Disowning Without Disconnection
How do we change collective practice without relying on tactics of shame?
Those of you who have been on this list a little longer and saw my posts around July 4th will find my trepidations about the Thanksgiving holiday rather predictable. I’ll admit, however, that unlike the 4th, I’m more tempted to find a way to revamp Thanksgiving rather than give it up altogether. It seems we should have a day in which we gather with gratitude for the fullness of a fall harvest—as a friend recently pointed out, harvest festivals are among the most common holidays across cultures, ours just happens to be unfortunately intertwined with our broader settler-colonial context. But is it possible for that festival to be Thanksgiving, or does this day in November come with too much baggage at this point? Too many lies and half-truths shared for too many years, causing too much harm? And if we wanted to, how would we go about transforming it into a day that allowed for healing of those past harms and a chance for connection over our shared dependence upon the abundance offered us by the earth?
As I wrote in July, it’s not top-down action that is likely to change the cultural habits that shape how a holiday is observed; it’s families and friend groups, small collectives of individuals making change happen in community institutions or in their town or city.
These smaller social spaces are the real places that change and healing happen: not just from some federal statement or policy up at the top, but from day-to-day interactions with those whom we are in community with, even if only by physical proximity. True, many people may gain a habit of honoring Juneteenth given recent federal action. But it was decades—and decades!—of local practice and local organizing that eventually gave Juneteenth a national stage. The same will be true (though hopefully with a shorter timeline) for changing the Fourth of July. Who knows, maybe some troll will send this to Fox News and the whole concept will get a boost as a result.
My intuition is that any possible ‘reclaiming’ of Thanksgiving will require a long period of disowning it. Such disowning creates space for the harms embedded within the entire settler mythology and ethos to be more deeply acknowledged and addressed, enabling the ground on which real relationships and shared meanings can then be rebuilt. But would we even need or want to call a new harvest festival ‘Thanksgiving’ at that point? Probably not, though we won’t know until further down the road. And while we are at the beginnings of a more general acknowledgment of our history as it intersects with this particular day—my inbox and social feeds are certainly filled with individual and collective examples of people trying to step up to the challenge—we’re still nowhere near a deep enough reckoning for us to yet consider the holiday anything other than problematic, I think.
But how do we disown major cultural events without making our own community and kin feel, themselves, disowned? How do we offer up change as an invitation and not a rejection? It doesn’t seem that as a society we’ve yet developed the skills to name the injustices in which we’re all complicit without a heavy side-serving of shame, for ourselves and others, and this is part of why many find conversations at the holidays so difficult to do. Of course, some will ask, isn’t that shame deserved? Shouldn’t we be ashamed of the violence and death that has played out in our national history?
Myself, I think it’s a mistake to substitute individual shame for collective accountability, though that is certainly what much of our performative internet politics tend to do. It’s a mistake both because it’s not the actual real goal, and also because it’s ineffective. Fans of Brené Brown know: shame is a barrier to connection, and it is, ultimately, connection for which we strive. It’s connection that fuels joy, and allows for further vulnerability—which in the end, is what helps break down all the harmful behaviors that stack up one on top of each other to become the destructive social patterns forming the base for colonial and imperial enterprises, social habits that encourage us not to see the hurt and pain of others and keep steamrolling straight over them with whatever project or purpose we’ve propped up to give ourselves meaning in place of that basic sense of connection and relationship.
Understanding connection as both the means and the ends at hand offers up a non-shaming approach to making cultural shifts around symbolically heavy shared practices like Thanksgiving. Rather than focusing on what we’re rejecting, we can focus on what experiences we’re making sure to stay in connection with. It is possible that one has the kind of family where not showing up for Thanksgiving would be such a major breach that it hinders your own ability to have further influence, to stay in relationship with them. This doesn’t describe my own family, but for those of you for whom it holds true, I wonder: does it help to shift away from thinking of needing to either a) reject the family gathering as a whole, or b) make some clear stand on the ‘right’ position to hold about the event, and instead to c) consider how you can help you and your family connect to the reality and variety of Indigenous experiences?
I’m an imperfect practitioner of the above approach, but personally, I know that I gain more energy for the endless work of social change when I ground myself in this framework, and so I offer it up for those who feel drained by many of the reactive and tiring forms of activist affect prevalent these days, and for those who might be joining family gatherings this week that feel fraught or difficult.
