Chap­ter 39 – A Race of Slaves begins with a sharp con­tra­dic­tion: Amer­i­cans, once her­ald­ed as cham­pi­ons of lib­er­ty, are now por­trayed as will­ing par­tic­i­pants in a sys­tem that dimin­ish­es their indi­vid­ual rights. The chap­ter opens by acknowl­edg­ing the expan­sive influ­ence Amer­i­cans have abroad—bringing progress to Europe, elec­tri­fy­ing ancient spaces, and export­ing inno­va­tion. Yet, at home, the same peo­ple sub­mit pas­sive­ly to triv­ial bureau­crat­ic pow­ers. This irony forms the core of the chapter’s cri­tique. Where once there was rebel­lion against oppres­sive rule, now there is obe­di­ence to inef­fi­cien­cy and imper­son­al author­i­ty. Amer­i­cans, the author argues, are no longer the heirs of revolutionaries—they are par­tic­i­pants in a slow-mov­ing, self-imposed servi­tude.

The con­trast becomes more vivid through anec­dotes drawn from pub­lic trans­porta­tion. A train jour­ney from Wash­ing­ton to New York, inter­rupt­ed by an unex­plained 40-minute delay, is accept­ed with­out protest by the pas­sen­gers, includ­ing the nar­ra­tor. Rather than resist or even ques­tion the delay, the peo­ple sim­ply wait, demon­strat­ing how con­di­tioned they’ve become to tol­er­ate inef­fi­cien­cies. Sim­i­lar­ly, in street­cars, trav­el­ers are expect­ed to move quick­ly and con­form to arbi­trary rules, reflect­ing a soci­ety where con­ve­nience is sec­ondary to unques­tioned com­pli­ance. The chap­ter also describes the strange rit­u­al of “brushing”—a forced clean­ing of clothes in trains, done with­out con­sent. These expe­ri­ences, though seem­ing­ly minor, serve to illus­trate a broad­er ero­sion of per­son­al agency in dai­ly Amer­i­can life.

The cri­tique extends to cus­tomer ser­vice, which the author com­pares unfa­vor­ably to Europe. In shops, restau­rants, and hotels, Amer­i­cans are often treat­ed with indif­fer­ence or even sub­tle dis­dain by staff. Despite being the pay­ing cus­tomer, they tol­er­ate poor treat­ment with sur­pris­ing patience. The author sug­gests this dynam­ic is root­ed in the same pas­sive mind­set that tol­er­ates delays and dis­com­fort on trains. In Europe, the author con­tends, the cus­tomer retains a greater sense of dig­ni­ty and con­trol. The social con­tract there appears more balanced—respect is mutu­al, not con­di­tion­al.

What emerges is a por­trait of Amer­i­cans as fear­ful of dis­rup­tion, fear­ful even of those who serve them. A par­tic­u­lar­ly telling exam­ple involves a friend who was removed from a the­ater sim­ply for express­ing dis­sat­is­fac­tion. The act of hiss­ing, a minor expres­sion of cri­tique, results in imme­di­ate ejec­tion. The mes­sage is clear: dis­sent is not wel­come, not even in spaces meant for pub­lic enjoy­ment. This sub­mis­sion to minor author­i­ty figures—ushers, clerks, bellboys—is a recur­ring motif through­out the chap­ter. It isn’t just about poor ser­vice; it’s about how Amer­i­cans have been trained to accept medi­oc­rity and dis­re­spect in exchange for per­ceived order and rou­tine.

The nar­ra­tive ends on a reflec­tive note, empha­siz­ing the cul­tur­al shift that has tak­en place in a nation found­ed on rebel­lion. Amer­i­cans no longer fight against minor tyran­ny; they accom­mo­date it. The “race of slaves” isn’t bound by chains or laws, but by inter­nal­ized habits of com­pli­ance and fear of con­fronta­tion. Even the domes­tic staff, who tra­di­tion­al­ly held sub­or­di­nate roles, are described as wield­ing pow­er through sub­tle manip­u­la­tion and social influ­ence, a rever­sal that under­scores how much auton­o­my the aver­age Amer­i­can has sur­ren­dered. The irony is bit­ter: in striv­ing for com­fort and effi­cien­cy, peo­ple have lost their voice. They avoid com­plaint, not out of polite­ness, but from a learned help­less­ness that cor­rodes civic strength.

Ulti­mate­ly, Chap­ter 39 serves as a bit­ing cri­tique of how eas­i­ly free­dom can be sur­ren­dered not through con­quest, but through rou­tine. It warns that the ero­sion of lib­er­ty does not always arrive with thunder—it often comes qui­et­ly, in the form of train delays, rude clerks, and shrugged shoul­ders. The author chal­lenges read­ers to rec­og­nize these small indig­ni­ties for what they are: symp­toms of a deep­er cul­tur­al ill­ness. By tol­er­at­ing these slights, Amer­i­cans risk becom­ing com­pla­cent in their own sub­ju­ga­tion. The rev­o­lu­tion may have promised free­dom, but the dai­ly habits of the mod­ern cit­i­zen sug­gest a dif­fer­ent reality—one marked not by lib­er­ty, but by qui­et, will­ing servi­tude.