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October
01
2025
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Freedom and Liberty: An American Birthright
People who hate freedom and liberty are angered that anyone would choose to tell them “NO” to some dangerous, insane, and asinine idea – how arrogant and ungrateful we must be to reject their overtures and the cold chains of serfdom to an authoritarian government, the Leviathan – how dare we reject their mantel of master and the cradle to grave control they offer, under the guise of “care”. As I thought of all these matters and the manner in which so many steps have been taken to enslave us already, from the creation of the Federal Reserve to the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which has essentially acted as a second “constitution” focused upon subverting the founding constitution, the following story unfolded in my mind, a bit of an allegory focused upon the question of whether or not America will last too much further into this century and will a day ever arrive, when our children say “America” with a question mark, with America having long been erased from the history they are taught. ~ J.O.S.
The room was dim, lit only by a flickering candle atop the end table beside the miniature Liberty Bell. Its flame danced, casting long shadows across the cracked walls and the skeletal forms within. Uncle Sam’s bony frame remains seated in the black leather chair, his hollow gaze fixed on the Constitution’s skeleton, which was laid beneath a frayed burial sheet labeled “CONSTITUTION.” From the doorway, a ten-year-old white boy peeked in – wide-eyed, barefoot, wearing denim overalls and a faded cotton shirt. His face was half-lit by the candle’s glow, half-swallowed by the dark. He clutched a small wooden toy in one hand, forgotten in the gravity of the scene before him. In the far corner, barely visible, the ghostly apparition of Lady Liberty hovered. Her translucent form was draped in a tattered robe, the torch she once held now dimmed to a faint ember. Her face was solemn, eyes cast downward, one hand reaching toward the boy as if beckoning him forward – or warning him to turn away. The boy’s name was Eli, and he had wandered from his bed, drawn by a whisper he couldn’t name. The grown-ups said the old house was haunted, but Eli didn’t believe in ghosts. He believed in stories. And stories, he knew, had bones. He crept down the hallway, past the portraits of men with stern eyes and powdered wigs, past the cracked glass of a display case that once held a musket and a folded flag. The door at the end of the hall was ajar, and the candlelight spilled out like a secret. Inside, he saw them. Uncle Sam, or what was left of him, sat in a great black chair. His bones were dressed in the colors of a country Eli had only read about in books – red, white, and blue, faded and frayed. His hat was still tall, but his spine was curved, as if the weight of centuries had bent him low. Beside him lay the Constitution, skeletal and still. The sheet that covered it bore its name, but the letters were cracked and peeling. Eli felt a chill as he looked upon it – not from fear, but from recognition. He had seen those words before, in a classroom where the teacher spoke softly and the lights flickered overhead. And then he saw her. Lady Liberty, or the ghost of her, lingered in the corner. Her torch was dim, her robe torn, but her eyes – her eyes were alive. They met Eli’s, and in that moment, he felt something stir inside him. Not fear. Not sadness. Something older. Something sacred. Uncle Sam turned his skull toward the boy. No words came, but Eli understood. This was a vigil. A watching. A waiting. The candle flickered. The Liberty Bell, small and cracked, sat beside it. Eli stepped into the room, drawn by the silence. He placed his toy on the table, beside the bell. It was a wooden eagle, carved by his grandfather. Its wings were spread wide. Lady Liberty raised her hand, and the flame steadied. Eli did not cry. He did not run. He stood beside the bed, beside the bones, and whispered the only words he knew, the words that seemed to best fit the situation:
The room did not answer. But the candle burned on. The candle burned low, and the shadows grew long. Eli stood beside the skeletal remains of the Constitution, his small hand resting on the frayed sheet. Uncle Sam’s hollow eyes watched in silence. Lady Liberty’s ghost hovered, her torch dimmed to a dying ember. Eli didn’t know the words grown men used in courtrooms or congress halls. But he knew what his dear ol’ paternal Granddad Jack had told him:
So Eli did what no one had done in years. He knelt beside the bed and whispered – not to the bones, but to the spirit that once animated them.
The Liberty Bell gave a faint chime. Lady Liberty stirred. Her torch, once dim, flickered. Then flared. The flame leapt – not with heat, but with memory. It danced across the room, illuminating the portraits, the musket, the folded flag. Uncle Sam’s bones seemed to straighten. The Constitution’s sheet fluttered, as if catching breath. Eli stood, bathed in the glow. His eyes were no longer wide with fear – they were lit with purpose. Grown to manhood, many people around the country had dropped Eli’ Jackson’s given name, and they simply called him “Liberty”. He never ran for office. He never built an empire. But he walked from town to town, telling stories. He taught children how to read the Declaration aloud. He showed farmers how to reclaim their land from bureaucratic chains. He reminded sheriffs what their badge once meant. He carried no weapon but truth. No banner but memory. And when the time came – when the people had had enough of surveillance, censorship, and the slow erosion of soul – they didn’t look to politicians. They looked to Eli. He stood on courthouse steps and in school gymnasiums. He spoke not of parties, but of principles. Not of power, but of promise.
Lady Liberty’s torch burned bright once more. Not in marble. Not in metal. In the hearts of the people. One address in particular lived on for many years after Eli’s death. “My name is Eli. I’m not a senator. I’m not a general. I’m not a man of wealth or pedigree. I’m a father. A son. A neighbor. And I stand before you tonight because I love this land too much to let it die quietly.” The crowd went silent. The wind rustled the flags – some tattered, some new. “I was ten years old when I first saw the bones of Uncle Sam sitting beside the Constitution’s deathbed. I didn’t understand everything then. But I understood loss. I understood love. And I understood that liberty, like a candle in the dark, only survives if someone shields it from the wind.” He paused, looking out at the facesvyoung and old, weary and hopeful.
He lifted a small wooden eagle from his coat pocket and holds it high.
The Liberty Bell chimes faintly in the distance.
He stepped down from the podium, placed the eagle on the courthouse steps, and walked into the crowd – not above them, but among them. And the torch of Lady Liberty, once dimmed, burned bright again.
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Unfortunately, wherever one finds a free people and a free society, one will always find evil men and women who will do anything to control them, to bring them to heel, and to conquer them in fact – to force them to do their bidding upon pain of death. And in that, just as has always been the case, we will always find ourselves in a war to survive and defeat the forces of tyranny, those monsters who hate freedom and liberty. 
“We will not allow ourselves to be silenced, forced into submission or made to live under any tyrant and totalitarian system in the name of ‘the general wellbeing’ or ‘for the greater good’, those age-old catch-phrases of the country’s communists who spit on our virtues and traditional principles of freedom and liberty, who demean and dishonor the memories of good men and women who sacrificed so much in the fight for our people to remain free.”