History That Doesn't Suck - 2: Patrick Henry and Boston Get Pissed about Taxes

Episode Date: September 30, 2017

"Treason!" This is the story of Virginia's Patrick Henry. He is a dangerous combination: young, idealistic, and persuasive. Patrick has a silver tongue that's going to light up some serious American furry against the Stamp Act. ​ Boston's going to light up with these ideas, too ... but also ... with fire. Actual, real, fire. This Second Edition episode is a rewritten, rerecorded, and remastered version of the original episode that aired on September 29, 2017. Head to HTDSpodcast.com to find out how to listen to the original. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Red One... We're coming at you. ...is the movie event of the holiday season. Santa Claus has been kidnapped? You're gonna help us find him. You can't trust this guy. He's on the list. Is that Naughty Lister? Naughty Lister?

Dwayne Johnson. We got snowmen! Chris Evans. I might just go back to the car. Let's save Christmas. I'm not gonna say that. Say it. Alright.

Let's save Christmas. There it is. Only in theaters November 15th. A&W is now serving Pret Organic Coffee. And you can get a $1 small coffee, a $2 small latte, or like me, a $1 small coffee and a $2 small latte. Available now until November 24th in Ontario only. Woo-hoo! Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller.

Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's late May, either the 29th or the 30th, 1765. We're in Williamsburg, Virginia, at the colony's gorgeous red brick Capitol building where the oldest democratically elected legislative body

in all of British North America, Virginia's House of Burgesses, is in session. Only 39 of this august body's over 100 legislators, or burgesses, as they're known, are even present. But you wouldn't guess that from the growing intensity of their debate. The men are locked in battle over resolutions that condemn an act of parliament set to take effect later this year. The Stamp Act. Now, no one likes the Stamp Act, but with each successive resolution stronger, increasingly controversial wording against it,

the burgesses are becoming quite divided. Half hate where this is going. The other half are all about it. Of course, no one likely loves the idea of taking this bold step more than the legislator behind these resolutions, a young, newly elected Burgess named Patrick Henry. Okay, before I go on with this increasingly out-of-hand debate, let me properly introduce you to this fiery debates instigator. Patrick Henry has the gift of gab and he's not afraid to use it. Language and delivering speeches are his thing. The 29-year-old tobacco farming lawyer only had formal schooling until he turned 10, but between some tutoring

from his dad and his own talent for self-learning, Patrick picked up Latin and Greek as a teen. Yeah, Latin and Greek. No biggie. Throughout the course of his days, he'll use his revival style of speech to bring the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome to life for captivated crowds. He gives speeches that electrify America. Patrick made a name for himself a couple years back when his defense attorney skills crushed an Anglican cleric suing for back pay after Virginia's two-penny act cut the man of

God's earnings for a bit. The jury had to award something. Awarding nothing wasn't an option. But thanks to Patrick, the sum was as low as possible. The jury awarded the good reverend a single penny. And you know that line, give me liberty or give me death? Yeah, that's Patrick. If Twitter existed in this century, that phrase would have been hashtagged and trending all up and down the East Coast. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. He won't drop that immortal phrase until 1775.

It's another example, though, of his brave, captivating rhetoric. In short, Patrick is a gifted, gutsy orator. He was made for legislative debates like the one he's in right now. And today, he's not gonna pull any punches. And now that we get what Patrick's all about, let's rejoin the House of Burgesses debate. House leadership is doing all it can to stave off every one of Patrick's resolutions,

but their efforts are failing. One by one, the younger legislators enable the first, the second, the third, then the fourth resolution to pass. But that momentum halts with the fifth. It's particularly harsh. Let me read it to you. Resolved, therefore, that the General Assembly of this colony have the only and exclusive right and power to lay taxes and impositions upon the inhabitants of this colony, and that every attempt to vest such power in any person or persons whatsoever, other than the General Assembly aforesaid, has a manifest tendency to destroy British as well as American freedom. In other words, Patrick's saying that only Virginian legislators, not those across the ocean in the London-based parliament,

have any right to tax Virginians. If parliament attempts taxation here, it's an insult and attack on the freedom of Britons, so it needs to back off. Bold words for a British subject. Patrick takes the floor to defend his fifth resolution. He presents a serious, almost austere look with his straight, pointed nose and well-set jaw. His wide-set eyes sweep the room, taking in his audience of fellow Burgesses and spectators,

like the red-headed 22-year-old William and Mary College law student hanging out by the lobby door named Thomas Jefferson. There are few versions of Patrick's exact words, but the gist is the same. He now channels his inner reverend and bellows out, Tarquin and Caesar had each his Brutus, Charles I his Cromwell, and George III treason.

The speaker cuts him off. Other Burgesses echo the same accusation. Patrick didn't say it directly, but the implication is clear. Brutus helped arrange Julius Caesar's assassination in ancient Rome. Cromwell led the revolution that got King Charles I of England beheaded about a century ago. Patrick's suggesting someone should go after, or even kill, King George III. Members of the House turn to each other, excitedly defending or denouncing Patrick. Traitor or patriot? The first of those titles carry grave consequences. And yet, according to

legend, Patrick ups the ante. The powerful orator answers the speaker's accusation. If this be treason, make the most of it. If true, damn, this guy. To use the parlance of the era, Patrick has stones. The House is at a full-on fever pitch. Accusatory, angry legislators fly back into what spectating Thomas Jefferson calls a most bloody debate, assailing one another with their words as the young, bold Burgess, Patrick Henry, holds his ground on the floor. He will push as hard and as far as he can to condemn what he sees as an odious, tyrannical, liberty-killing act from Parliament, this Stamp Act. And in another

