Chapter Nine - Native Resistance Never Stopped

CHAPTER NINE

Native Resistance Never Stopped

THE OFFICIAL STORY wanted closure.
Pilgrims landed. Natives helped. Everyone ate.
Fade to black.

But Native people didn’t disappear when the meal ended.
They didn’t vanish into folklore or freeze in feathers behind glass.

They survived.
They adapted.
And they resisted.

For over 400 years — quietly, loudly, relentlessly — they’ve been calling out the lie.

Especially on Thanksgiving.

Let’s jump to 1969.

A group of Native activists from tribes all over the country — many of them young, urban, and fed up — take over Alcatraz Island.

Yes, that Alcatraz.

The prison had closed. The land was technically government property. And under a clause in an old treaty, any “abandoned federal land” was supposed to be returned to Native ownership.

So they took it.

And they stayed.

For 19 months, Native families lived there, held events, gave interviews, raised a flag, and declared it “Indian Land.”

It was bold. Symbolic. Messy. Real.
And it sparked something.

Fast-forward to 1970.

Plymouth, Massachusetts is planning a big celebration.
It’s the 350th anniversary of the First Thanksgiving. They invite a Wampanoag man named Frank James to speak.

He writes a speech.

It’s raw. Unflinching. Talks about genocide, betrayal, erasure.
A true counter-story from the people who were supposed to be thankful.

The organizers read it ahead of time and say:
“Nope. Too negative. Rewrite it.”

He refuses.

So instead of speaking at the ceremony, he creates a new one.
The first official National Day of Mourning.

Every year since, Native people and allies have gathered on Thanksgiving in Plymouth to remember what actually happened — not just in 1621, but in the centuries that followed.

It’s not a reenactment.
It’s not a protest buffet.
It’s grief. And strength. And presence.

Because this isn’t ancient history to them.
It’s family history. Tribal memory. Ongoing struggle.

You’ll also hear the name Leonard Peltier — a Native activist who’s been imprisoned since 1977 under highly disputed charges.
Or AIM — the American Indian Movement, which staged major protests in the ‘70s, including at Mount Rushmore and Wounded Knee.

And behind every protest was a truth no classroom ever handed out:

That the Thanksgiving myth was never neutral.
It erased pain.
It rewrote loss as kindness.
And it told Native kids their ancestors were lucky to be invited to the table.

But they never stopped pushing back.

Not just in museums or college campuses — but on the land, in the courts, in the streets.

Some gather and mourn.

Some cook and honor.

Some don’t acknowledge the day at all.

But none of it is passive.

Because resistance isn’t always a fight.

Sometimes, it’s a refusal to forget.