Massasoit stood his ground firmly, surrounded by Native peoples. There was no feast. There were no games. There was, however, a ceremony and dancing. Then the gathered Native Americans walked away from Massasoit and proceeded en masse toward the Mayflower, which was docked at the wharf. Each person wore a red armband with a single feather. When they reached the vessel, the group of men and women boarded and proceeded to climb the ship’s rigging, where high above, two flags flew in the breeze. Those who reached the top of the rigging removed the seventeenth-century English flag. In its place, the group hoisted a banner of blue silk, bearing the image of a red tepee. Shortly after, the group disembarked and made their way to a rock bearing the site’s name.
The date was November 23, 1972. The site, Plymouth, Massachusetts. Massasoit, a statue. The occasion, Thanksgiving: a national day of mourning.
The further the country moved away from what had been a common eighteenth- and nineteenth-century practice of issuing a slew of various thanksgiving proclamations—for prayer, fasting, battle victories—the more the thanksgiving celebrated by Americans at the end of November grew in popularity. And with that particular development evolved the notion that one of those early thanksgivings must have come first—and there was a ferocious desire to claim it.
For example, in 1959, the Texas Society of the Daughters of the American Colonists proclaimed Francisco Vázquez de Coronado’s 1541 fete on what was now Texas soil the “first thanksgiving,” and commemorated it as such. Three years later, after President John F. Kennedy issued his Thanksgiving proclamation in 1962—in which he referred to the 1621 event as the first thanksgiving—Senator John J. Wicker of Virginia fired off a telegram to Kennedy, criticizing the Massachusetts native for the claim and asking that the Berkeley Plantation thanksgiving, held in December 1619 by Captain Woodlief, his crew, and settlers, be acknowledged. “Please issue an appropriate correction,” the senator wrote.
A year later, on November 5, 1963, President Kennedy dutifully issued a Thanksgiving proclamation one hundred years after Lincoln’s. In it, Kennedy lauded our “forefathers in Virginia and Massachusetts,” as well as George Washington’s first proclamation and Abraham Lincoln’s during the Civil War. Virginia was pleased. Kennedy was unable to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of a string of continuous nationally observed thanksgivings. He was assassinated in Dallas just six days before.
The postwar years saw economic booms as well as increased political unrest and activity. Black Power and Red Power movements erupted and brought issues of inequality to the forefront of the national conscience. There were advances and missteps, progress and retraction. The United States had not only become a much more diverse country, many Americans were working to highlight and celebrate that diversity. Yet so many Americans still struggled to see themselves fairly represented in the imagery put forth in advertising and, perhaps more important, in textbooks and schools. Invoking the Pilgrims or Puritans was becoming increasingly loaded. And on March 29, 1964, when minister and activist Malcolm X spoke of the nation’s early settlers, he captured a feeling shared by countless disenfranchised individuals living within American borders. “Our forefathers weren’t the Pilgrims,” he said to a predominantly African American crowd gathered in the upper Manhattan neighborhood of Washington Heights. “We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock; the rock was landed on us.”
In the turbulent awakening of the sixties, one could sense the struggle of countless communities yearning to be understood and appreciated for their contributions to the American story. In November 1969, the Virginia thanksgiving story of Berkeley Plantation was read into the Congressional Record. That same year, Senator Edward “Ted” Kennedy of Massachusetts and the Special Subcommittee on Indian Education issued a report, “Indian Education: A National Tragedy—A National Challenge.” The report examined policy, schooling, and recommendations for bettering the lot of the more than eight hundred thousand Native peoples living in the United States. In his foreword, Kennedy began, “The American vision of itself is of a nation of citizens determining their own destiny; of cultural difference flourishing in an atmosphere of mutual respect; of diverse people shaping their lives and the lives of their children. This subcommittee has undertaken an examination of a major failure in this policy: the education of Indian children.” Kennedy called the statistical findings included in the report—from unemployment to infant mortality—a “national disgrace. . . . [T]he ‘first American’ has become the ‘last American.’” The report included “a mandate and a blueprint for change, so that the American Indian can regain his rightful place in our society.”
