The Thanksgiving Rant
Because I am in Canada this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for not having to experience the stifling repressed undertones related to in this annual celebration of colonialism. However, just because I am not celebrating the dastardly schemes colonists have imposed upon North America's aboriginal people does not mean that my family will escape my yearly Thanksgiving tirade!
Every Thanksgiving my family has become accustomed to witnessing (and subsequently ignoring) my diatribes concerning the treatment of American Indians. They usually go something like the following:
This past week, naive children in classrooms all over America dressed up like Pilgrims and Indians, drew turkeys traced from their grubby little hands, and ate cornbread at snack time; all in an effort to symbolically reenact the Pilgrims (who were radical fundamentalists that would have voted for Bush) and Indians in the mythical "Last Supper."
Yes, the Last Supper; because most of the Pilgrims ended up dieing that winter, despite the friendly attempts made by the Indian people who quietly wondered how these people could be so incompetent. Anyway... this mythical meal continues to propagate stereotypes of Indian people as being feather wearing, bare-chested, scantily clad primitives in breechcloths running around half naked (because they represent "wild man") at the end November in New England. And, who also happen to be sharing bountiful cornucopias of food with the starving pale people obsessed with a black book, two crossed sticks, large black hats, and shoes with big buckles. At an early age, we colonialists learn to thank all Indian people, no matter where they live, for helping the Pilgrims make it though that rough winter. "Now class, weren't those Indians so generous? We all need to learn to be thankful, just like the Pilgrims."
Because I am in Canada this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for not having to experience the stifling repressed undertones related to in this annual celebration of colonialism. However, just because I am not celebrating the dastardly schemes colonists have imposed upon North America's aboriginal people does not mean that my family will escape my yearly Thanksgiving tirade!
Every Thanksgiving my family has become accustomed to witnessing (and subsequently ignoring) my diatribes concerning the treatment of American Indians. They usually go something like the following:
This past week, naive children in classrooms all over America dressed up like Pilgrims and Indians, drew turkeys traced from their grubby little hands, and ate cornbread at snack time; all in an effort to symbolically reenact the Pilgrims (who were radical fundamentalists that would have voted for Bush) and Indians in the mythical "Last Supper."
Yes, the Last Supper; because most of the Pilgrims ended up dieing that winter, despite the friendly attempts made by the Indian people who quietly wondered how these people could be so incompetent. Anyway... this mythical meal continues to propagate stereotypes of Indian people as being feather wearing, bare-chested, scantily clad primitives in breechcloths running around half naked (because they represent "wild man") at the end November in New England. And, who also happen to be sharing bountiful cornucopias of food with the starving pale people obsessed with a black book, two crossed sticks, large black hats, and shoes with big buckles. At an early age, we colonialists learn to thank all Indian people, no matter where they live, for helping the Pilgrims make it though that rough winter. "Now class, weren't those Indians so generous? We all need to learn to be thankful, just like the Pilgrims."
Seriously man, the nights have been, shall we say, a tad odd.
I'm sure it has something to do with the Irvine Welsh book I'm reading which takes place inside the head of someone comatose.