Thanks to Disney Plus, I watched Hamilton on Broadway. Sorry to disappoint Hamilton lovers, but I couldn’t get into it. I did not grow up with rap music, so the lyrics eluded me. And this was after reading up on it and familiarizing myself with the storyline, the characters, the Acts. . . . After struggling with the lyrics, I decided to consider it an opera and sit back and enjoy the show. Then I got into it. But not quite. The next morning, I ordered the book, Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow and settled in for the next two weeks, relishing the story. Then I watched Hamilton for the second time; this time with Close Caption. Now it made sense and I loved the show.
There is much about Hamilton the man and how much he shaped our history that awed me: established the central bank, credit system, financial system, Coast Guard, to mention a few. But let me share what disturbed me.
Most of you know that Hamilton died of a gunshot wound in a duel in 1804. He was shot by the Vice-President of the U.S., Aaron Burr. Political rivals, Hamilton had supported Jefferson against Burr for President, and subsequently used his influence to block Burr’s election for governor of New York. Soon after, a newspaper published a piece alleging that at a dinner party, Hamilton called Burr ‘a dangerous man’ and had also expressed a ‘more despicable opinion’ of him. Burr wrote to Hamilton, asking for an explanation. After a back and forth correspondence, Burr demanded that Hamilton deny that he had ever spoken ill of him. Hamilton refused, fearing that it would compromise his political career, and accepted Burr’s challenge to a duel. It was a matter of honor. In settling his affairs before the duel, Hamilton wrote that he planned to throw away his first fire, giving Burr an opportunity to pause and reflect. Duels were illegal in both New York and New Jersey but were dealt with less harshly in New Jersey, so Burr and Hamilton agreed to meet in the Garden State.
Hamilton fired his pistol into the air above Burr’s head into a tree four feet away from him. Burr shot at Hamilton. He was mortally wounded and died two days later. The outpouring of public sentiment over Hamilton’s death led to New York state indicting Burr for murder and issuing a warrant for his arrest. New Jersey followed suit. Burr fled New York seeking refuge in Washington, D.C. A fugitive of justice, he nevertheless presided over Senate hearings. Later, New York and New Jersey dismissed the case.
I grew up hearing stories about duels to protect one’s honor, the carefully staged venue, meticulous setting of the rules, taking a shot, and then accepting the consequences as fair game. If you felt insulted by what someone said, rather than go through an expensive court battle, you challenged him to a duel and shot him. Unless he shot you first. And this practice was celebrated. Killing of an opponent to protect one’s honor. Isn’t that murder? Yet it was considered chivalrous, and in some states, legal. Legal to kill because you were dissed!
In the U.S. duels gained popularity in the early 19th century. The idea was not so much to kill the opponent as to restore one’s honor by demonstrating a willingness to risk one’s life. Whereas some states had laws against dueling, they were rarely enforced. After the Civil War, a shift in public opinion, rather than legislation brought a decline in dueling. But it became a thing of the past only by the start of the 20th century.
The popularity of Hamilton on Broadway is like nothing I have seen or heard. The production is brilliant, no question. Much has been written about it—the play, the man, and our history. But I don’t hear a conversation over publicly sanctioned bloodshed. When we invoke dark lessons of history, I don’t hear ‘Duels’. Why? Why aren’t we questioning this cold-blooded practice of our not-so-distant past?
I have been thinking about the horrific practice of honor killings in these times: A family is dishonored by a woman; woman is killed; it’s done quietly, and the clan gives its nod of approval.
It’s not the same.
In a duel, either party can get killed; it is done openly, and the community accepts it. Yet, it’s not quite the same. Fair enough.
But let me ask: Why is it that when we look back at our history of killing for honor, we give ourselves a pass, dismissing it as a cultural phenomenon, a practice that has to be understood in terms of its context? Why are we not outraged over our history of honor killing?
Because it is not the same?
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