Present at our nation’s founding — but excluded from its promise
In the lead-up to our country’s 250th anniversary, Errin Haines is writing a series of columns to contemplate the complicated expansion of our democracy. Subscribe to The Amendment newsletter.
In 1776, a group of White, male landowners in the original Thirteen Colonies wrote that all men were created equal — words that denied most of their fellow colonists the same certain unalienable rights.
The real founders of our democracy were those who took the promises in the Declaration of Independence literally, the people who rejected the hypocrisy of its ideals and declared that its words would have meaning in their lives, too. Two hundred and fifty years later, that declaration is still being made.
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.
That anyone outside of themselves — the other, the unfamiliar — deserved the same rights proclaimed in our founding documents was not a self-evident truth to the original founders. The phrase “all men are created equal” implied inclusivity, but was not intended as a universal promise. It was a boundary defining who was entitled to life, liberty and happiness — and who was not.
Here’s a self-evident truth: Women, the enslaved and Indigenous people were all present at the birth of this country, but they were also excluded from its promise and potential. The true birth of this nation is the longer, harder story of what they did next.
How one woman acted after hearing those words was as patriotic as anything that happened in Independence Hall on July 4, 1776. She would test whether democracy was a promise or a lie. And she would demand her rightful place among this country’s founders.
In 1776, Elizabeth Freeman was an enslaved woman named Mumbet, working for the Ashley family in Sheffield, Massachusetts. At the dinner table, the Ashleys and their guests spoke of the Declaration. Present in a conversation about freedom that didn’t include her, Mumbet tried not to draw attention to herself as she went about her work.
A few years later, Mumbet heard the words of the newly written Massachusetts Constitution of 1780, words that sounded much like the ones mentioned in those dinnertime conversations: “All men are born free and equal, and have certain natural, essential, and unalienable rights; among which may be reckoned the right of enjoying and defending their lives and liberties; that of acquiring, possession, and protecting property; in fine, that of seeking and obtaining their safety and happiness.”
One of its framers was Theodore Sedgwick, a lawyer and friend of her enslaver. Mumbet walked to Sedgwick’s office and asked, based on what he had written, if he would plead her case. Sedgwick agreed, asserting that slavery was unconstitutional under the ratified Massachusetts Constitution.
On August 21, 1781, she became the first enslaved woman to have her self-proclaimed independence validated in a court of law. She changed her name to Elizabeth Freeman to reflect her new status.
Freeman sued for her freedom and won. As a founding mother, she is the first example in a lineage, a creator of the tradition of forcing the country to answer its founding promises. She was among the first to show that the power of the Declaration was not that it frees anyone, but that its language gives us the power to demand equality and freedom for ourselves.
Freeman’s case established a pattern that has repeated itself across American history: Hear the promise. Claim the promise. Force the law to answer it. From women’s suffrage to the civil rights movement, to the fight for marriage equality, immigrant rights and beyond, the work of perfecting the union has always been done by those who have had to imagine — and assert — their equal and rightful place within it.
Freeman’s life challenges us to interpret the Declaration of Independence for ourselves, and to continue the work of expanding the promise of our democracy to include those who are still left out.
“She is a founder and a revolutionary,” said Johns Hopkins University historian Martha Jones. “It takes no time for someone like Elizabeth Freeman to recognize that there are principles that have been articulated that have inspired elite White men that should apply to her. She is the person who gave new, unintended meaning to those terms. Why don’t we know her name or what she did?”
To be a founder of democracy is not just to declare equality or the right to freedom. It is to hold accountable those who claim to believe in these words and to compel them to go beyond just making a declaration. It is to do the work of making word and deed real.
Throughout our nation’s history, Black women have done the work. They have challenged America to become her truest self and claimed freedom denied for themselves and others — freedom for which they are still fighting in the courts today.
At America’s 250th anniversary, a Black woman is, for the first time in our nation’s history, interpreting those same ideals as a member of the U.S. Supreme Court. While Freeman asked the law to see her, Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson now helps to define what the law sees and what equality means under the law today.
In October, civil rights lawyer and head of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, Janai Nelson, appeared before the Supreme Court for the first time to argue a voting rights case, which challenged whether Louisiana’s congressional map discriminates against Black voters; a ruling is expected this spring. It was only the latest time Nelson has tested the question of whether the Constitution’s promise of equal citizenship applies to all.
“The language of the Declaration has power for marginalized people, which can be scary for those who have power,” said Adrienne Whaley, a lead curator at the Museum of the American Revolution in Philadelphia. “So you have this necessary tension between freedom and power and equality and inequality, which is part of what makes the Revolution ongoing.”
It is a tension that is still shaping and defining our democracy. Just as the Declaration of Independence cannot remain a fixed document, but must be continuously interpreted to force inclusion, the American Revolution is not a fixed event in our history. It plays out daily, in courtrooms, communities, classrooms and movements.
For 250 years, people who have been repeatedly excluded from America’s promise have insisted on their rightful and equal place. In this way, our nation is still being founded, not by the people who invoke the Declaration, but by those who test its meaning every day.
We must now insist, as Freeman insisted, that our founding words be made real for every American. She didn’t wait for permission to belong. She claimed her place by testing the idea of a nation against her reality — and compelled its authors to answer her.
The question for us at this milestone in our democracy is whether we are willing to be the kind of founders who do the same.
After reading, what came up for you? What has shaped your sense of belonging in this country — or challenged it? Send a note or voice memo.
Your response may help shape future editions of our Revolutionary project. I really look forward to hearing from you.
