The Bill of Rights: The Fight to Secure America's Liberties, by Carol Berkin
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The Bill of Rights: The Fight to Secure America's Liberties, by Carol Berkin
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Revered today for articulating America's founding principles, the first ten amendments-the Bill of Rights-were in fact a political stratagem executed by James Madison to preserve the Constitution, the federal government, and the latter's authority over the states. In 1789, the young nation faced a great ideological divide around a question still unanswered today: Should broad power and authority reside in the federal government, or should it reside in state governments? The Bill of Rights was a political ploy first and matter of principle second. How and why Madison came to devise this plan, the divisive debates it fostered in the Congress, and its ultimate success in defeating antifederalist counterplans to severely restrict the powers of the federal government is more engrossing than any of the myths that shroud our national beginnings. The debate over the founding fathers' original intent continues to this day. By pulling back the curtain on the political, shortsighted, and self-interested intentions of the founding fathers in passing the Bill of Rights, Carol Berkin reveals the inherent weakness in these arguments and what it means for our country today.
The Bill of Rights: The Fight to Secure America's Liberties, by Carol Berkin- Amazon Sales Rank: #4181666 in Books
- Published on: 2015-05-05
- Formats: Audiobook, MP3 Audio, Unabridged
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 7.40" h x .60" w x 5.30" l,
- Running time: 5 Hours
- Binding: MP3 CD
Review "A highly readable American history lesson that provides a deeper understanding of the Bill of Rights, the fears that generated it and the miracle of the amendments." ---Kirkus
About the Author Carol Berkin is the Presidential Professor of History at Baruch College. She is the author or coauthor of numerous books, including Wondrous Beauty, The History Handbook, and Civil War Wives, and has worked as a consultant on several PBS and History Channel documentaries.Pam Ward has performed in dinner theater, summer stock, and Off-Broadway, as well as in commercials, radio, and film. An experienced audiobook narrator, Pam has recorded many titles for the Library of Congress Talking Books program. She is the recipient of an AudioFile Earphones Award and the prestigious Alexander Scourby Award.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Bill of Rights
I
On September 12, 1787, Virginian George Mason rose on the floor of what came to be known as the constitutional convention.1 He proposed that the delegates gathered in Independence Hall add a bill of rights to the Constitution they had just created. The response Mason received was a resounding no. Was it possible that the men we call the founding fathers opposed such basic rights as freedom of speech, the press, or conscience? Was their intention to introduce a new tyranny to replace the tyranny of George III and his government? Why was Mason’s request so firmly denied? The answer is simple. These men were weary on that fateful September day. They had been meeting since mid-May, trudging through the rain on many a morning or wiping the perspiration from their brows on those days when the stifling heat and humidity of an all too typical Philadelphia summer seemed unbearable. Their evenings had been spent in the cramped quarters above the city’s many taverns, in rooms occupied by two and sometimes three men. Most surely slept fitfully, sharing beds in rooms redolent of spittoons and chamber pots, the smells intensified by the need to keep the shutters tightly closed against a summer invasion of bluebottled flies. Far from home, countinghouse, law office, plantation, or farm, they fretted about inventories, clients, and crops, with no choice but to rely on the good sense of family members or employees to ensure that their fortunes did not suffer. As the weeks dragged by, they longed for the comforts of home, the satisfactions of a well-cooked meal, and the companionship of wives and children. Yet they stayed. They stayed because the business they had come to Philadelphia to do was too important to abandon. They were there, they believed, to save their country. They feared that their experiment in republican government was in danger of invasion or, worse, of internal collapse if a new government was not created to replace the “league of friendship” known as the Confederation, which had proved woefully inadequate to deal with the problems facing America. The Articles of Confederation, America’s first constitution, did not owe its creation to a lapse of judgment on the part of the Revolutionary generation. To the men who wrote it, this very restricted government seemed to perfectly embody the goals of their Revolution. They did not yet think of themselves as citizens of a unified nation; like their neighbors, they thought of themselves as Marylanders, Virginians, New Yorkers, or Connecticut men. Their history and their historical circumstances made this a reasonable identification. Their newly independent states had once been colonies—colonies with different patterns of settlement, different mixes of ethnic and religious populations, and different internal histories. Virginia did not share New York’s Dutch origins; Connecticut’s lingering Puritan heritage was alien to Pennsylvania’s Quaker roots. And Maryland’s religious wars between Catholics and Protestants had no parallel in Georgia or North Carolina. It was true that by the time the war for independence began, all the rebellious colonies did have some striking political similarities. In each, the local legislature was elected by men whose race and property ownership qualified them to full