Like many, my family isn’t gathering with extended relatives this Thanksgiving, as the pandemic rages on with higher case levels than ever in the United States. I’m definitely bummed, but the lack of falling into “normal” traditions has also got me thinking: Isn’t it time to revisit how we understand and celebrate this holiday anyway?
In a typical year, my family and I would meet up at an uncle’s house to enjoy traditional American foods, along with a ton of Chinese takeout, like crispy-skinned Peking turkey and roast pork. Boxed sticky rice would sit side by side with bread stuffing. The best leftover dish is a giant pot of rice porridge made from the turkey carcass. The next day, we’d go to another relative’s house for a leftovers smorgasbord aptly named “Chinese Thanksgiving.” In the occasional year when it was just my immediate family, we’d go to Hometown Buffet, unfashionably and unironically. (RIP buffets.)
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None of these family-specific traditions described above are happening this year. We’ll just have to figure out our own way: my mom, my dad, two of my brothers, and me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not somewhat relieved to have a break from it. I always end up hoarse and exhausted from yell-talking for hours on end, and it’s been difficult to tend to my mother’s increasing needs in environments outside of our house.
I’m also looking at this year as an opportunity to evaluate what this holiday means — the stories we’ve been told, the truth, and the way we celebrate. Since there’s no pressure to perform or show up for relatives, we now have time to think about what else could be different about Thanksgiving now and in the future.
After all, the romanticization of the first Thanksgiving as a harmonious meal between Indigenous people and white colonial settlers has long been a problematic narrative that feeds into the myth of America’s origins as being noble and rightful in pursuing the Manifest Destiny. The Founding Fathers believed higher powers sanctioned the disenfranchisement of native peoples and anyone classified as “other” in order to establish settler dominance. Many of us in the Bay Area know this and largely reject it.
The country as a whole has been struggling to redefine itself this year in its long-brewing identity crisis. The pandemic is forcing us to see even more starkly the class and racial inequities that have existed in this country since its inception. The presidential election showed us that our country is deeply divided, with one half seemingly looking toward equality and the other half seemingly desperate to cling to an oppressive status quo. Redefining Thanksgiving seems like a natural segue from our summertime protests, conversations, and actions on racial reckoning.
Locally, part of those actions included the removal of Spanish missionary statues from San Francisco’s public spaces. In doing so, we asked ourselves if we should be idolizing agents of violence, enslavement, and genocide. While groups had been lobbying for statue removal for years, it took Black Lives Matter uprisings and related demonstrations to bring mainstream attention to the issues. Understanding the connection of these statues to Thanksgiving’s colonial roots and rejecting that idolization is just one way to engage in redefining the holiday and dismantling systemic racism.
Redefining Thanksgiving seems like a natural segue from our summertime protests, conversations, and actions on racial reckoning.
Many of us asked how we could do more to combat racism and other inequalities beyond saying “Black lives matter.” One way is to make this Thanksgiving different, such as by being more community centered. Is it making more donations? Dedicating volunteer time? More data collection on underrepresented communities? More education? More protests? All of these answers can be correct. Each of us can figure out where we fit best.
Truly, this year’s small or even nonexistent Thanksgivings will be a relief for those who bristle at the holiday due to cultural or corporate protest, fraught family ties, or other negative holiday associations. I admire my friends who volunteer at soup kitchens every Thanksgiving to put the emphasis on the giving part of the holiday. I respect my friends who attend the Alcatraz Sunrise Ceremony to remember the brutal colonization that Indigenous People’s Day and Thanksgiving symbolize. However, many other families in the United States cling to this holiday as part of their own heritage, or as an adopted heritage that seems necessary to achieve the American dream. Do we need a cookie-cutter, picture-perfect Instagram post to pledge allegiance? Do we need to celebrate imperialism to uphold this identity that has such fraught origins?
I also understand that many of us are tired. There are still ways to reject and then rejoice during Thanksgiving without running yourself ragged. Most families not descended from Mayflower colonizers celebrate our own versions of Thanksgiving, which in its own way is a protest of colonial narratives and cultural imperialism. We always have, as illustrated by my family’s ways. We never needed permission to do so, but this year we symbolically have more space to be seen. If you always simply order a bucket of fried chicken for Thanksgiving, do it loud and proud. If you know it’s best to be by yourself on Thanksgiving for self-care, don’t be ashamed to talk about it.
Our nontraditional activities can move into the spotlight during this nontraditional Thanksgiving. We can put a stronger emphasis on contributions to community and belonging to this country by everyone who lives here.
The Norman Rockwell expectations of this holiday have been dismantled in the name of public safety. Instead of being a disappointment, this is a greater chance to rethink Thanksgiving and the meaning of celebration and what truly matters: health, happiness, and putting the greater good ahead of selfishly individual desires.
This year’s culture wars and resulting actions don’t necessarily symbolize the death of Thanksgiving traditions. It could be the perfect time to birth new ones.
