400 years ago today, the Mayflower dropped anchor in Cape Cod Bay, near what is now Provincetown. My 11th-great grandfather John Howland, a servant, was aboard, along with Elizabeth Tilley, whom he would eventually marry.

This is a source of academic curiosity to me, but certainly not a point of pride.

The establishment of Plymouth Colony was the beginning of an ongoing nightmare for indigenous people of the Northeast and beyond: a nightmare which has yet to end. I needn’t go into the details, but suffice to say that the vehement and intolerant flavor of Christianity the “Pilgrims” brought with them did not allow for the humanity of non-Christians: a position that persists today among many Americans.

400 years.

A year later, having been saved from starvation by the compassion and generosity of people whose land they were in the process of stealing, the surviving passengers of the Mayflower celebrated the first Thanksgiving. It was September, but we now celebrate our rosy-lensed version of this event in November.

400 years of murderous hell.

It’s hard to know how to end this.

Happy Thanksgiving?