The Ghost in the Television

Erasmo is leaning forward, his forehead nearly touching the curved glass of a television that should have been recycled in 2011. He is 71 years old, a retired postal worker who still carries the scent of ink and old paper in the pores of his palms, and right now, he is a curator.

He isn’t in a museum in the traditional sense, but his living room-dimly lit by the flickering blue pulse of a prime-time commercial break-is a gallery of artifacts. He is clutching a Bic pen with a chewed cap, waiting for the numbers to crawl across the bottom of the screen.

When the ad for a personal loan company flashes with its bright, primary colors and its promises of “immediate liquidity,” Erasmo scribbles the name onto the back of a utility bill. To him, the fact that this company can afford a thirty-second spot between the evening news and the telenovela is a certificate of character. It is a bond.

We are watching a ghost

In Mexico, for decades, television was the ultimate gatekeeper. If you were on the airwaves, you were part of the national fabric. You had been vetted by the sheer astronomical cost of entry. But the airwaves have changed, and the signal