Exploring the Roots of Democracy

Post-election confusion had this crestfallen New York voter needing an escape in late 2024. England and the U.S. have always savored a special relationship, a unique bond, so it made sense that a little British wit and wisdom would go a long way in restoring my fighting spirit. The weekend pilgrimage also gave me reason to explore my growing interest in the roots of democracy heightened by political uncertainty.

A Bastion Against Tyranny

Key to absolving my melancholy was paying deference to a medieval manuscript that’s survived hundreds of years of turmoil and tyranny, the Magna Carta. This year, 2025, the third edition, written in 1225, celebrates its 800-year-old birthday.

To refresh your memory from high school civics, the Magna Carta helped the Founding Fathers shape the framework for the Bill of Rights and the U.S. Constitution. At its most fundamental, it is the reason why we have protections like due process and checks and balances.

Most people credit the 1215 version with ensuring freedoms and liberties, but rather, it prompted a peace treaty between the king and the kingdom and was ultimately annulled. Subsequent versions, especially the 1225 version, became the de facto bastions against absolute power, guaranteeing protections and freedoms for all.

Priceless Antiquities

The author takes comfort in knowing the Magna Carta has survived 800 years of political unrest Photo: Sonja Stark

I stepped off the bus and raced past the bronze Isaac Newton statue, accelerating my step into the red-bricked facade of the British Library. Almost instinctively, I gravitated towards a narrow entrance in the left corner, past the airy lobby. Perhaps Newton’s Laws of Motion helped pull me in the direction of the Exhibition Room?

Inside, I was blasted by a spinning merry-go-round of treasures: the second largest Atlas in the world, original Beatles song lyrics, a 1455 Gutenberg Bible, early editions of Shakespeare plays, and so much more. But, even among the priceless antiquities, it didn’t take long to spot the star attraction.

A guard oversaw the display case protected under a thick sheet of glass smudged with little fingerprints. I squinted to make out the faded lettering on the torn sheepskin parchment. Thankfully, there were no other people around, and with 4000 mostly ineligible Latin words to review, I was pacing myself. Of the 63 clauses, it was Clause 39 and 40 that I repeated aloud, no doubt breaking the code of conduct in a quiet library.

“No free man shall be seized, imprisoned, dispossessed, outlawed, exiled or ruined in any way, nor in any way proceeded against, except by the lawful judgement of his peers and the law of the land.”

This much-cited principle was the basis of the Fifth Amendment in the Bill of Rights of 1791. It also influenced the Founding Fathers to push for the concept of habeas corpus. The writ, as written in the Magna Carta, guarantees all free men immunity from illegal imprisonment.

The Medieval castle with the Tower Bridge on the Thames in the distance Photo: Sonja Stark

The London Tower

After visiting the library, it made sense to take a deeper dive into the early footprints of the monarchy with a visit to the London Tower. The 900-year-old concentric fortification is the U.K.’s most popular attraction. It holds the legendary Crown Jewels, a few noisy ravens, a notorious prison and the ceremonial Yeoman Warders. Guards are ready to unravel the creepiest of secrets from the castle.

A third-generation Beefeater by the name of Amanda ‘AJ’ Clark directed our group over the moat. We continued past the Traitor’s Gate and onto the once-bloody grounds of execution and torture. Clark was quick to balance tales of ghastly violence with morbid humor. “It was King John, the petulant, thin-skinned Lord of Ireland and Duke of Aquitaine, that ruled ruthless over this kingdom,” she said.

She went on to explain how, during his reign, he led the country into a futile war, overtaxed his people, murdered his rivals, and exiled his opponents. Was it no surprise that the royal fortification experienced repeated sieges in 1214? King John had no choice but to acquiesce to the demands of 25 feudal barons, a small but politically elite group, who drafted a document to curb the king’s lawlessness.

Passing through the Bloody Tower where the Ceremony of the Keys takes place every evening Photo: Sonja Stark

Birthplace of Democracy

Democracy was birthed in a safe space, a low-lying meadow in June 1215, about twenty miles west of the London Tower and not far from Windsor Castle. The lush, shallow field proved free from any chance of a rogue ambush by soldiers on horseback. Not much about Runnymede has changed other than the National Trust Visitor’s Center. They served up a delicious calzone-shaped meat pocket called a Cornish Pasty to my family before we headed out into the elements.

