Robin Givhan: Thanksgiving is our most woke holiday. That’s why it’s so great.
Over generations, Thanksgiving has evolved into a near-perfect holiday: joyful, optimistic, chaotic and inclusive. So wonderfully, purposefully inclusive. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet built on DEI, wokeness, political correctness and old-fashioned neighborliness, long before we even had a name for the first three.
It’s the rare American celebration not rooted in a particular religion, not a memorial born out of nation-building. It’s a holiday without flag-waving and saluting, one that doesn’t stir debates about what can and cannot happen on sacred ground in Arlington National Cemetery. The day is as much for children as it is senior citizens. The only ritual is a meal. The day doesn’t stir up arguments about what sort of displays can reside on public property; no one is fretful about a war on Thanksgiving. Call it Turkey Day, Friendsgiving or by its formal name. The spirit doesn’t change.
Thanksgiving has broken free from its complicated origin story of explorers and freedom seekers, conquerors and the conquered to become 24 hours devoted to simply being grateful, to surrounding oneself with friends and family – even the individuals who drive you to distraction. It’s a day when those who have an irrepressible need to be ornery, disagreeable or combustible are given fair warning that they need to keep themselves in check. And everyone else simply aims to control the things they can – and make peace with all the rest. People are urged to be themselves, but also to be kind. And miraculously, most guests manage to do this without claiming they have been censored, canceled or victimized. Perhaps it’s the alcohol. Perhaps it’s despite the alcohol.
This holiday is a delight because people agree to put their petty differences aside – to not argue about anything more substantial than whether cranberry sauce should be made from scratch or whether the best way, the only way, is as a gelee slithering out of a can. But more importantly, Thanksgiving is when we agree to graciously make accommodations for other people. On this day, we embrace the bigger differences, the ones having to do with race or ethnicity or culture. At least, that’s the guiding spirit.
In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, presidents often visit food pantries, offering good wishes and filling up boxes and bags with vegetables or ladling macaroni and cheese onto plates for the less fortunate – a reminder to themselves and their constituents that what they do is rooted in public service rather than selfish power. Regular folks serve their disadvantaged neighbors multicourse meals without demanding to see proof of citizenship. Local politicians give free turkeys to the struggling in advance of Thanksgiving because at least on this one day of the year, it’s simply unacceptable that some should go hungry and unable to share in the country’s abundance. People are fed freely and generously without being admonished for being unable to resolve their hardships all on their own, without being told that first they have to complete some task – some work project – to prove they’re deserving of aid.
On Thanksgiving, the poor aren’t expected to bootstrap their way to the pumpkin pie.
In the spirit of this holiday, people look beyond their nuclear family to see who might be alone, who might be the odd person out. And they invite those individuals into their home and to their table. They don’t declare these outsiders lucky just to have a seat at the banquet; they try to make sure they feel welcome, like they are part of the family. Perhaps they’re asked if there’s some dish that reminds them of their childhood and where they grew up. Alongside the turkey, there’s a place for lasagna, paella, tortillas, plantains and any other dish that speaks of heritage or simply comfort. While our individual right to burgers and steaks are fought over in the culture wars the rest of the year, on Thanksgiving we manage to clear a place on the table for Tofurky. It can all be on the menu. It’s all part of the bounty.
Sometimes, however, when a guest asks what they might bring, what they can contribute to the feast, the host demurs and says, “Just bring yourself, that’s enough.” It’s really quite the day.
Under most any other circumstance, all these accommodations might be held up as something diabolical – as a chipping away at an individual’s right to vocalize every unkind or ill-considered thought that crosses their mind because that’s what free speech allows. On another day, such willingness to respect another person’s life story, to uplift it and perhaps even learn from it, might be dismissed as just a bunch of DEI foolishness. Someone would be worried that all the free food was just going to make people lazy. The rest of the year, many people hold so tightly to their old ways and the majority ways, that they leave no room for anything else. On Thanksgiving, the traditions exist alongside the disruptions.
When an extended family or wide circle of friends gather at the table, they often say grace. Sometimes that might be a deeply religious prayer, but often, on Thanksgiving, it’s simply a secular recitation of gratitude. It’s an opportunity to count one’s blessings, which is essentially acknowledging that success and achievement don’t happen in a vacuum, but are the result of countless decisions, relationships and serendipitous encounters. It’s a public, unifying moment of humility amid the abundance.
Everyone is welcome at the Thanksgiving table, from the greatest to the least. Even the loudmouthed, man-splaining know-it-alls – the ones who don’t know how to cook but nonetheless advised the chef to slash the dinner budget because they just didn’t see the value in all those toasted marshmallows atop the sweet potatoes. They’re invited to Thanksgiving, too. But they will be seated at the card table, at the far end of the kitchen.