Abraham Lincoln dropped his pen. Twice.
That was not something he was especially prone to do, and his friend and Secretary of State, William Seward, thought perhaps the president was just a bit nervous about putting his name to so momentous a document. That’s just what Lincoln was afraid he was thinking.
In fact, his poor grip had nothing to do with the document before him and everything to do with the fact that this was January 1, 1863, that it was the custom of presidents then to host a day-long party at the White House on the first day of the year, and that this year was no exception. Lincoln, as the host, had stood at the head of a receiving line, all the live-long day.
“I have been shaking hands since nine o’clock this morning,” he told Seward, “and my right arm is almost paralyzed.” He looked at the paper before him. “If my name ever goes into history it will be for this act, and my whole soul is in it. If my hand trembles when I sign the Proclamation, all who examine the document hereafter will say, ‘He hesitated.’”
Lincoln didn’t hesitate. He picked up the pen, fixed it between his fingers, and scrawled his name across the bottom of the Emancipation Proclamation, which said that, effective immediately:
“… all persons held as slaves within any State … in rebellion against the United States shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free ….”
What’s more, the paper said:
“… the executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.”
Having authorized one of the most stunning declarations in American history, Lincoln looked up at Seward and smiled.
“That will do,” he said.
* * * * *
It didn’t “do” everywhere, of course. No one expected the Confederates to like it, but outrage flared in various parts of the North, too. Many accused Lincoln of changing the purpose of the war, mid-stream. This conflict was supposed to be about saving the Union, not setting blacks free.
But Lincoln saw no reason why the war couldn’t accomplish both, and in fact, no way for the war to succeed unless it did. He’d been thinking on this a long, long time. He’d been praying about it, too. He made up his mind, waited for his moment, rolled his presidential dice and took his chances. And won.
The blacks in the South, of course, won much more than he did. And – while it might astonish those bent on cramming the Black Lives Matter doctrines and the 1619 Project fictions down Americans’ throats – they thought so themselves. And were grateful.
How racist was America, those first few days of 1863? Well, the plantations were still being worked in places far from the war. The prevailing thought among many whites, north and south, was that blacks were not their intellectual equals.
But here’s something that did not happen, once the Emancipation Proclamation was announced: Union soldiers didn’t quit fighting. They didn’t drop their guns and head for home, disgusted at the prospect of fighting for the freedom of another race. They continued to march into battle, singing, “As Christ died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.”
And die they did – more than 360,000 of them – understanding that “freeing the slaves” was now a major reason why they were laying down their lives. And believing that was reason enough.
* * * * *
When word of the Proclamation reached Beaufort, South Carolina – an island community occupied by Union forces – three thousand escaped slaves were invited to hear Lincoln’s words read by a nearby landowner who had long since freed his own slaves. Those who came for the late evening reading were treated to a barbecue put on by Union troops, who personally waited on and serenaded the now-emancipated blacks. No one told the soldiers they had to do that.
For more than a year, the Union men had lived near these ex-slaves, who had inherited their first breath of self-determination when local landowners fled the coming army. The northern soldiers had tried to help them with buying land and building schools. They had watched as the blacks settled into the great experiment of freedom, working the deserted plantations, beginning the long toil of making a new life for themselves.
But, “now, for the first time,” one of the Union officers realized, true freedom had become their reality. The United States was not just an idea. It was their country now, too.
Looking up at an American flag waving gently on the platform, an old black man quietly rose to his feet. In a strong voice croaked with age, he began to sing:
“My country, ‘tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty …
Of thee I sing.”
All around him, thousands of freedmen and women slowly stood to their feet, too, and joined the song, verse after verse, chorus after chorus.
* * * * *
There are still those for whom the Emancipation Proclamation won't do. News of this last week included reports that the National Football League will see that, in addition to the national anthem, another song, “Lift Every Voice And Sing” – the so-called, “black national anthem” – is sung before every game this coming season. This, to accommodate those who don’t feel “The Star-Spangled Banner” represents their view of a racist America.
Reports keep coming of U.S. Olympic athletes who refuse to honor the national anthem, and who’ve been assured by the U.S. Olympic Committee that they don’t have to. Why should anyone chosen to represent their home country be expected to express any affection or respect for it?
They’re tearing down statues of Lincoln, these days. Of the Union soldiers who fought and died for the freedom of another race. There’s even talk of taking out statues of black soldiers who fought to save themselves, because many were led by white officers.
The forces determined to divide us grow louder, and more belligerent. The fires of hate burn hot.
But if you listen, you can hear it … out of the past, on a cool, soft breeze, coming off the river, drifting amid the moss of those live-oak trees. A prayer of thanksgiving. A song of freedom. The sweet spirit of unity.
They say, when the old man sang that night, you could hear a pin drop.
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