To Be an American: A Visit to Boston

One habit I too often find myself committing is starting books that I will take months to finish, if I ever finish them at all. In the grand scheme of all matters of intellectual hygiene, I don’t suppose this problem is among the top concerns in my event-filled life, yet as I attempted to choose one half-read book out of the multiples laying around my room to pack in my carry-on bag for my school sanctioned bus trip up to Boston Massachusetts, it felt to be in that moment. What turned out to be the prudent decision, I ended up picking Killing England by Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard, considering this trip was historic in nature as our itinerary prescribed us a walk along the Freedom Trail, a visit to Paul Revere’s house, and a tour of the John F. Kennedy library, among various other historical sites the city offered. As we cruised along multiple northeastern interstates, the book, concerned with telling the story of the American Revolution, filled my mind’s eye with vibrant images of the plights and victories of our forefathers. It was the perfect refresher of the American history I had learned in class last year, which proved useful as my history teacher watched the group squirm under questions from our unapologetically Bostonian tour guide. I was able to answer a few niche questions because I had read about them minutes before. 

The city of Boston thrilled me. Her streets ooze history, her buildings beam beauty, and her history seemed to give her an extra breath of life that was absent in my near-native domicile of New York. It’s a smaller city, considerably more walkable, with countless open spaces to sit and enjoy life without worrying about interfering with the path of a rushed and opinionated Wall Street worker’s way back to his office. 

Yet one question remained in mind as our tour guide lectured us about the patriotism that lived in the colonists’ “hahts” as they “stahted” an ugly “bah” fight we now call the “Bawstin” Massacre. 

How could this all be so?

I was not asking this question in reference to the history we were all deeply entrenched in, as I am well aware of the factors that contributed to the American victory. However, it was more a question about our modern ways, which have wildly deviated from the culture the colonists forged 250 years ago’ 

How could it be so that there is a growing population of Americans that claim nothing more than utter hatred for the country that gave them everything they know? How could it be so that we reached a point in our national discussion where it is no longer a given that both sides love the country and wish her all the best? 

As I considered all the trips around the country I have ever taken (albeit, my list is not as flashy as those of some classmates), I can remember the unique beauty that each excursion and location offered. 

How could it be so that even while traveling around the country, American politicians appear to lament not only the sights they have seen, but the people that built everything around it? They, somewhat miraculously, appear to love their private jets and coordinated sets they use on nationwide tours, yet actively work against the Americans that built it all for them.

How could it be so that we have disconnected the creators from creation? The buildings I witnessed in Boston are beautiful to, I believe, any eye that can see clearly, yet the mouths that lie just inches below some still decry our history and apologize for our victories.

Yet that was not all I was thinking of as I walked along the faux brick pattern indicating the path of the Freedom Trail. 

College professor Katherine Lee Bates first drafted the poem America the Beautiful in 1893 at Pike’s Peak Colorado on a journey westward to teach a summer course in Colorado Springs. Quick to rise to prominence especially among religious communities around the country, the words offer vivid images of the American landscapes that struck Bates. Yet it is not my favorite American-themed song for this reason alone. What makes the hymn unique is the unabashed spirit of America’s people that she captures. 

Seized by the “spacious skies,” “amber waves of grain,” “purple mountain majesties,” and “fruited plains,” Bates synthesized it all into a poem she could call her own. It is a simple fact of human nature that when convicted by the greatness of Creation, we feel inclined to participate in it by our own means, desiring an honorable mention in the acknowledgements section of life. This fact is as evident in the first man created as it is today. 

“Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.”

It is with this same conviction that Bates wrote her poem, and that I write today. 

Later reflecting on why her work became so widely loved, Bates could only assume that the "hold… it has upon our people, is clearly due to the fact that Americans are at heart idealists, with a fundamental faith in human brotherhood."

How could it be so that this faith appears to have been suffocated in recent decades? 

I don’t claim to know every name, have read every book, or have answers to every question, but it is this brotherhood that I still feel that I believe drives my work today.

As the tour came to an end, the group congregated near the famous Paul Revere Statue that stands in front of the steeple of the Old North Church, which earned its spot on the Freedom trail for having two lanterns hung in it as a message of impending British aggression the night before the battle of Lexington and Concord. 

I looked up at the structure, which has been standing since 1723. It served as a clear reminder that almost everything in this world is bigger than me, bigger than all of us. We stand on the shoulders of giants, supported by the toils of which we will never understand the difficulty of. 

I have always loved this country more than I could ever express, but in that moment, it became even more palpable to me:

“O beautiful for patriot dream

 That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam

Undimmed by human tears!”

That dream is what drove General Washington through the throes of battle. It inspired Jefferson, who had devoted (what he understood could have been the last) 17 days of his life composing the 1337 words that would become the Declaration of Independence. It is what allowed Franklin to continue on the treacherous voyage to France to plead for their alliance. It is what filled the hearts of the soldiers that died without glory or honor on the fields of the colonies.

This spirit has been muted in the modern discussion of American history, a subject which now concerns itself purely with facts and purges any notion of spirits, Providence, or posterity. Revisionist narratives seek to dismiss this spirit as superstitious bunk with no real bearing on the American story. This is why we do not discuss spirits anymore. But my trip to Boston made one thing abundantly clear; it is a message I wish to share with you, and pray that you will share with all others that you can: 

We did not win the Revolutionary War due to brilliant tactics. We were not victorious because of France’s help. The British did not surrender because of their lack of intimacy with the territory we fought on. We won because of that patriot dream. We won because we put our faith in what transcends all human life, all tactics, alliances and all geography. We won because we put our faith in the Good, the True, and the Beautiful, and nothing more. 

When referencing that war, we still speak collectively as if our generations were the ones that lost our brothers, suffered both extremes of the weather, risked our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. When talking about the strategy of George Washington, we refer to it as if we conjured it in our minds after hours of sleepless nights and deliberation. As if it is xour own. When teaching others that the Continental Army built a strong alliance with a revengeful France, we speak as if it was us in Benjamin Franklin’s shoes, retching over the hull of the ship. When we speak of the soldier’s knowledge of their surroundings, we do so as if it was us that mapped out the territory after living among it for years. 

We do so for one simple reason: the spirit that preceded all of those actions still supports our society today. They “more than self, their country loved,” in the same way we are still called to do so today. 

Now the new question becomes: How will we return wholeheartedly to the vision our founders had for this country? 

The answer to which can only be reached by all of us.