moment, Patrick will learn if a majority of his fellow Burgesses agree, and whether they view him as a patriot or a traitor. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. So what's going to happen to Patrick? We'll find out, but first, we need to know what all the fuss is about. This means that, today, we'll hear the story of British Parliament's first attempt to tax the American colonies, the Sugar and Stamp Acts. I'll start by explaining why on earth Parliament's attempting to raise revenue in the colonies. Then we can get into what these acts are,

learn why smuggling maybe isn't a big deal, and cross the Atlantic to witness a heated debate in the House of Commons. From there, I'll run you through some constitutional thought, crucial to understanding this brewing transatlantic brouhaha, and then we'll be ready to see what happens to Patrick Henry. And it's almost all downhill from there as we bear witness to incredible property damage and violence, courtesy of the Stamp Act hating and protesting Sons of Liberty. So let's take this first step on the road to revolution, and we begin our tale of taxation by heading two years back to 1763, the end of the Seven Years' War. Ready? Rewind. Remember last time how I told you the end of the French and Indian War,

also known as the Seven Years' War, kind of set the stage for the beef between colonial America and the crown, or the mother country, as they often call it? Those factors start to play out immediately. The same year the war ended, 1763, our young King George III comes out with his proclamation line. It says that even though Britain now rules just about everything in Canada and east of the Mississippi River, colonials are not permitted to move farther west than the Appalachian Mountains.

This doesn't sit well with Americans, some of whom were banking on heading west immediately, or worse, have already settled there. But the reason for this proclamation line is that, while Britain controls this territory on proclamation line is that, while Britain controls this territory on paper, reality is that Native Americans live here. Now, Parliament and the Crown do want colonists to move there eventually, but they want to make sure they take this land with the least number of casualties possible. Because, of course, Native Americans are going to put up a fight.

This is their home. Case in point, while the 1763 Royal Proclamation that creates this line is still in the works, Pontiac's war begins. This conflict is named for the Ottawa Chief Pontiac, who leads a combined group of indigenous peoples in the Great Lakes region, Seneca, Delaware, Huron, and more, as they push back on British rule.

Pontiac's coalition won't succeed in the end, but it demonstrates a harsh truth regarding Great Britain's ambitions for its newly claimed territory in North America. Britain doesn't really control it. So how can Parliament better govern and control all of this land inhabited by indigenous peoples and still coveted by France and Spain? Well, the army needs a new job now that the Seven Years' War is over, so why not station 10,000 soldiers in North America?

This way, the soldiers have work and the empire's expanded territory is secured. It's two birds with one stone. But that's expensive. And the government's tight on money. Remember in the last episode when we talked about the big price tag that came with the win over France? You know, how the war nearly doubled the crown's debt? Parliament sure hasn't forgotten, and given that crushing national debt,

it would love to avoid footing all of the bill, estimated at 220,000 British pounds per year, to maintain these forces in America. Lucky for Parliament then, the new first Lord of the Treasury, and let's say de facto Prime Minister, since that's what he is, even if the term isn't official yet, is Lord George Grenville.

And he has an answer. Raise revenue from the American colonists. After all, the troops are protecting them, right? So tax the Americans. It's just one problem. Parliament's never directly taxed the colonies. And it's questionable if it has that power. I know.

At first blush, we look at Parliament, which is the legislature for Great Britain, then look at the American colonies, which are inhabited by British subjects, and think, yeah, of course British Parliament makes laws governing Britons, so it can tax them. Not so fast. For hundreds of years, at least back to Britain's 13th century monarch limiting document, the Magna Carta,

the British people have held some ideas related to free men and rights. Among these is that their monarch can't just snatch up their private property. With that line of thinking, Parliament's lower house, the elected House of Commons, came to hold the power of voting on whether a tax could exist. Thus, the British came to see taxation not as the king taking as he pleases, but rather as them, the people,

voluntarily giving a gift through their elected members of Parliament to their monarch and his government. When British colonists began coming to North America, they unsurprisingly took this system with them. The colonies may not all have the exact same form of government, but they do all have their own legislatures. And this system of a lower house determining what kind of tax slash gift it will give to the head of the colony,

the governor, is thriving. In older colonies, like Virginia, where we met Patrick Henry, this has been the case for more than a century. Yeah, they don't call Virginia the old dominion for nothing. But here's a conundrum. These colonies, peopled by British subjects, are definitely answerable to the king. But to what extent do they answer to parliament when it comes to taxes? This has never come up before. Parliament's never bothered to tax these small, distant offshoots of the empire. It has passed navigation acts, but these are more like customs

duties paid as goods go through ports. These acts regulate trade in the empire, and some revenue might come from it, but their actual purpose is not to raise revenue. All that to say, and I can't overstate this point, Parliament, which has no British North Americans serving in it to freely offer the king a gift through taxes, has never sought to raise revenue from British North Americans. Enter the Sugar Act of 1764. Its purpose is, and I quote the act, that a revenue be raised in your majesty's said dominions in America for defraying the expenses of defending, protecting, and securing the same. Close quote.

And don't let that name fool you. It's hitting far more than sugar, which is why it's also known as the Revenue Act. So no free gift of the people here, not so long as North American subjects aren't to be found in parliament. But the situation is still more complicated because this isn't necessarily a tax, not directly anyway. The Sugar Act is one of those navigation acts that the empire uses to regulate trade. So it functions like a customs duty, yet it seeks to raise revenue, like a tax.

