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Washington Post
18-04-2025
- General
- Washington Post
Does the ‘shot heard 'round the world' still echo 250 years later?
In 1775, a violent encounter between British regulars and a group of militiamen on the town green in Lexington, Massachusetts, sparked the American Revolution. Today, both Lexington and the world are very different places. Then, the town had 750 human residents and 400 bovine ones. Today, the population is almost 34,000, 34 percent of whom were born outside the United States. So, what does the 'shot heard 'round the world' mean today? The next stop on our exploration of America's 250th anniversary will be live and in person at Mount Vernon on May 4. To commemorate George Washington's departure to take command of the Continental Army, the Letters and Community team will be giving visitors the opportunity to write to 'His Excellency' about what the country he helped found has become. — Alyssa Rosenberg, letters and community editor The heroes we've forgotten Growing up the son of a career Army officer father and a career educator mother, both of whom love history, I believed I had a firm grasp of American military history. We visited countless battlegrounds, including the site of British Gen. Charles Cornwallis's 1781 surrender to Gen. George Washington in Yorktown, Virginia, and the site of Lt. Gen. John C. Pemberton's 1863 surrender to Maj. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant in Vicksburg, Mississippi. However, it was not until I moved to Lexington and began studying the history of the first day of armed conflict in the Revolutionary War that I realized how much I didn't know and how easily public memory is erased. Until recently, most people in Lexington — and elsewhere — knew only that on April 19, 1775, one Black man from Lexington fought alongside his White neighbors. Prince Estabrook, an enslaved soldier, survived being shot at dawn during the Battle of Lexington, took part in the Battle of Bunker Hill and continued to serve in the Continental Army until 1783. Most people didn't know that there were three Black soldiers from Lexington who fought that April day. The other two were cousins Eli and Silas Burdoo, third-generation freeborn Lexington residents. While getting to know about the Burdoos, I learned that their grandfather attended and voted during Town Meetings; such civic participation was mandatory for yeomen such as Philip Burdoo, who owned a 40-acre homestead. I also discovered that Eli's father, whose mother, Anne, ensured that he and all of his siblings were baptized in the parish church, was a veteran of the French and Indian War, was religious and had good relations with his White comrades in arms. But what about the valiant cousins? Silas, who was probably the last surviving Black soldier of the battles of Lexington and Concord, detailed his military service in his successful pension application. And Eli? The biggest surprise for me was finding Eli's service memorialized on the 1975 bicentennial map of Lexington. Lexington residents at the time thought enough of him to memorialize him, but in less than 50 years, he has faded from memory. It's progress that public memory of the Revolutionary War is expanding to include the Burdoos and other Black patriots. The battle to expand certain liberties began in Lexington. And the struggle to widen our understanding of American history continues in Lexington, too. Sean Osborne, Lexington, Massachusetts The writer is the producer of the YouTube series 'The Black Patriots of Lexington.' Story continues below advertisement Advertisement Now and then I've lived in Lexington for as long as I can remember, but I have never felt very connected to its history. I don't know whether I'm alone in this experience. Perhaps it is because I am the child of immigrants who could never claim to be a descendant of one of the passengers of the Mayflower — something I overheard my classmates discuss with more relish than you might think teenagers would feel. And the modern town that has grown up around the location of the historic shot, from Omar's World of Comics to the ultramodern and bland houses being built behind my own, makes it unusually hard to wrap my head around the profound events that occurred in Lexington. A memorial to the minutemen in Lexington, Massachusetts, circa 1900. (Detroit Publishing Company photograph collection/Library of Congress) But even though I have a hard time envisioning these historic events occurring in my hometown as it is today, sometimes when I wake up early on a mid-April day, smell dew on the green grass of the park and hear the 'shot heard 'round the world' fired again in reenactments, I can feel why Lexington is special. Lexington is more than just a quaint town full of prizewinning academics. We should continue to cherish its history by preserving its lands, historic sites and the feeling you can get only on those April mornings. Sarah Majid, Lexington, Massachusetts The strength of the grass roots In Lexington, we are very proud of our history, being the birthplace of American liberty — whether we have lived here for five years or five generations. Our past reminds us that grass roots can make history. If you have ever seen a reenactment of the first gunshot at Lexington, you'd be impressed by the splendid uniforms of the redcoats. Yet it was the humble militia in shaggy clothes that changed the course of history. I am one of the many first-generation, high-tech immigrants who proudly call Lexington home. We share the same independent spirit and can-do attitude as the brave men and women who fought for the independence of this great country. This highly educated population is very actively engaged in town and state affairs — perhaps a bit too engaged sometimes, as evidenced by our famously lengthy Town Meetings. But I love the fact that we think for ourselves and advocate what we believe in, be it civil rights or environmental issues. Helen Yang, Lexington, Massachusetts Our shared stories matter For much of the past three years, I've traveled across