“We’re here! Look at the sign: ‘Welcome to Washington D.C!’” I said to my son as we drove into the city limits this July. No sooner had I directed his attention to the sign than I had to say, “Oh, don’t look at that man! Look back over here at Mama!” Our very first interaction with the city was a man pulling down his pants to pee on the wall next to the welcome sign. He then proceeded to yell loudly at passersby and drift into a semi-catatonic state.
As we continued on our journey to our Airbnb- hailed by reviewers as part of a “very safe neighborhood”- the sense of dread grew. Every block, there were groups of men sitting on the curbs and leering, homeless people yelling and wandering, and barred windows. Finally we reached the “very safe neighborhood.” It was a stark contrast with the situation just two blocks away, but its proximity made it feel less than safe.
By this time, it was early evening. We packed up our things and thought we would head into the city to see a monument or two in the cooler part of the day. On our 15 minute drive into downtown, we encountered cars and motorcycles brazenly flying through red lights. It seemed to be an unspoken rule of the city that red lights were just suggestions- a terrifying prospect for tourists hoping not to be t-boned in an intersection.
When we finally parked not far from the White House, we breathed a sigh of relief. We walked toward the White House, hoping to get a little glimpse of it before returning the next day. By this time the sun was setting. We stopped at the WWI memorial. It was a Thursday evening, so there wasn’t much traffic. The water of the pool was calm, and the statues of soldiers reflected upon it. In one corner of the memorial pool, a woman had a whole sleeping encampment set up. She was using the water of the pool to clean her clothes, and she was hanging them all out to dry on a dozen tree branches. She had bags of possessions and a sleeping bag around her, and she was playing music.
We went around the other side of the water and walked behind the memorial toward the White House. About every 40 feet, a homeless person was laying on a bench with their things around them. The walkways for pedestrians and the people lounging or sleeping were only about 10 ft wide. Depending on the side of the walkway that people were camping out, we had to switch our son back and forth to place him on the safest side.
Occasionally, these people would yell at each other or at nothing at all. Police were parked outside the White House and on every street or so, but they seemed to be under orders to ignore the people pacing the streets and setting up camp. We hurriedly took a picture in front the White House and went on to the Washington Monument- majestic, ethereal, and beautiful in the moonlight.
At this point our son was begging for an ice cream from one of the many ice cream trucks driving around the monuments. We walked him over and asked for a simple scoop of vanilla in a cup- no sprinkles or toppings. The man handed him the cup without any words, and my son took a bite. “15 dollars,” the man said- AFTER my son had taken a bite. I thought I had misheard or that he was confused with our order. “Oh…$15 for that one small scoop?” I asked. He left a threatening pause in the air, glared hard into my eyes, and said only, “…YEP.” He held the stare. We paid him and rushed off.
Throughout our trip, we encountered much of the same. We couldn’t get out of our car at an upscale breakfast joint because a homeless woman was shrieking and running back and forth in front of the building. When we thought it was safe to get out of the car, she reemerged from the other side of the building, screaming profanities at another woman across the street. The two of them converged and started fist fighting. We rushed our terrified son past, explaining to him that some people are not well and that it’s a very sad thing to behold. We went on to eat our expensive pancakes while chaos reigned outside the doors, struggling with the “let them eat cake” vibe of the whole experience but powerless to do anything about it. The restaurant staff thought nothing of it.
As we left, we saw a playground, and my son asked to play. There was a man in an odd outfit with fatigue pants pacing around the park. He had handcuffs conspicuously attached to his pants. He was clearly not a real member of law enforcement. We had to tell our son that we’d try again another time.
On our way to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum after breakfast, there were people sleeping along the walkways, although it was only about noon. One man was just outside the building, laying inside a shopping cart. His legs extended out beyond the cart with black and eroding feet pointing toward the sky- displaying an awful skin condition. I was worried that he was dead, so I cautiously approached the cart, only to see him slightly move. Quite sure he was high on something and merely passed out, I backed away.
