I am indescribably excited for American Thanksgiving for two reasons:

1. I’m American and from what I gathered from my Canadian classmates is that Canadian Thanksgiving is a much smaller deal than American Thanksgiving, which just might second fourth of July in terms of American patriotism.

2. My family is coming! All five members of my immediate family are coming for me to celebrate together. I am ecstatic. But naturally, keeping in mind the teachings from this semester on collective narrative and dominant voice/projection, I thought it might be fun to explore how Thanksgiving, as a hypothetical cultural site, is a form of life narrative, and as I can only talk to the system of American holidays and methods of celebration, I’ll start there.

Americans really love Independence Day. We really, really love the United States, and despite all of its corruption and ineffective, meddlesome policies, it’s nice to have one day where we let that go and revel in all the glory that we were brought up to believe our country has. If any non-Americans are confused, Independence Day has little to do with the Declaration of Independence (at least in all the circles I’ve celebrated with) and a lot to do with red, white, and blue, fireworks and barbecue. The same could be said for Thanksgiving. I was raised knowing Thanksgiving as a day of cooking and eating and appreciating my family, no historical context to speak of.

What I learned about national holidays and national pride came with the constraint of my family’s values and own experiences, not collective, consolidated historical fact. Most of what I learned about the traditions and expectations for American national holidays was from school, and as I get older many learned, unquestioned prejudices present themselves when it comes to holidays in relationship to national pride and collective identity.

In elementary school I learned what Columbus Day is. Actually, I learned it as Indigenous People’s Day. Does this distinction matter? Yes. My US History class starts with Columbus. My World History class spent six weeks on the colonial period alone and only a month on non-Western countries’ histories and accomplishments. Columbus Day and Thanksgiving are extensions of this narrowed history. If Thanksgiving is a day of thanks and celebration, it denies the colonial implications of the Pilgrims and Native Americans. If Columbus Day is framed as a feat of human intervention, it denies the slaughtering and extinction of thousands of Native Americans and their empires. In short, historical truths and respects are severed.

Holidays are about remembering and recounting, a national closure, celebration or mere acknowledgement of the past. Just like narratives, these largely unstructured occasions can be misconstrued, manipulated and demonized. They can also reflect the interests of the people engaging with them. Seems like holidays are a lot like life narratives hmm? Interesting.

In closing, I am very homesick, and a large association I have with home is my family and how my family collectively celebrates holidays like Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is my site of witnessing, for my family, my gratitude, my country. But like narratives, individual action during the holidays is unpredictable, and that person has the power to determine what is right and wrong in this collective memory. The macro comes from the micro, remember.

Happy Holidays!

This week my Political Science course has taken a focus on the political issues and obstacles regarding slums. More information on what defines the problems of a slum can be found here, on the UN-HABITAT website, but in essence a slum is a dwelling without secured tenure, secure access to basic resources like water and sanitation, and is overcrowded. Not the prettiest picture. We have also discussed where slums occur (cores and fringes of cities) and how their booming populations will be addressed in the future (time will tell). Today in my discussion period we watched a documentary about slum communities in India, aptly (or perhaps not so aptly) titled Welcome to India. It is a part of a three-part series by the BBC, so I cannot speak for its entirety, but I can say that it exemplified a lot of humanity and objectivity that was not present in God Grew Tired of Us.

The film chronicles the lives of slum-dwellers in Kolkata, from a young man panning for gold in the street to a family raising their children on the beach. The narrator speaks English but his accent suggests he is Indian. The subjects of the film are given use of the cameras and not just followed. While the film was largely examining the obstacles Upon finishing the film, a classmate of mine brought up a point about his expectations about slum-dwellers and what and who was represented. The husband of the family who lived on the beach came from an educated family, had a fairly lucrative job, and spoke English. He had moved to the slum after marrying the love of his life, because she was of a lower class and his family disowned him for it. My classmate admitted this was not what he anticipated, that his image of a slum-dweller was that of a person born into poverty, not given the choice.

I will not pretend that the “educated” man in the slums did not surprise me. While documentaries like these are premeditated and their stories selected for public interest, as we have discussed in class with Whitlock and the concept of Western expectations of narratives by Non-Westerners, particularly those produced in times and situations of trauma. BBC UK produced the film, but in sharp contrast to GGTU, there is no obnoxious narration guiding how we’re meant to see these people and understand their situation. We don’t understand, and this fact is a large obstacle in effectively objective filmmaking and general narrative media when a Western and/or privileged agent projects the story of someone less fortunate.

Relatively, Welcome to India is a “good” documentary. While slums are not glamorous, they are not universally inhabited by impoverished, miserable people. The family on the hut had jobs, and sent their son to school, and had many plans to send their infant daughter to medical school. This post is less about the innerworkings of slums and more about how audiences from a place of privilege tend to dehumanize and marginalize the lives and intricacies of the poor. While not every slum dweller may laugh along with their many roommates or remain inspired to keep working by the prospects of their children’s future, the slums of Kolkata are far from economically, socially and politically stagnant. As with consumable print books, media is susceptible to corruption, but also capable of education when put in the hands of the right people. I have talked extensively on this topic, but as a kind of part two, I wanted to share an example where aided narrative can be engaging without relying on dramatic, exaggerated tropes to sell a story.