Ugh, what kind of maddening gray area is this? I'll get to that gray area, promise, but let's set aside questions about the Sugar Act's legitimacy for just one second. What taxes slash port duties is it imposing? Quite a few, with some regulations that will destroy the colony's trade as they know it. Let's get the highlights. Remember that wine I mentioned in the last episode? Yes, Madeira wine. That's the stuff. The stuff nearly all Americans love, coming from the Portuguese island bearing the same name. The island sits to the west of Morocco and is about the last place a ship heading to the Americas stops off before braving the dangers of

a transatlantic voyage. It cranks out wine at a good price and is a great trading partner for the American colonies. Madera wine has never had a duty on it, but the Sugar Act is about to change that. Seven British pounds per ton. This means tax revenue for Parliament to pay soldiers and, with some luck, breaking Portugal's domination of the wine industry in the Americas. Parliament sees this as a win-win.

The Sugar Act also creates new duties on coffee and foreign indigo. It flat out bans foreign rum. Also, American lumber must now physically pass through Great Britain before being exported abroad. I could go on about various import and export duties, but let me skip to the Sugar Act's biggest target, foreign molasses. Here, Parliament is cutting the old Molasses Act of 1733's six pence per gallon duty on foreign molasses down to three pence per gallon. You heard me correctly. Parliament's cutting the duty to raise more revenue. Here's the thing. If, like me, you have ancestors that hail from colonial Massachusetts, or really any colonial port, you just might that hail from colonial Massachusetts, or really any

colonial port, you just might have a smuggling merchant in the family tree. Smuggling is rampant here in the mid-17th century. Now, more on the financial need for it in a minute, but let's be clear. These merchants don't see themselves as brigands breaking a meaningful or moral law when they ignore this Navigation Act. Nah, they see themselves more like Han Solo in the Star Wars franchise. Just awesome, making-our-own-rules kind of guys sticking into the Empire. And as long as we leave out the adjective galactic or British next to the word Empire,

that last sentence could just as easily apply to Solo as it could to a smuggler from Massachusetts in 1764. The biggest difference. One uses a blaster, the other uses powder. So combine that with the complacent or even complicit customs agents, and we can see why the molasses axe six pence a gallon duty isn't working as a mechanism to regulate trade. Broadly speaking, here's how the smuggling game has typically played out prior to the Sugar Act. Loaded with goods like lumber, beef, pork, and even horses, Sadly speaking, here's how the smuggling game has typically played out prior to the Sugar Act.

Loaded with goods like lumber, beef, pork, and even horses, a colonial ship sails to the Caribbean, most likely an island in the French West Indies. Arriving at one of these islands, where innumerable slaves are worked to death on sugarcane plantations, our merchant vessel offloads its North American cargo and picks up the island's sweet export, molasses. When the ship gets back to the North American colonies, let's say the port of Boston, the captain might have a nice chat with the customs agent. Now the following dialogue is fictional. Smugglers don't exactly keep records of their illicit dealings, but to help you better envision one of these acts of bribery, it might go something like this. Evening, Captain. Evening. And what have you gotten to hold? Molasses, primarily. Ah, right. The customs agent isn't

surprised. He knows the New England rum industry relies on molasses, and about 90% of that molasses comes from the French West Indies alone. That's precisely the case here. Two pennies per gallon, Captain. You're killing me. I can't pay that. Well, then I suppose we should talk about the full tariff. Did you want to have that conversation with my whole crew? The agent thinks it over. Captain's crew looks intimidating.

He can read between the lines. One and a half, Captain. We all have to eat. Now we're talking. So on the surface, we have a smuggler ready to use violence and a corrupt customs agent. But before we start judging our faux merchant and customs agent, let's go a little deeper. The Molasses Act of 1733's duty of six pence per gallon isn't just steep, it's

impossible. Prohibitively too high for merchants to absorb or pass on. Now, let's remember that this Older Navigation Act's goal wasn't to raise revenue, but to regulate the empire's trade, specifically to push colonial merchants to trade with the more expensive plantations in the British West Indies rather than the French West Indies. Yeah, total failure. But in the eyes of the colonials, the sugar act's three pence per gallon duty is as impossible as the old six. Even at this lower rate, things become unaffordable for merchants and could kill the molasses-dependent New England rum industry. That's no small thing since this rum isn't just for drinking, but used as currency, even reaching the distant shores of

Africa in the transatlantic slave trade. Anything above two pence per gallon would make some of these merchants start to go bust and send a massive ripple effect throughout the economy. That's why, as in our little imagined chat, one and a half pence is the usual going rate for a bribe. That's what merchants can afford. As for the customs agent's willingness to take bribes, they are paid so poorly it is no exaggeration to say they would go hungry, if not starve, without these under-the-table dealings. Add to this the fact that these agents' bosses are often not in the colonies as they're supposed to be, but rather living it up in England on their fat salaries, and well, it isn't hard to see why this mutually beneficial arrangement between colonial merchants and the customs agents is

thriving. Now, I don't mean to overstate. Duties are paid on occasion, but reports indicate that royal customs collectors are only bringing in a whopping 1,800 pounds per year. Meanwhile, it costs the British government 7,600 per year to collect that smaller sum. Given that negative cash flow, I think it's pretty clear that smuggling and bribery are, more often than not, how things go. And our great leader in parliament wants to stop the smuggling, but he doesn't see the colonial perspective. The loquacious, down-to-business Lord Grenville calculates that a three pence per duty on molasses will hurt trade, but not kill it. And as for the whole taxes, a free gift to the people, blah blah whatever, the Sugar Act is a navigation act.

