r***@truth.now
2008-11-28 16:43:40 UTC
No Thanks to Thanksgiving
By Robert Jensen, Posted November 27, 2008.
Instead, we should atone for the genocide that was incited -- and
condoned -- by the very men we idolize as our 'heroic' founding
fathers.
One indication of moral progress in the United States would be the
replacement of Thanksgiving Day and its self-indulgent family feasting
with a National Day of Atonement accompanied by a self-reflective
collective fasting.
In fact, indigenous people have offered such a model; since 1970 they
have marked the fourth Thursday of November as a Day of Mourning in a
spiritual/political ceremony on Coles Hill overlooking Plymouth Rock,
Mass., one of the early sites of the European invasion of the
Americas.
Not only is the thought of such a change in this white-supremacist
holiday impossible to imagine, but the very mention of the idea sends
most Americans into apoplectic fits -- which speaks volumes about our
historical hypocrisy and its relation to the contemporary politics of
empire in the United States.
That the world's great powers achieved "greatness" through criminal
brutality on a grand scale is not news, of course. That those same
societies are reluctant to highlight this history of barbarism also is
predictable.
But in the United States, this reluctance to acknowledge our original
sin -- the genocide of indigenous people -- is of special importance
today. It's now routine -- even among conservative commentators -- to
describe the United States as an empire, so long as everyone
understands we are an inherently benevolent one. Because all our
history contradicts that claim, history must be twisted and tortured
to serve the purposes of the powerful.
One vehicle for taming history is various patriotic holidays, with
Thanksgiving at the heart of U.S. myth-building. From an early age, we
Americans hear a story about the hardy Pilgrims, whose search for
freedom took them from England to Massachusetts. There, aided by the
friendly Wampanoag Indians, they survived in a new and harsh
environment, leading to a harvest feast in 1621 following the
Pilgrims' first winter.
Some aspects of the conventional story are true enough. But it's also
true that by 1637, Massachusetts Gov. John Winthrop was proclaiming a
thanksgiving for the successful massacre of hundreds of Pequot Indian
men, women and children, part of the long and bloody process of
opening up additional land to the English invaders. The pattern would
repeat itself across the continent until between 95 and 99 percent of
American Indians had been exterminated and the rest were left to
assimilate into white society or die off on reservations, out of the
view of polite society.
Simply put: Thanksgiving is the day when the dominant white culture
(and, sadly, most of the rest of the nonwhite but non-indigenous
population) celebrates the beginning of a genocide that was, in fact,
blessed by the men we hold up as our heroic founding fathers.
The first president, George Washington, in 1783 said he preferred
buying Indians' land rather than driving them off it because that was
like driving "wild beasts" from the forest. He compared Indians to
wolves, "both being beasts of prey, tho' they differ in shape."
Thomas Jefferson -- president No. 3 and author of the Declaration of
Independence, which refers to Indians as the "merciless Indian
Savages" -- was known to romanticize Indians and their culture, but
that didn't stop him in 1807 from writing to his secretary of war that
in a coming conflict with certain tribes, "[W]e shall destroy all of
them."
As the genocide was winding down in the early 20th century, Theodore
Roosevelt (president No. 26) defended the expansion of whites across
the continent as an inevitable process "due solely to the power of the
mighty civilized races which have not lost the fighting instinct, and
which by their expansion are gradually bringing peace into the red
wastes where the barbarian peoples of the world hold sway."
Roosevelt also once said, "I don't go so far as to think that the only
good Indians are dead Indians, but I believe nine out of 10 are, and I
shouldn't like to inquire too closely into the case of the 10th."
How does a country deal with the fact that some of its most revered
historical figures had certain moral values and political views
virtually identical to Nazis? Here's how "respectable" politicians,
pundits and professors play the game: When invoking a grand and
glorious aspect of our past, then history is all-important. We are
told how crucial it is for people to know history, and there is much
hand-wringing about the younger generations' lack of knowledge about,
and respect for, that history.
