We went down to Capitol Hill yesterday to reconnect with our battered, beloved city. We got coffee at Peregrine and walked around Eastern Market before heading to the Capitol. Fencing now surrounds the Library of Congress and the House office buildings, and members of the National Guard were sprinkled around the perimeters.
As we neared the Capitol, the police presence became much more pronounced and the fencing more formidable (what’s that saying about closing the barn door after the horse gets out?). Even though this level of protection and realization came tragically too late, I want to see everything we’ve got – high fences, National Guard, sharp shooters, police forces from DC, Maryland and Virginia – ready to go for Biden’s inauguration.
Even with all the fencing, it’s still as majestic as ever. I just kept staring at the columns, the dome, and the set for the inauguration, trying to imagine the scene I saw unfolding online last week. It just wouldn’t compute. The hallowed building I was gazing at, the building where I took school field trips, where our most honored leaders have lain in state, just couldn’t be anything but what it’s always been to me: a symbol of our democracy, untouchable in its revered, Neoclassical form.
The mood was one of somber disbelief with an undercurrent of outrage. People walked, biked, and scooted by, talking quietly and taking pictures. Young guardsmen and Capitol Police nodded at us as we passed by. A shrine of photos and flowers stood in a clump, honoring Brian Sicknick, the fallen Capitol police officer.
How could things have gone this far? I guess that’ll be the question of the century, one we’ve only just begun to try to understand.
My Corner of the Village 