citizenship. But families who traced their history back to Barbados refugees in South Carolina did not feel a natural affinity for the men and women who fled religious persecution to settle Massachusetts. Thus it was not surprising that, when asked what his country was, a leading revolutionary like Patrick Henry could immediately respond, “Virginia is my country, sir.” In short, the men who represented their rebellious states in the Continental Congress—and later in the Confederation Congress—were loyal not to something so vague as the United States but to their own state. Travel and communication in the eighteenth century reinforced this loyalty to place that we today might dismiss as provincialism. The great revolutions in transportation and communication lay decades ahead in the nineteenth century. In 1776, when the Articles of Confederation were written, horses and horse-drawn carriages, often moving along little more than Indian paths, were the fastest modes of transportation. Travel from Boston to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia could take weeks if roads were washed out by rain or if rivers had risen too high for a man on horseback to ford. Indeed, to many a Georgian in the late eighteenth century, a trip to Massachusetts might as well have been a voyage to the moon. Ships, it was true, could sail along the coast of these mainland states, but few Georgia farmers were likely to be on board. Communication was unpredictable and cumbersome. Letters often found their way to their intended recipients through elaborate relays: entrusted first to friends heading to port cities, then passed on to ship captains heading in the right direction, and finally turned over to local residents who promised to deliver them to the addressee. Much depended on whether any link in this chain failed; and even when the system worked, it could take months for a letter to find its way from writer to reader. News traveled just as slowly in a world where not every household had access to a daily newspaper. Often the best source of news was travelers, especially ship captains, who brought with them newspapers already several months old. Under these circumstances, provincialism or localism was reasonable, even among men more privileged, better traveled, and more sophisticated than their neighbors. But ideology, as much as circumstances, played a critical role in the belief that a “league of friendship” among thirteen separate and sovereign nation-states fulfilled the goals of the Revolution. The men who fought for independence had rallied to the cry “No taxation without representation.” And to them, this meant no taxation by any legislature other than their local assembly. The Lockean contract—that a legitimate government must represent the interests and protect the liberties of those it governed—had been reinterpreted by free Americans; it meant that only a government composed of men you knew, men who lived among you and shared your interests, deserved your obedience, your loyalty—and your taxes. As they began a war for independence against a distant government, made up of men who would not suffer the consequences of the taxes they imposed, Americans believed the only safeguard against such tyranny was to put power in the hands of local legislatures. Thus the Continental Congress produced a constitution that preserved the sovereignty of the states and restricted the powers of the national government to the barest essentials: to coordinate the military and diplomatic war effort against Great Britain.2 Even this was miraculous, because the colonies had never before cooperated. But, as they prepared to wage a war against the most powerful army and navy in the world, American leaders recognized the need for unity. The constitution they drafted was, in many ways, a defense against a new tyranny. Their enemy had taxed them from afar, and had regulated their trade and commerce; they would avoid creating another government with such powers. They would avoid suffering under a new tyrant by refusing to create a separate executive branch. They would deprive the government of the power to tax or dictate trade policy. They would not allow it to introduce a uniform currency that could prevent each state from providing its own citizens with ready cash. Above all, they would avoid attempts by large states to dominate small ones by ensuring a rule of one state, one vote in the new government. The Articles of Confederation embodied the hopes and fears of the revolutionaries. They were a culmination of the colonies’ 150 years of history as possessions of a powerful empire. But in the effort to avoid the oppressions of the past, the men who wrote this constitution did not provide for the problems of the future.3 Those problems had emerged even before the ink on the peace treaty was dry in 1783. Peace brought a lingering postwar economic depression, as America adjusted to its independence from Great Britain’s protective, though often smothering, embrace. No longer escorted by Royal Navy vessels, American merchant ships carrying cargoes meant for Mediterranean buyers became easy targets for North African pirates. In New England, shippers discovered how much they had depended on trade with the Caribbean islands that flew the British flag. In Georgia and South Carolina, states that had suffered the devastation of two major British campaigns during the war, planters found themselves scrambling to find new slaves to replace those who had fled to the welcoming arms of the British army. The new nation faced the embarrassment of debts to European allies that it could not pay. The government, forced to rely on requisitions from the states, found itself helpless to establish its credit, and efforts to borrow more money from Holland and France were futile. To the great embarrassment of the members of the Confederation Congress, the