Skip to main content August 20, 2025 DEA and police officers walk past storefronts on U Street in Washington, D.C., on August 15, 2025. DOMINIC GWINN/Middle East Images/AFP/Getty Images A quarter mile from the White House, the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in downtown Washington was once Abraham Lincoln’s place of worship. A black hitching pole where he would tie up the family carriage is still here. Lincoln would come here most Sundays during the Civil War, burying his face in his hands and praying for guidance. Donald Trump has never been seen here, but the dozen or so homeless people around the church are about to endure his presidential reality. It’s just after 10 a.m. on Friday. A woman is stone asleep on the blazing cement while a couple of men in T-shirts share a cigarette. There are exactly two tents, some shopping bags and a couple of carts. A volunteer’s phone blares out an inspirational sermon from a Christian station. You are laying down the weight. You are reclaiming the energy that was once trapped in resentment and placing it back in your hands where it always belonged. You are becoming the one who turns pain into power, hurt into healing and betrayal into a bridge to deeper peace. Not today. A volunteer with long braids named Jakia works the half-asleep crowd and approaches an old man. The church has a center that offers showers for the poor and Jakia urges the man to clean himself. “Don’t make me go Jackie Chan on your ass. Get in there and wash your bootie.” The man mumbles to himself but doesn’t move. He looks up in time to see and hear the sirens of six police cars bursting the dope-sick silence. The operation is part of a series of raids on D.C.’s homeless encampments overseen by federal law enforcement as part of Trump’s edict to reclaim a city that he already rules with a dictator’s prerogative. Trump said one of his desires was to take back the city from “drugged out maniacs and homeless people.” There are no maniacs here, just American citizens who have lost their way. Jakia walks around telling the homeless to store any belongings they want to keep inside the church. Some comprehend, and Temitope Ibijemdou, a 35-year-old man, deftly takes down his tent in seconds. (“I’ve had some practice,” he tells me.) Ibijemdou then helps a sick friend into the church. Meanwhile, the old man mumbles to Jakia that the police are just doing their job. She shoots him a look. “It’s not their job. They took an oath to protect and serve. You can’t protect and serve by preying on other people, especially poor people.” Editor’s picks The 250 Greatest Albums of the 21st Century So Far The 100 Best TV Episodes of All Time The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time 100 Best Movies of the 21st Century The desultory process goes on for a few minutes, before an anguished voice cuts through the morning. “The police can suck my cock, Trump can suck my cock.” It’s hard to tell the unwell man’s age. He could be 30, he could be 50. He’s here every morning, goes on a rant and then gets quiet. Jakia explains to the police that the man needs help from D.C. mental health services. No one seems inclined to make a call. She mutters that taking homeless people’s possessions while not providing mental health assistance or relocation services is beyond cruel. Ibijemdou comes over and asks if he can tell me something. “I’ve been sick for a long time, but I’m not sick anymore. I need work.” His eyes tear up. “Who can help me?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead and flashes a sad and cynical smile. “But it’s not about that, is it?” Related Content Kid Rock Obviously Took Gavin Newsom’s Fake Endorsement Bait ‘South Park’ Takes Aim at Trump’s Militarized D.C. in New Episode Teaser Trailer Trump Slams Smithsonian for Harping on ‘How Bad Slavery Was’ Jack White Slams Donald Trump's ‘Disgusting’ Oval Office Redesign: ‘What an Embarrassment’ No it’s not. DONALD TRUMP’S D.C. TAKEOVER IS the usual Trumpian blend of idiocy, cruelty, and bullshit. Just look at its creation myth. In the early hours of August 3, a 19-year-old was attacked by a group of D.C. teenagers near Washington D.C.’s U Street bar scene as he tried to prevent a friend’s car from being stolen. Beyond that, the details were murky and the lamentable event — I’ve been mugged in D.C., it’s not a life highlight — would have been quickly forgotten except for one thing. The beat-up kid was Edward Coristine, aka “Big Balls,” an Elon Musk hire for his so-called Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE. Coristine is too young to