Despite being a holiday rooted in a stone-cold historical myth constructed to provide an alibi for early settler treatment of indigenous Americans, I have always enjoyed Thanksgiving. As a child, I enjoyed it more than Christmas – which was typically dreary and gray in my native Nashville – but my enjoyment of Thanksgiving has grown as an adult. Now that I am rarely required to participate in dubious reenactments of the holiday’s self-serving origin myth, I can enjoy it for what it is: America’s only proper feast day, and it even comes with football. 

But Thanksgiving is more than a feast day. It’s also our only holiday which comes with a command attached: give thanks. This year, as our country faces a dark and uncertain future, following the holiday’s command may be harder than ever – but it’s also more important than ever, and I intend to give it a try.

Gratitude is a remarkable act, both humbling and empowering. Researchers have consistently linked gratitude to improvements in well-being and reductions in anxiety and depression. People who frequently express or experience gratitude are more generous than those who do not, and might even see general mental health benefits from the practice.

Even in dark times, there is much to give thanks for on a day-to-day basis: I have my health, and a roof over my head, I have loved ones who love me in return, and I am grateful beyond words for those things. Those are the things which sustain me, which give me respite from the world outside. 

But as both Thanksgiving and dark times approach, I have challenged myself to be thankful not just for the things which distract from the struggles ahead of us, but for the things which will get us through those struggles – to find gratitude amidst the challenges to come, not despite them.

In addition to my friends and family and dog and cats and roof and health, these are the things I will be giving thanks for this year.

The Lessons of History

In some sense, we are in uncharted waters, and that’s frightening: American history has no parallels for the kind of president Donald Trump promised to be on the campaign trail. Crooks and conmen have held the office before – Nixon and Harding come immediately to mind – and it has even been occupied from time to time by murderers like Andrew Jackson. Bad men have been president more often than not. But I would be lying to you if I pretended that those precedents lessened our cause for concern in the present. They don’t: the scale of the damage Donald Trump has promised to inflict outstrips all of them.

The truth is, we do not know how the next few years will unfold, but we have ample reason, including the words of the president-elect himself, to expect that they will unfold in ways which defy the lessons of American history. It is not wrong to be frightened of what comes next.

But history is larger than American history, and has more lessons to offer us than the history of one nation can possibly compete with. That’s one of the main reasons I spend a large portion of my free time reading – it gives me hope. Over the last few years, I have read a great many books which gave me hope, often through stories of other people and other countries who have faced what and worse than we are now facing. The journalists and trade unionists who stood up to a junta-backed genocide in Indonesia. The farmers and teachers and shop workers who took up arms to oppose Franco in Spain. The American consulate workers in Dhaka, Bangladesh who spoke out against their own government’s support for slaughter.

The thing is, these are not all happy stories – the Indonesian genocide killed up to a million people, Franco won in Spain, and Nixon & Kissinger kept sending weapons to the slaughter in Bangladesh long after the Blood Telegram – but they are hopeful stories. They are stories of human resilience, and of human goodness; of people who risked it all when it mattered. They are, by their existence, assurances that such people exist. 

These histories are hopeful in another way, too. Even when the despots win, they never win forever. Indonesia, Spain, and Bangladesh are all democracies today (and not without their share of problems, but I’m reluctant to judge from this time and place). Germany, which gave rise and power to the most infamous authoritarian government of all time, is now a cornerstone of the democratic world. 

History has not taught me that the struggle will be easy, but it has taught me that authoritarians always have weaknesses, and that people will resist living under them. Humanity has yet to tolerate a boot stamping on its face forever. Even the Thousand-Year Reich only lasted 12. 

The Allies We Fight Alongside

As I mentally game out scenarios for the coming years – something I have caught myself doing too often this month – I am thankful for the certainty that I do not need to imagine myself alone in any of those scenarios. 

People pull together in hard times. Unlike the zombie-esque hoards of looters which the media takes so much glee in depicting, social science has shown us that people are more likely to spontaneously help one another in difficult circumstances. Any authoritarian regime worth its salt takes measures to decrease and complicate this kind of group altruism, but there is comfort to be had in the knowledge that, as humans, our natural inclination is towards cooperation in crisis.

I also take comfort from recent conflicts. When police killed unarmed George Floyd in 2020, the resulting protests were not populated exclusively by young people, or Black people, or “activists.” With total turnout of between 15 and 26 million people, the George Floyd protests became the largest protest movement in American history. From clergy to suburban moms, millions of Americans from diverse walks of life joined the activists and antifascists in the streets to protest an injustice which they had no reason to believe would ever afflict them personally. 

I take comfort from those out there diligently doing the work right now, not waiting for the next time a tragedy or injustice draws millions to the streets. I take comfort from the border angels stashing water in the desert to stave off needless deaths of thirst and cruelty, because I know they will be there with us when the administration comes for immigrant communities. And I take comfort from the smugglers helping people seek healthcare across interior borders, because I know they will be there with us when men in power come to take more rights away. 

I take comfort from the tens of thousands doing their work quietly, effectively, in secret, because I know they’ll be there, too.

The Things We Fight For

I started this list by saying that it was in addition to “my friends and family and dog and cats and roof and health” – but how can it be, when it’s all about them in the first place? What would there be to fight for if not for the lives we’d rather be living?

21st century authoritarianism rarely relies on the same kind of mass violence which typified 20th century regimes. Instead, modern regimes employ modern means to deject, demoralize, and otherwise demobilize their opponents. Convincing the opposition that there is nothing to be gained from opposing them saves both time and lead, and keeping the uninvolved masses from feeling any compunction to become involved spares a great deal of hassle. Without sufficient motivation to keep fighting, it’s always easier to quit.

That’s why it’s so important to take stock of the things we are fighting for – both on a personal level, and a national level. For our loved ones, and our desire to see them live free and happy lives. For the little moments, and for the future we wish to see. Or simply, like George Orwell when he joined a Trotskyist militia to fight against Franco in Spain, for common decency.

“If you had asked me why I had joined the militia I should have answered: ‘To fight against Fascism,’” he wrote in Homage to Catalonia, continuing: “And if you had asked me what I was fighting for, I should have answered: ‘Common decency.”

Giving thanks amid fear is not easy, but it is powerful. It lightens burdens, if only for a moment. And right now, as we wait impatiently for the start of what is to come – a start which is still nearly two months off – giving thanks is one of the greatest acts of resistance available to us.

The fact is, there is no way to fight or resist an administration which does not exist yet. There is no merit to hanging on every word from the cable news between now and January, no benefit to sweating every cabinet pick, and no tactical upside to fraying our nerves before the fight even starts. For those worried about the incoming administration – as I am – this makes for a frustrating time: the urge to take action is strong, but there is no action to take.

Right now, all we can do is prepare mentally, physically, and emotionally for what next year holds – and I can think of no better way to do that than to eat, drink, and be merry; to remember what we are willing to fight to protect; to give thanks amid fear.