King's Survey: Revering Revolution

In which we see opposing sides try to maneuver each other into a tipping point

So it’s not about the money anymore.

—What’s not?

—Duh, Jonah. Where have you been? We’ve been talking about the Revolution.

—Duh, I know, Emily. But what part of it isn’t about the money?

—The whole thing! The laws! The Stamp Act, the whatchamacallit?

—Tea Act.

—Yeah, thanks Yin, the Tea Act. That stuff. The British wanted to pay for the last war. The Americans didn’t want to do it. That’s how we got the Tea Party. The government tried to sell the cheap tea and instead the Americans dumped it in the harbor.

Would you agree, Jonah, that Emily just did a pretty good job of summarizing where we’ve been for the last week or so?

—Yeah, though she doesn’t have to bite my head off about it.

—Em doesn’t bite. She barks.

—Well at least I—

Let’s let Sadie have the last word on that for now. To turn to the topic at hand: as Emily indicated, the Boston Tea Party really changed the equation when it came to the colonies as far as the British government was concerned. After word of it got back to London in early 1774, the British Parliament passed a series of laws they called the Coercive Acts, which the colonists called the Intolerable Acts. One of these laws is the Port Act: the British government ordered the port of Boston closed—the city was effectively shut down and placed under martial law. Another was the Massachusetts Government Act, which effectively placed all government positions under the control of the British. A third was the Administration of Justice Act, under which British officials accused of crimes would be tried in Britain, not the colonies (so much for John Adams and his defense of those soldiers after the Boston Massacre in 1770). A fourth was as stiffening of the Quartering Act, requiring colonials to give soldiers shelter. And then there was the Quebec Act. That was a big deal. It vastly expanded the borders of Canada all the way down to Ohio, and required all the colonials to be more tolerant of French Catholics who were now part of the British Empire. Remember that the Puritans weren’t all that thrilled with the Church of England, which was Protestant. Now they would have to put up with Catholics, too. They were furious.

Here’s what’s important to know. It wasn’t just the people of Boston, or Massachusetts, or New England who were unhappy with the Intolerable Acts. A sense of fear and anger toward Great Britain rippled across the Atlantic seaboard. As we discussed, these people had their own irritations: real estate speculators wanted to move beyond the Appalachian Mountains, and yet were forbidden to do so. Rich Virginia planters hated British banks, and hated selling commodities cheap and buying foreign goods dear. But maybe more than anything, they were appalled and upset by how severely they thought Massachusetts was being treated. Would we be next?

While the other colonies pondered this—and while they began making plans that I’ll be talking about in a moment—Massachusetts was actually getting on with its life. We all know that the Declaration of Independence was written in 1776. In some important respects, though, the colony was already independent by 1774.

—How so? You just said that it was controlled by soldiers. Plus there were all those laws you just reeled off.

That’s a fair question, Adam. It’s a bit of a paradox, I admit. The best way to make sense of it is to remember that from the very start, the New England colonies—to at least some degree, all the colonies—were on their own on the far side of an ocean. Though they all sincerely proclaimed their liberty to Great Britain, and with greater or lesser degrees of enthusiasm professed their loyalty to their governors (some of whom were never even visited the colonies they governed), New England had relatively robust institutions, notably the institution of the town meeting. In terms of customs, churches, and habits that went back 150 years, they were used to making and executing plans. The boycotts were a good example of this. And from there, it was a relatively short step for them to go from organizing a protest to organizing a government. Yes, British soldiers and ships were there (actually, they were kind of bottled up in Boston, which was shaped like a balloon in those days with a thin strip of land connecting it to the rest of Massachusetts), and yes, the imperial government had the courts, the assemblies, all that stuff. But more and more, the colony had its own shadow government, and more and more it was viewed as the real government. This was true from one end of Massachusetts to the to other. And the far side of Massachusetts, the part that bordered Connecticut and New York and Vermont—an ill-defined piece of territory that was being fought over by New York and New Hampshire even as it was beginning to assert its independence from either—were watching what Massachusetts was doing.

Actually, they were doing more than watching. By 1774 there were so-called Committees of Correspondence in all thirteen colonies, which were increasingly taking on governance tasks themselves—and, as their name indicates, were exchanging information about what was going on in the colonies as a whole. These committees would help bring about the First Continental Congress, which met in Philadelphia that fall. (Georgia didn’t send representatives because it was hoping for help from Britain in dealing with Indians.) The First Continental Congress discussed their unhappiness with the Intolerable Acts, and made plans to meet the following year to discuss where they might go from there. It’s important to emphasize that there were plenty of people—Joseph Galloway of Pennsylvania is perhaps the most famous example—who were still hoping to find some way to reconcile with Parliament and the British government as a whole.

By the time the Second Continental Congress met in 1775, however, events would have overtaken such plans. As the year started, Boston was a sea of intrigue. Secret meetings, secret plans, secret, secret, secret. Not to mention that fact that the colonial American society was a gun culture: lots of people had them, and not just for hunting. Able-bodied males had long been obligated to serve in colonial militias: non-professional military organizations that trained periodically to drill and practice and generally be ready in the event of a war or other emergency. Now these militias were organizing to resist British authority—

—Were these the Minutemen?

