[A note to my international friends: For you, today is Thursday (unless it’s already Friday where you are), an ordinary week day. Here in the United States, today is the designated national holiday known as “Thanksgiving”. Thank you for your patience.]
For many of my Native American and First Nations friends, the fourth Thursday in November is observed as a day to remember the dark legacy of colonialism, conquest, subjugation and genocide that lies across the face of this continent.
Aside: If you’re not as familiar with the actual origin story of our modern Thanksgiving customs, won’t you join me over here for a quick review? Go ahead. I’ll wait here.
OK, we’re back.
Those of you who gathered at dawn today on Alcatraz, or elsewhere, to honor ancestors, build solidarity, support each other, and find renewed strength, I acknowledge you with respect and love. I also acknowledge the almost certain fact that some of my ancestors were at least complicit, if not active participants in some of that sad legacy. I wish it were not so, but it is. I can only do my best to be better.
My privilege though, has brought me to this moment by a different path, thus my practices on this day are different as well.
One last thought though, before I move on from this part of discussion the day. As a sympathetic observer, and one who has aspired to be a good “ally” since long before the term was coined, I’d like to note that I’ve seen an evolution in the tone, tenor, and presentation of Indian activism in recent years and, to my eyes, that represents positive development in several ways.
I’ve been around since the days of the Alcatraz Occupation, and before. It has been my privilege to watch, at least in the Bay Area, the birth and early coalescing of the Red Power movement. In later decades, it seemed the focus turned more inward, with an emphasis on the urgent work of relearning language, core cultural activities, and spiritual/religious practices before they were lost forever as elders, often the last holders of these memories, left this life.
And along with that work came the task of developing alliances and interconnection between Nations who may have, at times not always seen each other as friends.
Now, in researching this piece on line, I’ve come to realize that the impatient young people with their urgency and sense that they were often, quite literally, fighting for their lives have become today’s elders. And there is a new generation of leaders emerging with the heart and skills to take the movement to the next level, and present it in the context of today’s media environment in a fashion that strives to address continuing issues of oppression while leveraging a new type of academic interest in tribal history, an ingrained understanding of the peril to human survival the excesses of the dominant culture have created, and a level of dignity, pride, and self-worth which had been almost drained away from earlier generations by over a century of systematic oppression, exploitation, and cultural colonialism.
Today’s emerging leaders begin their work from a place much further along than that which was available to their parents and grandparents. Thus we can hope the work of their lives will have impacts we can’t even foresee from here.
All of which is by way of acknowledging the fact that, for certain folks, this day is informally known as Unthanksgiving, and the last thing they have in mind is gathering around a dinner table to eat overcooked poultry in commemoration of what, in many ways, was no more and no less than the time-released invasion, theft and, in many respects, destruction of their land by a hostile and aggressive foreign horde. I honor and respect that, and would not be so arrogant as to offer counsel on whether that best serves. I can’t know what I don’t know.
By accident of birth, however, my experience is different.
Like many Americans, I grew up spoon fed the post-war idealization of “the 
good life” which included an expectation of warm and fuzzy gathering of loving family to give thanks for our privilege and bounty. And this was somehow all wrapped up in a blanket of patriotism, entitlement, and expectation of the manifestation of some fictional, misty, satisfied gathering rooted in a shared appreciation of fine home cookin’ (somehow magically manifested in the kitchen by the womenfolk while the men did manly things like watch football and chat about plans and expectations for the upcoming holiday season).
Of course, like so many of my generation, things never quite played out that 
way in our alcohol soaked home. Bonnie (wife and mother) was not a terribly talented “natural-born cook” at the best of times; for her the work was all about finding recipes that either looked good, or appeared to match someone’s fond childhood recollections, and trying to follow them to the letter with regard to ingredients, timing, and presentation.
Not the most relaxed way to approach the kitchen under any circumstances, and when overlain with the crushing weight of holiday expectations (and recreational alcohol consumption that began earlier and ran heavier than it did on “normal” days) the ballet of timing multiple dishes to reach their prime simultaneously, her stress level and performance anxiety would rise exponentially. Which virtually guaranteed an unfortunate outcome.
I’m coming the long way ’round here to get to: I don’t have terribly fond memories of Holiday Feasting from my childhood. And thus, I’ve felt no compunction to try to duplicate those painful afternoons and evenings in my adult life. Imagine my delight when I discovered I had managed to join up with a life partner of similar bent.
However it has also been true for quite a long time that my feeling of connectedness with fellow humans, and the nexus of love we share, is central to how I understand myself and my proper place in the world; in my life.
Thus, over the years, Yoshimi and I have found ourselves establishing a “family tradition” of a different sort, around this holiday in particular.
Neither of us adhere to a formal faith tradition, so we’re not committed to any of the various celebrations of various deities that dot the calendar (I saw an assertion somewhere the other day that December and January actually contain a grand total of at least 52 different observances focused on different reputed “birthdays,” holy days, or astronomical events such as solstice—so much for your “War on Christmas).
So, a day that’s set aside to gather with loved ones (we like to think of them as our “family of choice,” thus differentiated from our “family of origin”—though there certainly is overlap) to contemplate and celebrate the many, many things for which we are grateful emerged as the natural holiday for us.
Over the years, we have mounted gatherings with as many as a couple dozen people; as we have aged the effort grew more daunting, and many of the folks who had previously filled seats at the table moved on to other commitments. But there is always “Thanksgiving with Ace and Yoshimi” as a known thing.
This year, circumstances have lead to a further evolution. Not sure I’m completely happy about it, but it is what it is and I embrace it. In getting ready to put these thoughts together, I went back, as best as the architecture of the site allows, and retrieved some things I’ve written for Facebook in previous years.
I found this “day after” rumination from last year, and thought it worth revisiting here. I’ll explain why on the other side.