couple of other nuns from other places. Right away we had exchanges with Black organ­izations and Asians and an Australian group. That’s hybridization of culture.46

Along similar lines, René Yáñez felt that opening Day of the Dead to a variety of ­people and forms of expression kept it germane to the lived experiences and sociopo­liti­cal real­ity of Latinos and every­one e­ lse who participates: Death ­doesn’t discriminate. As a Chicano-­Latino curator, we started Day of the Dead to create alliances of Chicano culture and work together with other ­people. I’ve worked with ­people from Chinatown. I’ve worked with Black groups in Oakland. I’ve worked with mainstream [Anglo] groups. This allowed me to learn about how other cultures think and feel and where we fit in the scheme of ­things. ­Because if ­you’re ­going to be a Chicano curator and not learn

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from other cultures, then y­ ou’re very isolated, and not being relevant to your own culture. . . . ​Irish, Korean, Japa­nese, African p ­ eople all bring something to the ­table. Other Latinos bring something to the t­ able. It’s a chain reaction.47

In this age of intensified globalization and cultural cross-­pollination, it is not pos­si­ble to maintain neat categories of ethnicity and corresponding cultural practices. Day of the Dead in the United States illustrates how diverse groups of participants are deepening the hybridity of an already hybrid subject. Th ­ ese changing traditions are part of a natu­ral social pro­cess, although they often take place in interactions of differential power. As we ­shall see in chapter 8, debates around authenticity, for many Chicanos, are debates about which values and practices should be upheld and who gets the power to decide. Quests for authenticity stem from a profound longing for meaning in a demystified, hyper rationalized society. They aim to recover phenomena whose loss is realized only through modernity and whose recovery can be undertaken only through modern methods and resources. ­Because they are oriented ­toward the past, notions of authenticity embody a conservatism that often shuns new concepts, practices, or participants as illegitimate. In so d ­ oing, discourses of authenticity uphold the fallacy that cultural purity, rather than hybridity, is the norm (Bendix 1997). Particularly for ­people who have felt their ethnic culture devalued and threatened, maintaining cultural practices that reflect a perceived faithfulness to the past feels urgent. Th ­ ere is generally less concern about adhering to set traditions among ­those who inhabit dif­fer­ent generational, social, or national locations—­such as Latinx youth who have benefited from the po­liti­cal and artistic legacies of older Chicanos and have grown up seeing Latinx culture validated in their schools and the media, or recent Mexican immigrants who do not feel a need to “prove” their Mexican-­ness. Conversations and negotiations over Day of the Dead, (“growing pains,” as one respondent called them), are ongoing and ultimately productive, as they can enhance intra-­ethnic and intergenerational understanding. Folklore scholar Regina Bendix notes that the crucial question is not “What is authenticity?” but rather, “Who needs authenticity?” and “How has authenticity been used?” (Bendix 1997, 21). It may be most useful to think of authenticity regarding Day of the Dead and other cultural traditions in terms of the attitude with which p ­ eople participate. Most Latinx interviewees agreed that the intentions p ­ eople bring to the rituals—­a spirit of remembrance and re­spect for the dead—is ultimately more impor­tant than the format of the activities or the ethnic/racial backgrounds of participants. While members of the Latinx community do not agree on which, ­whether, or how much innovation is appropriate, U.S. cele­brations are impor­ tant spaces for reflecting on issues of cultural innovation and conservation. In a sense, anyone who creates a Day of the Dead altar in the United States is an innovator, and the push and pull between the traditionalists and the

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nontraditionalists is mutually beneficial. The work of the former group in researching the tradition’s origins and recreating aspects of premodern Day of the Dead customs has provided the groundwork for educating the public about the cele­bration. Without this work, ­there would be no foundation from which the nontraditionalists could transform and redeploy the cele­bration’s rituals. And without the modifications of the nontraditionalists, ­there might be less incentive for new generations of traditionalists to research and teach about the origins of the cele­bration. The symbiotic tension between t­ hese two groups is integral to keeping Day of the Dead alive in the twenty-­first ­century. Even before the encounter between Spain and the Amer­i­cas, rituals for honoring ancestors ­were in flux, as vari­ous American Indigenous populations came into contact with one another. Over the past 500 years, at least, t­ hese rituals have also been influenced by Africans, Asians, Eu­ro­pe­ans, and ­others who traded with Indigenous ­peoples or settled in the Amer­i­cas. The cele­brations of central and southern Mexico, which ­today are widely considered to be the most “au­t hen­tic” of Mexico’s Day of the Dead traditions, are themselves the hybridized results of diasporas and cultural clashes of Zapotecs, Mixtecs, Aztecs, Mayans, and o ­ thers, influenced ­later by Spanish Catholicism and, even ­later, by tourism and U.S. popu­lar culture (such as Halloween or the movie Coco). Summarizing his feelings about tradition and change, Carlos Von Son concluded, “I have learned to see the beauty of cultural changes happening ­here and now, and it makes me think of how ­t hings must have changed one thousand or two thousand years ago, and I’m part of ­t hose changes.” 48 In chapter 8, we ­w ill continue to consider concerns about the authenticity of U.S. Day of the Dead traditions, particularly in light of their commodification in the marketplace.

chapter 8

Z The Commodification of Day of the Dead Barbie® celebrates Día De Muertos 2020 with a second collectible doll inspired by the time-­honored holiday. . . . ​May 2020 Barbie® Día De Muertos doll become a trea­sured tradition for your cele­bration. Includes doll, doll stand and Certificate of Authenticity. Doll cannot stand alone. Colors and decorations may vary. —­Text describing 2020 Barbie doll on Mattel website. Cost: $75. In San Antonio, with its historic and current Hispanic influence, you’ll become acquainted with El Día de los Muertos—an extraordinary cele­bration which honors the past and celebrates the f­ uture. Explore the evolution of indigenous and Hispanic traditions into a friendly f­ amily festival. You’ll construct a traditional altar . . . ​take a field trip to San Fernando Cemetery to take part in the day-­long cele­bration, and taste foods prepared only for this special day. . . . ​ Oct. 30–­Nov. 3—­$444.00 double, $564.00 single —­Elderhostel: The World Is Our Classroom, “U.S. and International Programs 2004–2005,” 14. ­ ere at McMuertos we care about you and making your preparations for the H festive cele­bration of Día de los Muertos (dee-ah day lohs mwert-­toes) as quick and hassle-­free as pos­si­ble. . . . ​Our products improve on the cryptic ritual items of primitive Mexico—­now you can buy your sugar skulls and candles in pre-­ packaged variety packs that save you time and money . . . —­Excerpt from 1998 McMuertos installation at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, San Francisco.

As Day of the Dead has grown more popu­lar, its material culture and rituals have become increasingly commoditized—­a pro­cess in which everyday objects or resources that w ­ ere traditionally not considered commodities are transformed into objects exchangeable in the market for monetary or other advantage. In addition to the commodification of Day of the Dead merchandise is the 133

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commodification of the cele­brations themselves, converting them into gallery exhibitions, street festivals, or other events. From mid-­September ­until mid-­ November, folk crafts (such as making paper flowers, bread for the dead, and ofrendas) that in Mexico ­were traditionally learned from ­family relatives are taught to U.S. audiences in workshops held in museums, art galleries, folk art stores, street fairs, and even the Disneyland and Epcot theme parks.1 Nonprofit organ­izations and art galleries based in Latinx communities that serve low-­income constituencies typically offer such workshops for ­free or at very low cost, while museums and folk art stores cater to paying middle-­class families and professionals (especially teachers) many of whom are non-­Latinx. For ­these participants, the average price of a sugar skull or a “Dead Bread” workshop ranges from $15 to $45 per person.2 How has commodification of the cele­bration affected its substance? A look at the marketing of Day of the Dead events and products in the United States provides us with an opportunity to consider debates in the fields of communication, sociology, folklore, anthropology, and elsewhere regarding the commodification of culture—­a phenomenon that is alternately praised or lamented by observers. While commodification does not always involve monetary exchange, the related pro­cess of commercialization (the act of involving something in commerce) is commoditization done expressly for financial gain. As this chapter ­will reveal, ­t hese are distinct pro­cesses that occur in an array of social and economic contexts, resulting in a variety of consequences that do not necessarily correlate with cultural degeneration or exploitation. What follows is a closer look at some of the paradoxical ways that consumer culture in the United States and Mexico has intersected with Day of the Dead traditions, both capitalizing upon and revitalizing them.

Marketplace Offerings When the first edition of this book was published in 2009, folk art vendors, museum gift shops, and Mexican-­t hemed tourist areas in the United States sold “Muertos” merchandise such as sugar skulls, coloring books, T-­shirts, calendars, mouse pads, tequila glasses, umbrellas, coffee ­table books, greeting cards, skeleton figurines, skull-­themed jewelry, and do-­it-­yourself altar kits in a box (figure 29). Many who purchased this merchandise embraced the spiritual aspect of the holiday, incorporating it into their lives as an annual time to remember loved ones. Many o ­ thers purchased ­these objects as kitsch, and still o ­ thers bought them to show off their cultural knowledge (Bourdieu 1984). The fashionableness of Day of the Dead products in the United States arose alongside the commodification of “Southwestern style” (Native American and Mexican colors, symbols, and designs) that emerged in the 1980s and remains popu­lar ­today. This opened the door to nostalgic and humorous postmodern reappropriation of devotional

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Figure 29. ​Day of the Dead merchandise sold at Old Town State Park, San Diego, October 2019. Photo by author.

symbols in which objects with spiritual significance for one group ­were detached from their original social and devotional functions and marketed to the mainstream public as emblems of a chic lifestyle. While Day of the Dead merchandise could be found in certain U.S. folk art stores and museums and was beginning to appear on Amazon​.­com and other Internet sites such as Etsy​.­com in the early 2000s, retail had not yet reached the commercial explosion of products now available. ­Today major U.S. supermarkets and chain stores (including CVS, Walgreens, Target, Wal-­Mart, Party City, and Dollar General) have entire aisles devoted to ­these products next to the Halloween items. Day of the Dead merchandise is so popu­lar that Amazon​.­com has developed a seasonal Día de los Muertos section on its website and Apple’s App store offers a Día de los Muertos package.3 The burst of commercial products on the market, along with the present-­day emphasis on Day of the Dead competitions for cash prizes (such as altar making, face painting, and Catrina contests) concentrate on the material aspects of the cele­bration. Such events, held by municipalities, schools, community organ­izations, and commercial establishments (exemplified by the Hollywood Forever cemetery in Los Angeles, where attendees pay $30 per person to enter, or the Kansas City Día de Muertos cele­ bration, which has a $75 entrance fee to make an ofrenda),4 may encourage p ­ eople to focus more on the aesthetics of costumes, makeup artistry, or altar decorations

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than on remembering the deceased. “I met a ­woman who was dressed gorgeously, in a black lace dress with face makeup and a lovely headpiece,” said SHG director Betty Avila. “But the more I spoke with her, the more I understood that, for her, this was strictly an aesthetic experience. She w ­ asn’t engaging beyond the beautiful visuals. That’s something w ­ e’re starting to see more and more. To me, that’s missing the real point. It ­doesn’t ­matter that ­you’re dressed up. The real purpose h ­ ere is the pro­cess of grieving and healing and honoring and remembering. That’s where the educational piece is so impor­tant.”5 While Indigenous altar makers also create aesthetically beautiful altars, they create them out of love for the deceased, not with a desire to win prizes. For many of the legacy Chicano/a artists I spoke with, the greatest threat from the commodification and commercialization of the holiday is the potential loss of Day of the Dead’s connection to its core intention, possibly turning it into a mere extension of Halloween. “Our core dilemma,” notes Terezita Romo, “is how to translate a deeply personal observance into a public, community commemoration without turning it into an emotionless per­for­mance spectacle. . . . ​At what point does Day of the Dead’s association with ­things overcome the beliefs/spirituality at its core? For me, the biggest question is what we Chicanos/Latinos can do to preserve its core meaning for ­future generations. How can we make sure that its history and connections to Chicana/o history not be forgotten, or worse, re-­written?” 6

Made in China Additional prob­lems related to the “big box” commodification of Day of the Dead products such as ceramic calaveras and other decorative items is that most of them are mass-­produced in Chinese factories (evident from their “made in China” labels). This represents an economic threat for Mexican and Chicano artisans (as well as for the small in­de­pen­dently owned U.S. shops that sell their work). The flood of inexpensive, imitation “Mexican” crafts in the United States and elsewhere deflates the market for handmade crafts produced by p ­ eople of Mexican ancestry. And with diminished demand, generational knowledge of how to make traditional Day of the Dead crafts may be jeopardized in the f­ uture. Latinx-­owned shops are feeling the effects, as noted by Maribel DeLucca, who, together with her husband, Claudio, has sold Latin American crafts in their San Diego folk art shop for nearly forty years: “A lot of our ­wholesale clients have decreased their o ­ rders with us for Mexican skulls and skull masks b ­ ecause they can get them cheaper from China. . . . ​We used to supply lots of museum gift shops and Disneyland, but now they are buying their Day of the Dead merchandise from China.”7 Many smaller stores specializing in handmade Day of the Dead and other Mexican crafts have had to close. A Mexican artist living in California, known for her beautifully hand-­painted skull art, said, “It affects us a lot. I’m getting less interest from stores, who are buying Chinese products, but social media is how I survive. I use it to promote

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my work and maintain ongoing connections with my clients and followers. If it ­weren’t for social media, I c­ ouldn’t make a living.”8 Community-­based folk art shops and gallery stores also use social media and email to stay connected to customers and educate them about Mexican traditions and related crafts, allowing them to develop a loyal following in the face of cheaper imports. While this helps middle-­class Latinx artists and retailers who have access to technology and are ­adept at social media, most rural craftspeople in Mexico do not have ­t hese advantages when faced with the onslaught of copycat products that are diminishing demand for their handmade crafts.

Day of the Dead as Marketing Device Calavera imagery is now seen year-­round in graphic arts and advertisements that have nothing to do with Day of the Dead, utilized to sell every­thing from guitars and beer to lottery tickets, thong underwear, and oddities such as Day of the Dead Christmas ornaments.9 For example, the award-­winning video game Grim Fandango, marketed by George [Star Wars] Lucas’s com­pany, Lucas Arts, is based on Day of the Dead imagery. The game’s designer explained his attraction to the motifs: “I wanted to do a game that would feature ­those ­little papier-­mâché folk-­art skele­tons from Mexico. I was looking at their s­ imple shapes and how the bones ­were just painted on the outside and I thought . . . ​it’ll be cool!”10 Released in 1998 and remastered and re-­released in 2015, the game was described on the Lucas Arts website as an “homage to Mexican folklore with a film noir twist.”11 Other popu­lar video games such as Fortnite, Overwatch, Warframe, and Fall Guy include Day of the Dead themes and motifs. One avid Chicana gamer noted: “You earn in-­game currency and purchase ­things like costumes or cosmetics for characters that you play. Th ­ ese companies like Blizzard or Activision come out with entire suites of Day of the Dead inspired ­things. And on one hand, some of them look ­really cool, but on the other, you acquire them by basically gambling. That trou­bles me.”12 Bars and restaurants hold Day of the Dead festivities consisting of live m ­ usic or discounted food and drinks (figure 30). Starbucks has Day of the Dead displays of Mexican coffee, cocoa, calavera cookies, skull-­shaped pails, and printed information about the holiday in their cafes. Mainstream magazines such as Ladies’ Home Journal, Better Homes and Gardens, Martha Stewart Living, and Bon Appétit showcase Day of the Dead ­recipes, decorating ideas, and crafts. The magazines’ readers (mainly middle-­class white ­women) are encouraged to replace “humdrum Halloween parties” with Day of the Dead “soirees” where guests can “party till the ghosts come home.”13

Day of the Dead as Tourism and Urban Redevelopment The popularity of Day of the Dead has made it a tourist draw for U.S. cities and historical sites seeking to highlight their Mexican heritage. For example, since

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Figure 30. ​Day of the Dead altar (and beer promotion) at restaurant in San Diego, Fall 2019. Photo by author.

at least 1998, stores and restaurants in San Diego’s Old Town State Park (which commemorates Mexican and “Old West” history) have offered annual Day of the Dead activities from late October ­until early November. Th ­ ese include altar displays, ­music and dance per­for­mances (representing Mexico, Guatemala, Spain, and the Andes), Day of the Dead crafts for sale, and sugar skull-­making workshops. Each November 2 the park’s nineteenth-­century Campo Santo cemetery is the site of a well-­attended nocturnal Day of the Dead event. This normally arid graveyard, punctuated by cacti and “Old West” tombstones, is brought to life with hundreds of marigolds and candles, papel picado decorations, ofrendas, and live ­music. Predominantly non-­Latinx visitors are guided from grave to grave by predominantly non-­Latinx volunteer guides from the San Diego Historical Society, who explain the history of Old Town’s interred early settlers.14 Event organizers see the cele­bration as a way to educate the public about California’s Native American, Spanish, and Mexican history. Local merchants like the fact that it attracts visitors to Old Town’s commercial area. Similar Day of the Dead festivities take place in the historic Mexican plazas of Mesilla and Santa Fe in New Mexico, San Antonio, Olvera Street (El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument) in Los Angeles, and other areas of the United States with Mexican history or populations.15 Increasingly, paid Día de los Muertos tour excursions are or­ga­nized to ­t hese destinations.

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In a variation of Day of the Dead tourism, the cele­bration has become a redevelopment strategy for eco­nom­ically struggling urban communities. The first example of this occurred in 1996 in the predominantly Latinx Fruitvale district of Oakland, California, when the Fruitvale Unity Council’s Main Street program sponsored a weekend-­long Day of the Dead festival. The event was designed as the highlight of an annual calendar of public events meant to draw visitors to Fruitvale from throughout the San Francisco Bay Area (many of whom would not other­w ise sojourn to this community, which was portrayed in the news as a place of crime, gangs, and abandoned properties rather than as a place of cultural vitality). The festival chairperson explained: “This is the biggest event we do all year. . . . ​The businesspeople and community p ­ eople wanted to plan street festivals and events to draw ­people to Fruitvale. They figured this was unique and would highlight Fruitvale’s Latin culture. It started off with about 5,000 ­people coming, then it grew to 10,000, then 25,000. Now we get over 85,000 ­people coming!”16 Dozens of corporations and local businesses sponsor the event,17 which has become the largest Day of the Dead event in the United States, serving as a model for other cities.18

Nostalgia for the Noncommercial Days (of the Dead) McMuertos While some are enthusiastic about the commodification of the cele­bration, ­others fear it turns the cele­bration into a consumption spectacle where Mexican culture is superficially consumed without being understood. Such concerns about the commodification of Day of the Dead are expressed in the McMuertos altar installation created by young Chicano artists and displayed in San Francisco art galleries and online since 1998 (figure 31).19 A witty critique of the commercialization of Day of the Dead and the colonial notions under­lying many forms of cultural appropriation, this installation, which draws parallels between the exploitation of Latinx culture and the fast food industry, is reminiscent of the lampooning calaveras of José Guadalupe Posada. It features skele­tons dressed in McDonalds-­style uniforms, working ­behind a fast-­food ­counter decorated in McDonalds-­like colors and designs. On the wall b ­ ehind the c­ ounter, a large “McMuertos McMenu” offers entrees such as “McMuertos Meals,” “Super-­Size Death Combos,” and the smiling Ronald MacDonaldesque skeleton clown, “Ronnie Calaca.” The following is an excerpt from the accompanying text, which includes Spanish pronunciation tips clearly aimed at a non-­Latinx audience: We have perfected the pro­cess of providing you with the rapid delivery of a uniform mix of prepared products necessary for your altar. . . . ​For starters, ­we’ve decorated McMuerto outlets with care to reflect the charming folk traditions of papel picado (pah-­pail pee-­k ah-­doh) and luminarias

Figure 31. ​McMuertos installation, 1998–2000. Image courtesy of John Jota Leaños.

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(loo-­mee-­nah-­ree-­ahs). The cheerful brown workers have been handpicked and brought all the way from romantic Mexico (may-­hee-ko) just to serve you. . . . ​Our products improve on the cryptic ritual items of primitive Mexico—­now you can buy your sugar skulls and candles in pre-­packaged variety packs that save you time and money. . . . ​Be sure to check out the complete line of McMuerto products.20

The installation highlights the ironic position of Latinx immigrants in the United States, who are often treated as criminals, denied basic rights and social ser­vices, and exploited in minimum wage jobs while the commodification of Latinx art, ­music, dance, food, and spirituality is a multi-­billion-­dollar phenomenon. With its description of “cheerful brown workers” serving an implied white public, the critique takes aim not only at the commodification of the cele­bration’s rituals and symbols but also at their consumption by non-­Latinx populations. Looking back, artist John Leaños, professor of Film and Media at the University of California at Santa Cruz, explained: “By the time we did McMuertos in 1998, we ­were kind of a group of cynical Chicanos looking at the ­whole scenario, how the [Mission] pro­cession had turned into a parade and got hippy-­ized with all ­t hese hippy drummers and big puppets and stuff, and you ­couldn’t tell if it was a Muertos parade or an anti-­globalization march. And we ­were saying, ‘What is this?!’ So, we started having conversations about the changes, the commercialization of the cele­bration north of the border.”21 With vivid creativity and humor, the McMuertos installation aptly underscores ways that commercial interests capitalize on ethnic p ­ eoples and practices, reflecting ongoing dialogs and debates within the Latinx community regarding the commodification of Day of the Dead. Such critiques need to be thoughtfully applied to par­tic­u ­lar situations, taking into account participants’ intentions and agency, b ­ ecause pro­cesses of commodification are rife with contradictions. As this chapter ­will show, ­people interact with commercialized Day of the Dead merchandise and commodified events in ways that complicate the frequently taken-­for-­granted dichotomy between “commercial” and “au­t hen­tic” culture. It is impor­tant to keep in mind that not all forms of commodification are equal. The sale of Day of the Dead merchandise, the appropriation of Day of the Dead imagery to sell products unrelated to the holiday, the display of altars in museums and galleries, and the promotion of the cele­bration by municipalities and businesses for primarily economic purposes are distinct pro­cesses with a variety of distinct outcomes. As we have seen in the preceding chapters, cultural practices may be commodified for financial profit or for community-­building and educational purposes. This can yield both financial and nonfinancial benefits—­such as increased cultural pride, cross-­cultural understanding, and community building—­a nd multiple benefits and drawbacks may occur si­mul­ta­neously.

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“Au­then­tic” ethnic traditions are commonly thought to exist apart from consumer culture, u ­ ntil “outsiders” appropriate and commoditize them. Such a position ignores the ways in which cultural traditions and commerce often sustain each other, and overlooks the constructive uses that commoditized cultural rituals and products may have for ethnic minorities. Traditional communities can be disintegrated by the forces of global capitalism and acquisitive consumerism, but ­t hese communities also take advantage of ­t hese forces to construct group identities and reaffirm communal interests and values in response to the displacement and isolation of modern life. Ethnic festivals, museum exhibits, and merchandise produced by both corporate and cottage industries can provide individuals with a sense of ethnic belonging, particularly for second, third or l­ater generations who may lack linguistic or geo­graph­i­cal connectedness to their cultural ancestry. The promotion by dominant institutions (museums, universities, businesses, or municipal governments) of the cultures of minoritized populations can have power­ful educational and social effects that serve to strengthen, rather than weaken, ethnic traditions by providing economic support for endangered practices and countering assimilationist pressures and stigmas attached to ­t hese populations. In addition, the commodification of cultural traditions is not something done exclusively by “outsiders.” Criticizing the consumption of Day of the Dead by non-­L atinx consumers, as the McMuertos exhibit humorously does, assumes fixed and untenable racial categories between “Brown” and “white” ­people.22 It also implies that Latinx ­people do not commoditize their own culture.23 Many minoritized populations have commodified their cultural practices and products as a strategy for cultural and economic survival, for example, in the revival of strong Cajun, Hawaiian, and Polynesian identities brought on by the commercialization of aspects of t­ hese cultures by tourism, the m ­ usic industry, and restaurants (Mattern 1998; Ivory 1999; Halter 2000). In Latin American examples, pro­cesses of commodification and commercialization have increased interest in folkloric dance in Mexico (Nájera Ramírez 1989) and brujería (shamanism) in Puerto Rico (Romberg 2007). Thus, the context and reasons for commodifying culture are impor­tant to consider, as are the results. An impor­tant ­factor to keep in mind is ­whether the commodification of culture is produced through the work of community-­based organ­izations and/or community members working with and on behalf of their community. In the production of culture and discourses about Latinidad in the United States, a crucial distinction must be made between Anglo strategies of “Latinization” that reproduce colonial power dynamics, and Latinx tactics of self-­definition and self-­representation that position Latinx p ­ eoples as subjects rather than objects (Laó-­Montes and Dávila 2001; Dávila 2020). The commodification of culture in ways that promote cultural knowledge and/or eco­nom­ically benefit the community is distinct, of course, from commodification by entities with ­little or no connection to the com-

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munity. Yet even in the latter scenario, some benefits can result for ethnic communities and the picture is more complicated than a s­ imple “good” or “bad” classification, as the following examples of Day of the Dead’s commodification by Disney-­Pixar and Mattel illustrate.

