Steiner paused and surveyed his audience on the chamber floor and in the balconies. “I do not believe — I cannot believe — that such sentiments are representative of the sentiments of the people of Texas, the physical and spiritual descendants of the defenders of the Alamo, those patriots who laid down their lives rather than surrender to the tyranny of the Mexican government. I say to you, Remember the Alamo! Remember those thirteen days of glory. Remember those brave men who laid down their lives so that Texans might be free.”
The applause rose like thunder in the chamber. Ben Steiner mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He was on a roll now, and he knew the jury was with him. He waited until the noise died somewhat and said, “Hard, cold, and cruel will be the road ahead. Many difficult decisions will have to be made. Many will suffer, some will die. Yet I say to you, Americans everywhere will judge us by what we do here tonight. We can so conduct ourselves that future generations will glorify our deeds and honor our lives, and remember our deaths if need be… or we can surrender and throw ourselves on the mercy of a tyrant. Is life so precious that you would shame yourself to keep it? As for me, I want to repeat — and I hope someday they engrave these words upon my tombstone — the immortal words of Colonel William Barret Travis at the Alamo: ‘Victory or Death.’”
The applause and cheering rose to a staggering volume. Ben Steiner turned around, leaned toward the speaker, and shouted to be heard. “Mr. Speaker, I move the question.”
The Senate passed the declaration by two-thirds vote, and the majority was almost as large in the House.
Ben Steiner went back to the podium. “My fellow Texans, we are making history tonight, history that Texans will talk about as long as there are people in Texas and men yearn to be free. We cannot tell our children and our children’s children that we passed this by a mere majority vote. I move that the vote be made unanimous.”
The speaker called for a voice vote. The yeas had it.
Steiner was so relieved he had to hang on to the podium to stay erect as the legislators cheered wildly.
The leaders of both chambers signed the document and took it to the governor to be signed, which he did. He handed the signed document to the colonel in charge of the National Guard troops, one with the unfortunate name of Buster Bean, and said, “Get a loudspeaker and read this on the steps of the capitol.”
When the crowd in the governor’s office had thinned somewhat because many of them wanted to be outside to hear the declaration read, Jack Hays asked Ben Steiner, “What did you say to them?”
“I paraphrased Winston Churchill and Colonel Travis and appealed to their honor.”
“I guess you convinced them.”
“No. They knew the right thing to do. They just needed to hear someone say it.”
The floodlights of several television stations almost blinded Colonel Bean, but at least their illumination helped him read the document.
“The unanimous Declaration of Independence made by the elected representatives of the people of Texas in General Convention in the City of Austin on the twenty-third day of August, 2016.
“When a government has ceased to protect the lives, liberty, and property of the people from whom its legitimate powers are derived, and for whose happiness it was instituted, and ceases to be a guarantor of those inalienable rights which are granted to every human by God Almighty, and becomes an instrument in the hands of evil rulers for their oppression:
“When the federal Constitution of their country, which they have sworn to support, has been declared a nullity by the leader of their country and the whole nature of their government has been forcibly changed without their consent from a limited federal republic into a military dictatorship:
“When, after the spirit of representative, constitutional government has been forcibly usurped, when the semblance of freedom has been removed and the sole power in the land is the whims of a dictator, the first law of nature, the right of self-preservation, the inherent and inalienable rights of the people to preserve their liberty, rights, and property by taking the political power into their own hands becomes a sacred obligation to their posterity to abolish such a government and create another in its stead, one calculated to rescue them from impending dangers and secure their future welfare and happiness.”
Inside the governor’s office the amplified voice outside was quite clear. Jack Hays said to Ben Steiner, “Good stuff, but I’ve read much of that before.”
“I cribbed it. I couldn’t do better.”
Colonel Bean read a list of grievances, including Barry Soetoro’s declaration of martial law, the arrest of political opponents, and the de facto repeal of the First Amendment.
He ended with this paragraph:
“It has been demanded that we deliver up our arms, which are essential to our defense, the rightful property of free men, and formidable only to tyrannical governments.”
“The necessity of self-preservation therefore now demands our separation from the United States of America. We, therefore, the duly elected representatives of the people of Texas, in solemn convention assembled, do hereby resolve and declare that the political connection with the United States of America has forever ended, and the people of Texas do now constitute a free, sovereign, and independent republic, and are fully vested with all the rights and attributes that properly belong to independent nations; and conscious of the righteousness of our intentions, we fearlessly and confidently commit the issue to the decision of the Supreme arbiter of the destiny of nations and mankind.”
Colonel Bean stepped away from the podium as applause and wild cheering broke out. Beyond the National Guard troops, many of the U.S. Army soldiers began leaving in twos and threes. Here and there sergeants and officers tried to stop them, but many went anyway. The regular army officer in charge, a colonel, knew when to fight and when to regroup. He ordered his soldiers to return to base. In less than fifteen minutes, only National Guard troops remained on the capitol lawn, facing a sea of cheering civilians. Thousands of them. People poured from the side streets as the news swiftly spread and soon packed the area as far as the eye could see. Texas flags were waved defiantly and proudly.
Texas was once again an independent nation. If the Texans could make it stick.
SEVEN
In Washington, Thurman Truax, the senior U.S. senator from Texas, was appalled at the spectacle on television that morning. He had been in politics since he was twenty-seven years old, which was thirty-five years ago, and he kept his ear close to the ground in Texas to find out what people were thinking, so close to the ground that the people said he had dirt in it. He had been worried for years about this independence movement and had talked about it at length with the governor, Jack Hays, who he thought was against it too. Apparently Jack Hays had changed his mind or found he was caught in a tide he couldn’t resist.
Truax had suspected something of this sort might happen when Soetoro announced martial law, and had called the White House to tell the president so. He wound up speaking to some junior aide. The president had made his decision, Truax was told. He also shared his misgivings with the other senator from Texas and the members of the Texas congressional delegation, some of whom shared his concern, and the leadership in the Senate.