At a Friendsgiving, I was asked to give a brief overview of how Thanksgiving came about, and I started the story with Squanto.
(Actually, I started by calling him Sasquatch, because I couldn't remember his name because I'm no longer in kindergarten. And then the Americans in the room corrected me, and the story went on its merry way.)
Squanto (or Tisquantum) epitomizes to me the beauty and the tragedy of Thanksgiving. He helped the Pilgrim colonists at Plymouth survive so that they had thanks to give for a bountiful harvest, and is nonetheless relegated to a footnote in history, though Charles C. Mann's excellent history of the Americas before 1492 (called 1491) does much to try to rectify that. And yet, thanks to the aid that Tisquantum gave to the Pilgrims, Native American tribes throughout North America were annihilated by disease and slaughter.
At issue for me this Thanksgiving is grappling with how being thankful for all the benefits in my life often precludes recognizing the oppression from which it has derived. It's far too easy to simply give thanks for my computer, my Fulbright, my right to vote and even my family (which I do), and not recognize that all of these things came with a price. And yet, as I grow older, I've come to realize that a proper giving of thanks must recognize the tragedies too.
My computer--without which I would not be able to do my job nearly as effectively--was most likely made in a factory whose workers wage under slave-labor conditions.
The Fulbright scholarship--the one allowing me to be in Spain this year to conduct research and complete my dissertation--arose out of the tense geopolitical situation of World War II and the beginning of the Cold War and demonstrated a recognition of the potential benefits of 'soft' diplomatic power. I'm really grateful that such a program exists--so many Spaniards may never have the opportunity to meet an American, and their only conception of what life in the US is like comes from Hollywood. And my future students back in the States will benefit from this experience as well, as it has enriched my research and deepened my understanding of the ties that bind Spain and the US. And yet, it only came about because of a horrible war that I hope we never have to fight again.
Millions of women lived and died before me (and many still in other countries)--unable to vote, suffering from gender violence, genital mutilation, human trafficking, and so many other inequities. The rights that I have are intimately linked with the violence borne by my sex throughout history, and having them does not free me to simply be grateful. It does not absolve me of this past. Rather, having them means that I must continue to fight, so that others may have the same rights that I myself enjoy.
And all of this brings me back to my family. Last year, I learned that one of my ancestors was John Rolfe, a colonist at Jamestown (many in my generation know him as John Smith, from the Disney movie, Pocahontas). (I didn't do the genealogical research to verify this, but the great-aunt who did swears by it, so I'm trusting her.) I'm grateful to be alive on this earth today, but I'm also grappling with the means of my existence, given that his marriage to Pocahontas was a political alliance, and their only son a baby when she died. There's a lot of swerves of fate that led to my being born, and some of them were downright tragic. Miscarriages and forced conversions and forced marriages (not to mention probably a rape or two at some point over the course of history), and all of that is a part of me too.
So this Thanksgiving, I am grateful. For my life, my liberty, my family and friends. For M2 and for my job and for the pursuit of happiness. And I'm also deeply saddened and humbled by the misfortunes that have befallen my family and the world in order to shape me into the person I am today. If I learn anything over the course of my life, it is to be able to hold the dark and the light, and to recognize that we're all made of both.
"There is a crack, a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." -- Leonard Cohen.
So this Thanksgiving, I'd like to ask...what are those things (both light and dark) that you're thankful for?
(Actually, I started by calling him Sasquatch, because I couldn't remember his name because I'm no longer in kindergarten. And then the Americans in the room corrected me, and the story went on its merry way.)
Squanto (or Tisquantum) epitomizes to me the beauty and the tragedy of Thanksgiving. He helped the Pilgrim colonists at Plymouth survive so that they had thanks to give for a bountiful harvest, and is nonetheless relegated to a footnote in history, though Charles C. Mann's excellent history of the Americas before 1492 (called 1491) does much to try to rectify that. And yet, thanks to the aid that Tisquantum gave to the Pilgrims, Native American tribes throughout North America were annihilated by disease and slaughter.
At issue for me this Thanksgiving is grappling with how being thankful for all the benefits in my life often precludes recognizing the oppression from which it has derived. It's far too easy to simply give thanks for my computer, my Fulbright, my right to vote and even my family (which I do), and not recognize that all of these things came with a price. And yet, as I grow older, I've come to realize that a proper giving of thanks must recognize the tragedies too.
My computer--without which I would not be able to do my job nearly as effectively--was most likely made in a factory whose workers wage under slave-labor conditions.
The Fulbright scholarship--the one allowing me to be in Spain this year to conduct research and complete my dissertation--arose out of the tense geopolitical situation of World War II and the beginning of the Cold War and demonstrated a recognition of the potential benefits of 'soft' diplomatic power. I'm really grateful that such a program exists--so many Spaniards may never have the opportunity to meet an American, and their only conception of what life in the US is like comes from Hollywood. And my future students back in the States will benefit from this experience as well, as it has enriched my research and deepened my understanding of the ties that bind Spain and the US. And yet, it only came about because of a horrible war that I hope we never have to fight again.
Millions of women lived and died before me (and many still in other countries)--unable to vote, suffering from gender violence, genital mutilation, human trafficking, and so many other inequities. The rights that I have are intimately linked with the violence borne by my sex throughout history, and having them does not free me to simply be grateful. It does not absolve me of this past. Rather, having them means that I must continue to fight, so that others may have the same rights that I myself enjoy.
And all of this brings me back to my family. Last year, I learned that one of my ancestors was John Rolfe, a colonist at Jamestown (many in my generation know him as John Smith, from the Disney movie, Pocahontas). (I didn't do the genealogical research to verify this, but the great-aunt who did swears by it, so I'm trusting her.) I'm grateful to be alive on this earth today, but I'm also grappling with the means of my existence, given that his marriage to Pocahontas was a political alliance, and their only son a baby when she died. There's a lot of swerves of fate that led to my being born, and some of them were downright tragic. Miscarriages and forced conversions and forced marriages (not to mention probably a rape or two at some point over the course of history), and all of that is a part of me too.
So this Thanksgiving, I am grateful. For my life, my liberty, my family and friends. For M2 and for my job and for the pursuit of happiness. And I'm also deeply saddened and humbled by the misfortunes that have befallen my family and the world in order to shape me into the person I am today. If I learn anything over the course of my life, it is to be able to hold the dark and the light, and to recognize that we're all made of both.
"There is a crack, a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." -- Leonard Cohen.
So this Thanksgiving, I'd like to ask...what are those things (both light and dark) that you're thankful for?
I obviously thought you would like 1491 since I purchased two for you that Christmas! Oops!
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