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On Thanksgiving Day I attended the ceremony on Alcatraz Island in the San Francisco Bay created by different tribes of Native Americans who have been going to Alcatraz for over thirty years on this day. There were several hundred people circled around a fire in the early misty hours of morning, waiting to greet the rising sun as the clouds lit up in subtle hues of orange and pink from her light, her warmth caressing the rain-drenched land.

Thirty years ago, Native Americans, or The People, as some call themselves since the native people were here before this land was named America, occupied the island site of the former federal penitentiary to make a statement to the world about the American government's arrogant disrespect and disregard of treaties it made with The People, and to show that the struggle of native people lives on.

Seagulls swooped and sailed overhead, making sounds in harmony with the voices and songs. I was struck by the simplicity and humility of the gathering. It was clearly not a performance. Speakers and singers were not concerned about their image and the correctness of their tone and pitch. They were simply people sharing from the heart. The dancers were equally present in their sharing of their sacred ways. It was good to see men with long flowing hair and earrings. The softness of their appearance was a welcome relief to the harsh buzz-cut affect white men have a need for. I forget that men can look beautiful, in a soft way.

People of the Costanoan Indians were there to show us that they are not extinct, as is popularly believed.

I felt good being there; it felt like a kind of pilgrimage to show support of the truth of what happened to native people when they were invited to the first table of the settlers and pilgrims. We are not taught in school the whole truth. Yes, the settlers invited the Indians to their table. But it was not what it appeared to be. The other half of the story is that the Indians were massacred, and continued to be at that time, year after year. This is what the American "Thanksgiving" is based on.

When the event was over, t-shirts were sold. I bought one that was black, with the word "Thanksgiving" written across the front in red letters, dripping with red to symbolize blood. On the back, the shirt says, "This Thanksgiving I wanted to thank you for: -"Discoverying" us, -Stealing our land, -Raping the women, -Killing us "in the name of GOD", -Sharing with us your diseases, -Writing OUR history, -Taking us from our traditions, -Teaching us to be like you, -Giving me my name, -Poisoning our Mother Earth, -And, most importantly, celebrating this day!

I went into a restaurant after the event to have breakfast, and a native woman wearing this t-shirt walked in with her family. I had to go over to her and thank her for wearing it in public, and she smiled tenderly and held my hand. I have known for a long time that Thanksgiving is a day of mourning for The People. After being there, I became even more aware of my privilege as a white person. I gave up celebrating the patriarchal Thanksgiving long ago and have taught my family that we gather to give thanks, not to honor the founding fathers of this country or the pilgrims. I also taught them about how The People feel about this day, and we honor them at our table.

There was also something else I experienced at this event -- the male domination and the invisibility of the women. There were mostly male speakers, male drummers, male dancers and singers. In this way, these native men were privileged. The spiritual invocation they made was to the Grandfather, giver of life. I am sorry, but males simply do not give life. I can respect the Grandfather energy, but not as the giver of life. This is my issue -- women's invisibility, and hence, the invisibility of the Goddess, or Grandmother, or Cosmic Mother, who DOES give life. It does not matter to me where I am or what the cause is that I might be supporting. It is my opinion that women's invisibility and the invisibility of the Goddess contribute greatly to all the suffering on this planet. While racism was obviously on the table at this event, sexism was not, once again. I find this to be an extraordinary reality.

As I listened to a male elder talk about genocide, I wanted to talk about gynocide. As I heard him talk about what was taken away from the native people, I wanted to talk about what was taken away from women in Europe before the white male elite came to this land and took from the native people. As I heard him invoke "Grandfather" I wanted to invoke "Grandmother", She who gives life and nurtures all life. As I heard more men talk, I wanted to hear and see and hear women talk. I wanted to hear their voices and receive their heart wisdom. I felt a longing to be nurtured by the mothers of this land. As I heard the loud drumming and chanting of male voices, I wanted to hear the softer drumming of women, and the soothing sounds of women's voices because I knew if I could hear them, the ancient voices of all the mothers would join in a chorus of prayer and healing and that warmth would enter our hearts. The voices of the Grandmothers are desperately needed. As I watched the male dancers take up space, albeit beautiful in their brilliant colored costumes, I found myself searching the dancers to see if there were any women, and then when I saw them, I hoped they would have as much time to take up as much space as the men, which did not happen.

I wondered what would happen if I wanted to create a t-shirt with "christianity" or "patriarchy" written across the front, dripping in red color with a statement on the back that read "let me tell you what your domination has done for me: -Supplanted the name of the Mother with "Father" as birthgiver, -Raped me, my daughters, and my daughters' daughters as an act of power, -Taken me away from my culture and healing ways, -Stolen my knowledge, created institutions to teach it and forbade me to attend, -Projected your fear of my power onto me and murdered millions of my sisters because of it, -Written OUR herstory, -Rendered me invisible and expendable in every conceivable way, -Instituted the BONDS of marriage to own me and my children as property, -Hated me for being female," and the list could go on and on. Do you think I could wear this t-shirt in public? Would you? Could I wear this at the event I attended with the native peoples?

One of the male elders spoke and said that white America had designated Alcatraz as "surplus property." He said there is no such thing, and that what is surplus is whites. I wondered what he would have thought if I told him that I thought men were surplus --cross-culturally. I am not saying that men don't need to be here. I am saying that they need to stop dominating and surrender to women. How most men are in the world today is what I am referring to as "surplus", even these native men, whom I was able to appreciate more easily because of their connectedness to the earth. They still took up more space than they should have -- hence, surplus.

Later on, after the circle was closed, when people were gathering to meet the ferries to take us back across the water to the dock in San Francisco, a gentle drumming began, and the strong soft voices of women began to fill the air. I felt like a sweet incense was wafting through the crowd, soothing our spirits. But it was after the event. Their much-needed presence could only really be felt outside the circle. At least it was there. But this is not good enough. Do not get me wrong. I do not hate men. I think for anyone to accuse me of this is simply utilizing a tactic to make me wrong and to divert me from speaking my truth. Naming is not the same as blaming. Many people confuse the two. I choose to fiercely name what I see. I am not afraid to do so. I would like to see us begin to celebrate holy days that include the Goddess and the Sacred Feminine, the Divine Mother. I know that many people do in the privacy of their own space, but I mean mainstream. It is time. The only way I know how to start this is to speak up when I have the opportunity to make change. After all, some Native People recognize the deity Changing Woman as She who is the weaver of the tapestry of all life. May She be seen for who She is and may her Spirit rise like the sun. May Her warmth succor the sweet tenderness that waits within each heart to grow. So be it.