the country working with Americans of every stripe to plan and prepare for our nation's 250th anniversary. In every town, in every conversation, I am asked a version of the same question: How can we rekindle a common sense of purpose in a nation that feels so divided? I believe part of the answer lies in remembering where we started. At the battles of Lexington and Concord, people risked everything, not because they all agreed on every issue, but because they believed in the right to shape their own future. They weren't professional soldiers. They were ordinary people — including farmers, tradesmen and young apprentices — who believed that freedom was worth defending. They were willing to step forward in a time of uncertainty to serve something greater than themselves. Those same qualities are still with us. And as we look ahead to our 250th anniversary, one of the most important things we can do is remember the convictions that still hold us together as Americans. As John Adams wrote in 1777: 'Posterity! You will never know how much it cost the present generation to preserve your freedom. I hope you will make a good use of it.' Lexington and Concord remind us of those costs and of our responsibility to live lives worthy of the sacrifices that shaped our nation. Those moments represent not just the birth of the American Revolution, but also an enduring reminder that we are strongest when we remember our shared story and common purpose. Rosie Rios, Danville, California The writer is chair of America250. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement A family legacy I am a direct descendant of Asa Davis, who fought at the battles of Lexington and Concord, and whose cousin, Capt. Isaac Davis of Acton, Massachusetts, led the fight at the Old North Bridge. Isaac Davis has been quoted as saying, 'I have not a man that is afraid to go.' The captain was the first officer to be killed by the British, and there is a 75-foot-tall obelisk commemorating the battle in Acton, where he was later interred. My mother and sister were Daughters of the American Revolution, and my son, grandson and I have Davis for a middle name. Along with Asa Davis's rifle, powder horn, bullet mold, bullets and leather powder bag, I own a document signed by Francis Bernard, then the governor of Massachusetts, appointing Stephen Gates in 1766 as a captain in the British forces. At that time, a lawless group who called themselves the Sons of Liberty employed brutal and lethal actions against British sympathizers. Gates and his men would be tasked with not only fighting the Continental Army but also dealing with the sabotage efforts of the Sons of Liberty. As much as I am proud of my ancestors, my family connection to the American Revolution also reminds me that there are usually two sides to every conflict. Len Rochette, Newmarket, New Hampshire A homecoming I am a descendant of Black loyalists on both sides of my family. During the Revolutionary War, the British promised land and freedom to enslaved individuals for their help. A lot of slaves and former slaves took them up on this offer, and, in 1783, about 3,000 Black loyalists who had gathered in New York after the end of the war departed America on ships that took them to Nova Scotia as part of a broader loyalist exodus. They were all looking for a better life. Once they arrived, and tried to exist in that cold climate, some found their way back to Africa. Some stayed and made a life for themselves there, and still others found their way back to America. Around 1900, many of my Canadian ancestors returned to the New England area and settled in Massachusetts towns, including Everett, Cambridge and Somerville. As a child, I lived with my family in Medford, near the route where, every year, a Paul Revere reenactor would ride his horse down High Street, yelling, 'To arms, to arms, the redcoats are coming!' My husband and I lived in Lexington for 57 years, and, for a decade, my friends and I collaborated on a festival to celebrate the diversity of the town, to give residents a way to get to know one another, and to learn more about one another's values, customs and foods. I always felt it was necessary for our community to know us so that our family and other families like ours might have a joyful life here and feel safe. What does the Revolutionary War mean to me? It means freedom for some of my ancestors, parents and my more immediate family. My hope, in today's political climate, is that we can all learn from those who went before us. We don't want to go back to life as it was in 1776. I can truthfully say this descendant of Black loyalists has lived safely and mostly joyfully as a patriot in the town of Lexington. Leona W. Martin, Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts Story continues below advertisement Advertisement An ongoing struggle Freedoms we enjoy today, among them speech, press, religion and self-defense, were not handed down gently. They were earned in blood, forged by defiance and passed on to us by those who risked everything for a future they could only imagine. Liberty is not an artifact to be sealed behind glass in a museum or confined to parchment under protective light. In Massachusetts, we take inspiration from a small band of embattled farmers who, 250 years ago, stood firm against the most powerful empire on Earth. And last fall, when Gov. Maura Healey (D) rushed to implement a broad new set of gun regulations before the process of challenging the law by referendum was complete, we felt an echo of the grievances that once brought people together on the Battle Green and the Battle Road. The Civil Rights Coalition is joining with the Combat Veterans Motorcycle Association to retrace Paul Revere's midnight ride on this anniversary. Our warning is different — 'The politicians are coming!' — and so are our mounts. But the broader idea is the same: Rights are not permanent. They survive only when defended — not just with muskets, but also with voices, votes and unyielding resolve. Toby Leary, Barnstable, Massachusetts The writer is chairman of the Civil Rights Coalition.
