Young man with a Santa Muerte tattoo in Mexico City's Tepito neighborhood. © 2009 Gabriel M. Ortega
Ever since I saw the photographs my fellow students from the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop produced at the altar of Santa Muerte (St. Death), I was drawn to this Mexican so-called cult’s fascination and religious worship of something so fundamental to the path of life: death itself. Whether its origins are placed within the cosmology of the native Mexican peoples and their worship of death gods or as rejection of the Catholic Church among the lower classes of Mexico City during the 1940s, there does seem to be a religious syncretism in the way the abstract concept of “Holy Death” is viewed and worshipped in modern Mexico.
I had vowed to further explore this often negatively portrayed group and their beliefs, practices, and rituals. My opportunity presented itself on the first of December. Every first of the month, adherents to the Santa Muerte come together and perform a Rosary at one of the over 1,500 altars that have been erected to her in Mexico City alone.
I decided to go to one of the oldest and well-known altars, erected seven years ago, in one of Mexico City’s most infamous neighborhoods: Tepito, which is home to a large black market and the birthplace of many lucha libre wrestlers, boxers as well as drug trafficking and crime. The altar can be found at Alfarería 12 and was constructed and is maintained by Señora Queta (or Ms. Enriqueta Romero), a tough lady from a tough neighborhood.
I arrived at about 10am and already, in the few blocks between the subway station and the altar, merchants had begun putting up stands to hawk their Santa Muerte figures, candles, devotional objects and other paraphernalia. However, there were only a handful of people at the altar meanwhile others had come and arranged their own mini altars, lining the street with a variety of brightly colored and luxuriously dressed Santa Muerte figures. I spoke at length with Señora Queta, who informed me about many aspects of the Santa Muerte, including dispelling popular misconceptions often alleged by the Catholic church, which views the worship as an evil cult, a bad influence on society, and even competition, regardless of the fact that most Santa Muerte adherents consider themselves Catholics as well. On one side of the altar, there’s even a painting depicting the Santa Muerte kneeling to Christ. Señora Queta explains to me God is number one, God is the same Almighty as in Catholic beliefs, but just as He is the Creator, Death is the destroyer and so complements the concept of God.
I believe the popularity of the Santa Muerte among the lower classes can be directly tied to the amount of violence, crime, poverty and death that these social classes have to deal with. Death is much closer and more frequently felt and seen in struggling social classes than in upper classes, where excellent access to modern medicine and much easier lives relegates death to something preferably forgotten. That is why the Santa Muerte is considered the patron saint of drug dealers, thieves, prostitutes and other petty criminals. In a harsh world where death is more prevalent, it makes sense to honor her and keep her present than to forget her.
Throughout the day, the surrounding neighborhood blocks filled with people carrying statuettes and offerings, miniature altars, and merchants selling Santa Muerte-related goods. Worshipers made offerings to each others’ statues, including prayer cards, candies, fruit, tequila, and some even breathed marijuana smoke over the figurines of the saint, making direct references to Voodoo and Santería practices more commonly seen in the Caribbean.
Despite the seemingly dark images of a feminine grim reaper, armed with a scythe and in many cases a globe of the world, indicating death’s universal nature, or a set of scales, indicating death’s blind justice, the people whom I spoke with revered her with joy and respect rather than fear and subjugation. “Death comes to all and everything,” explained Sergio, a gentleman who had been attending monthly rosaries for the last four years, “why be bitter about death? Instead, focus on life while you have it.” This notion about the profound and undeniable nature of death echoes the sentiments of many Eastern philosophies, such as Buddhism, as well as native people’s beliefs in the West.
As the hour of the ceremony approached, the crowd became more dense, packed with vendors walking through the mass, hawking necklaces, rosaries, pendants, t-shirts and anything with an image of Santa Muerte. Impromptu stands selling anything from food to spray cans of Santa Muerte holy water lined the street for 3 blocks in the direction of the nearest Metro station. A line of devotees hoping to make an offering and see the Santa Muerte at the large altar snaked through the crowd, many with a backpack worn frontside serving as the base for a portable personal altar with a figurine and offerings.
I had asked other local photographers about any special precautions I should take and had been told that despite being in the heart of Mexico City’s most dangerous neighborhood, I would have few problems with security or robbery simply because it was the night that the criminals would be devoted to worshiping, not “on the job.” I found that to be mostly true; in fact, quite a few people asked me to take pictures of their altar. Sergio even bragged to me, “I’ve been photographed by National Geographic. I’m a natural model,” as he puffed smoke from his joint onto the statues of passing devotees.
I eventually found a buddy in José Carlo González, a photojournalist from La Jornada, one of the city’s larger newspapers. Upon his advice, we positioned ourselves right beside the altar, to witness the devotion up close, including the impressive pilgrims who regularly arrived after having crawled on their knees from various distances. Some had even crawled from their homes, carrying their statuettes and arriving with torn pants or even bloodied knees, in the hopes that the Santa Muerte would listen to and fulfill their requests. Many arrived crying, either from devotion or from the pain of the actual pilgrimage.
In the end, Santa Muerte and the experience I documented at the altar in Tepito clarified for me that it is hardly the Satanic cult the church preaches against and neither is it a purely criminal group of people who congregate to practice their devotion. Santa Muerte can be seen as an indirect historical extension of the culture of death from times before the Spanish Conquest, adjusted to modern times and corresponding to the lives of the lower classes. This isn’t to say that anthropologically speaking, Santa Muerte is practiced or bears resemblence to ancient Aztec or Mayan death practices, but it certainly takes its place in a nation where 60% of the population is mestizo, with a mix of European and indigenous blood. Could this worship occur in other places? Perhaps, but Mexico and its culture of strong religious devotion and near fanaticism form a perfect environment for this practice.
Postscript: After the rosary was recited, José Carlo and I headed out into the tightly packed mass of people, where there was very little movement of people leaving, thus making our progress slow. He wanted to photograph the stands where they bless the statuettes with holy water but we got separated in the crowd. After about 15 minutes, I couldn’t find him and decided to head home. A few days later, through a mutual friend, I was informed that José Carlo had been assaulted in the moment we had been separated and robbed of his camera (Canon 1D Mark III) and equipment. Had I been with him, would I also have had to surrender my equipment? Such are the circumstances of life.
Gabriel "Morty" Ortega is a visual journalist.
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