Some people like old-world charm and zealously seek to preserve it. Others like to tear down and replace the old with things bright, shiny and new. President Donald Trump falls into the latter category, as developers usually do, but with gilt, like a cherry, on top.
Since taking office for the second time, Trump, the alleged "president of peace," has been a master of destruction. He has invaded Venezuela, supported Israel in its strikes against Gaza and made war on Iran.
Closer to home, he has paved over the Rose Garden and seemingly glommed his name onto anything possible, including the Kennedy Center, to which his name was added and then removed.
Perhaps most memorably, he tore down the East Wing of the White House to make space for his massive ballroom. For many Americans near and far, the partial demolition of the White House was a devastating sight. Preservationists felt the pain, too, and took their case to the Supreme Court.
The court recently ruled that because the plaintiffs had not suffered the direct personal harm to bring a lawsuit, construction of Trump's vanity project could continue. The president said he hopes it will be completed by summer 2028.
The ballroom, which was conceived as an entertainment venue to host visiting dignitaries, has morphed into a five-story underground military complex with a ballroom on top. (That's one big cherry.) The administration's argument for building the colossus has evolved from the need for an elaborate party house to an urgent security imperative — "a desperately needed national security structure," Trump posted, calling the preservationists "TREASONISTS."
In July 2025, the White House said the edifice would be funded by private donations and cost about $200 million. Later, the cost was adjusted to $400 million. Now, the price tag is closer to $600 million, according to contractor invoices obtained by The Washington Post, and about half will be paid by taxpayers. Little wonder. The ballroom will be built with missile-resistant columns and a drone-proof roof.
The high court's ruling didn't address the legality of the project. (Lower courts said the construction required congressional approval.) The Supreme Court's decision focused on whether the plaintiff, the National Trust for Historic Preservation, had the standing to bring a lawsuit. The trust had to show that the ballroom's planned construction would, among other things, cause board member Alison Hoagland "harm." How can a building inflict pain, and how could such suffering be quantified?
In a declaration, Hoagland wrote: "I would suffer both professional and personal injuries, including to my aesthetic, cultural and historical interests." Hoagland, a historian, said she enjoyed walking past the White House and feared that Trump's addition would distort the building's character.
I know just what she means, and so, apparently, did Chief Justice John Roberts, who joined the three liberal justices in a written dissent. Aesthetics, culture and history do matter, especially when historic, publicly owned properties are involved.
Wrote Roberts: "The White House is not just any building, and — when it comes to historic preservation — Hoagland is not just any person. In failing to appreciate as much, the Court misconceives the plaintiff's injury, allowing the Executive's likely infringement of the Legislature's power of the purse and authority to regulate federal property in the District of Columbia to continue."
The legality issue is still alive but not well. The Trump administration didn't go through the usual review process. But the Republican-controlled Congress, as usual, is disinclined to exercise its power over the president's designs.
Trump's consuming interest seems to be what he perceives as Washington's dowdy appearance. To Trump, the District of Columbia is a fixer-upper that he can flip.
It was probably inevitable that Trump would cast his Eye of Sauron on Washington's three historic public golf courses. An overhaul of the East Potomac Golf Links was supposed to begin soon, but the administration hasn't released a final design, schedule or cost estimate. Locals are keeping count of the trees taken down before the overhaul — about 60.
These arboreal losses aren't on par with other bullet points on Trump's beautification agenda. But they symbolize another insult to the history, heritage and traditional grace of the nation's hometown.
My fear is that next he'll want to change the name of Washington itself. "Trump, D.C.," is surely but a 250-foot triumphal arch away. Speaking of aesthetic injury.
Parker writes for The Washington post.