Washington Post
31-03-2025
- Politics
- Washington Post
‘Liberty or death' wasn't Patrick Henry's most important advice for Americans
On March 23, I went to Historic St. John's Church in Richmond to travel back in time. That Sunday marked the 250th anniversary of Patrick Henry's speech to the Second Virginia Convention. Henry believed war with Britain was inevitable and punctuated his call for Virginia to establish an independent militia with his declaration 'I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!' I wanted to see what it felt like to hear those words from the pews where the delegates would have absorbed them 2½ centuries ago. And in collaboration with St. John's Church, I also wanted to ask attendees what Henry's words mean to them today. The Letters and Community team will be posing questions like these in the run-up to July 4, 2026, the 250th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of the Independence, as America looks back to its founding — and forward, as we consider how those original ideals, conflicts and words carry us into the future. Alyssa Rosenberg, letters and community editor Story continues below advertisement Advertisement The conversation we need We tend to overlook how fraught the Revolutionary period was. Those colonists who spoke for revolution, who otherwise supported and fought for revolution, risked everything. It is hard to fully grasp all they stood to lose: property, stature, livelihood and lives. Everyone understood that the British crown had the money, the power and the army to crush any resistance. We can convince ourselves that such courageous choices in the face of real personal danger were made easier because there was such camaraderie and consensus among the individuals involved. But that is not the real story. There were many bitter rivalries among the principals. Thomas Jefferson was pea-green with envy about Patrick Henry and considered him a braggart who nevertheless could move a crowd. George Mason and George Washington came to disagree intensely about a Bill of Rights for their fledgling nation and went to their dying days never speaking again. Deep divisions existed throughout all the colonies over religion, politics, ethnicity, status and class, slavery. Colonists were divided over whether resistance to the crown, much less revolution, was treasonous. The truth is that the revolutionary movement, like all great movements forward in this country, did not occur because everyone agreed. Great movements forward occur because a common cause becomes more important than individual differences and disappointments. Great courage was required by men such as Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, George Washington, George Mason and James Madison. And so were forbearance and tolerance, patience and perspective. Throughout all time and across the face of the Earth, ours is the only nation not founded on ethnicity or territory or religion. Ours is the only nation in human history founded on ideas, ideals and a system of government. When we do not know our history, when we do not care who or what came before us, when we no longer understand the foundation upon which our nation is built, then we do not know why we are Americans. And our differences — which have always existed — tear us apart, because we have no national identity that holds us together. We must reconnect Americans to who and where we come from. We must reengage Americans who do not think our founding ideals or system of government has anything to do with them. We must reinspire our fellow citizens and remind them what it means to be an American. Carly Fiorina, Lorton, Virginia The writer is the national honorary chair of the Virginia American Revolution 250 Commission. This letter is adapted from her March 23 remarks at Historic St. John's Church. A forgotten line I had the privilege of portraying Patrick Henry at our reenactment of the Second Virginia Convention at Historic St. John's Church on March 23. One of the lessons that I and others in the cast hope to impart to our audiences is reflected in the first line of Henry's speech: 'No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as the abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house.' The delegates at the convention engaged in a civil but passionate debate on Henry's resolutions to create a militia. The delegates respected one another, recognizing that all of them, even the ones who did not support Henry's resolutions, were patriots risking their lives and property simply by being present. In my opinion, civil and respectful debate is lacking in today's political discourse. I and other cast members hope the audience understood that there was a time when big ideas were discussed and debated openly without personally offending or belittling people on the other side. Henry believed it was his duty to express