On the Fourth, our eyes are drawn to the magnificent spectacles across the country. This year, we’ve been treated to two eye-dazzling pyrotechnical displays in the form of exploding political careers–Palin sputters a faint and random path across the skies leaving a trail of smoke, and the crowd goes AHHHHhhhhhh. Another governor hikes the appalachian trail all the way to Buenos Aires and the dazzled crowd utters "OOOHHHHhhhhh". The bright colors, the flash and bang, the long trail of burnt smoke, soon dissapated by the evening breeze and gone forever.

But let’s leave these colorful and ultimately meaningless fireworks for a moment to find more solid and honest ground for true celebration and remembrance. I’d propose that liberal political activists should use the Fourth to pause for a moment, and remember that they should claim descent from the Founders in at least two different ways. The most obvious of these is that we today live in the republic framed by them in the Declaration we celebrate today. But a second line of descent can be traced in how the founders spoke out against the status-quo, speaking truth to power, sometimes funding that battle with their own fortunes.
And while today that practice demands some modest sacrifices on the part of many, for the founders the risk was much greater–it encompassed considerable personal risk to themselves and their families. Consider the following:

What Happened to the Signers of the Declaration of Independence?

Five signers were captured by the British and brutally tortured as traitors. Nine fought in the War for Independence and died from wounds or from hardships they suffered. Two lost their sons in the Continental Army. Another two had sons captured. At least a dozen of the fifty-six had their homes pillaged and burned.

What kind of men were they? Twenty-five were lawyers or jurists. Eleven were merchants. Nine were farmers or large plantation owners. One was a teacher, one a musician, and one a printer. These were men of means and education, yet they signed the Declaration of Independence, knowing full well that the penalty could be death if they were captured.

In the face of the advancing British Army, the Continental Congress fled from Philadelphia to Baltimore on December 12, 1776. It was an especially anxious time for John Hancock, the President, as his wife had just given birth to a baby girl. Due to the complications stemming from the trip to Baltimore, the child lived only a few months.

William Ellery’s signing at the risk of his fortune proved only too realistic. In December 1776, during three days of British occupation of Newport, Rhode Island, Ellery’s house was burned, and all his property destroyed.

Richard Stockton, a New Jersey State Supreme Court Justice, had rushed back to his estate near Princeton after signing the Declaration of Independence to find that his wife and children were living like refugees with friends. They had been betrayed by a Tory sympathizer who also revealed Stockton’s own whereabouts. British troops pulled him from his bed one night, beat him and threw him in jail where he almost starved to death. When he was finally released, he went home to find his estate had been looted, his possessions burned, and his horses stolen. Judge Stockton had been so badly treated in prison that his health was ruined and he died before the war’s end. His surviving family had to live the remainder of their lives off charity.

Carter Braxton was a wealthy planter and trader. One by one his ships were captured by the British navy. He loaned a large sum of money to the American cause; it was never paid back. He was forced to sell his plantations and mortgage his other properties to pay his debts.

Thomas McKean was so hounded by the British that he had to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Continental Congress without pay, and kept his family in hiding.

Vandals or soldiers or both looted the properties of Clymer, Hall, Harrison, Hopkinson and Livingston. Seventeen lost everything they owned.

Thomas Heyward, Jr., Edward Rutledge and Arthur Middleton, all of South Carolina, were captured by the British during the Charleston Campaign in 1780. They were kept in dungeons at the St. Augustine Prison until exchanged a year later.

At the Battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the family home for his headquarters. Nelson urged General George Washington to open fire on his own home. This was done, and the home was destroyed. Nelson later died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis also had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife for two months, and that and other hardships from the war so affected her health that she died only two years later.

"Honest John" Hart, a New Jersey farmer, was driven from his wife’s bedside when she was near death. Their thirteen children fled for their lives. Hart’s fields and his grist mill were laid waste. For over a year he eluded capture by hiding in nearby forests. He never knew where his bed would be the next night and often slept in caves.

When he finally returned home, he found that his wife had died, his children disappeared, and his farm and stock were completely destroyed. Hart himself died in 1779 without ever seeing any of his family again.

Another example of raw courage and willing sacrifice can be seen in the gallows humor expressed by Benjamin Harrison at the signing of the Declaration itself:

An interesting anecdote is related of him [Harrison], on the occasion of the members affixing their signatures to the declaration of independence. While signing the instrument, he noticed Mr. Gerry of Massachusetts standing beside him. Mr. Harrison himself was quite corpulent; Mr. Gerry was slender and spare. As the former raised his hand, having inscribed his name on the roll, he turned to Mr. Gerry, and facetiously observed, that when the time of hanging should come, he should have the advantage over him. "It will be over with me in a minute–but you will be kicking in the air half an hour after I am gone."

Considering the consequences being faced by the Founders, our own sacrifices–calls to wayward house members on the public healthcare option, or contributions to our favorite bloggers to help them continue their work, can be seen for what they are–the easiest and most modest of "sacrifices".

In Concord Massachusetts, a granite monument stands today at the site of that early battle. We Americans love our monuments. We leave them as bookmarks for our children. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote of that monument:

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare,
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

Emerson knew of the sacrifice consecrated by that monument. His own grandfather, William Emerson, was a chaplain for the continental army and stood with the farmers at the Concord bridge, stating: "Let us stand our ground–if we die, let us die here". Emerson’s grandfather died while in service to the continental army, when young Ralph was seven years old.

So let’s celebrate the 4th today in all the wonderful, usual ways. But let’s also remember the tremendous sacrifices made with the founding, and let’s also think about what kind of monuments we ourselves need to be building.