By Brian S. Brijbag, Esq.
Let’s be honest.
The Fourth of July isn’t about hot dogs or flags or whatever color bomb Pop Rocks your aunt duct-taped to the backyard fence. It’s not even about freedom in that vague bumper-sticker way we toss around like lawn darts after a few beers.
The Fourth of July is about declaration. Loud. Messy. Brazen.
A room full of exhausted, sweaty men in wigs and wool, fed up with being told how to live, decided to write it down. They didn’t whisper it. They didn’t negotiate it. They declared it – with ink and attitude and enough legal ambiguity to fuel a thousand constitutional crises.
And that? That’s where the chaos becomes craft.
Because the Declaration of Independence wasn’t a conclusion. It was an opening statement. A legal tantrum with rhythm and teeth. “We hold these truths to be self-evident…” has the cadence of courtroom thunder. It’s a preamble and a promise. A gamble wrapped in a grievance. And they signed it knowing full well it might get them hanged.
That’s drama. That’s stakes. That’s theatre with real blood on the floor.
So today, while you’re grilling in a tank top that says “Suns Out, Buns Out,” remember: this country didn’t start with a party. It started with a pen, a page, and a room of people fed up enough to say so out loud.
If you’re looking for what to celebrate, celebrate that. The audacity of a sentence. The rebellion of writing. The time someone stood up in a legal room and said, “Actually, we don’t accept your authority anymore.”
I’m a trial lawyer. I live for that moment. The turning point. The refusal. The declaration that the story isn’t over and the rules are negotiable if they’re unjust.
America is flawed, fiery, and frequently absurd. But the idea that you can walk into a courtroom, a legislature, a theater, or a backyard and speak your truth – that’s revolutionary. Still.
So pop the fireworks. Burn the hot dogs.
But somewhere between the anthem and the afterparty, remember:
Independence was written before it was won.
And every great case, play, or country starts with the same thing:
A bold, unignorable voice that says…
“Let me tell you how this ends.”
Happy Fourth. Keep crafting the chaos.
– Brian
Brian Brijbag 