Coco ­ fter a rocky start and massive protest from U.S. Latinx communities b A ­ ecause of Disney’s 2013 attempt to trademark the term “Día de los Muertos” in the early stages of making the animated film Coco, the movie’s Anglo director brought in a Chicano co-­director and Chicanx con­sul­tants (including legacy artists associated with Self Help Graphics & Art), who helped develop a more compelling plot, believable characters, realistic language, and culturally specific details. Ultimately the film was widely hailed, even by some of its most ardent early critics, as faithfully representing the spirit of Mexico’s Día de los Muertos.24 It is now used in many schools and Latinx community organ­izations to teach about the cele­bration. Legacy altar makers Ofelia and Rosanna Esparza discussed the educational impact of Coco. “It was monumental,” said Ofelia, a former schoolteacher, “a good teaching point ­because so many ­people have come to us . . . ​who learned, who understood what t­ hey’ve been seeing all t­ hese years, but now they understand it better. A lot of misconceptions w ­ ere cleared up.”25 Rosanna noted that some teachers who had misunderstood the tradition as something “satanic” began bringing their students to see ofrenda exhibits a­ fter seeing the film. Artist Consuleo Flores, who helped provide feedback on the film, noted, “I love that it brought to the surface how, when we remember ­t hose we love, it transcends death. Did it get ­every detail right? No. Was it a good story? Yes! The perfect cannot get in the way of the good.”26 Given Disney’s long history of offensive racial ste­reo­t ypes in its animated films (Picker 2002), including ­t hose set in Mexican Indigenous communities (Hellier-­Tinoco 2011, 126–129), the corporation’s consultation with the Chicano community was hailed as ushering in a new era for the com­pany. Lalo Alcaraz, a cartoonist and con­sul­tant on the film who was one of the most vocal critics of the trademark attempt, stated: “Coco was a landmark moment, and let’s make it a pivotal moment and keep g­ oing in the right direction.”27 Although Disney-­ Pixar made the film with profit in mind, at the same time the com­pany’s global reach helped educate millions around the world about the meaning of Day of the Dead. In the pro­cess, it provided impor­tant cultural validation for Latinx communities. Noting that Coco is the first Disney film to have an all-­Latinx cast of characters, Alcaraz pointed out the utility of having such a power­ful and influential corporation produce it: “The film could not have been made in Mexico, not b ­ ecause of production reasons but b ­ ecause it had Brown p ­ eople in it. It had Indigenous characters from Oaxaca starring in it. Mexico’s media is just as racist, if not more so, than U.S. media, b ­ ecause it’s all Caucasian-­looking Mexicans

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[on the screen].”28 The month Coco was released, this same line of critique was expressed in a scathing editorial in the national Mexican newspaper Milenio, written by José Antonio Álvarez Lima, a Mexican senator and former governor of the state of Tlaxcala, who said: “The economic success of the film is, moreover, a good slap in the face to the TV producers of our country, determined to show a Mexico where the winners are always blond with light eyes and the losers are always dark skinned with indigenous features.”29

Día de los Muertos Barbie In another example, Mattel’s 2019 and 2020 Día de los Muertos Barbie dolls have been criticized for reinforcing Western beauty ideals via their tall, very thin body types, their only slightly modified Caucasian features, and their Spanish colonial, rather than Indigenous, clothing. Furthermore, they are marketed as “collector’s items” that are priced too high (at $75 and up) to be easily accessible to ­children. Given the general scarcity of Latinx dolls on the market, releasing t­ hese dolls as collector’s items rather than as everyday toys may reinforce the “othering” of Latinx toys, perpetuating the notion that white Barbie is the default doll ­children should interact with the most (Aguiló-­Pérez 2021). At the same time, however, the dolls help teach about Day of the Dead, as their packaging and websites offer a brief explanation of the cele­bration.30 Despite the above criticisms, both dolls have been enthusiastically embraced by Latinx consumers, selling out quickly and receiving stamps of approval from vari­ous Latinx consumer and parent websites. Given that Latinx populations have long been underrepresented in all forms of media, including toys, and Latinx ­children and their families have a strong desire to feel seen in the larger culture, Día de los Muertos Barbie dolls, like Hollywood films, are a form of cultural repre­sen­ta­tion and validation on a global scale.

Commerce and Culture: A Long History Together Most ­people interviewed for this book suggested that Day of the Dead in the United States was more commercialized than the cele­bration in Mexico. They ­were often unaware of how forces of commodification have promoted the cele­ bration in both Mexico and in the United States, or that Day of the Dead is Mexico’s most commercialized holiday. Romanticized ideas about Mexico’s Indigenous ­peoples, widely disseminated in the mass media, have masked the dialectical relationship between culture and po­liti­cal economy—­t he ways in which commercial forces can sustain, revive, and, in some cases, invent cultural traditions. Sociologists have long noted that gifts of commodities are impor­tant aspects of reaffirming social relationships (Carrier 1991; Malinowski 1926; Mauss 1967). As reaffirmations of relationships between the living and the dead, Day of the

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Dead cele­brations in Latin Amer­i­ca have always involved economic expenditure on “offerings” for the dead. Noted in chapter 1, Indigenous families in Mexico, Guatemala, the Andes, and elsewhere invest significant amounts of money to purchase the commodities necessary to adorn ­family graves and altars. Garciagodoy (1998) notes the importance of purchasing new products to honor the dead in Mexico: “Many traditional ofrendas include new items of clothing, new work implements, or new miniature clay images of tools laid out on a new petate [straw mat], along with candles, food, and incense on a bed of coal in a new incense burner” (118). Carmichael and Sayer (1991) also note that “expenditures for Todos Santos can be a heavy burden for a ­family . . . ​t he ofrendas for ­t hose who have died within the last year can be especially costly and elaborate” (56). Rural families can go into significant debt to meet their ritual obligations to the dead, as they purchase pan de muerto (usually bought in bakeries), alcoholic beverages, soft drinks, bushels of flowers, apples, oranges, bananas, pomegranates, and other fruits (often not grown locally, making them expensive by local standards), choco­late, and other specialty items needed for the ofrendas.31 So ­t here has long been a situation in which Day of the Dead products (sugar skulls, flowers, bread, and so on) have been commercialized to the public—­a public that evolved over time from primarily Indigenous families to a wider public that included collectors, tourists, educators, and ­others. This did not happen overnight. It was preceded by the systematic promotion of Indigenous folk art by the Mexican government a­ fter the Mexican Revolution, as we saw in chapter 2. Starting in 1921 the Mexican government or­ga­nized national and international campaigns to promote an appreciation of Mexican folk art, opening state stores that sold Indigenous crafts and sponsoring exhibitions to highlight the “art of the ­people.”32 ­These efforts “awakened public functionaries, educated persons and the popu­lar classes to the taste for Mexican products” (Espejel 1986, 9). ­After the construction of the Pan-­American Highway in the 1940s, national and foreign artists and intellectuals increasingly traveled as tourists to rural villages in southern and central Mexico, where they came into greater contact with Indigenous ­peoples and Mexico’s folk art. With romanticized nostalgia for “the primitive” that continues to accompany the secularization, standardization, and industrialization of modern life, urbane city dwellers purchased as souvenirs the weavings, pottery, masks, and other crafts that w ­ ere originally produced for daily use by Mexico’s Indigenous inhabitants. Yet despite the fact that the “art of the ­people” was extolled by government officials, artists, and intellectuals, Indigenous Mexicans continued to be disdained for most of the twentieth ­century by Mexico’s ­middle and upper classes, who considered the “superstitions” of their rural compatriots to be hindrances to the country’s ability to modernize.33 Tourism, government educational campaigns in schools, and museum patronage all helped change public attitudes, reviving rural traditions that had

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dis­appeared or w ­ ere fading. By the mid and latter twentieth ­century, folk crafts that ­were previously made in small quantities for personal consumption, such as wooden toys or ceremonial masks, began to be produced in mass quantities in new colors and styles that appealed to tourists (Graburn 1976; Brody Esser 1988; Barbash and Ragan 1993; Chibnik 2003a). Not infrequently, entirely new crafts ­were in­ven­ted to please tourist desires for “Indian” artifacts, and t­hese handi­ works w ­ ere marketed as timeless Mexican customs. Mexican woodcarvers modified traditional designs and motifs to please nonlocal buyers, mass-­reproducing the objects, including Day of the Dead skeleton carvings, that sold best with tourists (Chibnik 2003b; Barbash and Ragan 1993; Shlossberg 2015). Purchases by North American folk art retailers/­wholesalers and tourists far outweighed local sales of ­these crafts and continue to be the driving force for their continued production. Art historians similarly credit the commercial interests of international art collectors and Western museums in reviving the production of rural crafts that ­were no longer made ­after the Mexican Revolution. Mexican art scholar Carlos Espejel (1986) notes that in the 1930s the Austrian art collector René d’ Harnoncourt “was instrumental in the revival of certain d ­ ying folk arts,” as he sought out pieces for tourists, private art collectors, and museums (2). Another major influence on the popularity of Mexican crafts was the multimillionaire and former U.S. assistant secretary of state, Nelson A. Rocke­fel­ler, who between 1933 and 1978 developed one of the largest single collections of Mexican folk art in the world. Books written about his collection suggest that Rocke­fel­ler’s goal in collecting and exhibiting ­t hese crafts in U.S. museums was to educate the public in order to prevent traditional Mexican crafts from disappearing (Fox 1969; Espejel 1986, 2; Delpar 1992). According to Espejel, Rocke­fel­ler helped open the North American market for Mexican folk art (1986, 9) which, at the time, was not popu­lar. The millionaire’s patronage of Mexican art, including Day of the Dead crafts, had a far-­reaching impact on the popularity of Mexican crafts among international collectors, stimulating ­f uture demand and production.34 This helped increase the esteem that Mexicans themselves had for their country’s Indigenous and rural crafts and traditions.35 In some cases, crafts considered to represent the very soul of Mexico would not exist ­today ­were it not for market forces. From 1919 onward, U.S. and other foreign art buyers, as well as Mexican art collectors, approached Mexican artisans asking them to resume the production of fading or defunct folk crafts and create new forms of artistry (Masuoka 1994, 125–126; Delpar 1992, 134–138). Susan Masuoka notes that the Linares f­amily of Mexico, internationally renowned ­today for their three-­dimensional papier-­mâché embodiments of José Guadalupe Posada’s calavera drawings, only began the large-­scale production of t­ hese figures a­ fter gaining steady financial patronage from museums and art collectors. Although the Linares ­family helped re-­popularize Posada’s calaveras to a

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world stage de­cades ­after the engraver’s death, they had not known of his work ­u ntil 1968, when Diego Rivera’s friend Dolores Olmedo asked them to create three-­d imensional renditions of Posada’s sketches (Masuoka 1994, 86). Before 1968 the ­family specialized in making piñatas, masks, and other cardboard crafts for local, rather than international, buyers. However, ­after the successful public reception of their first group of three-­d imensional calaveras, the Linareses received numerous o ­ rders from businesses, museums, and private collectors around the world, including Disney World’s Epcot Center. In their documentary film about the Linares f­amily, Bronowski and Grant (1975) noted that the d ­ ying art of papier-­mâché was “only being carried out by a few folk artists” in Mexico at the time. In the same film, the patriarch of the Linares ­family, Pedro Linares, lamented the growing loss of Mexico’s traditions. However, with the income the Linares f­ amily received from national and international patrons, their creativity reached new heights, during which time Pedro’s son, Felipe, created the three-­d imensional papier-­mâché skull overlaid with bright floral and vine designs that has since become one of the most recognized con­temporary symbols of Day of the Dead.36 A subsequent re­nais­sance of papier-­ mâché art occurred in Mexico as a result of the commercialization of this craft. ­Today Posada’s calavera images and the Linareses’ calavera sculptures are internationally recognized emblems of Day of the Dead, having gained increased re­spect ­after commercial collectors showed interest and provided a v­ iable market for their reproduction. Like Posada, the Linares ­family are commercial artists responding to consumer demands for their products. Their Day of the Dead calaveras are embedded in market realities that have generated a national and international re­nais­sance in the popularity of both Posada’s work and Day of the Dead. By the 1970s the commercialization of Mexico’s Indigenous Day of the Dead cele­brations, rather than simply the associated crafts, was promoted by the Mexican government—­playing a crucial role in the revival and survival of t­hese traditions (Brandes 1988; Carmichael and Sayer 1991; Garciagodoy 1998; Nutini 1988) and their classification as national, rather than regional, customs. Prior to this time, Day of the Dead in Mexico was a subcultural practice, observed by a dwindling number of remote rural communities in the country’s Indigenous regions. This real­ity began to change when the Mexican government realized that Day of the Dead could attract tourists and economic development to the destitute rural regions of central and southern Mexico. The Mexican Ministry of Tourism began orchestrating “au­then­tic” cemetery pro­cessions and vigils in picturesque Indigenous villages to please tourist sensibilities (Brandes 1988). Folk dance per­for­mances and the urban play Don Juan Tenorio, previously unknown in rural areas, ­were introduced to Indigenous villages as state strategies to attract Day of the Dead tourists. On seeing the financial success of t­ hese events, other towns where the holiday had been all but forgotten emulated this model (Brandes 1988, 98–100), and towns that had not previously celebrated Day of the Dead

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began to do so. As one of my research participants explained, “My f­ ather is from Aguascalientes, Mexico—­t he birthplace of José Guadalupe Posada. They now have a w ­ hole month of annual Day of the Dead programming put on by the board of tourism, which is in­ter­est­ing ­because the cele­bration ­t here is not actually rooted in traditional practice. It’s just about bringing in tourists.”37 State promotion of Day of the Dead via national school curricula, staged public events, literary essay and calavera poetry contests, televised programming, printed publications, and other forms of media encouraged the mainstream Mexican population to view the custom as something valuable and indicative of a “national” character. Each fall, sugar skulls, skeleton figurines, and pan de muerto do a brisk business in Mexico’s small shops, while the national department store chain Sanborn’s and transnational chains such as Wal-­Mart, Costco, and The Price Club display choco­late calaveras and pan de muerto among their gourmet confections. Realizing the holiday’s potential to attract customers, restaurants, h ­ otels and other businesses throughout the country erect ofrendas and advertise Day of the Dead merchandise and events.38 The impact of the 2017 film Coco has tremendously increased what ­were already high levels of Día de los Muertos tourism in rural Mexico. A “Ruta de Coco,” or Coco tourism route, has been created by Mexico’s tourism board through towns in the states of Aguascalientes, Oaxaca, Guanajuato, and Michoacán—­a reas the film’s creators visited to conduct research for the film. ­These towns offer Day of the Dead per­for­mances, art fairs, craft markets, and other activities for tourists. Since 1991, photographer Ann Murdy has frequently photographed Día de los Muertos cele­brations in vari­ous Indigenous villages in Mexico, including (in 2017 and 2018) in the Indigenous Purépecha village of Santa Fe de Laguna in Michoacán (said to be the inspiration for protagonist Miguel’s village in Coco). Having the ability to compare this quiet rural village before and ­after the release of the film, Murdy (2019) noted that a­ fter Coco: “It was like Disneyland . . . ​­There was a market with vendors selling plaster statues of Mama Coco [Miguel’s great-­grandmother in the film] and Miguel painted like a calavera” (143). She also observed that in 2018 she saw young girls from the village dressed in their traditional Indigenous clothing with half of their ­faces painted like calaveras, something she had not seen when she was ­there for the cele­bration in 2017. The village began hosting an annual Day of the Dead craft show in 2018, and posters advertising the event online in 2020 featured an Indigenous ­woman with her face painted as a calavera. “None of this is part of the au­then­tic, Purépecha culture in this village,” Murdy said.39 Through a variety of commercial endeavors during the twentieth ­century, a ritual and its material culture practiced mainly by Mexico’s eco­nom­ically and socially marginalized Indigenous populations generated a subculture of enthusiasts among artists, intellectuals, and tourists. Commercial reproductions of the work of artists and writers such as José Guadalupe Posada, Diego Rivera, Octa-

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vio Paz, and the Linares ­family—­made accessible via books, magazines, newspapers, posters, calendars, murals, T-­shirts, and other media—­helped pop­u­lar­ize Day of the Dead among general audiences. This remains the case t­ oday, as video games, movies, toys, social media, and tourist brochures continue to make Day of the Dead an iconic Mexican tradition.

Communicating through Commodities The commodification of Day of the Dead products and rituals not only revived the cele­bration in Mexico, but also helped inspire the Chicano artists who initiated Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States. Looking back on the early days of the Chicano movement, Terezita Romo observed that it was the material culture or “visuals” of Day of the Dead that inspired Chicano artists to learn more about the metaphysical aspects of the ritual: “Day of the Dead affected Chicano artists b ­ ecause it gave them a w ­ hole bunch of new iconography, new images of death and life, and the w ­ hole idea of duality and the life cycle.” 40 As Day of the Dead grew more popu­lar in the United States, it was commodities such as sugar skulls, pan de muerto, marigolds, and papel picado that caught the public’s attention, spurring some to learn about the tradition and get involved, and o ­ thers to purchase Day of the Dead objects as mere curiosities. Romo summed up the double-­edged nature of commercialization: Amazon has a one-­stop-­shopping site called “Día de los Muertos at Amazon.” You can buy décor like papel picado, marigolds, candles for your altar. Barbie dolls on Amazon start at $75.00. And if you want to get the previous year’s model, eBay sells them for like $150.00 to $200.00 each. I can understand the appeal for young [Latina] girls growing up, they have something they can relate to. And I think back to 1975 when we w ­ ere starting Día de los Muertos ­here [in Sacramento], it was so hard to get papel picado. Lots of times we had to make it ourselves. We had to drive to the San Francisco Flower Market r­ eally early in the morning to get cempasúchil b ­ ecause t­ here ­weren’t many places that sold them. And copal [incense], forget about it! We had to wait ­until somebody went to Mexico and brought it back. So, to have all ­t hese ­t hings now in one place, to just go online and get ­t hese items, ­t here is something positive about that. But on the other hand, I feel it is being pre-­packaged online so you can get a packet with every­thing you need to make an ofrenda. You d ­ on’t even need to think about it. In a sense, it is outside forces that dictate what an ofrenda is. That’s the negative aspect that I ­really worry about.41

As mentioned ­earlier, many non-­Latinx companies sell calavera-­themed merchandise simply b ­ ecause the image livens up other­wise mundane products and increases sales. In such cases, businesses capitalize on Mexican culture with ­little or no financial benefit to Latinx communities (although nonfinancial publicity

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and educational benefits may accrue by having Day of the Dead more vis­i­ble in the mainstream). Companies that sell Day of the Dead guitar straps, shot glasses, or cuff links made in China are examples of this. However, Day of the Dead items sold at small folk art stores and websites owned by Latinx p ­ eople or ­others with a genuine interest in Latin American culture support Mexican artisans. The sale of sugar skulls, pan de muerto, candles, marigolds, copal, and other items at ­these sites benefits local bakers, florists, and craftspeople working on both sides of the U.S./Mexico border. The ­owners of the folk art shops I visited saw their role as being not only businesspeople selling merchandise for profit, but also community members educating the public. In addition to paid workshops, ­t hese stores offered ­free events such as Day of the Dead altar exhibitions, public receptions, lectures, book talks, or film screenings. They provided handouts on the meaning of the cele­bration and ­owners sometimes gave educational talks to local schools. ­Because of the visibility of Day of the Dead products displayed in their win­dows, such shops are often the first place approached by students, teachers, and journalists seeking information about the holiday. The commodification of Day of the Dead in museum exhibits is also not a ­simple case of cultural exploitation to attract museumgoers. Museums benefit eco­nom­ically from the crowds drawn to Day of the Dead exhibits, but they also perform vital educational and legitimizing functions. As we have seen, Day of the Dead exhibitions in museums have played an impor­tant role in popularizing the cele­bration to wide audiences and providing greater visibility for Latinx artists. Most museums that hold Day of the Dead exhibits offer f­ ree tours to school and community groups, and many offer ­free general admission at least one day per week and/or f­ ree Day of the Dead community events, such as per­ for­mances, lectures, and workshops. Barbara Henry, former educational curator for the Oakland Museum of California, observed that of the 20,000 visitors the museum received during its annual six-­week Day of the Dead exhibit, “we have about 7,000 school kids come through ­here each season. Last year we had about ten groups on the waiting list.” 42 Cesáreo Moreno, visual arts director for the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago, noted the benefits of merchandise sales to the museum’s ability to hold Día de los Muertos cele­brations: “Our Day of the Dead exhibit usually opens in mid-­September and we close it in mid-­ December, and during ­t hose months we get about 85,000 annual visitors, many of them students. . . . ​­There is no charge to walk into our galleries. And the gift shop, during ­t hese months, does extremely well. The sales are very beneficial for our mission and for what we are trying to do.” 43 Having Day of the Dead represented in museums serves the Latinx community ­because it provides opportunities for Latino/as, especially youth, to see Latin American culture recognized by the larger society and also creates connections between community members and museums. A Guatemalan American in her mid-­twenties explained:

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I live two blocks away from ­here [the Oakland Museum], but I never stepped foot in this institution u ­ ntil I came to the Day of the Dead cele­bration. . . . ​If you come from somewhere where they d ­ on’t take you to museums, you ­don’t always think of g­ oing to museums. . . . ​So I went, and I was amazed. . . . ​ What was amazing to me was how a public institution took something that was so personal and practiced in the home and turned it into a public interpretation. . . . ​So I started to be a volunteer h ­ ere. Then a job opened up and I got a job ­here.44

Henry noted: “We know that the Day of the Dead event brings in Latinos, and then once they know about the museum, they come back for other exhibits. We have done surveys that ask if ­people have come to any previous museum events, and most of the time they check off Day of the Dead. Four of our staff members started as volunteer guides at our Day of the Dead exhibit.” 45 The exhibit designer at the Peabody Museum of Archeology and Ethnology at Harvard University shared a similar story. When he recruited local Latinx youth to help create an altar exhibit, an ongoing relationship began between museum staff and the teens, launching the artistic c­ areer of one young Latino who did not previously consider himself an artist.46 As ­t hese examples illustrate, institutional sponsorship of ethnic cele­brations (­whether by museums, municipal governments, or businesses) is a form of cultural validation that can help immigrants and their U.S.-­born ­children resist social pressure to abandon their traditions in pro­cesses of assimilation. While some paid workshops offered by galleries and for-­profit shops may be too costly for low-­income ­people, most Day of the Dead activities in the United States are offered for f­ ree or at very low cost by community centers, schools, universities, public libraries, and other nonprofit organ­izations. As for companies that utilize Day of the Dead to sell products with l­ittle or no connection to the holiday, Amalia Mesa Bains, Chicana artist and visual arts professor at the California State University at Monterey Bay, remarked: “We c­ an’t prevent corporations and businesses from making money off of the Days of the Dead. We Chicanos d ­ on’t have control over that. . . . ​But we do have control in making sure that we continue to educate p ­ eople about the tradition, so that they understand its true meaning. We do have control about correcting misinformation. That’s our responsibility and that’s something we need to be vigilant about.” 47

Agency, Creativity, and Intention During my research, both Latinx and non-­Latinx ­people I interviewed often used the word “au­t hen­tic” regarding Day of the Dead traditions, against which they contrasted commercialized aspects of cele­bration. “Authenticity” is a context-­ specific, socially negotiable concept that ­people define based on their personal

