Happy 250th to the Declaration's (Relatively) Chill Pre-Party
The First Congress isn't just a footnote in the saga of independence. Promise.
UPCOMING EVENTS
Monday, Sep 16 2024, 6:30 pm – 8:00 pm.
ON A SOMEWHAT RELATED NOTE
Tim Walz’s Veep character is obvious.
ON A SOMEWHAT RELATED NOTE TO THE PREVIOUS SOMEWHAT RELATED NOTE
HAPPY 250TH TO THE DECLARATION’S (RELATIVELY) CHILL PRE-PARTY
King George is remembered as the man who lost America, but in the September/October print edition of Smithsonian Magazine, I argue that Parliament deserves that (dis)honor.
I realize an essay on the First Continental Congress is going to be a hard sell, so here’s my news peg up top: As Trump’s followers threaten another revolution, the First Continental Congress stands in stark contrast to the January 6th insurrection—which caused about $2.7 billion in costs and resulted in assaults on at least 174 police officers and the deaths of seven people.
The First Continental Congress reminds us of the cautious steps that precede overt rebellion, and the nuanced human emotions and calculated risks that underpin monumental historical shifts. The Congress did not merely pave the way for the Declaration of Independence that followed; it laid the emotional and intellectual groundwork for the conception of an independent American identity.
In the artful dance of power and persuasion seen at the First Continental Congress, we observe not just the seeds of American independence, but the deep human complexities that would define the Revolutionary spirit. The Congress isn’t a footnote in the saga of independence, but a spotlight on the profound struggle between power, place, and principle that continues to shape America.
Imagine this scene: In the fall of 1774, 56 British subjects, many of whom had never left their colonies—or collaborated with another colony—arrive in Philadelphia by foot, horseback and carriage. So different and isolated were they, by British design, that they had different currency, customs, and other things that start with “c.” In their varied dress, accents, and manners, these delegates formed a mosaic of the burgeoning American identity.
A series of punitive laws from Britain, known collectively as the Coercive Acts, designed to quash the rebellious spirit growing in Boston following the Tea Party, brought them together. The severity of these acts had alarmed the colonies, sparking a realization that the threat to their autonomy was not a distant possibility, but a looming certainty. It was this threat that drew from each corner of the continent those who might otherwise have remained foes, competitors, or strangers, uniting them in a common cause.
But it wasn’t, they believed, King George’s fault! Most delegates, like most colonists in America, believed the king loved them. They bamed his corrupt advisors for the oppressive measures. This nuanced allegiance characterized the initial attitudes of those gathering at the First Continental Congress—a complex weave of loyalty and discontent, pushing the delegates toward the delicate task of asserting rights while maintaining allegiance to the Crown.
The First Continental Congress was not merely a gathering; it was a turning point. The delegates debated with a sense of urgency and pragmatism. Gradually, the Congress moved toward more radical positions, not from a desire for revolution, but from the necessity of defending existing rights. They drafted the Declaration of Rights, which reflected a collective Colonial response that sought to redress grievances while perhaps still hoping for reconciliation.
Delegates left Philadelphia with resolutions but entered a period of uncertainty, their unity fragile and their future actions contingent on the Crown’s response.
As I wrote in the magazine, the King did not come through:
All hope of royal intervention and Parliamentary redress was soon dashed. The petition reached George by the end of the year, but he refused to read it—a betrayal that shattered the colonists’ vision of their king and, soon enough, their ties to the empire. Perhaps ironically, the colonists’ widespread love for the man they sometimes called “our common father” had led them to engage in magical thinking: that the king would break with law and custom by overruling Parliament. In fact George’s only constitutional choice was to defer to Parliament on the colonists’ petition, which is precisely what he did—and Parliament pointedly ignored it. Today, he’s remembered as the man who lost America. Really, Parliament deserves that honor.
And as I wrote months ago, had Biden not resigned, he may have been blamed for losing America, too.
So how can you celebrate? Use one or both of these essays to discuss the Congress with undecided voters, if you know any, or have tough conversations with MAGA devotees. Are you registered to vote? Is your neighbor, the one who can’t drive or may need some help getting to the polls? Planning ahead is a great way to celebrate, too.
See you soonish! In the meantime, you can find me on Twitter and Instagram and my books on Bookshop, Amazon, and your local bookstore or library. If you’d like me to sign or personalize my books, purchase copies from Oblong.