Jean Leon Gerome Ferris , Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
By Geoff Carter
Originally published Thanksgiving Day, 2018
Thanksgiving 2019 (addendum)
Even though the events in this original blog–the caravan to the U.S. border–are past, the effects of them are still with us today. The U.S. is presently holding thousands of refugees in camps and in cages. This is unacceptable, but it is the America we live in today; this is the American we still tolerate.
Thanksgiving 2020 (addendum)
With the advent of a new administration in The White House this Thanksgiving, we are on the cusp—perhaps—of a return to the values for which America is famous: hospitality, hope, and our stalwart defense of personal freedoms. We can only hope the camps and cages at our southern border will soon be a thing of the and the thousands of children torn from their families will soon be reunited with their parents.
Thanksgiving 2022 (addendum)
Over this past year, as the war in Ukraine has raged on and we withdrew our military presence in Afghanistan, the U.S. has welcomed thousands of refugees from both these places into our country and our lives. Despite objections to new immigrants from war-torn and dangerous regimes coming to our country, may we continue to be that place that peoples of the world look to for refuge and comfort. May we continue to be that America.
Most of us learned about Thanksgiving in elementary school; we made our construction paper hand turkeys and pilgrim hats while hearing about how the Puritans nearly starved during their first winter. We were taught how the colonists were saved by the kindness and expertise of the native Wampanoag tribe, who taught them how to grow native corn and squash. After harvesting their crops, the pilgrims invited their Native American friends to a feast to celebrate their hard work and good fortune.
It’s a nice story, especially if you can ignore the fact that the white settlers came very close to exterminating the native population after stealing their lands and closeting them on federal reservations. Not a very good way to treat your hosts. Maybe the Wampanoag would have reconsidered helping the strangers on their shores had they known what was going to happen. But a lot has changed since then. Rampant imperialism has been checked; racism not so much, but we’re working on it.
A few weeks ago, we were hearing a lot about a caravan of refugees from Central and South America weaving its way up through Mexico, trudging thousands of miles in order to seek asylum from persecution and violence. The President of the United States illegally ordered military troops to the border in an effort to protect us from this group of desperate women and children seeking protection under the American flag. We heard how this caravan was composed of criminals, gang members, and even Muslim extremists. All of which was, of course, nonsense.
We are Americans because we were given a chance to start over; our ancestors came here in search of a better life. Some of them, like the expatriates in the caravan, were also fleeing hate and persecution. Others were ambitious, adventurous, seeking to make their fortune. All that most of them wanted was a second chance. Perhaps it would behoove us to remember who originally owed thanks to whom when we’re sitting around our Thanksgiving tables voicing our gratitude for our blessings and our victories and when we think about excluding those who—like our forefathers—had the courage and stamina to reach for more.
For all the problems we face in this country, there is a lot we should be thankful for. As evidenced last week, despite the efforts of powerful lobbying groups, the American people still hold the reins of what is still one of the strongest democracies on the planet. We still have one of the best university systems in the world. We may have fallen behind in other key areas like social services, technology, and maintaining our infrastructure, but given the chance—and the political will—we could catch up easily. We’re Americans. We’re smart and we’re strong. We can afford to be hospitable.
The Wampanoag extended their hands to strangers—us—and were bitten. Our treatment of them and other Native American tribes is a shameful chapter in our history. We should exercise all due caution when bringing aliens across our borders, but we cannot afford to lock our doors against all strangers. We cannot close our minds or our hearts. To do so would transform us into the very same creatures our ancestors were fleeing. We should not refuse hospitality to anyone. We were once refugees, dreamers, and expatriates, too.
Being hospitable, friendly, or kind—on any level—entails the risk of betrayal. If we never took that risk, we would never grow as individuals or as a people. If we never opened our doors, we would never discover the richness of other minds and other cultures, and other experiences. Our country is predicated on the ideals of inclusion and equality; we are much more than the sum of all our parts, no matter their creeds, ethnicities, or backgrounds. After all, what we should be truly thankful for is each other.