November 22: "Learning About the Indians," Complete Fiction, Thanksgiving Truths

A Mary Oliver poem to keep in mind tomorrow . . . 

Learning About the Indians

by:  Mary Oliver

He danced in feathers, with paint across his nose.

Thump, thump went the drum, and bumped our blood,

And sent a strange vibration through the mind.

White Eagle, he was called, or Mr. White,

And he strutted for money now, in schoolrooms built

On Ohio's plains, surrounded by the graves

Of all of our fathers, but more of his than ours.

Our teachers called it Extracurricular.

We called it fun.  And as for Mr. White,

Changed back to a shabby salesman's suit, he called it

Nothing at all as he packed his drums, and drove,

Tires screeching out of the schoolyard into the night.

In this poem, Mary Oliver is drawing attention to how we have dehumanized Indigenous cultures in this country.  White Eagle is playing a part for Oliver and her classmates.  Wearing feathers.  Painting his face.  Beating on drums.  It's a show.  A pageant that has little to do, probably, with who he really is.

Most of what my generation was taught about tomorrow's holiday was complete fiction, as well.  The peaceful feast between the pilgrims and Indigenous peoples at Plymouth colony is a myth created to whitewash (literally and figuratively) the truth.  Here are some real truths about Thanksgiving:  the Wampanoag people weren't even invited to that first feast; the Wampanoags had encountered Europeans previously, and some of them had actually been to Great Britain and spoke English fluently; the Wampanoags were ravaged by diseases brought to the "New World" by European colonizers; in their first encounter with the Wampanoag people, the pilgrims stole from their winter provisions; Europeans repaid their Indigenous allies by usurping their lands and imprisoning, enslaving, and executing their Native "friends"; the "thanksgivings" that were celebrated after the first one often occurred when Europeans massacred Native peoples, one such celebration including the beheading of the Wampanoag leader Metacom in 1676; finally, Indigenous peoples were here at least 12,000 years before America was "discovered" by white Europeans.

Those are some of the truths about Thanksgiving.  I didn't learn them from the construction-paper Thanksgiving pageants of my elementary school years.  My guess is that not too many people sitting down to their turkeys and mashed potatoes and stuffing and pumpkin pies tomorrow are aware of these truths, either.

Don't get me wrong.  A day set aside for giving thanks is a good thing.  A sacred thing.  But we shouldn't dress up that day with fables, exaggerations, and out-and-out lies.  Most of us live on lands stolen from Indigenous peoples.  Those lands were acquired by violence, disease, and false promises.  So, give thanks tomorrow, for your family, friends, and abundant blessings, not for the fairy tale of the first Thanksgiving.

Me?  I will say a prayer of thanks that I've survived another year.  That my wife and children are healthy and happy.  That there is food to eat, clothing on my back, and warmth in my home.  And I will honor the memory of loved ones absent from the table tomorrow evening.  My parents and brother and sisters who I've buried in the last seven or eight years.  

I made a pecan pie tonight.  It was my mother's favorite.  It's now my son's favorite, too.  

Those are the truths of Saint Marty's Thanksgiving this year.