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experiences and expectations. When used regarding cultural traditions, the term is associated with practices that are considered to be “uncontaminated” by modernity and its concomitant consumer culture (Theodossopoulos 2013). Throughout my interviews with thirty legacy Chicano/a artists who helped launch and nurture secular Day of the Dead cele­brations in the United States, certain key values repeatedly came up in conversation: community, agency, intentionality, respectful remembrance, sincerity, spirituality, oppositionality, transformative imagination, and creating place. Many artists w ­ ere concerned that the commodification of the cele­bration might result in a loss of the original values and goals they had worked so hard to bring to fruition. I wanted to learn ­whether commercially sponsored Day of the Dead events or­ga­nized by chambers of commerce, stores, tourist bureaus, or other consumer-­oriented spaces ­were devoid of the key values listed above. Could t­ hese cele­brations also engender the earnest remembrance of the dead, creation of community, and social critique prominent in events or­ga­nized in Chicano spaces? One of the earliest commercially sponsored events I observed was the annual Day of the Dead cele­bration at El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historic Monument, also known as “Olvera Street” (a Mexican-­style marketplace with shops, vendor carts, and restaurants, located in Los Angeles).48 Or­ga­nized since the late 1970s by the Olvera Street Merchants’ Association, the f­ree cele­bration spans several days and includes an outdoor pro­cession, altar exhibits, craft workshops, movies, live ­music, Aztec danza, and plenty of Day of the Dead merchandise for sale. Despite the cele­bration’s business funding and location in a highly commercialized tourist area, the ofrenda exhibits I viewed included heartfelt personal and po­liti­cally themed altars, such as one dedicated to l­abor or­ga­nizer César Chávez, several altars dedicated to U.S. military ser­vice members killed in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq, an altar in memory of the genocide of Native Americans, and one dedicated to the memory of t­hose killed in hate crimes against LGBT p ­ eople. The last altar displayed photos of recent victims along with photos of famous gays and lesbians, including Lawrence of Arabia, Oscar Wilde, Andy Warhol, Gertrude Stein, Michelangelo, James Baldwin, Allen Ginsberg, Gianni Versace, and Rock Hudson. The artist’s caption stated: “I celebrate their lives and thank them for their example . . . ​far too many gay teens are still contemplating suicide. Too many gay ­people are still being bashed on the street. It is my hope that this altar ­will give strength and courage to all p ­ eople who have been marginalized by society.” 49 Similarly, the Day of the Dead festivals in the cities of Fruitvale and Ocean­ side, California, both funded through the Main Streets economic development initiative, included a mixture of commercial and po­liti­cal aspects. Or­ga­nized by each city’s Chamber of Commerce with the assistance of local residents, artists, and scholars, both festivals received sizable donations from multinational corporations such as media outlets, soft drink manufacturers, credit card companies, airlines, and grocery stores. The Fruitvale festival I attended was widely

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advertised via commercial media and, with the enthusiastic cooperation of local government, ten blocks of the neighborhood’s central boulevard ­were blocked off to traffic and transformed into a festival space offering per­for­mance stages, an international food court, entertainment, and craft pavilions. F ­ ree activities included altar installations, Latino cinema screenings, craft workshops, face painting, clowns, amusement rides, theater, dance, and puppetry. Four stages transmitted continuous mariachi, Andean, salsa, reggae, jazz, and rock m ­ usic throughout the weekend, while social ser­v ice providers staffed ­tables offering information on health insurance, immigration ser­vices, domestic vio­lence shelters, drug rehabilitation centers, organ donor programs, Latinx civic organ­ izations, environmental groups, Catholic Charities’ Prison Ministry, the California Highway Patrol, the Girls Scouts, and solidarity groups working on behalf of Chiapas, Guatemala, and Nicaragua. Over 120 vendor booths, selling every­thing from private mortgage insurance to chiropractic ser­vices to cell phones, lined the main street, where walking was laborious ­because of the enormous crowds. Election volunteers registered p ­ eople to vote and distributed pamphlets about candidates. The Oakland Raiders’ cheerleaders had a booth selling Raiders’ merchandise. Bilingual Citibank employees recruited p ­ eople for credit card accounts, and the Safeway supermarket chain created a replica “supermercado,” selling Latin American food products. Hundreds of plastic skele­tons and Guatemalan Day of the Dead kites adorned the festival area, frolicking in the wind as ­people danced, ate at food pavilions, made crafts, and visited vendor booths.50 This was the largest street fair I had ever seen. Given the commercial orientation of the event, I suspected that the altars might be apo­liti­cal. In the ­middle of the main thoroughfare, on both sides of the street, an exhibition of twenty altar installations had been created by local artists and residents. Some Day of the Dead aficionados I had interviewed e­ arlier in San Francisco, both Latinx and non-­Latinx, had rolled their eyes when I mentioned that I would attend the Fruitvale festival, dismissing it as “inauthentic” and “corporate.” For them, the Mission District pro­cession was the only “genuine” Day of the Dead street event in the Bay Area b ­ ecause it was the original one, and was or­ga­nized by nonprofit Chicano/Latinx art galleries—­first Galería de la Raza and ­later the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts.51 Nonetheless, the Fruitvale ofrendas reflected im­mense creativity, sincerity, and po­liti­cal expression, involving the collaboration of hundreds of p ­ eople over several months. Like Day of the Dead rituals in Latin Amer­i­ca, it mixed the secular and the sacred. For example, while constructing their street altars the night before the festival, local artists and residents held a communal ceremony and vigil in honor of the dead, with ­music, prayer, and ceremonial dance that lasted ­until dawn. This was an unadvertised, informal, and deeply meaningful ritual held by the altar makers on the eve of the festival—­not exactly what one would expect amid the Citibank and Raiders’ banners, K ­ ettle Korn booths, and ­giant stages stationed all around.

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In addition to altars that honored f­ amily members and friends, an altar created by local schoolchildren for their departed relatives, and altars honoring deceased pop culture stars such as salsa singer Celia Cruz, African musician Malonga Casquelourd, and Chinese artist Mon Gway Wong, w ­ ere vari­ous altars commemorating victims of po­liti­cally related deaths. One installation created in memory of ­t hose who die annually from hunger emphasized that hunger is a worldwide and preventable prob­lem. The ofrenda was decorated with flags from many countries, including the United States, listing each country’s annual death toll from malnutrition (an eye-­opener for passersby who expressed surprise on learning that hunger is a cause of death in the United States). With large panels of text explaining that hunger is a po­liti­cal rather than a natu­ral phenomenon, the installation included informational flyers about a nonprofit organ­i zation called The Hunger Proj­ect. Another altar was dedicated to over 400 murdered female factory workers in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. It included poster boards with statistics on the abductions and provided handouts listing the addresses and websites of the multinational corporations Sony, Zenith, and Lear operating factories in Juárez, urging the public to contact ­t hese corporations to demand the implementation of worker safety precautions and an end to union-­busting activities. Another altar honored Rosie Jimenez, a low-­i ncome ­mother and college student who died on October 3, 1977, from a back-­a lley abortion. Believed to be the first ­woman to die from an illegal abortion ­a fter the 1977 Doyle-­Hyde Amendment banned the use of Medicaid funds for abortions (disproportionately affecting low-­income and minoritized ­women’s access to the procedure), Jimenez is a symbol, for pro-­choice activists, of ongoing ­legal threats to ­women’s reproductive rights. Most striking of all the altars was a large installation by Grupo Ma­ya, a support group of Guatemalan refugees living in the Bay Area. Replicating a rural Guatemalan cemetery, the exhibit consisted of life-­sized mounds of earth formed in the shape of graves. Decorated with fresh marigolds and wooden crosses, the graves had plates of tamales, ears of corn, fruits, and breads placed on them as typical offerings to the dead. The realism of the scene was heightened by the penetrating smells of melting candle wax, copal incense, and marigolds—­v iscerally transporting onlookers from downtown Fruitvale to the Guatemalan highlands. On the graves lay large photos of real-­life, unearthed skeletal remains of several of the estimated 150,000 Mayans murdered by the U.S.-­supported Guatemalan military during the 1980s (figure 32). One photo depicted a skull with a pole lodged through the cranium and emerging from one of the eye sockets where the victim had been stabbed to death. Other photos showed skele­tons still wearing decomposing shreds of Mayan clothing. The photos ­were taken by forensic experts during ongoing exhumations of mass graves in Guatemala, conducted by the Guatemalan Foundation for Forensic Anthropology, with support from the United Nations and Amnesty International, attempting to document the

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Figure 32. ​Guatemalans in Fruitvale re-­create graves in altar installation remembering 150,000 Indigenous Mayans murdered in the Guatemalan military’s “scorched earth” campaign of the 1980s. Main Streets Day of the Dead Festival, Fruitvale, California, November 1, 2004. Photo by author.

extent of the massacres. Next to the installation was information on the Guatemalan military’s “scorched earth” campaign that eradicated 626 Mayan villages in the 1980s, as well as news clips about ongoing death threats and attacks targeted at Guatemalan forensic investigators conducting t­ hese exhumations. Members of Grupo Ma­ya w ­ ere pre­sent to discuss the exhibit and answer questions, as ­were the creators of all the other altars, converting the festival’s altar installation into a contemplative learning experience for attendees. ­Because of the visually stunning yet gruesome nature of this par­tic­u ­lar exhibit, it attracted large crowds of spectators, who quietly stared at the photos and read the text. When I asked one of the installation’s creators, a native of the Indigenous Ma­ya Mam village of Todos Santos, in Guatemala, what he thought of locating such a serious po­liti­cal statement in a carnivalesque setting (with salsa ­music pulsating in the background, and smells of popcorn and fried dough in the air), he responded, “Es lo maximo! [It’s the best!].” He said that he “loved” this venue ­because “thousands of ­people from all over pass by the altar and learn something of the traditions and history of Guatemala. Many Guatemalans come and stare, and some start to cry and look away. O ­ thers, when they see me dressed in my Mam clothing, start to speak to me in Mam. O ­ thers who a­ ren’t from Guatemala say that they d ­ idn’t know Guatemala had Day of the Dead too.”52 For this Mayan immigrant, the commercial, the spiritual, and the po­liti­cal ­were not

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mutually exclusive, just as traditional religious fiestas in Latin Amer­i­ca are accompanied by tianguis—­temporary markets that sell holiday and everyday items. While Indigenous ­people are often romanticized by the media, tourist publications, and non-­Indigenous ­people as being the keepers of “pure” traditions, ­t hose I interviewed in Fruitvale and in Ocean­side (where public altars related to immigrant and l­ abor rights have been erected by local members of the Binational Front of Indigenous Organ­ization at that city’s Day of the Dead festivals) are po­liti­cally savvy and take advantage of such opportunities for public recognition and po­liti­cal expression. A more recent example comes from Self Help Graphics & Art, a founding institution of U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations. During the Covid-19 pandemic of 2020, when the SHG gallery space was closed, the organ­ization was invited to set up ofrendas in three Los Angeles shopping malls.53 With a long history of holding community-­based, noncommercial Day of the Dead cele­brations, Self Help Graphics artists debated among themselves ­whether or not to do it. The group’s executive director, Betty Avila, explained: “It was an in­ter­est­ing opportunity, although it brought up the question of commodification of Day of the Dead and consumer culture and, we asked ourselves, ‘Is a mall the right place for an altar?’ ” B ­ ecause so many public spaces ­were closed during the pandemic, the group ultimately de­cided to accept the invitation. Avila continued: “­There ­were a ­couple of ­t hings that convinced me to say yes to ­t hese opportunities, one of them being that t­ hese corporate locations have funding that can support this type of installation, and if it’s not Self Help Graphics that’s getting some sort of earned income to pay artists from our community to do this, who’s ­going to do it? ­Will it be somebody coming from a place of authenticity? Coming from a place of care, who is genuinely interested in educating a broader community?”54 So Self Help Graphics artists created ofrenda installations surrounded by stores such as Nordstrom Rack, Target, Sephora, and Bed, Bath and Beyond (figures 33 and 34). “We ­were very clear with the malls about the fact that this ­wasn’t win­dow dressing,” said Avila. “I asked the mall partners if they could put together a list of folks that we could add to the altars, and they ­were very excited about honoring certain p ­ eople, employees, a fashion designer who had passed away, Kobe Bryant and his ­daughter, Chadwick Boseman from Black Panther, and o ­ thers.” Participating artist Consuelo Flores created an altar for victims of Covid-19, drawing attention to the disproportionately high number of Black and Brown p ­ eople ­dying from the disease. Another altar honored the murdered ­Women of Juárez, while another remembered the nearly fifty student protesters at Ayotzinapa Rural Teachers’ College, in Mexico, who w ­ ere dis­appeared or murdered in 2014, allegedly by municipal police aligned with or­ga­nized crime. “­People ­were very moved,” said Flores. “I put ­little index cards and pencils on the altar so p ­ eople could write notes” reacting to the ofrendas or remembering

Figure 33. ​Shoppers viewing Day of the Dead altar at FIGat7th mall in downtown Los Angeles, in memory of teachers killed in Ayotzinapa, Mexico, Fall 2019. Altar and photo by Consuelo G. Flores.

Figure 34. ​Shoppers writing notes to place on Ayotzinapa altar at FIGat7th mall, fall 2019. Altar and photo by Consuelo G. Flores.

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someone they had lost.55 Photos of the installation, posted on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter by participants, showed mallgoers—­shopping bags in hand—­ staring intently at the altars, taking photos or writing notes on index cards to place on the altars. During the exhibition period, artists came to the mall early in the mornings to check on their altars, bring fresh flowers, and make small adjustments. In t­ hose wee hours, the [mostly Latinx immigrant] ser­vice workers who cleaned the mall approached them with curiosity. “In one of the mall sites, the janitorial crew came up during the installation pro­cess to ask the artists what they ­were ­doing,” said Avila. “Then they said ‘Thank you for bringing our culture into this space.’ ”56 Surprised to see Day of the Dead observed within the corporate zone where they worked, janitors and security guards began quietly making this space their place, adding their own photos and notes to the ofrendas. Self Help Graphics archivist Ariel Xochitl Hernandez noted: “The mall is such an in­ter­est­ing place ­because, on the one hand, it’s a shrine to capitalism. But the work the artists do is so genuine, honoring, in many cases, p ­ eople who are not seen. . . . ​Ser­vice workers are usually looked down upon, and having an altar at the mall becomes a way for essential workers to reclaim that space and be seen.”57 Furthermore, t­ hese unseen laborers work long hours for low pay and may not have the time or knowledge to seek out exhibitions in art galleries or museums, so bringing Day of the Dead to spaces such as malls can reach populations (workers and shoppers) who might not other­wise see them.58 In deciding to create altars in malls, Self Help Graphics artists and staff exercised agency and intention, thinking carefully about it, rather than automatically jumping at any corporate funding offered them (as tempting as such offers are for nonprofits). “It’s an in­ter­est­ing conversation,” said Avila: ­ ere have been instances where ­we’ve said no. . . . ​We got a call from a conTh cert promoter. They do massive raves and w ­ ere planning a Day of the Dead rave and asked if they could rent our large-­scale calacas. I met with them, but once I did a walk-­t hrough, I realized t­ hese pieces ­were ­going to be completely out of context at a rave. Nobody’s g­ oing to know what Self Help Graphics is or what t­ hese skulls mean or that they w ­ ere built by community members. ­There are artists on Instagram who make large-­scale Catrinas and other Mexican sculptures for t­ hese types of opportunities, almost like a Hollywood set design. And the key difference is that our practice is about a pro­cess and about creating community.59

The above examples demonstrate how Day of the Dead activities in commercial venues can exert a Latinx presence in the public arena, where participants can exercise agency, transformative imagination, and oppositional consciousness. B ­ ecause of the extensive advertising they receive, commercialized events reach much larger audiences than are typically drawn to nonprofit gallery exhibits and can complement forms of po­liti­cal expression found in more radical art

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spaces. Through my fieldwork, I realized that the a­ ctual location of an exhibit (­whether in a commercial or a noncommercial venue, or a Latinx or a non-­Latinx space) was less a determining f­ actor than the attitude of the persons creating the events. An ongoing concern regarding the commodification of cultural artifacts and practices is the fear that this w ­ ill destroy the integrity of traditions when communities from whom customs originate are ignored and their customs misappropriated. Chicano expressions such as the McMuertos installation, the Muerto Mouse cartoon, and the 2016 Day of the Dead Commercialization and Mass Marketing installation at the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago keep t­ hose concerns pre­sent in the public’s mind.60 Anyone who engages with, borrows from, or appropriates a cultural tradition has a responsibility to re­spect and understand the tradition. Yet commodification often plays an impor­tant role in the survival of traditions, and the parallel and distinct intentions of commercial forces and cultural practices can exist si­mul­ta­neously. In the case of Day of the Dead, a variety of commercial interests—­retailers, art dealers, book publishers, museums, tourism, urban renewal initiatives, and Hollywood movies—­have helped pop­u­lar­ized the tradition, in both Mexico and the United States, without negating the spiritual, social, and po­liti­cal meanings that participants give to the cele­bration. Even the proliferation of calavera graphics used to sell unrelated commercial products familiarizes the general public with symbols that can make audiences more aware of and interested in learning about the cele­bration. What some might label crass commercialism (examples mentioned to me by Chicanx artists included Day of the Dead Barbie dolls, lottery tickets, and Día de los Muertos events at Disneyland) is seen by o ­ thers as inclusion and repre­sen­ta­tion. Some ­people ­will engage superficially, while ­others ­will be inspired to learn more, as Anglo film director Lee Unkrich did when he got the idea to make Coco while visiting a Mexican-­t hemed ­ride at Disney’s Epcot Center in 2011.61 Cutting-­edge con­temporary art, spiritually meaningful rituals, and oppositional po­liti­cal expression are often assumed to exist exclusively outside of dominant institutions and commercial spaces. This is a misleading assumption. Art produced in nonprofit spaces is not always exempt from succumbing to corporate or government pressures and does not always represent the interests of disenfranchised populations (Kester 1998), and art produced in commercial spaces is not necessarily lacking in transformative imagination or oppositional consciousness. For centuries, holidays in both Western and non-­Western socie­ties have been connected to commerce (Mauss 1967; Waits 1993; Schmidt 1995), with spiritual, social, and commercial phenomena operating si­mul­ta­neously as individuals choose the level at which they wish to participate. A crucial mea­sure when evaluating Day of the Dead practices and artifacts is not ­whether they are commodified or occur in commercial venues but, instead, w ­ hether individuals find ways to have meaningful contact with each other, exercising agency and creating community.

Conclusion what we can learn from U.S. day of the dead cele­brations

In this book I’ve told a complex story about the communicative capacity of public cultural ritual in identity construction, education, community building, and po­liti­cal protest. It is a story about the agency of an historically ste­reo­t yped and subordinated population with relatively l­ ittle economic capital and abundant cultural capital to contest hegemonic sociopo­liti­cal norms and challenge racist, mass-­produced discourses about themselves—­narratives that, for too long, reinforced the socioeconomic and po­liti­cal subordination of U.S. Latinx populations. US Day of the Dead activities tell stories that help us understand the past and imagine the ­f uture. They reveal how a community sees itself and how it is seen by o ­ thers. The phenomenon of this cele­bration in the United States encourages a rethinking of what is typically considered “media” to include public art and cultural rituals as impor­tant forms of grassroots communication, particularly for populations that have ­limited input or repre­sen­ta­tion in mainstream media production b ­ ecause of their class, race, language, or immigration status. It is an example of “politics by other means” in which long-­standing norms of cultural devaluation and exclusion are challenged by utilizing traditional forms of social solidarity to create alternative public spheres. I have focused on U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations as multimedia events, but I have also highlighted the multipronged effects of the mass media on ­t hese cele­brations, the Latinx community, and the larger U.S. society. Day of the Dead altars stimulate affective connections and an exchange of ideas among ­people at local, regional, and national levels. This in turn helps generate a sense of belonging to and responsibility t­oward the larger community. One of this book’s most impor­tant implications is that meaningful po­liti­cal communication happens during activities and in places that are not usually recognized as po­liti­cal. Although Day of the Dead cele­brations may appear, at first glance, to be just another form of colorful multicultural entertainment, they do 160

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Figure 35. ​Preparing for Day of the Dead cele­bration in Forest Hills Cemetery, co-­sponsored by La Piñata, Boston, November 1, 2010. Photo by author.

not automatically reinforce the glossy assumptions of equality and peaceful coexistence inherent in many multicultural proj­ects. Besides reclaiming public space for Latinx populations, messages conveyed at altar exhibits, street pro­ cessions, spoken word events and related public rituals frequently elucidate the severe realities of U.S. populations for whom the American Dream is not an actuality. Th ­ ese themes are noted in media coverage of Day of the Dead, illustrating that ethnic cele­bration reportage is not ­limited to feel-­good stories but can stimulate reflection on impor­tant current events (Marchi 2008). Day of the Dead exhibits and media coverage of them can cultivate greater understanding and solidarity between diverse populations, helping to create the groundwork necessary for civic engagement, w ­ hether in the form of volunteering at a local community organ­ization or getting involved in more explic­itly po­liti­cal work. Although for this proj­ect I did not study the relationship between ­people’s participation in Day of the Dead and subsequent forms of community activism, vari­ous interview participants mentioned that, a­ fter being profoundly moved by Day of the Dead exhibits or events, they ­were inspired to become involved in local community centers, art councils, museums, community development initiatives or other types of civic organ­izations. ­Others ­were unexpectedly awakened to disturbing sociopo­liti­cal realities while attending ­these events. For

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example, a middle-­aged Anglo technical writer told me that he had never heard of the ­Women of Juárez before attending a Day of the Dead exhibit at Cal State San Marcos. Three el­derly Mexican American ­women, unable to hold back tears as they helped decorate the unmarked graves of dead mi­grants at a Day of the Dead cemetery event in Holtville, California, told me that the experience made them want to become more active in immigrant rights advocacy and social pastoral work along the border. A Guatemalan American told me that he had never considered the connections between race, class, and military recruitment in U.S. high schools before seeing an antiwar altar at the Ocean­side Day of the Dead festival. ­These are but a few of the many examples I came across of ­people who ­were initially drawn to Day of the Dead events b ­ ecause of the cultural aspects of the cele­bration, but left with new awareness and intention. Given the pessimism regarding national decreases in traditional forms of civic engagement, growing partisan po­liti­cal divisions, and an increasingly consolidated and monopolistic corporate media landscape, more research is needed on alternative forms of civic engagement that occur outside of official politics. Civic participation in concrete actions, such as voter turnout, volunteerism, or po­liti­ cal activism, must be preceded by consciousness-­raising pro­cesses that create a foundation for more elaborate and institutionalized po­liti­cal action. As po­liti­ cal scientist James C. Scott notes, material and symbolic re­sis­tance are part of the same set of mutually sustaining practices—­symbolic re­sis­tance not only supports material re­sis­tance but is a condition for it (1990, 184–191). Contrary to romanticized portrayals of Day of the Dead as a relatively uninterrupted continuation of pre-­Columbian Indigenous rituals, the cele­bration in the United States is an “inventive” tradition born of discrimination, experimentation, and contestation. All cultural traditions involve complex pro­cesses of both destruction and innovation, as communities actively create traditions, incorporate ele­ments from outside, invent rituals, and reinvent themselves in the pro­cess. The historical and ethnographic evidence presented in t­hese pages reveals the decisive roles played by artist-­activists, cultural and educational institutions, the mass media, government agencies, and commercial interests in making the cele­bration a requisite feature of autumn, while also illuminating the dynamic relationship between tradition and innovation in USAmerican culture. In an increasingly interconnected world, unpre­ce­dented levels of transcultural exchange over the past five de­cades have transmitted Day of the Dead to wider publics than ever before in Mexico, the United States, and elsewhere, defying dichotomies of local versus global, traditional versus modern, or au­then­ tic versus commercial.1 In their interactions over the past fifty years with mainstream educational, cultural, commercial, and media institutions, the Chicano/a creators of U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations have illustrated that when mainstream audiences are

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exposed to alternative cultural aesthetics and beliefs, the result can subvert hegemonic practices and values. Not only has the cele­bration of Day of the Dead in the United States helped create more public visibility, a sense of community, and cultural pride for Latinx populations, but it has also influenced mainstream U.S. cultural norms, diversifying education curricula, museum offerings, mass media content, and public forms of po­liti­cal expression. In the pro­cess, it has broadened the national spectrum of contemplative and material practices related to remembering the dead, inspiring more open conversations about death in a society that used to shun the topic. This has also been a story about the po­liti­cal potential of cultural hybridity as a space where intercultural communication practices are mediated in interactions marked by differing levels of power (the power of dominant educational, cultural and government institutions, the power of the media, the power of commerce, and the power of activists, artists, mi­grants, and everyday ­people). As such, Day of the Dead is a fruitful space for ongoing discussions around issues of cultural authenticity and appropriation. Cultural hybridity created with agency and intention by minoritized populations is a power­f ul resource—­with an ironic twist: Practices must adapt and appeal broadly enough to grow and thrive, but widespread popularity can bring new appropriations that go beyond original intentions. In this balancing act, multiple functionalities coexist si­mul­ ta­neously, resulting in a variety of distinct outcomes. Day of the Dead’s modern trajectory exemplifies the consequences of accelerated communication pro­cesses that previously took place at much slower rates. Rituals originally practiced in Mexico’s Indigenous communities circulated to the United States by means of multiple communication pro­cesses (such as improved road and air transportation, migration, tourism, commercialization, and the mass media), where they underwent a cultural and po­liti­cal metamorphosis within the Chicano movement. Chicano cele­brations ­were ­later influenced by the Day of the Dead traditions of new waves of Indigenous Mexican, Guatemalan, and other Latin American immigrants coming to live in the United States, who in turn w ­ ere influenced by Chicano aspects of the cele­bration.2 Depending on who organizes and participates in them, U.S. Day of the Dead cele­brations can represent Mexican American, Latinx, or a more general community (neighborhood, town, city) identity, as new relationships develop among diverse populations in reaction to changing demographic, social, and po­liti­cal circumstances. By way of the same communication pro­cesses of migration, tourism, commercialization, and mass media, U.S. Day of the Dead expressions have recirculated to Mexico, influencing expressions of the holiday ­t here (such as po­l iti­cally themed altars, calavera face painting, and Catrina contests). As alternative media, U.S. Day of the Dead expressions continue to si­mul­ta­neously challenge and revitalize mainstream U.S. culture. Legacy Chicana artist Ofelia

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Esparza, who began creating altar installations at Self Help Graphics & Art in 1979, was about to turn 89 years old when I interviewed her in 2021. Reflecting on the past fifty years of U.S. Day of the Dead events, she concluded: “What I have loved all t­hese years is the creativity. . . . ​So many artists have done beautiful ­t hings! And I ­don’t know where it’s g­ oing next, but I’m sure it ­w ill continue!”3

Methodological Appendix

Research for this book took place over a period of twenty years (2000–2021). The methodology entailed (a) historical research, (b) textual analy­sis, and (c) multisite ethnography with personal interviews. I attended Day of the Dead pro­cessions, vigils, exhibitions, workshops, film screenings, altar-­making ceremonies, spoken word events, and related activities in California, New Mexico, Arizona, Texas, New York, New Jersey, Mas­sa­chu­setts, and Tijuana, Mexico. In 2020–2021, during to the Covid-19 pandemic, when art galleries, museums and community centers ­were closed, I viewed dozens of virtual exhibitions posted on museum websites along with YouTube videos of Day of the Dead car caravans, street pro­cessions, and outdoor community ofrenda exhibitions. I conducted 78 formal research interviews with Day of the Dead organizers and participants from 2000–2007 and spoke with 34 additional p ­ eople in 2019–2021 via Zoom interviews, phone calls, and/or email. Traveling widely throughout Latin Amer­i­ca since 1990, I had also observed and discussed Day of the Dead traditions with p ­ eople in Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Panama, and Ec­ua­ dor, which provided me with additional insights and background information for this study.

