Indigenous people of this country are mourning all across the country today while lies continue be told in our school system that downplay the vile mistreatment of the original proprietors of this land. There are any different origin stories of how Thanksgiving came into being. One of them is the meal that the pilgrims were indulging in was not in celebration of their newfound kinship, it was in celebration of a strike against the native people resulting in the deaths of 700 people from the Pequot tribe after a man was found dead in his boat. It was in retaliation for his death because the Pilgrims thought that tribe was behind it. So they crept into their land and burned their houses down while they were asleep. Another story is that when the settlers first arrived they did have a meal and after hearing gunshots the Massasoit people came to check it out. They were invited to eat with them but there wasn’t enough food, so the Massasoit sent out hunters and they returned with 5 deer, but this was in March. While it might be nice to cling onto that latter account to attribute this holiday to something less iniquitous, it’s in this country’s best interest to, how do I put this mildly, pull its head out of its rear.
Staying Home for Thanksgiving: A Fowl Reality
Don’t worry lone pumpkin you’ll be reunited soon!
First and foremost this sucks. Thanksgiving is by far the best holiday because I love food (duh), and I get to see my extended family. This year I will not be taking my normal sojourn to the south to bask in the warm Miami air and post pics of the beach on my social media channels. No, I will be staying put this year, because the thought of getting on a plane and potentially bringing the virus to my family terrifies me. I know I’m not the only one making this sad decision, but I also see petulant pea-brains who are vehemently opposed to shuttering their hapless plans. It’s this unbridled selfishness being exhibited across the nation that truly worries me.
I'm Thankful For Being Black
***Annoyingly I did not charge my laptop but luckily these little mobile innovations were created to not only keep me entertained while I wait to board, but give me the ability to update today!
It’s been a pretty heavy year what with the influx of news sources covering police brutality that has been plaguing the black community for years, the rise and growth of the Black Lives Matter movement, this new, open conversation about race that’s been popping up all over the Internet, and the general sense of frustration many have with the way the world is solving problems and how the media is portraying conflict(s). In this mess of frustration and realization I wanted to write about one thing I’m very thankful for and don’t get to say often and certainly don’t hear often enough and that is: I’m thankful I was born in this brown body and I’m happy to tell you why.
I didn’t always think about how great being black was. Due to the one-dimensional, prejudice portrayal of black people, black women in particular I used to be afraid of the way white people would perceive me without even opening my mouth. It used to give me anxiety to enter into a world full of preconceived notions and know I had no way of being seen as an individual or be given the benefit of the doubt. It made me scared to know my word against a white person’s was null and void in some situations. It made me angry that when white people mimic black culture they were seen as edgy while my own people were seen as “hood” or “ghetto.” Then I realized something. It’s something Eleanor Roosevelt said I think. Something along the lines of, the only way other people can put you down is if you let them.
There was a turning point for me in college when I gave up on allowing others to dictate who I was and let people tell me “how to be black.” Instead I embraced myself as I was, a black woman tied to history of violence and unfairness. A black woman whose ancestors fought struggled and persevered in a nation built against them. I found myself feeling proud and less angry with the way society viewed me but began pitying those that were racist or prejudice. It’s truly a mental illness to hate another human being because of the color of their skin. I used to feel like I wasn’t black enough because I was trying to define myself through society’s eyes instead of reality. My people are not afforded the luxury of individualism upon first glance, but that does not mean it doesn’t exist within our beautiful culture that has endured for years.
I’m thankful for being black because of dual consciousness and to represent a history this country is continuously trying to forget. I’m thankful to come from a people who have overcome obstacles beyond comprehension and thrived in perpetual adversity.
I’m thankful for a family that encouraged me to be who I am and accepted me without question. I’m thankful for people in my life that continue to amaze and surprise me with their open minds and hearts. I’m thankful for finding love that makes me smile from ear to ear like an idiot. I’m thankful for the way activists are clinging to causes and fighting for change that needed to happen hundreds of years ago. I’m thankful for the people who have woken up and realized slavery is still alive today in the form of institutional racism and not so subtle rhetoric in the media, but I’m also sorry.
I’m sorry for all of those men and women who were murdered by the very people who were supposed to protect and serve. I’m sorry their families won’t be able to enjoy anymore holidays with their smiling faces. I’m sorry this world has such a long way to go in terms of unity and equality. I’m sorry that this holiday of thanks is steeped in blood and subsequently so is this country’s sordid past. I’m sorry for all of the people who lost their lives due to radical fundamentalist views (IN EVERY RELIGION).
One last thing. I know race is “just a construct,” but until society recognizes this truth, it’s simply not.
Also, sorry for any typos. Not writing on a laptop is rough.
Happy Thanksgiving.