This is no longer a day of hot dogs and hamburgers. Parades and fireworks. It is a day to remember what it takes to hold on to a republic. It is a day to sit down quietly and write down what we are willing to do. What we are willing to risk? What we are willing to stand for?
In 1776, the Fourth of July was not a celebration. The war had already begun and would rage on for another seven years. No one was barbecuing. No one was watching fireworks. The men gathered in Philadelphia were finalizing the words that would declare that the American colonies were no longer part of the British Empire. That they were free. Independent. That they would no longer bow to a king. It was not the end of anything. It was the beginning of everything.
Fifty-six men signed that Declaration of Independence. And with their signatures, they committed treason. They did not do it lightly. They were wealthy, educated, powerful men. Landowners. Merchants. Lawyers. Physicians. They had everything to lose. And they lost a lot.
Five were captured by the British and tortured.
Twelve had their homes burned to the ground.
Nine died from wounds or hardships related to the war.
Many lost their fortunes. Some lost their children.
A few lost their minds.
Thomas Nelson Jr. ordered the American army to fire on his own home when it was seized by the British. He gave the order without hesitation.
Francis Lewis’s wife was arrested and imprisoned. She never recovered. His home was destroyed. He died with nothing.
Carter Braxton, a Virginia merchant, funded the war with his own money. His ships were sunk. He died bankrupt.
These men were not perfect. They were complicated, just like all of us. But they said yes to something that demanded everything. And they did it for an idea. They believed liberty was worth dying for.
We are their descendants, not by blood necessarily, but by inheritance. We live in the world they imagined. We carry what they signed.
We are Americans. We are built for this moment. We have fought before. We have risen before. When the country has veered off course, people like us, people who pay attention, who care deeply, who show up, have pulled it back. We marched in Selma. We stormed the beaches of Normandy. We stood in breadlines, raised children alone, worked two jobs, and still voted in every election. We have stepped up, over and over, and given our lives or our comfort for something greater than ourselves. That is the real tradition. That is the real legacy.
And now it is our turn.
Yesterday’s bill will not affect most of us directly. I know that. I got the emails. So many of you wrote to ask how I was doing. And the answer is, I am fine. My healthcare is not changing. My home is still standing. My life, for now, goes on.
But that is not the question we should be asking.
The question is not, how am I?
The question is, how motivated am I?
And deeper than that, what am I willing to give up?
Because we are in our own moment of reckoning. The document they signed 249 years ago is in jeopardy. The values they pledged their lives and fortunes to uphold are under attack. And what they left us is not self-sustaining. It needs guardians.
That is us.
Because that is what this day is really about.
Those on this day 249 years ago did it. And, they risked it all. Live, property. Sons. Wealth. It is that moment for us as well. They will come after those of us who truly stand up and make a difference. What are we willing to risk? I’m spending the day determining that.
The Declaration of Defiance
July 4, 2025
We, the citizens of a democracy under siege, declare our refusal to surrender to authoritarianism, corruption, or fear. We reject the erosion of truth, the silencing of voices, and the stripping of rights. We do not answer to kings, billionaires, or strongmen. We answer to each other. We answer to the future. And we declare, with full knowledge of the cost, that we will not sit quietly while our freedoms are dismantled. We will speak. We will stand. We will act. Because liberty, once lost, is not easily regained. And we know what is at stake.
Signed,
Christine Merser, Maine