Recently, while I was imparting that rarest of elusive concepts, a civics education, to a group of Fourth and Fifth Graders, I presented the “Preamble” to the Constitution of the United States. We listed, on that dying breed of communicative forums – the blackboard – the reasons for the establishment of our Constitution: “to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.” The students were enthused by the clarity and comprehensiveness of the “Preamble.”
After this foray into foundational awareness, we sallied forth to imbibe the “First Amendment” to the Constitution, including the words “Congress shall make no law. . .abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble.”
The chalk had barely skimmed the slate when a hand shot up in the front row. A young girl, age 10, interjected, “But you might get assassinated.”
This fifth-grade civics student was not objecting to the high-minded ideals of the “First Amendment,” nor was she contradicting the sentiment embodied in the statement. She was trying to alert me to the reality of its application.
I rushed to reassure her, with the usual platitudes, reiterating that we are certainly glad that the “First Amendment” protects our right to free and safe speech.
I thought I had assuaged all the counter-constitutional confusion when I was interrupted by another urgent hand. A sprite of a girl, age 9, interjected, “Yes, Dr. E., but you might get assassinated.”
It was not so much the statements that the children made, nor the urgency of their wanting to warn me, which shocked me. It was the certitude with which they now believed their right to speech is a relic of the past, a dusty textbook lesson, no longer applicable or attainable.
They were matter-of-fact in their tone, as if patiently explaining to me, the well-intentioned but somewhat outdated person at the front of the room, the new normal.
I am not sure that we, the older and (allegedly) wiser generation, are aware just how much the worldview of the younger generation has been rocked, deconstructed, and reformed in recent years, but especially in the past months.
And what can be our response?
Are these children stating aloud what we have all accepted subconsciously, but not yet admitted to ourselves?
I was reminded of a scenario during a recent brutal snowstorm, when a young man got stuck in his car exiting the garage in our building. He jumped out to clear the tires of snow, and his car doors automatically locked. He looked, bemused, into the car, where his dashboard and means of managing life lay just out of reach. The key in his running ignition, the digital access card for the building, and, most important, yet most frustrating of all, the Alexa app on his phone. I saw the young man yelling through his closed car window, instructing Alexa to call AAA.
This was a job for real people. I put on my snow boots and ventured outside.
After AAA came and opened the car door, we were still left with a Prius stuck in a snowbank. I offered to steer while my new friend (ironically named Alex) pushed the car from behind. Slowly, two more people, a young man and a young woman, came to offer assistance.
As the two young men pushed the car, I rolled down the window and took instructions. It was then that I heard the young woman yelling to the wind, “Where are the people?”
“Excuse me,” I stared at her, “what people?”
“The people who come to help,” she said in a daze, looking around helplessly.
“We are the people,” I told her.
She stared at me.
And yet, this statement is perhaps the response we also owe to those street-smart, but not yet battle-tested Fourth and Fifth Graders. We are the people. “We the People of the United States. . .do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”
The establishment, maintenance, and protection of our way of life is not someone else’s job. The task cannot be done by other people out there somewhere. And the freedom to embrace the task cannot be taken away by other people. The task is ours.
Historically, the most galvanizing moments in the life of a people often emerge under pressure. The early Christians proclaimed the Faith, when openly professing Christianity was a capital offense. The English martyrs forged an underground Church that preserved the embers of the true Faith despite political persecution. The Minutemen of Lexington and Concord had muskets and conviction, not power or prestige.
And all knew, every day, as they brought their mission forward, that they “might be assassinated.”
Today, the most benign of circumstances warrants heroism. We now lock our front school entrance when Mass is being offered. Public figures of various types increase security and change their private routes and routines. Villagers in Nigeria know the risk of abduction while teaching and attending school. White House Correspondents’ Dinner guests dive for cover under tables. Nothing is certain. There are no guarantees.
And maybe that is what we need to admit to ourselves, and to the younger generation.
Perhaps a caveat needs to be added to the First Amendment in honor of the brave men, living and dead, who struggled, as Lincoln told us, to consecrate our rights and ideals. Nothing may abridge the freedom of speech, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble. . .but you might be assassinated.
We need to decide whether who we are and what we hold dear is worth risking our lives to promote. We are truly privileged, as Americans and as a religious people, if the answer is yes.
