For six years in the early ’80s, as a local reporter in Los Angeles, every Thanksgiving I had to go to the Los Angeles Mission to do a story. The focus was usually on the turkey dinner or lunch that was prepared for the homeless: Who volunteered? Who donated the food? What did it mean to them? More often than not, the answer to this last question was “It’s turkey day.”
Even back then, many of the homeless who found food and refuge in the mission were immigrants from south of the border. They spoke no English and had rarely been able to feast on an elaborate menu like turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, green-bean casserole, corn bread and pumpkin pie. Even though it varied so much from the food they were used to eating, they tried to relate to the American tradition. They were thankful for the meal, and if you added a jalapeño pepper they might be able to relate even more.
These days, there are millions of Latino households that will be coming up with their own elaborate Thanksgiving menu. They might be adding some rice and beans, yuca with garlic mojo, gallo pinto, tamales, and perhaps they’ll have some churros with hot chocolate after the pumpkin pie. Pilgrims and Indians might never have thought of soaking the turkey in mole sauce or having some chipotle mashed potatoes on the side, but I bet they’d be licking their fingers after eating it if they did. How about leftover turkey tacos? Yum.
But enough about food. Thanksgiving is one American tradition that is embraced by most immigrants, no matter where they came from. The celebration is, after all, based on this country’s tradition of welcoming immigrants and helping them assimilate. Back in the 1620s, the pilgrims were not just thankful to God for a plentiful harvest, but also to Native Americans for their hospitality and for teaching them to grow their own crops.
It’s really ironic how almost 400 years later we can draw some parallels in the relationship between new settlers and American natives, except the roles might be reversed. It is descendants of immigrants who are now the natives of this land, and the recently arrived immigrants are the ones who, in many instances, plant the crops and then pick the harvest.
That congeniality between pilgrims and Indians during the famous dinner in Plymouth, Mass. -- which later became the symbol for Thanksgiving -- is noticeably missing these days. The anti-immigrant sentiment displayed across the country in small municipalities that attempt to prevent immigrants from getting jobs and renting housing, and among elected officials who would prefer to build walls rather than bridges, differs sharply from the spirit of Thanksgiving. Yes, there might have been some mutual distrust among pilgrims and Indians back then, but they were able to put their conflicts aside and break bread together. You’d hope we would have matured as a country since then and would be able to respect our differences and celebrate our similarities.
No matter what spices they put on their turkey, immigrants are thankful for the opportunity to work, make a better life for themselves, learn a new language, practice new traditions and enjoy a hearty meal. Buen apetito!

 ***

(Maria Elena Salinas is the author of “I AM MY FATHER’S DAUGHTER: LIVING A LIFE WITHOUT SECRETS.” Reach her at www
.mariaesalinas.com)