government was also unable to pay military veterans or repay the civilians who had sacrificed crops and livestock to the war effort. Confidence in the government’s ability to honor the promissory notes, called “continentals,” that it had given to farmers, merchants, and artisans could be measured by the popular term for worthlessness—“not worth a continental.” Four years after the war ended, the new nation’s borders stood virtually undefended against Indians or European powers. Britain still occupied its forts in the Ohio Valley, and alliances forming among displaced or threatened Indian tribes boded ill for eager American settlers. Perhaps most troubling of all was that the spirit of cooperation, which had reigned among the states during the struggle for independence, had evaporated. Thirteen separate nation-states now vied with one another for advantages in commerce and trade. Each established trade barriers at its borders and thus duties had to be paid at every state line. Price gouging by New York, whose port city brought in vital foreign goods, enriched New Yorkers and enraged consumers in New Jersey and Connecticut. To the south, Virginia shamelessly exploited the consumer needs of North Carolina. Every state had its own currency, and some of this was worthless paper. Small wonder that interstate trade was in chaos, making recovery from postwar depression even more difficult. By the time the Philadelphia convention met, the members of the Confederation Congress, sitting in New York City, had thrown up their hands and surrendered any hope of solving these pressing problems. Surveying the situation, the former commander in chief of the Continental Army, George Washington, lamented that the Confederation was a mere shadow of a government. And William Pierce of Georgia described the Confederation as “a ship bearing under the weight of a tempest; it is trembling, and just on the point of sinking.”4 The men who met in Philadelphia agreed with these sentiments. Clearly, something had to be done to save their country. And this was why, by September 1787, the delegates to the convention had put themselves through over four grueling months of debate, discussion, and often heated argument. This is why they endured cramped quarters, dismal weather, and a steady diet of tavern food. Behind locked doors and draped windows, they had undertaken the task of writing a new constitution. If any group was up to the challenge, these fifty-four delegates were. Gathered in Independence Hall were members of America’s economic and social elite, men far better educated and more widely traveled than their farmer and shopkeeper neighbors. And, in a society that still assumed men of wealth should hold the reins of government, their political leadership experience was broad and deep. They had learned politics at the dinner table, listening to fathers, uncles, cousins, and older brothers. They had studied rhetoric and political philosophy at colleges at home and abroad and most of them were trained in the law. They had served in Continental Congresses, colonial assemblies, and state legislatures. They had overseen trials as justices of the peace and directed state policies as governors. During the Revolution, many had led men into battle as Continental Army officers, and thus they had observed firsthand how that experience had unified men of every region and state. Many, though not all of them, had been born or educated abroad and this background, like their army experience, had given them a less provincial perspective than most of their fellow members of the American elite. They were, in Alexander Hamilton’s apt phrase, men who “thought continentally,” men who wanted to create a nation, not a loosely knit confederation of squabbling states. The charge they had been given by the Confederation Congress was narrow: propose amendments to strengthen the current constitution. But men like Virginia’s James Madison, New York’s Alexander Hamilton, Pennsylvania’s Benjamin Franklin, and the universally admired George Washington believed the crisis was too serious for mere patchwork. Thus, within the first week of the convention, the delegates had agreed to abandon what they saw as a faulty government and create a new one. The men who made this decision to abandon one frame of government and create another understood the challenge they faced—and they were uncertain if they were wise enough to meet it. But they knew they had models to guide them. Behind them were two centuries of Anglo-American political culture, with its emphasis on the rule of law, its limitations on the power of the men in office, and its threefold division of government into executive, legislative, and judicial branches. Their republic would have no king and no legislative branch belonging to the aristocracy, of course—this was one legacy of their Revolution. But whatever form the new framework took, it would draw its authority from the consent of the governed. Many of the delegates had participated in the arduous process of drafting and seeing ratified their state constitutions. But they knew that the superimposition of what eighteenth-century men called an “energetic” national government on thirteen quarrelsome mini nations, each jealously guarding its sovereignty, would be far more controversial. This is why anxiety, thick as the summer humidity, hung over the convention throughout its months of deliberation. The delegates knew that the government they designed must have far more power than the one they sought to replace. The question was: how much power? Ardent nationalists like Madison, Hamilton, and Pennsylvania’s brilliant, flamboyant Gouverneur Morris wanted to provide a full panoply of powers: the right to tax, to regulate foreign and interstate trade, to raise an army for defense, and to establish a uniform currency. Above all, they wished to create a truly national