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BUSINESS-CLASS HERO

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But the exhibition's heart is not really in explicating Hamilton's era, but rather in claiming that he created ours, and it's in trying to make this case that the show goes radically wrong. The supersized video screens that constitute the domain of the Present have been widely criticized but insufficiently understood, as the critiques focus on the medium, not the message - with which there are two big problems. First, these "filmed vignettes of modern American life" conjure up a cartoon Present, utterly abstracted from the complex realities of our moment. Second, this Present is depicted as being the "21st-century fulfillment" of the Hero's (misrepresented) "18th-century plans." Setting aside for the moment the deeply ahistorical assumptions underlying the posited causal connections between Past and Present, let's examine the videos seriatim.

The "National Defense" screen sutures together what appear to be outtakes from old recruiting films - leisurely pans over an aircraft carrier flight deck, views of fighter jets scrambling skyward, languorous shots of paratroopers tumbling earthward in slo-mo toward . . . where? Vietnam? Grenada? Inquiring minds wanted to know the provenance. A whirring helicopter picking up heavily armed GIs carrying a blanketed bundle (a dead buddy?) set visitors to debating possible venues - Were those cornfields? Could it be Central America? All-white graduating cadets throw their hats in the air - but when was this? Hasn't it been ages since the military tinctured its Aryan Nation complexion? Whenever. Wherever. The cumulative effect these detemporalized, decontextualized images seek to induce seems clear enough: the Modern American military is a strong, benign, defense-oriented institution. And -- according to an array of quotes disembedded from their eighteenth century context - we have Hamilton to thank for it.

The slightest confrontation with contemporary and historical realities sends these airy abstractions thudding back to earth. In the case of the 21st century, it's only necessary to imagine the effect on N-YHS visitors had the designers inserted a "vignette" of George Bush strutting about the deck of the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln in front of that Mission Accomplished sign.

Sorting out the eighteenth-century side of the proposed continuum requires that we recall a few aspects of Hamilton's military career that didn't make it into the SOLDIER artifact case across the gallery. Hamilton's service in the revolutionary army, fighting an imperial occupying power, brought him widespread acclaim, though already during the war he displayed a worrisome penchant for using the military for civilian purposes. As Chernow notes, Washington had to rebuff "Hamilton's misguided suggestions that he exploit army discontent to goad Congress into action on public finance," with the General feeling compelled to instruct his aide that the army was "a dangerous instrument to play with."

After the war, Washington also expressed dismay at the policy adopted by the new Society of the Cincinnati-an organization restricted to the ex-officer corps - of passing membership down to eldest sons, thus raising the specter of a hereditary martial nobility. Ben Franklin, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and Sam Adams were equally disturbed. Hamilton defended hereditability (though not primogeniture, he himself being a second son) and would go on to head the organization. Typically, the exhibit displays a Society badge, but offers no hint of its controversial character.

Hamilton's proposal that the new USA establish a peacetime army also rang alarm bells with most Americans. Having suffered occupation by British troops, they remembered (and feared) the uses to which a "standing army" could be put (including enforcement of hated laws). Anxieties over possible misuse of military power mounted when Hamilton, having funded the Revolutionary War debt, sought new revenue with which to repay it. Reluctant to further increase tariffs - "especially since [as Chernow notes] import duties injured seaboard merchants who were part of Hamilton's social circle and political base in New York" -- he won passage of an excise tax on wine and spirits that fell most heavily on western farmers, in effect transferring wealth from country producers to urban bondholders. To enforce the law he dispatched squadrons of tax collectors, and when a revolt against their "bullying and intrusive" tactics cropped up in Western Pennsylvania - the Whiskey Rebellion - a massive armed force was sent to suppress it. To a populace long touchy about taxes this seemed an ominous development.

Hamilton's taste for military initiatives abroad was equally disturbing. Certainly he desired an armed force for national defense, but he was equally keen on using it to project power overseas. Noting that England had successfully used its fleet to prosecute wars around the world and to maintain a global commercial empire, he urged that "if we mean to be a commercial people... we must endeavour as soon as possible to have a navy." And in 1798, in line with his truculent stance toward possible French aggression - a sharp contrast to his placatory response to English depredations a few years earlier - Hamilton pushed for and got authority to build a vast army, with himself and Washington at its head. When Adams, to Hamilton's great dismay, opted for a diplomatic solution, Hamilton took up political arms against the President - his vicious attack helped destroy the Federalist Party and his own political career - and Abigail Adams, for one, feared the man she called a "second Bonaparty" might take up actual arms as well and stage a coup d'etat.

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