Yes, Kylie, they were. Meanwhile our friends John Hancock and Sam Adams are continuing their schemes. There are reports that they’re hanging out in Lexington, a few miles outside Boston, where there are reportedly supplies of gunpowder and other military material.

—Why don’t the British just arrest them?

Not so easy. First, you’ve got to find them. And, for that matter, whatever illegal stuff that’s floating around. Second, you’ve got to worry about how the locals will react if you do. Third, you’ve got to worry about your own position in Boston, where, as I’ve said a couple times now, the British are packed like sardines. The commander of the army there—who is now also the governor of the colony, which is under martial law—is a man named Thomas Gage. Gage is by no means a stupid man. He’s got a tough hand to play. And he’s doing the best he can. When he gets those reports about Hancock and Adams in April of 1775, he decides to act.

The question for Gage is how to get to Lexington to bag his prey. But he’s not the only one who has spies. Before too long the colonists know what he knows. Meanwhile, Gage makes his move.

—One if by land and two if by sea!

Good for you, Ethan. And which is it?

—I dunno.

It’s by sea—the British soldiers cross the Charles River. And who sounds the warning?

—PAUL REVERE!

Nice. It appears a bunch of you have actually done the reading.

—I remember it from fifth grade.

Ah. Well. Whatever. So let’s test that memory, Ethan. How does Revere sound that warning?

—From the Old North Church. We went there on a field trip.

—I remember that trip! It was so much fun.

Good. Ethan: Is Revere actually a member of that church?

—How the hell should I know?

Well, you’ve got 50 percent chance of getting it right.

—Why the hell should I know?

Well, I admit it isn’t that important. But I can’t resist noting that the Old North Church was an Anglican Church—a Church of England church. The Brits were increasingly encroaching on Puritan turf in the years before the Revolution. And they were winning converts, too, especially among the economic elite. One more thing for the Patriots to resent. So what is it, Ethan? Was Revere an Anglican or wasn’t he?

—Jesus, Mr. K. No?

Brilliant.

—If he wasn’t a member of the church, how did he get in there?

Great question, Yin. He had a friend who let him in. Revere had a lot of friends. He was one of those people who knows everybody. It made him a great revolutionary. Anyway, as you know, he makes the ride to Lexington—

—The midnight ride.

Right. But never actually makes there. The British intercept him and interrogate him. But he has a co-conspirator, William Dawes, who does get through. Hancock and Adams flee the tavern where they’re staying. And the Minutemen gather on the green just outside that tavern, ready and waiting for the British regulars when they arrive at about four in the morning on April 18, 1775. It’s a moment of high drama, the two sides facing each other on the eve of dawn.

—Here we go.

There we are. Tomorrow.

Next Shots were fired

King's Survey: Hot Tea

In which we see History as a story of intended acts having unintended consequences—and ask how much sympathy we should have for the miscalculators.

 So look: we’ve been discussing this growing tension between the colonies and the British government, specifically Parliament. We talked about the French and Indian War and the costs it generated. We talked about the taxes and the boycotts. I think we should pause here for a minute and ask: Who’s right?

Paolo? Glad to see your raise your hand.

—The colonists.

Why is that?

—I think they’re right: the taxes are wrong if they don’t get a say.

Hmmm. I did tell you, did I not, that there were parts of England without representation? They weren’t protesting.

—That doesn’t make it right.

No, I suppose not. Jonah?

—I kinda think the British have a point. I mean, you gotta pay for the French and Indian war, right? Everybody’s gotta pitch in.

Well, yes. But the colonists had pitched in. They contributed resources and men to the war.

—But the British helped them out with the French and the Indians.

Oh really? I thought the colonists helped the British out.

—Well, they were all in it together, weren’t they?

That’s the point, isn’t it?

—What’s the point?

That they were all in it together.

—Yeah.

Which is why the British need to recognize colonial rights.

—No.

—Yes, Jonah!

—No, Emily!

—I think we’re talking in circles.

How about that, Yin. Let’s change the subject. I want to introduce a couple people here. One is William Legge, also known as the Second Earl of Dartmouth (or “Dartmouth” for short). Dartmouth was the Secretary of State for the British Colonies in the early 1770s. Another is Frederick North, the Earl of Guildford, who was known as Lord North. He was the British Prime Minister straight through the 1770s. As far as I can tell, these weren’t bad guys, as guys running empires go. The growing suspicions of some colonists notwithstanding, they were not people who were trying to reduce the Americans to a state of utter despotism (to use the language of the time). In a way, the colonists were flattering themselves to think so: they in fact weren’t all that important compared to events taking place in London—or, for that matter, Paris or Kingston, the capital of Jamaica. The King’s ministers were people who saw themselves with a job to do, and one part of that job was managing imperial finances. The colonists had made trouble for them, for sure. But with a little imagination, they believed, they could work around such difficulties and come up with satisfactory solutions. They’re like a lot of people you’ll meet in your life: distracted adults who don’t really care about you—they don’t hate you or wish you ill, but you’re just not that important.