Historical Research I started with a review of scholarly lit­er­a­ture on pre-­Columbian, colonial, and con­temporary Latin American rituals for remembering the dead. ­These ranged from colonial accounts of sixteenth-­century Indigenous rituals to ethnographic writings by nineteenth-­and twentieth-­century anthropologists, folklorists, and travelers. I also viewed a variety of documentary films and photography books about Day of the Dead in Mexico. For information on more recent Day of the Dead customs in Latin Amer­i­ca, I searched newspaper articles and editorials 165

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published from 1998 to 2021 in Latin American newspapers for the dates October  30 to November  3, finding relevant material in Mexican, Guatemalan, Nicaraguan, Honduran, Salvadoran, Ec­ua­dor­ian, Bolivian, Panamanian, and Argentine newspapers. For information about U.S. Day of the Dead events, I reviewed scholarly publications, art exhibition cata­logs, U.S. newspaper and magazine articles, recordings from National Public Radio and vari­ous podcasts, TV news coverage of festivities, educational curriculum guides, craft books, archival materials from Chicano art galleries (old promotional posters, flyers, newspaper advertisements, and clippings about events), websites, and social media posts.

Textual Analy­sis I conducted analy­sis of altar exhibits and media coverage of Day of the Dead events (in magazine and newspaper articles published in the United States over the past fifty years), with a strong emphasis on California events. I photographed altar exhibits, Day of the Dead artwork, pro­cessions and ceremonies; took notes on the placement of objects and the words spoken at per­for­mances, lectures, and poetry events; and documented visual, olfactory, and auditory details. At exhibits, I noted the names of altar makers and copied (by hand or via photos) the written text that accompanied installations. When handouts ­were available at installations, I gathered copies. ­These usually consisted of explanations of an altar’s significance, information about the artist(s), and/or information about the person or po­liti­cal cause being honored. When pos­si­ble, I spoke with the altar makers or performers about their work, if they ­were pre­sent at exhibits or events (which was common during exhibition openings and one-­day special events). To analyze media coverage of events, I acquired news articles and transcripts of radio and TV segments about Day of the Dead using Lexis-­Nexis, Factiva, Access World News, ProQuest, and other databases.

Ethnographic Fieldwork Ethnography comprised the bulk of my research. Although I officially initiated my study in the fall of 2000, I had attended Day of the Dead exhibits in San Diego and Tijuana in the fall of 1999. My ethnographic work entailed attending Day of the Dead exhibitions, festivals, and other events where I spent several hours (or days) per event observing the environment and participant interactions. When pos­si­ble, I attended the same event (such as a multiday festival or long-­running exhibition) on more than one day to observe and take notes. For events within easy geographic distance, I attended the same events multiple years, noting changes and continuities over time. I also conducted in-­depth, recorded interviews with organizers and participants.

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My fieldwork expanded geo­graph­i­cally over time. In the fall of 2000 I attended events in the towns of San Ysidro, Chula Vista, Escondido, Solana Beach, and Ocean­side, California, as well as in San Diego and Tijuana. In the fall of 2001, along with attending annual events in the above communities, I attended several Day of the Dead exhibits, workshops, and altar-­making ceremonies in Los Angeles. In the fall of 2002 and 2003, ­after attending exhibits and events in San Diego and Los Angeles, I flew to San Francisco to attend the Day of the Dead pro­cession in the Mission District (which I had ­earlier attended three times in the 1990s), and spent two weeks visiting and photographing numerous Day of the Dead installations at Bay Area community centers, schools, universities, galleries, restaurants, and stores, and interviewing artists, curators, staff, students, retailers, and teachers who w ­ ere involved. From October 26 to November 1, 2003, I participated in a week-­long, binational Day of the Dead Border Pilgrimage or­ga­nized by the Interfaith Co­a li­tion for H ­ uman Rights, traversing the border regions of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Participation in this event allowed me to observe Day of the Dead pro­cessions and exhibits in towns in southern Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. It also gave me an opportunity to informally interview participants from the caravan of pilgrims and the hosting churches, universities, social ser­v ice agencies, community centers, and arts organ­izations along the way. In the fall of 2004, 2005, 2009, and 2019, I attended Day of the Dead exhibitions, pro­cessions, vigils, and other activities in San Diego County (including downtown San Diego and the cities of Ocean­side, Vista, Solana Beach, Escondido, La Jolla, and Chula Vista) as well as in several areas of Los Angeles. From 1999 to 2009, I attended more than 25 workshops on how to make sugar skulls, ofrendas, paper flowers, skeleton arts and crafts, masks, and pan de muerto. As a participant observer, I enjoyed the activities while taking notes on the subjects being taught, the reactions of participants, their gender, age, race, ethnicity, and other aspects. I also took photos. From 2007 to 2018, I informally attended Day of the Dead events in New Jersey, New York City, and Boston, taking notes and photos. ­Because Day of the Dead activities in the United States take place over an extended season of four to twelve weeks, it was pos­si­ble for me to attend numerous events in dif­fer­ent neighborhoods and cities each year. Some organ­izations hold their cele­brations on November 1 or 2, but many hold their events the weekend before or ­after, which made it logistically easier for me to attend multiple events. I plotted a monthly schedule of events to attend each year, or­ga­nized by dates and geo­graph­i­cal locations. I attended multiple events each Saturday and Sunday during “Muertos season,” and additional exhibits, film screenings, poetry slams, or public lectures during the weekdays. Each year my friends and f­amily came to expect that I would be unavailable for socializing during the fall weekends due to my research activities. In the end, I attended more than 180 exhibitions,

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pro­cessions, festivals, workshops, and other events from 2000–2008 while conducting research for the first edition of this book, and 21 events from 2015 to 2020 for this revised edition. I learned of events via word of mouth; local newspapers; websites hosted by community centers, galleries, museums, tourist bureaus and folk art stores; and by putting myself on the mailing lists of ­t hese organ­i zations. At each event I attended, I took photo­g raphs and field notes. I began interviews in the early 2000s by contacting staff at three pioneering Latinx art galleries: the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts, and Galería de la Raza, in San Francisco; and Self-­Help Graphics & Art in Los Angeles. ­After contacting key personnel at each site via a letter written on official university stationery, I scheduled face-­to-­face, tape-­recorded interviews via follow-up phone calls and emails. All of the nonprofit organ­ization directors, artists, and curators I contacted for my first round of formal interviews w ­ ere middle-­aged or elder Chicano/as who had been involved in their respective organ­ization’s earliest Day of the Dead cele­brations. Each possessed an average of thirty years of experience working in the Latinx arts community. They ­were able to provide detailed oral histories about Day of the Dead at their organ­izations and offer views on the ritual’s social and po­liti­ cal significance and changes over time. All identified themselves as long-­term participants in the Chicano movement. ­After initial interviews with ­t hese Day of the Dead initiators, I began interviewing staff from organ­izations that had more recently begun to celebrate Day of the Dead. At the end of each interview, I asked for suggestions of ­others who might be willing to talk with me in the ­future. This yielded names of artists, board members, and program constituents whom I l­ater contacted, enabling me to use snowball sampling to acquire the bulk of my interview subjects. With the exception of one agency that never responded to my letters and calls, nearly every­one I contacted was willing to be interviewed. A few individuals who w ­ ere unable to meet in person emailed me comments or gave me names of other ­people I could contact in their place. In total, I conducted 78 interviews (averaging one hour each) for the first edition of the book, including residents active in their local community centers or churches, high school and college students, public school teachers, university professors, artists, curators, po­liti­cal activists, librarians, clergy, community development specialists, business leaders, event volunteers, and vendors of Day of the Dead products. I also held many informal conversations with Day of the Dead participants whom I met at exhibits, pro­cessions, and workshops (some of whom I l­ater interviewed formally). For the second edition, I interviewed 34 additional p ­ eople (in person in 2019, and by phone, Zoom, or email in the Covid19 years of 2020–2021). Interviewees ranged in age from early 20s to late 80s. Every­one quoted by name in this book gave me written permission to do so. Quotes of individuals who preferred anonymity are listed with just the interview date and location.

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­Because Day of the Dead is one of the busiest periods of the year for ­t hose who or­ga­nize ­t hese cele­brations, I avoided scheduling interviews during this time. Most of my interviews w ­ ere conducted from January to September, ­after the rush of the winter holidays and before the autumn Day of the Dead activities began. Interviews ­were conducted in En­glish or Spanish, according to a subject’s preference. I met ­people in their location of choice, which was often a local café but sometimes their home or office. Interviewees ­were Mexican Americans and other U.S.-­born Latinx ­people; Mexican immigrants (Mestizos and Indigenous Mixtecs who hailed from urban and rural areas of Mexico); Central Americans from El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala (including Indigenous Ma­ya K’iché and Mam); immigrants from South Amer­i­ca (Argentina, Brazil, Ec­ua­ dor, Peru); and non-­Latinx Day of the Dead participants of diverse races. In contrast to most of the immigrants interviewed, the majority of U.S.-­born Latinx interviewees w ­ ere college-­educated. The non-­L atinx ­people I interviewed ­were predominantly middle-­class, college-­educated individuals. Some described themselves as living alternative lifestyles (such as neo-­pagan or Goth) and ­were actively exploring alternative worldviews. ­Others ­were el­derly retirees, military families, and middle-­class and working-­class ­people unconnected to the arts who had learned of Day of the Dead events through local news or their c­ hildren’s schools. Another group of non-­Latinx ­people I met w ­ ere members of progressive religious congregations that held Day of the Dead ser­v ices, pro­cessions, or altar-­making events. I began by interviewing non-­Latinx ­people I knew personally who celebrated Day of the Dead, asking them to recommend o ­ thers whom I might contact. I also acquired interviewees by striking up conversations with ­people at Day of the Dead events that had noticeably high proportions of non-­Latinx people in attendance, such as the Campo Santo cemetery event in San Diego’s Old Town, the Mission District’s Day of the Dead Pro­cession in San Francisco, the Participatory Offering at the California Center for the Arts in Escondido, and the Universalist Unitarian Day of the Dead Cele­bration in Solana Beach. While the majority of non-­ Latinx participants w ­ ere white, this group also included Asians, African Americans, Native Americans, ­Middle Easterners, and East Indians. Throughout my research I was deeply impressed by the enthusiasm and candor with which participants spoke with me, and touched by how many p ­ eople went out of their way to be helpful. Interviews scheduled to last sixty minutes often lasted much longer. Repeatedly, I received emails from p ­ eople I had interviewed, inviting me to attend upcoming Day of the Dead (and other) community events in subsequent months or years. I was also invited to attend planning meetings of community organ­izations as they prepared for Day of the Dead cele­ brations. Most organ­izations generously offered to share their press kits, archival photos, promotional posters and flyers, educational curricula, sponsorship information, and/or event guest book comments. Besides formal interviews,

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artists and curators spent additional time in follow-up emails or phone conversations with me. Some sent photocopies or citations of articles they thought would be useful for my proj­ect, recommended books, or offered to make their personal photos available for my research. As a way of expressing my gratitude, I shared copies of my published work to interested individuals and responded promptly when ­people asked me to send them citations, website links, or a typed transcript of our interview. Where relevant, I also offered to do ­free talks about Day of the Dead at community organ­izations and schools, as a way to show my appreciation to interviewees and the larger Latinx community. I maintained email contact with participants who expressed interest in staying in touch and sent drafts of relevant chapters to Chicano/a artists who offered to provide feedback on my work. I could not have asked for more generous research participants, in terms of both their time and their spirit of collaboration. I am far more grateful to all of them than words can convey.

Notes

preface 1. Chachayotl is the Nahuatl (Aztec) name for the pod seeds of the ­giant thevetia tree, which grows throughout Mesoamerica and South Amer­i­ca. The seeds have been used as musical instruments since precolonial times.

introduction 1. See, for example, La Catrina Más Catrina Photo Contest, https://­a​.­pgtb​.­me​ /­m 4C6sG. 2. See: https://­news​.­nike​.­com​/­footwear​/­day​-­of​-­t he​-­dead​-­pack. 3. https://­w ww​.­stadiumgiveawayexchange​.­com​/­october​-­1​-­2021​-­los​-­angles​-­dodgers​-­dia​ -­de​-­los​-­dodgers​-­bobblehead​/­. 4. Delpar (1992) describes cultural exchanges between U.S. and Mexican artists, writers, and social scientists from 1920 to 1935, noting that during ­t hese years more Guggenheim fellows and other U.S. researchers went to Mexico than to any other Latin American country. Also see Hellier-­Tinoco 2011. 5. Personal discussion with C. Lara, Director of the Center for Folkloric Studies, Universidad de San Carlos, Guatemala City, July 9, 2001; and also in Lara (1998, 2002). 6. Based on my review of more than a hundred articles and editorials published in vari­ ous Latin American newspapers from October 1, 1970, through August 30, 2020. 7. The term “mainstream” in this book refers to dominant ideas, attitudes, or activities regarded as conventional in the United States. ­Until the 1970s ­these norms ­were mostly determined by Anglo-­A mericans and ­t hose who identified with or emulated them. 8. The 2019 Day of the Dead exhibition ¡El Movimiento Vivo! Chicano Roots of El Día de los Muertos at the Oakland Museum of California, https://­museumca​.­org​/­exhibit​ /­¡el​-­movimiento​-­v ivo​-­chicano​-­roots​-­el​-­d%C3%ADa​-­de​-­los​-­muertos; and the 2017 Día de los Muertos: A Cultural Legacy, Past, Pre­sent & ­Future exhibition at Self Help Graphics & Art in Los Angeles, https://­w ww​.s­ elfhelpgraphics​.­com​/­calendar​/­2017​/­9​/­17​/­da​-­de​-­los​ -­muertos​-­a​-­cultural​-­legacy​-­past​-­present​-­a nd​-­f uture.

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chapter 1  —­  an ancient and modern festival 1. While they share certain beliefs and rituals, and the same name, ­t hese cele­brations are distinct from Mexico’s. However, the specific term “Day of the Dead” is also used in Italy (il Giorno dei Morti), France and Haiti (Jour des Morts), and Portugal and Brazil (Día dos Mortos). 2. Throughout Latin Amer­i­ca, including in Mexico, the holiday is described by a variety of names, including Todos Santos or La Fiesta de Todos los Santos (Feast of All Saints’ Day), El Día de los Difuntos (Day of the Deceased), El Día de los Fieles Difuntos (Day of the Faithful Departed), La Fiesta de los Finados (Feast of the Deceased), and El Día de las Ánimas Benditas (Day of the Blessed Souls). In Mexico, the expression “El Día de los Muertos” is common in urban areas, while in rural Indigenous areas “Todos Santos” or “El Día de los Difuntos” are common. In Central and South Amer­i­ca, “Todos Santos” and “El Día de los Difuntos” are most often used, although “El Día de los Muertos” is becoming more common. 3. R. Lopez, “Family Reunions Mark Day of the Dead Ritual,” Houston Chronicle, October 2, 2003, A 35. 4. “Mr. And Mrs. Bones Request the Plea­sure of Your Com­pany,” L.A. Weekly, Calendar, 61. 5. J. Olvera, “A Cele­bration of Life on Day of the Dead,” Rocky Mountain News, November 3, 2003, 5A. 6. In Catholicism, novenas consist of group prayer for nine consecutive days, carried out particularly during times of mourning or when special heavenly assistance is sought. 7. Placing special foods (particularly sweets and breads) on tombs and erecting ancestor altars have been done for centuries in places as disparate as Spain (Carmichael and Sayer 1991), Japan (Ivy 1995), Rus­sia (Propp 1987, 236), Ireland (Santino 1994, 1998), Egypt (Richards 2005), North Amer­i­c a (Brandes 1997, 285–286), and elsewhere in Asia and Africa. 8. Marigolds are known in Mexico by the Nahuatl name “cempasúchil” and in Central Amer­i­ca as “flor de muerto” or “flor de cempa.” Marigolds have been used in Mesoamerica to honor the dead since pre-­Columbian times. 9. Certain beliefs and customs associated with Samhain continued long ­after Ireland was converted to Chris­tian­ity. As recently as the mid-­twentieth ­century, arrangements of bread and produce ­were prepared in rural Irish homes on November 1—­“a bowl of ­water placed on the t­ able,” and the doors left unlatched “to let in the souls” (Santino 1998, 90). 10. For discussions of the ritual renewal of ­family and community ties during Day of the Dead in South Amer­i­ca, Mexico, and U.S.-­Mixtec communities, see Buechler 1980, Nutini 1988, and Bade 1997, respectively. 11. The belief that the souls of ­children and adults arrive on separate dates exists throughout Mexico, Central Amer­i­ca, and the Andean region. 12. Personal discussion with resident of Morales, Izabál, Guatemala, November 5, 1999. The ­family reunion aspect of Day of the Dead is also noted by Carmichael and Sayer (1991), Garciagodoy (1998), Greenleigh and Beimler (1991), Bade (1997), and Rogers (2002). 13. In Italy, sugar treats known as “ossi dei morti” (bones of the dead) and cookies called “fava dei morti” (beans of the dead) are made in Trieste, Naples, Palermo, Sicily, and elsewhere on November 1 and 2. Many areas of Italy also make “pane dei morti” (bread of the dead). Bringing “pan de ánimas” (spirit bread) to the graves on All Souls’ Day was

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also done in medieval Spain, and today Spaniards still eat sweet treats called “huesos de santo” (saint’s bones) and buñuelos on November 1 and 2. 14. In the early 2000s, when I wrote the first edition of this book, very few scholarly or film resources existed about Day of the Dead in Latin American countries beyond Mexico. T ­ oday, videos posted on YouTube and other social media show that the practices discussed in this section continue in the pre­sent. 15. Personal observation, November 1991–1994, Guatemala. 16. Ritual begging on this day also occurs in Mexico and South Amer­i­ca and is reminiscent of All Souls’ Day “souling” practices of E ­ ngland and Ireland that migrated to the United States to become “trick or treating.” 17. Personal interviews with lifelong residents of Huehuetenango, April  7, 2001 and June 1, 2019. This custom also occurs in El Salvador and Mexico. 18. Personal observation. According to Guatemalan anthropologist Celso Lara, the reason the dish is pickled and served cold is so it ­won’t spoil when taken to the cemetery. The Spanish word “El Fiambre” means “cold cuts” and is also a slang word for “corpse.” 19. Personal interviews with Salvadoran immigrants living in San Francisco in May, 2001, October 2003, and November 2020. Articles and photos of the practice ­were also retrieved from www​.­El Salvador​.­com on November 2, 2004, and November 2, 2020. 20. Personal interview with two natives of Chinandega, Nicaragua, in San Diego, June 1, 2001. 21. K’espiña is a dough made of ground quinoa mixed with lime. 22. The widespread consumption of anthropomorphic breads in the Andean region during the Days of the Dead (also seen in Oaxaca, Mexico) is noted by Brandes (1997, 285) and Rogers (2002, 144). 23. According to discussions I have had with Ec­ua­dor­ians and photos taken in November 2002 documenting ­t hese activities in a cemetery in Otavalo, Ec­ua­dor.

chapter 2  —­ ­mexico’s distinctive relationship with day of the dead 1. UNESCO, https://­ich​.­unesco​.­org​/­en​/­R L​/­indigenous​-­festivity​-­dedicated​-­to​-­the​-­dead​ -­00054, accessed July 9, 2021. 2. Mole is a sauce combining ground chili peppers, nuts, spices, choco­late, and other ingredients. Pulque is a Mesoamerican alcoholic drink made from the fermented agave plant, maguey. 3. Known as bombas in Guatemala and El Salvador, ­t hese anonymous poems, typically written by university students and published in university newspapers, have provided fleeting opportunities to condemn institutionalized vio­lence and extreme economic disparity within contexts of severe po­liti­cal repression. Personal observation and discussion with university students in Guatemala City and San Salvador, 1990–1998 and 2018–2019. 4. ­Today the original social commentary of La Catrina is largely unknown to the general public. 5. “Day of the Dead Expected to Draw Million Visitors,” Los Angeles Times, September 26, 1987, 20. 6. See also Brandes (1998, 374) for similar accounts regarding the northern Mexican states of Chihuahua, Coahuila, and Sonora. 7. Personal interview, Tijuana, Mexico, October 31, 2001. 8. D. Gaddis-­Smith, “Skele­tons out of the Closet,” San Diego Union-­Tribune, October 31, 1999, H-13.

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9. C. Dipping, “Tijuana Day Trip W ­ ill Preview Day of the Dead holiday,” San Diego Union-­Tribune, September 21, 1996, B1. 10. A. O’Connor, “Traditions Collide at Halloween,” Los Angeles Times, October 31, 1997, A1, Metro.

chapter 3  —­  day of the dead in the united states 1. While West (1989) and Turner and Jasper (1994) refer to t­ hese as “Day of the Dead” observances, this term, pop­u­lar­ized by Chicanos since the 1970s, was not previously used by most Mexican Americans, who exclusively referred to this two-­day period by the Catholic names “All Saints’ Day” and “All Souls Day” (or Spanish terms such as “Todos Santos” and “el Día de las Almas”). 2. When some 60,000 Indigenous Oaxacans immigrated to California in the 1980s and 1990s, they began to construct Day of the Dead altars in their homes. This is a relatively recent phenomenon and does not negate the fact that, prior to the 1970s, Indigenous-­ style Day of the Dead altars w ­ ere not part of the Mexican American experience. For more on the construction of Indigenous altars in private f­ amily settings among Oaxacan immigrants in California, see Bade (1997). 3. Decorating graves and/or home shrines with photos, flowers, candles, and mementos on All Souls’ Day has been, and continues to be, done by many Catholics worldwide. 4. Before cars became affordable, enabling faster travel to cemeteries, it was common for diverse Catholic populations, such as the Italians, Irish, and Polish, to bring picnics to cemeteries on All Souls’ Day. This tradition was not unique to Mexican Americans. 5. Personal email communication with J. W. Gonzalez, San Antonio bureau chief, Houston Chronicle, June 13, 2005. 6. Personal interview with C. Lomas Garza, San Francisco, May 25, 2006. 7. Artist Yolanda Garfias Woo shared a similar experience. In 1975, pan de muerto was nowhere to be found in San Francisco’s Mexican bakeries. Nurturing the incipient Día de los Muertos cele­bration in the mainly Mexican Mission District, she asked local bakers to make it. None of them knew what it was, and she had to draw illustrations to show them what it looked like. ­Today the bread is baked at all of the Mission’s Mexican bakeries for Day of the Dead season, and most residents ­don’t remember a time when it ­wasn’t. See M. Carrasquero, November 2, 2017, https://­blog​.­sfgate​.­com​/­inthemission​/­2017​/1­ 1​/0 ­ 2​ /­t he​-­sweet​-­bread​-­for​-­t he​-­day​-­of​-­t he​-­dead​-­has​-­its​-­own​-­sf​-­story​-­to​-­tell​/­. 8. Comprehensive information on the genesis of the cele­bration in San Francisco is found in Morrison (1992). Further historical documentation and curatorial perspective on the California tradition is available in Romo (2000). For history on the birth of the cele­bration in Los Angeles, see Vallejo and Brown (2017). 9. Personal interview with Y. Garfias Woo, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 10. Personal interview with N. Chárraga, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 11. Personal interview with B. Carrillo Hocker, March 15, 2021. 12. Personal email communication with B. Carrillo Hocker, June 14, 2021. 13. Personal email communication with B. Carrillo Hocker, June 14, 2021. 14. Personal interview with John Jota Leaños, February 26, 2021. 15. Indigenous cultures w ­ ere romanticized by both the post-­Revolution Mexican government and the Chicano movement. In the former case, this represented the dominant ideology of Mexican nationalism; in the latter, a re­sis­tance to dominant U.S. ideologies and acculturation pressures.

