Who Was Missing When Freedom Was Written? How It Trickles Into Today?

Since I started traveling and building Bikers Across The Nation, I have found myself sitting in places where conversations are real, not rehearsed, where people speak from different experiences instead of headlines, and where you begin to hear something deeper than politics. You begin to hear the rhythm of this country itself. Not the version we are sold, not the version we argue about, but the one that has been quietly unfolding since the very beginning. And the more I listen, the more I realize this is not about one administration, one party, or one moment in time. This is about a pattern, something woven into our soil, something we have never fully stopped to face.

There is a difference, a massive one, between the concept this country was built on and the way it has been lived out. The concept of “We the People,” of constitutional limits, of freedom belonging to the individual, was bold, almost unheard of in its time. It pushed against monarchy, against centralized control, against the idea that power should sit in the hands of a few. That concept matters. It still matters. But a concept, no matter how powerful, is only as honest as the people who carry it forward.

And that is where the fracture begins.

Because while those words were being written, while voices like Patrick Henry declared, “Give me liberty, or give me death,” and Thomas Jefferson wrote that “all men are created equal,” there were entire groups of people who were not living inside that promise. Indigenous communities were being negotiated with, displaced, or controlled depending on which empire they encountered—French, Spanish, or British—each with their own methods, none without consequence. Black Americans were caught in the middle of a war where even freedom itself became a strategy. Lord Dunmore’s proclamation offered it conditionally, “free that are able and willing to bear arms,” not as a human right, but as a wartime maneuver for the British. And in response, the Patriot forces began opening their ranks, not purely out of moral awakening, but because the battlefield demanded it. They began seeing enslaved individuals attempting to escape and fight for the British. George Washington spoke on this because some of his own enslaved people attempted to run.

Is this excusing either side? No, it does not. To be frank, it makes both sides look deeply flawed, using psychological tactics to get what they wanted. Yes, freedom was a term there, but was it truly free? The answer is no. We also have to be honest that the slave trade was one of the largest economic systems in the world at that time. Revolutionary individuals were already struggling while trying to go against a giant empire that was colonizing across the globe. History is deep.

That is not a clean story. That is not a simple story. That is a human story.

And within that story sits an irony we cannot ignore. There were men like John Adams, Samuel Adams, Alexander Hamilton, and Thomas Paine, individuals who did not own enslaved people and, in different ways, spoke against the institution itself. There were others, like Benjamin Franklin and John Jay, who evolved, who moved toward abolition, and who began to challenge what had long been accepted. These individuals helped shape the framework of this country, and their presence matters in understanding that even then, there were voices pushing for something closer to the truth.

But alongside them stood others who spoke of liberty while participating in systems that denied it. Who believed in freedom, but not fully. Who used the language of humanity while drawing lines around who counted within it.

That contradiction is not just history. It is inheritance.

Because what was created was not a finished nation. It was an idea, an unfinished one, placed into the hands of imperfect people. And instead of fully confronting where we fell short of that idea, we have often softened it, reshaped it, or wrapped it in pride to avoid the discomfort of facing it directly.

America was never “great” in the way we often try to define it. The concept was great. The idea was powerful. But we, as people, have struggled, repeatedly, to live up to it.

And that struggle did not stay in the past.

Today, we are still navigating the same tension, but it has taken on new forms. The language of freedom, of patriotism, and of “We the People” is still being used, still being repeated, still being tied to identity in ways that shape how individuals think and respond. This is where the psychological aspect becomes real, not theoretical, not abstract, but something we are living inside of every day.

Because when identity becomes attached to belief, questioning that belief can feel like losing a part of yourself. And when that happens, influence does not need force. It moves quietly, through repetition, through emotion, and through belonging. That is how narratives take hold. That is how people begin to defend ideas without fully examining them. Not because they are weak, but because they are human.

And that is where concern enters the conversation.

Not rooted in fear, but in awareness.

Because when power, wealth, or influence begin to concentrate, and when language is used to unify on the surface while dividing underneath, we have to be willing to pause and ask deeper questions. Not just about leaders, but about the systems, the messaging, and the patterns themselves. History has shown us, again and again, that control does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it is wrapped in familiarity. Sometimes it is wrapped in pride. Sometimes it is wrapped in the very words we trust the most.

That is why honesty matters.

Real honesty does not pick and choose where it applies. It does not bend depending on comfort. It does not hide behind slogans. If we are going to say “We the People,” then we have to be willing to ask who is included, who has been excluded, and whether we are continuing that pattern in ways we do not even realize.

Because humanity is not conditional. It is not selective. It is not something that can be turned on for some and off for others without consequence.

We cannot go back and rewrite what was done. But we can choose how honestly we face it, and how intentionally we move forward. Not by staying trapped in the past, but by listening to it fully, especially to the voices that were ignored, silenced, or used without being given the same freedoms that were being fought for.

Thomas Jefferson once wrote, “The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.” That vigilance is not just about watching governments. It is about watching ourselves. Watching how easily we can be influenced when we stop questioning. Watching how quickly we can divide when identity takes over understanding.

Because at the end of the day, this is not about left or right. It is not about past versus present. It is about whether we are willing to live up to the concept we were given.

Not the version we were told.Not the version we inherited.But the version we are willing to be honest enough to build.

An unfinished idea.

Still waiting on us.

Even now.