The following year, a group of approximately twenty-five Native peoples went to Plymouth on Thanksgiving and buried its fabled rock under mounds of sand. Not far from that rock stood the ten-foot-tall bronze statue of Massasoit—or Ousamequin—the great sachem, or leader, of the Wampanoag who aided the Pilgrims in their survival. Sculpted by Cyrus E. Dallin, the statue had been erected in 1921 and formally dedicated in 1922, and was to commemorate the three hundredth anniversary of the 1620 landing of the Pilgrims. The group that had commissioned and raised funds for the statue was the Improved Order of Red Men, a fraternal order whose membership was exclusively white, but whose rituals, “dress,” and terminology were modeled after what white men of the era considered to be the practices of Native peoples. The Pilgrim Society of Plymouth donated the land.
Not everyone was impressed with the proposed statue. In 1920, prior to its dedication, Charlotte L. Mitchell—referred to in the press as Princess Wootonekanuske—was touted by journalists as the sole titled descendant of Massasoit alive (though she apparently had living siblings). Then living on just $300 per year, she was interviewed by the Boston Post about the bronzed representation of her ancestor. She questioned the intent of the whole enterprise, though she would reluctantly participate in the unveiling. “They erect an attractive statue—a landmark. But gratitude! There’s none! The statue lacks real value because it represents nothing. Gratitude!”
More protests at Plymouth followed. And on Thanksgiving of 1972, the United American Indians of New England assembled at Plymouth and protested the holiday that, for many Native Americans, had become a national day of mourning. The statement the group issued was that they were fasting to “mourn the loss of Indian life, and culture,” which had begun, for the Native peoples, with the arrival of the Europeans.
The era of protest and social change had apparently made somewhat of an impact on America’s politicians—if temporarily. For a brief, shining moment, it appeared as if they were willing to listen. One sign of what might have been potentially shifting times: That same Thanksgiving Day, in Washington, DC, the flag of the Wampanoag flew over the Capitol building.
The following year, 1973, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Pilgrim descendent Asa Paine Cobb Lombard Sr. presented that very same flag to eighty-one-year-old Lorenzo Jeffers—then chief of the Wampanoag people. “For too long,” Lombard said, “we have delayed our obligation to these people who made this nation possible.” Mayflower descendants and Native peoples attended a ceremony during which Jeffers encouraged better understanding of the events that transpired between the Indigenous peoples and the newcomers, saying to the crowd, “This is the only way to create harmony.”
Lombard, too, it seemed, desired a better understanding going forward. “When the time comes, and history is not read with prejudice, in the blue above them all will be the name Massasoit, the greatest of all humanitarians. Had it not been for Massasoit . . . I would not be here today.”
American culture seemed on the verge of understanding, of making amends.
Two years later, the biggest, most heavily televised thanksgiving celebration in the country—the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade—added the Pilgrim Man and Woman to their parade lineup.
During the mid 1970s, as the two hundredth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence approached, Americans began paying greater attention not just to the colonial era but to the colonization of America in general. This newfound fascination was reflected in annual presidential proclamations.
In 1977, President Jimmy Carter paid tribute to a colonial bicentennial of a different sort: “[I]n 1777, Samuel Adams composed the first National Thanksgiving proclamation, and the Continental Congress called upon the governors of every state to designate a day when all Americans could join together and express their gratitude for God’s providence ‘with united hearts.’” The following year, Carter mentioned 1621, as well as the Continental Congress.
In 1981, Ronald Reagan reverted to the Pilgrim story, but he managed to mention the contributions of the Native Americans. “After the harvest they gathered their families together and joined in celebration and prayer with the native Americans who had taught them so much. Clearly our forefathers were thankful not only for the material well-being of their harvest but for this abundance of goodwill as well.”
Over the past few decades, with the benefit of more expansive knowledge of the history and concerns of the Native community, presidents have had hits and misses in their proclamations—most of which no Americans ever read or hear.
In 1984, Ronald Reagan opened his proclamation by stating, “As we remember the faith and values that made America great, we should recall that our tradition of Thanksgiving is older than our Nation itself. Indeed, the Native American Thanksgivings antedated those of the new Americans. In the words of the eloquent Seneca tradition of the Iroquois, ‘. . . give it your thought, that with one mind we may now give thanks to Him our Creator.’” He continued: “From the first Pilgrim observance in 1621, to the nine years before and during the American Revolution when the Continental Congress declared days of Fast and Prayer and days of Thanksgiving, we have turned to Almighty God to express our gratitude for the bounty and good fortune we enjoy as individuals and as a nation. America truly has been blessed.”