And further, Parliament is sovereign. From his perspective then, there's no question. Parliament has the right to do this, and he will fix these issues surrounding customs duties so he can raise revenue. To that end, Lord Grenville is telling customs collectors sitting in London they can go to the North American colonies or be fired. And suspected smugglers, like Boston-based merchant John Hancock, can now be tried by the vice admiralty courts, which do not use juries and do not assume you're innocent,

but rather that you're guilty. From the colonial merchant perspective, this sugar act is a real slap in the face. And yet, this isn't enough. Looking to balance his ledgers, Lord Grenville believes he'll need to raise more tax revenue from the North American colonies. More than what mere port duties can do.

For him, it's high time that these colonials pulled their weight by paying a full-on, non-gray area direct tax. A stamp tax. Kick off an exciting football season with BetMGM, an official sportsbook partner of the National Football League. Yard after yard, down after down, the sportsbook born in Vegas gives you the chance to take action to the end zone

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As Canadian dairy farmers, we follow PROACTION, Dairy Farmers of Canada's National Quality Assurance Program with six modules. Modules like Milk Quality, that stands for high standards of milk production. Or Food Safety, producing milk that meets 42 requirements. And Animal Care, that milk that meets 42 requirements. And animal care, that means caring for every cow. ProAction sets standards of excellence. That's what's behind the Blue Cow logo. Dairy Farmers of Canada. It's February 6th, 1765. We're in London, England, and British Parliament's House of, contracts, bills of sale, liquor licenses, academic degrees,

pamphlets counted by the page no less, newspapers, almanacs, and even the packaging in which playing cards and dice are sold. The tax will be carried out by requiring the colonials to use special, government-sanctioned embossed paper. This also means that, unlike the indirect taxation of the Sugar Act's port duties, this Stamp Act would be a direct tax, paid when any North American British subject buys said paper. So, shall this House of Commons, this elected lower house of parliament, empowered to offer the free gift of taxes to the crown, impose this tax on a people that has no voice in electing its members? Let's listen in and find out.

An eloquent, portly member of parliament with dark eyes is just wrapping up his speech. This is Charles Townsend. Let's listen in. Now, will these Americans, children planted by our care, nourished up by our indulgence until they are grown to a degree of strength and opulence,

and protected by our arms, will they grudge to a degree of strength and opulence, and protected by our arms, will they grudge to contribute their might to relieve us from the heavy weight of that burden which we lie under. Most agree with Charles, or Champagne Charlie, as he's known. But not all. Colonel Isaac Barry is fuming. This native of Dublin knows North America better than most here.

He served in the Seven Years' War American Theater, the French and Indian War, where a Quebecois gun left him slightly disfigured and blind in the right eye. Unable to contain his anger, he takes to the floor and fires back a counter to Charlie's take on the Americans. They, planted by your care. No, your oppressions planted them in America. They fled from your tyranny.

They, nourished up by your indulgence. They grew up by your neglect of them. As soon as you began to care about them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule over them, sent to spy out their liberty, to misrepresent their actions, and to prey upon them. Men whose behavior on many occasions has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them. They, protected by your arms, they have nobly taken up arms in your defense, have exerted a valor amidst their constant

and laborious industry for the defense of a country whose frontier, while drenched in blood, its interior parts have yielded all its little savings to your emolument. God knows I do not at this time speak from motives of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine sentiments of my heart. Isaac has left the house speechless. For a moment, that is. It soon pivots overwhelmingly back to Lord Grenville and Charles Townsend's position.

The bill's language is finalized that very month, and King George III approves it only weeks later on March 22nd. With that royal assent, the Stamp Act is now set to take effect later this year on November 1st, 1765. So we now have two acts intended to raise revenue to defray the cost of empire in North America. The Sugar Act and the Stamp Act. Between the two of them, we also have two constitutional questions. First, is there a difference between external and internal taxation? In other words, is the Sugar Act constitutional since it raises revenue externally at ports through customs duties? Second, is the Stamp Act's direct internal tax on colonists' day-to-day purchases constitutional?

Or does this contradict the idea that British subjects give taxes to the king freely as a gift through their elected representatives? In other words, is the Stamp Act taxation without representation? Let's assess both questions. First, the external versus internal taxation idea. This is the maddening gray area of the Sugar Act I promised earlier that we'd

circle back to, and here we are. As I said before, the Sugar Act regulates like a Navigation Act, which is unquestionably constitutional. Its sin lies not in the structure but its purpose, raising revenue. If the goal were only to regulate trade, we'd have nothing philosophical to debate about the Sugar Act. So what do Americans decide on this internal, external thing? Let's start with James Otis. James is a Massachusetts assemblyman.

And do get used to me talking about Massachusetts, especially Boston. Those New Englanders are a feisty bunch. James wrote a pamphlet last year, in 1764, called Rights of the British Colonies Asserted and Proved. That might not sound like a big deal, but writing a pamphlet that gets some attention in colonial America is the equivalent of making a video or post in the 21st century that goes viral. James is definitely going 18th century viral. In his pamphlet, James calls BS on the external-internal stuff.

I quote, There is no foundation for the distinction some make in England between an internal and an external tax on the colonies. Close quote. External, internal, it doesn't matter to James. Any act of parliament intended to raise revenue, even if in a port duty, navigation style, is unconstitutional in his eyes.

Can I also add something else that's awesome about James? This is from the same pamphlet. To quote again, the colonists, black and white, born here are free-born British subjects and entitled to all the essential civil rights of such. Close quote. Slavery isn't the subject of this episode, and I don't want to distract from our focus.