The importance of the Judicial system is marked by an art installation called The Jurors Photo: Sonja Stark

Roam, Reflect and Discuss

Along the winding footpath, we stopped to marvel at art installations like Hew Locke’s 12 Jurors and a newly immersive space called Writ in Water.

I let my imagination drift as I dried off to sit down at Chair #9 etched with the Golden Rule: treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself. Under duress from the barons, King John may have sat at a similar chair to seal rather than sign the charter. In 1215, the royal seal was proof enough to pass for official acknowledgement of a mandate.

At the Magna Carta memorial, I was surprised to learn that the American Bar Association gifted monies to it. It was their way of thanking England for the founding of the rule of law. It made sense, looking up at the blue ceiling filled with stars and at the center pillar bearing another. The last revelation surfaced at the John F. Kennedy Memorial.

“Did you also know that Queen Elizabeth II gifted three acres of this sacred land to the U.S. when John F. Kennedy was assassinated?” my guide continued as we entered American soil. Her Majesty was so moved by the President’s death in 1963 that she commemorated his life
with a granite slab inscribed with words from his 1961 inaugural address.

“Before you leave, be sure you visit the ancient yew on the other side of the Thames,” was my guide’s parting advice. Follow the little trail. It cuts through farmland opened to the public in 2011.

A herd of unbudgeable cows effectively blocked our entrance to the yew Photo: Sonja Stark

Angst at Ankerwycke Park

A herd of intimidating livestock was the reason we were lost at Ankerwycke. About 20 stubborn cows had blocked the official footpath next to the small car park. We dare not push them aside.

With the sky growing more ominous by the minute, my companion sat out the deluge inside our electric rental. That left my stepdaughter and her beau volunteering to help me find the way. We would not be deterred.

With the fading light, we raced to find the famous yew; a gnarly beast so ancient it was rumored to have witnessed the symbolic sealing of the Magna Carta and the marriage proposal of King Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn. The one caveat: none of us knew what a yew looked like. We threaded our way through two more cow pastures and crossed a little brook, mindful of the fading light.

Mystery Sighting

“I see it! I see it! To the left of those Mistletoe trees,” Rory trilled, pointing to the misty banks of the Thames. We sprang into action. But joy quickly turned to anguish as the ancient specimen revealed its sad fate. The tree was dead! Its thick trunk had ripped free from its supportive roots and toppled backwards. It now lay horizontal, a corpse on the ground, crushed by the weight of its own branches.

With tears welling up, we looked at each other at a loss for words. Were we the first people to witness this? Was the death of this glorious sentinel an omen? Was democracy going to die soon too? We contemplated the mortality of the moment when, suddenly, a passing hiker stopped to ask:

“Hey, are you guys okay?”

“Oh, the humanity. Look what happened to the yew!” we bellowed.

“That? That’s actually an oak tree. Climate change knocked it down a few weeks ago. The yew is over there, near the priory,” he said, pointing towards the fence line. We looked at each other in utter embarrassment and then burst into laughter. Being self-proclaimed lovers of nature, how in the world did we get that so wrong?

Carolyn and Rory revel in knowing the Yew still lives Photo: Sonja Stark

Soaking in 2,500 Years of Resilience

There are plenty of types, but the English Yew is a coniferous, needle-bearing dark evergreen native to Europe. It produces red berry-like arils on strong branches that sweep up into the sky.

There were no ropes preventing us from getting close to the yew, so we ducked under its protective canopy for closer examination. I was relieved to see that nobody had carved their initials or defaced it in any way. The crown was shorter than I expected, but the girth exceeded 30 feet or more. Even three people with outstretched arms had no hope of hugging this legend.

This beautiful relic had survived centuries of violence, pestilence, lightning strikes, droughts, floods, and more, and yet, here it stood, still vigilant. The few branches that lay on the ground gave scant clues to its true age, but experts agree it has been around since before the Pharaohs.

The rumble of planes landing at nearby Heathrow reminded us how different life must have been when this tree first sprang from the ground. It felt mystical and magical to be in the shadow of something so rare but also a bit unnerving, having just seen the damage that heavy tree limbs can do.

Winds of Change

Whistling a nostalgic ballet on our way back to the car, I thought about the fragility of trees and democracy, both influenced by winds of change. The yew remains resilient, but the stresses and perils of global warming are very real, as evidenced by the nearby oak. Democracy, too, has proved durable, but it, too, has an elevated risk to its survival with the rise of authoritarianism.

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