In the United States, we hear constantly about the deep wisdom of the
founding fathers, the adventurous spirit of the early explorers, the
gritty determination of those who "settled" the country -- and about
how crucial it is for children to learn these things.
But when one brings into historical discussions any facts and
interpretations that contest the celebratory story and make people
uncomfortable -- such as the genocide of indigenous people as the
foundational act in the creation of the United States -- suddenly the
value of history drops precipitously, and one is asked, "Why do you
insist on dwelling on the past?"
This is the mark of a well-disciplined intellectual class -- one that
can extol the importance of knowing history for contemporary
citizenship and, at the same time, argue that we shouldn't spend too
much time thinking about history.
This off-and-on engagement with history isn't of mere academic
interest; as the dominant imperial power of the moment, U.S. elites
have a clear stake in the contemporary propaganda value of that
history. Obscuring bitter truths about historical crimes helps
perpetuate the fantasy of American benevolence, which makes it easier
to sell contemporary imperial adventures -- such as the invasion and
occupation of Iraq -- as another benevolent action.
Any attempt to complicate this story guarantees hostility from
mainstream culture. After raising the barbarism of America's
much-revered founding fathers in a lecture, I was once accused of
trying to "humble our proud nation" and "undermine young people's
faith in our country."
Yes, of course -- that is exactly what I would hope to achieve. We
should practice the virtue of humility and avoid the excessive pride
that can, when combined with great power, lead to great abuses of
power.
History does matter, which is why people in power put so much energy
into controlling it. The United States is hardly the only society that
has created such mythology. While some historians in Great Britain
continue to talk about the benefits the empire brought to India,
political movements in India want to make the mythology of Hindutva
into historical fact.
Abuses of history go on in the former empire and the former colony.
History can be one of the many ways we create and impose hierarchy, or
it can be part of a process of liberation. The truth won't set us
free, but the telling of truth at least opens the possibility of
freedom.
As Americans sit down on Thanksgiving Day to gorge themselves on the
bounty of empire, many will worry about the expansive effects of
overeating on their waistlines. We would be better to think about the
constricting effects of the day's mythology on our minds.
By Robert Jensen, Posted November 27, 2008.
Instead, we should atone for the genocide that was incited -- and
condoned -- by the very men we idolize as our 'heroic' founding
fathers.
One indication of moral progress in the United States would be the
replacement of Thanksgiving Day and its self-indulgent family feasting
with a National Day of Atonement accompanied by a self-reflective
collective fasting.
In fact, indigenous people have offered such a model; since 1970 they
have marked the fourth Thursday of November as a Day of Mourning in a
spiritual/political ceremony on Coles Hill overlooking Plymouth Rock,
Mass., one of the early sites of the European invasion of the
Americas.
Not only is the thought of such a change in this white-supremacist
holiday impossible to imagine, but the very mention of the idea sends
most Americans into apoplectic fits -- which speaks volumes about our
historical hypocrisy and its relation to the contemporary politics of
empire in the United States.
That the world's great powers achieved "greatness" through criminal
brutality on a grand scale is not news, of course. That those same
societies are reluctant to highlight this history of barbarism also is
predictable.
But in the United States, this reluctance to acknowledge our original
sin -- the genocide of indigenous people -- is of special importance
today. It's now routine -- even among conservative commentators -- to
describe the United States as an empire, so long as everyone
understands we are an inherently benevolent one. Because all our
history contradicts that claim, history must be twisted and tortured
to serve the purposes of the powerful.
One vehicle for taming history is various patriotic holidays, with
Thanksgiving at the heart of U.S. myth-building. From an early age, we
Americans hear a story about the hardy Pilgrims, whose search for
freedom took them from England to Massachusetts. There, aided by the
friendly Wampanoag Indians, they survived in a new and harsh
environment, leading to a harvest feast in 1621 following the
Pilgrims' first winter.