We do still need to find out what happens to Patrick Henry. But it's worth pointing out that slavery is continually lurking in the background. And even in the mid-1700s, before America has fully become America, there are white Americans who recognize slavery is awful and contrary to everything, the eventual revolution is going to stand for. Now, James isn't alone in rejecting the Sugar Act and its external taxation as constitutional. North Carolina rejects Parliament's power to impose any kind of revenue act. Further, and in the spirit of

taxation being a gift freely given, New York rejects, quote, all taxes not granted by themselves, close quote. But as colonists are suddenly thinking harder about their rights than ever before, and slightly confused by the Sugar Act's revenue-raising and regulatory navigation act nature, most colonies oppose it on economic, not constitutional grounds. Of the nine colonies to formally complain against the Sugar Act, only North Carolina and New York explicitly deny Parliament's right to impose it.

Meanwhile, colonial Americans begin boycotting British goods. If it isn't made in America, then it just isn't needed. Screw the latest fashions that require wearing clothes manufactured in England. And colonial newspapers urge people to drink American brew. Now, there's good reason for this economic focus.

Not to mention the Seven Years' War again. But the colonies were already in something of a post-war depression before the Sugar Act came along. And to make matters worse, Parliament also just passed the Currency Act in 1764. This little gem prohibits the American colonies from continuing to print their own paper money, and that will further stifle colonial trade. Further, this year, 1765, Parliament's also passing a Quartering Act, essentially putting

the bill for housing soldiers here in the Americas squarely on the colonists. Quick aside, despite popular myths, the colonials were actually pretty good about looking out for soldiers. But this act hurts goodwill and creates unneeded bureaucracy that will be protested by some. All that to say, beyond even the constitutional questions, the Americans are digesting all sorts of new acts of parliament and costs. But since most of the dissent is framed in economic terms, parliament comes to think that's the only real problem. Oh, try to remember that.

I know it seems small, but it's a big part of the miscommunication that's mounting between London and the colonies. We'll come back to that later. Okay, so colonial Americans are rejecting the distinction between external and internal taxes, even if their framing of the Sugar Act is more heavily focused on economics. Raising revenue is raising revenue, and British subjects can only give the gift of taxation through a legislative body that duly represents them.

Got it. Moving to our second question then, how on earth does Parliament justify either the Sugar Act or Stamp Act as constitutional when we get to the issue of representation? Lord Grenville has an intriguing answer. According to him, it doesn't matter if you, personally, live in an area represented by a member of Parliament.

Parliament, he argues, represents all Britons around the world. He calls this virtual representation, and he's hanging it on Britain's own representative shortcomings. The truth is, representation in Great Britain is something of a mess. Have you ever heard of the cities of Manchester or Birmingham? They don't have representation in Parliament at this point. Meanwhile, there are these things called rotten boroughs, places where few people, or no one at all, live. Yet these places have representation in Parliament. Like the town of Dunwich. It used to be a big trading port in centuries past, but by the 1700s, the North Sea

has swallowed just about all of it. Old Sarum is the best example, though. It's basically an uninhabited mountain, but it still has representation. In other words, a lot of Britons in Britain are not, in fact, represented by an MP, Member of Parliament. Further, keep in mind that hardly anyone in 18th century Britain even has the right to vote. You have to be male and own land. With those qualifications, only one out of six adult British men qualify. So although British Parliament might be a few hundred years old by the 1700s, it sounds like that whole taxation is a free gift of a represented people idea is still a work in progress.

And with such spotty representation of the British even in Britain, we can see where colonial cries of no taxation without representation might not land with everyone here. A few English proponents of this virtual representation even take up their pens to write pamphlets to try and set those colonials straight. But most Americans couldn't be further from embracing this virtual representation in parliament business. Consider how different their situation is. Fairly young compared to any towns and settlements in Britain, the colonies haven't developed any crazy ridiculous rotten boroughs

due to historical agreements with lords or shifting populations to dilute the idea of individual representation. And while voting is still restricted to males who own property in the colonies as well, the lack of titles and greater distribution of land ownership in British North America means most men here can vote. Try about two out of three instead of Britain's one out of six. This certainly doesn't equate a voice for all people either. Far cry from it, and we won't get there until the 20th century. But it's a significant difference. These American colonies have kind of evolved into a bunch of limited suffrage republics by accident. They just don't know it yet. Now, some colonials accept the idea of virtual representation in their own colonial legislatures, but that's because a male colonial British subject living there

who can't vote could realistically acquire land and later gain that right. With Parliament, though, an American man could own half of Virginia. He'll never get a vote. Still, others go further and reject the theory of virtual representation entirely. To quote the Massachusetts man James Otis again, he says virtual representation is such a load of crap, Britain needs to fix its lack of representation in cities like Manchester and Birmingham. Quote, if those now so considerable places are not represented, they ought to be. Close quote. So for James, if a landowning man can't say, don't blame me, I voted for the other guy, then those taxes are not just. And hey, for the record, Britain does so in the centuries to come. It will make major

leaps and bounds in representation with the Reform Act of 1832 and continue to reform in the following decades and into the 20th century. Seems the justifications for calling the Sugar Act and Stamp Act constitutional are 0 for 2 in the colonies. Be it external versus internal taxation or virtual representation, Americans aren't buying any argument the parliament can tax to raise revenue under any circumstances. They accept the parliament can legislate in other matters, yes, but to give the free gift of taxation, that requires honest-to-God elected representation. At this point, I think we can better appreciate our buddy Patrick Henry's resolutions from this episode's opening, particularly that fifth resolution in which, to paraphrase,

he claims that Parliament has no business imposing any kind of tax on Virginia. That is, offering the free gift of Virginians, because only Virginia's legislature can make that choice for Virginia. To do otherwise is to destroy British and American freedom. But do his colleagues see his sharp rhetoric as that of a traitor or a patriot? Let's head back to that fateful late May 1765 meeting of Virginia's House of Burgesses and find out. Treason! If this be treason, make the most of it. Maybe Patrick said this last line.