government able to win the loyalty of citizens of every state. But this was far from a goal shared outside the convention walls. Many of the political leaders who refused to attend this convention did not wish to see such a transfer of loyalty. Devoted revolutionaries like Samuel Adams of Massachusetts and Patrick Henry of Virginia continued to believe that representative government meant local government. When Henry learned of the gathering in Philadelphia, his judgment was succinct: “I smell a rat,” he declared, for he was certain the delegates intended to abandon the Articles and propose a new government. Men like Henry were immune to Hamilton’s plea that Americans think continentally. They embraced the political certainty that only a local government could understand and serve the interests of the citizens. Even within the convention, Madison and Hamilton knew, there were delegates wary of creating a government that would erode the autonomy of the states. The divided loyalties of the former governor of Virginia, thirty-four-year-old Edmund Randolph; the cranky but clever Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts; and many of the men from smaller states would be revealed in the daily efforts to thread the needle between the preservation of state authority and the empowering of a central government. Compromise was the watchword of the convention’s deliberation, but perseverance proved the mode. Debates and arguments over the structure and shape of the new national government were long and often redundant. Over the months, the convention repeatedly circled back to revive issues once deemed resolved. No vote ever seemed final, no decision above reconsideration. What could not be resolved was sent to committees, where debate continued but the pressure to compromise was greater. Although the convention adjourned each day around 4 p.m., discussion often continued long into the night. Caucuses of like-minded state delegations met to plan the next day’s strategy, while anxious men gathered to tally and re-tally potential votes. On the best of evenings, essential compromises were hammered out over a glass or two of good port wine. By July, the general shape of the new government and the scope of its powers had been decided. While these powers would seem broad to many opponents of the Constitution, they may seem curiously limited to modern sensibilities. To the founders, the national government’s raison d’être was threefold: the defense of the country’s borders, the maintenance of law and order at home, and the establishment of a stable and expanding economy based on good credit. These powers were, in effect, to be siphoned away from the states in an arrangement that was truly novel for the eighteenth-century world: it was called federalism. Under this system of shared sovereignty, the national government acquired some exclusive powers, the states retained exclusive rights to others, and some belonged to both. Under federalism, the convention left untouched and unchallenged many of the powers enjoyed by the state governments. States would determine voting requirements, they would determine the fate of slavery within their borders, they retained taxing powers, and they maintained their own judicial systems. The delegates were practical politicians, not idealists, and they understood the limit of their capacity to wrest power from the states where it resided. Some delegates believed the states would reject federalism. A few delegates would, in the end, refuse to sign a document that they felt robbed the states of too much autonomy. On the other hand, the devout nationalist Alexander Hamilton felt that federalism left the task of nation-building incomplete. His solution struck most of the delegates as even more extreme and surely less realistic: Hamilton proposed to abolish the states. Weeks and months of argument, debate, and compromise took their toll. Patience had grown short as August turned to September and nerves were frazzled. By September 12, the delegates believed that all that stood between them and home were a few small, finishing touches to their new Constitution. And then, George Mason demanded a statement of the rights and liberties of the people. Mason’s proposal on that fateful September day took the majority of delegates by surprise. Only the men of the Committee on Detail, charged with polishing the language of the Constitution, might have seen it coming, for South Carolina’s brash young delegate, Charles Pinckney, had pressed them in late August to add a guarantee of several rights to the document. The committee had rejected the idea. Now Mason had revived it, calling on the whole convention to produce a national bill of rights. No one doubted Mason’s sincerity, for his reputation as a champion of rights was well known at the convention. A scion of a wealthy planter family, the sixty-two-year-old Mason had authored his own state’s Declaration of Rights, making Virginia the first state to guarantee freedom of the press, tolerance of religion, protection from unreasonable searches, and the right to a fair and speedy trial. What the delegates did doubt, however, was Mason’s sanguine assurances that the drafting of a bill of rights could be done quickly. They knew from experience that nothing at the convention was speedily done. A nightmare vision arose of days of wrangling and debate. What rights would they agree to include? How could they be certain these were the most deserving of protection? If a critical right was overlooked, would that mean it was denied to the people? Did the inclusion of some rights mean, inevitably, the exclusion of others? Was there unanimity to be found on the definition of any right? If not, its simple phrasing could take hours of discussion—or, worse, added committee work. Heated opposition to Mason’s proposal emerged quickly. Pennsylvania’s Gouverneur Morris