Columbus Day: A History of Myth, Misunderstanding, and Indigenous Perspectives

Every second Monday in October, the United States observes a federal holiday that has become increasingly controversial. Columbus Day, established to honor Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas, tells a story that is far more complex (and troubling)  than the heroic narrative many Americans learned in school. At the heart of this complexity lies a profound irony: Columbus died believing he had reached Asia, never realizing he had encountered two continents previously unknown to Europeans, and the Indigenous peoples he met paid a catastrophic price for his confusion.

The Man Who Didn't Know Where He Was

Christopher Columbus was a skilled navigator with an audacious plan and a significant mathematical error. He believed he could reach the wealthy markets of Asia, specifically the Indies, China, and Japan, by sailing west across the Atlantic. The problem was that Columbus dramatically underestimated the Earth's circumference. He thought Asia was roughly 3,000 miles west of Europe; in reality, it's about 12,000 miles away.

When Columbus landed in the Bahamas on October 12, 1492, after his first voyage across the Atlantic, he was convinced he had reached islands off the coast of Asia. This is why he called the Indigenous people he encountered "Indians," he believed he was in or near India. Even as he explored the Caribbean islands and parts of Central and South America over four subsequent voyages, Columbus stubbornly insisted he had reached the eastern edge of Asia.

He spent the rest of his life defending this claim, even as evidence mounted against it. Columbus called the Caribbean islands the "West Indies" and searched desperately for the wealthy Asian kingdoms described by Marco Polo. He never found them because they were thousands of miles away across another ocean he never knew existed: the Pacific.

The People He "Discovered"

The greatest tragedy of Columbus's geographical confusion was its impact on the Indigenous peoples of the Americas. When Columbus arrived, the Western Hemisphere was home to millions of people across hundreds of distinct cultures, languages, and civilizations. The Taíno people of the Caribbean, whom Columbus first encountered, had developed sophisticated agricultural systems, complex social structures, and rich cultural traditions over thousands of years.

Columbus's initial impressions of the Taíno were tinged with condescension and calculation. In his journal, he noted that they were generous, peaceful, and "could easily be commanded and made to work, to sow and do whatever might be needed." He saw them not as people with their own right to their lands and lives, but as potential servants and obstacles to acquiring gold.

The consequences were catastrophic. Columbus and the Spanish colonizers who followed brought violence, enslavement, and European diseases to which Indigenous peoples had no immunity. Within a few decades of Columbus's arrival, the Taíno population of Hispaniola (modern-day Haiti and Dominican Republic) collapsed from hundreds of thousands (possibly millions) to near extinction. Similar devastations occurred throughout the Americas as European colonization spread.

Columbus himself established brutal systems of forced labor, requiring Indigenous people to provide gold quotas or face severe punishment, including mutilation and death. Those who resisted were met with shocking violence. The encomienda system he initiated essentially enslaved Indigenous populations. These weren't the actions of a mere explorer; they were the beginning of genocide.

How Columbus Became an American Icon

Given this history, how did Columbus become celebrated with a federal holiday in the United States? The answer reveals much about American identity, immigration, and selective memory.

Columbus wasn't particularly celebrated in early American history. The founding fathers rarely mentioned him, and there was no rush to honor his legacy. The transformation of Columbus into an American icon began in the late 18th and early 19th centuries as the new nation sought historical figures to unite its diverse population. "Columbia" became a poetic name for America, and Columbus was reimagined as a symbol of exploration and the "discovery" of the New World.

The real push for Columbus Day came in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, driven largely by Italian-American and Catholic communities. Italian immigrants faced significant discrimination in America, and they embraced Columbus, an Italian sailing for Spain, as a way to assert their place in American society and demonstrate that Italians had contributed to America's founding story.

The Knights of Columbus, a Catholic fraternal organization founded in 1882, championed Columbus as a Catholic hero at a time when anti-Catholic sentiment was strong in America. Various cities and states began celebrating Columbus Day, and in 1937, President Franklin D. Roosevelt proclaimed it a federal holiday, largely in response to lobbying by these groups and as a gesture of inclusion toward Italian-Americans and Catholics.

The Myth vs. The Reality

The Columbus celebrated in American schools for generations bore little resemblance to the historical figure. The mythical Columbus was a visionary hero who "discovered" America, proved the Earth was round (educated people already knew this), and opened the New World to European civilization. This narrative served nationalist purposes but erased Indigenous peoples and whitewashed the violence of colonization.

