Bike Commuting in the Time of Trump
“All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us.”
2 Corinthians 5:18–20
Making a home in the Washington area brings with it an assortment of daily delights and challenges. During my bike commute to work, I’m accustomed to feeling a sense of gratitude as I wind my way around Arlington National Cemetery, across the Potomac river, past the Lincoln Memorial, along the National Mall, and finally around the White House to downtown DC. I cherish the opportunity to reflect on our nation’s rich, complex history, the leadership and sacrifices of Americans across time and space, and to pray for peace and justice in our time.
I’ve always considered it a core part of my duty as a local to be a good ambassador of the area. No matter how rushed I am, I do my best to stop and cheerfully offer to take the picture or provide directional assistance to tourists who are looking disoriented or photo-ready. Tourists are often a helpful prompt to pay attention and embrace the opportunity to see familiar landmarks in a new way, and to be thankful for the privilege of living in a place where so many others choose to vacation.
My ambassadorial duties aren’t always as easy as they might sound, and they’ve become far trickier during the Trump era — but also more important. In his first interview after the election, President Trump told 60 Minutes that “there are no people” in Washington because “the whole place is one big lobbyist.” This isn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last lie to be told about Washington and its diverse population. I can see the surprise on people’s faces when I stop to help and seem like a normal human person even though it’s obvious that I live here. Those looks make me all the more determined to do what I can to correct the record about my beloved home.
A years or so ago, I overheard a dad pointing out the Old Executive Office Building and and telling his children that the people inside all these federal buildings are lazy and are paid for doing nothing all day long every single day. I wanted to stop to tell him about the sacrifices many of my hard-working family and friends are making for our country, often working weekends and coming home long after dinner has been served and the dishes have been put away. But I didn’t trust myself to convey that message with a calm, friendly tone, so I let the moment pass.
Despite my best efforts, the sense of deep admiration and respect that I felt when riding past the Obama White House has been replaced by a screeching chorus of anxiety, anger, and fear. The spring-summer influx of tourists comes with serious tests of patience. On the way home, I have to ride more slowly and carefully and often get delayed by roving clusters of tourists from around the country and around the world. The lilting, unexpected movements of pedestrian traffic can be hazardous. Sightseers often back up to get a better look at a building, sculpture, or squirrel (popular among foreign tourists), or stop to take photographs with such attractions.
I have to fight to assume the best of the people I encounter, especially if they’re wearing “Make America Great Again” swag. On my worst days, I invent stories about anyone who disrupts my peace or threatens my safety. Surely the honking driver who cut me off works at the Trump White House and is Steve Bannon’s BFF!
I don’t make the ride as often as I used to, using rain or heat or lethargy as an excuse to avoid the emotional hazards on my path. But over time, I hope to reclaim my commute and the joy it used to bring me.
In the meantime, I’m doing my best to double down in praying for peace and justice in our time, and taking even more seriously my responsibilities as a Washingtonian.
