
Here's how the Revolutionary War started in Massachusetts 250 years ago
It began with the "Shot heard 'round the world" on April 19, 1775 in Lexington and it marked the end of a decade of simmering tension between the colonies and Britain.
You could say it started in 1763 over a cup of coffee. Following the French and Indian War, the English monarchy was heavily in debt. King George III imposed the Sugar Act, which taxed foreign imports of sugar and molasses. It also levied taxes on other items, like coffee.
This riled colonists but the king wasn't done. In 1765 came the Stamp Act. This was a tax on any printed material in the form of a stamp. Newspapers, pamphlets even playing cards all had to have the stamp, and that cost money.
By this time, the colonists had had enough. They started organizing in places like the Green Dragon Tavern in downtown Boston.
"Sam Adams, John Hancock, Paul Revere. They all met in the Green Dragon, and they had a secret society, the Sons of Liberty," explains Noelle Somers, whose family now owns the cozy pub.
The original location was on Union Street, but the current Dragon on Marshall Street is a page from another century. It was in places like this where the idea of revolution took shape. It was also convenient for gathering intelligence on British troops.
"The bar was an English bar, a British bar and the redcoats would come and enjoy a pint and discuss what was coming," said Somers.
It was after this that the rallying cry "No taxation of representation" was adopted. Resistance was so strong, the king repealed the Stamp Act a year later. To reassert sovereignty, George III legislated the Declaratory Act in 1766, which affirmed England's absolute right to rule over the colonies and tax them as it wished. The Townshend Act followed, which was a series of taxes on all manner of items. It was meant to raise more revenue for England but also raised tensions.
On March 5, 1770, emotions bubbled over. Boston locals and English troops got into a confrontation, leading to the Boston Massacre.
"It's chaos. With the firing, the crowd calms down of course. There are three people dead in the street, a couple others mortally wounded," explained Dr. Robert Allison of Suffolk University, an expert on the Revolutionary War.
Five people were killed, six were wounded. The greatest impact, however, was how colonials used it as propaganda and a rallying cry against British rule.
"Samuel Adams always said, 'Putting your enemy in the wrong and keeping him in the wrong is a good lesson,'" said Allison.
The massacre was largely an organic event. Three years later, another watershed moment took place after weeks of planning.
"We look at it as the single most important event leading up to the American Revolution," said Evan O'Brien, the creative services director of the Tea Party Ships & Museum in Boston.
Between 100 and 150 people took part in what was the worst kept secret in town. More than 1,000 came to watch.
"A combination of regular townsfolk, the Sons of Liberty, people from of all different backgrounds and classes all came down, right to this location on Griffin's Wharf," said O'Brien.
Just like that, 92,000 pounds of tea went overboard and the Boston Tea Party became legend.
King George III was livid. In the spring of 1774, he passed the Intolerable Acts. It closed down Boston Harbor and limited self-governance in Massachusetts.
The colonists responded. In the fall of that year, the Continental Congress was formed. They outlined their grievances, organized resistance and prepared for the inevitability of conflict.
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New York Post
15 minutes ago
- New York Post
James Carville says Dems should ‘kick the s— out of' JD Vance over England vacation
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Atlantic
an hour ago
- Atlantic
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And the plans, though never approved by Congress or the president, were not merely theoretical—the U.S. built air bases, camouflaged as civilian airfields, along the Canadian border. Only after the threat of Nazism emerged in the mid-1930s was War Plan Red quietly shelved. It was not declassified until the 1970s. War Plan Red's existence is a useful reminder that so much of what people assume to be the granite-like permanence of the postwar transatlantic community—forged by the horrors of the Second World War and the exigencies of the Cold War—is in fact more recent and, as we are now discovering, more fragile. The misty-eyed nostalgia for a yesteryear of American and European unity has always been based on sentiment as much as reality. 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In addition to delivering a familiar critique of Europe's sluggish and overregulated economy, the speeches signaled a willingness to use American power—and European dependency on that power—to interfere in Europe's internal democratic politics: 'The threat that I worry the most about vis-à-vis Europe is not Russia; it's not China; it's not any other external actor,' Vance said in Munich. 'What I worry about is the threat from within.' After Vance endorsed Germany's far-right AfD party and met its leader in the run-up to the German election, Chancellor Friedrich Merz did not mince his words: 'The interventions from Washington were no less dramatic and drastic and ultimately outrageous than the interventions we have seen from Moscow.' 