The reality is far more complex. Columbus was courageous and determined, but also brutal, greedy, and incompetent as a governor. He wasn't the first European to reach the Americas, the Vikings had arrived centuries earlier. He didn't "discover" anything: millions of people already lived here. And his arrival initiated one of the greatest demographic catastrophes in human history.

From the Indigenous perspective, Columbus's arrival marked the beginning of an ongoing tragedy: the loss of lands, lives, languages, cultures, and sovereignty. Estimates suggest that 90% or more of the Indigenous population of the Americas died in the century following European contact, primarily from disease but also from violence, enslavement, and the destruction of food systems. Entire civilizations disappeared. Cultural knowledge accumulated over millennia was lost.

The Movement for Indigenous Peoples' Day

In recent decades, there has been a growing movement to replace Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples' Day. South Dakota was the first state to make the switch in 1989, renaming it Native American Day. Berkeley, California, became the first city to adopt Indigenous Peoples' Day in 1992, the 500th anniversary of Columbus's landing, a year that saw significant Indigenous protest and activism.

Since then, the movement has accelerated. Dozens of cities and states now observe Indigenous Peoples' Day instead of or alongside Columbus Day. In 2021, President Joe Biden became the first U.S. president to formally recognize Indigenous Peoples' Day, though Columbus Day remains a federal holiday.

Advocates for Indigenous Peoples' Day argue that it's time to stop celebrating a man whose legacy includes genocide and to instead honor the resilience, cultures, and contributions of Indigenous peoples who survived centuries of colonization and continue to thrive today. They point out that Indigenous peoples have shaped American history, culture, and geography in profound ways that deserve recognition.

Opponents of the change, particularly some Italian-American groups, argue that Columbus Day represents Italian-American heritage and that changing it erases their history. Many supporters of Indigenous Peoples' Day respond that Italian-American contributions can be celebrated in ways that don't also celebrate colonization and genocide, and that some Italian-American organizations have themselves embraced the change.

A More Honest Reckoning

The debate over Columbus Day reflects larger questions about how we tell American history. For too long, that history has been told primarily from the perspective of European colonizers, treating Indigenous peoples as footnotes or obstacles to "progress" rather than as peoples with their own histories, perspectives, and rights.

A more honest reckoning with Columbus acknowledges the full scope of his legacy. He was a navigator who undertook dangerous voyages across an unknown ocean. He also initiated processes that led to the deaths of millions and the destruction of countless cultures. He changed world history in profound ways, not all of them positive, and many of them catastrophic for Indigenous peoples.

The irony is that Columbus himself never understood his own legacy. He died in 1506, still insisting he had reached Asia, never knowing he had stumbled upon two continents that would be named for someone else: Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian explorer who recognized that these lands were not Asia but a "New World" entirely. Columbus couldn't see what was right in front of him, perhaps the perfect metaphor for how American history has often treated Indigenous peoples: present but unacknowledged, here first but called foreigners in their own lands.

Moving Forward

As we continue to debate how and whether to observe Columbus Day, we have an opportunity to engage with history more honestly and inclusively. This doesn't mean erasing Columbus from history, understanding his voyages and their consequences is essential to understanding the modern world. But it does mean contextualizing his legacy honestly and centering the experiences of Indigenous peoples who bore the brunt of European colonization.

Indigenous Peoples' Day offers a chance to recognize that American history didn't begin in 1492, that the hemisphere Columbus reached was not empty but full of peoples with rich cultures and complex societies. It's an opportunity to acknowledge both the historical trauma inflicted on Indigenous communities and their ongoing contributions to American life. It's a chance to teach a more complete history that includes multiple perspectives rather than a single triumphalist narrative.

The story of Columbus, the man who thought he was in Asia, reminds us that sometimes the most confident assumptions are the most wrong, and that the consequences of those mistakes can echo through centuries. As we reflect on this history, we might ask ourselves: What are we still not seeing clearly? Whose voices are we still not hearing? And what would a more complete and honest American history look like?

The answer begins with listening to Indigenous peoples themselves, honoring their perspectives, and acknowledging that the history of the Americas didn't begin with European arrival: it begins with the peoples who have always been here.

And if you're interested in reading more about Native History, we have some great books to start with. Click here to learn more.