How Californians Are Reclaiming Día De Los Muertos as an Act of Cultural Resistance

This story was reported for K Onda KQED, a monthly newsletter focused on the Bay Area’s Latinx community. Click here to subscribe.

I had planned to spend Nov. 1, a Saturday, cleaning and organizing my house. Then my friend Susie Sanchez-Young, owner of The Designing Chica, texted me to suggest I come to a Día de los Muertos event in Lafayette, a mere 15 minutes from my home.

That afternoon, my kids and I drove up a windy hill to find parking in Oakmont Cemetery, which sits on a serene and picturesque hill offering amazing views of the north Interstate 680 corridor. We were there not to visit a particular departed loved one, but all of them — the dead.

The event featured some elements I’ve come to expect from a Mexican-themed lineup: performances by a mariachi, a folkloric dance company and traditional Aztec dancers.
It was lively without feeling overly cheery, which I appreciated because it provided a sense of community among everyone who wanted to soak in culture, tradition and sacred rituals of mourning.

I did not grow up observing Día de los Muertos as anything more than the Mexican version of All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation for Catholics. I don’t build an elaborate altar. But this year, I found myself leaning into Día de los Muertos as an act of honoring loved ones as well as resisting assimilation, embracing artistic expression and reclaiming my Indigenous heritage.

The practice of honoring the deceased stretches back thousands of years to the Indigenous peoples of Mexico. Yet the rituals and iconography associated with this observation have modern roots in California.

San Francisco artist and curator Rio Yañez grew up immersed in Día de los Muertos. His father, the late Rene Yañez, co-founded the altar exhibits and procession in San Francisco’s Mission District in the 1970s and ‘80s that are credited with starting the Día de los Muertos celebrations on the West Coast.

The holiday became a touchstone for the Chicano movement as a way to assert cultural identity and resistance. Still, Rio Yañez said his father, who was born in Mexico, was called out for not being Chicano enough and for reimagining traditions.

“I grew up with my dad being constantly reminded that he was failing a purity test for Day of the Dead,” he said during a show I produced for KQED’s Forum. “As a Chicano, as a Mexican American, adaptation, reinvention, reinterpretation — that is always what (Día de los Muertos) has been about.”

Yañez co-curated an exhibit at SOMArts called Día de Los Muertos 2025: We Love You that featured female and nonbinary artists presenting different interpretations of an altar. He noted that altars for public view often include political statements, call attention to issues and challenge the status quo.

I’m now used to seeing jack-o’-lanterns next to Catrinas in many American homes, signaling the holiday’s place in mainstream America. The irony is that while many non-Latinos now embrace Día de los Muertos, they often focus more on the aesthetics and festive aspects instead of seeing it as a channel for grief, remembrance and connection.

“We can stop Mattel from making Catrina Barbies,” Yañez told me. “Where we can make a difference and have some control is in what we can do as a community and for each other and how we engage with each other.”

Día de los Muertos has turned into a cultural phenomenon because it’s a rare opportunity to talk about the dead outside of a funeral context, said Luisa Navarro, a Texas native who runs a blog and gift shop in Brooklyn called Mexico in My Pocket and recently released a book titled Mexico’s Day of the Dead.

“We are a very inviting culture. We have room at the table for everyone, but it’s important to educate yourself and understand the holiday,” she told me. “I try to avoid shaming people and policing people who don’t understand. Instead, I tell stories and educate people about the meaning and origin.”

The essence of the holiday remains remembering deceased loved ones, but observing this practice has also served as an act of resistance and resilience since the time Spanish colonizers failed to stamp it out.

“I’m on this mission to share our stories, to spread awareness because there’s so many misconceptions and stereotypes about our culture,” Navarro said. “It is so, so, so beautiful how the Chicano movement and how our community has continued to amplify our stories, to keep our traditions alive and to keep our duality alive. And I’m so so proud of that.”

This year has been a psychologically difficult year for immigrant communities that are under attack by the Trump administration, which has used brutal tactics to detain immigrants.

As I reflected on this, I thought of how Belinda Hernandez-Arriaga, founder and CEO of Ayudando Latinos A Soñar, a nonprofit that serves the immigrant community in Half Moon Bay, uses culture as a cure.

“It’s been especially important during the last couple of years of COVID, where there was a lot of loss. And with our recent, two years ago, the mass shooting of our seven farm workers, the Día de los Muertos and the altar gave us a place to come together as a community to grieve and to remember and to not forget,” she said during the Forum show. “It’s a portal for mental health. It’s also a portal for well-being and resistance and community.”

Back at Oakmont Cemetery, I stood in a long line with my 6-year-old daughter, who waited patiently for close to an hour to have her face painted in the Catrina style.

We watched the Aztec dancers light copal, a tree resin that has been used for rituals for thousands of years, and perform a ceremonial dance. I explained that the Indigenous people have populated Mexico for centuries and started the very practice we took part in that day. I then explained that after the Spanish arrived, the cultures mixed, and continue evolving into the version we have today.

Later that evening, we lit a candle in front of a display of photographs of deceased loved ones and talked about who they were. Among the collection are photos of my dad, the only grandparent my children have not met because he passed away before they were born.

They asked me about his favorite foods and what he was like. It was a simple observation of Día de los Muertos, and one small way to keep his memory alive for the next generation.