…are more than mere words to dress a festival of patriotism; they are a solemn charge that requires an informed citizenry, beginning with robust civic instruction in our educational institutions. Those three words, written in an unmistakable flourish across the top of the United States Constitution, may be among the most consequential words ever put to paper.

We the People.

Not we the government. Not we the elected. Not we the powerful. Not even we the founders. 

We the People.

The phrase announces something both wonderfully idealistic and enormously demanding: this experiment belongs to us. The government created beneath those words derives its authority from ordinary citizens, and with that authority comes a corresponding responsibility. A government of the people cannot long remain healthy if the people cease to understand it.

That is why civic literacy matters. Democracy is not a spectator sport, although we sometimes behave as though it were. We watch elections like sporting events. We choose teams. We cheer victories and lament losses. We argue over personalities and parties. But the American experiment asks considerably more of us than occasionally entering a voting booth or posting an opinion on social media.

It asks us to know something. It asks us to understand how our institutions work, why they were constructed as they were, where their powers begin and end, and how citizens can participate in them. That responsibility belongs to all of us, but educational institutions carry a particular obligation. If colleges prepare students only for employment, we have done something useful, but incomplete.

We are also preparing citizens. That conviction occasionally finds its way into my English classroom. The past two weeks my English students delved into the thorny side of argument in the public square. When I teach persuasion, for example, I could invent hypothetical subjects for students to argue. There is certainly no shortage of contemporary topics capable of producing disagreement. But sometimes I prefer to reach backward before asking students to move forward.

My students met and tangled with the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. They argued, they persuaded, they made claims and laid to waste ignorance of what those documents mean. This is an English class, not a history class. They are shown that analytical reading and critical thinking are two of the most vital human attributes in which to dig deep at the efficacy of justice, democracy and what the future of the United States can become as a result of the long-lasting hope each of these documents means to the people of the United States of America.

The levers of democracy will only live on if we practice them. The purpose is not to require students to memorize dates, identify obscure historical figures or recite amendments on command. They are led to see these documents as arguments of freedom.

The Declaration of Independence is, among many other things, a magnificent exercise in persuasive writing. It establishes a premise, makes claims, presents evidence and ultimately asks its audience to accept an extraordinary conclusion. The Bill of Rights requires students to wrestle with language; what words meant, what they mean now and what happens when reasonable people interpret those words differently.

Those are writing lessons. They are also citizenship lessons. Then we bring the exercise closer to home. Students learn how to write a letter to the editor. They consider an issue, determine what they believe, gather evidence, anticipate disagreement and attempt to persuade another human being through reasoned language. They are encouraged to seek out attendance at government meetings where the mechanisms of our democracy are at work. Did you read that Mayor Horner and City Manager Richard Asbill? 

They understand that their voices have standing in the public square. That realization matters. A student who learns to make a claim and support it with credible evidence is learning more than composition. A student who learns to listen seriously to an opposing position is practicing more than rhetoric. A student who discovers that disagreement does not require contempt is acquiring something our larger culture desperately needs. And a student who learns to put an idea into clear, persuasive language has acquired one of the fundamental tools of citizenship.

These young people will not remain students forever. One day they will occupy the seats now occupied by us. They will sit on school boards and city councils. They will serve on nonprofit boards and church committees. They will own businesses, teach children, enforce laws, manage organizations and lead communities. Some may hold elected office. Others will exercise leadership without ever having a title attached to their names.

They will vote. They will advocate. They will disagree. They will decide. And then one day, sooner rather than later, whether we are comfortable contemplating it or not, they will inherit the republic. What kind of inheritance are we preparing them to receive?

Perhaps civic education should begin there, not with the assumption that students need to be told what to think, but with the conviction that they must learn how to think, question, investigate, articulate and participate. That is an important distinction.

Education worthy of a democracy should not manufacture political agreement. Quite the opposite. It should equip people to disagree intelligently. The classroom can be one of the few remaining places where that skill can be deliberately practiced: make your case; support it; listen to someone else’s; reconsider your assumptions; revise when the evidence requires it; and understand that changing your mind is not weakness.

Those habits extend far beyond an English paper. They are the habits of citizenship. Perhaps that is why I continue to be drawn to those three enormous words written across a piece of parchment more than two centuries ago.

We the People.

The phrase is not merely an introduction to a historical document. It is an assignment of discovery and re-discovery. It is an organic belief. A truism for the ages. Every generation receives it. Every generation must decide what to do with it.

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. 

— Preamble to the United States Constitution.

Terry Held is an English instructor at Crowder College, Cassville. The views expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of Crowder College. He would appreciate hearing what you think. He can be reached at [email protected].