“Washington, DC is where ideas die.”
That was my initial thought when I first visited the capital, balancing political internships and the sweltering heat while searching for something meaningful.
Overall, the summer turned out alright. I found a small place to stay in Georgetown, subletting from two women. One of them was studying religion and dating someone who might go NFL. Once, she called to apologize for leaving a, well, interesting movie in the VHS player, saying it was about to end. (I hadn’t pressed play yet, but… I did later.) I made my own meals—mostly pasta—and, honestly, felt pretty good about that.
But, of course, there were cockroaches and termites everywhere. Not just in our apartment, but in some offices too, like the secretary of Madeleine Albright. The city felt hot and, frankly, unpleasant. One afternoon, I played softball at the National Mall with some peers from Harvard, but that night, an allergic reaction left me gasping for air. A taxi ride to the hospital followed, and I dealt with DC-induced asthma for a decade after that.
Despite that, there were fun parties and good conversations. I remember late nights with a friend in a girl’s living room we all knew, discussing everything passionately. He leaned conservative—one of the few in the Ivy League—and I was still figuring things out. He would ask, “Why do states need their own policies? Isn’t everything better off handled federally?” Those questions stuck with me for quite a while.
In fact, my time in DC made me rethink some of my strong beliefs. My first internship was with a left-leaning organization that, honestly, seemed more interested in waiting for someone else to take action. It bored me, so I shifted to a progressive research lab. It had a leftist vibe but leaned towards Clinton-era policies—free trade and a more centrist approach from the southern wing.
It was slightly more engaging, but to get to work, I passed the Heritage Foundation, where my conservative classmates would catch me on the sidewalk. They never missed a chance to jab about how the “greedy right-wing” was paying its interns, while the so-called “progressives” worked for free. I’ve chewed on that for years too.
One thing was clear in almost every workplace: a racial and social divide was evident. The receptionist was often a woman, often black, while those in charge generally were white. Interns were urged to stay in the nicer northwest parts of the city, west of 13th Avenue, avoiding the poorer and more dangerous northeast and southeast. Even Capitol Hill felt unsafe.
Things are a bit better now, I suppose, thanks to some more diverse elites and a slow change creeping into tougher neighborhoods. But crime surged during the Black Lives Matter movement as officials around the country faced pushback and budget cuts for police. Still, Northwest DC feels relatively calm, with private security monitoring the wealthier residents and diplomats.
A group of these residents gathered on Connecticut Avenue recently to protest President Trump’s decision to take over local policing for a month and deploy around 1,000 National Guard members to address crime. “Free DC!” read one sign, while another simply echoed “Epstein Epstein Epstein.” For some, Trump’s stance against crime, in their eyes, perhaps meant protecting crime itself.
This seemed a clear example of elite liberal hypocrisy, especially when the majority of DC residents recognize crime as a significant issue. It’s easy to oppose crime when you’re insulated from it. Yet, for some, even undeniable evidence doesn’t sway their views. For them, it feels like any stance from Trump is problematic, no matter the reason.
