Mexico City — Over the past weeks, I have witnessed how Mexicans celebrated the season of their most important holiday, the Día de Muertos, or the Day of the Dead, mostly in Mexico City where I have been staying, but also in Colima, San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, and, on Nov. 2—the date when the holiday officially falls—in the pueblo of Mixquic.
Holidays are feasts for the senses, and Día de Muertos does not disappoint with the manifold calaveras (skulls), the brilliant and fragrant cempasúchil (marigold flowers), and the colorful ofrendas that families and institutions alike put up to honor and remember their beloved and highly esteemed persons. (Back home in Manila, the Mexican Embassy’s ofrenda pays tribute to the sculptor Vicente Rojo, whose geometric figures adorn Mexico City).
The season also comes with culinary delights. Because of how similar it is to our ensaymada, I have come to like pan de muerto especially with its subtle orange flavor. One other seasonal treat that reminds me of home is the champurrado, which, like ours, has a thick, rich texture—but has corn flour instead of rice.
Then there are the musical playlists that, like our Christmas songs, transcend genre, from reggaeton to mariachi, the latter of which gave much verve to the grand desfile (parade) in Mexico City. Interestingly, the parade which was graced by a million spectators is just a five-year-old “tradition” said to be inspired by the 2015 James Bond film “Spectre.”
In some aspects, the Día de Muertos is similar to our Undas in that, although the date itself is based on a Catholic observance (which in turn is based on a pagan holiday), people’s attentions are more toward loved ones than the saints. But I feel there’s some difference in the overall mood of the holiday. In the Philippines, Undas is a solemn occasion, notwithstanding how Filipinos have increasingly embraced American Halloween.
On the other hand, here in Mexico, the Día de Muertos is solemn and festive at the same time, the two coexisting with each other just as the cemetery observances coexist with the adjacent fiestas, tiendas, and mini-concerts. And even in its most solemn aspect, the emphasis is not so much mourning the dead but celebrating their lives, for example by partaking of their favorite food and beverages as well as by gathering with family members that share their memories.
One striking example of the jocular mood of the season is the calavera literaria, which, simply put, are epitaph-style verses for the living. Full of puns, allusions, and satire, they can range from pop culture references to political commentary. Here’s a calaverita about our country by my friend Lenin Mendoza, a sociologist from the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, where I’ve been taking language studies:
Un año de encierro ha estado Duterte
Impaciente, creciente … doliente
El COVID le dio tiempo para pensar en las elecciones
Pues a sus enemigos los quiere con restricciones.
Robredo, Pacquiao y Marcos, tres pesos pesados
Los cuatro en un ring bien encerrados
Pero la gente grita, “queremos vacunas ya”
No obstante, la huesuda les dice “un año más … jajaja.”
The Mexican intimacy with the dead is both ancient and modern. Motifs like skulls, cempasúchil, and the dog Xoloitzcuintli are all rooted in millennia-old traditions among the Aztec and other indigenous peoples. However, the anthropologist Claudio Lomnitz (2005) notes that “death as Mexico’s national totem” emerged from its colonial and postcolonial histories, citing the many violences of the past and the role of artists and intellectuals like José Guadalupe Posada, Diego Rivera, and Octavio Paz in appropriating death as part of their “national character.”
Like Christmas in the Philippines, the Día de Muertos is many things at once: a contested mirror (or mirage) of national identity; a time of the year marked by family gatherings and familiar nostalgia; a commercialized extravaganza; and, in places like Mixquic, a touristic spectacle. Regardless of how one might try to make sense of such beautiful chaos, I feel that there’s something to be learned from being more open about death, and—especially in the wake of a pandemic that has made us grapple with the uncertainty of life—accepting it as part of the human experience.
By celebrating (and not just mourning) the dead, perhaps we can better understand, appreciate, and yes, celebrate the journey of life—both of our loved ones and that of our own.
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glasco@inquirer.com.ph