What does this look like, this disowning without shame, this acknowledgment of the hard things while trying to stay in connection? In response to a casual “Happy Thanksgiving” from a farmers market vendor this past weekend, I said, warmly, “Thank you. I’m not observing this year—I’ve heard about how some understand it as a day of mourning, and that seems fitting to me right now.” Then I held up my hefty bags full of greens and vegetables and added, “Though I’ll still be making lots of good food throughout this week with all this.” I could see their surprise, but if there was defensiveness it was toned down, minimal, and the gesture with the bag relaxed it further. They nodded, and wished me a good week, “however I observed it,” and I said “you too,” thinking, we have to start somewhere. Did this brief conversation alter their holiday plans? Probably not, at least not this year. Did it establish that someone in their community has opted to do something other than what has been normal in the past, while emphasizing a shared value (“we both want to have big meals made from beautiful vegetables!”) Yes—or that’s what I hope it did, at any rate. Was it worth having this one small conversation with that much intentionality? Yes—and that’s a ‘yes’ I feel much more certain about. For this is how cultural change tends to happen. Rarely is it a single big burst—no, it’s a million drips that slowly gather force until they blow open the whole dam. Are we willing to jump in, to help make the river stronger, even if we might miss the vivid moment of transformation when it unexpectedly happens far downstream?1 That’s the question.
There’s an alternative piece that I could have written this week, of course, one that serves as a primer on exactly why Thanksgiving is problematic, or one that highlights ways to become more knowledgeable about Indigenous culture and history at this time. These are becoming more and more common, though, so I opted instead for the reflections above. Below, however, is an article put together by the Oregon Food Bank, which contains some of that history as well as resources for learning more. Much of it is Oregon-specific but the types of stories and issues that it highlights are not limited to this state. For those of you who might have been looking for this kind of piece at Unsettling this week, I hope you find it useful. Thanks to the folks at OFB for giving me permission to reprint this here.
Honoring the 52nd Day of Mourning
Originally posted on November 18th, 2021, by the Oregon Food Bank.
Land Acknowledgement
The land now known as Massachusetts and Eastern Rhode Island is the original homeland of the Wampanoag people and the origin setting of the Thanksgiving tall tale. There, the sun rises and greets the continent now referred to as the United States of America first, which is why the people of this land are named Wampanoag, which means “People of the first light”. We share this as a reminder that the names of Native Nations matter because they illustrate the inseparable relationship that binds Indigenous people to the land. No matter where you reside, Native people exist. They are of the land and the land is of them — and so it is that the land will always belong and be a part of them.
Oregon Food Bank stands in solidarity with Indigenous people across the country to recognize and raise awareness of the National Day of Mourning. In marking this day, we aim to see the Thanksgiving holiday from the perspective of the first stewards of the land — and begin to correct false histories and heal some of the harm done through celebration.
Every year since 1970, Native people and supporters gather on a hill that overlooks what is now referred to as Plymouth Bay and Plymouth Rock, Massachusetts to observe the National Day of Mourning, known by many as Thanksgiving Day. To many Natives, especially Wampanoag people, standing on that hill is a testament of their continued resistance and survival. It’s as if they are turning the hands of time to witness what the Wampanoag saw in 1620 — the arrival of the Mayflower colonists who would attempt to wipe them out, using the tall tale of this holiday to justify the theft and exploitation of Native land and people. But you don’t have to stand atop that hill to see the effects of colonization, the long-lasting impacts of broken treaties and the need to observe the National Day of Mourning.
During the 1950s, some of the most violent anti-Native policies took place in Oregon. Native people were stripped of their cultural identity and forced to assimilate into American mainstream society. Federal Indian policies terminated trust relationships between the government and Native people who owned land or property. One by one, Indigenous communities lost federal recognition and sovereignty because the government no longer upheld responsibilities to protect Native rights, allowing opportunists to extract Native land of its natural resources for profit.
The restoration of tribes' trust status began in 1975 with the Siletz Restoration Act and the Siletz people regained their recognition in 1977. Throughout the 1980s some Native communities such as the Cow Creek Band of the Umpqua Tribe, Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, the Coos, Lower Umpqua, and Siuslaw and the Klamath regained federal recognition. However, restoration did not mean that lands were returned to Indigneous people in their entirety. For example, the Klamath reservation was left with about 300 acres.