resisted any further tampering with the convention’s handiwork. No doubt Morris’s role in editing and refining the language of the final draft contributed to his adamant refusal to tolerate any last-minute changes or additions. But it was Connecticut’s Roger Sherman, the cobbler turned lawyer, whose stern demeanor and terse speech conveyed a rectitude that many admired, who best expressed the general feelings of the convention: Mason’s concern was groundless. The people’s rights, Sherman said, clearly remained under the protection of the states, eight of which had included a bill of rights in their constitutions. The convention had given the national government no jurisdiction in the matter of the people’s rights and liberties. It could not restrict them; it could not expand them; it could not endanger them. There was, in short, no need to protect Americans against powers the proposed government did not have.5 And there, to the relief of almost everyone, the matter ended. Or so it seemed. Yet, even before the struggles over ratification of the new Constitution began in the states, some astute delegates realized they had made a serious tactical error. In refusing to add a bill of rights, the men who supported the Constitution had handed their opponents the most powerful weapon in their arsenal.
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12 of 13 people found the following review helpful. How and why the Bill of Rights "is the most important element in the Constitution" By Robert Morris Once the war for independence from Britain had been won, the most important question to be addressed was this: "Should broad power and authority reside in the federal government or should it reside in the state governments?" Part of the answer can be found in the Constitution whose ratification began with Delaware on December 7, 1787, and ended when the final state, Rhode Island, ratified it on May 29, 1790. It was only with this ratification that the new nation could cope with other challenges, notably survival.Frankly, until having read Carol Berkin's book, I had given little thought to how important the Bill of Rights has been to the Constitution, much less to how important it would prove to be during the subsequent development of a new nation that began with thirteen states and now has fifty. When James Madison proposed the Bill of Rights, Belkin observes, "the young nation faced a great ideological divide with regard to [the aforementioned] question: should broad power broad power and authority reside in the federal government or should it reside in the state governments, where the Antifederalists insisted it could best protect the people's liberties?"She goes on to observe, "This confrontation between states' rights and national authority started with the fierce debates over ratification of the Constitution, and it continued in the First Federal Congress, in the state legislatures, and in the press as Washington's first administration began."Berkin's comments about Madison and his unique significance are especially insightful: "Madison's Bill of Rights was thus more a political strategy than a statement of America's most cherished values. Yet Madison was keenly aware of its potential to set a high standard for the relationship between citizens and the men who governed them."These are among the dozens of passages of greatest interest and value to me, also listed to suggest the scope of Berkin's coverage:o Articles of Confederation conference (Pages 7-12)o Ratification of Constitution (17-31 and 105-106)o State ratification conventions (18-21, 26-31, and 105-106)o Antifederalists (33-42 and 126-128)o James Madison's views on Bill of Rights (39-42, 59-61, and 65-66)o First Federal Congress: 1784 (43-63)o Federalists in House (47-50, 53-56, 65-67, 99-114, 135-137, and 188-191)o James Madison's nine proposals (71-103)o Elbridge Gerry (62-70, 87-93, 95-102, 108-113, 120-121, and 186-187)o Committee of Eleven (120-193)o Development of Federal Government (87-88, 134-135, and 140-143)o Federalists in Senate (166-117)o Legacy of American Revolution (139-143)o Ratification of Bill of Rights (126-130)o Bios of Senate members (155-173)o Bios of House members (175-215)During the president campaign in 2016, presumably there will be differences of opinion again -- sometimes severe differences of opinion -- about states rights versus the federal government as well as individual rights versus collective rights at the state and federal levels; also between and among the executive, judicial, and legislative branches. I agree with Berkin that the Union victory in the Civil War "led to a new, greatly expanded role for the guarantees of the Bill of Rights but it is worth noting, in this context, that women were not permitted to vote until 1920 (Amendment XIX) and segregation in schools was not declared unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court until 1954.Here are Carol Berkin's concluding thoughts: "Despite the fidelity of meaning that marks the history of federalism, the Bill of Rights as fulfilled James Madison's fervent hope that this 'parchment barrier' would benefit the civic and moral development of the nation. It has proved a strong bulwark for our liberties and a safeguard against the majority's abuse of minorities. And it has established the vocabulary for our most critical discussions of, fiercest debates over, who we are what we think it best to do."In this context, I am again reminded of the final stanza of one of James Weldon Johnson's poems, " Lift ev'ry voice and sing":"God of our weary years,God of our silent tears,Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;Thou who has by Thy might,Led us into the light,Keep us forever in the path, we pray.Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee,Shadowed beneath thy hand,May we forever stand,True to our God,True to our native land."
