Slavery, the Magna Carta, and the American Presidency

Recently, I listened to discussion surrounding the restoration of slavery exhibits. Important work. Necessary work. But the conversation, while framed around exhibits and current politics, reaches far deeper than museum walls or one administration.

It reaches into bloodlines.

The Inheritance of Freedom

I speak as someone whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower — Howland, Fuller, Cook — and others who followed shortly after. I descend from John Browne, Gentleman, and his wife Dorothy Beauchamp, through whom the line traces to Henry de Bohun, Earl of ereford,
one of the twenty-five surety barons of the Magna Carta.

That does not make me better than anyone.

It makes me responsible.

Because what those men fought for in 1215 was not wealth. It was not dominance. It was not privilege in the modern sense.

It was restraint of power.

It was the radical claim that even a king must answer to law.

And that idea changed the world.

Slavery in Context — Without Excuse

Slavery did not begin in America. It did not begin in Europe. It did not begin in Africa.
It stretches back through human history — through empires, through tribes, through biblical accounts.
This does not make slavery acceptable.

It makes it human.

To understand history, we must view people within the moral frameworks of their time.
That does not absolve injustice. It prevents arrogance.

At the same time, the principle stands — whether in a field, a factory, a prison cell,
or through crushing debt — no human being has the moral right to own or control another.

Civilization requires structure.

But structure must never extinguish liberty.

Runnymede, 1215

In 1215, at Runnymede, twenty-five barons confronted King John.

They were motivated by distrust — and rightly so.

John abused power.
He levied unreasonable taxes to fund failed wars.
He confiscated property arbitrarily.
He manipulated justice to suit his will.

Clause 61 — the “surety clause” — was revolutionary.
It allowed twenty-five barons to legally seize the king’s lands and castles if he violated the charter.

It was a failsafe.
An enforcement mechanism.
A declaration that law must bind the ruler.

Though Clause 61 was later removed and the charter revised, the principle endured:

No one — not even a king — is above the law.

Magna Carta and the U.S. Presidency

The American founders were deeply influenced by Magna Carta’s central theme: restraint of power through written law.

Clause 39 declared:
“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned… except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land.”

The Fifth Amendment echoes it:
“Nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.”

Due process is not new. It is centuries old.

Though Clause 61 did not survive intact, its spirit did.

Instead of twenty-five barons seizing castles, we created impeachment, judicial review,
and congressional control of the purse — modern surety bonds.

The presidency was designed carefully.

Energetic — yes.
Powerful — yes.
Absolute — never.

Every executive order can be challenged.
Every action must fall within law.
The oath is to the Constitution — not to self.

Immigration and Entitlement

This nation was built on immigration. Every one of us — unless Native American —
descends from someone who arrived here as an outsider.

Some arrived voluntarily.
Some arrived hopeful.
Some arrived in chains.

History is in our DNA — both triumph and cruelty.

We cannot abolish it because it makes us uncomfortable.

We cannot weaponize it to divide ourselves.

We must learn from it.

The Modern Question

Today, the greater danger is not statues or exhibits.

It is forgetting the structure that protects freedom.

When due process erodes — whether through incarceration, deportation, financial entrapment,
or executive overreach — we move away from the covenant begun at Runnymede.

When we excuse power because we prefer the outcome, we weaken the mechanism designed to protect us
when the outcome shifts.

The Magna Carta was born from distrust of concentrated power.

That distrust was healthy.

It built accountability.

The Long Memory in Our Blood

Since 1215, imagine how many descendants have been born.

Imagine how many nations were influenced by the principle that law stands above rulers.

You may not descend from a surety baron.

But you descend from someone who endured, survived, worked, struggled, hoped.

You carry memory.

And memory carries responsibility.

Freedom is not self-sustaining.

It must be guarded — not with violence, but with vigilance.
Not with rage, but with principle.
Not with nostalgia, but with courage.

History is not something to bury.

It is something to steward.

And every generation must decide whether it will.