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Everyday travelers to America now nervously expunge anything from their social-media feeds that could be interpreted as criticism of the Trump administration for fear of being arraigned at the border. So much for free speech. For all the flaws in Europe's approach to free expression, European universities do not typically advise American and other foreign students to delete private messages for fear of attracting the attention of the authorities. Yet Europeans would be well advised to recognize that there is a significant kernel of truth in some of the critiques. Recent EU laws governing online content are a sprawling mess, seem unlikely to fix the internet's problems, and risk creating structures that can be used to suppress legitimate debate. 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America's basic message to Europe of late has been: You're on your own. From now on, don't expect too much help from us. The fact that a bus load of European leaders had to surround Trump to extract the hitherto wholly uncontroversial idea that the U.S. might play some role—with no boots on the ground—to guarantee Ukraine's future security, is a sign of how far things have changed. But this logic goes both ways. In the coming years, it will become more difficult for Washington to insist that Europe follows its lead in isolating and weakening China, especially if doing so harms European prosperity. If the U.S. is ever more ambivalent to the Russian threat on Europe's doorstep—especially if any peace deal in Ukraine gives Putin a free hand to destabilize or reinvade the country in the future—and continues to interfere in European elections while hitting Europeans with tariffs, European governments will have difficulty explaining to voters why they should go out of their way to help Uncle Sam in its rivalry with Beijing. In all of this, the inescapable facts of geography appear to be reasserting themselves. Europe does not face Asia across the Pacific. Russian tanks will never roll onto American soil. Of the two continents, America is blessed with the most benign geographical inheritance: a young continent-size nation, shielded by two vast oceans on either side, with mostly pliant neighbors to the north and south and a national history free of external invasion (though of course not without foreign attacks), one that has skillfully ridden its natural advantage to a hegemonic position and now stands without equal. Compare that with the cluttered old patchwork of middling and small nations—with different ethnic, religious, and linguistic identities stretching back millennia—living cheek by jowl in a crowded continent in a risky neighborhood. To most Americans, conflicts in the Middle East are a distant tragedy; to Europeans, they are next door. Russia is ever menacing; a land war rages in the heart of the continent; and handling mass migration across the Mediterranean from Africa continues to divide European governments. Europe is simply more precariously located than many Americans appreciate. Today's shift in American politics marks a new chapter in the diverging histories of our two continents. It is no passing mood, much though Trump's critics might wish otherwise. A significant portion of the American voting public supports the newly assertive 'America First' worldview. This will not disappear overnight, nor will the growing distance between Europe and America. And that is perhaps the most important lesson of all: Rather than being mugged by the surprise discovery that we are very different, maybe a more mature transatlantic relationship going forward will acknowledge and even celebrate those differences. There is no reason why we cannot have a productive relationship—geopolitically, economically, culturally—despite them. The answer to the ineluctable distance between the lives and perspectives of our citizens is not to throw up our hands in horror but to look for the places where our interests ought to overlap—we are both continents born of the Enlightenment, and rooted in democracy, after all—and find ways to work together toward tangible goals without the emotional baggage that accompanies a forced sense of kinship. Finding a new equilibrium will require a measure of humility on both sides of the pond. Trump, Vance, and their colleagues should cease believing—unlikely though that currently seems—that 'America First' must be 'America Everywhere,' as if Europe should be brought to heel by emulating the one-eyed view of 'freedom' espoused by the hard right in the U.S. And Europeans should stop moping about the fact that the U.S. has chosen a very different trajectory driven by a different worldview, and work instead to strengthen their own continent. Perhaps, like a couple sustaining a marriage which has lost all its early magic, we will both emerge stronger for the realization of a fundamental truth: We're different, and there's nothing wrong in that.

Wall Street Journal
an hour ago
- Wall Street Journal
Owners vs. Players? If Only Both Could Lose.
As a rule, when two parties go to war it's pretty obvious which side you're supposed to root for. Whether it's the ragtag colonists versus the British crown, or Crazy Horse versus George Armstrong Custer, or the doughty Elizabethans versus the Spanish Armada, it doesn't take long to figure out which side to support. By and large it is usually safe in epic conflagrations to root against the Mongols. And I'm not sure how many people would be willing to go to the wall in defense of Hernando Cortés or Francisco Pizarro.