History Of Thanksgiving In The Us

The Real Story Behind Thanksgiving in the US: More Than Just Turkey and Football

You know the drill: late November, turkey on the table, football in the stands, and everyone giving thanks for something—usually the food and family. But here’s the thing: the history of Thanksgiving in the US is a lot messier, more complicated, and frankly, more interesting than the sanitized version most of us grew up with. For many Americans, the holiday feels like a given, a warm blanket tradition passed down through generations. But peel back the layers, and you’ll find a story shaped by colonialism, mythmaking, and a national identity that’s still wrestling with its own contradictions.

What Is Thanksgiving, Really?

At its core, Thanksgiving is a holiday centered around gratitude—typically expressed through a shared meal. Worth adding: in the US, it’s most commonly associated with the 1621 harvest celebration between Plymouth colonists and members of the Wampanoag tribe. That gathering, which lasted three days and included venison, wild turkey, corn, and shellfish, is often cited as the origin of the modern holiday. But here’s where the story gets tangled.

The Pilgrims—European settlers who arrived in Plymouth in 1620—were far from the first Europeans to hold a harvest celebration. But even that’s not quite accurate. And spanish explorers had been doing so in Florida as early as the 1500s, and English colonists in other parts of New England held similar events. That's why what makes the Plymouth event unique is that it’s become the symbolic starting point for America’s national Thanksgiving. Plus, the Wampanoag people didn’t see it as a “first” in their own traditions; they were participating in a mutual effort to ensure survival in a new land. And the relationship between the colonists and the Wampanoag, while initially cooperative, would later sour due to land disputes and cultural tensions.

Over time, Thanksgiving evolved. But early colonial thanksgivings were religious observances, often declared by governors or clergy to give thanks for specific blessings—like surviving a harsh winter or a successful harvest. These weren’t annual events but rather one-off proclamations. It wasn’t until the 19th century that the idea of a national, fixed-day Thanksgiving began to take hold, influenced by writers, preachers, and eventually, political leaders.

Why It Matters: More Than a Feast

Thanksgiving isn’t just about gravy and leftovers. In practice, it’s a cultural touchstone that reflects how Americans think about themselves, their history, and their values. The holiday serves as a unifying narrative—a shared story of perseverance, community, and gratitude. But that narrative is built on selective memory.

For many Native Americans, Thanksgiving represents a painful reality. In 1970, the first National Day of Mourning was held in Plymouth by Native Americans to counter the celebration, reminding the public of the ongoing struggles of Indigenous communities. The Plymouth story, which emphasizes harmony between colonists and Indigenous peoples, glosses over the displacement, disease, and warfare that followed. While the holiday is marketed as a celebration of cooperation, it often erases the violent history of colonization. That event and its legacy continue to influence how many people view the holiday today.

Also worth noting, the myth of Thanksgiving has been used to reinforce a national identity rooted in white, Protestant settler culture. By framing the founding of America as a peaceful, grateful act, the holiday helps paper over the darker chapters of American history—genocide, slavery, and westward expansion. Understanding the history of Thanksgiving in the US means confronting these uncomfortable truths, not just the heartwarming fable of the harvest feast.

How It Became a National Holiday

The journey from scattered colonial observances to a fixed national holiday is a fascinating mix of grassroots activism, political maneuvering, and cultural shifts.

The Early Days: Religious Observances

In the 17th and 18th centuries, thanksgivings were local affairs. These weren’t festive gatherings but solemn religious events. Colonial governments might declare a day of fasting and prayer in response to a crisis or a blessing. The term “Thanksgiving” itself was often used interchangeably with “fast day,” reflecting the Puritan emphasis on humility and gratitude to God.

Sarah Josepha Hale and the Power of the Press

Fast-forward to the 19th century, and the idea of a national Thanksgiving begins to gain traction. So for decades, she wrote letters and articles advocating for a unified national day of thanksgiving, arguing it would unite a divided nation. Sarah Josepha Hale, a prominent editor and writer, was instrumental in pushing for the holiday’s establishment. Her 1863 editorial, “The American Thanksgiving,” called for the holiday to be celebrated on the last Thursday of November, framing it as a moral and civic duty.

Hale’s campaign coincided with the Civil War, and her push for Thanksgiving was partly motivated by the belief that the holiday could help heal the nation’s divisions. Her persistence paid off when, in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation declaring the last Thursday of November as a national day of thanksgiving and praise. It was a wartime gesture, meant to express gratitude for the Union’s survival and to grow a sense of shared purpose.

The Role of the Civil War and National Unity

Lincoln’s proclamation was a significant step, but it didn’t immediately become a fixed holiday. After the war, Congress debated the idea, but it wasn’t until the 20th century that Thanksgiving became a permanent fixture on the calendar. The holiday gained further momentum during the Great Depression, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt decided to move it up by a week in 1939 to extend the Christmas shopping season and boost economic recovery.

The move sparked controversy. Some states resisted, arguing that changing the date disrupted traditional celebrations. Others saw it as a savvy political move.

November, ending the confusion and cementing the holiday’s place in federal law.

The Post-War Transformation: Parades, Football, and Consumerism

With the date settled, the mid-20th century saw Thanksgiving morph into the cultural juggernaut we recognize today. On the flip side, the holiday became a showcase for American prosperity and shared ritual. In 1924, Macy’s had launched its first Christmas Parade in New York City—featuring live animals borrowed from the Central Park Zoo—but it was the post-war television era that turned it into a national spectacle. By the 1950s, the broadcast of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, with its giant character balloons and marching bands, became a communal pre-dinner ritual for millions of families across the country.

