Ummm… The 1st Amendment???

In the summer of 1798, the United States faced one of its first real reckonings with liberty. The ink on the Constitution was barely dry, and the Bill of Rights, particularly that bold First Amendment, still had a new-car smell. But fear makes people do strange things. War fever with France was sweeping through the country, stoked by the XYZ Affair and the seizure of American ships. In that atmosphere of paranoia and suspicion, Congress passed a set of laws that would stain the legacy of President John Adams and put the meaning of American freedom to its first serious test.

They called them the Alien and Sedition Acts. Four separate laws passed by the Federalist-controlled Congress, they were sold as necessary wartime measures. Adams, pushed by hardliners in his party and even his own wife, signed them into law. He later called them “war measures,” which is like calling a brick through your neighbor’s window “home improvement.”

The Naturalization Act increased the waiting time for immigrants to become citizens from five years to fourteen, conveniently locking out potential voters who might lean toward the Democratic-Republican Party. The Alien Friends Act allowed the president to deport any foreigner he deemed dangerous. The Alien Enemies Act gave that same power in times of war to target citizens from enemy nations, and unlike the others, it never expired. But it was the Sedition Act that hit like a hammer. It made it a federal crime to publish or say anything “false, scandalous, and malicious” against the government, Congress, or the president. Thomas Jefferson was conveniently excluded, since he was Vice President and a leading critic of the Federalists.

The law didn’t just sit on the books. It was used. Federalist-appointed judges took their new powers seriously. Journalists were arrested. Newspapers were shuttered. One man was fined and jailed for calling the president’s rear end the proper target for a cannonball. A Vermont congressman, Matthew Lyon, was imprisoned for mocking Adams’ “ridiculous pomp and selfish avarice.” Another writer, James Callender, was convicted for calling Adams a “repulsive pedant.” Benjamin Franklin Bache, grandson of the famous printer, was arrested but died of yellow fever before his trial. A drunken man in New Jersey made a crude joke about the president and found himself fined a hundred bucks, which back then could buy you a horse, a cart, and a farm to park them on.

The press didn’t go quietly. Republican papers fought back hard, denouncing the laws as a dagger in the heart of liberty. Jeffersonian leaders like Madison and Jefferson himself authored the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions, calling the Acts unconstitutional and declaring that states had the right to nullify federal overreach. Most states ignored them, but the seed of nullification was planted, one that would sprout into darker chapters of American history.

When the dust of 1800 settled, John Adams was out, and Thomas Jefferson was in. The Alien and Sedition Acts had become a political liability, a symbol of Federalist overreach. Adams believed he’d lost the presidency because of the lies and slander from the press. In truth, he lost because Americans didn’t like being told to shut up. Jefferson, once in office, pardoned those convicted under the Sedition Act, and Congress even repaid their fines. But curiously, Jefferson did not push to repeal the Alien Enemies Act. That one remained on the books, lurking quietly, waiting for future presidents to pick it up.

And they did. During the War of 1812, World War I, and World War II, the law was invoked to detain and deport foreign nationals. It was the basis for the internment of Japanese, German, and Italian Americans during World War II. The same logic would later appear in the Espionage Act of 1917, a law with a long shadow. That act was used to silence critics during World War I, including the jailing of film producer Robert Goldstein, whose silent movie The Spirit of ’76 was deemed too harsh on our British allies. Imagine that. A film about the American Revolution was censored and its creator imprisoned for stirring up anti-British feelings while the U.S. was at war with Germany.

Goldstein cut the scenes that offended federal censors. Then he quietly restored them for a screening in Los Angeles. The government saw that as an act of defiance, and he paid the price. His film is now lost, but the lesson remains. Even a law dressed in patriotism can be used to crush dissent when fear takes the wheel.

This isn’t just about old laws and powdered wigs. It’s about a pattern. Every time America feels threatened, whether from without or within, the reflex to clamp down on speech and people who don’t look or think like “us” gets stronger. And the tools are always close at hand, waiting for an excuse. The Alien Enemies Act is still law. The Espionage Act is still law. And depending on who holds the keys to power, these laws can be twisted into something dangerous.

There are, of course, arguments in their defense. During wartime, national security isn’t just a buzzword. It’s a duty. Leaders have an obligation to keep the homeland safe, and sometimes that means drawing hard lines. When someone calls for rebellion or undermines military efforts, the line between dissent and sabotage can blur. Critics of the Sedition Act in 1798 had no concept of cyber warfare or foreign propaganda operations. But even if those dangers exist today, does that justify giving government the power to jail its critics?

Liberty is messy. It involves people saying things we hate. It means tolerating opinions that offend, newspapers that criticize, movies that unsettle, and speeches that sting. The Founders didn’t create a nation so we could all nod in unison. They created it so we could argue, loudly and freely.

The Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 were a test, and we mostly failed it. The Espionage Act of 1917 was a second test, and we failed that too. The question now is whether we’ve learned anything. If freedom of speech only exists when it’s easy, then it doesn’t really exist at all. And if we forget that, we may find ourselves once again watching liberty slip away, not with a bang, but with a law, quietly signed, for our own good.