6 of 6 people found the following review helpful. Madison's fight to protect federal power By TChris Carol Berkin's The Bill of Rights must be read in the context of its subtitle: The Fight to Secure America's Liberties. It is not so much a book about the Bill of Rights as it is a concise history of the adoption of the first ten amendments to the United States Constitution. It is not a legal treatise. The rights themselves are not explored in depth, nor is there a discussion of how courts interpreted those rights after they were adopted. That is not a fault, merely a caution that if you are looking for a book that explains the Bill of Rights, you should look elsewhere.Berkin's thesis is that the Bill of Rights was "more a political strategy than a statement of America's most cherished values." She argues that the Federalists (primarily James "Jemmy" Madison) wanted to enact a Bill of Rights not so much to protect individual rights (although that was certainly a secondary motivation) as to thwart the Antifederalists who criticized the broad powers that the Constitution gave to the federal government. By limiting the federal government's ability to use its power oppressively or tyrannically through the Bill of Rights, Madison hoped to syphon support from the Antifederalists who wanted to amend the Constitution in ways that would weaken the federal government's power.Early chapters in The Bill of Rights explore the origins of the tension between federal power and state's rights, an ideological divide that produced notable differences between the Articles of Confederation and the Constitution. Berkin argues that the need for a strong federal government became apparent after the Revolutionary War, as cooperation among states turned into competitive squabbling that threatened to destroy national unity. Although the Antifederalists lost steam after the first congressional elections gave them minority status in the legislature, Berkin's book traces their attempt to refight the battles they lost at the Constitutional Convention by supporting constitutional amendments that would shift federal power to the states (primarily by limiting the federal power to raise revenues and regulate trade).Berkin explores the historical context that motivated Madison to urge the protection of rights that had been denied or limited by the British. She also discusses the contentious issue of the limit of federal power, exploding the modern myth that the federal government has only those powers that are expressly enumerated in the Constitution (a proposed Antifederalist amendment containing that exact language was firmly defeated).After discussing the Articles of Confederation and the adoption of the Constitution as its replacement, Berkin's story moves to the first Congress and to Madison's championship of the constitutional amendments that later became the Bill of Rights. Madison's proposed amendments were less a Bill of Rights than a series of specific changes to the language of the Constitution, including some that had nothing to do with individual rights. Berkin recounts in detail the fascinating evolution of Madison's document until it became the Bill of Rights that the states ratified.It is interesting to read about the vigorous debates that affected the wording of rights that are now so familiar, including freedom of religion and its supposed relationship to the right to bear arms. Particularly amusing was the objection that a prohibition of cruel and unusual punishments might put an end to the "necessary" punishments of whipping and dismemberment. Also interesting are the so-called "obstructionist tactics" used by the Antifederalists, an accusatory phrase that both political parties wield (with some justification) today.The story follows the Bill of Rights from the House of Representative to the Senate, which simplified some of Madison's turgid language. Berkin then discusses state ratification of the amendments. Two of the twelve passed by Congress (addressing congressional salaries and the size of the House of Representatives) were rejected by the states, leaving the ten amendments that have become the backbone of America's commitment to individual rights (albeit a commitment that in practice has too often been unsteady). An appendix includes Madison's proposed amendments, the Bill of Rights as adopted, and brief biographies of the first elected senators and representatives.Berkin suggests that supporters of the Bill of Rights, including Madison, did not envision the crucial role it would play over the course of history in protecting individual rights. Supporters of the Constitution as it was drafted argued that the political process, as controlled by the Constitution's scheme of checks and balances, would be sufficient to prevent the new American government from violating the basic rights of the governed. History shows just how wrong they were. Fortunately, the public understood that "social and cultural majorities" were just as likely to be oppressive as a monarchy. Their fear of majoritarian tyranny translated into reservations about a Constitution that did not protect their fundamental rights. Madison exploited that fear as a means of undercutting the Antifederalists, but regardless of his motivation, the fight Madison waged is a defining moment in American history.Berkin's book is amply sourced and (although I am no historian) her research seems to be accurate and unbiased. She avoids the dull prose of academia and tells the story in a lively voice. While the mission of this brief book is limited, I think Berkin proves her thesis, making this an insightful contribution to the history of one of the nation's most important founding documents.