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16. An example is Ester Hernández’s well-­k nown 1982 “Sun Mad” poster, which is a critical spoof of the iconic “Sun Maid” raisin box. Created in support of the United Farm Workers’ efforts to ban chemical pesticides, the poster portrayed a skeletal “maid” holding a basket of pesticide-­laden grapes, underscoring the sickness and death caused to workers by pesticides. See https://­esterhernandez​.­com. A more recent example is the “Dead Network News (DNN),” a “humerus” animated news show created by artist John J. Leaños and colleagues that ran from 2007 to 2017 as part of Imperial Silence: Una Ópera Muerta/A Dead Opera in Four Acts. “It is conceived out of the tradition of Day of the Dead and José Guadalupe Posada’s broadsheets that used skele­tons to comment on the news and po­l iti­c al affairs,” said Leaños. Personal email communication, July 31, 2021. See DNN, https://­v imeo​.­com​/­user2750627. 17. Modeled on Eu­ro­pean debutante balls, quinceañeras are “Sweet 15” birthday parties celebrated by families in Latin Amer­i­ca as well as by U.S. Latinx families. 18. Guadalupanas are religious associations or­ga­nized by Mexican American Catholic ­women to do charity work and or­ga­nize the cele­bration of the Virgin of Guadalupe each December 12. 19. Personal interview with T. Romo, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 20. Early Chicano Day of the Dead cele­brations in Sacramento and Los Angeles included Catholic Masses, and some secular Day of the Dead cele­brations have included the participation of Catholic clergy, but most do not. The first Day of the Dead festival in Ocean­side, California (in 2001), began with a Catholic Mass and the blessing of ofrendas by a priest, but this was ­stopped the next year due to complaints that, ­because the event received public funding, it should not include religious activities. 21. Most Chicanos I interviewed considered Day of the Dead more Indigenous than Catholic, but Indigenous Mixtecs and Mayans I interviewed called the cele­bration “muy Católica.” In Latin Amer­i­ca, ­people who make Day of the Dead ofrendas are Catholic, whereas in the United States, ­people of any religion and no religion make them. 22. Following Theodossopoulos (2013) and Sahlins (1999), I prefer the word “inventive” to “in­ven­ted,” as it emphasizes creativity and agency. 23. Personal email communication with D. Avalos, June 29, 2021. 24. Personal interview with D. Avalos, San Marcos, CA, July 29, 2003. 25. The Day of the Dead calavera is now a year-­round logo for many Chicanx organ­ izations, websites, cafes, art galleries, shops, and restaurants. 26. Personal interview with an employee of a San Diego art gallery, May 29, 2003. 27. Personal communication with sales rep at a major San Francisco newspaper, June 13, 2005. 28. ­A fter de­cades of promoting assimilationist models, the U.S. government and private foundations began funding multicultural arts and educational initiatives in response to civil rights work and the resulting 1974 Ethnic Heritage Act. The new funding made it pos­si­ble to conduct the kinds of workshops discussed h ­ ere. 29. Many early Chicano Day of the Dead participants learned about the cele­bration from the 1957 film Day of the Dead, by Eames and Eames. According to Chicana curator Karen Mary Davalos, “The short film circulated widely through California art schools . . . ​ the film became an impor­tant source of material for Self Help Graphics and its artists” (Davalos 2017, 23). 30. This was confirmed in my interviews with Chicanx artists, as well.

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31. El Teatro Campesino uses bilingual language for culturally specific, humorous storytelling aimed at raising awareness of po­liti­cal issues affecting the Latinx community. 32. Personal conversation, San Francisco, November 5, 2002. 33. Personal email communication with T. Romo, August 13, 2007. 34. For examples, see Romo (2000), Noriega (2002), Vallejo and Brown (2017), and Ramos et al. (2020). 35. Personal phone interview with M. Cruz-­Chavez, October 18, 2004. 36. Personal phone interview with M. Aguilar, November 26, 2007. 37. Since 2005 I have seen lowrider ofrendas at Day of the Dead events in Los Angeles, Ocean­side, CA, Solana Beach, CA, Dallas, San Antonio, El Paso, Albuquerque, ­Chicago, and elsewhere. Videos of lowrider Day of the Dead altars are easy to find on YouTube. 38. For a magnificent example, see “El Muerto Rider” by Artemio Rodríguez and John Jota Leaños, http://­leanos​.­net​/­El​_­Muertorider​.­html. 39. Photos are archived in the UC Santa Barbara Library Special Collections; some are published in Romo (2000) and Vallejo and Brown (2017). 40. In photos and videos of Mexican Day of the Dead cele­brations taken prior to and during the 1970s and 1980s (in the documentary films, scholarly publications, and photography books listed in the reference section of this book), no examples of Mexicans painting their ­faces like skele­tons are seen in rural or urban locations in Mexico. 41. Personal interview with L. Vallejo, July 1, 2021. O ­ thers I spoke with in July 2021 also said they had not seen face painting in Mexico ­until much more recently. ­These included photographer Ann Murdy, who has photographed Mexico’s Day of the Dead cele­brations regularly since 1991, and Maribel and Claudio DeLucca, who have traveled frequently to Mexico since the 1980s. 42. “Calaca” is another word for skeleton. 43. A paper fashion show was done e­ arlier by artists in the Chicano art collective ASCO, but was not part of Day of the Dead. ASCO artists ­were active at SHG, and the concept was ­later done as part of SHG’s Día de los Muertos cele­bration for vari­ous years. Personal communication with B. Avila, November 10, 2020; C. Flores, July 30, 2021; and L. Vallejo, July 1, 2021. 44. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 45. Based on my July  3, 2021, review of twenty Day of the Dead fashion shows and Catrina competitions posted on YouTube during 2018–2021. 46. Personal interview with A. Mesa Bains, San Francisco, July 24, 2007. 47. Personal interview with S. Acevedo, San Francisco, June 3, 2003. 48. Personal interview with D. Zamora Casas, April 15, 2021. 49. Personal interview with Y. Garfias Woo, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 50. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 51. Personal interview with S. Chavez, October 8, 2020. 52. Personal interview with E. Delgadillo, May 14, 2021. 53. A. Myerson, “Caressing Life on the Day of the Dead,” New York Times, November 4, 1995, 9. 54. Personal interview, La Jolla, CA, June 4, 2004. 55. Personal interview with P. Ruiz, San Diego, April 9, 2004. 56. Personal interview, Pasadena, CA, June 4, 2004.

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57. For example, when I invited an Ec­ua­dor­ian friend studying in San Diego to a Chicano Day of the Dead event, she responded in surprise, “I d ­ idn’t know Mexicans celebrated it too.” 58. From Romo’s curatorial statement in the guide for the Espíritu Sin Fronteras exhibit, published by the Oakland Museum of California and distributed to patrons during October 12–­December 1, 2002. 59. Personal interview, Oakland Museum of California, June 3, 2003. 60. “El Día de Los Muertos Celebrated October 26 at Sheldon Gallery,” U.S. Federal News Ser­v ice, October 15, 2007. 61. “Town President Dominick, Cicero Celebrate Día de los Muertos,” U.S. States News Ser­v ice November 2, 2007. 62. “Learn about, Celebrate Día de los Muertos,” U.S. Federal News Ser­v ice, October 8, 2007. 63. “Día de los Muertos Display at Indiana University, Kokomo,” U.S. States News Ser­ vice, November 2, 2007. 64. K. Schmidt, “Día de los Muertos Festival Taking Place in Rapid City,” October 24, 2019, KOTA ABC News, https://­w ww​.­kotatv​.­com​/­content​/­news​/­Día​-­de​-­los​-­Muertos​ -­Festival​-­taking​-p ­ lace​-­in​-­Rapid​-­City​-­563777541​.h ­ tml​?­ref​= ­541. 65. “Days of the Dead Cele­bration Focus of Museum ­Family Day, Exhibit,” U.S. Federal News Ser­v ice, October 2, 2007. 66. C. Granger, “Day of the Dead Celebrated with M ­ usic and the Moon in New Orleans,” November 3, 2020, Times-­Picayune | New Orleans Advocate. 67. M. Janssen, “Day of the Dead Festivities Coming to Downtown Huntsville,” October 21, 2020, WAAY/ABC News; I. Pivot, “Birmingham’s Day of the Dead Finds New Life,” November 5, 2020, Alabama News Center website, https://­a labamanewscenter​.­com​/­2020​ /­11​/­05​/­birminghams​-­day​-­of​-­t he​-­dead​-­finds​-­new​-­life​-­during​-­pandemic​/­. 68. Personal observation, N. Brunswick Public Library, NJ, November 2 of 2006 to 2019.

chapter 4  —­ ­ritual communication and community building 1. Eventually so many residents of diverse races wanted to make ofrendas that the Community Center ­couldn’t ­house them all. In response, the Sherman Heights Neighborhood Cultural Council invited neighbors to make ofrendas on their front porches and front yards, organ­izing ofrenda walking tours in conjunction with the center’s Day of the Dead festival. 2. Personal interview with E. Rubalcava Klink, San Diego, June 12, 2003. At the time of the interview, Klink was the longtime director of the Sherman Heights Community Center. 3. Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Panama, Bolivia, Ec­ua­dor, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, and Peru classify Day of the Dead as a national holiday on which banks, government offices, businesses, and schools are closed. In Mexico, Costa Rica, and Argentina, the holiday is popularly observed but not designated an official bank holiday. 4. Personal interview, San Diego, October 17, 2002. 5. Personal interview with C. Delucca, San Diego, April 24, 2003. 6. Personal interview with M. Delucca, San Diego, April 24, 2003. 7. Personal interview with T. Romo, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 8. Personal interview with E. Rubalcava Klink, San Diego, June 12, 2003. 9. See Proposition 187 results from “Election Exit Poll Results,” Los Angeles Times, November 8, 1994, and “Hispanic Support for Hardline Immigration Policies,” https://­

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thehill​.­com​/­opinion​/­i mmigration​/­582970​-­h ispanic​-­support​-­for​-­republicans​-­hardline​ -­immigration​-­policies​-­may​-­keep. 10. Mixtecs are a major Indigenous population of Oaxaca, Mexico, where Day of the Dead ofrenda making has historically been common. They began migrating to California in the 1970s and 1980s in search of jobs. ­Today ­t here are an estimated 350,000 Indigenous Oaxacans living in California. See Rabadán and Rivera-­Salgado (2018). 11. Funding came from the Main Streets Initiative, a national economic development program designed to revitalize eco­nom­ically distressed downtown districts. 12. By 2019 ­t here ­were twenty-­five altars and the event attracted 25,000 visitors annually, according to event organizers. 13. Personal interview, Ocean­side, CA, August 5, 2003. 14. This description is based on personal observation and conversations with participants during the event, Ocean­side, CA, November 1, 2001. 15. Personal interview, Ocean­side, CA, August 5, 2003. 16. Personal interview, Ocean­side, CA, August 5, 2003. 17. This may change in the ­f uture, as growing numbers of Mixtecs and other Mexican Indigenous p ­ eoples are converting from Catholicism to evangelical religions. Día de los Muertos is observed by Catholic Latin Americans, but evangelicals spurn it as “witchcraft” and a sinful “conjuring up of spirits.” See E. Ramirez-­Ortega, “Why I ­Won’t Celebrate Day of the Dead,” Faithfully Magazine, November 2, 2017 https://­faithfullymagazine​ .­com​/w ­ ont​-c­ elebrate​-­day​-­of​-­t he​-­dead​/­. For more on the evangelization of Mixtecs, see O’Connor (2016), and for data on evangelization in Mexico more generally, see G. Jackson, “Mexican Census: Evangelicals at New High, Catholics at New Low,” Chris­tian­ity ­Today, February 8, 2021, https://­w ww​.­christianitytoday​.­com​/­news​/­2021​/­february​/­mexico​ -­2020​-­census​-­protestant​-­pentecostal​-­growth​-­catholic​.­html. 18. Personal interview with M. Thiem, Ocean­side, CA, July 8, 2003.

chapter 5  —­  U.S. day of the dead as po­liti­cal communication 1. Based on conversations I had from 2006 to 2021 with staff from a variety of U.S. galleries and museums, including the Mission Cultural Center, the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago, the Oakland Museum of California, Self Help Graphics & Art in Los Angeles, the Peabody Museum in Cambridge, Mas­sa­chu­setts, and ­others. 2. Due to the Covid-19 pandemic, OMCA’s 2020 community cele­bration was virtual and broadcast on YouTube. This altar, its creators, and the entire virtual cele­bration were accessed online at https://­w ww​.y­ outube​.c­ om​/­watch​?­v​= ­O0hvSnFzTKE. 3. E. Pellot, “Hispanic Caucus Has Dedicated Day of the Dead Altar to Mi­grants Who Died in US Custody,” November 1, 2019, https://­thehill​.­com​/­latino​/­468320​-­hispanic​-­caucus​ -­dedicates​-­day​-­of​-­t he​-­dead​-­a ltar​-­to​-­migrants​-­who​-­died​-­in​-­us​-­custody. 4. See K. Russell, “Former Mi­grant Workers Suing United States, Mexico for Back Wages,” Associated Press, March 5, 2001; J. Macías, “Time Is R ­ unning Out for Braceros,” February 27, 2020, Cal ­Matters, https://­calmatters​.­org​/­california​-­divide​/­2019​/­11​/­time​ -­is​-­running​-­out​-f­ or​-­t he​-­braceros​/­. 5. Personal observation, Mayapán ­Women’s Collective, El Paso, TX, November 1, 2003. 6. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 7. Altars for the W ­ omen of Juárez first emerged in border states but are now seen in cities across the United States, such as Chicago, New York, Miami, Denver, Minneapolis, Pittsburgh, Reno, and Boston. Personal observation and news coverage.

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8. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 9. Personal interview with D. Zamora Casas, April 15, 2021. 10. Personal interview with D. Zamora Casas, April 15, 2021. 11. “Killings of Journalists Rise as Reprisal Murders More than Double in 2020,” Committee to Protect Journalists Report, December 22, 2020, https://­cpj​.­org​/­2020​/­12​/­k illings​ -­of​-j­ ournalists​-­rise​-­as​-­reprisal​-­murders​-­more​-­than​-­double​-­in​-2­ 020​/­; “In Danger: A Study of Journalist Murders in the Past De­cade,” Reporters without Borders, May  13, 2021, https://­rsf​.­org ​/­en​/­reports​/­2011​-­2020​-­study​-­journalist​-­murders​-­latin​-­a merica​-­confirms​ -­impor ​tance​-­strengthening​-­protection. 12. A. Linares, “Mexico Deadliest Country in the World for Journalists,” May  8, 2021, NBCnews​.­com, https://­w ww​.n ­ bcnews​.­com​/­news​/­latino​/­mexico​-­deadliest​-­country​-­journa​ lists​-­also​-f­ ace​-­government​-­harassment​-­rcna833. 13. Descriptions based on personal observation of this event on November 1, 2015. 14. Personal observation, Sylmar, CA, October 20, 2004. 15. Video of the 2018 Día de los Muertos Cele­bration posted on YouTube by the Oakland Museum: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/w ­ atch​?­v​=­3CgGFyNumsE.

chapter 6  —­  day of the dead in the U.S. media 1. Personal interview, La Jolla, CA, April 29, 2003. 2. Even though Latinos are the largest minority group in the United States, representing 18.5 ­percent of the national population (U.S. census data 2020), they receive the least media coverage of any group (Hoffman and Noriega 2004, 6; Portales 2000, 56; Smith et al. 2019). The Annenberg School of Communication found that 77 ­percent of U.S. states have populations with a higher percentage of Latinos than the 4.5 ­percent seen in Holly­ wood films (Smith et al. 2019). 3. “The Other Spooky Holiday,” San Francisco Chronicle, October 26, 2003, Datebook, 17. 4. L. Ward, “Top 10 ­Things to Know about the Day of the Dead,” National Geographic​ .­com, October 26, 2017, https://­w ww​.­nationalgeographic​.­com​/­travel​/­article​/­top​-­ten​-­day​ -­of​-­dead​-­mexico. 5. W. Cummings, “No, Día de los Muertos ­Isn’t ‘Mexican Halloween,’ ” USA ­Today, October 30, 2017, https://­w ww​.­usatoday​.­com​/s­ tory​/­news​/­world​/­2017​/1­ 0​/­30​/­no​-­dia​-­de​-­los​ -­muertos​-­isnt​-­mexican​-h ­ alloween​/­762225001​/.­ 6. Personal interview with M. Thiem, Ocean­side, CA, July 8, 2003. 7. Personal interview with E. Rubalcava Klink, San Diego, June 12, 2003. 8. Personal interview with R. Behr, Pasadena, CA, June 4, 2004. 9. Personal interview with R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2003. A lack of publicity in the early days is also noted in Morrison (1992, 343). 10. Paying par­tic­u­lar attention to the Calendar, Art Walk, and F ­ amily Guide to the Weekend sections in the Los Angeles Times, and the Events, Art, and Datebook, sections in the Chronicle during the fall months of the de­cade of the 1970s, I found that none of the autumn cultural happenings announced in t­hese sections took place in Latinx neighborhoods. 11. Personal Interview with Y. Garfias Woo, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 12. Based on my review of news stories published in both of t­ hese newspapers during this timeframe. 13. L. Daniels, “The Day of the Dead: Mission District Celebrates Ancient Aztec Festival,” San Francisco Examiner, November 3, 1990, A1.

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14. During an era of civil rights advocacy, the Bilingual Education Act was enacted in 1968 to provide federal funding for bilingual and multicultural curricula. Offering learning opportunities in art, poetry, history, social studies, and Spanish, Day of the Dead became one of the most popu­lar educational activities in California, ­later appearing in multicultural curricula across the United States. The first Day of the Dead event at Self Help Graphics & Art was funded by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. 15. I contacted nineteen journalists (64 ­percent ­were Latinx) who had covered Day of the Dead regarding their views on the rise of Day of the Dead in the news media. 16. Personal communication with a reporter at the El Paso Times, June 8, 2005. 17. Personal communication with a reporter at the Boston Globe, June 11, 2005. 18. Personal communication with a reporter at the San Francisco Chronicle, June 20, 2005. 19. Personal communication with J.W. Gonzalez at the Houston Chronicle, June 13, 2005. 20. Personal interview with B. Carrillo Hocker, March 15, 2020. 21. Discussed in personal interviews with T. Romo, June 2, 2003, and C. Lomas Garza, June 25, 2006, San Francisco. 22. Personal interview with R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2002. 23. Personal interview with Y. Garfias Woo, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 24. Personal interview with Y. Garfias Woo, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 25. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 10, 2020. 26. Personal interview with P. Rodriguez, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 27. M. Hernandez, “Day of the Dead: Time to Celebrate,” Los Angeles Times, November 3, 1985, Metro, 1. 28. R. Mendez, “A Grave Cele­bration,” San Francisco Chronicle, October 30, 1997, Datebook, E1. 29. S. Guerra-­Cline, “Altared States: Annual Festival for the Dead Is Whimsical,” Fort Worth Star Tele­gram, October 31, 2001, Home, 1. 30. Based on my conversations with René Yañez, Terezita Romo, Carmen Lomas Garza, Yolanda Garfias Woo, David Avalos, Amalia Mesa Bains, and other Chicano/a artists. 31. Personal interview with L. Torio, San Diego, November 15, 2003. 32. Personal interview with T. Alderete, Oakland, CA, November 4, 2003. 33. Results from Google search done on August 31, 2021, using the term “The Days of the Dead.” 34. Pew Research Center, April 7, 2021: https://­w ww​.­pewresearch​.­org​/­internet​/2­ 021​/­04​ /­07​/s­ ocial​-­media​-u ­ se​-­in​-2­ 021​/­. 35. For example, see Ofelia Esparza: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.c­ om​/­watch​?­v​=­KT3gi0jAHeA; Bea Carrillo Hocker: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v ​=4­ cgzFRle1tU; and Consuelo G. Flores: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v ​= ­9uypshylITo. 36. Search conducted on July 14, 2021. 37. I did monthly Google searches from January through August  2021 using vari­ous search terms related to Day of the Dead, resulting in fairly consistent results from month to month. The last search was done on August 31, 2021, when “Day of the Dead face painting” yielded 1,690,000 hits and “Día de los Muertos face painting” had 1,870,000. In contrast, “How to make a Día de los Muertos Ofrenda” and “How to make a Day of the Dead altar” had only 362,000 and 214,000, respectively, and sites about pan de muerto and papel picado got far fewer hits. 38. Face painting tutorial promoting the California lottery, https://­w ww​.­youtube​ .­com​/­watch​?­v ​= y­ pKkFZmFJxo; Sexy Catrina face painting video posted by Playboy

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Mexico, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­results​?­search ​_­query​= ­d ia+de+los+muertos+face +painting+Playboy+Mexico; Ann Summers’s erotic sex toy website offers a Catrina dressup and makeup tutorial, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.c­ om​/­watch​?­v ​= ­cMNp3hCN3oI. 39. Food com­pany representative claiming that skull face painting “dates back to the Aztecs”: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v ​=B ­ 32F1NThs0g;Tequila com­pany spokes­ person’s comments about La Catrina: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v​=­w pGEwrn8kKI. 40. See, for example, “Sugar skull make-up tutorial Día de los Muertos-­Halloween,” https://­w ww​.­youtube​.c­ om​/­watch​?­v​=­iBefzwqYQY; or “Sugar skull Day of the Dead Halloween face paint tutorial”: https://­w ww​.­youtube​.c­ om​/w ­ atch​?­v​= a­ omsavpmKJM. 41. “Ellen Challenges the Cast of The Book of Life to a Face Painting Competition,” The Ellen Show, October 17, 2014, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​?­v ​=f­ NMf5Kjvznk. 42. “James Bond Inspired Mexico City’s Day of the Dead Parade”: https://­w ww​.­bbc​.­com​ /­news​/a­ v​/­world​-­latin​-­a merica​-­37815192. 43. Personal Zoom interview with L. Alcaraz, June 4, 2021. 44. Muerto Mouse, https://­lalo​-a­ lcaraz​-a­ rt​-­shop​.­myshopify​.­com​/p ­ roducts​/­muerto​-­mouse​ -­print; L. Alcaraz, June 4, 2021. Disney l­ ater invited Alcaraz to be a con­sul­tant on the film.

chapter 7  —­ ­appeal, influence, and owner­ship Epigraphs: Aya de Leon, “Dear White People/Queridos Gringos, You Want Our Culture, but You ­Don’t Want Us: Stop Colonizing Día de los Muertos,” October 31, 2014, https://­w p​ .­me​/­p3h924​-­jp; personal interview with J. Hansen, Lakeside, CA, July 22, 2003. 1. Personal conversation with eleven se­nior citizens (ages 75–92) at the DeFronzo Se­nior Center, Boston, July 1, 1999. In the Catholic faith, a “happy death” is pos­si­ble only by leading a morally correct life and being ready, at the moment of death, to meet judgment and ascend to heaven. T ­ oday U.S. Catholic school students are not required to do this. 2. “Death with Dignity,” which started in Oregon in the early 1990s,” has become a national movement that strives to gain ­legal rights for ­dying ­people to control their own end-­of-­life care. 3. Amazon book search conducted by author on December 30, 2021. 4. Personal email communication, April 21, 2001. 5. According to deathcafe​.­com, on July  14, 2021, ­there w ­ ere 6,244 death cafes in the United States, run by volunteers at no cost to participants. See https://­deathcafe​.­com; https://­deathoverdinner​.­org; and R. Harris, “Discussing Death over Dinner,” Atlantic, April 16, 2016, https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­health​/­archive​/­2016​/­04​/­discussing​-­death​-­over​ -­dinner​/­478452​/­. 6. See E. Hayasaki, “Why College Students Are ­D ying to Get into ‘Death Classes,’ ” March 16, 2014, Wall Street Journal, https://­w ww​.­wsj​.­com​/­articles​/S­ B1000142405270230 4104504579377160102817476. 7. See also Columbia University’s Death Lab; the Art of ­Dying Institute in New York City; and the University of Wisconsin’s Center for Grief and Death Education. 8. Morbid Anatomy, https://­w ww​.­morbidanatomy​.­org; Death Salon, https://­deathsalon​ .­org; Ask a Mortician, https://­www​.­youtube​.­com​/w ­ atch​?­v​=­JTCg6PGaOkM; S. Booth, “How Death Positivity Is Coming to Life,” Healthline, March 17, 2019, https://­w ww​.­health​line​ .­com​/­health​-­news​/­the​-­death​-­positive​-­movement; and http://­w ww​.­orderof​t hegood​death​ .­com​/r­ esources​/­death​-­positive​-m ­ ovement. Also see Doughty (2014). 9. See The Conversation Proj­ect, https://­theconversationproject​.­org; and Transitions and Decisions, https://­transitionsanddecisions​.­org.

