I have a confession to make that might raise some eyebrows, especially given my background. As an Indigenous person, I grew up celebrating Thanksgiving. Yes, that Thanksgiving. It’s a truth I’ve held somewhat quietly, but it’s time to address the complex relationship many Indigenous people, myself included, have with this annual holiday. For those unfamiliar, it’s crucial to understand that for Native Americans, Thanksgiving is far from a simple celebration. It’s deeply intertwined with the painful history of colonization, the theft of our ancestral lands, and the systematic erasure of our cultures. So, when considering “Why Is Thanksgiving Bad,” it’s essential to view it through an Indigenous lens.
The traditional narrative of Thanksgiving often glosses over the grim realities faced by Native populations upon European arrival. The romanticized image of Pilgrims and Indigenous people sharing a peaceful meal is a far cry from the truth. For many of us, Thanksgiving serves as a stark and unwelcome reminder of the violence, displacement, and cultural destruction inflicted upon our communities. It’s a day that can evoke mourning rather than gratitude. What, indeed, is there to be thankful for when considering this history?
Growing up on Nipissing First Nation, my ancestral lands in northern Ontario, Canada, Thanksgiving was a family affair. My mother comes from a large family, and our tradition was a massive gathering at my grandmother Leda’s house. Imagine a bustling, joyful chaos of Ojibwe relatives, all coming together. With so many people, kids often ate cross-legged on the floor, while elders occupied the table, getting the first pick of the food, of course. The menu was classic Thanksgiving fare: turkey, mountains of mashed potatoes, turnips, boiled carrots, and rivers of gravy. One year, my dad even cooked a monumental 40-pound turkey! Yet, there was always an Indigenous touch. Instead of typical dinner rolls, we enjoyed my auntie Joanie’s legendary bannock, a traditional Indigenous flatbread. Moose meat pies were also a staple, though, admittedly, this particular Native didn’t acquire a taste for wild game.
Looking back, it seems incredibly ironic that we, as Indigenous people, were so enthusiastically celebrating a holiday that essentially commemorates the onset of our own suffering. The irony deepened when I moved to the United States. My family, following the Canadian calendar with Thanksgiving in October, would often hold a second Thanksgiving for me when I visited in November. By the time I fully grasped the deeply problematic history of Thanksgiving, it had become such an ingrained family tradition that questioning it felt almost disruptive. Even after my grandmother Leda passed away and the massive feasts became less frequent, my immediate family – parents, sister, and I – continued the tradition. It was a comfortable routine, primarily centered around enjoying a massive, food-induced stupor. And let’s be honest, who can resist the allure of a good old tryptophan coma? The thought still makes my mouth water.
An Indigenous Ojibwe family joyfully gathers for their annual Thanksgiving dinner, a large group sharing food and laughter in a home setting, reflecting a complex relationship with the holiday.
However, this year marks a shift in perspective for me. With my family in Canada and me in New York, the logistics of a Thanksgiving gathering are challenging. More importantly, I’ve come to realize that I genuinely don’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving. I’ve spent too long passively participating in traditions without fully considering their implications. Understanding “why is thanksgiving bad” on a deeper level has led me to consciously step away from celebrating this holiday, choosing instead to reflect on its complex history and what it truly represents for Indigenous people. This year, for me, Thanksgiving will be a day of reflection and remembrance, not of forced gratitude.
