Every country has its mythology, and it’s entirely possible that some country’s is a fair match for its reality, even if I can’t think of an example. Never mind. The standard myth in the U.S. is that the American Revolution was a world-shaking event. I grew up in the US, although I live in Britain, and I was taught to think of the revolution’s opening shot as the shot heard round the world.

It’s a nifty phrase. It sticks to the inside of your brain like mental bubble gum. But a few years ago, it occurred to me to ask Lord Google for a British perspective on the loss of its 13 colonies and I found next to nothing.

Now, I might’ve been asking the wrong questions, although I did try several, but I began to wonder if the British response to that world-shaking event wasn’t a giant shrug. Had Britain slept through the shot heard round the world?

Quite possibly. I recently read “The Shot Heard Round the World” by Daniel Immerwahr. It was in the New Yorker and unfortunately it’s behind a paywall, but I’m including the link to prove I’m drawing on something real.

Irrelevant photo: peony

A bit of background

As usual, we need to take a step back before we go forward. When I was a kid, my history textbook skimmed the surface of the French and Indian War. I learned that it involved the French and the Indians, along with the British and their colonists. That seemed to be enough. I had no idea what it was about or why it mattered, but I got good grades so who cared?

Well, it turns out that if you rest your fingertips on history’s screen and do that magic expanding gesture, you can zoom out and see that the French and Indian War was part of the Seven Years’ War.

The what? 

A war. That lasted seven years and involved Asia, Africa, the Americas, the Caribbean, and Europe. All the major European powers rolled the dice to see what they could win, or at least not lose. It could also be called the War of Great Powers Behaving Badly, but that wouldn’t distinguish it sharply enough from other wars, so we’ll stick with the Seven Years’ War. It involved a dizzying array of alliances and treaties and secrets, my favorite being le secret du roi: the French king Louis XV’s private network of diplomats, which was so private his foreign minister didn’t know about it. It pursued the king’s personal goals, which were often in opposition to the country’s official policies. 

That’s what I love about history. You can’t make this shit up. And even if you could, it’s a lot funnier knowing it’s real.

Sorry, we were talking about the Seven Years War. It ran from 1756 to 1763, which (depending on what months you start and end in and how your fingers work) may add up to eight years.  Never mind. The American part–the French and Indian War–started with a border dispute and a series of skirmishes between French and English colonists. It was sort of a sideshow in the bigger war. 

Everyone made peace in 1763–Britain, France, and Spain in one treaty and Saxony, Austria, and Prussia in a different one–and Britain ended up keeping a lot of the French and Spanish territories it had captured. 

I’ll get to the American Revolution eventually. Stay with me.

Tea and taxes

In the traditional telling, Britain also came out of the war broke, which led it to impose a new tax, the 1765 Stamp Act, a law that’s baffled many an American student. Stamps? we asked ourselves. Who gets upset over stamps? Because I (and I, of course, speak for all the country’s baffled students) grew up in the era of letters, which you sent by licking a stamp and gluing it to the corner. And that stamp cost money, although not much. Everything cost money. So paying for stamps? Why did the colonists get so exercised they threw tea in the harbor?

No one stopped to explain that the stamps in question weren’t the kind we knew. They were a mark acknowledging that the tax had been paid. And no one told us the thirteen colonies that became the U.S. weren’t the only ones who were upset about the new tax. Sure, their residents responded by hanging government officials in effigy, but on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts, forget effigies, they threatened to hang the tax collector in person, and when he fled to the neighboring island of Nevis, followed him and burned houses. 

It’s not relevant to the line of thought I’m pretending to follow, but since I mentioned the tea thrown into the Boston Harbor in the Boston Tea Party, let’s tell the rest of the story: The Boston Tea Party wasn’t a protest over the stamp tax. It was about the tax having been reduced to help out the East India Company, which undercut local smugglers and sellers, offending many a righteous Boston colonist. As one of the colony’s wealthiest residents put it, “We are not Sea Poys, nor Marattas, but British Subjects, who are born to Liberty.” 

Translation? You can go treat funny-looking furriners badly, but not us: we’re British, so show some respect, please. We don’t want to pay more in taxes but paying less doesn’t work for us either.

Which colonies rebelled and who didn’t

Lots of colonies were getting restive right about then. Britain had twenty-six in America. Thirteen rebelled and thirteen–including the most lucrative, Jamaica–didn’t, although the thirteen rebel colonies did court them. Benjamin Franklin’s list of the colonies he hoped would join the rebellion included not only Britain’s American and Caribbean holdings but also Ireland. 

Politically speaking I see his point, but geographically that was always going to be a problem.

It’s easy to see why the Caribbean colonies didn’t rebel: they were plantation economies, with a small number of whites (most or many of them slaveholders) and a large number of enslaved Blacks. The whites were in no position to overturn the system. They relied on the British military to keep the enslaved from staging their own rebellion.

Canada? They attacked a statue of George III before anyone in the thirteen colonies thought to, but they were split between Catholics and Protestants at a time when that mattered fiercely, and a 1775-76 invasion by the rebellious colonies didn’t make the rebels to their south many Canadian friends. 

When you look for reasons the American Revolution took place where it did, the economics are worth a glance. The rebel colonies were relatively well off. American settlers’ incomes were equal to or slightly higher than English ones, and in real terms bought more. Their residents didn’t suffer through the famines that devastated the Irish and Indian colonies. So we’re not talking about people driven by desperation.

What about liberty, then? The American colonists talked a lot about liberty, but they weren’t unique in that. The Irish and Scots–some of them–felt much the same way, and in the 1760s there was a massive slave rising in Jamaica, a Native American confederacy fighting the British from what’s now Michigan to Virginia, and in India wars against the British East India Company. Lots of people had an interest in liberty, although they wouldn’t have been unanimous in how they defined it.

As as the article I’m leaning on puts it, the people who led the American Revolution weren’t ”the wretched of the earth but the fortunate sons of Britain who, at a certain point, found it more advantageous to become sons of liberty.”

So how, finally, did Britain react to American independence?

Let’s go back to the Seven Years War. Yes, Britain needed money but certainly by comparison it came out in good shape. France was broke and it wasn’t long before the French Revolution tossed its monarchy into history’s overflowing trash can. Spain lost most of its empire. Britain kept its monarchy and its Caribbean colonies. It took control of India. And it hung onto its trade with the newly independent United States. As Henry Clay put it, the United States were “sort of independent colonies” of England. They were “politically free, commercially slaves.”

Which isn’t at all the way I learned the story  but it goes a long way towards explaining why I found so little on the American Revolution’s impact on Britain. The loss of thirteen colonies doesn’t seem to have registered as a painful loss. Or possibly as any sort of loss. 

But what about the American call to liberty: was it heard round the world?

Possibly not. Hannah Arendt wrote that the French Revolution “made world history” but the American was “of little more than local importance.” Dig around and you’ll find historians who agree. And inevitably others who don’t. I’m no historian, just somebody sitting on the couch, but I see Arendt’s point. Slavery meant the American call for liberty sounded ever so slightly off key. That French hero of the American Revolution the Marquis de Lafayette later said, “I would never have drawn my sword in the cause of America if I could have conceived that thereby I was founding a land of slavery!”

Independence of the thirteen former colonies put power in the hands of the local elite, and many of them, including eight of the first ten presidents, were slaveholders. They were free to run their own country. They were free to expand westward, appropriating land from the Native tribes, free to own slaves, who were not free to be free.

During the revolution, most Native and Black Americans fought against the rebels.