—I know a few of those.

And one day, you’ll be one of them, Em. Anyway, America is only one of Lord North’s problems. Actually, one of his biggest in 1773 was in India.

—India?

Yes, Sadie, India. Over the course of the preceding decades, the British had established a strong commercial presence there. Sort of a similar story to the Americas: colonization on the cheap, in this case by giving a license to a corporation, the British East India Company. I can’t get into all the details now, but as a result of some conflicts and the company’s use of professional soldiers, the company actually gained control over the diwan, or right to collect taxes in a key part of that country. This made the British East India Company very rich, but also very unstable. And around 1772 it crashed and the British government had to bail it out. Which meant, among other things, that the government was now sitting on a vast pile of a particular luxury item: tea.

—Right. The colonists were big tea drinkers.

Good, Yin; you remember. The tea surplus gave Lord North an idea: What if we took the tea, which right now is a dead loss, and sold it to the colonies at a discount? We could put a tax on it, too (it became a law: the Tea Act, passed in 1773), and it would still be a bargain: Starbucks double lattes, a buck apiece! Who wouldn’t like that? Gotta love it, right, Sadie?

—I guess so.

You guess so? What’s not to like?

—Well, there’s a tax on it.

Well yeah. But it’s so cheap!

—But you said the other day it wasn’t just about the money. It was about who made the decisions.

Oh c’mon, Sadie. Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Dollar lattes!

—Where had the colonists been getting their tea from before this?

Ah, now, Adam, that’s an excellent question. Some of them had been buying it, the good stuff, from the British East India Company at full price. But where else and how else would they get tea?

Anyone? Here’s a hint: why was the Gaspee, the British ship I mentioned in the last class that was set on fire, doing off the coast of Rhode Island in the first place?

—Looking for people who were breaking the law.

Yin scores again! Which people breaking were the law?

—Smugglers?

And again! This girl does her homework! What this means, in effect, that there were at least two groups of people who were unhappy about those dollar lattes. The first were the people Sadie mentioned: those who were opposed to paying taxes on tea as a matter of principle. And the other, you might say, were unprincipled people whose illegal business was threatened by a legal business that suddenly could offer more of a bargain than the smugglers could (which of course was one reason Lord North was so pleased with himself). I’m talking about people like a merchant you may have heard of named John Hancock. He was a very rich man, most of that money inherited. But he was involved in all manner of shady business. As I mentioned to you when we discussed the Stamp Act, one of the weirder aspects of the American Revolution is the way it brought together political theorists, rich merchants, and street gangs, all of whom had a shared interest in challenging British authority.

—That is weird.

Gets weirder still, Sadie. The ships carrying all that tea began arriving in American ports in the fall of 1773. In Boston, the people I just mentioned were ready and waiting. And on December 16, 1773—

—The Boston Tea Party.

—Gosh darn it, Kylie! You stole my punchline!

—Gosh darn it, Mr. K? You’ve got to be kidding.

—Of course he’s kidding, Ethan.

So what was the Boston Tea Party?

—A political protest?

Not a colossal act of vandalism?

—If you say so.

But what do you say? What would you call a group of hoodlums who dress up as Indians and toss a fortune in luxury tea into Boston harbor?

—I’d call it one good time.

Does that make you a Patriot, Emily?

—Well, I’ve never thought of myself as patriotic.

Well, we’re living through interesting times, Em. Are you really inclined to cast your lot with the mob? Do you really think that’s safe?

—Did anyone get punished for the Tea Party?

That’s not the point, Sadie. Sure, Emily here can party hearty and dump tea. Knock yourself out. But do you really think this mob is stable? That it won’t turn on you?

—I don’t think a mob would ever have a reason to turn on me.

Well, we can’t be sure now, can we, Sadie. Your buddy Emily is running with a dangerous crowd. What do you think the British are going to do now? Huh, “Good Time” Emily? Huh?

—Somehow, Mr. K., I’ve got this idea that you’re going to tell me.

You’re right. Because let me tell you something: You are in big trouble, young lady. Because the game has changed.

—How?

Because it’s not about the money anymore.

—But wasn’t that already true?

For the colonists, yes. But not for the British. Yes, there had been the Declaratory Act, which told them they must obey after the Stamp Act was withdrawn in response to protests. But the Declaratory Act had been toothless. For the Brits, it was primarily about the money: how are we going to get what we need? Let’s try and do it this way. Oh. This way didn’t work. So we’ll try that way. Oh. That way doesn’t work, either. Let’s try something else. And then the Tea Party happens, and it isn’t about the money anymore.

—So what is it about, then?

Obedience. Knowing your place. And paying for your mistakes—“paying” not only in the financial sense, but in political and moral ones, too. Get ready for the hangover, “Good Time” Emily.

—Tomorrow, Mr. K. Tomorrow

Next: Revolting intolerance