The best way to destroy the public's memory of an important event is to make it into an American national holiday.

Every Christmas, Americans celebrate the arrival of a bearded, red-suited Communist who looks suspiciously like Karl Marx, and who gives presents to everyone, irrespective of race, color, creed, or national origin. Parents tell their children that only good little boys and girls are so rewarded, but the kids catch on fast: they're going to get some of the loot, no matter what. Also, they never think that their share of the booty is fair. This prepares them to be voters.

Then there is Easter, the celebration of a rabbit who, for some unexplained reason, hides colored hard-boiled chicken eggs in everyone's back yard and on the White House's lawn.

On New Year's Day, people recover from hangovers by watching the Rose Parade, a TV show so excruciatingly boring that it looks as though it was produced by PBS with a major government grant. (Note: it was to comment on the Rose Parade that national TV networks first brought in women to serve as "colorful" co-anchors, something for which the original producers will answer for on judgment day.) Later in the day, tens of millions of men watch college football bowl games, most of which settle nothing, but one of which unofficially determines which major team was the best during the season—an exclusively past-oriented celebration for the new year.

On Thanksgiving Day, only those people give thanks those favorite college football team wins the annual Big Game with the school's major rival.

On Presidents Day, we celebrate the birth of two men with two things in common: they were born in February, and they were twice elected President. Because we combine their birthdays, we learn nothing about either of them.

On Labor Day, nobody works.

On Memorial Day, nobody remembers World War I.

Because there has been insufficient time to transform the holiday into something else, Martin Luther King Day still officially honors the birth of Michael King (aka Martin Luther King, Jr.). About 80% of Americans do their best to forget, and 10%—immigrants—never knew.

This brings me to the Fourth of July. There are no Fourth of July parades on TV, or anywhere else, as far as I know. I cannot remember any in my youth.

We have all heard the phrase, "a Fourth of July oration." Maybe in my parents' day, or my grandparents' day, but not in mine. I do not recall ever hearing a single patriotic speech on the Fourth of July.

On July Fourth, we set off fireworks. But fireworks have nothing to do with the great event of the Fourth of July. Fireworks are associated with the national anthem, which was composed for British War II (1812), not British War I.

Public fireworks are almost always funded by tax money, since there is no way to keep non-paying viewers from watching. But as government expenditures go, fireworks should be the model for all government expenditures: only once a year, no full-time employees, funded locally, benefits are not means-tested, access is first come-first served, no politician gets any credit, no mailing lists are involved, and Congress always shuts down during the show.

Movies
Americans get most of their knowledge of history from movies.

Think of the movies about the American Revolution that were made in Hollywood's golden era. There was...

I can't think of any.

There were a few swashbucklers that were set in the late eighteenth century, but none of them is about defending the traditional rights of Englishmen.

I don't count Johnny Tremain, a 1957 Disney film based on Catherine Drinker Bowen's novel. It was Hal Stalmaster's first and last movie. He later decided—wisely, I think—that he could make more money as an actors' agent than as an actor, especially since his brother owns one of Hollywood's major casting agencies. The movie isn't bad, but ultimately it was a "Luana Patten, almost grown up" movie, which did not bode well for it. (Miss Patten was Disney's late 1940's version of Shirley Temple, except that she couldn't dance or sing.)

Of course, there is The Patriot. It doesn't deal with ideology. It's initially the story of a politically uninvolved man who is trying to save his son from a murderous Redcoat. A similar theme governs Revolution, with Al Pacino. It is about a man who wanted no part of the war, but whose son gets persuaded to sign up, so he signs up to protect his son. His patriotism grows out of the war experience. It does not precede it.

The Last of the Mohicans is about Mohicans. Its soundtrack is more memorable than its script.There were a few swashbucklers that were set in the late eighteenth century, but none of them is about defending the traditional rights of Englishmen.

There are more movies about Wyatt Earp than about Thomas Jefferson or George Washington.

Let's face it: movies about people who write with quills don't make a lot of money. This is why there are not many French Revolution movies, either.

The World We Have Lost
For most Americans, the story of the American Revolution is more like a series of museum displays with toy soldiers than a series of events that grab our collective imagination. Other than George Washington, the most famous general of the American Revolution is Benedict Arnold. In third place is Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne. He was a Brit, and he is famous only because of "Gentleman."

In my library are boxes of microcards. Each card contains tiny images of up to 200 pages. On these cards is every document published in the United States from 1639 to 1811. Yet I rarely consult those cards. I have shelves of books on the American Revolution. I rarely pull one of them down and read it. I read McCullough's "John Adams," but so did a million other people -- or at least they bought the book. Thirty years ago, I earned a Ph.D. with a specialty in colonial American history, although my sub-specialty was New England, 1630-1720, not the American Revolution. But even for me, the events and the issues of 1776 have faded. Think of the average American high school graduate, whose history class spent two weeks on the American Revolution two decades ago.

There was a slogan: "No taxation without representation." How did that slogan turn out? In 1776, there was no income tax. So, we got our representation, but taxes today are at 40% of our income. Washington extracts 25% of the nation's output. In 1776, taxes imposed by the British were in the range of 1% in the North, and possibly 3% in the South. I'm ready to make a deal: I'll give up being represented in Washington, but I'll get to keep the 74% of my income that they take.  I'll work out something else with state and local politicians. Just get Washington out of my pocket.

Jefferson put these words into the Declaration of Independence:

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He had no idea. Not counting troops, who were here to defend the Western territory from the French after 1763, the number of British officials was probably well under a thousand. They resided mainly in port cities, where they collected customs (import taxes): Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston. The average American had never met a British official in 1776.

By any modern standard, in any nation, what Jefferson wrote in the Declaration to prove the tyranny of King George III would be regarded by voters today as a libertarian revolution beyond the dreams of any elected politician, including Ron Paul. Voters would unquestionably destroy the political career of anyone who would call for the restoration of King George's tyranny, which voters would see as the destruction of their economic security, which they believe is provided only by politicians and each other's tax money.

I have therefore revised the Declaration of Independence, in order to make it conform to the prevailing American view of liberty and justice for all. You may read my revision here:

http://www.lewrockwell.com/north/north110.html

This is why the documents of the American Revolution make no sense to us. We read the words and marvel at the courage of those who risked their lives, fortunes and sacred honor by signing the Declaration. But we cannot really understand why they did it. We live under a self-imposed tyranny so vast, so all-encompassing by the standards of 18th-century British politics, that we cannot imagine risking everything we own in order to throw off the level of government interference suffered by the average American businessman in 1776, let alone the average farmer.

If we could start politically where the Continental Congress started in 1775, we would call home the members of that Congress. We would regard as crazy anyone who was willing to risk a war of secession for the sake of throwing off an import tax system that imposed a 1% burden on our income.

The Declaration of Independence points a finger at us, and shouts from the grave on behalf of the 56 signers: "What have you done? What have you surrendered in our name? What, in the name of Nature and Nature's God, do you people think liberty is all about?"

We have no clue. American voters surrender more liberty in one session of Congress than the colonists surrendered to the British crown and Parliament from 1700 to 1776.