It has become something of an expectation after originally posting this three or four years back that I do so each year on this day – and so I have again.
No expectation should exist among any that as a people we would celebrate a day irrevocably tied to our decline, to the loss of land, culture, lives, and gencocide – nor in electing not to should we be castigated or our integrity as a people called into question.
For the most part I don’t believe that for the majority of people Thanksgiving day is linked to a religious celebration as it once was, I believe it is more about families and friends gathering – nonetheless we remember and cannot, should not, forget.
In the beginning we were made of the elements known to us- earth, wind, water, and fire, stone from the earth-we were a strong people, made tough and able to endure like stone. Our understanding grew and we fashioned stones into sharp edged instruments to employ in our daily lives, to defend and to hunt. We did this and found our place within the circle-we had no need of steel or the grief that always accompanies it. The age of steel had not yet come to us, and when it did we would be decimated.
In stone there is an affinity, an animism we recognized-in steel there is none-it is cold, impersonal, and above all indiscriminately deadly, belonging to a people completely unlike us, alien and different in ways we could not begin to understand. We are trapped in this age of steel now and we may never be the same again.
Our forward march was always in tune with the elements we were kindred to, a natural progression that went with the flow rather than against it, and so all things remained in the original balance Creator made.
The earth, the land, was the loving and beneficent mother whose breast we clung to and were nourished. We respected her, listened to, and understood the things she spoke to us. We neither pillaged or raped the land-we constructed no barriers, decimated the forests, befouled the air she exhaled for us to breathe, or ravaged her body for monetary gain. We were brother and sister to all who shared her bounty.
Now in our separation we do as others do, those places we live show the same blight as the inner cities-vacant abandoned buildings where the night crawlers gather, broken down rusting cars and trucks, refuse piled in proximity where we eat, sleep, and go about our lives with poorly clad children scrambling about the monuments of decline in play, and perhaps in search of some meaning.
It is not enough to accept and embrace the conditions the nations find themselves in, pride lost can be pride regained. Unwilling tribal councils should be circumvented and vacant decaying buildings razed- a tribal movement should begin to remove all this litter and the rusting monuments to the age of steel.
There is an undeniable responsibility that lays in accusation at the door of the oppressor, but likewise there is one that lies at the door of the nations-it is one thing to be beaten down and live in squalor without pride, it is another to be beaten down, live in squalor, and fight to retain some measure of pride.
It is fools errand to mark the days and wait for another to do something, it is a fools errand to mark the days and in an unwarranted act of reliance plead for the great black father to send a few blankets and trinkets to his distant children.
On this day while others gather at their tables to feast and give thanks for the destruction of the land, for a history fraught with betrayal, death, conquest, and greed, pause for a moment and remember who you are, where you came from, and more importantly where it is you would go-for now we have become like orphans, separated from the mother and not able to hear her voice as we once did-no longer nourished and suffering the loss for it. Casting about looking for direction, for the way home-failing to recognize that the mother dwells within us as is the way of all mothers, and in looking inward to find her we will find ourselves as well.