Liberty’s too precious a thing to be buried in books

“Liberty’s too precious a thing to be buried in books,” muses the starry-eyed Jefferson Smith in Frank Capra's 1939 masterpiece, “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” “Men should hold it up in front of them every single day of their lives and say: ‘I’m free to think and to speak. My ancestors couldn’t. I can. And my children will.”

The scene perfectly encapsulates the fledgling senator (played deftly by James Stewart) and his youthful patriotism and endearing naivety. Repeatedly, his secretary, Clarissa Saunders (Jean Arthur), attempts to steer Smith’s attention to the pressing work at hand but to no avail: ever his mind wanders dreamily to the wonders of America the Beautiful. His words are almost schmaltzy, quixotically idealistic.


Those who have seen the film know that Smith’s mawkishness is swiftly shattered. He enters Washington as an appointed senator, beaming with credulous ideals about the nation’s capital. On his first day, he tours the city’s monuments, his history-loving heart all too eager to believe everything he’s ever heard about the American dream, patriotism, and love of country.

But that’s when the city betrays him. Confronted with the reality of rampant D.C. corruption, the young dreamer is soundly crushed; Washington makes a mockery of his lofty notions. In a moment of despair, at the feet of the Lincoln Memorial, a defeated Smith renounces his former fantasies as “a lot of junk about American ideals.”

You see, Jefferson Smith found himself in the same confusing place many of us find ourselves today: caught in a love-hate relationship with the nation’s capital, torn between love for the monuments and the history and disgust at everything she has become and the crime that she purveys. Paradoxically, D.C. stands as both a representation of all that we cherish about America and all that we abhor. In his darkest hour, Smith nearly abandons the former, allowing the latter to triumph.

However, circumstances compel Smith to address a fundamental question—one that remains relevant to us: "What did you do? Quit? Didn't you do something about it?"

That simple series of questions changes everything for Smith. He refuses to answer in the negative. “All the good that ever came into this world came from fools who had faith,” he realizes.

Indeed, Smith may be a laughably starry-eyed believer out of place in a city whose reality is plagued by vicious anti-Americanism, but those are exactly the kind of men we need. Yes, he takes on the formidable weight of a mighty political machine, but the bedrock truths upon which this nation is founded stand firmly behind him.

Washington, D.C., is an unsightly place, to be sure, yet we must never lose sight of the true reason we’re in this fight to begin with. Our war against federal tyranny must forever be fueled by passionate, unending, and occasionally foolish love for America.

Call us sentimental and soppy if you will, for it's childlike believers like us who will safeguard this great nation.