D.C. Impressions

September 30th, I traveled to Washington, D.C. My main reason for going was my wonderful partner who is studying law. Now, I now have a million reasons to return. Juxtaposed against my impressions (largely negative, derived from the overly-present barrage of media that steals our attention in the Trump-era) was a city that demanded curiosity and awe. At once, it was a panoply of cultures, traditions, and people doing all kinds of work, living there for all sorts of reasons. The atmosphere was one of intentionality; people seemed to live there because they really wanted to. This was their home, and they felt a connection to it. From this stemmed an incredible participatory feeling throughout my various experiences. Be it the visible structures of government; the various, frenzied professionals running around city streets and building halls with their name tags and passes; or the fact that not one human was exempt from the heinous humidity and yet chooses to live there anyway — you could feel it. People love this city. Though a visitor from afar (Washington State — you can’t get much further within the contiguous U.S.), I can count myself as one of them now — someone who loves this city.
I want to share a few prominent experiences. I visited or drove/walked past most of the government agencies and buildings: The EPA, the State Department, the Treasury, the Federal Reserve, the Department of Justice, the Supreme Court, and, finally, the White House. It was surreal connecting my imagined images of what these places must be like — in their essence, their physicality and function — to the tangible, and impressively built structures that command attention and a sense of reverence. Reverence might not be a word we ascribe to politics today, but it was a feeling I encountered regularly on this trip. Walking past and through the various institutions could not make me feel anything less than a sense of amazement at the history of the buildings, the individuals who have inhabited them, and the decisions made within them. I want to share some of the things I saw.
The Supreme Court.

So, I mentioned earlier that DC is humid, right? It is. And on this day in particular, the temperature reached a spectacularly scolding 94º and some 60%+ humidity. It was brutal. See the marble I’m standing on? Without sunglasses, the view from my eye sockets would have been one of sheer, blinding, white light. So why endure this? Two reasons. First, it’s the Supreme Court. You would have to be mad not to choose to see it. Second, a profound institution in the history of the US — from decisions such as Brown v. Board of Education, to Obergefell to Hodges (which mandated that all 50 states recognize same-sex marriage) — the Supreme Court has drastically affected countless lives, in ways people are aware of and in some they might not be. I thought of Edith Windsor, who passed away last September. Because of her, and countless individuals before her, I can legally be wed in all states of this country. I thought about how incredible it was to stand where she stood.
The White House.

Walking through Lafayette Park means being awed by the beauty of the surrounding trees and park structures, then feeling a gut punch when you recognize the white sandstone structure about 200 feet in front of you — what it is, what it means, and how close you are to it. I experienced a new feeling. We’ll call it awe. It certainly was not one I had felt before. As I walked up to the gates in front of the White House, I made a few observations. First, the building is beautiful. With its white exterior, manicured lawns, the fountain, and the lamp hanging in the front of the north portico doors, it is stunning. Second, although the fence has been pushed back in recent decades, you can stand pretty close to it! It was an interesting feeling being able to be that close to a building that houses one of the world’s most powerful people. President Obama remarks in his book, “The Audacity of Hope,” how he felt on a trip to the White House as a student protesting cuts to education proposed by President Reagan. I share his account of the experience, most of all his amazement at how we trust this experiment in democracy enough to allow the structures of power to be in plain sight. It is symbolic of something bigger. Not all aspects of government are visible to everyone, but the impression given by its visual availability leaves something to be continually valued.
The Historic Timeliness.
This was an incredibly salient time to visit D.C. A number of newsworthy events unfolded in the span of a week; refreshingly, little had to do with Donald Trump (with the exception of the New York Times’ anonymous Op-Ed).
I walked past the Washington National Cathedral where the late Senator John McCain was being eulogized. It was attended by a constellation of political figures from across the isle. In performance and attendance, McCain’s funeral was a profound rebuke to the conditions we find ourselves in right now — embodied and fanned by the President. Though, while a rebuke, his memorial service was a reminder of the values sorely missed from the highest echelons of power in Washington for the last several months. Among those, honesty, empathy, and pluralism. Though I don’t agree with McCain in policy, I can certainly admire the values he professed, and it was a cathartic and comforting moment to hear them professed and valued again.
Then there were the Brett Kavanaugh hearings. Juxtaposed against the profound sense of awe I had for the earlier court rulings on same-sex marriage, this is someone deeply concerning to myself and others. I was reminded continually that democracy is not a spectator sport; voting has consequences — Brett Kavanaugh might be one of them.

^true though.
Some other things.
The Washington Monument. Wow. It’s big. And incredible.

Expressions of Art and Human-ness.
Near the end of the trip, I was deeply moved by an art exhibit at the Renwick Museum titled “Burning Man.” If you’re curious about what it is exactly, click the link. I visited an exhibit dedicated to loss. An enormous room decorated by vast, wooden, tree-like structures, it was a place to share moments of loss and to honor the universal human experience characterized by it. I took one of the pre-cut wooden cards, wrote my feelings out, and placed it against the backdrop of hundreds of others. I allowed the feelings to wash over and internalized the realization that we’re all in this together — all of us. Everyone experiences joy. Everyone experiences loss. That’s not optional. But taking refuge in the universality of it is.
Below is a card that moved me most. I trust it’s unrecognizable enough to not invade this person’s privacy. I wanted to share it.

I hadn’t expected that in a place some people describe with the worst of adjectives, I would find a profound sense of hope. I got to experience adventure — in the people there, the incredible structures that house humanitarian efforts occuring all over the world, and in my partner, who does wonderful humanitarian work himself.
I will visit again so soon. It stole a piece of my heart.

Okay, a few more pictures.



