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I was 12 years old when a cheap plastic skull was hurled at my head for the first time. It was bright pink with fluorescent green carvings marking out its eyes, and it had a big bright smile.
I was standing on a stage in my custom-made traje — a long, light gray skirt and jacket with silver and black details. A large sombrero adorned my head, and I was playing guitar with my middle school mariachi group at one of the many Día de los Muertos-themed parties we had been hired to play at that year, which had become all the more popular thanks to Disney's "Coco."
At that point, I had played the famous songs from that movie — namely an upbeat "Remember Me" and "Un Poco Loco" — a nauseating number of times, and that plastic skull nearly sent me over a marigold-decorated edge.
I became disheartened by the holiday pretty quickly. Whatever magic I might have experienced as a kid seemed to be gone. The idea that those in my family who had passed on would be returning on this day, visiting the land of the living through a veil from the spirit world, eventually wore off. The presence of any ancestors that seemed to linger around every papel picado and cempasúchil was replaced with a creeping emptiness, knowing these things would just be used to decorate some gringo's event that’s a lame excuse to get drunk off tequila.
The only time I saw my culture being represented outside of these parties was with 50% off sombreros at Party City in the "Day of the Dead" corner, or when some millennial with our sacred calaca, the image of a skull used in traditional Día de los Muertos art, tattooed on their shoulder passed by.
Día de los Muertos was something that had always comforted me growing up, as there was the idea that once those I love, and even myself, pass on, there was a chance to come back. There was the chance for my mom to say goodbye to her grandparents and the chance for my abuela to reconcile with her sister. It was meant to be a tradition for my family in Nogales, Douglas and Tucson to gather around graves in the local cemetery and be together with the bodies and, hopefully, souls of those who passed away.
Well, after a few cheap plastic skulls are thrown at your head by screaming white children (yes, this happened multiple times), you tend to want nothing to do with the whole "Day of the Dead" thing at all.
Día de los Muertos became another event to play guitar at and get paid. It became a cultureless, gentrified holiday meant for running up prices at your local Target. It became kind of like Christmas, except the general population doesn't care about it enough to cause endless Hallmark movies that show "the true meaning" of the holiday.
But it's up to those who have this tradition in our bloodlines, flowing and rippling through our veins, to find the "true meaning." Whatever that may be.
'We’re going back again. We're decolonizing.'
There is an active effort within our community to bring the holiday back to what it originally was and actively fight those who make it something it is not meant to be.
Zarco Guerrero, the artistic director and co-founder of the Cultural Coalition, a nonprofit arts organization, said he saw the commercialization of Día de los Muertos coming for years.
"People (outside of the culture) started adopting it," Guerrero said. "They started incorporating it more and more into their daily lives, celebrations, commercial entities. … They saw what we were doing, and saw how really beautiful it was. They just stuck their hand in there and started taking (it) for themselves."
Guerrero dedicates a major part of his life to spreading the Indigenous roots and story of Día de los Muertos to anyone who will listen to him.
He said seeing how the holiday has developed over the past 20 years has made him depressed, and he wishes more people would recognize the culture's past as thousands of years of Indigeneity, rather than 500 years of Hispanic heritage.
"What happened was the last thing we wanted to happen," Guerrero said. "We were against commercialization. We were against gentrification. It's taken away from us, and it's being taken away by institutions ... and turned into a commercial tool to sell products."
Guerrero and his wife Carmen help run the Cultural Coalition's annual Mikiztli Festival, something he says isn’t a celebration of Día de los Muertos, as he believes the day has lost its meaning completely.
"It's called Mikiztli because we're celebrating the true idea, the true philosophy of our ancestors that goes back 3,000 years to the time of the Olmecs, making it an Indigenous Celebration," Guerrero said. "We're going back again. We're decolonizing."
According to the Cultural Coalition's website, "Mikiztli" can be traced back to "Anáhuac, the original name of pre-colonial Meso America."
The Indigenous people did not have a word for "death" in the original Náhuatl language. Instead, "Mikiztli" refers to the idea of death being a transition from this life to the next; the concept of "transformation" or "letting go."
Guerrero believes that what is meant to happen on Día de los Muertos has been lost to time.
"It doesn't represent death," he said. "It represents transcendence. It represents letting go of the flesh, letting go of the ego, and we transcend to the next dimension. Now we can do that, supposedly, when we die, we let go of the flesh, we transcend."
'Our culture heals'
While Guerrero puts an emphasis on those who celebrate Día de los Muertos connecting with their Indigenous roots and acknowledging those who came before, he finds the most hope for the holiday within today's youth, especially college students, and feels that there is an increase in younger generations wanting to connect with their culture and heritage.