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10. ­Mental health professionals from Clínica de la Raza and other Chicano ­mental health providers ­were the first to bring Día del los Muertos to the Oakland community. In 1994 they initiated the annual Day of the Dead cele­bration at the Oakland Museum of California, which is now among the most prominent cele­brations in the United States. Personal interview with E. Delgadillo, May 14, 2021; and exhibit label information from the September 2019 OMCA exhibition ¡El Movimiento Vivo! Chicano Roots of El Día de los Muertos. One of the first educators to do this (starting in the late 1960s) was Chicana artist Yolanda Garfias Woo, who used Día de los Muertos to help students in low-­income communities pro­cess and grieve the deaths of loved ones lost to gang vio­lence, drugs, and guns. 11. Order of the Good Death website, http://­w ww​.­orderofthegooddeath​.­com, accessed August 4, 2021. 12. Personal interview with S. Chavez, October 8, 2020. 13. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 14. Personal interview in New York City, September 12, 2020. 15. Personal interview with T. Romo, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 16. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 17. Personal email communication with Sacramento resident, April 21, 2001. 18. Personal interview with N. Chárraga, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 19. Personal interview, Solana Beach, CA, August 4, 2003. 20. Personal communication, Los Angeles, May 2, 2001. 21. Personal communication, Boston, July 12, 2001. 22. Personal communication, April 21, 2001. 23. Personal conversation at Solana Beach Día de los Muertos Festival, October 26, 2019. 24. Personal interview with L. Torio, San Diego, May 15, 2001. 25. The exhibit is so popu­lar that the museum had to extend its hours of operation to accommodate all the families, school groups and o ­ thers who want to attend (Oakland Museum of California 2005, 14). In the most recent data available, more than 34,000 p ­ eople attended the Fall 2019 exhibition. Email correspondence with E. Delgadillo, OMCA associate curator of history, September 15, 2021. 26. Personal interview with B. Henry, OMCA, June 3, 2003. 27. Personal email communication, April 19, 2001. 28. I attended the cele­brations in 2001, 2003–2005, and 2009. Roughly half of the participants appeared to be non-­Latinx. 29. Personal interview with D. Avalos, San Marcos, July 29, 2003. 30. Personal interview with R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2002. 31. During her ethnographic fieldwork in San Francisco in the 1980s and 1990s, Morrison noted that non-­Latinos of vari­ous racial backgrounds enthusiastically participated in the creation and viewing of altars at the Mission Cultural Center and ­were the majority of annual pro­cession participants. She wrote: “Non-­Latinos initially approached the November 2 pro­cession through the barrio as ‘semi-­tourists’ but are now full-­fledged and enthusiastic participants. E ­ very year that I have been pre­sent [1984–1987, 1990–1991], Anglos have constituted the majority of the pro­cessants” (Morrison 1992, 2). This also appeared to be the case when I attended the Mission pro­cessions in the years 2001– 2004, 2010, and 2016. 32. By the mid-1990s, responsibility for organ­ izing the Mission pro­ cession was assumed by Rosa de Anda and other artists from the Rescate Culture Collective with

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help, in 2002 onward, from the Marigold Proj­ect, a group of artists who or­ga­nized altar exhibits in Garfield Park, the pro­cession’s endpoint. Personal interview with four members of the Marigold Proj­ect, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 33. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 34. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 35. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 6, 2003. 36. “Rooms for the Dead” (1990–1993) transformed the concept of altars into themed rooms. Yáñez invited Latinos, Anglos, Blacks, Asians, and ­others to create room installations. In “City of Miracles” (2001) he pushed the room concept further, developing the idea of a dreamlike labyrinth of rooms and passages, complex theatrical lighting, and sheaths of cloth wafting in a gentle breeze. Yáñez consistently recruited non-­artists as well as artists to create altar installations, an uncommon approach at the time. He said: “I’ll ask h ­ ouse­wives, and go to hospitals and recruit nurses and dif­fer­ent ­people to make altars, who ­wouldn’t normally participate.” Personal interview, R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2003. 37. Personal interview with R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2003. 38. In 1990, I observed Halloween motifs on Day of the Dead ofrendas in the homes of Indigenous Mexicans living in villages around San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, as well as on altars made by schoolchildren in Oaxaca City. The fusion of Halloween symbols with Day of the Dead ofrendas in Mexico is also documented by Carmichael and Sayer (1991). Since 2001, I have observed and photographed jack-­o’-­lanterns on Day of the Dead ofrendas constructed in homes of Mixtec families living in Tijuana and on ofrendas created by Mexican immigrants in the United States. 39. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 40. Personal discussion with D. Avalos, February 11, 2005. 41. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 42. Personal interview, San Francisco, June 5, 2003. 43. Personal interview with S. Acevedo, San Francisco, June 3, 2003. 44. “Pocho” is a sometimes humorous, sometimes derogatory term used by Mexicans to describe Mexican Americans, referring to their “Americanized” ways. 45. Personal interview with C. Von Son, San Marcos, CA, July 29, 2003. 46. Personal interview with T. Benitez, Los Angeles, June 5, 2004. 47. Personal interview with R. Yañez, San Francisco, June 3, 2004. 48. Personal interview with C. Von Son, San Marcos, CA, July 29, 2003.

chapter 8  —­ ­the commodification of day of the dead First epigraph: https://­barbie​.m ­ attel​.c­ om​/­shop​/e­ n​-­us​/b ­ a​/­barbie​-d ­ ia​-d ­ e​-­muertos​-­doll​-­gnc​ 40, accessed November 9, 2020. 1. Based on information posted in 2020 and 2021 on the official website of Disneyland in Anaheim, CA, https://­d isneyland​.­d isney​.­go​.­com​/­events​-­tours​/­d isneyland​/­d ia​-­de​ -­los​-­muertos​/­. 2. Prices based on personal observation of event flyers, websites, and newspaper ads found during the years 2018 to 2020. 3. Personal observation, Fall 2021. 4. Information from Hollywood Forever’s 2019 Day of the Dead website:­ ­https://­hollywoodforever​.­com​/­event​/­d ia​-­de​-­los​-­muertos​/­. In 2021, prizes for the “Best

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event-­t hemed altar,” “Best traditional altar,” and “Best con­temporary altar” w ­ ere $5,000 per winner. For more details on the altar contest, see https://­w ww​.­ladayofthedead​.­com​ /­a ltars​/­. For information on the 2021 Kansas City “Offering Contest,” see https://­w ww​ .­cabakck​.­org​/­copy​-­of​-­queen​-­of​-­dia​-­de​-­muertos. 5. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 10, 2020. 6. Personal email communication with T. Romo, July 29, 2021. 7. Personal interview with M. and C. DeLucca, June 25, 2020. 8. Personal interview with artist in San Diego, October 26, 2019. 9. At press time, Día de los Muertos lottery tickets ­were sold in Oklahoma, Minnesota, Nebraska, Arizona, California, New Mexico, Colorado, Texas, and Washington, DC. 10. Text retrieved on October 25, 2005, from Game Spot Designer Diaries, http://­w ww​ .­gamespot​.­com​/­features​/­fandango​_­dd//­11​-­05​-­97​_­2​.­html. 11. T. Schafer quote and accompanying cited text retrieved on October 27, 2005, from www​.­lucasarts​.­com. 12. Personal interview with A. Hernandez, November 10, 2020. 13. K. Trim, “Día de los Muertos,” Holiday Cele­brations, Fall 2002, 63–64. 14. Personal observation in the years 1999, 2000, 2002, 2004, 2005, 2009, 2019. 15. For example, Fort Lauderdale did not historically have a large Mexican population, but as a result of Mexican migration t­ here, it now holds one of the largest annual Día de los Muertos festivals in the United States. 16. Personal interview with T. Alderete, Fruitvale, CA, November 4, 2003. By 2006, the festival attracted over 100,000 visitors, and it continues to attract large crowds each year. 17. A partial list includes Citibank, Southwest Airlines, Albertson’s and Safeway supermarkets, ATT, Clorox, State Farm Insurance, Pacific Gas & Electric Com­pany, MoneyGram, Wells Fargo Bank, Washington Mutual Bank, Starbucks, AAA, the Oakland Tribune, NBC, Univision, Telemundo, and numerous radio stations. 18. When a member of Main Streets Ocean­side observed Fruitvale’s success, the idea was ­adopted in Ocean­side, which began hosting Day of the Dead festivals in November 2001. Ocean­side Main Streets members ­were then invited by the Sherman Heights Neighborhood Council, in San Diego, to share their success stories, motivating the Council to or­ga­nize Day of the Dead walking tours in collaboration with local residents, artists, and businesses. Many other U.S. communities have since or­ga­nized Day of the Dead festivals for neighborhood revitalization. 19. McMuertos artists Raul Aguilar, Olivia Armas, Yesenia Cardona, Robert Garcia, Robert Karimi, John Leaños, Noelia Mendoza, and Seline Szupinski-­Quiroga ­were from the (Re)generation Proj­ect, an initiative started by Galería de la Raza to train and mentor young Chicano/a artists. The exhibit was displayed at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (1998); the Oakland Museum of California (OMCA; 1999); and the Mexican Museum in San Francisco (2000). Now viewable online: http://­leanos​.n ­ et​/­port​folio​ /­mcmuertos​-­inc​/­. 20. Text retrieved from http://­home​.­pacbell​.­net​/­raul​_­art​/­mcad​.­htm on February  26, 2005. For more about this exhibit, see Romo (2000), 122–123. 21. Personal interview with J. Leaños, San Francisco, May 29, 2006. 22. Many ­people identifying as Chicanx or Latinx have Spanish, German, Italian, Jewish, Irish or other “white” ancestries, which may be mixed with Indigenous, Black, ­Middle Eastern, Asian, or other “non-­white” ancestries. Many also d ­ on’t speak Spanish.

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23. U.S. Latinx ­people also produce Day of the Dead merchandise for profit, capitalizing on the availability of inexpensive, foreign-­made crafts. “A lot of Chicano artists buy skulls made in China at Michael’s [craft store] and hand-­paint them. They decorate them and sell them. They d ­ on’t make them.” Personal Zoom interview with folk art retailer M. DeLucca, June 25, 2020. 24. Popularity was mea­sured by box office statistics and the overwhelmingly positive comments of Latinx p ­ eople I interviewed for this book (eight of whom served as ­either formal or informal Chicano/a con­sul­tants on the film). As of Fall 2021, Coco grossed $807 million worldwide. When it opened in Mexico in October 2017, it became the highest-­grossing film in Mexico’s history within three months. 25. Personal interview with O. and R. Esparza, February 26, 2021. 26. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 27. Personal interview with L. Alcaraz, June 4, 2021. 28. Personal interview with L. Alcaraz, June 4, 2021. 29. J. Álvarez Lima, “Coco and the racists.” Milenio, November 30, 2017. The original text says: “El enorme éxito económico del filme es, además, un buen golpe en el rostro a los productores de la televisión de nuestro país, empeñados en mostrar un México donde los triunfadores son siempre rubios y de ojos claros y los perdedores morenos de rasgos indígenas.” 30. Websites advertising the 2019 and 2020 dolls state: “Día De Muertos is a two-­day holiday in early November when families gather to celebrate the lives of their departed loved ones. This colorful and lively event is filled with m ­ usic, food, sweets, offerings and flowers.” See https://­barbie​.­mattel​.­com​/­shop​/­en​-­us​/­ba​/­a ll​-­signature​-­dolls​/­barbie​ -­d ia​-­de​-­muertos​-­doll​-­f xd52. 31. For Oaxacan families I spoke with in 2003, the preparation of a home ofrenda cost more than US$400, for which they saved all year. Farmers in Oaxaca earned as ­l ittle as US$1,500 per year at the time. Personal conversations with Oaxacans living in Tijuana, November 1, 2003. 32. By the early 1970s, Mexico had “fifty governmental agencies that bought, promoted, exhibited, or ­were other­w ise related to folk art” (Espejel 1986, 9–10). ­These and other folk art retailers stimulated national and international interest in Mexican crafts that kept traditional craftspeople employed. 33. The disdain middle-­class Mexicans had for “Indians” and their cele­brations has existed since colonial times and is not completely gone t­ oday. For more on this, see Friedlander (2006) and Beezley (1987). 34. Rocke­fel­ler was one of the most prominent U.S. collectors to criticize divisions between “high” and “low” art and actively advocated for the placement of Mexican folk art in prestigious U.S. museums such as New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and Museum of Modern Art in 1940. 35. At the same time, Rocke­fel­ler, like other wealthy collectors, embraced the preservation of what he considered to be premodern, ahistorical, and nonrational “Indian” crafts, but rejected modern artistic expressions by Mexicans who commented on the con­ temporary sociopo­liti­cal world, as when he famously destroyed the 1933 Man at the Crossroads mural he commissioned Diego Rivera to paint at Rocke­fel­ler Center ­because he did not like its po­liti­cal theme. 36. For a history of the Linares ­family’s papier-­mâché work, see S. Masuoka (1994). 37. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 20, 2020.

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38. Day of the Dead is also commercialized elsewhere in Latin Amer­i­ca. In Guatemala, since at least the 1990s, Coca-­Cola, Kodak, Nescafé, and Ducal refried beans have sponsored enormous kites emblazoned with corporate log­os at the Day of the Dead kite festivals in San Lucas Sacatepéquez. Supermarkets have promotional sales of flowers, candles, and meats used to make the traditional Day of the Dead meal, el Fiambre. In Ec­ua­dor, the transnational com­pany Nestlé sells instant colada morada powdered drink mix. Personal observation. 39. Personal email communication with A. Murdy, August 25, 2021. 40. Personal interview with T. Romo, San Francisco, June 2, 2003. 41. Personal Zoom interview with T. Romo, September 25, 2020. 42. Personal interview with B. Henry, OMCA, June 3, 2003. 43. Personal interview with C. Moreno, March 2, 2021. 44. Personal interview with E. Orantes, OMCA, June 3, 2003. 45. Personal interview with B. Henry, OMCA, June 3, 2003. 46. Personal discussion with S. Tager, Peabody Museum, Cambridge, MA, December 16, 2003. 47. Personal interview with A. Mesa Bains, San Francisco, July 24, 2007. 48. El Pueblo de Los Angeles is considered the birthplace of the city of Los Angeles. I attended this event in 2003–2005 and 2009. 49. Altar by Tony de Carlo, El Pueblo Gallery, Olvera Street, shown from October 17 to November 30, 2003. 50. Personal observation, Fruitvale, October 31, 2004. 51. As illustrated in interview comments ­ earlier in this book, this pro­ cession’s “authenticity” is debated within the Bay Area Latinx community. 52. Personal conversation, Fruitvale, CA, November 2, 2003. 53. The malls ­were FIGat7th in downtown Los Angeles; the Westfield Culver City Mall; and the Westfield ­Century City Mall. 54. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 10, 2020. 55. Personal interview with C. Flores, April 21, 2021. 56. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 10, 2020. 57. Personal interview with A. Hernandez, November 10, 2020. 58. According to the retail marketing man­ag­er for the FIGat7th mall, over 40,000 ­people walk through the mall per day. Email communication with C. Flores, June 26, 2021. 59. Personal interview with B. Avila, November 10, 2020. 60. A large display case at the NMMA exhibited examples of calavera-­t hemed beer, dish towels, w ­ ater ­bottles, and other forms of commercialization. 61. C. Giardina, “Coco: How Pixar Brought Its Day of the Dead Story to Life. Holly­ ollywoodreporter​.­com​/­movies​/­movie​ wood Reporter, December 12, 2017, https://­w ww​.h -­features​/­coco​-­how​-­pixar​-­brought​-­day​-­dead​-­story​-­life​-­1065932​/­.

conclusion 1. A search of news coverage in the Lexis Nexis database on September 1, 2021, showed that Chicano-­style Day of the Dead cele­brations have been held in Berlin, Rome, Bologna, Madrid, Barcelona, Lisbon, London, Sydney, Wellington, Taipei, and Rio de Janeiro. According to T. Benitez, former director of Self Help Graphics & Art, ­there

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have also been Day of the Dead exhibitions in Scotland and Japan. (Personal interview with Benitez, June 5, 2004). 2. For example, when Indigenous Oaxacan immigrants participated in the Day of the Dead festival in Ocean­side, California, in 2000, their altars replicated traditional home ofrendas of Oaxaca. A few years l­ater, ­after exposure to Chicano-­style Day of the Dead altars, their altars ­were still made in traditional styles but conveyed overtly po­liti­cal themes around l­abor and immigrant rights. Personal observations, 2000–2009. 3. Personal interview with O. Esparza, February 26, 2021.

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Index

Italicized page numbers indicate items in figures and figure captions. aboriginal p ­ eoples. See Indigenous ­peoples abortion. See reproductive rights activism, community, 48, 160–164 advertising: calavera imagery in, 137; of Day of the Dead events, 3, 4, 36, 40, 102, 111, 148, 153, 158; Latinx p ­ eople underrepresented or misrepresented in, 100 Af­ghan­i­stan, war in, 93, 152 Africa/Africans, 48, 118, 120, 131, 132, 154 African American(s), 91, 94, 105, 184n22; excluded, 127; and the George Floyd protests, 81; included in Day of the Dead cele­brations, 68, 102, 120, 130, 169, 183n36; as victims of COVID, 84, 98, 156 Afro-­Caribbeans, 21, 105, 118 Aguilar, Mario E., 56–57 AIDS victims, 54, 83, 91, 95 Alcaraz, Lalo, 112, 143 Alderete, Terry, 108 All Saints’ Day, 172n2; background of, in Eu­rope and Latin Amer­i­ca, 13, 14–18, 24; in Central Amer­i­ca, 19; among Mexican Americans, 40–43, 174n1 All Souls’ Day, 174n3; background of, in Eu­rope and Latin Amer­i­ca, 13, 14–18, 24, 173n16; and Halloween, 117, 173n16; among Mexican Americans, 40–43, 44, 174n1; and picnicking in cemeteries, 174n4 altar installations, 42, 62, 153, 155, 164, 183n36; Chicano, 51, 56–57, 82, 89, 91; as educational, 88; Guatemalan and

Salvadoran, 66; honoring Latinx cultural icons, 8; in major museums, 82–83, 103; McMuertos, 139–143; po­liti­cal, 93–96; traditional, 47. See also ofrendas Altars for the ­Women of Juárez, 89, 156, 178n7 Altman, P., 33 Álvarez Lima, José Antonio, 144 Amazon sales, 117, 135, 149 American ­Family (TV series), 74, 99 American Indian Movement, 44 Amnesty International, 90, 154 Anaya, Isela, 86, 87 ancestors, honoring, 172n7; with altars, 10, 12, 15; in Central Amer­i­ca, 19; through dance, 57; Indigenous rituals of, 14–17, 132; in Mexico, 46; in non-­ Latinx populations, 119–120; in U.S. society, 122 Andes, 138, 145, 172n11 Animas Trujano (Rodriguez 1962), 53 Anzaldúa, Gloria, 95 Argentina, 5, 7, 14, 23–24, 166, 169, 177n3 Aríes, P., 32 Arizona, 2, 45, 95, 165, 167, 184n9 arte contestatario, 43 artists: Chicano/a, xiii, 1, 5, 6, 10, 42, 43–67, 75–80, 81–83, 91, 103, 104, 106, 107, 110, 120, 124, 125–131, 139, 149; commercial reproductions of the work of, 148–149; and community, 70; Day of the Dead events lacking Latinas/os, 114;

199

200 i n d e x artists (continued) legacy Chicano, 4, 109, 116, 136, 143, 152, 163–164; in Mexico, 27, 31, 33–35, 145; middle-­class, 137; Self Help Graphics, 156–158; visibility for, 150; and websites, 108. See also folk art artivists, 45 Asia/Asians, 18, 37, 68, 120, 130, 132, 169, 172n7, 183n36, 184n22. See also specific countries and nationalities assimilation: forced, 109; promoted by U.S. government, 175n28; theories of, rejected by Chicanos and other Latinx ­peoples, 43, 51, 56, 127, 142, 151 Atl, Dr., 33 atol de maíz (corn-­based drink), 19, 53, 68 authenticity: xiii, 7, 10, 116, 186n51; and class/ethnicity, 24; vs. commercialism, 6, 141–143, 151–153, 156, 162; of Day of the Dead as contrasted with Halloween, 5; hybridity and debates around, 124–132, 163; Mexican, 4, 27, 34, 37, 147, 148; and tourist sensibilities, 147 Avalos, David, 50, 124, 128 Avila, Betty, 106, 136, 156, 158 Aymara, 14, 21 Ayotzinapa Rural Teacher’s College (Mexico), 156–158, 157 Aztec(s): and alleged origins of Day of the Dead, 7, 18, 25–26, 30, 31, 35, 39, 110, 132; dancing, xiv, 46, 53, 54, 56, 57, 68, 152; Diego Rivera influenced by, 34; iconography of, 31, 33, 48; sculpture, seen as classical art, 34; worldview of, 14 Barbie dolls. See Día de los Muertos Barbies Becker, Ernest, and The Denial of Death, 118 Belize, xx Bendix, Regina, 131 Benitez, Tomás, 130, 186n1 Beverly Hills 90210 (FOX series), 99 Bihl Haus Arts (San Antonio), 91, 92 Bilingual Education Act, 179n14 bilingualism, 129, 175n31, 179n14 Black Lives ­Matter, xiii, 81, 91 Black p ­ eople. See African Americans Black Power movement, 43, 44 Boase, T., 32 Boccalero, Sr. Karen, 53 Bolaños, Fray Joaquín, 32 Bolivia, 5, 7, 13, 14, 16, 21, 22, 24, 166, 177n3

bombas, 173n3 Book of Life, The (Gutierrez 2014), 1, 99, 110, 111 border (US/Mexico): connected more to U.S. culture than Indigenous, 37–38, 42; crossings of, 10, 84; Day of the Dead celebrated along, 38, 42, 167; detention centers with mi­grant ­children at, xiii, 83, 85–87; murders of female factory workers along, 89–90, 178n7 Border Pilgrimage, 167 Bracero Program, 87–89 Braceros, Los, 88–9 Brandes, Stanley, 4, 30–31, 36 Brazil, 70, 169, 172n1, 177n3 Bread and Roses (Loach 2000), 74 bread for Day of the Dead, 39, 145, 154, 172n7, 172n9; in Italy, 172n13; s­ haped like babies, animals, ­etc., 16, 21, 24, 173n22; in South Amer­i­ca, 22–24; as a traditional offering in pre-­Christian times, 15, 18. See also pan de muerto broadcast media: focus of, on Day of the Dead, 61, 97–101, 103; radio, 4, 99, 104, 106, 108, 166; shows on, revolving around themes of death, 117–118; Spanish-­language, 108; television advertising, 100; vio­lence on, 114. See also specific shows Bronowski, J., 147 Buddhism, 1119–120 Buechler, Hans, 21–22 Bueno, Carlos, 53 Cadavál, Olivia, 73, 75 Cadena, Gilbert, 73 Calavera, El (literary magazine), 32 calaveras (satirical poems), 28–29, 39. See also bombas calaveras (skulls), xix, 1, 92, 112, 124, 136, 148, 149, 186n60; by artists inspired by Posada, 34, 46–47, 50, 56; associations of Mexicans with, 127; charm of, 62; discomfort caused by, 51; ­giant puppets, 53, 54; lowriders painted with, 57; in po­liti­cal posters and installations, 56, 91; Posada’s, 32–33, 139, 146–147; and similar poems in Guatemala and El Salvador, 173n3; as social satire, 28–32; ubiquity of, 137, 159, 175n25; in U.S. cele­brations of Day of the Dead, 42. See also face painting, skeleton; tattoos calaveritas (miniature skeleton figures), 29

index California: as birthplace of U.S. Day of the Dead, in Chicano communities, 6, 13, 43–46, 50, 53, 55, 57, 61, 62, 79, 102, 103; discrimination against Mexicans, 85–87; and divide between Latinx U.S. citizens and recent immigrants, 74; educating the public about the history of, 138; farmworkers in, 83, 87–89; pan-­Latinx nature of, 6–7, 65–67, 75, 129; tourism in, 99. See also specific California cities California Arts Council, 104 California State University, 8, 124, 151 Campo Santo cemetery event (San Diego), 138, 169 car caravan pro­cessions, 1, 165 Carey, James, 70 Ca­rib­bean, 8, 65. See also Afro-­Caribbeans Carmichael, Elizabeth, 35, 145, 183n38 Carnivale (HBO series), 99 Carrasco, Davíd, 48–49 Carrillo Hocker, Bea, 44–45, 104–105 Catholicism, 22, 41, 53, 63, 77; All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, 24, 40, 105, 174n1, 174nn3–4; clergy, sexual abuse by, 91; conversion from, to evangelical religions, 178n17; and Day of the Dead as cultural rather than religious, 106, 175nn20–21; and a “happy death,” 117–118, 181n1; fusion of with Indigenous practices, as seen in Day of the Dead rituals, 3, 12, 13, 14–18, 30, 46, 47, 132, 175n21; and Guadalupanas, 175n18; iconography of, 27, 47, 60, 117; and novenas, 172n6; practices of that have been reconfigured by Chicanos and other U.S. Latinx populations, 3, 8, 40, 48–49; repressiveness of, 47. See also Mass, Catholic Catrin, El, 59, 86 Catrina, La, xix, 32–33, 34, 59, 86, 173n4 Catrina contests, xiii, 1, 60, 60, 135, 163 Celts, 16 cemetery rituals, 1, 10, 13, 14, 64, 70, 112; in Central Amer­i­ca, 18–21, 154; Mexican American, 40–43; in Mexico, 26, 27–28, 36, 37, 39, 57–58, 147; in South Amer­i­ca, 21–24; in the U.S., 117. See also graves/ gravesites, cleaning and decorating of Central Amer­i­ca, Day of the Dead customs in, xiv, 18–21. See also specific countries Centro Cultural de la Raza, El (San Diego), 50

