The legacy of the Revolution is still up for grabs

That day, most agree, marked the beginning of the American Revolution. There had been other acts of violence, by both Britons and Americans, as they jostled over a host of issues relating to Britain’s imperial overreach.

But in the spring of 1775, low-level squabbling gave way to armies in the field shooting at each other, outside Boston. The so-called “shot heard round the world,” in Emerson’s phrase, was the first volley in a long war, followed by a struggle to establish the 13 Colonies as a coherent nation.

Even then, the Revolution was not simple to define. Was it the war? If so, we must give no little credit to the French, whose army and navy contributed mightily to our victory. Or was it the struggle to build a new nation and a better kind of society than the world had known? That remains a work in progress.

John Adams parsed the question in a letter to a friend. “What do we mean by the American Revolution?” he wondered. Answering his own query, he asserted that the real revolution had already happened, in the “minds and hearts of the people,” well before April’s shots rang out. It was simply their wish to govern themselves.

Of course, there was more to it than that simple formulation. Then as now, “the people” were hard to define, and not all of them wanted independence. A newspaper in Newport, R.I., called the Revolution “the American Civil War,” understanding that many citizens sided with King George III. Quite a few of “the people” were not citizens at all.

But Adams was right that profound results emanated from the decision of Massachusetts farmers and artisans to stand up to the world’s greatest power. Five years after Lexington and Concord, he wrote a constitution for Massachusetts — it is now the oldest working constitution in the world.

In the decades that followed, Americans would work out the kinks of a remarkable new experiment, with a delicate set of checks and balances, including the creation of Congress, the Supreme Court, and the presidency, to be held in fragile equipoise. The Constitution that outlined those structures also included the Bill of Rights, proving that this was more than a new government, it was a philosophy as well, about decency, civility, and respect — a “government of laws, not of men,” as John Adams wrote. It was, in short, the beginning of a working democracy, still going after all these years.

It’s the stuff of Big History, and in the spring of 2025, we have an opportunity to celebrate the 250th, remembering Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, and all that came after. This special issue of Boston Globe Ideas also shows that the anniversary is not merely a matter of dutiful commemoration. It is also a chance to think about the Revolution anew, given that scholars are continually presenting us with fresh work and unresolved questions. Globe Ideas will be publishing reflections on the Revolution by leading historians all year long.

But can the Commonwealth, or the country, pull off a dignified remembrance that unites and inspires people and breathes new life into those long-ago events?

It will be difficult.

Talking about our history is harder than it used to be. In a hyperpolarized era, the Revolution, like so many other topics, is volatile. The Gadsden (“Don’t Tread on Me”) flag, designed in 1775, is a MAGA favorite, used to protest supposed tyrannies from the left. It was prominently displayed in the assault on the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. Throughout 2024, right-wing allies of Donald Trump (like the Heritage Foundation) were calling for a “Second American Revolution.” Project 2025 was the blueprint.

At the same time, the Revolution’s legacy animates the left, especially when liberals rage against Donald Trump’s monarchical tendencies, his disdain for Congress, and his contempt for judges and juries. “Long Live the King,” the president proclaimed, about himself, in a recent social media post, including an image of him wearing a crown, on an imaginary Time magazine cover.

Little do the two sides realize that they are more or less speaking the same language, past each other.

Perhaps, in a spirit of charity, we can say that there is plenty of blame to go around. Within recent memory, there have been withering attacks on the Revolution from the left. The New York Times’s 1619 Project went to considerable lengths to argue that the Revolution was a racist enterprise, designed “to protect the institution of slavery.” That argument was effectively rebutted by some leading historians, but it still did some damage.

At the same time, it feels odd to see the Revolution promoted by an administration that fails to grasp its subtleties and in more than a few ways displays the authoritarian tendencies that the colonists were fighting against. That includes detaining opponents without trials, overruling assemblies, seizing control of the purse, and reeling from crisis to crisis, punch-drunk with the power of an untrammeled executive. It could be said that Donald Trump is making a royal mess of our democracy.

Still, to give credit where it is due, he has been talking about the upcoming 250th for a long time. In his first major speech to Congress, in 2017, he was already anticipating the great day: “In nine years, the United States will celebrate the 250th anniversary of our founding — 250 years since the day we declared our Independence. It will be one of the great milestones in the history of the world.”