Maybe he didn't. We really don't know. Either way, he said enough for some of his fellow Burgesses to say he has indeed spoken treason. Patrick then does what few could with such a serious charge. He smoothly apologizes while explaining he simply got carried away in his desire to protect liberty and its awesomeness, according to an anonymous French diarist among the spectators. Henry said that if he had affronted the speaker or the house, he was ready to ask pardon,

and he would show his loyalty to His Majesty King George III at the expense of the last drop of his blood. But what he had said must be attributed to the interest of his country's dying liberty, which he had at heart. When this unidentified Frenchman's account is found in the 20th century, some historians will believe it shows the legend of Patrick Henry's boldness is overstated. Others, however, like biographer John Kukla, will note that this style of hyperbole followed by apology is a masterful display of the era's parliamentary and courtroom speech-giving. Patrick overstepped to make his point, knowing full well he could apologize without losing the impact of his initial speech on his

listeners. This isn't lost on the young spectator Thomas Jefferson, who will later describe Patrick's words as bold, grand, and overwhelming eloquence. So, the rookie legislator's silver tongue has done it again. His fellow Burgesses forgive him for simply being an overexcited patriot. The House now votes on Patrick's fifth resolution. It passes by a single vote, 20 to 19. After the meeting, Thomas Jefferson is still lingering in the lobby as the Burgesses exit the Colonial Capitol building.

He overhears the frustrated Attorney General, Peyton Randolph, exclaim, By God, I would have given 500 guineas for a single vote. Of course, the Attorney General knows, as does Thomas, that one vote would have made a tie on the Fifth Resolution, allowing the Speaker to deny it. Peyton Randolph will still get his wish in a way, though. The next day, the House of Burgesses overturn the Fifth Resolution, while Patrick's not there.

Yet, overturned or not, all of Patrick's words send a tremor across British North America. Far beyond the Old Dominion, various colonial newspapers publish his resolutions, including two even more radical ones he never introduced to the House of Burgesses. Quick side note here, since the House overturned and expunged the last resolution from its journal, there's some historical debate as to whether the fifth resolution I quoted to you was actually the fifth introduced and passed.

But to spare you a mountain's worth of historical debate, let me just assure you, most historians agree, or at least strongly believe, the fifth is indeed the one I quoted as such. And speaking of confusion on these resolutions, even the newspapers mix things up as they go to press. Many Americans are left with the impression more resolutions passed or weren't overturned than reality, which makes Virginia's House of Burgesses appear much bolder. A Massachusetts newspaper praises Virginia's legislators while condemning its own. Meanwhile, other colonial legislatures pass their own resolutions. Emboldened Rhode Island's resolutions are equally, if not more, forceful than Virginia's. But for many, the time for words has passed.

The summer is waning. The Stamp Act will go into effect this November if not repealed. For these Americans, it's time to take to the streets in protest. Violent, destructive protest. Amazon's holiday deals are here so you can celebrate the season early.

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and crafted with skin-conditioning oils. So whether you're going for a run or just running late, do what life throws your way and smell like you didn't. Find Secret at your nearest Walmart or Shoppers Drug Mart today. It's the morning of August 14th, 1765. We're at the corner of Essex and Newbury Street in Boston, Massachusetts. Now, for those of you who know Boston, Newbury will later be known as Washington Street,

and just a block from here, at the edge of the Boston Common, you'll find the Boylston Tea Stop. But all of that is more than a century away. Right now, in 1765, this is the corner of Essex and Newbury. A beautiful elm occupies this corner, and as Bostonians start the day, they notice two effigies, that is, a model or dummy intended to represent a person or thing, are hanging from the elm's branches. One is stuffed with straw, like a scarecrow, and has the initials A.O. scrawled on it. This hanging fake body is clearly a representation of the lieutenant governor's brother-in-law,

the man who will officially distribute embossed and taxed paper when the Stamp Act takes effect, Andrew Oliver. The other effigy is a big boot with a devil in it, and in the demon's hands is the Stamp Act. These effigies are the start of a protest. The protesters themselves are soon in the streets. They stop farmers on their way to market, then playfully, mockingly, stamp the farmers' goods. People are drawn in by this theatrical show. By that afternoon, the protesters' ranks have grown as men, women, and children, including black Bostonians, both free and enslaved, join in. By some estimates, thousands out of Boston's entire population of 15,000 have joined this protest near the elm tree. Alarmed government officials do not dare to

intervene or cut down the effigies. They're too afraid. About five that evening, the protesters cut down the effigies themselves. They placed the straw body on a beer, and six men then carry Andrew's effigy through the streets as thousands trail them. The mock funeral party soon passes the statehouse. As they do, the crowd cries out, Liberty! Property! And no stamps! This throng of Bostonians finds its way to a building down at the dock on Kilby Street. Before them is a building owned by their future distributor of stamps,

Andrew Oliver, and it's assumed this will serve as his office. They don't just damage the building. They destroy it. They level it. The next stop is just a street over, Andrew Oliver's actual home. And there, in the street, right in front of it, and in plain view of anyone inside, they behead his effigy, then take it, along with pieces of his office,

to nearby Fort Hill. Once there, the angered Bostonians burn their decapitated representation of Andrew. Meanwhile, others are throwing stones at Andrew's home. Some swear oaths that they'll kill him, and soon the mob breaks down his barricaded doors. Good thing Andrew and his family have cleared out. His home, though, is lost.