201 Charlot, Jean, 33 Chárraga, Nancy, 44 Chávez, César, 9, 9, 88, 152 Chavez, Sarah, 62, 119 Chiapas, 27, 153 Chicago, IL, 42, 43, 62, 107, 123, 176n37, 178n7 Chicanismo, 45, 61, 130 Chicano(s): and Coco, 112, 143; diversity of, 184n22; education about, 95–96, 111, 151; impact and legacy on Day of the Dead, 60–67, 118–119, 163; innovations to the cele­bration of Day of the Dead, xiii, 55–60; and the origins of Day of the Dead observances in the U.S., 1, 3, 5, 6, 7–8, 9, 13, 18, 39, 43–55, 72, 76, 100, 174n1, 175n20, 175n29; unity and cultural pride among, 35; and worries over authenticity and appropriation, 98, 124–132, 141. See also artists: Chicano/a; artists: legacy Chicano; Chicano movement; and specific artists and other public figures Chicano/a/Chicanx, as terminology, xvii, xix Chicano movement, xvii, xix, 7, 43–45, 55, 62, 65, 79, 81, 100, 149, 163, 168, 174n15; manifesto of, 47; and solidarity with oppressed p ­ eoples, 93 chicha (fermented corn drink), 19, 23, 27 child mi­grants, 83, 85–87, 87, 91. See also immigration Childs, R., 33 Chile/Chileans, 13, 66, 93, 177n3 China/Chinese, 120, 122–123, 154. See also “Made in China” Chris­tian­ity, 31–32, 118, 172n9. See also Catholicism; evangelical Chris­tian­ity citizenship status, 6, 71, 79 “City of Miracles” (Yañez), 126, 183n36 Ciudad Juárez, murders of w ­ omen in, 89–91, 90, 154 civic engagement. See activism, community civil rights/civil rights movement, 43, 55–56, 100, 104, 175n28, 179n14 Cleveland, OH, 13 Coco (2017 Disney-­Pixar animated film), xiii, 53, 99, 132, 159; controversy over and acclaim for, 112–113, 143; and popularization of Day of the Dead, 1, 111, 143–144, 148, 185n24 Colombia, 7, 14, 24, 93, 177n3 colonialism, 35, 49

202 i n d e x Coluccio, Felix, 22–23 commodification/commercialization of Day of the Dead, xiii, 3, 6, 7, 27, 37, 38, 39, 10, 133–134, 137, 149–159, 163; and Barbie dolls, 144; Coco as, 143–144; history of, 144–149; and marketplace offerings, 134–136; and mass production (“made in China”), 136–137; and nostalgia for the past, 139–143; and questions of authenticity, 141, 142, 147, 148, 151–152, 153, 162; and sponsorships, 104, 109, 110, 111, 125, 139, 151, 152; and tourism/urban redevelopment, 137–139; on websites, 108–109, 135, 144, 150 communication: through commodities, 149–151; po­liti­cal, 3, 6, 11, 55, 81–96, 160; ritual, 3, 6, 8, 67, 68–80; transnational pro­cesses of, 6, 163 communitas, 72–75 community, ­imagined, 71–72 community activism. See activism, community community building, 6, 68–80, 95, 121, 141, 160 Con­temporary Hispanic Arts Consortium (Milwaukee), 50 copal incense, 12, 15, 20, 40, 42, 48, 68, 86, 92, 154 Corpse Bride (Burton 2005), 99 Costa Rica, xx, 177n3 Covid-19 pandemic, 84, 91, 98, 156, 165, 168, 178n2 crafts, Indigenous. See folk art crime, and Latinx neighborhoods, 100, 107, 139. See also hate crimes; or­ga­nized crime Cruz, Celia, 8, 8, 154 Cruz-­Chavez, Macuilxochitl, 56 Cuba/Cubans, xx, 8, 8, 44, 54, 65, 66 cultural appropriation, 10, 82–83, 163; McMuertos as critique of, 139–143; and nation building, 26; postmodern, 134–135. See also cultural hybridity cultural citizenship, 71 cultural hybridity, 3, 6, 10, 11, 116, 124–132, 163. See also authenticity; cultural appropriation Dance of Death motifs, 31–32 danza (prayer dancing), 46, 56, 56–57, 64, 68, 88, 152 Danza Mexi’cayotl, 56 Danza Xitlalli, 56 Davalos, Karen Mary, 54, 58, 59, 175n29

Day of the Dead (Eames and Eames 1957), 51, 175n29 Day of the Dead: A Cele­bration of Life (Richards 2020), 111 Day of the Dead Border Pilgrimage, 167 Dead Like Me (Showtime series), 117 “Dead Network News (DNN),” 174n16 de Anda, Rosa, 182n32 death: attitudes t­ oward in U.S., 7, 10, 51, 101, 105–107, 114–124, 163; Catholic view of, 181n1; contrast between Eu­ro­pean and Latin American views of, 17–18; Indigenous view of, 16, 57, 62; Mexican “special relationship” with, 7, 25–39, 127; sociopo­liti­cal ­causes of, 10, 54, 55–56, 83–84, 89, 93–96, 100, 154–156, 182n10 death cafes, 118, 119, 181n5 Death Day (Eisenstein 1934), 51 death penalty, 91 death positive movement, xiii, 7, 10, 62, 118–119 Death with Dignity, 117, 181n2 Delano grape boycott of 1965–1970, 88 Delgadillo, Erendina, 62 Delpar, H., 171n4 DeLucca, Maribel and Claudio, 136, 176n41 de Orellana, Margarite, 30 Dewey, John, 70 de Young Museum (San Francisco), 83 Día de los Muertos. See Day of the Dead Día de los Muertos Barbies, 33, 133, 144, 149, 159, 185n30 Díaz, Porfirio, 27–28 digital media, 97–100, 108–111 Disneyland, 134, 136, 148, 159 Disney-­Pixar: attempted trademarking of “Día de los Muertos, 112, 143; and Coco, 53, 99, 112–113, 143; Day of the Dead in films/series produced by, 99; history of racial stereotyping in films of, 143 Disney World (including Epcot Center), 134, 147, 159 ­ eople: diversity diversity. See Latinx p among; multiculturalism domestic vio­lence, 83, 153. See also vio­lence, gendered and homophobic Dominican Republic/Dominicans, xx, 65, 68 Don Juan Tenorio (play), 147 Dora the Explorer’s Worldwide Adventure (app), 99 Doughty, Caitlin, 119 Doyle-­Hyde Amendment, 154

index East Indians, 120, 169 Ec­ua­dor/Ec­ua­dor­ians, 75, 125, 166, 169; Day of the Dead cele­brations in, 5, 7, 14, 16, 23, 24, 75, 165, 176n57, 177n3 Egypt, 172n7 Elena of Avalor (Disney TV series), 99 El Salvador/Salvadorans, xx, 12, 69, 70, 122, 169, 173n17; Day of the Dead cele­brations in, xiv, 7, 14, 21, 28–29, 66, 75, 165, 177n3; Day of the Dead coverage in newspapers from, 166; immigrants from, 74, 75, 125; journalists murdered in, 92; U.S. military intervention in, xiv, 93 ­England, 31, 84, 173n16 Esparza, Ofelia, 143, 163–164 Esparza, Rosanna, 143 Espejel, Carlos, 146 ethnicity as a flexible construct, 6, 131 Eurocentrism, 44–45, 56, 81 Eu­rope: and Day of the Dead cele­brations in, 7, 12, 14–18, 31–35; and the legacy of colonization, 105; and the origins of Day of the Dead imagery/traditions in, 31–33, 34, 46, 62, 132; privileging of Indigenous ele­ments over ele­ments from, 35, 39, 44, 81; and quinceañeras, 175n17; tourists from, 37, 68; and the upper classes in Latin Amer­ic­ a, 24 evangelical Chris­tian­ity: conversion to, 178n17; and protests against Day of the Dead, 77 Facebook, 108, 112, 158 face painting, skeleton, xiv, 57–59, 59, 148, 153; as a Chicano Day of the Dead innovation, 57; as a competition for cash prizes, 135; in fashion shows, 60; as a hybridized cultural expression, 65; in Mexico, 57–58, 163, 176nn40–41; online tutorials for, 110, 180n37; popularity of, xiii, 1; in Spectre film, 112 farmworkers, 43, 48, 83, 87–89, 95. See also United Farm Workers fashion shows, xiii, 60 femicide, 54, 89 fertility rituals, 15–16, 22 films, xiii, 3, 26, 114, 144; on class conflicts between long-­term and newcomer populations, 74; on Day of the Dead/ with Day of the Dead scenes, 1, 10, 53, 99, 111–113, 149, 159; underrepre­sen­ta­tion and negative repre­sen­ta­tion of Latinos in, 100, 179n2. See also specific films

203 Fiske, John, 47 Flores, Consuelo, 62, 89–91, 98, 143, 156–157 Flores, Juan, 71–72 Floyd, George, 81 folk art: collectors of, 146, 185n34; in museums, 185n34; promotion and commodification of, 144–151, 185n32; vendors and shops, 10, 44, 54, 101, 121, 134–139 Folk Tree Gallery (Pasadena), 64, 102 Fort Lauderdale, FL, 184n15 France/French, 13, 31, 32, 33, 34, 172n1 Fruitvale Day of the Dead Festival, Oakland, CA, 108, 139, 152–156 funeral industry, 116 Galería de la Raza, La, 45, 53, 54, 61, 105, 125, 153, 168, 184n19 Gamboa, Harry, Jr., 56 gangs/gang vio­lence, 54, 83, 85, 100, 125, 139, 182n10 García Canclini, Néstor, 27 Garciagodoy, Juanita, 27, 28, 29, 32, 145 Garfias Woo, Yolanda, 44, 54, 62, 103, 105–106, 174n7, 182n10 Gaspar de Alba, Alicia, 50 gay community, 44, 90–91, 152. See also LGBT community genocide: of Indigenous p ­ eoples around the world, 91; of Native Americans, 152 gentrification, 107, 114 George Lopez Show, The (ABC series), 74 Germany, 31, 123 Ghanaian culture and altars, 120 globalization, 5, 6, 131, 141 Goez Gallery (Los Angeles), 50 Gonzalez, John, 41–42, 104 Good Place, The (NBC series), 117 Gosnell, L., 41 Gott, S., 41 Goya, Francisco de, 33 Grant, R., 147 graves/gravesites, cleaning and decorating of, 174n3; in Central Amer­i­ca, 19–21; in Eu­rope, 15; expense of, 145; in Latin Amer­i­ca, 3, 14, 47, 64–65, 68, 72; in Mexico, 27–28, 36, 39, 57; in South Amer­i­ca, 22–24; in the U.S., 40–42. See also cemetery rituals Grim Fandango (video game), 137 Grupo Ma­ya, 154, 155 Guadalupanas, 48, 175n18

204 i n d e x guaguas (baby-­or animal-­shaped breads), 23, 23, 24 Guatemala/Guatemalans, xx, 12, 18, 122, 169; Day of the Dead cele­brations in, xiv, 5, 7, 13, 14, 18–21, 19, 20, 24, 28–29, 66–67, 75, 138, 145, 153, 154–156, 155, 163, 165, 177n3; Day of the Dead coverage in newspapers from, 166; immigrants/ refugees from, 75, 150–151, 154, 163; journalists murdered in, 92; mass graves in, 154–155; scorched earth campaign, 155; solidarity groups working on behalf of, 153; U.S. military intervention in, 93 Guatemala City, 21 Guevara, Che, 8 gun vio­lence, 54, 95, 125, 182n10. See also shootings, mass Haiti, 13, 172n1 Halloween, 1, 42, 105, 117, 132, 135; celebrated in Mexico, 38–39, 61; Day of the Dead as an alternative to/contrasted with, 5, 58, 62, 101, 110, 128, 136, 137; iconography used in ofrendas, 127–128, 183n38; and trick or treating, 173n16 Harnoncourt, René d’, 146 hate crimes, 83, 84, 85, 95, 152 Hellier-­Tinoco, Ruth, 37 Henry, Barbara, 123, 150–151 Hernandez, Ariel Xochitl, 158 Hernández, Ester, 174n16 Hobsbawm, Eric, 49 Holland, 31 Hollywood Forever cemetery, 135 Holtville, CA, unidentified mi­grant gravesites, 162 Honduras/Hondurans, xx, 5, 13, 21, 92, 166, 177n3 “honor” killings, 91 Huehuetenango (Guatemala), 21 ­human rights, 27, 85, 89, 91–93 Hunger Proj­ect, The, 154 hybridity. See cultural hybridity Ibañez, Antonio, 53 iconography: Aztec, 25–26, 31; Catholic, 15, 27, 47, 48; Chicano, 46, 149; colonial Eu­ro­pean, 31; Indigenous, 8, 35; pop culture, 47; skull, 30–31, 51 ­imagined community, 71–72 immigration: differences between recent immigrants and ­t hose who have been in U.S. longer, 71; increased Latin American, to the U.S., 4, 6, 65, 104, 120; ironically

commented on in McMuertos, 140–141; opposition to and tensions over, including hate crimes, 74–75, 85, 141; policies, 74, 85, 86, 95; remembering, during Day of the Dead, 85–87; rights, 141, 156, 162, 187n2; ser­v ices, 153; status, 6, 160; in the Trump era, 85. See also child mi­grants incarceration rates, 91 Indigenous ­peoples: altars devoted to, 83; art and customs of, commercialized, 144–149; and communitas, 72; defined, xix–­x x; genocide of, 91; Mexican, customs and rituals of, 27, 33, 40, 43, 57, 124, 126, 127, 163; Mexican, romanticized and embraced by Chicanos, 45–49, 56; Mexican, romanticized and promoted by the government and the media, 27, 34–39, 144, 156, 162, 174n15; Mexican, and skull imagery, 30–32; portrayed in Coco, 112; practices of, combined with other practices and reconfigured, 3, 12, 13–18, 132; public recognition for, 75; racism against and devaluing of, 44, 56, 105, 143–144, 145; rituals of, for remembering the dead and communicating with the spirit world, 4–5, 6, 12, 53, 55, 88; and social media, 109; of South Amer­i­ca, 21–24; worldview of, 57, 62, 86. See also specific Indigenous p­ eoples Instagram, 108, 112, 158 institutional racism, 84 Interfaith Co­a li­tion for H ­ uman Rights, 167 intergenerational transmission of culture, 20, 73, 109–110, 131 Internet, 4, 10, 109, 135 “in­ven­ted tradition”/”inventive tradition,” 3, 7, 49–53, 72 Iraq War, 93, 94, 152 Ireland, 16, 130, 172n7, 172n9, 173n16 Irish, 184n22; and All Souls’ Day, 174n4; culture, 54, 131, 172n9; Irish Americans, 122, 130 Italian Americans, 53, 123, 130; and All Soul’s Day, 174n4 Italy, 13, 18, 34, 172n1, 172n13 Jamaica, 54 Janitzio, Mexico, 37 Japan/Japa­nese, 119–120, 131, 172n7, 186n1 Jasper, Pat, 36, 40, 41, 174n1 Jimenez, Rosie, 154 journalists, murder of, 91–93 Ju­nior Reserve Officers Training Corps (JROTC), 94

index Kahlo, Frida, 34, 69 Kansas City, MO, 135 Kastenbaum, R., 32 kites/kite flying, 13, 18–19, 153, 186n38 Klink, Estela Rubalcava, 69, 73, 102 Korean, 131; Korean American, 120 ­labor: and abuses/unsafe conditions, 10, 56, 76, 87–89, 95; hostility t­ oward immigrant, 85; and progressive po­liti­cal change, 45; remembering, during Day of the Dead, 87–89, 156; strikes, 74, 88; and ­unions for farmers, 43. See also Bracero Program; farmworkers; United Farm Workers LaFaye, Jacques, 33 languages: barriers based on, 6, 160; Indigenous, xix, 35, 46; and reclaiming roots, 45. See also multiculturalism Lara, Celso, 5, 21, 73, 173n18 Latin Amer­i­ca, 40, 54, 156; background of Day of the Dead in, 14–18; Catholicism’s influence in, 49; culture of, recognized by larger society, 150; Day of the Dead customs and observances in, 18–24, 28, 47, 65, 68, 70–71, 72, 99–100, 101, 106, 109, 110, 123, 145, 153; Eu­ro­pean colonization of, 105; immigrants from, and ties to f­ amily remaining in, 109; immigrants from, and xenophobia, 85; murder of journalists in, 91–92; racism against Indigenous p ­ eople in, 44, 105; U.S. government’s interventions in, xiv. See also specific countries Latina/o/x, as terminology, xvii, xx, 71 Latinidad, 7, 142 Latinx p ­ eople: and Catholicism, 48–49; and cultural commodification, 133–159; Day of the Dead as a means to visibility and validation for, 3, 45, 47, 71–80, 84, 99, 107–108, 150, 158, 161, 163; demographics of, 3, 4, 65, 97, 104, 114, 179n2; discrimination, racism, and vio­lence against, 3, 44, 55–56, 84, 85, 141, 160; diversity among, 7, 11, 13–14, 18, 24, 65–67, 70, 71, 75, 95, 98, 124, 130, 184n22; essentialized and exoticized ste­reo­t ypes of, 35, 100; as farmworkers and braceros, 87–89; generational tensions, 128–129, 131; icons of, 69; and media, including underrepre­sen­ta­tion/misrepre­sen­ta­tion, 6, 9, 10, 44, 50, 99, 100, 144, 179n2; and media as a substitute for ­family and local community, 98, 109–111; as

205 mi­grants, 85–87; as military ser­v ice members, 94–95; and privileging of light skin and Eu­ro­pean norms, 105; and resentment ­toward non-­Latinx celebrants of Day of the Dead, 125–127; shunned as neither truly “American” nor “Latin American,” 75. See also Mexican Americans; pan-­Latinx identity Lazos Amer­i­ca Unida, 66 Leaños, John, 45, 141, 174n16, 184n19 lesbians, 44, 89, 152. See also LGBT community LGBT community, 83, 83, 91, 152. See also lesbians; gay community; trans ­people; vio­lence, gendered and homophobic Linares, Felipe, 147 Linares, Pedro, 147 Linares ­family, 50, 146–147, 149 living w ­ ills, 117 Lizzy McGuire (Disney TV series), 99 Lomas Garza, Carmen, 42, 54 Lomnitz, Claudio, 30 Lopez, Amy, 94–95 Los Angeles, CA, 60, 66, 98, 102, 107, 122, 135; All Souls’ Day in, 42; and cultural exchanges with Mexico, 50; Day of the Dead in, 53–54, 62, 167; Day of the Dead Vigil Against Militarism in, 93; East, death of Chicano journalist in, 55; and ofrendas in shopping malls, 156, 157; Olvera Street, 138, 152. See also Self Help Graphics & Art (Los Angeles) Los Angeles Dodgers, 1 lottery tickets, 1, 2, 137, 159, 184n9 lowriders and lowrider ofrendas, xiii, 53, 57, 58, 64, 176n37 Lucas, George, and Lucas Arts, 137 Macario (Gavaldón 1960), 53 “Made in China,” 136–137, 150, 185n23 maguey (agave plant), 173n2 Main Streets Initiative, 108, 152, 178n11 Maradiaga, Ralph, 54 Marigold Proj­ect, 182n32 marigolds: in ancient Mesoamerica, 15, 172n8; in cemeteries, 41; in Coco, 112; in Guatemalan Day of the Dead cele­ brations, 20; in Mexican Day of the Dead cele­brations, 27; in U.S. Day of the Day cele­brations, 12, 48, 68, 86, 92, 94, 122, 138, 149, 150, 154 Marley, Bob, 125 Martineau, Harriet, 117