legally drink, but is old enough to wipe out a federal employee’s career with a key stroke. A week later, Trump vowed to avenge Big Balls by launching a hostile takeover of the capitol in order to “take our capital back from violent gangs and bloodthirsty criminals.” He wasn’t referring to his Cabinet. I arrived in Washington two days after Trump’s announcement. I make contact with housing activists who send me texts as federal law enforcement hover while the local police clear out homeless encampments. “They’re at MLK Library.” “Police are at Washington Circle Park.” “Cops are tearing down tents near the Kennedy Center.” U.S. Park Police remove a homeless individual from the steps of the Smithsonian National Museum of American History on August 14, 2025 in Washington, D.C. Kayla Bartkowski/Getty Images At first it seems like I am being pranked. I get to the hot spot and there are two tents. At the MLK Library, there is just a News Nation crew and two confused men stepping into a homeless shelter van. In two days, I see maybe a dozen tents total at four different spots. As context, I was in Los Angeles in June for the protests against raids and arrests by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). There are more tents on Silver Lake Boulevard under the 101 than I see in all of Trump’s Washington. “Mayor Bowser has been clearing them out for years,” activist Jesse Rabinowitz tells me on a bench in Washington Circle Park. He’s with the National Homelessness Law Center. He points to his right and then to his left. “This park is half on federal property, so we have both federal and local police to clear out just a few people.” Russia had its Potemkin Village, now the United States has a Potemkin police state. Washington, D.C. has chronically dealt with crime issues — the city says violent crime is currently down after a post-pandemic spike, the Trump administration is suing the city claiming they cooked the books — but the Trump Surge isn’t concerned about murders and knifings in poor and desperate D.C. wards, no matter what the administration proclaims. No, this is a pretend thug’s idea of a takeover. Armored vehicles appear and then vanish around Union Station. There are night club patrols where U.S. Marshals film journalists filming them. It is all optics. Unless you are brown-skinned. Then you can be slung off your scooter in affluent Foggy Bottom on a Sunday morning and bashed to the ground by anonymous Feds in masks and riot gear. An onlooker screamed at the Feds. “You’re ruining our city.” The fed gave the game away. “The liberals already ruined it.” It’s not clear which of the dystopian alphabet soup of agencies this man represents — could be ICE, FBI, HSI, or the U.S. Marshals. Across the city, his colleagues emphasize a DGAF approach to public service when they film themselves ripping down a pro-immigrant sign in Mount Pleasant, home to many El Salvadoran and Venezuelan immigrants. The feds film it. All that was left behind is a dildo whose origin is not clear. I think back to President Lincoln’s hitching post over on New York Avenue. And I think that The Great Emancipator would never stop throwing up if he came back to our nation’s capitol. WASHINGTON IN AUGUST GIVES OFF a bleak heat that leaves you unmotivated and hopeless. Everyone who can flee has already left for somewhere with a breeze. Congress closed up early rather than deal with Trump’s Jeffrey Epstein fiasco, and Trump is in Alaska rolling out the red carpet for a despot. All that remains are locals and those without choices. Even Mayor Muriel Bowser split for a quick trip to Martha’s Vineyard, lifting a page from L.A. Mayor Karen Bass’ crisis manual. Everyone is exhausted. The city’s initial response to Trump sending in troops is tepid and resigned as if the president has the city in a sleeper hold. On Saturday morning, I stop outside the apartment building of Sean Dunn, aka the Justice Department apparatchik who flung a Subway sandwich at federal law officials in protest of the Trump occupation. Dunn had offered to surrender to authorities, but instead the feds decided to swat him with a half-dozen vehicles and more than 10 cops. I want to see if Dunn’s neighborhood in Northwest Washington is a drug crossroads or an Antifa hotspot warranting such a show of force. Nope, Dunn’s building is within a block or so of the Embassy of India and the always delicious Bagels Etc. (Just remember it’s cash-only). I hear noise up the street and head to Dupont Circle. Saturday at 1 p.m. in August is a quixotic time to hold a rally in D.C. but that’s what the Refuse Fascism