A Nation at a Crossroads.
As America engages in its 250th year, we find ourselves caught between celebration and unease. Our history is full of inspiring stories of courage, sacrifice, and hope. Yet today’s public square often feels loud, angry, and divided.
The recent assassination of Charlie Kirk, reminds us just how dangerous the public square has become. Violence in place of dialogue is not only a tragedy for individuals and families but a direct threat to the very fabric of our republic.
History, however, assures us that we have been here before. America was born out of passionate, often bitter disagreement. But even amid their disputes, the founders managed to cling to something we are at risk of forgetting: the possibility of disagreement without destruction.
How the Founders Disagreed
When the Continental Congress gathered in 1776, its members did not enter the room united in mind and purpose. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, though aligned in vision, often clashed fiercely over methods. Hamilton and Madison sparred repeatedly over the balance of federal power. Even Benjamin Franklin, the great conciliator, understood how sharp and personal the debates could become.
And yet, despite their differences, they signed the Declaration of Independence — not in perfect unity, but in shared commitment to something greater than themselves. That act alone shows us that civility is not about eliminating disagreement; it is about elevating disagreement into progress.
The years that followed only reinforced the lesson. The Federalist and Anti-Federalist debates gave us a constitution — flawed, but durable. Those men argued passionately, sometimes bitterly, but they still valued compromise and the ability to listen. The Federalist Papers, written by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, did not simply champion one side but invited readers into a national conversation. It was persuasion in its highest form: reasoned, respectful, and deeply serious.
Even later, when Abraham Lincoln debated Stephen Douglas in the 1850s, the two men represented starkly different visions for the nation. Their debates were fiery, even brutal in argument, but they were also civil in form — each man acknowledging the humanity of the other. They modeled disagreement as something that could enlighten, not just divide.
How the Founders Disagreed
When the Continental Congress gathered in 1776, its members did not enter the room united in mind and purpose. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, though aligned in vision, often clashed fiercely over methods. Hamilton and Madison sparred repeatedly over the balance of federal power. Even Benjamin Franklin, the great conciliator, understood how sharp and personal the debates could become.
And yet, despite their differences, they signed the Declaration of Independence — not in perfect unity, but in shared commitment to something greater than themselves. That act alone shows us that civility is not about eliminating disagreement; it is about elevating disagreement into progress.
The years that followed only reinforced the lesson. The Federalist and Anti-Federalist debates gave us a constitution — flawed, but durable. Those men argued passionately, sometimes bitterly, but they still valued compromise and the ability to listen. The Federalist Papers, written by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, did not simply champion one side but invited readers into a national conversation. It was persuasion in its highest form: reasoned, respectful, and deeply serious.
Even later, when Abraham Lincoln debated Stephen Douglas in the 1850s, the two men represented starkly different visions for the nation. Their debates were fiery, even brutal in argument, but they were also civil in form — each man acknowledging the humanity of the other. They modeled disagreement as something that could enlighten, not just divide.
What Changed — and Why It Matters
Today’s climate feels very different. The speed of information, accelerated by social media, rewards outrage more than understanding. It is easier than ever to caricature an opponent and harder than ever to pause, listen, and reflect.
When disagreements become tribal, the stakes grow higher. The temptation shifts from debating ideas to destroying adversaries. That is a dangerous path — one that history shows can end in ruin. The assassination of Charlie Kirk is not an isolated tragedy; it is the symptom of a culture in which civility has given way to hostility.
And yet, history also points to another path: the choice to see conflict not as an end but as a beginning, not as destruction but as dialogue.
Lessons from the Past — and from Family
In my book Buried Treasures: The Real-Life Amazing Story of My Remarkable Family, I trace stories of perseverance, courage, and dignity that echo across generations. My own roots run deep into America’s beginnings. Nine of my great-grandparents were among the Mayflower passengers of 1620 — John Alden, Priscilla Mullins and her father William Mullins, Richard Warren, Thomas Rogers and his son Joseph, Governor William Bradford, and Stephen Hopkins with his daughter Constance.
My family tree also connects me to Benjamin Franklin — my first cousin eight generations removed — and to President John Adams and Samuel Adams, both second cousins seven generations removed.
I share these connections not out of pride, but out of gratitude. They remind me daily that history is not abstract; it is lived, inherited, and passed down. They also remind me that America’s greatness lies not in avoiding conflict, but in how we handle it. Civility is not weakness. It is strength restrained by wisdom.
Consider Franklin, for example. He was a man of wit, sharp opinion, and occasional stubbornness. Yet in the Constitutional Convention, he rose again and again to urge conciliation, to remind fellow delegates that compromise was not betrayal but necessity. Or consider William Bradford, who steered the Mayflower colony through its first brutal winters. Bradford understood that survival demanded cooperation, even among people of vastly different outlooks. These stories are not distant relics — they are blueprints.
Modern Echoes of Civil Discourse
It would be easy to dismiss such lessons as belonging to another age, yet we still see echoes of civil discourse in our own time. Consider the surprising friendships across the Supreme Court bench: Justice Antonin Scalia, a fiery conservative, and Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a passionate liberal, shared a deep bond built on respect and affection. They could disagree fiercely in their opinions while still vacationing together with their families.
Or take moments in Congress when bipartisan cooperation has broken through gridlock — rare, but real. From civil rights legislation in the 1960s to more recent compromises on veterans’ care, progress has often come when opponents recognized that listening was not surrender, but strength.
These examples show that civility is not an illusion. It is possible, even today, if we are willing to choose it.
Relearning the Art of Civil Discourse
So, what does this mean for us in America’s 250th year? It means we have choices to make — choices as individuals, families, and citizens.
· Listen before you respond. The founders listened, even when furious. Listening is the first step toward rebuilding trust.
· Distinguish people from positions. We can reject ideas without rejecting humanity.
· Speak with purpose, not just passion. Anger is cheap; persuasion requires patience.
· Practice long-form thinking. Read books, essays, and speeches that require sustained attention. Quick takes cannot substitute for deep reflection.
· Step outside the echo chamber. Seek out perspectives different from your own, not to abandon your beliefs, but to sharpen them.
· Model civility for the next generation. Parents and teachers hold a sacred duty to pass on the art of respectful disagreement.
If our leaders will not lead in civility, then perhaps it is up to ordinary citizens, to you and to me to set the example.
A Call to Hope
It may seem naïve to hope for civility in fractured times. But history is full of “naïve” hopes that changed the world. The hope that thirteen colonies could defy the world’s greatest empire. The hope that a constitution could hold together such a diverse and divided land. The hope that, even after a bitter Civil War, a nation could be reunited.
Hope is not wishful thinking. It is conviction in action. And if we want America’s 250th birthday to be not just a milestone but a rebirth, a renaissance, then we must choose civility, respect, and dialogue over hatred and violence.
An Invitation
That is why I write. In BURIED TREASURES, The Real-Life Amazing Story of My Remarkable Family (soon released in two volumes) and in Birth of America, Born on the 4th of July, I seek to tell stories that remind us of who we are and who we can still become. These books are not only history; they are an invitation to reflection, renewal, and hope.
As we celebrate this historic anniversary, I invite you — teacher, parent, student, or fellow citizen, to join me in rediscovering the lessons of our past. Let us honor the founding of America not just with fireworks and parades, but with a renewed commitment to treat one another as fellow Americans, worthy of respect even when we disagree. That, I believe, would be a true celebration of liberty.
Sincerely,
Thomas R. Drummond