"All of these youth, they're embracing our culture without even knowing the language," Guerrero said. "They don't even speak Spanish. ... They're not born in Mexico. So what's going on? Our culture heals. It's healing us."
Amy Noriega Pineda, a junior studying psychology and transborder studies, used her role as president of the Hispanic Honor Society to start a Día de los Muertos celebration on the West Valley campus. At the event, students were encouraged to contribute to a community altar by placing photos of their loved ones on it.
Pineda said the practice of Día de los Muertos wasn't always consistent in her childhood because her parents owned a small business and didn’t have the time to celebrate. However, her time in college has encouraged her to connect with her heritage.
"Once I moved out of my parents home and into the dorms, I started exploring more of my culture,"Pineda said. "I began practicing the tradition of making the altars around the Day of the Dead period."
Pineda's celebration of Día de los Muertos reflects Guerrero's belief that the day isn't meant to be about death at all.
"I do have people who are like, 'Do you do this because you genuinely think they're coming back?'" Pineda said, referring to the belief that the spirits of those who have passed visit their families on the holiday.
But to her, it doesn't really matter if her family members are actually returning from the spirit world — Día de los Muertos has always been more about a comfort with her heritage and feeling connected to her roots.
"We don't have proof that they come back," she said. "But it's that thing where just in case they do, I want them to know that I'm actively thinking about them. That's what matters to me at least."
'To me, it's completely different'
Younger generations are also the voices for those whose Día de los Muertos traditions are not shown in the media, with specific celebrations of families or states within Mexico being lost to modern audiences.
Sarah Martinez, a junior studying biochemistry, said that there are major differences in her celebration of Día de los Muertos than what is represented in the media.
She explained that because the holiday is celebrated differently in every state, the differences in traditions are not often acknowledged and are instead shoved away in favor of a known stereotype.
"In the movies, everyone's together, everyone celebrates, everyone has a big party," Martinez said. "What's portrayed is very specific for la Ciudad de México. Like, that's how they celebrate it, but the idea that for the rest of Mexico it's the same ... that's just not true."
Martinez said even the beliefs surrounding the holiday vary greatly from what's represented in the media. The belief that family members are passing from the spirit world to the human world was never a part of her family celebrations.
"That was never heard of until I watched the movie 'Coco,'" Martinez said. "That was something that just never occurred to me. It was something that was never spoken of."
Martinez said any comfort she has gotten from the holiday came from remembering those who passed on and simply talking about happy memories of them with her family.
'We can keep their memory alive'
Jessica Sanabria, a sophomore studying nursing, said that while she does not have the same access to the celebration as she did at home, she still finds a way to incorporate her own traditions into Día de los Muertos while in college. She mainly focuses on the family aspects of the celebration by calling her family and remembering loved ones together.
"With Día de los Muertos, you see a lot of big celebrations and festivals ... people dressed as skeletons and dancing, and it's like a big party," Sanabria said. "Which yes, that's a part of it. But the other part of it, like the family connection, can be overlooked sometimes."
Sanabria said a major aspect of her celebration that is not always acknowledged is going to the actual cemetery where her family is laid to rest.
However, Sanabria believes that her ancestors and family are with her not just on the holiday, but all the time, especially her grandmother. She feels her in her family home, in the birds and in the wind, and says that if she ever needs to talk to her, she can.
She describes Día de los Muertos as being just another day with her family, but with something a bit extra.
"I was just always taught that their spirit is always with us, we can keep their memory alive" Sanabria said. "This is just a specific day for when we do it."
'As long as the people are together'
Guerrero said that even if some practices are being exploited, diluted or gentrified, it doesn't make a difference as long as it gives his community a chance to celebrate.
"It's a great excuse to get the family together," Guerrero said. "So what difference does it make? As long as the people are together and creating something new."
Thankfully, the real meaning, a remembrance of those loved and lost, has remained true and at the very core of Día de los Muertos, despite any varying belief about whether or not spirits return or how big the celebrations are.
Guerrero said it's inspiring to see the real point of Día de los Muertos coming back to the forefront of culture and being carried on the backs of young people. He said it's beautiful to see them embracing their heritage and Indigenous past.
He added that the thousands of souls who have passed and may have been lost due to colonization have returned through the youth to heal the culture.
"Our ancestors are back," Guerrero said. "They're back, and they come back as our youth. They come back dancing, they come back singing."
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton.
This story is part of The Horror Issue, which was released on November 1, 2024. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporter at amanri14@asu.edu and follow @iamGibManrique on X.
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Gib is a junior studying journalism and mass communication with a minor in film and media. This is their second semester with The State Press. They have also worked at Blaze Radio and The Chic Daily.
