In 2025, Pennsylvania updated its license plate design to feature the Liberty Bell, a prescient move for this year’s Semiquincentennial, where the Liberty Bell continues to play a central role—not as a relic of revolutionary history, but as a surface on which Americans have inscribed their ideals, disappointments, demands, and dreams.
The Liberty Bell’s provenance is unique: by 1751, the Pennsylvania State House needed a bell to summon lawmakers to session, gather citizens for announcements and town meetings, and signal special commemorations and events by ringing through the air. Tolling bells could also serve as warnings of fire or other dangers. To be a fully functioning statehouse, a bell was ordered from the famous Whitechapel Bell Foundry in London, which finally closed shop in 2017, after 450 years of business. The bell famously sailed into Philadelphia in one piece, only to crack significantly upon its first ring.
In response, artisans John Pass and John Stow melted down the original bell and recast a new one. This bell remained intact for almost 100 years, until sometime in the early 1840s, when it cracked again. This time, instead of melting the bell down, foundry workers tried to repair the crack by widening it to prevent further spread. Instead, a second crack appeared, and the bell was silenced forever.
One would think a bell without a ring was a literal death knell. Instead, and rather miraculously, the bell took on another life, and another, and another after that in historical memory.
In 1755, Benjamin Franklin mentioned the bell in correspondence with Catharine Ray, writing, “Adieu. The Bell rings, and I must go among the Grave ones and talk Politicks.” Like many others, he did not consider the bell’s association with liberty during the Revolution, perhaps because Philadelphia was under British control for nearly nine months and, for most of the war, he was across the Atlantic, working for freedom in another way.
As far as we know, the bell was not rung when the Declaration of Independence was read. But throughout the long 19th century that followed the Revolution, political activists of all stripes rallied around the words inscribed on the bell: “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants Thereof” (Leviticus 25:10).
The Biblical phrase, perhaps commemorating William Penn’s 1701 Charter of Privileges, which granted broad religious freedom and representative government to (some) of the people of Pennsylvania, was adopted, for example, as a symbol of freedom to end slavery. The bell was given the name “Liberty” in the sense of liberation—striving for self-rule in the most basic and humane sense by promoting abolition.
In other words, it was not the Revolution that gave the bell its lasting significance, but the Americans who, thereafter, kept the pursuit of freedom ringing in our ears. Women seeking suffrage. Civil Rights campaigners invoking its biblical call for equality. Cities pursuing community, memory, and history. Its transformation continues today, 250 years beyond the revolution.
Given this history, we understand why the Liberty Bell is visible again during the Semiquincentennial—on our license plates, in commemorative materials and public celebrations, and even as a giant inflatable balloon at the No King’s Rally on the steps of the Pennsylvania State Capitol Building in Harrisburg on March 28. Despite the blustery, cold day filled with flags and a large, grounded eagle puppet, the Liberty Bell remained firmly in place at the top of the steps, where people below gave speeches and rallied for freedom. Of course, nylon ropes secured the inflatable to the ground, but the massive yoke’s symbolic presence, attached to the bell, felt strong and unrelenting.
The Liberty Bell also appears in the Commonwealth’s Semiquincentennial public art initiatives. In Bells Across PA, fiberglass bells decorated by communities across the state appear in each of Pennsylvania’s 67 counties. This kind of collective work, common in community-made public art, remains popular because the project’s scale is manageable and the local scenes painted on the bells carry meaning for those who decorate them. In this case, it is not monumental art by trained artists, but rather youth and adults who hope to create something everyone can recognize and enjoy.
Philadelphia’s most compelling contribution to this conversation may be the public artwork Let Freedom Ring by artist Paul Ramírez Jonas. Originally commissioned by Monument Lab in August 2023 for the National Mall in Washington, D.C., the reinstallation of Let Freedom Ring by the Association for Public Art is on view at the Cherry Street Pier through Sept. 27. The monumental bell tower plays “America (My Country, ‘Tis of Thee)” but intentionally omits the final note. Visitors must ring a Liberty Bell-inspired bell to complete the song. The work poses a deceptively simple question: for whom does freedom ring? The answer is left unfinished and requires public participation.
Public art succeeds where monuments sometimes fail by fostering participation rather than passive observation. Rather than presenting history as settled and complete, it invites people to join a conversation across time. The Liberty Bell has always functioned this way. Its inscription is not a statement but a challenge. Its crack is a visual reminder that we must work to close the distance between us.
Today, that challenge and the distance feel especially urgent. The words “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof” prompt Americans to consider who is included in that promise and who remains excluded. Each generation has answered differently and struggled to reconcile the nation’s aspirations with its realities.
The stories of the Liberty Bell’s creation, its cracking, its inscription, and its use as a symbol across generations remind us that public art and history can commemorate, criticize, and build community. They can also transform a historical artifact into a forum where each generation redefines liberty. In this Semiquincentennial year, everyone pursuing happiness can make the Liberty Bell their own.
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to clarify that Let Freedom Ring was reinstalled by the Association for Public Art during the semiquincentennial.
Laura A. Macaluso, PhD., is the creator of the digital humanities project Objectify Benedict Arnold: Making Memory of America’s Traitor.
The “Road to 250” series is an initiative of Historians for 2026, a group of early American academics, public historians, archivists, and educators devoted to shaping an accurate, inclusive, and just public memory of the American Founding for the 250th anniversary.
Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of The Inquirer.