Since then, he has hammered away at the theme with uncharacteristic focus. In 2020, enraged by the 1619 Project, Trump launched a “1776 Commission” designed to write a right-wing curriculum and get it into the schools. On Jan. 18, 2021, with only two days to go in his administration, that commission issued a 41-page report, largely ignored.

Nine days into his second administration, he issued a proclamation announcing his intent to provide “a grand celebration” in 2026. What does he have in mind? Some of the details are strange. A “National Garden of American Heroes” with 250 statues, including some head-scratchers (the Canadian TV host Alex Trebek? Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman? Kobe Bryant? Dr. Seuss?). A “Great American State Fair,” welcoming “millions and millions of visitors from around the world” (except, presumably, the parts of the world we do not want visitors from). And a new national athletic event, the Patriot Games (sounding uncomfortably like the Hunger Games).

So it is fair to be apprehensive as we begin to celebrate 1775 and 1776. The grand celebration might quickly turn pharaonic, with an immense parade of military hardware, a five-hour Ted Nugent concert, and calls to seize Liechtenstein.

But at the same time, the 250th represents a genuine chance to learn from the past and, just possibly, from one another. Might we hope for détente?

Something like that happened in 1975 and 1976. Americans were divided then, as well, in the aftermath of Vietnam and Watergate. Locally, too, it was rough, with deep tensions over busing. One of the worst photos in Boston’s history, “The Soiling of Old Glory,” was taken outside City Hall on April 5, 1976.

But the bicentennial came off well, and one reason is that Boston was enjoying a surge of pride, not unrelated to the Revolution’s legacy and the city’s ongoing commitment to free speech, the separation of powers, and other democratic ideals. The bicentennial also offered a huge stimulus to the study of history; approximately 10,000 history organizations were launched in its wake.

Fifty years later, it will not be easy to duplicate that energy — the word “historically” recently appeared on a list of words discouraged by the Trump administration, along with other words that summon memories of 1775-76 (it would have been hard to write the Declaration of Independence without some version of “equality,” also on that list).

It will be important not only to remember the story but to remember it well. As Milan Kundera wrote, “The struggle against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.”

Perhaps that is how Boston can again make a difference: By elevating the conversation and reminding people that the Revolution was more than just a war or the substitution of one group of rulers for another. By honestly addressing the shortcomings of the Revolution while restoring a sense of its monumental achievement. By deepening an understanding of how many moving parts were involved in this transformative episode at the heart of our history. By restating why Bostonians were willing to lay their lives on the line, because of deeply held ideas about self-government.

The word “idea” can be uncomfortable. One of the fault lines in our political divide is a growing feeling on the right that America’s greatness stems from blood and soil, rather than core American ideas like democracy, liberty, and equality. JD Vance made that argument in his speech at the 2024 Republican convention.

A close look at Boston’s experience clearly rebuts that argument. The people who fought at Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill came from different races and national traditions. Paul Revere’s father was a French immigrant. Crispus Attucks, killed in the Boston Massacre, had African and indigenous ancestry. At Bunker Hill, the shot that killed a British major, John Pitcairn, was probably fired by an African American from Framingham, Peter Salem.

But they were united by ideas and values, including many that could be called democratic, even if the word was not used as often as it would be in later centuries. There were reasons that New Englanders formed their resistance to a distant king, stemming from long-ingrained ideas about how power flowed from the people.

Among them were checks and balances, locally elected governors, town meetings, and proper warrants (a Boston incident led to the Fourth Amendment, which protects privacy).

These ideas were nourished by pamphlets, Election Day sermons, and newspapers — it would be difficult to overstate how important printing and literacy were to the founding generation, especially in Boston. Far from being derided, intellectuals and scientists were critical to the Revolution’s success. One Bostonian, Benjamin Franklin, translated his scientific prestige into stunning success as a diplomat to France, our essential ally. Another, Joseph Warren, was a doctor, much admired for his work inoculating patients against smallpox, before he was killed at Bunker Hill.

In this special issue and in the months ahead, we hope to draw on these stories, and by doing so, breathe new life into the ideas at the heart of the American Revolution. Perhaps a deeper remembrance of 1775 and 1776 can restore some of the revolutionary spirit — and allow us to see ourselves in a new light, a flawed but still-united people.

As Captain John Parker said at Lexington Green in April 1775: “Let it begin here.”