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I selected this book for my 2025 reading queue back in early 2024. Over the past several years, I’ve found a renewed fervor for American history—especially the hidden history that offers a skewed view from the traditional academic narratives. More specifically, constitutional history, and the ongoing efforts to expand (and sadly erode) civil liberties, has evolved from a guilty pleasure into a deep source of patriotic pride for me.
My father raised me on simple but profound ideas about free speech and personal liberty. He often invoked a version of the saying commonly attributed to Patrick Henry or Voltaire: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." He repeated it so often that even now, when I see the American flag waving in the sun, those words spring immediately to mind.
A Vietnam War veteran who served as a combat engineer in the United States Marine Corps, my father saw his share of suffering—and faced an ungrateful nation upon his return. Yet his reverence for free speech never wavered. I suppose that’s why I, too, have raucous, deeply rooted ideas about the sacredness of the First Amendment.
When I cracked open Liberty’s First Crisis, I had no idea just how hyper-relevant it would feel to the 2025 landscape of the United States. Not 100 days ago, our current president invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a deeply troubling development that echoes the authoritarian tendencies Charles Slack details so vividly in this book. Today’s American president has launched a full-throated assault on the free press, free speech, due process, and the judicial branch. As I write this, the foundational ideals enshrined in the Constitution are under siege.
While Liberty’s First Crisis is not a commentary on today’s creeping tyrannicide—enabled by the Republican Party, theocrats, and techno-corporate oligarchs—it might as well be.
The book primarily spans the presidency of John Adams, a period when the young nation was still learning to live up to the flowery language and high ideals of liberty set forth in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Adams and the Federalist Party controlled the House, Senate, and a Federalist-heavy Judiciary.
For context: the Federalist Party (now extinct) bears an eerie resemblance to today’s Republican Party, while the Republican Party of Adams' time is closer to today’s Democratic Party. Understanding that only sharpens the unsettling parallels between Adams’ era and our own.
Slack’s historical account brings to life the journalists, publishers, and free speech advocates who dared to challenge Adams’ monarchical inclinations—and the Federalist appetite for unchecked superiority. The passage of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 granted sweeping executive powers, tailor-made to crush dissent. Their weapons of dissent? Simply words—written, printed, and painted opinions critical of the government.
Many of these courageous voices were immigrants, drawn to America by the promises of personal liberty and opportunity. Instead, they found themselves targeted, fined into destitution, and jailed under abysmal conditions. Still, they pushed back against a government that increasingly adopted a "justice for me, but not for thee" philosophy.
While much of this history is deeply disheartening, there is a hopeful lesson buried within: the citizenry eventually had enough. Adams left office after a single term, and the Federalists lost their grip on Congress, the judiciary, and the presidency. Within a few short years, the Federalist Party ceased to exist.
And in that, I find hope.
Today, another fragile little tyrant occupies the presidency. Unlike Adams or Jefferson, our modern would-be monarch lacks even a pretense of statesmanship. His dictatorial designs are lubricated by a Republican Party that bears an uncanny resemblance to the defunct Federalists. They've even dusted off their old weapon of political suppression—the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—and are once again using it to jail, deport, and intimidate dissenters. The mantra of "justice for me, but not for thee" lives on.
Yet, as it was then, it is now: some falter in the fight for liberty, but many do not. The free press, free speech, and the enduring spirit of the First Amendment continue to serve as the bulwark of American liberty.
Liberty’s First Crisis has been one of my favorite reads of 2025. Though the road ahead looks treacherous, the book reinvigorated my patriotic pride and reminded me that the dream of human liberty is not dead. It lives—and perhaps, in times like these, we need stark reminders of its true value.
I encourage anyone interested in these ideas to read this excellent and timely account of a shrouded era in American history. It provides not only historical insight but essential context for understanding our modern fight to preserve freedom.
My father raised me on simple but profound ideas about free speech and personal liberty. He often invoked a version of the saying commonly attributed to Patrick Henry or Voltaire: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." He repeated it so often that even now, when I see the American flag waving in the sun, those words spring immediately to mind.
A Vietnam War veteran who served as a combat engineer in the United States Marine Corps, my father saw his share of suffering—and faced an ungrateful nation upon his return. Yet his reverence for free speech never wavered. I suppose that’s why I, too, have raucous, deeply rooted ideas about the sacredness of the First Amendment.
When I cracked open Liberty’s First Crisis, I had no idea just how hyper-relevant it would feel to the 2025 landscape of the United States. Not 100 days ago, our current president invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a deeply troubling development that echoes the authoritarian tendencies Charles Slack details so vividly in this book. Today’s American president has launched a full-throated assault on the free press, free speech, due process, and the judicial branch. As I write this, the foundational ideals enshrined in the Constitution are under siege.
While Liberty’s First Crisis is not a commentary on today’s creeping tyrannicide—enabled by the Republican Party, theocrats, and techno-corporate oligarchs—it might as well be.
The book primarily spans the presidency of John Adams, a period when the young nation was still learning to live up to the flowery language and high ideals of liberty set forth in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Adams and the Federalist Party controlled the House, Senate, and a Federalist-heavy Judiciary.
For context: the Federalist Party (now extinct) bears an eerie resemblance to today’s Republican Party, while the Republican Party of Adams' time is closer to today’s Democratic Party. Understanding that only sharpens the unsettling parallels between Adams’ era and our own.
Slack’s historical account brings to life the journalists, publishers, and free speech advocates who dared to challenge Adams’ monarchical inclinations—and the Federalist appetite for unchecked superiority. The passage of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 granted sweeping executive powers, tailor-made to crush dissent. Their weapons of dissent? Simply words—written, printed, and painted opinions critical of the government.
Many of these courageous voices were immigrants, drawn to America by the promises of personal liberty and opportunity. Instead, they found themselves targeted, fined into destitution, and jailed under abysmal conditions. Still, they pushed back against a government that increasingly adopted a "justice for me, but not for thee" philosophy.
While much of this history is deeply disheartening, there is a hopeful lesson buried within: the citizenry eventually had enough. Adams left office after a single term, and the Federalists lost their grip on Congress, the judiciary, and the presidency. Within a few short years, the Federalist Party ceased to exist.
And in that, I find hope.
Today, another fragile little tyrant occupies the presidency. Unlike Adams or Jefferson, our modern would-be monarch lacks even a pretense of statesmanship. His dictatorial designs are lubricated by a Republican Party that bears an uncanny resemblance to the defunct Federalists. They've even dusted off their old weapon of political suppression—the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—and are once again using it to jail, deport, and intimidate dissenters. The mantra of "justice for me, but not for thee" lives on.
Yet, as it was then, it is now: some falter in the fight for liberty, but many do not. The free press, free speech, and the enduring spirit of the First Amendment continue to serve as the bulwark of American liberty.
Liberty’s First Crisis has been one of my favorite reads of 2025. Though the road ahead looks treacherous, the book reinvigorated my patriotic pride and reminded me that the dream of human liberty is not dead. It lives—and perhaps, in times like these, we need stark reminders of its true value.
I encourage anyone interested in these ideas to read this excellent and timely account of a shrouded era in American history. It provides not only historical insight but essential context for understanding our modern fight to preserve freedom.