organizers have chosen to do. I listen to their fairly undefined plan to topple Trump which starts with a massive rally on … November 5, or 81 days later. This announcement of civil action in 11 weeks causes a few in the crowd of 600 to groan as if they have just been kicked in the balls. Maybe Trump has finally ground down the opposition. Even the signs looked recycled, there’s one “No Kings” sign — the organization had no presence in D.C. this week — and a couple featuring Princess Leia with a catchphrase of “Well behaved women rarely defeat empires.” Up front, an old man in a David Crosby T-shirt beats on a bongo drum as activist Sam Goldman tries to rally the crowd. She yells into a bullhorn. “The Trump fascist regime is shredding the rule of law, making a mockery of due process, illegitimately deploying the military on U.S. soil, disappearing immigrants and other brown-skinned citizens into brutal concentration camps,” shouts Goldman. “He is aggressively resurrecting genocidal white supremacy.” She pauses for breath. “Reversing the gains, not only of the 1950s and 1960s, but even of the Civil War and resurrection.” She catches her mistake. “Reconstruction.” Everyone understands, it does seem like Trump has been fucking up lives since JC rolled back the stone. Water is passed out to the sweltering crowd. Some warily eye a mysterious U-Haul truck parked on the dead grass about 40 yards away. Could be set-up materials for a later event, could be 12 Homeland Security officers waiting for the moment to emerge and start cuffing people. Paranoia runs deep. Eventually, the protesters start marching down Connecticut Avenue toward the White House. We are escorted expertly by D.C. police on bikes who deftly ride ahead closing off traffic. I don’t see any federal law enforcement until we approach the National Mall and nearby federal buildings. And that’s the thing. Federals, mostly Park Police, already patrol these heavily touristed areas because of their public land status. Trump’s crackdown is duplicative and duplicitous, at least for this area. The protesters eventually reach Constitution Avenue and come across a solitary National Guard vehicle with four soldiers loitering about. The protesters and the media see them simultaneously. The soldiers and their ride are instantly engulfed by cameras and bullhorns screaming, “Go home!” For a moment, I can see one of the soldiers and his eyes are full of fear. In a role reversal, the National Guard are rescued by D.C. police who form a protective ring around them. The situation doesn’t escalate, but I wonder what would have happened if someone threw a water bottle. And then I remember a conversation I had with an activist the day before about why there were not more public protests. “I don’t want to be the guy known for organizing the rally where people got their heads bashed in or killed,” he said. “We don’t know how they would react.” The man grimaced. “And that means Trump has already won.” I work my way back up to Dupont Circle. The protesters have been replaced by two opera singers performing “The Flower Duet” from Lakmé. The beauty provides relief from the roadblocks and masked law enforcement goons taking down immigrants. I remember as I walk back toward my car that Lakmé ends with a hopeful young woman dying by suicide when she realizes that her soldier values the army over her love. PRESIDENT TRUMP PROMISED THAT THE FEDS would be in all neighborhoods at all times. I do not see it. On Friday night, I trawl up and down Marion Berry Boulevard and Minnesota Avenue SE, a significant crime district in the Anacostia neighborhood on the other side of the Potomac. I see Bambi and two fawns prancing a couple of blocks away on Hillcrest Drive, but no SUVs with government plates or masked officers in their trademark vests with no badge visible. Maybe their presence would have prevented a shooting on Minnesota Avenue, 24 hours later. On Saturday evening, there’s a triple stabbing on the 900 block of H Street NE in the H Street Corridor, less than a mile from Union Station. I head over in my car expecting to see some of the federal enforcement that Trump promised. Instead it’s just two squad cars. I ask a woman walking her dog if she has seen the feds. She stands in front of a wall freshly covered with poster art of a protester throwing a Subway sandwich like it is a Molotov cocktail. “No, they don’t come down here,” she says. I head west on H Street and I do see action a few blocks closer to Union Station. A dozen cop cars close off an intersection, their red cherries bursting up the night. I look