4th of July 2007
4 July 2007
Philadelphia, PA
Of all there is to like about the 4th of July (and there still are a few things left), the one that stands out above all others for me is that this day celebrates a national conversation that led to a good bit of writing.
Other countries – some much older than ours ¬– trace their origins to a decisive battle. In England one can make a solid case (as my friend, Barry Coleman, did on one spectacularly beautiful summer day as we walked across a lush field) that the England we know today can trace its origin to the Battle of Naseby in Northamptonshire. France to the great upheaval in the first, riotous days of the Revolution. Germany, well I have no idea where to stake out the beginnings of modern Germany, but I suspect it was also a battle with a remarkable amount of bloodshed.
This United States, though, traces its beginning to a one page divorce decree. A document in the form of the most powerful kind of speech that can be captured in the written page – a declaration. Declarations draw their power from the fact that they stand alone on their own truth with no referent. Our independence is so because we declare it to be so. Jefferson did not offer an explanation that we are now free because of this or that. Rather he declared such causes. His language was descriptive, almost matter of fact:
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
Library bookshelves are crammed with treatises, almost theological in their reverence and careful attention to each word of the document. So I have nothing of consequence to add to the profound and inspiring words from the Founders. Instead, my thoughts today have settled on the conversation and dialogue that came before. And what I am taken by is how transparent it all seems now. How each held a position, and was eager to claim it. How much we know of the whole deliberative process because so much was recorded during the days and weeks of that dreadfully hot early summer heading into July. We know of the remarkable agreements they made that bind us still, and later the shameful compromises that to this day leave a bitter aftertaste. Yet, so much was out in the open. So little classified, and codified. So little sealed and sanctified.
Jefferson’s ability to write plainly and clearly spoke of a curious mind that went to the nub of the matter.
The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.
Then he makes out his laundry list of grievances. A few ripe cherries:
He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good…He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records…
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers. He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices…
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power…
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences…
A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people…
Oh that we would have such a list maker today! And imagine what this country would be like if we could have a national conversation to match the one created by those fifty-six delegates to the Second Continental Congress. Then imagine leaders so devoid of cynicism that they willingly risked not only their lives and fortunes, but the lives of their families as well.
I suspect that, without such conversations, there can only be cynicism, cronyism and greed.
Finally, though, this morning my thoughts turn to a small piece of real estate here in Philadelphia just a few blocks from where that declaration was made. My favorite spot in the city actually – originally called Southeast Square. It is worth noting that much of this country is the result of various real estate deals. Stories abound of kings granting lands they did not own to loyal subjects often not all that loyal, and Native Americans happily trading real estate that they knew none can own to businessmen who no doubt thought they had bested the deal. A few of these stories may even be true.
One real estate story is true. Well before such notions as open space trusts and nature conservancies, and early on in the planning of the city, these new Philadelphians set aside five squares of open space centrally situated on the grid that became the blueprint for modern Philadelphia. Each bore its geographical reference to “Center Square”, which eventually became the site of City Hall. Much later, each of the four was given a name to remember an important figure – Logan (NW), Rittenhouse (SW), Franklin (NE) and Washington (SE). Southeast Square became Washington Square.
This is my favorite square because it more than any place I know sits in silent witness to so much that occurred after that particular 4th of July two hundred and thirty-one years ago. There are some who say that Washington Square is our first national cemetery. Their case for this is a good one. Beneath the generous plaza and inviting park benches lie the bodies of as many as three thousand American soldiers. Some died of battle wounds in nearby hospitals. Many died in a British Abu Ghraib of the time, where they were treated harshly. (Lest we too quickly claim the moral high ground, we must recall that, when the Americans took over the prison, British soldiers fared no better.)
Years later, as the country grew and matured, it suffered a terrible plague of yellow fever, the HIV of that day. Again Southeast Square became a field of open trenches filled with bodies no one wanted to touch. And then still later, the city leaders wanted to “beautify” the square. After World War II a new monument to Washington was added. It is a wonderful statue of Washington looking across the square in the direction of Independence Hall, as if keeping vigil on where it all began.
And then an idea emerged to also build a monument to the fallen soldiers who still claimed this square as their own. So they built the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier that lies just beneath Washington’s statue. The designers were thoughtful enough to add stone benches at the soldier’s head and feet. And this became my favorite place within a favorite place to sit and rest and watch the flickering eternal flame, and think about sacrifice and hope, about the dreadful power of the written word held true, about what was done here, and about what still needs doing.
The final reason this place within a place is my favorite place is because the soldier who lies there truly is unknown, or as some would say, known only to God. You see, as the tomb was being erected, the archeologists went looking for the body of an American soldier buried in the square, but they came upon many civilian bodies all mixed in. Finally, they found the body of a young soldier in his twenties with what appeared to be a musket ball wound to the head. So, he was their man. Just one small thing. They could not be sure if he was an American, or a British soldier.
And so the deeper meditation for me, when I sit next to the remains of this one unknown, but not unremembered, I am reminded that enemies on this 4th of July are allies tomorrow, and how well the dead accept the uncertainties of the future, just as easily as they accommodate their neighbors in the square – both the living and the dead.
Be well, and be careful out there.