The survivors, those who managed to endure this relentless onslaught, lived as second-class citizens—outcasts in their own ancestral homes. Their languages, traditions, and ways of life were crushed under the weight of colonization. Yet, to mask the horrors of this conquest, to soften the brutality of what had transpired, a new story was told. A myth was created, one that framed these acts of violence as a tale of peace and unity.
A day of remembrance was established—a "day of thanks." This day, Thanksgiving, reframed the colonization of America as a celebration of harmony between settlers and Native peoples. It told a story of mutual understanding and cooperation, ignoring the realities of land theft, broken treaties, and genocide. Families would gather each year to feast and give thanks, celebrating a narrative that had been carefully curated to hide the blood and suffering on which it was built.
This Thanksgiving Day is a lie. A lie constructed on the foundations of blood, bones, and horrendous atrocities. A lie crafted by the victors to absolve themselves of their crimes and to celebrate their domination. The violent taking of lands, the displacement of peoples, and the eradication of cultures have been rewritten as a story of partnership and unity. A story that turns genocide into gratitude and colonization into cooperation.
This charade should sicken you. It should fill you with rage. It should make you want to scream at the audacity of such revisionism. Most importantly, it should compel you to confront these lies, to refuse to accept them, and to see through the comforting myths that justify oppression.
Now, what if I told you this was happening now—right now, in this very minute, in Palestine?