consequently leads the pack more often rather thanless so. Only a handful of upper-level texts treat him as more than a caricature âfirebrand.â
I also conjectured that the scholarly communityâs focus on the âAtlantic Worldâ during Colonial and Revolutionary times would raise awareness of Britainâs global perspective following the defeat at Yorktown. Just a short passage could summarize Britainâs options at the time: with the empire threatened on many fronts, a strategic retreat from America appeared the best way to preserve what was left. Very few texts follow this route, however (see chapter 13 ). On one level, this can be explained by the continued demand for tidy endings; a major battlefield loss seems a natural conclusion to a war. But that goes only so far. Yorktown was indeed a pivotal event, but why did this particular defeat lead to an end of the war while the surrender at Saratoga, of similar proportions, did not? The answer to that question would require some attention to Britainâs global situationâyet to feature the global context would take America out of the driverâs seat, so the question is not asked. Keeping the United States in command of its destiny is an intrinsic component of the traditional narrative. We must remain the protagonists of our own story.
SAME AS IT EVER WAS: IMPEDIMENTS TO CHANGE
Constituent pressure is the surest path to a reconsideration of mythologies, but who , exactly, would want to nudge our heroes, heroines, and iconic events asideâand why? In the words of a critic who objected to my deconstruction of the Molly Pitcher tale: âMyth or not, itâs still a nice story which does no harm to anyone. Why not just let it alone?â Here is the default rationale for orthodoxy. Traditional stories are, in fact, our tradition. Having invested in them for all these years, we donât want them to change. Familiar and comfortable stories have always held sway, yet today the forces of inertia are buttressed by the realities of twenty-first-century media and the move toward uniform standards in education.
Textbooks and tests. Elementary, middle-school, and secondary texts thrive on tradition. Because these texts require approval by public bodies, publishers must satisfy a broad cross section of citizens, including many who cling fast to the stories they already know. Authors are selected more for their writing talents than for their familiarity with the latest historical research, and editors and publishers have their say as well. Textbook professionals, not people with expertise in the field, typically design timelines and review questions. Such aids are geared to standardized tests, and standard, in history, translates to traditional. For more than a decade we have witnessed a national crusade for excellence in education, but so-called âexcellenceâ is based on historical narratives all Americans should presumably know. Testing reflects this:
       ⢠   âWho exhorted the Boston crowd?â Better say Sam Adams, not Ebenezer MacIntosh, Thomas Young, or William Molineux, actual street leaders at the time.
       ⢠   âWho wrote the âGive me liberty, or give me deathâ speech?â William Wirt will not be listed as a multiple-choice option, so you might as well go with Patrick Henry, even if you suspect otherwise.
       ⢠   âWhere and when did the Revolution start?â Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775âno matter that Massachusetts patriots had already overthrown British rule the previous year.
       ⢠   âWhat was the coldest, hardest winter of the Revolutionary War?â If you choose Morristown in 1779â1780 you will be marked wrong, although of course you are correct.
Some authors and editors might question the