Reagan cast a wide and not entirely accurate net that year: the Iroquois, the Pilgrims, the Continental Congress, and past presidents. Reagan’s 1985 proclamation began by acknowledging that “the time and date of the first American thanksgiving observance may be uncertain.” He cited events in Maine in 1607, in Virginia in 1619, and among the Dutch and the Spaniards. He then mistakenly stated that Plymouth Colony governor William Bradford proclaimed that special day to “render thanksgiving.” There is no evidence of this, and this idea has been particularly difficult to expunge from the American cultural consciousness. Reagan made another significant mention as well, and is the only president to date ever to do so: “Although there were many state and national thanksgiving days proclaimed in the ensuing years,” he wrote, “it was the tireless crusade of one woman, Sarah Josepha Hale, that finally led to the establishment of this beautiful feast as an annual nationwide observance.”
Three years later, in 1988, he stated: “The images of the Thanksgiving celebrations at America’s earliest settlement—of Pilgrim and Iroquois Confederacy assembled in festive friendship—resonate with even greater power in our own day.”
The acknowledgment of the Iroquois Confederacy (if not the Wampanoag specifically) was still significant, as the Haudenosaunee—as that six-nation confederation is also called—inspired the U.S. Constitution. In 1751, Benjamin Franklin wrote in a letter to his printing partner James Parker, saying that “securing the Friendship of the Indians is of the greatest Consequence to these Colonies. . . .” He saw a need for the English colonies to work together, and did not feel they were moving in the right direction. He cited the Iroquois Confederacy and their constitution—founded upon the Great Law of Peace—as an example of a union among six nations that had lasted ages and still appeared “indissoluble.”
The Haudenosaunee Confederacy employs a bundle of arrows as a symbolic representation of unity. Franklin and the other members of the Continental Congress would later take that symbol as inspiration as well, when creating the seal of the United States of America: Thirteen arrows are shown to symbolize the new union of the thirteen colonies. And in 1987, in preparation for the bicentennial of the U.S. Constitution, there was finally a formal congressional acknowledgment of the Haudenosaunee influence on the United States government.
“If Americans are going to celebrate the anniversary of their Constitution,” Chief Oren Lyons, an Onondaga and former associate professor of American studies at the State University of New York at Buffalo, told the New York Times, “we figure we had better tell them where the idea came from.”
But even with these attempts at atonement and acknowledgments of the numerous contributions of the Native American community, the mythology of the thanksgiving story stuck, from George H. W. Bush through Bill Clinton, who, in 1995, was the first president to mention the Wampanoag by name, writing: “In 1621, Massachusetts Bay Governor William Bradford invited members of the neighboring Wampanoag tribe to join the Pilgrims as they celebrated their first harvest in a new land. This 3-day festival brought people together to delight in the richness of the earth and to give praise for their new friendships and progress.”
Though the Clinton proclamation strikes an upbeat tone, there is no evidence that Bradford issued any such invitation.
In November 2001, George W. Bush invoked Pilgrims, Eisenhower, Lincoln, and Washington. In 2005, he took a more general, encompassing approach and celebrated “explorers and settlers.”
In 2009, President Barack Obama went further in acknowledging the contributions of the Native peoples in his proclamations, and largely what he penned was historically accurate: “What began as a harvest celebration between European settlers and indigenous communities nearly four centuries ago has become our cherished tradition of Thanksgiving. . . . We also recognize the contributions of Native Americans, who helped the early colonists survive their first harsh winter and continue to strengthen our Nation.”
Then, in 2010, Obama alluded to the once and continuing contributions of the Native Americans: “A beloved American tradition, Thanksgiving Day offers us the opportunity to focus our thoughts on the grace that has been extended to our people and our country. This spirit brought together the newly arrived Pilgrims and the Wampanoag tribe—who had been living and thriving around Plymouth, Massachusetts, for thousands of years—in an autumn harvest feast centuries ago. This Thanksgiving Day, we reflect on the compassion and contributions of Native Americans, whose skill in agriculture helped the early colonists survive, and whose rich culture continues to add to our Nation’s heritage. We also pause our normal pursuits on this day and join in a spirit of fellowship and gratitude for the year’s bounties and blessings.”
