A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World

Finally, in the midst of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday of November 1863 as Thanksgiving: a day to solemnly acknowledge the sacrifices made for the Union....Shopping was part of the American Dream, too. So in 1939, at the urging of merchants, FDR moved Thanksgiving ahead a week, to lengthen the Christmas shopping season. And there it has remained, a day of national gluttony, retail pageantry, TV football, and remembrance of the Pilgrims, a folk so austere that they regarded Christmas as a corrupt Papist holiday.

The past was a consumable, subject to the national preference for familiar products. And history, in America, is a dish best served plain. The first course could include a dollop of Italian in 1492, but not Spanish spice or French sauce or too much Indian corn. Nothing too filling or fancy ahead of the turkey and pumpkin pie, just the way Grandma used to cook it.

What I felt at that moment wasn’t sorrow for the 9/11 victims, but mortification. Tiny Ecuador gave precious pottery as a token of its heritage. My nation, the hemisphere’s richest, offered only this: Share our fear and feel our pain. In a venue designed to promote global amity and understanding, the United States chose to emphasize how divided and troubled the world remained. It was a minor thing, really, a display in a little-visited Dominican museum. But still, the exhibit rankled: my own small wall of shame.

A bookish man, he read widely, but rarely in search of new knowledge. Instead, he sought confirmation of his preexisting fantasy about an orient that lay almost on Europe’s doorstep. This dream drove him across the ocean sea, where he saw and heard things already in his own head; sirens, cannibals, subjects of the great Kahn, even an island off Hispaniola inhabited by Amazons. Other men of his day had clearer vision. “The hidden half of the globe is brought to light,” Peter Martyris, an Italian historian in the Spanish court wrote upon Columbus’ return from his first voyage in 1493. The next year, Martyris became the first European to refer to the Indies as “Ab orbe novo.” The New World. Yet Columbus never grasped the immensity of what he’d done. The more he saw, the less he learned. Mysticism, and dreams of the Orient kept overwhelming the evidence of his own senses.

As with baseball, so, too, with America’s birth. The country’s European founding was slow and messy: a primordial slime of false starts and mutations that evolved, over generations, into English colonies and the United States. Once on its feet, the newborn American nation looked back in search of origins, and located its heroes and sacred places on the stony shore of Massachusetts. The Pilgrim Fathers of 1620 begat the Founding Fathers of 1776. Cooperstown had Doubleday’s cow pasture, Plymouth its hallowed Rock.

Ponce de León came for gold and slaves, not a fountain,” he said. “Pedro Menéndez killed all the French except musicians for his private orchestra. How twisted is that?” Chris’s face wrinkled in disgust. “These guys were psychopathic nutballs. Celebrating them is like idolizing Charles Manson.

Humans, whether contemplating the genesis of their customs or of their species, yearn to locate “an explicit point of origin,” rather than accept that most beginnings are gradual and complex. “Creation myths,” [Stephen Jay Gould] concluded, “identify heroes and sacred places, while evolutionary stories provide no palpable, particular thing as a symbol for reverence, worship, or patriotism.” As with baseball, so, too, with America’s birth. The country’s European founding was slow and messy: a primordial slime of false starts and mutations that evolved, over generations, into English colonies and the United States. Once on its feet, the newborn American nation looked back in search of origins, and located its heroes and sacred places on the stony shore of Massachusetts. The Pilgrim Fathers of 1620 begat the Founding Fathers of 1776. Cooperstown had Doubleday’s cow pasture, Plymouth it’s hallowed Rock.

For all of Melanie’s irreverence, though, there was one thing she couldn’t abide: visitors who asked, as they often did, “Are you a real Indian?” “I tell them, ‘No. I’m completely plastic.’ If I say yes, then they always ask if I’m a ‘full-blood.’ I feel like telling them, ‘No, I donated a pint last week so I’m a little short right now.” Melanie’s grandmother was a full-blood, but told neighbors her family was Cuban, which carried less of a stigma than being Indian. “Now people want you to be real, not a mix like everyone else in America. No one ever goes to the fort here and asks one of the colonial interpreters, “Hey, are you a full-blooded Englishman?” She poked at the fire. “When I have to fill out a form and they ask for my race, I put ‘human.

We can’t condone what the Spanish did; it seems barbaric to us,” Larry said. “But I admire their tenacity, giving up everything familiar to come here. It would have been like traveling to the moon today.” Tim agreed. “Unless you reenact Mother Teresa, you’re going to run into problems if you judge people by today’s moral standards.

Myth is more important than history. History is arbitrary, a collection of facts. Myth we choose, we create, we perpetuate.