Tag Archives: Declaration of Independence

“The Deceleration of Independence”

Maybe AutoCorrect is to blame, and maybe not. It can’t be a sounding-out phenomenon: who would say “deck-ell-eration”? For whatever reason, I got this from TWO students. I do decelere. (Or is it “I do decelerate”?)

Considering our more-or-less trusty spelling conventions, the “c” is usually pronounced like “s” if it’s followed by an e or i. Perhaps this “Deceleration” thing is about a child’s refusal to join the family in eating celery?

On its face, this phrase is referring to a slowing-down of independence. Reading comments on news sites and political sites and general Facebook pronouncements, I see that a lot of people do seem to have slowed down their independence in favor of parroting rumors they don’t bother to fact-check or think through for themselves. Listening to the loudest of the politicians, I gather that a lot of people (other people? same people?) want to bring social, scientific, cultural, and all other change to a screeching halt, or even turn back the hands of time (as the old rock song had it), not decelerating progress so much as longing for the 1880s. (Amazingly, just as with people who have their “past lives” read, none of them would be a peasant, a laborer, one of the vast number of the underclass; in past lives and the fantasized Gilded Age, everybody’s a Tudor or a Rockefeller…or Cleopatra.)

I once met Art Carney in an airport. He was waiting for his rental car; I was waiting for relatives to arrive on a plane. My Uncle Joe thought I was mistaken and took me across the room to share the joke with the man I “thought” was Art Carney. The joke was on Uncle Joe. Mr. Carney talked with us for a good fifteen minutes, and most of the conversation, believe it or not, was NOT about The Honeymooners, or his fame; it was about the weather, his hopes about the rental car, my school, where my relatives were from, what was fun about traveling. How likely is such a meeting today? How likely is any meeting? Perhaps the deceleration of independence is due to how much time we spend on our personal computers and other “devices,” how many movies we watch in the solitude of our own homes, how much of our shopping is done online, how few houses have front porches, how infrequently we walk anywhere, and (a natural consequence of our solitude?) how frightened we are of strangers, of one another. How much of our fear of change is rooted in our fear of the unknown; and how much larger is the “unknown” because we don’t leave home to experience it? Last Sunday I was waiting for the train to New York when a group of five teenagers or early-twentiesers came up onto the platform. They stood together in a little semicircle as they too waited for the train; but every one of them had his or her eyes on an iPhone or Android or whatever, and no one spoke. On the train there was a little conversation in the air, but what predominated was people on cellphones and children watching cartoons on their own little computers. Across from us we had mother and child: mother on phone, child on computer. When I arrive at a classroom I find silence rather than the friendly hubbub that used to spill into the hall: everyone is doing something-or-other on a personal device. At the end of class, nobody turns to anyone else to talk on the way out; everyone whips out that personal device and plunges into cyberchat or Angry Birds.

What would Walt Whitman say? Who hears America singing? Who looks at his fellows and says “I am you, my brother”?

But I was talking about the Declaration of Independence, and by association about the Constitution. Those gentleman activists of the Enlightenment had some noble ideas that they were able to elaborate into a plan of action and then into a governmental structure designed to serve a whole nation (not just themselves) and flexible enough to change as the world changed. Their ideas, and others’ articulations and interpretations of them, continue to inspire everyone who actually reads and thinks about them. They galvanized individuals committed to the common good to devote their lives to serving that common good, or lay down their lives to achieve or maintain that common good: the freedom to build their own lives in a society where all had that same freedom and where all had access to the rewards of the society they were building together; where childhood was about hope, youth was about preparation, adulthood was about achievement, and all human life was about dignity. The Constitution refers to building “a more perfect union,” implying that the work goes ever on.

Let us not decelerate our work toward independence, dignity, and the commonwealth. Declare allegiance to it (the idea, that is). If you attend a parade today, notice that the procession, and the flag, moves always forward.

“Our forefathers struggled veraciously to protect against tyranny.”

This one gets filed under “wiser than he knew.”

It’s true: the truth will set you free, from tyranny or any other destructive delusion. And as far as I can tell, most of our forefathers were struggling honestly, dealing truthfully, as they brought a new form of government into the world of the 18th century. My American Lit class just discussed the Declaration of Independence last week: many were surprised that the Declaration’s assertions and resolutions rest on a long list of evidence that clarifies and justifies the fateful decision to throw off the tyrant.

Justice Lewis Brandeis put it figuratively but made the same point: “Sunshine is the best disinfectant.”

I don’t think my student meant to talk about the great sword of Truth, though. What did he mean?

The first and most readily explained possibility is “voraciously.” It’s only one letter away, and we might legitimately say they fought with great hunger, with an insatiable appetite, for freedom—freedom from the tyranny of George III, and freedom from the tyranny of disharmony that can impose unpleasant decisions as a way of quelling conflict (thank you, O Constitution)… and then freedom from the tyranny of the majority (thank you, O Bill of Rights). Their hunger for liberty was vast, and it prompted and enabled their struggle.

But I don’t think that was in his mind either.

Most likely candidate: “ferociously.” Only two letters different, and of the three possible adverbs the most appropriate (and obvious) to modify “struggled.” But I think for ferocious fighters we’d have to look at the stalwart foot soldiers of the Army of the Revolution, not at the educated and principled gentlemen (for the most part) who articulated its cause and steered its aftermath.

Not sure about that word “protect,” considering that the Revolution began to rid the Colonies of tyranny, not keep it out before it got in. But that’s a far less interesting issue here, and we’ll move on.

What makes the original statement so compelling right now is the current political season, or so far perhaps we should say “circus,” and the loudest of the media that keep us informed on it. Most of the candidates are claiming to have plans to protect against tyranny, although they don’t all agree on what that tyranny might consist of. But most of them, despite struggling ferociously by means of charges and countercharges and claims and counterclaims, and perhaps struggling voraciously, driven by a hunger to rule the nation or attach a nice title to their names or reshape the nation according to their notions, are not paying a whole lot of attention to the truth—or, at least sometimes, are deliberately turning their backs on Truth because she would interfere with their ferocity. And too few in the media are calling them out, and too many are urging them on.

Especially in a democracy, a form of government that depends entirely on the informed voter, the best way to protect against tyranny is to struggle veraciously: tell the truth, and demand the truth.

Let my student’s sentence, as written, serve as a Call to Arms!