He echoed these thoughts again in 2011: “One of our Nation’s oldest and most cherished traditions, Thanksgiving Day brings us closer to our loved ones and invites us to reflect on the blessings that enrich our lives. The observance recalls the celebration of an autumn harvest centuries ago, when the Wampanoag tribe joined the Pilgrims at Plymouth Colony to share in the fruits of a bountiful season. The feast honored the Wampanoag for generously extending their knowledge of local game and agriculture to the Pilgrims, and today we renew our gratitude to all American Indians and Alaska Natives. We take this time to remember the ways that the First Americans have enriched our Nation’s heritage, from their generosity centuries ago to the everyday contributions they make to all facets of American life. As we come together with friends, family, and neighbors to celebrate, let us set aside our daily concerns and give thanks for the providence bestowed upon us.”
Although it is nice to think that the feast “honored” the Wampanoag, there is no evidence they were even intended guests. However, President Obama made serious strides by drawing attention specifically to the invaluable contributions of the Native peoples to America—not their perceived role in someone else’s seasonal pageant. And in his Every Student Succeeds Act, Obama included the requirement that any educational agency seeking Title I grant funding needed to consult with representatives of Native nations as they developed their curricula.
Between 2017 and 2019, President Donald Trump, in his proclamations, mentioned the Pilgrims, the Wampanoag, George Washington, and Abraham Lincoln’s role in the evolution of the holiday. He, too, like most of his predecessors, erred in claiming that Bradford “proclaimed” that thanksgiving.
In 2017, it was announced that Ousamequin’s remains and associated objects—along with those of forty-two other burials—would be reinterred near their original burial site of Burr’s Hill, Rhode Island, in what is now Warren. Thanks to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, passed in 1990, Native nations could reclaim the remains and possessions of their ancestors that were held by federal institutions, such as the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. The process of gathering artifacts related to the life of Ousamequin took more than twenty years.
Some schools today are doing a better job of telling the story of seventeenth-century America and the Native Americans, but there’s so much more work to be done. We seem to have lost much of the ground that was gained in the 1970s. Today, the U.S. Mint still calls 1621 the first thanksgiving and even issued a coin honoring the 1621 treaty between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag—a treaty that was cast aside, with bloodshed and centuries of genocide to follow.
The California-raised food writer and gustatory philosopher M. F. K. Fisher celebrated not just the transcendent experience of cooking and eating but also the significance of the ceremony that often surrounded even the simplest of meals. She acknowledged that at holiday gatherings, Thanksgiving included, it is “almost too easy” to pour on the sentiment, and that coming together to give thanks is often much more complicated and anxiety inducing. “The cold truth is that family dinners are more often than not an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters.” This saddened and appalled her, because she knew just how joyful a good meal with loved ones could be. She clung to that vision, and shared it for the rest of her days, proselytizing that “there is communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine drunk.”
In recent years, the holiday has evolved in so many ways, from “friendsgiving” to vegan turkey. Hosting Thanksgiving is, for many, a rite of passage, a sign of one’s maturity and growing munificence. The first time you cooked. The first attempt to carve or give a toast in front of an audience. The first time you spoke in front of others, announcing that for which you were thankful. For many newcomers arriving in America, joining in a Thanksgiving meal or preparing one’s own is a part of adjusting to the new culture. And, one might add, ridiculing the mythology surrounding the sanitized notions of that “first thanksgiving” has itself become commonplace at many tables.
Presidential proclamations, in some cases, have evolved, as well. More important, our population has evolved, as has—to a limited extent—our understanding of sorrowful past events on this continent and countless others across the globe.
Perhaps it is time for the holiday to take one great step forward and evolve once more into its most inclusive and gracious form yet. A holiday all Americans can feel good to be thankful for.
From fasting and humiliation to gluttony and thanks, for battle victories and good harvests, from the secular to the religious and everywhere in between, one thing that emerges from all the thanksgiving flavors we’ve sampled over the years: There was no “first.” And if the holiday is to be a reflection of who Americans—all Americans—are, there is one element only that has, and must, remain unchanged through the centuries and across time, continents, and shifting political climates. One element above all:
Gratitude.