As the sun crests the Blue Ridge Mountains and the frost sparkles, fractals of light shimmer and splinter into a myriad of color and intricacy—a bounty of beauty at dawn and a gift for those who rise early. Today I am up with the sun, this writing project before me. Usually I love to write, as I relish in word-smithing, tugging gently upon the golden threads of illumination that countless folks have mused on for centuries; but today I feel the weight of this assignment. It is Thanksgiving week, and I feel the heaviness of this holiday, so sacred to some that I fear to tread honestly and openly on this hallowed ground. For the truth I Iong to speak is not pretty, nor does it fit into the narrative that many have wrapped themselves in—a cozy blanket to keep out the cold, hard truth. It’s a truth which is difficult for many to face, but we must.
2020 has taught us so many things, has shed light on so many issues that we need to consider as a community, a nation, a species. One of my biggest takeaways is that we can no longer be silent to the things we see, to the injustices piling up around us. We can no longer live in our comforts of compromise, wrapped in our cocoons of complacency. And so I will write from my heart, and from my truth. I am sorry, in advance, for hurt feelings and challenged narratives. It is not my intention to divide or to shame, but to enlighten. Only when we stand in truth can we find the pathway forward, together.
We are given sweet images in grade school of pilgrims and natives sitting down together, trading goods and being friends, this holiday the celebration of this rich unity of cultures. However, I am deeply challenged by the truth of Thanksgiving. I have been ever since I learned the origin story of the holiday more than 25 years ago; how could I not be? Do you know how it started? The truth is much different than the grade-school story.
William B. Newell knows the truth. A Penobscot Indian and former chairman of the Anthropology department at the University of Connecticut, he says that "Thanksgiving Day" was first proclaimed by the Governor of the then Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1637 to commemorate the massacre of 700 men, women and children who were celebrating their annual Green Corn Dance.
"Gathered in this place of meeting, they were attacked by mercenaries and English and Dutch. The Indians were ordered from the building and as they came forth were shot down. The rest were burned alive in the building. The very next day, the governor declared a Thanksgiving Day...and for the next 100 years, every Thanksgiving Day ordained by a Governor was in honor of the bloody victory, thanking God that the battle had been won."
The massacre raged on. Vrious accounts of this same story mar our pretty narrative of pilgrims and Natives sitting together, sharing. An estimated 5 million Indigenous People (some historians say that number is much higher) were slaughtered as Europeans invaded this continent and took it, by extreme and excessive force, from its people. Today, the remnants of those tribes are still struggling to exist on occupied land. I personally occupy Cherokee land. Do you know who's home you occupy? If not, please use this map to learn who you need to honor at your table this Thanksgiving. I do not know how to right these wrongs; I do know that for me, acknowledging these truths is the beginning.
And so it is my heart's humble prayer that this Thanksgiving, along with gratitude for the harvest, abundance and family, you will consider these truths, and add them to your family's table. In a year where gatherings are discouraged and the holiday season already has a somber quality, I invite you to go deep into the shadows of our collective stories, to look at what is hard to face, and to begin the long arduous task of healing. You'll be glad you did, and your Ancestors will thank you.
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