Beinecke Readings Examine Freedom From All Angles

The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library holds one of 26 known surviving copies of the first printing of the Declaration of Independence. The document, printed by John Dunlap in Philadelphia on July 4, 1776, has a single typographical error, an indication that the founders issued it in a hurry to declare independence from England. 

On Wednesday, a few dozen New Haveners got to hear the words of that revolutionary broadside read aloud — along with that of Frederick Douglass’s 1852 oration ​“What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” — as part of an annual primary-source-focused tradition to celebrate the 247th anniversary of Independence Day.

Michael Morand, the director of community engagement for the Beinecke, said that the Declaration’s typo ​“demonstrates that this work of freedom and justice is messy, and not quite perfect.” He likened the Declaration to America itself: a foundation block for an ever-growing and changing structure. ​“It is up to us to work on making a more perfect union,” said Morand.

In that context, the land acknowledgement at the beginning of the event took on greater significance, as Morand sought to recognize the whole of America — indigenous peoples like the Quinnipiac and Mohegan communities, immigrants, and the descendants of enslaved peoples. 

Likewise, the Beinecke paired the Declaration of Independence with documents that acknowledged the independence of those not explicitly included in the original: the 1848 Declaration of Sentiments, which addresses women’s rights, and Douglass’s 1852 oration, which speaks to the freedom of Black Americans.

“These texts are at once timely and timeless, and show that words matter, ideas matter, and actions matter,” said Morand.

George Miles read the Declaration of Independence standing at the podium like a statesman, his voice even and composed yet brimming with fire. Miles read as someone lifting up the veils of time, transporting the audience back to 1776 when the colonies struggled under the heavy thumb of the English monarchy. Those words — ​“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” — rang through the Beinecke with the kind of fervor and weight that they may have carried 247 years ago, at the Pennsylvania State House.

Some members of the audience followed along on printouts of the Declaration. The crowd ranged from elderly regulars to children and a baby, all struck silent by the gravity of the trip through history.

Tubyez Cropper read from a petition from enslaved people of New Haven to the Connecticut General Assembly, dated 1784/88. Written by a group of Black people whose names are not known, the petition contained the words of those who the government forced, a decade after the Declaration of Independence, to argue for their ​“unalienable rights.” ​“The words were visceral and grew from liberal sensibilities,” said Cropper.

The enslaved people of New Haven called out the hypocrisy hidden in the Declaration, and in an America that claimed to be free while still participating in the slave trade. ​“We are dragged from our native countries for cruel slavery … is this human?” read Cropper. A murmur of agreement went up from the crowd, stirred by Cropper’s measured tone that neither pleaded nor demanded, but outlined the ugly, gaping flaws in the political system. ​“Gentlemen, is this to be right and justice? Is this a free country?” Cropper asked, and the voices of the past spoke through him to answer: ​“No. It’s murder.”

Next, Charles Warner Jr. read from The Life of William Grimes, the 1825 autobiography of a fugitive enslaved man. At the time of publication, the around 40-year-old Grimes lived in Litchfield and had had 10 different slave owners since his birth in Virginia, before escaping to the North. After his identification, a slave owner forced Grimes to use all his savings to buy his own freedom. Grimes wished to inform the public about the horrors he had undergone in slavery, and to prove that slavery itself stained the American government. In the event of his death, Grimes imagined that his skin would be stripped and used to bind a copy of the constitution, illustrating its inadequacies. ​“Let the skin of an American Slave bind the charter of American liberty,” read Warner Jr., to a chorus of impressed hums.

Whether you interpret the phrase ​“all men” in the Declaration of Independence to mean ​“humans” or ​“males,” at the time of American Independence, women had very few rights or liberties at all. Meghan Beirne called attention to this exclusion by reading the 1848 Declaration of Sentiments. The document mirrors the earlier Declaration of Independence, beginning with the statement of self-evident truths and continuing to list the wrongs of men against women in the same fashion that the original lists the wrongs of King George III against the colonies. The parallel emphasizes the hypocrisy of the male government in its attempt to ​“colonize” women. If they wanted freedom for all, shouldn’t that mean truly all?

Finishing the program, Erik Clemons, Babz Rawls Ivy, Clifton Graves Jr., Dee Marshall, and Trina Lucky joined forces to read Frederick Douglass’s ​“What, to the Slave, is the Fourth of July?” Each reader brought an individual and distinct tone to their embodiment of Douglass’s words. 

“It is the birthday of your National Independence, and of your political freedom. This, to you, is what the Passover was to the emancipated people of God,” read Clemons. He punched every ​“you” and ​“your” like a fist to the throat, capturing the urgency of Douglass’s meaning and the differentiation he emphasized. 

Douglass made it clear that Independence Day did not mean freedom for him. ​“The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common.… The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me.” He felt more concerned with his own freedom, and that of the enslaved peoples.

“What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?” boomed Clifton Graves Jr. ​“I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim.” Graves Jr. undertook the section of the speech that dealt with the American slave trade, followed by Dee Marshall, who outlined the issues with the American church. Each reader lent a new, impassioned voice to Douglass’s words as he picked apart the issue of slavery in America with deft and discerning cadence.

“Allow me to say, in conclusion, notwithstanding the dark picture I have this day presented, of the state of the nation, I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation, which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery. ​‘The arm of the Lord is not shortened,’ and the doom of slavery is certain,” read Trina Lucky. A silence fell, as the weight of her words hung heavy over the Beinecke. Then, all at once, the crowd burst into applause.

On the way out of the library, this reporter took a minute to examine the copy of the Declaration of Independence. I couldn’t find the typo, but I knew it was there. The texts read at the Beinecke gave much for the people of New Haven to mull over this Fourth of July week. Sometimes knowing the flaw exists makes all the difference in ensuring a better future.