The Unfinished Work of The Republic: 250 Years After The Declaration

The United States recently celebrated its 250th anniversary, the day it declared its independence from England and ended what Thomas Paine called an absurdity when he wrote in Common Sense: “There is something very absurd in supposing a continent to be perpetually governed by an island.”

Yet Britain was not alone in its claim; France and Spain established colonies in what was to become the United States, and, like England, each relinquished their claims once the former colonists defeated England, and watched over time as this former colony was no longer governed by an island, but became a major force in its own right.

This Declaration of Independence from England was a founding document that spelled out the former colonists’ complaints against King George and why they were taking the actions they did. It was through this document that they announced their freedom from the tyranny of the King of England’s rule, essentially proclaiming that they were free men and women. But that was a lie. There were thousands of men, women, and children in what became the United States who were not free; these individuals were in chattel enslavement.

In considering enslavement, it’s important to recognize that not all forms of slavery were the same. Biblical slavery was a system of servitude — harsh, unequal, but not hereditary or racialized. Enslavement through conquest, common across Europe and empires, was brutal but not designed to create a permanent caste. American chattel slavery was different: it was racialized, hereditary, legally enforced, and built on systematic dehumanization. It was into this uniquely American system — racialized, permanent, and legally sanctified — that Frederick Douglass spoke on July 5, 1852, when he asked his audience what the Fourth of July meant to the enslaved.

Seven years later, the country was engaged in the first and only Civil War, the main reason centered around the continuation of chattel enslavement. The then United States of America was engaged in a Civil War over the right to own people. Some will say it was about states’ rights. Yes — the right of states to maintain and continue the enslavement of humans, more specifically, the continuation of the Southern chattel enslavement system. The Civil War took the lives of 851,000 people because a certain group of individuals wanted to preserve their right to continue the inhumanity of chattel enslavement for the sake of profit. Some will disagree and claim the Civil War was about states’ rights, with one of the major states’ rights being the right to continue to enslave people. It was this inhuman practice that Douglass was subjected to that caused him to ask the questions he did:

“Why am I called upon to speak to you today? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are these great principles of political freedom extended to us?” This was the opening of his famous speech, delivered nine years before the Civil War: “What To The Slave Is the Fourth of July?”

In 1776, the Founders wrote the Declaration of Independence, which provided a list of unjust actions taken against them based on what they saw as the tyranny of King George III, depriving them of their rights to self-governance, along with unjust taxation. George and the ruling class of England at the time saw things differently. The colonists were subjects of the Crown, bound to obey the rules and edicts of the sitting sovereign. So, as subjects themselves, would it be unexpected for colonists who enslaved others not to have a similar attitude to those they enslaved? I believe the following provides an answer:

“A ship arrives near Point Comfort, a coastal port in the English colony of Virginia, which was founded twelve years earlier. The White Lion carries some twenty to thirty captive Africans, who are traded to the Virginia colonists for provisions, making them the first enslaved Africans in the English colonies that will become the United States.” — The 1619 Project.

Scripture tells us that man was made in the image of God, meaning they were endowed with the qualities of the Creator, which were love, power, justice, and wisdom. But the colonists didn’t see that; what they saw were twenty to thirty captive Africans they would enslave to do the menial tasks they prescribed to them and expect them to obey their commands, as they were no longer humans created in the image of the Creator. They were enslaved to do the bidding of those who now owned them. Interestingly, Jefferson wrote the following in 1821 as he reflected on his earlier legislative work:

“The bill on the subject of slaves was a mere digest of the existing laws respecting them without intimation of a plan for a future and general emancipation. It was thought better that this should be kept back and attempted only by way of amendment whenever the bill should be brought on.”

Jefferson was writing about the eventual emancipation of those currently enslaved, which did not materialize until after the Civil War ended in 1865, forty-four years later. The Civil War ended chattel enslavement, but gave birth to its evil twin: segregation.

The legal right to enslave people may have ended, but the need for formerly enslaved people to find work collided with the broken promise of “forty acres and a mule.” Many returned to the same plantations as sharecroppers, supplying the labor while the owner supplied land, tools, seed, and a place to live in exchange for a share of the crop. After charges for food, feed, tools, and whatever else the owner added, many were left with debt rather than profit. The Civil War may have ended enslavement, but sharecropping became its successor, binding people through obligation rather than chains.

“The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.” Du Bois penned those words in 1903 in his classic The Souls of Black Folk. And now, 123 years later, the problem for the twenty-first century is still the color line — now joined by the gender line. One would think that intelligent beings would have figured out how to work together effectively and efficiently, with minimal conflict.

As we reflect on 250 years of American history — from Paine to Douglass, from the Civil War to Du Bois, and now into the twenty-first century — we are left with a small number of core questions. These are not policy questions or partisan questions. They are structural questions, civilizational questions, the kind that determine whether a nation can endure. They are the questions we must confront honestly if we intend to move forward.

1. Race — The Douglass Question: Can a nation founded on the contradiction of freedom and enslavement ever fully resolve the color line, or will race remain the central fault line of American life until we confront it honestly and structurally?

2. Gender — The Hypatia Question: Can a society truly call itself free if it still fears women who possess full intellectual, civic, and economic autonomy — the very fear that led to Hypatia’s death and continues to shape gender inequality today?

3. Wealth Distribution — The Stability Question: How long can a democratic society remain stable when wealth is concentrated so heavily at the top that opportunity, security, and mobility become privileges rather than shared foundations?

4. Climate and Resource Stability — The Survival Question: What happens to national unity, economic stability, and democratic governance when climate pressures, resource scarcity, and environmental disruption begin to reshape where and how people live?

5. Democratic Governance — The Legitimacy Question Can the United States preserve a functioning democratic system capable of governing a multiracial, multi‑gender, economically unequal nation — or will the strain of these unresolved contradictions erode the legitimacy of the Republic itself?

As Douglass reminded his audience in 1852, a nation cannot celebrate its independence honestly until it confronts the people it has excluded from that promise. Two hundred and fifty years after the Declaration, we stand in a similar moment of reckoning. These questions are not abstract; they are the unfinished business of the Republic. They ask whether we dare to face the contradictions we inherited, those we perpetuated, and those we now have the responsibility to resolve. The work of building a just and stable nation did not end with emancipation, nor with the Civil Rights Movement, nor with any single moment of progress. It continues with our willingness to confront these structural questions directly — with clarity, honesty, and the resolve that the founders themselves could not muster. The next century of American life will be shaped not by our celebrations, but by how we answer these questions.