On June 15, 1585, before there were English settlements in America, Richard Grenville landed on the shores of Virginia at Secotan with seven boats. The “Indians” he met greeted him with food and drink. Indeed, according to his log the next day, “we were well entertained there of the Savages.” Yet when a single silver cup went missing, Grenville burnt their village to the ground and “sployed their corne.”
Twenty-two years later, Jamestown was erected. In the face of servitude and starvation, many of the settlers―prisoners, slaves, indentured servants― escaped to settle with the Indians. In 1610, the governor of Jamestown asked for the runaways back. The Indian chief, Powhatan, left the choice in their hands. None agreed. In response, a garrison was dispatched to wreak havoc. Houses were burned, sixteen braves were killed, corn was hacked to ribbons, and the female leader of the tribe was taken hostage with her children. The children were shot in the head. The mother was stabbed to death. Thus began our illustrious history of gratitude.
Word of the barbarous newcomers spread quickly through the Indian villages and they retaliated in kind. When it became clear that the tribes wouldn’t acquiesce to tyranny, the settlers embarked on a policy of genocide.
In Massachusetts, the Pilgrims, driven to metastasize with a frenzy that matched their piety, invoked passages from the Bible to justify their excesses―not the Lord’s Prayer, as would have been apt, but Romans 13:2: "Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.” The Indians received just that.
To quench their tantalian thirst for land and domination, the Puritans sent an armed expedition to Block Island to attack the Narragansett Indians. They returned to the mainland to attack the Pequot, burning crops and wigwams along the way. It’s estimated six hundred Pequots died that day. A fitting end to a nation whose only claim to the land was possession for ten thousand years. But the Pequots would not be the last.
Over the next few years, colonists murdered over three hundred thousand Indians. In all, ten million native Americans were reduced to a million by English settlers. And yet, not all participated in the carnage. Some snuck off to fight with the Indians. Others fought grudgingly. It was the Puritan elite―the Religious Right of its day―who drove the bloodbath, hiding behind a cloak of righteousness. They believed in private property, a concept foreign to the indigenous people. They believed that children should be “beaten down,” according to John Robinson, pastor of the Puritan clan. They cheered the plaque that destroyed the Patuxet Indians as “The Wonderful Preparation of the Lord Jesus Christ.” The thought of invoking these reprehensible characters belies the very essence of thanksgiving.
Individually, we Americans are a grateful people. We give to charity. We open our homes to those stricken with illness. We hand a buck to the homeless guy on the corner. Yet, even today, we are easily waylaid by Puritans in our midst. Pat Robertson. Jerry Falwell. James Dobson. Men who support our murderous escapades while reciting scripture. Men who stoke the fears held by average people to increase their power. Men whose shallow hearts can only be placated by hate.
This year, instead of invoking the Puritans, let’s offer ourselves to true kinship with man. And let's turn a deaf ear to those mercenaries who spew venom while claiming piety. In the end, it's only by developing that kinship that we can embark on a new chapter in the history of our republic.
Andrea Hackett is an freelance journalist, founder of the Las Vegas Dancers Alliance in Nevada, and editor of the Populist Review. She may be contacted at andreahackett@cox.net
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