8 of 9 people found the following review helpful. THE BILL OF RIGHTS is informative history that makes the debate surrounding the creation of the Bill of Rights easily readable By Bookreporter The citizens of America love and revere the Bill of Rights, but their ardor is tempered by several ironies. While most citizens express their respect for the first 10 amendments to the Constitution, they are often unaware how those amendments came to be part of the document. Perhaps more troubling is the ultimate irony that many of the professed believers in the Bill of Rights are unfamiliar with the specific provisions and their meaning. This leads to the final paradox of “love” for the Bill of Rights. If the document was put to a vote in America today, it is extremely unlikely that it would garner the approval of a majority of our citizens. Americans want the protection of the Bill of Rights for themselves but not necessarily for others.THE BILL OF RIGHTS is a concise and vivid history of how the bedrock principles of our Constitution came to be part of the document. Historian Carol Berkin has chosen not to write a detailed discussion of the specific amendments and their provisions. Instead, she focuses on the political strategy executed by the founding fathers to preserve the Constitution as a political document, creating a federal government that would exercise authority over the individual states that struggled to become a nation under the provisions of its original founding document, the Articles of Confederation.The Articles of Confederation, America’s first Constitution, was formally ratified in 1781. But within a few years, the document and its governing provisions were proven inadequate. The separate colonies struggled to pay national debts, defend the borders of their young nation, and establish any viable commerce and trade with foreign nations. The 54 delegates who met in Philadelphia in the summer of 1787 agreed that something had to be done to save their country. Their original goal was to propose amendments to strengthen the Articles. But that proved to be unworkable. So James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Franklin, George Washington and others went further, abandoning what they saw as a faulty government and creating a new one.However, the opponents of the new Constitution demanded protection against a too powerful federal government. Their first goal was to defeat the Constitution itself. Securing the people’s liberties was one stated goal that opponents of the new Constitution sought. But their true objective was to maintain the supremacy of the states over the proposed federal government.Berkin portrays Madison as a brilliant political tactician who used the Bill of Rights to defeat those opposed to the Constitution even after its initial ratification. Opponents of a strong federal government had many reasons for their opposition. Some believed that the states should remain sovereign, while others were worried about the possible tyranny of federal government leaders. Madison believed that a strong statement recognizing the rights of the people would calm popular fears, even though the new federal government lacked any power to enforce those rights. He eventually won the struggle, and the new nation was formed.THE BILL OF RIGHTS is informative history that makes the debate surrounding the creation of the Bill of Rights easily readable. Berkin also includes an interesting addendum to the book --- biographies of all the members of the First Federal Congress who enacted the Bill of Rights. Of course, they were all men, but in many ways their experiences and background are no different from contemporary politicians. Perhaps that is why, even today, many of the provisions of the Bill of Rights are still debated in political venues across the land in the same manner as in 1789. The document that serves as the foundation for America’s freedoms has come a long way, but there is still room for substantial debate around its meaning.Reviewed by Stuart Shiffman
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