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The large Cementerio El Calvario of Quetzaltenango is the only public cemetery of Xela. Like most other urban cemeteries in Latin America it doesn’t appear on the political priority list of maintenance and improvement. Since burial and memorialization practices are closely intertwined, I am here to explore questions like: does the state’s neglect of provisioning a dignified final destination affect people? And if so, how? Are there any commoning initiatives in dealing with the deceased in Xela?
The first impression of this cemetery is one of neglect and fragmentation. Two consecutive fields named Cementerio 1 and Cementerio 2 divide the graveyard. The first one is a historical graveyard with neo-classical tombs and more modern vertical constructions containing burial niches. The second one is a meadow with earth graves known as The Hill, or The Comunal Area; a euphemistic way of denoting the poor-people’s burial area. This area caters to the Maya community from the surrounding villages, who pay 1 euro to have their loved ones buried in the ground.
Although neglected and stigmatized for being a second-rank burial ground, this is not a place of total sadness. The Comunal Area looks colorful and lively. What is more, this area has become an international meeting place. Many Maya from the Xela region have migrated to the U.S. Deceased migrants are often repatriated home, to be buried in Xela ground on this particular hillside. On a Sunday, you can hear Spanish, K’iche’ and English languages. Families visit the graves of their loved ones to celebrate the deceased’s live and the travel of their soul. Yet it is the mundane activities that caught my attention most. People pick cherries from the large cherry trees providing shadow. Children play football or chase the stray dogs, while their parents drink liquor.
We met such a family last Sunday. They were cheerful and proud of their transnational family history, despite the hardships it had brought them. Two Los-Angeles-born children accompanied their Maya abuelita to visit the graves of Grandpa and other relatives. With a mouth full of cherries from the tree waking over Grandpa’s grave, they told us the story of their physical travel to another country, which happened to take place on the very same day of Grandpa’s travel to the hereafter. I saw how this physically neglected space is kept alive by its visitors. How they co-create the Maya stories of life and death. Although the expanding range of their travels distinguishes the 21st -century version of Maya memory making from earlier ones, the new life histories still remain anchored to Xela’s general cemetery - turning it into a transnational cultural commons.
Christien Klaufus