They wreck everything in sight, including the furniture and one of the Oliver family's prized possessions, a mirror said to be the largest in all of North America. And naturally, they help themselves to his liquor. By 11 o'clock that night, the lieutenant governor makes one last desperate attempt at enforcing the law. He and the sheriff go to Andrew's home to talk with the mob. Noble, but wrong move.

A young shoemaker and captain of the South End gang, Ebenezer McIntosh, notices them. He calls out, The governor and the sheriff! To your arms, my boys! The mob hurls rocks at their government officials, who have no choice but to dash off into the dark of night to save their own lives. Andrew sends word the next day. For some reason, he doesn't want to go in person.

He's resigning in a position he doesn't really have yet, effective immediately. And one month later, on September 11th, Bostonians will dedicate the elm tree where this day started, as the Tree of Liberty. Now, lest you think this is an isolated act, let me assure you, there's plenty more violence where this came from. With threats of getting the same treatment as Andrew Oliver, not a man in all of Boston dares to take the job of distributor of stamps. And only 12 days later, August 26th, the mob heads to the home of the Lieutenant Governor, Thomas Hutchinson. The family is warned with time to get out, but only just.

They smash down the front door and demolish furniture, art, Thomas' personal papers, and steal his silverware. The house is barely standing by the time they're done. Rebel rouser Ebenezer McIntosh is arrested, but quickly let go without punishment. Beyond fears that his detention might whip up the mob, a small secretive and influential team of liberty-loving merchants and craftsmen called the Loyal Nine assures authorities

that it will keep Ebenezer and his mob in check. The Loyal Nine provided the organizing force behind the destruction and violence of August 14th. And is a certain Mr. Samuel Adams, though not a member, pulling its strings from the shadows? Can't say, but many believe it. Anyhow, this crew works to unite the Ebenezer-led, lower-class Southenders with a similar class of Northenders.

As this happens, we have the formation of a larger group that believes violent protest is what's needed to fight the Stamp Act. You'll hear different accounts of the origin of this group's name, but I'll point out that we did hear Colonel Isaac Berry use the phrase in his speech against the Stamp Act last February. That's right. This group is called the Sons of Liberty. This isn't a unique-to-Boston club. The Sons of Liberty quickly spread through the colonies. Its brilliant organization is a crucial element of the group's success.

For instance, in ever-ethnically diverse New York City, multilingual leader John Lamb brings the city's non-English-speaking Dutch, French, and German populations into the fold. Because, you know, tarring and feathering stamp act supporters and destroying things shouldn't be limited to English speakers. We're fighting for equal rights here. Joking aside, across the colonies,

they intimidate or force distributors of stamps to resign. But not all protests are violent. Likewise, across the colonies, Americans hold mock funerals. They carry Liberty's coffin in a funeral procession. Someone would be inside. As they arrived at the cemetery and prepared to lower the coffin into the cold earth,

signifying Liberty's end at the hands of Parliament, the individual in the coffin playing the part of Liberty would start to revive. So no burial after all. And how do you close out this happy yet macabre scene? Why, with drinks, of course. You take the party to the pub, drinks all around. And you know, this just seems like the most colonial American thing I can think of,

combining liberty and a pub. Finally, we also have a unified nonviolent effort to fight the Stamp Act. In October, nine of the 13 original colonies that will become the United States send a combined 27 representatives to New York. And more wanted to come. Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia are only missing

because their royal governors prevented them. New Hampshire alone chose to sit this one out. Anyhow, the nine participating colonies call this meeting the Stamp Act Congress.

Now, don't read too much into this. Their resolutions open, quote, with the warmest sentiments of affection and duty to his majesty's person and government, close quote. It further affirms that colonial Americans owe, to quote again, all due subordination to that august body, the Parliament of Great Britain, close quote. So yes, you are seeing the first united colonial effort pushing back against Parliament, but it's still relatively loose and no one hears talking independence.

No one in the colonies is going there yet, not even close. But let's take note of a couple of the rights this Congress declares. I'll just quote the 5th and 6th resolutions. 5th, that the only representatives of the people of these colonies are persons chosen therein, by themselves, and that no taxes ever have been or can be constitutionally imposed on them but by their representative legislatures. 6th, that all supplies to the crown, being free gifts of the people,

it is unreasonable and inconsistent with the principles and spirit of the British constitution for the people of Great Britain to grant to his majesty the property of the colonists. Yeah, that's exactly what we've been talking about this whole episode. The Fifth Resolution basically rejects virtual representation. And the sixth, well, you heard it, free gifts of the people.

