Día de los Muertos

From Sacred Hills to Global Stage

By H.R. LLAMAS

For centuries, El Día de los Muertos — the Day of the Dead — has been a cherished celebration among Indigenous communities across the Americas. What began as a humble act of remembrance in the Purépecha hills of Janitzio, Michoacán, has transformed into one of the most globally recognized cultural traditions, weaving together themes of remembrance, resilience, and resistance. 

In its earliest form, Día de los Muertos was a quiet, sacred gathering. Families would journey to ancestral cemeteries, cleaning headstones and decorating graves with marigolds, candles, and offerings of food and mezcal. The Purépecha people, like many Indigenous nations, believed that death was not an end but a continuation—a time to commune with loved ones who had crossed into the next world. 

For them, the night was alive. It was a time to share laughter, stories, and even a toast of mezcal with those who had gone before. “It’s time a time to share with family,” says Dr. Victoria Obregon, professor at Colorado State University Pueblo, “It is not about being sad, but enjoying the presence of relatives. We light their paths with marigolds and pictures, have their favorite treats and honor them by sharing space.” 

A Tradition in Motion

Over the centuries, as colonial and religious influences reshaped much of Latin America, the celebration endured. Migrants carried it northward— first to central Mexico, then to borderlands, and eventually to the heart of the United States.

For Mexican immigrants, Día de los Muertos became more than a holiday; it was a cultural lifeline. In small apartments on makeshift altars, families placed candles, photos, and the few precious mementos  they had carried from home. These humble offerings became anchors of identity and belonging, connecting those far from their homeland with the spiritual warmth of their ancestors.

Initially, the holiday was misunderstood by outsiders — often dismissed as pagan or morbid. Many first-generation Mexican Americans grew up witnessing their parents’ quiet observances but avoided speaking of them publicly. Yet, as the Latino diaspora expanded, so did the confidence to celebrate openly. Schools, churches, and community centers began to host ofrenda exhibitions and processions, reclaiming a sense of cultural pride.

“This is not a way to assimilation,” says Obregon, Chicanx professor. “It is transformation. This celebration has journeyed with us, but also has become something greater, it has changed to incorporate the places where we have migrated to.”

From Film Set to National Parade

A turning point came in 2015 when director Sam Mendes chose Mexico City as the setting for the opening sequence of Spectre, the 24th installment in the James Bond franchise. The scene featured a fictional Día de los Muertos parade through downtown — complete with elaborate skull masks, giant Catrinas, and alebrijes, the colorful dream creatures first imagined by Mexican artist Pedro Linares.

Though the parade was created for the film, the imagery resonated deeply with audiences. Thousands of residents filled the streets during filming, creating an atmosphere of celebration and national pride.

When production ended, something unexpected happened: Mexico City decided to make the parade real. The following year, the capital hosted its first official Día de los Muertos parade. The event drew hundreds of thousands and has since become an annual tradition, televised worldwide.

In a curious twist, what began as a cinematic illusion became a tangible expression of cultural identity—a reminder that tradition, even when reimagined, retains its power to unite.

The Global Spotlight: Pixar’s Coco

Two years later, Disney and Pixar released Coco, a 2017 animated film that brought Día de los Muertos to global audiences. The story of a young boy named Miguel, his loyal dog Dante, and his great-grandmother Coco captured the essence of the holiday — the belief that memory bridges the realms of the living and the dead.

The film’s vivid color palette, emotional depth, and portrayal of familial love resonated across generations and borders. Children worldwide were introduced to marigolds, ofrendas, and the spiritual beauty of remembrance.

Yet the film’s path to success was not without controversy. When Disney initially attempted to trademark “Día de los Muertos,” the Latino community pushed back fiercely. Artists, activists, and scholars condemned the move as cultural appropriation and corporate exploitation. Facing widespread backlash, Disney rescinded its trademark filing and collaborated with Mexican cultural consultants to ensure authenticity.

Upon release, Coco was met with acclaim — earning an Academy Award for Best Animated Feature and, more importantly, reclaiming the narrative of Día de los Muertos as one rooted in community, not commerce.

Still, the tension between cultural celebration and commercialization lingers.

The Price of Popularity

Today, the imagery of Día de los Muertos adorns everything from sneakers to commemorative cups, sports team jerseys, and Halloween costumes. Corporate branding now paints skulls and marigolds across global markets each October and November. 

For many, this commercialization represents a double-edged sword — visibility paired with dilution. “Representation matters,” says Pueblo-based advocate Jose Luis, “but not when it’s stripped of meaning. When corporations profit from sacred imagery while ignoring the lived struggles of the community it represents, it’s exploitation, not appreciation.”

This critique cuts especially deep given the sociopolitical climate. In the United States, where immigrant communities face ongoing discrimination, deportation policies, and anti-Latinx sentiment, many question the ethics of corporations that fund divisive politics while simultaneously commodifying Latinx traditions.

“It’s hard for a company to claim cultural respect when it donates to politicians who devalue those same cultures,” Jose Luis adds. “But corporations are not people — they feel no contradiction, only profit margins.”

Memory as Resistance

Despite commercialization and controversy, the heart of Día de los Muertos endures. For the Chicanx community, it symbolizes survival and identity in the face of displacement. Since the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, which redrew the U.S.-Mexico border, generations have lived between two worlds — neither fully accepted in one nor detached from the other.

“ Dia de los Muertos lets us know that Chicanxs belong in both,” says Dr. Obregon. “We honor all of our cultura with pride and know that our ancestors walked these lands long before any colonizer ever existed” 

The blending of ancient traditions with contemporary expression reflects a living, breathing culture. It is not a relic — it evolves, just as its people do.

Across the Americas, from Los Angeles to Michoacan, from Pueblo to Chihuahua, families continue to light candles and place marigolds on altars. They whisper names, share food, and tell stories — acts that defy erasure and affirm continuity. 

The Living Connection

At its core, Día de los Muertos is an act of love. It tells us that death is not separation, but transformation. The boundary between the living and the dead softens, if only for a night, allowing memories to walk once more among us.

As the celebration has grown—from sacred hilltops to crowded parades and global screens—it carries with it a message that transcends cultures: to remember is to resist forgetting. 

For the Purépecha people, for the Mexican diaspora, for the Chicanx and Latinx communities across the world, the marigold path remains lit.

Mother Earth remembers every step. And through each altar, each song, each offering, the living remind her — we are still here.