to park, but a reporter friend on the sidewalk shakes her head. “It’s a bar fight.” I circle back and park at Union Station. I check my watch and it’s 8:45 p.m. I’ve got 15 minutes to score some crappy pizza from the station’s Sbarro before it closes. I can see the military vehicles that have been parked on and off on the grass in front of the station heading out to destinations unknown. Near the Uber line, a guy with a Satire Team Six badge is doing some improv while a bearded man plays a guitar and painfully sings folk songs. A few U.S. Marshals mill about, wincing as a single female protester screams into a bullhorn. She is a common sight at D.C. protests and dreaded by reporters and cops alike. She eventually wanders off and all that remains is two white dudes arguing, one screaming about occupiers while the other shouts “thank you for your service” at law enforcement. It’s all a bit tedious. Later, I learn something that takes it from boring to absurd. At about the same time, 8:49 p.m., a radio conversation went down between a National Guard dispatcher and a Guard soldier at Union Station who announced the Guard is moving out. Members of the National Guard patrol at Union Station in Washington, D.C., on August 14, 2025. JIM WATSON/AFP/Getty Images “Main, this is Dragon main. We will update the information shortly. We’re just getting [out of] that area due to a growing demonstration, repeat, current movement due to growing demonstration at Union Station.” There is no growing demonstration. Did the National Guard retreat because of Annoying Bullhorn Person? The timing lines up. I go inside, but the Sbarro is already closed. Fuck. I jump back into my car and make a rapid food decision and head up to Butterworth’s, a French bistro trendy with the Trump crowd according to a roughly 63,000 word story in The New York Times. Steve Bannon has a corner table. I park and peer inside at a Victorian era couch that would not be out of place in the waiting area of a chain of British-themed pubs attached to Holiday Inns. It looks too sad so I decided not to drop a hundred dollars on a meal. I head back to my hotel. Two days later, Donald Trump boasts, “People that haven’t gone out to dinner in Washington, D.C., in two years, are going out to dinner, and the restaurants, the last two days, were busier than they’ve been in a long time.” Everyone knows this is a lie but few complain. What’s the point? The anesthesia is working. THE FAKE ARMIES OF THE NIGHT mobilize not far from where Big Balls fell. It’s 10 p.m. on a weekend night and the heat is not yet dead in the U Street Corridor, D.C.’s party district. Bars and nightclubs stretch for blocks where frats boys with backward baseball caps blend with girls from Howard University in midriff tops teetering precariously in high heels. I’ve posted up at Solly’s Tavern, a cozy dive bar, with vodka on the rocks while a couple other reporters alternate between hydration and dehydration, toggling between PBRs and water bottles. A longtime U Street observer guesses the crowd on the street is maybe half of what you would expect on a weekend night. Trump’s purge is killing his beloved capitalism. The president’s task force has become entrenched in just 100 hours. Eventually, around 10 officers walk past Solly’s. I follow as they proudly walk past a hundred pairs of eyes that glare down at them with scorn. Eventually, a bantam-sized officer with a receding hairline pulls out his phone and begins filming the reporters trailing behind him. The caravan of cops stops and a woman asks the officer why he is filming her. He shrugs and offers a shit-eating smile. The woman is not amused. “What’s your badge number?” The cop smiles and shakes his head. “We’re on the streets of Washington, D.C., to keep the citizens as safe as possible on a mandate handed down from the president. We’re gonna keep the city streets safe from murderers, rapists, and robbers.” A gathering crowd grumbles. The woman asks a relevant question. “So where are the murderers and robbers?” “We’ve made over a hundred arrests,” says the smug cop. He’s just parroting a line that White House officials will cite repeatedly: 212 arrests made in high-crime areas and 68 guns pulled off the street. Alas, it’s Trump who has maintained in his jihad against a Labor Department statistician that officials can make stats say whatever they like. The number of guns seized is not appreciably higher than what the D.C. police seizes in an average week and those guns seized are being replaced by new guns as the Trump administration “streamlines” the gun purchasing