Throughout the whole trip, there was a pervasive feeling of danger. When we were inside the buildings, we enjoyed every minute of the trip, but when we traveled between them, we were constantly on guard. It’s not just that people were homeless- it’s that so many of them were visibly mentally ill, unstable, and/or inebriated or high on drugs. They were on every third bench, throughout the parks, hanging out at the memorials, and in the doorways of grocery stores where we had to grab a donut or pint of milk.
The salient point is that none were begging. They weren’t seeking help, and thus there was a feeling of helplessness on our part as we witnessed them. They were not safe enough to approach. It didn’t seem appropriate or advisable to offer money, and the sense that they would immediately use it for drugs made that prospect pointless anyway. They seemed to be resigned to this lifestyle and view the open air of downtown and the national mall as their permanent place of residence.
Additionally, there was a feeling of decay. Trashcans were overflowing. Homes had shredded American flags hanging from their second story windows. My son stepped on a mouse. Drivers were reckless and lawless. On either side of our weeklong vacation, murders and beatings in the city were in the news. I said to my husband, “I can’t believe Trump isn’t doing something about this. He doesn’t seem like he would tolerate it.”
And then, a few weeks after we left, he did something about it.
Everyone I’d talked to about our trip was texting me articles or calling me, because they all knew I’d greet the news with optimism due to the information I’d relayed to them. They were right. I’m only sorry he didn’t do it sooner.
I can only think that the people who are so distressed about Trump’s move to clean up the crime and vagrancy in the city haven’t been there recently. In its current state, it’s no longer the jewel of the nation that it should be. It’s not the keeper of our country’s shared history that it should be. It’s not the place to host dignitaries and welcome schoolchildren and visitors to their nation’s capital that it should be.
This is particularly tragic because there is so much good in Washington D.C. The monuments themselves are breathtaking. The museums are largely free so that people can enjoy and learn about their nation. The city’s history is second to none, and it’s where one of the freest and fairest governments in the world hashes out its laws and justice.
Toward that end, a major renovation is going on right now for many of the monuments and museums in preparation for next year’s 250th celebration of the nation’s founding. While that was an inconvenience for us, it will be wonderful for those who see it next year. It’s my great hope that in a year or two, visiting Washington D.C. to show your child their nation’s history and system of government will be a very different experience.
I also hope that the homeless people in such dire circumstances throughout the city will be better off, too. They can’t improve their lives if they have no reason to do so. By being forced into safer but less convenient housing arrangements outside the city center, they may become uncomfortable enough to seek change in their own lives, and a more stable place to sleep might be the first step in that direction. Another result of this will be less crime directed at residents and visitors BY them and also less violence BETWEEN them in territorial disputes.
In order for the city to be safe for its residents, it needs to change. Trump’s solution may not be a perfect one, but it’s a good one for the time being. We all know Trump talks too much, but one of his strengths is that he doesn’t JUST talk- he acts. The problem of homelessness and drug use isn’t going to be solved in a day, but letting people take over public streets doesn’t help them. It makes them comfortable in a harmful transitionary lifestyle and endangers law abiding residents and visitors to the city.
During our visit, my husband said to me, “Let’s see everything, because we’re never coming back.”
Now I feel more optimistic that maybe we’ll both change our minds.
Thanks for reading, and don't forget to Click here to Subscribe!“The city, laid out under a regular plan, with broad streets and avenues, and spaces reserved for public buildings, is intended to reflect the permanence and beauty of the federal government, and to be an object of pride to the American people.”
– George Washington, 1793
About the Author
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Jackie Chea is a blogger from San Antonio, Texas who holds a B.A. in Psychology and an M.A. in Community Counseling from the University of Texas at San Antonio. She writes on political and cultural issues from a conservative, religious standpoint. She lives in the Lone Star State with her husband, Nick, and their 7-year-old son, Lincoln. |
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