As Mexicans celebrate the Day of the Dead, they grapple with what it means to cling to tradition

MEXICO CITY – It’s midnight on the outskirts of Mexico City, and the San Gregorio Pantheon is not only alive, it’s thriving.

The roar of mariachis echoes over families decorating the graves of lost loved ones with rows of candles, orange cempasúchil flowers and their favorite treats, ranging from pan de muerto to bottles of Coca-Cola.

Every year around this time, Mexico erupts in festivities during the Day of the dead. Families gather at cemeteries across the country on November 1 to reconnect with their dead, just as their ancestors have done for centuries.

For many more people in small communities like these, it’s also about preserving the core of their traditions, as celebrations in places in larger hubs increasingly turn to mass tourism.

“We keep our tradition, a part of our heritage that my mother taught me,” says 58-year-old Antonio Meléndez. “We can’t let it go to waste.”

Meléndez was among the crowds gathered at the cemetery, tucked into the maze of canals and brick buildings in Xochimilco, a borough in southern Mexico City that has long continued traditions that have disappeared in other parts of the country.

He gathered with his two daughters around his mother’s grave, marked by orange petals scattered in the shape of a cross and bouquets of pink flowers, his mother’s favorite color.

Meléndez said she died last year and the loss was still fresh, so he tried to remember her by continuing the same rituals he saw her perform growing up, this time with his daughters. He started preparing for the celebration four days earlier, making tamales from scratch and building a small altar for her in their home.

The Day of the Dead dates back centuries to ancient indigenous civilizations, who organized celebrations when someone died to guide them into the next life, and placing food on altars to feed them during their travels, according to the Mexican government.

“In this celebration of the Day of the Dead, death represents not an absence but a living presence; death is a symbol of life materializing in the altar offered,” it writes.

When Spanish colonists arrived and began imposing Catholicism on native communities, they mixed native traditions with Catholic holidays. Celebrations of the dead were then synchronized with All Saints’ Day, on November 1, and ended on November 2.

While partying start ramping up In late October, Mexican tradition says that their deceased are closest to the living world that night, and people hope to keep them company. Although every family celebrates it in different ways.

At the San Gregorio Pantheon, elderly women carry huge bundles of orange flowers, the iconic flower of death. Some families sob in each other’s arms. Others sit alone in silence next to the graves of their loved ones. Many more people drink mezcal and tell stories about their relatives.

Together with her daughter and granddaughter, 60-year-old Beatriz Chávez kneels at the graves of her son, nephew and father, quietly lighting candles.

“It’s like being with them for another year, feeling that even if they don’t see them, we feel like we are closer to them,” Chávez said, noting that she planned to visit the cemetery to sleep, just like she always did. years since her father died when she was ten.

Over the years, this tradition has been the focus of the Disney film Coco. A Day of the Dead parade in Mexico City was also featured in a James Bond film, despite no such parade existing in real life. Annual celebrations later adopted the idea of ​​the parade from the movie.

Now people from all over the world have come to the Latin American country, eager to experience the rich tradition for themselves.

But once upon a time, the scenic celebrations in Day of the Dead hubs like Mexico City, Oaxaca and Michoacan began bustling with tourists, taking photos of mourners. In recent years, many Mexicans have also started mixing the celebration with Halloween and other new traditions such as the James Bond parade have emerged.

Some, like Meléndez, have been titillated by the services.

“Here, Halloween isn’t ours, it’s the Day of the Dead,” he said. “It’s sad because it gets distorted. We lose the essence of who we are. This is a part of us, our roots.”

For Meléndez, it adds an extra level of importance to the celebration at their small cemetery, which he and others say has remained true to centuries-old traditions.

It coincides with a larger conversation happening across Mexico, amid an influx of American “expats” and tourists. As more people move or travel to Mexico City, rents have become so high that many Mexicans have been pushed out of the areas where they have lived most of their lives, continuing frustration in much of the city simmer.

Those who wander the graves and sell flowers and food on the streets see the changes less as a loss of tradition, and more as an evolution – a way for younger generations to pass on their heritage in their own way and share it with new audience.

That was the case for grieving Chavez, who celebrated with her daughter and granddaughter. They used the lights on their iPhones to help her grandmother lay flowers.

“It’s nice because we’re talking about other places that are interested in our culture. And I think that showing all our love for our dead and celebrating death is important – important that they know our roots, our traditions, from generation to generation,” says her daughter, 36-year-old Ana Laura Anell Chávez .