his opinion. He stated that otherwise, he would consider himself 'guilty of treason toward [his] country and an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven,' whom he revered above 'all earthly kings.' Anyone who was offended by the peaceful demonstrators who stationed themselves on the streets outside the church and on the church grounds during the reenactment and commemoration to express their opinions about how they want to be governed might have missed the point of Henry's speech: It is our duty to be active and engaged citizens to maintain our republic and not return to a monarchy, as Benjamin Franklin cautioned in 1787 after he signed the Constitution. Witnessing the peaceful and passionate demonstration before entering the church to recreate a 250-year-old moment and speaking to attendees and others after the presentation left me hopeful that Americans are still ready to fulfill that obligation. Christopher Dunn, Richmond Story continues below advertisement Advertisement The fight for freedom That speech means the same thing to me today as the original meant to Patrick Henry 250 years ago. We the people have an obligation to defend our rights when they are being trampled on. Thank God that we don't have to do it with bayonets and muskets anymore! We are free Americans! We do it through the peaceful protests I saw outside the church, through the respectful speeches and reenactment I saw inside the church, and most important, through the ballot box. God bless America! William Benedetti, Midlothian, Virginia Freedom was very important to Patrick Henry, who lived in a time with a lot of self-governance and liked it. Unfortunately, people today take freedom for granted. Henry knew it would be very valuable, and needed to be nourished and protected vigilantly. We need to be reminded that freedom is not free. Doug Rucker, Richmond Patrick Henry was willing to take great risk and make sacrifices for the cause of liberty, and thus he played a major role in the birth of this nation. It inspires me to ask: Do we have the same courage today to stand up for liberty? H. Benson Dendy III, Richmond The writer is a member of the Virginia American Revolution 250 Commission. The leaders we miss On March 23, 1775, Patrick Henry and some of the delegates to the Second Virginia Convention knew the war had already started; others, such as Edmund Pendleton, were urging patience. Henry spoke directly about the threat of tyranny. He embraced that Boston's fight was Virginia's fight. He inspired delegates to act in the name of their fledgling country. Today, a conflict is underway. It seems so sad that our leaders, whether Democratic or Republican, lack the individual courage to act with the resolve and clarity Henry displayed. Collectively, they act like sheep running to the shepherd or away from the wolf. Ultimately, the shepherd might want to eat his lambs for dinner. And the wolf might want the warmth or company of another being. These are sad times. Billy McGuire, Manakin Sabot, Virginia Story continues below advertisement Advertisement A forgotten legacy Patrick Henry's famous speech was certainly a rouser. In the Virginia history textbook I studied in my seventh-grade public school more than 60 years ago, Henry was depicted as a great hero. But it's interesting that the speech is probably a reconstructed pastiche. One line of the peroration, though unattributed, is probably borrowed, whether by Henry himself or the people who reconstructed his speech after the fact: 'Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace — but there is no peace.' This is an almost verbatim echo of two prophets of the Hebrew Bible, Jeremiah and Ezekiel. But it might be too harsh to call Henry a plagiarist. He tended to wear his religion on his sleeve, to the irritation of Thomas Jefferson, drafter of the bill that became the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom. Jefferson said his bill attempted to assure religious liberty to 'the Jew, the Gentile, the Christian, the Mahometan, the Hindoo, and [the] infidel of every denomination.' The legislation barred compelled worship, religious discrimination and public funding of religion. Henry in turn offered a bill that would have provided tax funding for 'Teachers of the Christian Religion,' though taxpayers would have been able to select the recipients of their taxes. Jefferson's ally James Madison secured passage of Jefferson's bill in the legislature. Jefferson was so proud of his statute that he named it on his tombstone as one of his three greatest accomplishments. It remains in the Virginia law books today, while Henry's famous speech is shrouded in doubt. And what might the Prince of Peace have thought of his would-be promoter's warmongering, even in service of independence? I'll go with Jefferson and real religious liberty for all. Tom Edmondson, Alexandria
