How I Was Born
You might know me as the fundamental law of the Hoosier state, but around the archives, I just go by Indy.
I am the 1851 Indiana State Constitution. If you look at me today—stitched, bound, and carefully preserved—you might think I was brought into the world with quiet, dignified reverence. That however, couldn’t be further from the facts. My birth was chaotic, and a result of financial ruin, and a whole lot of arguing.
Sit down, and let me tell you the tale of how I was conceived, and born.
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Image Courtesy of: Digital Public Library of America (DPLA)
The Ghost of My Elder Brother
To understand who I am, you have to understand the brother I was built to replace: the 1816 Constitution. He was a good document, drafted when Indiana was just a rugged frontier territory trying to carve out a place in the Union. However, by the late 1840s, Indiana had severely outgrown him.
The real trouble began in the 1830s. The state lawmakers, giddy with the promise of the future, had gone on a massive spending spree, building a vast network of canals, turnpikes, and railroads. When the Panic of 1837 hit, the money was gone. The state was left with crushing debt and half-finished ditches. The citizens were incensed. They realized they needed a new set of rules—someone tougher, stricter, and less willing to let politicians hold the purse strings without oversight.
That someone was going to be me.
The Men Who Made Me
In August 1849, the people of Indiana overwhelmingly voted to call a convention. By the fall of 1850, 150 delegates rode into Indianapolis to piece me together.
They were a mixed bag. Most were farmers, quite a few were lawyers, and a handful were doctors. Interestingly enough, barely a dozen of them were native-born Hoosiers; most had migrated from the South or the East Coast.
On October 7, 1850, my creation officially started in the Hall of the House of Representatives at the State Capitol. Yet, 150 opinionated men tend to make a lot of noise and take up a lot of space. By Christmas, they had outgrown the Capitol and moved the entire operation to the nearby Masonic Hall, paying $12 a day just to have enough room to argue over my clauses.
“We are here to frame a constitution that shall stand the test of time, to protect the people from the extravagance of their rulers.”
- The general sentiment echoing through Masonic Hall during my drafting.
It took 127 grueling days to finally shape me. Some delegates, like the brilliant Robert Dale Owen, fought passionately to weave progressive ideals into my pages, such as property rights for married women. He didn’t win every battle, but he gave me a heart for public education, ensuring I carried a mandate for a uniform system of common schools.
My Defining Traits
As the weeks marched on, my personality began to take shape. I was built to be a reflection of Jacksonian Democracy—the belief that the common man should hold the reins of power.
I am frugal: Due to the canal disaster, I explicitly forbade the General Assembly from going into debt.
I am suspicious of politicians: I took away lawmakers ability to pass “special laws” for their friends. I demanded they govern by broad, general laws.
I love elections: I mandated that almost everyone—from the governor down to the local judges—had to be elected by the public rather than appointed by a select few.
I demand breaks: Instead of letting the legislature meet every year, I told them to meet biennially (every two years). I figured the less they met, the less trouble they could cause.
My Darkest Phase
I am always going to be honest with you, and that means I cannot hide the ugliest part of my birth.
I was written by imperfect men in an incredibly prejudiced era. While they expanded voting rights for white European immigrants, they flatly denied suffrage to women and anyone who wasn’t some shade of pale.
Even worse was my Article XIII. My framers wrote a deeply racist provision into my core, explicitly banning Black and Mulatto individuals from settling or moving into Indiana. They were so aware of how explosive this article was that they made the voters approve it separately. Tragically, the voters approved Article XIII by and even wider margin than they approved the rest of me.
That is a painful truth of my autobiography. It took a Civil War, the 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, and decades of struggle before that stain was finally eliminated from my pages in 1881. I am a better document today because I was forced to grow up and shed the cruelty of my youth.
The Final Ink
By February 10, 1851, my framers were exhausted. I was finally done—handwritten, bound in leather, and ready to meet the world.
The people of Indiana read me over, and on August 4, 1851, the Governor issued his proclamation, and I officially opened my eyes as the supreme law of the land.
I have lived a very long time since that day. I have been amended nearly 100 times. I’ve watched generations of Hoosiers live, work, and die under my guidance and protection. I’m no longer the strict, stubborn youth I was in 1851—I now let the legislature meet every year, for instance—but my bones remain the same. I was born from a crisis, built by farmers and lawyers in a rented hall, and forged to endure.
I am Indy, the eternal. Indy the Indiana Constitution.
