Since Thanksgiving is a tool of white patriarchal colonial pilgrimists, I coined the holiday name, Indigenous People’s Harvest Day, to be more culturally sensitive.

I wanted to share a little of my own Indigenous Folx Harvest Day with you. Even though it was hosted at my sister-in-law’s house, I required everyone to bring a negative PCR test plus proof of vaccination and I encouraged all to triple mask since we are still in a pandemic.

Typically, I mask up three layers deep, remove the masks for a bite of food, then replace the masks over my mouth and chew, then repeat this process. This keeps everyone safe. Unfortunately, most guests refused to take part and did not let me scan their vaccination cards into my personal database.

To start the day, I shared this photo of one of the first pilgrims holding roasted beaver, an early settler’s choice of protein, before the settlers turned to turkey, the white meat a euphemism for the racial construct of the early colonialists.

As a special, educational treat, I created a 92-minute PowerPoint presentation that detailed the Trans Rights, Climate Change, and Systemic Oppression of Black Folx in Red States, followed by a soliloquy taken from Undoing Your Whiteness.

Then I performed a transformative Rain Dance. Look at my cousins, above. It absolutely drenched them in white guilt to hear the presentation.

My uncle did not approve and refused to speak to me for the rest of the day, even though I did my best to discuss the perils of conservatism with him and offered my many thoughts on why Bernie Sanders would make an excellent president to forward socialism.

The older relatives didn’t want to hear me discuss how Black Friday is a racist name and a capitalistic opportunity for stores to flush out their least profitable items under the guise of “special sales.”

I suggested we rename Black Friday, Looting Day where oppressed folx can simply take what they need. This didn’t go over well, but I persisted and resisted.

When she wasn’t looking, I hung a beautifully framed portrait of George Floyd in my sister-in-law’s bathroom. It’s hard to have so many Fox News-watching conservative relatives and I feel the heavy yoke of educating these people about social justice. I do it in small ways such as leaving out pamphlets, photos, and hanging wall art.

As the day wound down, I wanted to lift the spirits of the children, who got very upset when I lightly but sternly lectured them about rampant death, land robbery, and racial genocide. We must stop coddling our small children!

I livened things up a bit when I reenacted The Boston Tea party by dumping my brother-in-law’s Trump wine into the pool.

When the desserts came out, I gave copies of Biden’s List of Achievements and read them aloud using a megaphone so the neighbors could enjoy them.

I informed everyone, especially the kids, how Elf on the Shelf is a racist concept. A white overseer watching your every move, then reporting back to Santa, another bloated cisgender white misogynistic male who enters homes uninvited? Nope. Not happening in our house.

The mood was somber when I packed up to go home. I sensed a bit of relief from my extended family; I think they were steeping in their nasty white privilege and planned on making some profound changes.

It’s difficult for us to do the work to wake up the right-wing extremists, but we need to do it in order to change the world and make everyone see our point of view. Think of what a utopia. It will be here when everyone thinks the same, acts the same, and reads the same news. Peaceful paradise!

Keep educating folx out there and I’ll see you for Kwanzaa.