Continue exploring with our guides on what year was the nineteenth amendment passed and who was the president that got stuck in a bathtub.

Simultaneously, football cemented itself as a Thanksgiving staple. While college rivalries had played on the holiday since the 1870s, the NFL’s Detroit Lions began hosting an annual game in 1934 to boost attendance. When the Dallas Cowboys joined the tradition in 1966, Thanksgiving football became a triple-header institution, transforming living rooms into extensions of the stadium and giving the day a distinct, secular rhythm: parade in the morning, game in the afternoon, feast in the evening. That's the part that actually makes a difference.

This period also birthed the modern consumer engine. The day after Thanksgiving—dubbed "Black Friday" by Philadelphia police in the 1960s to describe the chaotic traffic and crowds—evolved into the unofficial start of the holiday shopping season. By the 1980s and 90s, retailers leaned into the narrative of profitability ("in the black"), and the commercial pressure began to encroach on the holiday itself, eventually spawning "Gray Thursday" openings and the online counterpart, Cyber Monday.

Reckoning with the Myth

Yet, even as the pageantry grew, the historical reckoning accelerated. Even so, in 1970, on the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrims' landing, Wampanoag leader Wamsutta (Frank James) was invited to speak at a state dinner in Plymouth, then disinvited when organizers read his prepared remarks. His speech refused to celebrate the Pilgrims' arrival, instead mourning the decimation of his people. He delivered it instead on Cole’s Hill, overlooking Plymouth Rock, launching the National Day of Mourning—an annual protest that continues to this day.

This counter-narrative forced a slow but necessary evolution in public education and discourse. The "Pilgrims and Indians" pageants featuring construction-paper headdresses and paper-bag vests have largely given way in schools to more nuanced curricula that center Wampanoag voices, acknowledge the Great Dying of 1616–1619 (an epidemic that devastated coastal tribes before the Mayflower arrived), and contextualize the 1621 feast as a brief, strategic alliance rather than a founding moment of friendship.

Conclusion

Today, Thanksgiving sits at a complex intersection. It remains the busiest travel weekend of the year, a testament to its enduring power as a anchor for family and chosen kin. The table still groans under turkey, stuffing, and pie—dishes that are themselves a palimpsest of Indigenous ingredients (corn, squash, cranberries), African culinary techniques, and immigrant adaptations.

But the holiday is no longer sustained solely by the "heartwarming fable." It is sustained by a more resilient gratitude: one that acknowledges the cost of the nation's founding, honors the resilience of the Wampanoag and all Native nations who survive, and recognizes that true thanksgiving requires more than a single Thursday. That said, it demands a daily practice of truth-telling, reciprocity, and the difficult work of repairing what was broken. The feast endures, but the prayer has changed—from a simple "thank you for the harvest" to a sober, necessary "thank you for the truth, however hard it is to swallow.

The evolution from myth to reckoning has not been smooth, nor has it been universally embraced. So in 2019, the Trump administration officially recognized a National Day of Mourning on the same day as Thanksgiving, a move welcomed by Native activists but criticized by many historians as a token gesture that failed to address systemic issues. The recognition came alongside renewed calls to rename the holiday entirely, with proposals including "Indigenous Peoples' Day of Remembrance" and "Day of Reconciliation.

Retailers, meanwhile, continue to push the boundaries of when the holiday season begins. Amazon's 2023 Black Friday sale started on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, while Walmart announced plans to open at midnight on Thanksgiving night itself. These practices have sparked backlash from employees who report feeling pressured to work the holiday, and from consumers who view the commercialization as antithetical to the day's supposed spirit. Some cities have responded with legislation limiting when stores can open on Thanksgiving, but enforcement remains inconsistent.

The tension extends beyond commerce into education and public memory. While progressive school districts have adopted more accurate curricula, rural communities and states with strong traditionalist leanings often resist changes to Thanksgiving narratives. Court cases have emerged challenging textbook content, and parent groups have organized protests against what they see as "anti-American" history being taught to children.

Yet the momentum toward truth-telling shows no signs of slowing. In 2022, the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe successfully reclaimed the name of their town's annual powwow after years of advocacy, and the National Museum of the American Indian reported record attendance during Thanksgiving week. Universities have established fellowships for Wampanoag scholars, and several states have begun the process of returning sacred sites and artifacts to tribal descendants.

The question remains whether gratitude can truly be separated from its historical context. As chef Sean Sherman of The Owamni restaurant in Minneapolis argues, "We can still have our cranberry sauce and eat it too—but we need to understand where it came from and who grew it first." His restaurants feature Indigenous ingredients prominently, demonstrating that honoring Native foods doesn't require abandoning the feast itself.

Perhaps the most significant shift is in how communities choose to observe the day. Some families now begin with moments of silence or prayer for Indigenous peoples, while others replace traditional grace with readings from Wampanoag leaders. Churches have incorporated indigenous perspectives into their services, and some municipalities have replaced Thanksgiving parades with powwows and land acknowledgment ceremonies.

The future of the holiday may lie not in its name or origin story, but in its capacity for reinvention. As younger generations raised on more complete histories come of age, they are reshaping traditions without entirely discarding them. The table may still groan with turkey and stuffing, but the conversation around it has expanded to include reparations, land acknowledgments, and commitments to supporting Native-owned businesses.

In this way, Thanksgiving has become something unexpected: a living document, continuously revised to reflect not just what we remember, but what we choose to become. The prayer has indeed changed—from a simple "thank you" to a complex, ongoing dialogue about justice, memory, and the work of making gratitude meaningful in a world still grappling with its past.