Chapter Seven - The Royal Problem

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Royal Problem

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN DIDN’T want a revolution, not at first.

He’d built his whole life inside the British system. His printing business ran on British contracts. His science was praised by British institutions. His role as Postmaster General gave him power because of Britain. He saw the empire as flawed, yes, but fixable. A machine that needed oil, not fire.

So when tensions between the colonies and the crown started rising in the 1760s, Franklin tried to calm things down.

He wrote essays urging compromise.

He told Parliament to back off on taxes like the Stamp Act.

He argued for unity, loyalty, and understanding. He claimed that the colonies weren’t rebellious, just misunderstood.

He believed this could be patched.

So in 1765, the Pennsylvania Assembly sent him to London as their representative. He became the colonies’ voice in the heart of the empire. And at first, it worked. Franklin was charming, brilliant, and respected. He mingled with philosophers, dined with lords, and advised ministers. He lived in a townhouse in London and wore the suit of a statesman.

He thought he could fix it.

He was wrong.

Britain wasn’t interested in compromise. It wanted control. The colonies were growing richer, louder, and harder to manage. Parliament responded with more laws, more taxes, and more punishment. Franklin kept writing letters, making arguments, and holding meetings. He begged both sides to see reason.

And then came the Hutchinson Letters.

In 1772, Franklin obtained a series of private letters from Thomas Hutchinson, the royal governor of Massachusetts. In them, Hutchinson argued that colonists needed to have their rights limited, that too much freedom was dangerous.

Franklin, furious, sent the letters to trusted friends in Boston with instructions to keep them private. But they leaked.

The public went ballistic.

And when the British found out Franklin had sent them, they turned on him.

What followed was a public execution. Not of his body, but of his name.

In January 1774, Franklin was called before the Privy Council in London for a formal hearing. He thought it would be civil. Instead, it was a bloodbath.

He stood alone in the room.

They mocked him. They screamed at him. They called him a traitor. A thief. A disgrace.

For over an hour, they humiliated him in front of the British elite.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

He just stood there, silent, until it was over.

And when it was, something inside him snapped.

The empire he had loved just spit him out.

He walked out of the room, took off his wig, put on his old fur hat, and started preparing for the next phase.

He wasn’t going to fix the British machine anymore.

He was going to replace it.