206 i n d e x Mass, Catholic, 14, 40, 41, 42, 48, 53, 77, 79, 175n20 Mas­sa­chu­setts, 95, 165 mass shootings. See shootings, mass Masuoka, Susan, 29, 146 Mattel, 133, 143, 144 Mayan(s), 20, 86; ancient, iconography of, 31, 48; and cultural clashes, 132; on Day of the Dead, 175n21; immigrants, 155; murdered by the U.S.-­supported Guatemalan military, 154–155, 155; weaving of, 46. See also Guatemala/ Guatemalans; Indigenous ­peoples Mayapán ­Women’s Collective, El Paso, TX, 88 McMuertos (altar installations), 133, 139–143, 140, 184n19 media: coverage of Day of the Dead, 1, 3, 4, 6, 10, 27, 39, 61–62, 66, 83, 97–113; underrepre­sen­ta­tion/negative repre­sen­ ta­tion of Latinx communities in, 6, 44, 50, 84, 100. See also broadcast media; digital media; films; news organ­ izations; print media; social media Medina, Lara, 73 memento mori, 31–32 Memorial Day, 117 Mesa-­Bains, Amalia, 54, 61 Mesilla, NM, 138 Mesoamerica, defined, xx Mesoamericans, ancient, 12, 15, 17, 30–31, 46–48, 56–57, 86. See also Aztec(s); Indigenous ­peoples; and other specific ­peoples Mestizo(s), 169; and the Chicano movement, 45; culture of, 33; defined, xx, 24 methodology, 165–170 #MeToo, 91 Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY, 12, 83, 185n34 Mexican Americans: All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day rituals of, 40–43; demographics of, 65; discrimination against, 53; familiarity with Day of the Dead, 3, 51, 106; as the first to celebrate Day of the Dead in the U.S., 4, 6–7; identification with Mexico’s Indigenous ­peoples, 30; po­liti­cal and cultural power of, 65; and resentment of “scabs” during ­labor strikes, 74; unity and pride ­because of Day of the Dead, 8, 38, 64, 73, 129, 130, 163. See also Chicano(s) Mexican government: and the Bracero Program, 88; calavera poetry mandated

in schools, 29; corruption of, 33; and promotion/appropriation of Day of the Dead, 7, 27, 35–39, 147–148; and promotion of Mexican folk art, 145–147; and romanticizing of Indigenous cultures, 174n15; tourist campaigns sponsored by, 4 Mexican Museum (San Francisco), 61, 184n19 Mexican Re­nais­sance, 33–35, 36, 45 Mexican Revolution, 26, 34, 35, 145, 146 Mexico/Mexicans, xx; association of Day of the Dead with, 3–5, 12–13, 14; class system in, 44, 45; commodification of Day of the Dead in, 10, 144–150, 159; and cultural exchanges, 50, 171n4; Day of the Dead customs in, and modern cele­ brations of, 14, 15, 16, 18, 22, 24, 27–28, 46–47, 55, 56, 57, 59, 61, 64, 65, 69, 81, 125, 127, 129–130, 132, 134, 163; journalists murdered in, 92–93; and Mexico’s death “obsession,” 25–27, 30; nationalism and government promotion of heritage in, 33–39; origins of Day of the Dead in, 6, 7, 18; post-­Revolution era in, 33, 34, 45, 174n15; racism of media in, 143–144; skull imagery in, 28–33; tourism to, 102. See also border (U.S./Mexico); Indigenous ­peoples Mexico City, 111–112, 129 Mexico-­U.S. border region. See border (U.S./Mexico) ­Middle East/Middle Easterners, 18, 169, 184n22; and American wars, 95 mi­grant ­children. See border (U.S./Mexico): detention centers at Milne, Jean, 22 Minneapolis, MN, 13, 81, 178n7 Miracle Workers (TBS series), 118 misogyny, 89–91 Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts (MCCLA), xiv, 50, 54, 106, 125, 126, 153, 168 Mixquic (Mexico), 37 Mixtecs, 76, 169, 178n10; ancient, beliefs of, 14; and cultural clashes, 132; and Day of the Dead cele­brations, 66, 72, 75–80, 128, 175n21, 183n38; and evangelical religions, ­ eoples 178n17. See also Indigenous p mole (type of sauce), 27, 77, 173n2 Monsivaís, Carlos, 26 Moreno, Cesáreo, 150 Morrison, Suzanne, 74, 182n31 movies. See films

index Muerte Viva, La, The Day of the Dead: A Living Tradition (Llamas 1989), 51, 111 “Muerto Mouse,” 112, 159 Mujeres against Militarism, 93 multiculturalism: arts and education, funding of, 175n28, 179n14; assumptions of proj­ects about, 160–161; rising interest in, 103–104, 105 murals, 34, 35, 39, 43, 49, 65, 149, 185n35 Murdy, Ann, 148, 176n41 Museo del Barrio, El (NY), 59, 82 Museum of Modern Art (NY), 185n34 museums: and altar installations, 42, 75, 82–83, 87, 88, 90, 128, 141; and Day of the Dead exhibits/programming/products, 3, 6, 7, 10, 12, 39, 42, 47, 54, 101, 103, 106, 107, 108, 122, 134, 135, 136, 142, 145–146, 150–151, 159, 163; and education about Day of the Dead, 44, 150–151; history of Latinx exclusion from, 50, 53, 75; and the production of rural crafts, 146–147; workshops held in, 134. See also specific museums NAFTA. See North American ­Free Trade Agreement National Council of La Raza. See UnidosUS National Foundation for the Arts, 104 nationalism, Mexican, 26, 33–35, 38–39, 174n15 National Museum of Mexican Art (Chicago), 9, 62, 63, 150, 159, 178n1 National Portrait Gallery (Washington, D.C.), 83 National Public Radio, 99, 166 Native Americans, xix, 95, 169; genocide of, 152; history of, 138; and “Southwestern style,” 134; spiritualities of, 118 natu­ral disasters, 95 neo-­indigenism, 46, 75 New Jersey, 66, 123, 165, 167 New Mexico, 43, 95, 99, 138, 165, 167, 184n9 news organ­izations, 70, 86, 139. See also media newspapers. See print media New York City, 60, 82, 95, 107, 165, 167, 178n7; and 9/11 public shrines, 120; ofrenda dedicated to murdered journalists in, 92–93, 94 Nicaragua/Nicaraguans, xx, 5, 75, 153, 166, 169; Day of the Dead customs in, 7, 21, 177n3; U.S. military intervention in, xiv, 93

207 Nike com­pany, 1 Nogales (Mexico), 42 Nogales, AZ, 42 non-­Latinx populations and Day of the Dead cele­brations, 10, 11, 76, 83, 116, 119–124, 134, 138, 139–140, 159, 182n31; criticism of celebration/consumption by, 139–143; and debates around authenticity, 124–132, 151–152, 153; growing popularity of, 7, 121–122; and increasing understanding/unity with Latinx populations, 71, 80; and methodology, 169; reactions of, 51, 62, 105, 122–124 nontraditional interpretations of Day of the Dead, 126–132 Norte, El (Nava 1983), 74 North American ­Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 38, 89 Nutini, Hugo, 30 Oakland, CA, 66, 95, 108, 114, 130, 139, 182n10 Oakland Museum, CA, 62, 123, 150, 151, 184n19; Day of the Dead events at, 12, 66, 86, 87, 105, 125, 171n8 Oaxacans, Indigenous, 75–80, 174n2, 178n10, 185n31, 187n2 Ocean­side, CA, 156, 167; Day of the Dead cele­brations in, 29, 75–80, 76, 78, 102, 124, 152, 162, 175n20, 176n37, 184n18, 187n2; Mixtec population in, 75–76, 77 Ofrenda, La: Days of the Dead (Portillo and Muñoz 1988), 51, 111 ofrendas, 12, 37, 38, 42, 44, 66, 81, 138, 148; Chicano, 43, 46–47, 51, 53–55, 57; expense of, 145; in films, 111, 112, 143; Fruitvale, 153–156; Halloween symbols in, 127; lowrider ofrendas, xiii, 57, 58, 176n37; in museums, 103; non-­Latinx ofrendas, 122; in Ocean­side, 76–77, 76; po­liti­cal, 80, 82, 83, 87–89, 92, 95, 124, 152; pre-packaged materials for, 149; Self Help Graphics & Art, 156–158; in Sherman Heights, 68–69, 69, 74; South American, 21–24; traditional Latin American, 15, 47; traditional Mexican, 27–28, 39, 40, 46–47, 72, 82, 86, 124, 127, 134; workshops and tutorials on making ofrendas, 109 Oklahoma City bombing site, 120 Old Town State Park, San Diego, CA, 135, 138 Olmedo, Dolores, 147

208 i n d e x Olvera Street, Los Angeles, CA, 138, 152 Order of the Good Death, 119 or­ga­nized crime, 92, 156 Orozco, José Clemente, 33, 34 paganism, perception of Day of the Dead as, 15, 16, 106 Panama/Panamanians, 5, 93, 165, 166, 177n3 pan de muerto (literally bread of the dead, a sweet bread), 12, 22, 27, 32, 82, 107, 134, 150, 174n7; in early Chicano cele­ brations, 53, 62; and non-­Latinx celebrants, 122; not an early Mexican American tradition, 40, 42; sale of, 145, 148, 149, 150; online search hits for, 180n37; workshops on how to bake, 51, 68, 74, 82, 167; YouTube videos on baking, 109 pan-­Latinx identity, 7, 8, 13 papel picado (decorative crepe paper cutouts), 27, 47, 68, 82, 86, 92, 122, 138, 139; in early Chicano cele­brations, 51; sale of, 149; online search hits for, 180n37; workshops on how to make, 53, 82, 109 paper fashion shows, 59–60, 176n43 papier-­mâché crafts: as a ­dying art, 147; and the Linares ­family, 50; puppets, xiv, 57; skulls and skele­tons, 51, 57, 137, 146, 147 parades, xiv, 28, 37, 141; Mexico City, 111–112. See also street pro­cessions pasquines (Spanish lampoons), 28 Paz, Octavio, 25, 65, 148–149 Peabody Museum, Boston, 151 Pennsylvania, 95 Perez, Sheyla and Isabela, 86, 87 Peru/Peruvians, 5, 7, 14, 16, 22, 24, 66, 169, 177n3 Philippines/Filipinos, 13, 44, 69, 120 picnics, f­ amily, in cemeteries, 19, 24, 39, 40–42, 64, 174n4 Pinochet, Augusto, 13 Plan Espirituál de Aztlán, El (The Spiritual Plan of Aztlán), 47 police brutality, 10, 54, 55–56, 81, 82, 83–84, 95 po­liti­cal communication. See communication: po­liti­cal popu­lar culture, 46, 132; vs. folk culture, 28, 47, 50 Portugal, 13, 172n1 Posada, José Guadalupe, 148, 174n16; and La Catrina, xix, 32–33, 34, 59; as an

influence on other artists, 33–34, 46, 50, 56, 59, 139; Linares ­family interpretations of Posada’s work, 146–147 postage stamps for Day of the Dead, 3 poster art, xiii, 34, 43, 53, 56, 81, 88, 149 prayer dancing. See danza print media, 26, 117; clippings from, included in ofrendas, 86, 88; coverage of Day of the Dead, 4, 5, 14, 18, 61, 66, 77, 79, 97–104, 106, 107, 108, 112, 122, 144, 149 Proposition, 187, 74 public rituals, power/importance of, 50, 75, 80, 161 public spaces: altar installations in, 51, 61; closed during the pandemic, 156; for collective mourning, 10; danza in, 56; importance of access to, 75; organ­ izations that provide, 65; reclaiming space for Latinx populations, 161 Pueblo de Los Angeles Historic Monument, El (CA), 138, 152, 186n48 Puerto Rico/Puerto Ricans, xx, 44, 65, 66, 68, 70, 142 Pulido, Guillermo, 61 pulque (alcoholic drink from the agave plant), 27, 173n2 Pulse nightclub shooting, 90–91 Purépecha, 148 purgatory, 17, 44 Pushing Daisies (ABC series), 117 Quechua, 14, 22, 23, 23, 24 quinceañeras, 48, 175n17 quinoa, 21, 173n21 racism: Anzaldúa’s strug­gle against, 95; ­toward Chicanos, 45, 47; ­toward Indigenous ­peoples, 35, 44, 75–76, 105; institutional, 84; ­toward Latinx ­people, 43, 71–72, 84, 126, 160; in Mexico’s media, 143; the privileging of lighter skin and Eu­ro­pean cultural norms, 35, 44, 105 radio. See broadcast media Ranger, Terence, 49 Raza Bookstore Gallery, La (Sacramento), 50 Raza Unida Co­a li­tion, 93 Reagan, Ronald, xiv reproductive rights, 92, 154 Rescate Culture Collective, 182n32 Reuter, Jas, 32 ritual begging, 22, 173n16

index ritual communication. See communication: ritual Rivera, Diego, 33, 34, 65, 147, 148, 185n35 roadside shrines, 120 Rocke­fel­ler, Nelson A., 146, 185nn34–35 Rodriguez, Eliza, 115 Rodriguez, Guadalupe, 115 Rodriguez, Patricia, 106 Rodriguez, Reyes, 60 Rodriguez, Sandy, 115 Romero, Oscar, 69 Romo, Terezita: on Chicano cele­brations of Day of the Dead, 46, 55, 73, 120, 136, 149; on the Chicano movement, 43, 44, 45, 48; as curator of a Day of the Dead exhibit, 66 “Rooms for the Dead” (Yañez), 126, 183n36 Rosaldo, Renato, 71 Royal Chicano Air Force, 48 Rus­sia, 172n7 “Ruta de Coco” (Coco tourism route), 148 Sacramento, CA, 48, 50, 62, 121, 149, 175n20 Salazar, Ruben, 55 Salvadorans. See El Salvador/Salvadorans Samhain (Celtic harvest cele­bration), 16, 172n9 San Antonio, TX, 104; cemeteries in, 41; Day of the Dead in, 62, 63, 83, 91, 92, 133, 138, 176n37 San Diego, CA, 50, 56, 136, 166; Day of the Dead cele­brations in, 52, 62–64, 68, 69, 70, 73, 74, 93, 97, 102, 107, 121, 123, 135, 138, 166, 167, 169, 184n18; media in, 102, 107 San Francisco, CA, 50, 51, 56, 121, 128, 139; Day of the Dead in, xiii–­x iv, 52, 62, 74, 122, 124–125, 129, 153, 167, 169, 174n7; de Young Museum, 83, 103; Flower Market, 149; and Fruitvale’s Day of the Dead Festival, 108, 139; Galería de la Raza, 45, 53, 105, 168; grave-­decorating cemetery rituals in, 42; Mexican Musuem, 61; Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts, 106, 168, 182n31; Mission District, xiii–­x iv, 44, 54, 107, 121, 124, 167, 169; the Museum of Modern Art, 83; Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 133 Santa Fe, NM, 138 Santería, 54 satanism, perception of Day of the Dead as, 62, 77, 105, 143 Sayer, Chloe, 35, 145, 183n38 Scotland, 16, 186n1 Scott, James C., 162

209 secular vs. spiritual significance of Day of the Dead, 3, 7, 8, 37, 47–48, 49, 55, 81, 145, 152, 153, 175n20 Selena (singer), 69 Self Help Graphics & Art (SHG; Los Angeles), 136, 168, 175n29, 176n43, 179n14; altars/exhibitions at, 90–91, 115; artists associated with, 143, 164; directors of, 106, 130; diversity of cele­brations at, 73; as home of one of the first US Day of the Dead cele­brations or­ga­nized by Chicanos, 53–54, 58, 130, 186n1; and the pandemic, 156, 158 September 11, 2001, attacks, 95, 120 sex trafficking, 91 sex workers, 89 Shakur, Tupac, 125 Sherman Heights, San Diego, CA, 64, 68–69, 69, 73–74, 102, 107, 177n1, 184n18 shootings, mass, xiii, 91, 120 shrines, public, 120 Silver City (Sayles 2004), 99 Sisqueiros, David Alfro, 33 Six Feet U ­ nder (HBO series), 99, 117 skull imagery. See calavera(s) Smithsonian Institution’s museums, 12, 75, 108; Smithsonian Museum of American Art, 83 social hierarchies. See communitas social media: Day of the Dead promoted/ advertised on, xiii, 98, 100, 108–111, 112, 113, 149, 173n14; as a way of selling products, 136–137. See also specific social media platforms social space. See public spaces SomArts Cultural Center, 126 Sorry for Your Loss (Facebook Watch series), 118 South Amer­i­ca, Day of the Dead customs in, 21–24. See also specific countries Southwestern College, 50 “Southwestern style,” 134 Spain/Spaniards, 12, 13, 15, 31, 32, 33, 132, 138, 172n7 Spectre (Mendes 2015), xiii, 99, 111–112 spirituality: Catholic, 3, 46–49; Chicano, 46–49, 110, 152; and commerce, 159; growing interest in non-­Western forms of, 118, 119; as impor­tant aspect of Day of the Dead, 11, 24, 54, 72, 80, 81, 109, 124, 127, 134, 136, 141, 152; Indigenous, 3, 46–49, 56, 155; Latinx, 35, 66; Mexican, 127; and social identity, 70; and “Southwestern style,” 134–135

210 i n d e x “spiritual nationalism,” 48 spiritual vs. secular significance of Day of the Dead. See secular vs. spiritual significance of Day of the Dead steel-­drum bands, 54, 124 ste­reo­t ypes: of Chicano youth as hoodlums, 57; of Latinx p ­ eople in Hollywood films, 100, 143; of Mexicans’ special relationship with death, 7, 25–27, 127; negative, of Mexican Americans and other Latinx p ­ eople, xix, 35, 49, 85, 160 St. Mary’s Star of the Sea Church (Ocean­side, CA), 76 street pro­cessions, 1, 5, 10, 14, 43, 83, 161; Galería de la Raza, 54; Self Help Graphics & Art, 53, 57. See also parades sugar skulls, 28, 29, 38, 39, 68, 86, 121, 133, 134, 150; commercialization of, 145, 148, 149; not an early Mexican American tradition, 40, 42; origins of, 7, 18, 30–32; pre-­packaged, 141; ubiquity of during Day of the Dead season, 7, 18; workshops and video tutorials on making them, 51, 53, 82, 109, 110, 138, 167 “Sun Mad” poster, 174n16 syncretism and Day of the Dead cele­ brations, 14–15, 30, 57 tattoos (skulls), 1, 58 Teatro Campesino, El, 53, 175n31 tele­v i­sion. See broadcast media Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles (FOX series), 99 Texas, 43, 74; Day of the Dead events in, 40–42, 60, 62, 88, 90, 95, 99, 165, 167, 176n37, 184n9 thanatology, 118 theater per­for­mances for Day of the Dead, 5, 37, 43, 53, 64, 82, 153, 175n31 Thiem, Mary Ann, 79–80, 102 13 Reasons Why (Netflix series), 118 Thompson, E. P., 84 Tijuana (Mexico), 38–39, 63–64, 68, 128, 165, 166, 167 TikTok, 108 Time of Death (Showtime series), 117 Todos Santos (Guatemala), 145, 155, 172n2, 174n1 Toltecs, 30 Toor, Frances, 30 Torio, Louise, 107 tourism: and commodification/commerce, 10, 144–149; and Day of the

Dead, 4–5, 6, 27, 46, 61–62, 76, 107, 112, 132, 137–139, 159, 163; government campaigns for, in Mexico, 35–39; as public validation/redevelopment strategy for struggling Latinx neighborhoods, 107–108, 137–139 traditional vs. nontraditional interpretations of Day of the Dead, 108–113, 120–121, 124–132 trans ­people, 81, 89–91 Trópico de Nopal (Los Angeles), 60 Trump, Donald, 74; administration of, 85 Turner, Kay, 36, 40, 41, 174n1 Turner, Victor, 72–73 Twitter, 108, 112, 158 Tzintzuntzan (Mexico), 26, 36, 37 tzompantli (skull racks), 30, 33 UnidosUS (formerly the National Council of La Raza), 100 Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, Solana Beach, CA, 122, 169 United Farm Workers (UFW), 8, 43–44, 73, 74, 87–89, 174n16 Unkrich, Lee, 159 urban redevelopment strategy, 139. See also Fruitvale Day of the Dead festival, Oakland, CA U.S. Border Patrol, 85, 87 U.S. Congress, Hispanic Caucus, 86 U.S. government: and the Bracero Program, 87–89; discriminatory laws of, 85; foreign policy of, in Latin Amer­i­ca, xiv, 45; and immigration, 85–86; and the Juárez murders, 89; and multicultural arts and education, 175n25; wars of, 55, 93–95, 152 U.S.-­Mexico border region. See border U.S. military interventions abroad, xiv, 54, 93, 95. See also Af­ghan­i­stan, war in; Iraq War; Vietnam War Vallejo, Linda, 45–46, 58 Vanegas Arroyo, Antonio, 32, 50 Vanegas Arroyo, Arsacio, 50 Vasconcellos, José, 34 Venegas, Sybil, 42, 53 Vergara, César, 22 video games, xiii, 116, 137 Vietnam/Viet­nam­ese, 44, 120 Vietnam War, 44, 55, 93, 95 Vietnam War Memorial (Washington, D.C.), 120

index Vigil Against Militarism, Los Angeles, CA, 93 Villa, Pancho, 34 vio­lence, gendered and homophobic, 89–91, 95. See also domestic vio­lence; hate crimes Virgin of Guadalupe, 86, 175n18 Von Son, Carlos, 129–130, 132 Voyage pour l’ éternité (literary magazine), 32 Wales, 16 Walt Disney Com­pany. See Disneyland; Disney-­Pixar; Disney World war victims, 93–95 Washington, DC, 12, 73, 75, 83, 86, 107, 120, 184n9 white supremacy, 51, 82, 85 witchcraft, 105, 106, 178n17

211 Wollen, Peter, 33–34 ­ omen of Juarez, 89–90, 156, 162, 178n7 W workshops that teach Day of the Dead crafts, 5, 51, 53, 54, 73, 74, 82, 82, 134, 138, 150, 151, 152, 153; early, or­ga­nized by Chicano artists, 50, 51, 61–62, 103; funding for, 104–105; teacher workshops, 106 World Trade Center site, 120 World War II, 88 Yañez, René, 54, 55, 102, 105, 124, 125, 126, 130–131, 183n36 Yerba Buena Cultural Center, CA, 126, 133, 184n19 YouTube, 108–111, 112, 118, 165, 173n14, 176n37 Zamora Casas, David, 62, 83, 91, 92 Zapotecs, 14, 80, 132

About the Author

Regina M. Marchi is a professor in the Department of Journalism and Media Studies at Rutgers University. She holds a PhD in communication from the University of California, San Diego, and an MA in En­glish lit­er­a­ture from San Francisco State University. Marchi studies alternative forms of media and po­liti­ cal engagement, focusing on populations historically marginalized from official politics and media due to their race, ethnicity, social class, immigration status, gender, or age. The 2009 edition of Day of the Dead in the USA won the national James W. Carey Award for media research and was recognized with an International Latino Book Award in the category of “Best Po­l iti­cal/Historical Book.”

Available titles in the Latinidad: Transnational Cultures in the United States series María Acosta Cruz, Dream Nation: Puerto Rican Culture and the Fictions of In­de­pen­dence Rodolfo F. Acuña, The Making of Chicana/o Studies: In the Trenches of Academe José M. Alamillo, Deportes: The Making of a Sporting Mexican Diaspora Mike Anastario, Parcels: Memories of Salvadoran Migration Xóchitl Bada, Mexican Hometown Associations in Chicagoacán: From Local to Transnational Civic Engagement Maritza E. Cárdenas, Constituting Central American–­Americans: Transnational Identities and the Politics of Dislocation Adriana Cruz-­Manjarrez, Zapotecs on the Move: Cultural, Social, and Po­liti­cal Pro­cesses in Transnational Perspective T. Jackie Cuevas, Post-­Borderlandia: Chicana Lit­er­a­ture and Gender Variant Critique Marivel T. Danielson, Homecoming Queers: Desire and Difference in Chicana Latina Cultural Production Allison E. Fagan, From the Edge: Chicana/o Border Lit­er­a­ture and the Politics of Print Jerry González, In Search of the Mexican Beverly Hills: Latino Suburbanization in Postwar Los Angeles Rudy P. Guevarra Jr., Becoming Mexipino: Multiethnic Identities and Communities in San Diego Colin Gunckel, Mexico on Main Street: Transnational Film Culture in Los Angeles before World War II Romeo Guzmán, Carribean Fragoza, Alex Sayf Cummings, and Ryan Reft, eds., East of East: The Making of Greater El Monte Marie-­Theresa Hernández, The Virgin of Guadalupe and the Conversos: Uncovering Hidden Influences from Spain to Mexico Anita Huizar-­Hernández, Forging Arizona: A History of the Peralta Land Grant and Racial Identity in the West Lisa Jarvinen, The Rise of Spanish-­Language Filmmaking: Out from Hollywood’s Shadow, 1929–1939 Regina M. Marchi, Day of the Dead in the USA: The Migration and Transformation of a Cultural Phenomenon, 2nd ed. Desirée A. Martín, Borderlands Saints: Secular Sanctity in Chicano/a and Mexican Culture Isabel Martinez, Becoming Transnational Youth Workers: In­de­pen­dent Mexican Teenage Mi­grants and Pathways of Survival and Social Mobility Marci R. McMahon, Domestic Negotiations: Gender, Nation, and Self-­Fashioning in US Mexicana and Chicana Lit­er­a­ture and Art A. Gabriel Meléndez, Hidden Chicano Cinema: Film Dramas in the Borderlands Priscilla Peña Ovalle, Dance and the Hollywood Latina: Race, Sex, and Stardom

Amalia Pallares, ­Family Activism: Immigrant Strug­gles and the Politics of Noncitizenship Luis F. B. Plascencia, Disenchanting Citizenship: Mexican Mi­grants and the Bound­aries of Belonging Catherine S. Ramírez, Sylvanna M. Falcón, Juan Poblete, Steven C. McKay, and Felicity Amaya Schaeffer, eds., Precarity and Belonging: L ­ abor, Migration, and Noncitizenship Israel Reyes, Embodied Economies: Diaspora and Transcultural Capital in Latinx Ca­rib­bean Fiction and Theater Cecilia M. Rivas, Salvadoran Imaginaries: Mediated Identities and Cultures of Consumption Jayson Gonzales Sae-­Saue, Southwest Asia: The Transpacific Geographies of Chicana/o Lit­er­a­ture Mario Jimenez Sifuentez, Of Forest and Fields: Mexican L ­ abor in the Pacific Northwest Ma­ya Socolovsky, Troubling Nationhood in U.S. Latina Lit­er­a­ture: Explorations of Place and Belonging Susan Thananopavarn, LatinAsian Cartographies Melissa Villa-­Nicholas, Latinas on the Line: Invisible Information Workers in Telecommunications