Since regaining federal recognition, tribes continue to persevere against government attacks that threaten Indigenous sovereignty.
We highlight these often-invisibilized and denied truths to honor each other’s history, to increase understanding, and to strengthen relationships that heal and grow our capacity to solve collective problems – such as hunger. Pre-pandemic, Black, Indigenous and all People of Color were disproportionately suffering from poverty and food insecurity.
In addition to disproportionate rates of poverty, Native Americans also experience food insecurity at a staggeringly high rate as compared to the rest of the Nation. In a 2017 article, Move for Hunger noted that “one in four Native Americans is experiencing food insecurity, compared to 1 in 8 Americans overall. Native American families are 400% more likely to report being food insecure, in no small part because food and jobs are scarce in the communities where they live.”
In the midst of a global crisis, BIack, Indigenous and all People of Color are bearing the brunt of the pandemic, exacerbated by challenges in economic recovery tied to pushback against efforts to control the spread of COVID-19.
At Oregon Food Bank we lift these truths to inform and guide our efforts to eliminate hunger and its root causes, to ensure resources reach our hardest-hit communities, and to work as efficiently as possible with the resources we are trusted with. We also acknowledge that our work takes place on Indigenous land, including where our buildings stand today. Though our journey toward decolonization and indigenization is in its infancy, it has already revealed otherwise-hidden stories and intersecting paths. We hope that our entire community will take time to learn more and reflect on the policies and practices that aid the genocide and erasure of Native people and Nations and support local actions in solidarity of Indigenous sovereignty.
Resources for Learning:
Redistricting leads to concern over diluted Indigenous voting power
“As voting-rights advocates in Indian Country look to boost Indigenous representation in politics, some say redrawn political maps in Oregon will dilute the power of many Native American voters to elect the candidates who best understand their communities.”
Oregon tribes question state gambling regulations
“The opponents hope their latest challenge will get a better reception than they got in the last session of the Oregon Legislature. The tribes called for a complete pause on new gambling games and venues and the formation of a task force to take a hard look at how gambling has changed and how the state should respond. Neither Brown nor lawmakers agreed and the so-called “Big Look” task force fizzled.” “It’s a transfer of wealth — the casino money we use for housing, health care and other services — for the benefit of one wealthy individual.”Feds may investigate Chemawa Indian School in Salem after discovery of Canadian graves
Chemawa is the oldest continuously operating boarding school for Indigenous people in the country — it serves students from across the West and is one of only four such schools still operating.
On Indigenous Peoples Day, Researchers Publish Database of Those Buried at Chemawa School
Three students came from three different tribes to attend Chemawa Indian School. Now, their mothers are still struggling to understand how their children’s futures fell apart — and what role the federally run boarding school played. Read more in Life and Death at Chemawa Indian School.
Understanding the battle over the Indian Child Welfare Act
Legal experts said that the case could threaten not only the law but also the broad legal regime that allows for tribal sovereignty. Listen to the podcast series This Land to learn more.
Opportunities for Local and National Action:
Look up whose land you are on then reflect on how you can take part in addressing Indigenous issues where you live
Donate to the Ambo Fund, Water for the Klamath and Chúush Fund, Water for Warm Springs
Learn and share with your family the Day of Mourning history from a Wampanoag perspective
Attend these virtual educational gatherings led by Native leaders in the Pacific Northwest Indigenous Leadership: Ensuring a future for Native Peoples, Cultures, and Lands
Work with local organizations that are bridging cultural and political gaps through Indigenous first foods
If you live in Portland, read The Native American Community in Multnomah County: An Unsettling Profile and begin doing the work to “recognize and commit to solutions that are built in partnership with the Native American community, and to enact commitments that recognize that prosperity and well being for all in Multnomah county depends on the prosperity and well being of the Native American community.”
For other posts here at Unsettling on how we change cultural tradition, see Getting Over Guthrie: Letting Go of ‘This Land is Your Land.’
I’ll acknowledge that this can be an even harder thing to accept when it comes to one’s own family. There’s nothing like having a family member finally adopt or drop a given behavior—one which you’ve pontificated upon for years—only to have them deny that you had anything to do with it, or that they did ever did otherwise. We all just want some credit, right? But maybe we can, once more, let go of ‘being right’ as the end goal, and instead be thankful for the change. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.