process in the city and U.S. Attorney Jeanine Pirro admitted that folks caught carrying rifles in the city would no longer face felony prosecution. Back on the street, the cop gives a wave and moves on. It’s time for Paul Blart without a Segway to patrol the other side of the street. ON A USUAL SUNDAY MORNING, the Salvadoran vendors outside of the Target in the immigrant heavy neighborhood of Columbia are out hawking fruit and T-shirts. But not today. Instead, black SUVs creep by. For Salvadorans of a certain vintage, it brings back memories of Archbishop Óscar Romero. The bishop gave a sermon in 1980 urging soldiers to obey God’s law and not the commands of the government’s right-wing death squads. The next day, Romero was shot dead by his own government while saying Mass in San Salvador. A shrine to the now venerated Romero is near the altar in The Shrine Of The Sacred Heart, a Catholic church a few blocks away. I stop in for a Spanish language Mass and it’s a typical American church scene. A grandmother says the rosary while her daughter tries to distract a toddler with a Daffy Duck keychain. A tired father dozes off and gets jabbed in the ribs by his giggling wife. The only difference between here and a Rockwell painting is paperwork and the shade of their skin. After Mass, I talk to an older woman holding hands with her husband. They tell me that church attendance has actually increased because of Trump’s return. “We need this now, more than ever,” says the woman. We chat for a minute and then say goodbye. A young man in a green shirt adroitly picks up that I’m a reporter, my vulture eyes scanning the parishioners for someone else to talk with. He is kind, but direct. “I know you mean well, but people are scared. Let them leave in peace.” Of course he is right. I kneel, cross myself, and head for my car. Onlookers in a bus react to the FBI, Secret Service, and Metropolitan Police Department (MPD) detaining individuals on August 17, 2025 in Washington, D.C. Kayla Bartkowski/Getty Images EVERYONE KNOWS WHAT IS HAPPENING, but everyone wants to see it for themselves. I’m no different, but driving around the city trying to find an active checkpoint or an arrest in progress is like catching water in a net. But then on Monday night I get a tip and head to Benning Road in Northeast Washington. A man is arrested in front of a Ross Dress For Less store. Nearby, a Chick-fil-A parking lot usually filled with immigrant delivery guys on mopeds is deserted. I arrive right after the man has been tackled by a woman cop who adds to his humiliation by calling him a coño, Spanish for pussy. A few citizens approach the woman who wears a mask up to her eyes and has no identifying information on her fatigues. “Show your face, sweetie,” says one woman. A larger male cop steps in between the cop and the crowd, which is standing at a respectful distance. The woman grins. “Ooh, you’re gonna protect her! Knight in shining armor. The fascists unite.” She pauses for a second and shakes her head before finishing. “Goofy as hell. Goofy as hell.” And it will get worse. More National Guardsmen are arriving by the day, all from red states. The administration rolls back an earlier proclamation and announces that now the Guard will be armed, a prescription for violence as rural Guardsmen are dropped into a strange land with itchy trigger fingers. I see the screws tightening. Ten minutes after the first arrest, I find another roadblock a mile away on Florida Avenue near Union Market, a shopping center featuring a Warby Parker and a Trader Joe’s. Another delivery guy has been rolled up. This time the sidewalks fill up immediately with white, Black, and brown residents. The weather has turned cooler and the fury of D.C. residents is increasing. They shout at the cops. “Traitors!” “Get out of our city!” “This is our country!” Trending Stories Al Jardine Is Keeping the Beach Boys’ Legacy Alive, One Show at a Time Kid Rock Obviously Took Gavin Newsom’s Fake Endorsement Bait Trump Slams Smithsonian for Harping on ‘How Bad Slavery Was’ Apollonia Accuses Prince’s Estate of ‘Attempting to Steal’ Her Name in New Lawsuit The crowd’s anger grows, and I notice something that is becoming a trend. Trump’s troops retreat when citizens rise up. In a moment, the squad cars and SUVs pack up and leave, squealing tires, doing U-turns, and vanishing into the night. Anger is an energy. He Tried to Bring Aid to Gaza. Now He’s Ready to Sue Israel ‘Learn From Experience’ Just When You Thought Andrew Cuomo’s Campaign Couldn’t Get Any Sadder... 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