And where do the colonials get their ideas and interpretations of their rights? In their eyes, these are the common rights of Englishmen enshrined in documents such as the Magna Carta and the 1689 English Bill of Rights. But we don't want to end on such a tame note. Nor do I want you to think that only Northerners know how to scream, riot, tear down buildings, burn things, and otherwise intimidate the king's men. Southerners got it going on too. So let's go back to Patrick Henry's Virginia. It's Wednesday evening, October 30th, in Williamsburg, Virginia, and the city is humming with activity. The reason is that the high court met today, which means lawyers and merchants from across the old dominion now fill the colonial

capital streets. And amid these dirt roads filled with people and horses is Colonel George Mercer. George is fresh in from England, but don't mistake him for an outsider. The colonel is a born and raised Virginian who served as George Washington's aide to camp and was injured at the 1754 Battle of Fort Necessity. Work as an agent of the Ohio Company took him to England. But now he's back in a new government position, Distributor of stamps. He's arrived just in time, too. Stamp Act goes into effect in only two days. George Mercer is currently walking in the vicinity of the Capitol building, when suddenly, a large group of men cut him off. He looks into their faces. They appear rather well

off. Merchants and lawyers, that type. But they also appear livid. Apparently aware of his new job, they demand George immediately resign as distributor of stamps. Not having been in America since the Stamp Act crisis began, the colonel doesn't know what to make of this. He tries to put them off. Says he'll get back to them on Friday at 10 o'clock, after he's had a chance to discuss this with others.

The group still feels very tense. He looks toward the coffee house. Ah, there's the governor and council on its porch. Seeing this as a safe harbor, George advances quickly in that direction. This group, no, mob, follows right on his heels, yelling at him along the way. Dashing up the steps of the coffee house, the colonel turns towards Governor Francis Fakir. The governor and his entourage welcome George

as the trailing, angry crowd arrives at the coffee shop steps. George is now standing on the porch with the most powerful men in the colony. Yet, what will happen next is anyone's guess. A voice in the crowd calls out, Let us rush in! The governor stares back. Then slowly, he takes the colonel by the arm, and the two of them descend the steps into the crowd.

He guides George through the hostiles and to the governor's mansion. Once there, the governor gets George up to speed on how deeply the colonies despise the Stamp Act. Fully appraised of the situation, George does just as Andrew Oliver decided to do months ago in Boston. He'll resign. And George does so the next day. Thankfully, this inauspicious attempt to tax the Americans soon ends. Entirely unrelated to the American colonies,

King George III thinks Lord Grenville's overplayed his hand. Upset by this would-be power play, His Majesty, who doesn't even like the talkative and dull politician anyway, actually dismissed Lord Grenville back on July 10th, 1765, months before the Stamp Act took effect. The government is now in the hands of the new first lord of the treasury, the 35-year-old Marquess of Rockingham, Charles Watson Wentworth.

Rockingham sees the violence in the colonies and thinks it's best to repeal these taxes. I want to emphasize that. Violence did the trick. But he can't say that to Parliament. No, no, no. That august body of the British Empire can't admit it's backing down to some meager colonies.

So, Rockingham gets British merchants who trade with the colonies to complain about the bad impact these taxes are having on the economy. Ah, that Parliament will respond to. Come 1766, the Stamp Act is repealed. The Sugar Act is replaced with a new duty that regulates molasses, regardless of place of origin, with a duty of one penny per gallon. Well, that's affordable.

It's as cheap as the bribes were. Colonial merchants are good with that. Oh, but do we have some serious miscommunication between the Americans and Parliament? Now listen up, this is crucial. Remember when I briefly mentioned the colonists' boycott of English goods? Well, merchants also adopted non-importation agreements. They did so thinking they could hurt the British economy enough to get Parliament to repeal the

Sugar and Stamp Acts. And as these acts get repealed, the Americans mistakenly think their non-importation and boycotting did the trick. So, now they'll incorrectly think they can get Parliament to cave with non-importation in the future. Because of that, you'll see the colonies try this again and again with future taxes in the decade between now and the revolution. Further, the constitutional issues are misunderstood. To build off of the boycotts, remember when I asked you to remember that the Sugar Act was fought largely on economic, not constitutional terms? Now add to that the new one penny per gallon molasses duty replacing the Sugar Act. Though framed as regulation, it is definitely raising revenue. Future historians will nickname it the Revenue Act of 1766

because this quote-unquote regulation is raking in the cash as colonial merchants, by and large pragmatists, not constitutional scholars, pay it. In short, the economic basis of fighting the Sugar Act, plus these payments, incorrectly, though understandably, convince Parliament that Americans are, in fact,

okay with duties that raise revenue, or to use that phrase we discussed earlier, external taxes. And yet, damn it, as we know from the writings of James Otis, that couldn't be further from the truth. Americans are not okay with internal or external taxation. And even still, the miscommunication doesn't end there. In repealing these odious taxes, Parliament also passes the Declaratory Act. This declares that the King and Parliament have the right to, quote, make laws and statutes of sufficient force and validity to bind the colonies and people of America, subjects of the crown of Great Britain, in all cases whatsoever.

Close quote. Parliament avoids the word tax, but Parliament is clearly saying, we are ending the sugar and stamp acts because we've decided they aren't great. But make no mistake, we have the right to tax you virtually represented colonial America. But you know what the colonists heard? We in Parliament have the right to pass laws, but we now understand that only your colonial legislatures alone can offer the free gift of taxation on your behalf. Ugh, talk about hearing what you want to hear. And to think, all of this because the British Empire

got new territory in North America from the Seven Years' War and wants to leave an army to protect it. So this attempt by Parliament to tax the colonies might be over, but nothing is settled. The British Empire's need for funds hasn't gone away, and neither Parliament nor the Americans are any closer to understanding the other's point of view on how the rights of British subjects should function in North America. And with nothing more than a band-aid over these real issues, it's only a matter of time before we'll rip that wound right open with a second attempt at taxation. One that will bring more

violent protest, military occupation, and finally, death and blood to the streets of Boston. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members, whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Begel, Charles and Shirley Clendenin, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, Thank you. What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest?

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