Photo by pixielauren

Original Caption: ''The kids getting candy at the mall in their costumes.''

Last Halloween, I was on my way back from a quick motorcycle trip to Mexico. I took a friend on the back seat down to Puerto Peñasco specifically to escape American culture and get a glimpse of El Dia de los Muertos. Our American ignorance proved unfailing. We were surprised or rather disappointed to find practically no public celebration. Perhaps, that’s because we assumed the day of the dead was the same day as Halloween, when it was actually celebrated on Nov. 1 and 2. But despite that important misunderstanding, we didn’t notice any marketing campaign pushing goods for the upcoming holiday. We didn’t see any skulls for sale in the supermarket or in the candy store. We were surprised to find absolutely no commercialization of the holiday at all.

We left Mexico on Halloween, the day we thought was The Day of the Dead, and on our return trip spent the night in a suburb north of Phoenix called Anthem. We happened to stay in a Howard Johnson across the street from an outlet mall, and when we ambled on over to the mall we found the strangest site. The children of the suburb were all dressed up in costumes, walking door to door with their parents collecting buckets of candy from merchants such as Gap, Nike and Ralph Lauren.

The contrast between Puerto Peñasco, Mexico and Anthem, USA was sickening. The sight horrified me for two reasons. This takes the meaning of a corporate holiday to new far more malignant level. This wasn’t just marketing and clever holiday packaging. The corporations were actually hosting the holiday itself!

Photo by Ken Rachynski

Children in line and in constume for candy at the mall.

What horrified me more, though, was what the event told me about it’s community. This suburb at the outskirts of Phoenix probably hardly existed five years ago, now it was teeming with a commuters and their unfortunate offspring. These people really don’t know each other. There is relatively little that bonds this community together and hence, these inhabitants of Anthem don’t trust their neighbors. So the safe alternative–the only haven of trust–turned out to be the corporations that set up shop in Anthem’s Outlet Mall. Isn’t that just sad? Is it not curious how the increasing disintegration of our communities drives us further and further into a dependence on the corporation?

When I further researched the Outlet Mall, I also found they offered free interactive kids programs on Wednesdays. Now, why do you suppose the outlet mall offers a free interactive kids program? I’m sure they’re marketing manager knows it’s worth the investment. Not only will this “free” class drag parents into the outlet mall, but it will also familiarize a whole group of young potential consumers with the brands of evermore paternal corporations. This terrifying event seems like an event lifted from the pages of an old distopian novel, but this scene is real, and iI’ll bet it’s not an isolated incident. Rather, it’s likely the beginning of a rather disturbing and popular trend where communities spring up in external elegance, numerous conveniences, complex city government and advanced infrastructure, but lack all the innards that make a real community of human beings a cohesive unit.

There was a girl I once knew in high school. She was a beautiful spirit. The kind of person who would cheer you up, when you were down. Her name was Marie.

That was four years ago. Upon a visit to my old hometown, I just happened to run into her. She was working for my father as a secretary. But when I first saw her, I did not recognize her. Her smile was gone, her face had rounded out, her hair, which had once fell long and full, was tied back carelessly and she was wearing a black and unwashed over-sized t-shirt. Her spirit was all dried up.

I sat down and spoke with her briefly. “So how’ve you been?” I asked.

A note I found in the back of my high school year book.

“Oh, ya know, just working.”

“So, your with…uh… Keller, right?”

“Yea.”

“Great,” I said having nothing better to say.

“Not that great,” she blurted.

I stumble, I nod my head like an idiot. I don’t know how to respond, I want to console her, but instead I change the subject: “Well, what else have you been up to?”

“We moved out to Denver for a while, cuz Mark wanted to try college. But he hated it, so we moved back.”

I’m afraid to ask another question. I feel like this casual meeting has become an interrogation, a rude exposé. But she continues anyway without my prompt, as if to confirm her utter sorrow.

“Married. … Two kids. … yea.”

And there it was everything bared, in sincere dejection, yet without shame and without embarrassment.

God. What frustration. What sadness. What’s a man to do? I feel just as helpless as her, and I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do. God. I wish I could ride in on a white stallion, rescue her in my arms, and gallop of into the sunset to some place where people would treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But there is no such place. And alas, I’m a homosexual. And while I’d still be there for her, I cannot give her myself and I cannot give her the love she deserves.

As I ride home across the Colorado passes on two wheels, wind in my ears, my mind replays the scene. I’m angry at the world for stripping away her spirit. No, I’m not angry at the world. I’m angry at the failure of my community. High school taught us nothing of how to deal with this. I’m angry at my father for paying her something just above minimum wage to work for him. I’m angry at him for not caring about her, beyond the fact that she shows up on time. I’m angry at her husband for consuming her beauty. I’m angry at all those around her who could allow this to happen. And I’m angry at myself for being able to do nothing.

I came home and found her picture in the yearbook. There’s that genuine smile. There’s the sparkle in her eyes. There’s the lively girl I once knew. And as I flipped to the end of the book I see a note written in silver marker. It read: “You are the funniest smart kid I know. Remember life is short so smile. You are just sooo cute. -Marie.”

Addendum [October 12, 2008]:After a conversation with my dear aunt in regard to this article, I would like to make a few clarifications. Namely, that I realize there are compassionate souls like my aunt who take the initiative to help people like Marie. But I would like to stress, that there is really only so much a person can do in a working relationship. Marie’s problems extend far outside of work, yet if personal problems disrupt work, Marie risks being fired.

We tend to place the blame squarely on the individual, but no one benefits from that mind set. In all reality, anyone else in her shoes would have no more decision than she has now. Life is tough, and it’s difficult to go it alone. That is why community is important. If Marie really had a close community, Marie’s sadness would be everyone’s sadness. So naturally everyone would want to help her. But as Marie’s story proves, the crucial supportive framework know as the community is being broken down, and it is partly the professionalism and boundaries of the work environment that is causing its ruin. Now, my father is a business owner, and I’m not saying business is bad, but I’m saying that community needs to come before business.

Author’s Note: Due to the sensitive nature of this article, the actual names of the people mentioned above have been substituted with false names. I am reluctant to do this as I believe we just waste each other’s time by protecting false images of each other’s lives. But in this case, I will defer.