Some aspects of the conventional story are true enough. But it's also
true that by 1637, Massachusetts Gov. John Winthrop was proclaiming a
thanksgiving for the successful massacre of hundreds of Pequot Indian
men, women and children, part of the long and bloody process of
opening up additional land to the English invaders. The pattern would
repeat itself across the continent until between 95 and 99 percent of
American Indians had been exterminated and the rest were left to
assimilate into white society or die off on reservations, out of the
view of polite society.
Simply put: Thanksgiving is the day when the dominant white culture
(and, sadly, most of the rest of the nonwhite but non-indigenous
population) celebrates the beginning of a genocide that was, in fact,
blessed by the men we hold up as our heroic founding fathers.
The first president, George Washington, in 1783 said he preferred
buying Indians' land rather than driving them off it because that was
like driving "wild beasts" from the forest. He compared Indians to
wolves, "both being beasts of prey, tho' they differ in shape."
Thomas Jefferson -- president No. 3 and author of the Declaration of
Independence, which refers to Indians as the "merciless Indian
Savages" -- was known to romanticize Indians and their culture, but
that didn't stop him in 1807 from writing to his secretary of war that
in a coming conflict with certain tribes, "[W]e shall destroy all of
them."
As the genocide was winding down in the early 20th century, Theodore
Roosevelt (president No. 26) defended the expansion of whites across
the continent as an inevitable process "due solely to the power of the
mighty civilized races which have not lost the fighting instinct, and
which by their expansion are gradually bringing peace into the red
wastes where the barbarian peoples of the world hold sway."
Roosevelt also once said, "I don't go so far as to think that the only
good Indians are dead Indians, but I believe nine out of 10 are, and I
shouldn't like to inquire too closely into the case of the 10th."
How does a country deal with the fact that some of its most revered
historical figures had certain moral values and political views
virtually identical to Nazis? Here's how "respectable" politicians,
pundits and professors play the game: When invoking a grand and
glorious aspect of our past, then history is all-important. We are
told how crucial it is for people to know history, and there is much
hand-wringing about the younger generations' lack of knowledge about,
and respect for, that history.
In the United States, we hear constantly about the deep wisdom of the
founding fathers, the adventurous spirit of the early explorers, the
gritty determination of those who "settled" the country -- and about
how crucial it is for children to learn these things.
But when one brings into historical discussions any facts and
interpretations that contest the celebratory story and make people
uncomfortable -- such as the genocide of indigenous people as the
foundational act in the creation of the United States -- suddenly the
value of history drops precipitously, and one is asked, "Why do you
insist on dwelling on the past?"
This is the mark of a well-disciplined intellectual class -- one that
can extol the importance of knowing history for contemporary
citizenship and, at the same time, argue that we shouldn't spend too
much time thinking about history.
This off-and-on engagement with history isn't of mere academic
interest; as the dominant imperial power of the moment, U.S. elites
have a clear stake in the contemporary propaganda value of that
history. Obscuring bitter truths about historical crimes helps
perpetuate the fantasy of American benevolence, which makes it easier
to sell contemporary imperial adventures -- such as the invasion and
occupation of Iraq -- as another benevolent action.
Any attempt to complicate this story guarantees hostility from
mainstream culture. After raising the barbarism of America's
much-revered founding fathers in a lecture, I was once accused of
trying to "humble our proud nation" and "undermine young people's
faith in our country."
Yes, of course -- that is exactly what I would hope to achieve. We
should practice the virtue of humility and avoid the excessive pride
that can, when combined with great power, lead to great abuses of
power.
History does matter, which is why people in power put so much energy
into controlling it. The United States is hardly the only society that
has created such mythology. While some historians in Great Britain
continue to talk about the benefits the empire brought to India,
political movements in India want to make the mythology of Hindutva
into historical fact.
Abuses of history go on in the former empire and the former colony.
History can be one of the many ways we create and impose hierarchy, or
it can be part of a process of liberation. The truth won't set us
free, but the telling of truth at least opens the possibility of
freedom.
As Americans sit down on Thanksgiving Day to gorge themselves on the
bounty of empire, many will worry about the expansive effects of
overeating on their waistlines. We would be better to think about the
constricting effects of the day's mythology on our minds.