Thanksgiving, Sorrowfully: Remembering the Wampanoag Indians

Most of us are aware that the myth surrounding the Thanksgiving holiday is one steeped in colonial pride, and for meritorious reason; to the credit of the separatists on their 2-month-long voyage across the terrifying and unforgiving waters of the North Atlantic in search of religious freedom, they proved their merit and resilience in far too many ways to count. These were a people devoted to God above country and freedom above governance—the same values held by millions of Americans to this day.

I’m reading a different kind of Thanksgiving story this year, however, and one that is not commonly told around the table. There are many reasons it isn’t told, but none are enough to cast aside the historical poignancy surrounding it.

In late November of 1620, after a series of delays and false starts, the Mayflower anchored in Provincetown Harbor. Since 1524 with the arrival of Italian explorer Giovanni da Verrazzano, a proud and ancient people—the "People of the First Light" as they called themselves—had looked upon these white-skinned foreigners with principled pragmatism. The Europeans began showing up yearly thenceforth to trade with the Wampanoag Indians of present-day Massachusetts, and while this opportunity was beneficial for both parties, the security and sovereignty of the natives was left at risk as encounters became more frequent and more violent.

Almost all at once, the human trafficking began. One particular expedition to Patuxet (Plymouth) led by captain Thomas Hunt in 1614 saw the famous kidnapping of Tisquantum (Squanto of the Thanksgiving myth) and at least twenty other Wampanoags. As David Silverman explains in his book This Land is Their Land, Hunt and his crew saw the natives as “savage pagans unworthy of the dignity of civilized Christians”, and sold them in Spain alongside a catch of fish.

Roughly five years later, Tisquantum managed to persuade another English captain, Thomas Dermer, to return him to North America as an interpreter for future encounters with the Wampanoags, given that he had picked up a working knowledge of the language under certain employment in London. From this point onward until the arrival of the Mayflower in November of 1620, Indians and Europeans alike continued to practice a treacherous relationship comprised of bartering, kidnapping, and outright murder. The Wampanoag people learned to distrust the virtue of the white man, yet they kept relations with him to secure trade connections and an ally against attack by their neighboring enemies, the Narragansetts.

Perhaps even worse than murder, the varied and numerous European explorers had brought with them novel pathogens to which the Wampanoags had no immunity. Known as the plague or outbreak of 1616-19, this epidemic decimated the native population. Thousands upon thousands of Indians died from what is speculated to be smallpox, measles, yellow fever, or perhaps some combination of the aforementioned. When the pilgrims arrived, the coasts that many an explorer had recorded to be bustling with natives eager to trade their wares were eerily desolate; abandoned wetus (wigwams) and the unburied skeletal remains of countless natives painted a picture one might be thankful was not preserved in the Thanksgiving myth.

It was perhaps through shared affliction and persecution that the Wampanoags and the separatists built their alliance that winter of 1620, but it wasn’t without further insult added to injury on behalf of the colonists, as they dug up native burial grounds and stole whole reserves of seed for their own provision. For all of these reasons, spanning nearly a century of European occupation and colonization, the Wampanoags still hold a National Day of Mourning on the fourth Thursday of November—Thanksgiving Day.

The sobering realization in all of this is that two distinct, unique groups of Americans hold such strikingly different views of the same historical event.

The sobering realization in all of this is that two distinct, unique groups of Americans hold such strikingly different views of the same historical event. This Thanksgiving, let's take at least a passing moment to understand and share in the grief of our fellow native Americans in the same way that they—albeit somewhat cautiously—shared in the gratitude of our seminal Thanksgiving some 400+ years past. Let's remember the countless souls lost to disease and barbarism in the form of a heartfelt prayer, a mindful remembrance of a marginalized civilization, and a thankful spirit as ambassadors of Christ. In this way, we achieve brotherly and sisterly peace among one another and share in genuine thankfulness even in the midst of our differences and past aggressions.

For further reading on this fascinating and devastating moment in our shared nation’s history, I recommend David Silverman’s This Land is Their Land. You may not look at a Thanksgiving feast quite the same way anymore, but you’ll find a much deeper respect for the season and for this land we call “ours”.