Washington, D.C.’s crime problem is back in the news. In the wake of the savage attack on former DOGE staffer Edward Coristine, President Donald Trump announced Monday that he is deploying the National Guard to help clean up the streets and deter violent crime, and placing the D.C. Metropolitan Police Department under federal control. (RELATED: Congressional Intern Fatally Shot In Washington DC) 🚨 Trump announces that he is invoking the D.C. Home Rule Act, placing the DC Metropolitan Police Department under direct federal control and ordering the deployment of the National Guard in the nation’s capital. pic.twitter.com/0fnNBRIDrD — Daily Caller (@DailyCaller) August 11, 2025 Of course, living in a city comes with risks not associated with small towns and the suburbs, namely homelessness and gang violence. If you choose to live in a big one like D.C., you are signing up for the benefits, like walkable streets, nightlife and restaurants, and job opportunities. But you also have a plethora of downsides, like higher prices and crime. When run well, cities are amazing places and should be celebrated. D.C. is no such place. (Subscribe to MR. RIGHT, a free weekly newsletter about modern masculinity) It doesn’t have to be this way, though, especially in our nation’s capital. Everywhere in Washington, D.C. — not just the White House perimeter — should be safe, beautiful, and inhabitable for families, workers, and visitors. It’s an embarrassment that the window into America and its fascinating history is tarnished by violent crime and vagrants allowed to walk the city with impunity. Like everyone else who has ever lived in the district, I have had several run-ins with lawlessness, all of which perfectly sum up the city’s crime problem. Sh*tty Sidewalks It’s around 6 a.m. My morning commute to the office, a 45-minute walk, begins. At this hour, save for a few cyclist commuters and people out jogging, the streets were usually empty and pleasantly quiet. I fire up some Rolling Stones for the first half-mile. Just as I’m getting in stride, I make out a dark shape about 20 yards ahead. It’s a person. A rather large person. In a rather unseemly squat position. My inner sketchiness radar starts pinging. Potential danger. Potential danger. Cross street now. I cross the street. As I pass the person from a safe distance, I can see it all. Like a horror movie, I want to look away, but I can’t. With stained sweatpants down at the ankles, the vagrant is taking a dump on the sidewalk. Mick Jagger’s voice echoes in my ears — “When you’re drunk in the alley, baby with your clothes all torn / And your late night friends leave you in the cold gray dawn” — as I scurry off with a deeply unwanted image now burning itself into my memory. Car Break-Ins In June 2023, I returned from a Memorial Day trip to discover that my car had been broken into. The back window was smashed in, and my glove compartment had been emptied. Glass was everywhere in the back seat, and the culprit had pried off a part of the window. A neighbor told me my car was like that since Thursday night, hours before I left the city. Thankfully, I had nothing that a criminal or drug addict would find valuable inside the car. Before the break-in, I had actually made a constant effort to never leave anything that could be perceived as valuable out in plain sight. I did have some cherished bootleg Bob Dylan CDs that were left behind, strewn about the floor, and an old Wilson tennis racket and some loose Callaway golf balls in the trunk. The trunk was probably never opened, though a savvy criminal could have fetched at least 20 bucks for the racket. They also missed out some rare Bob Dylan tracks. Useless Cops One Sunday afternoon, I was leaving the Shaw Neighborhood Library and saw a group of vagrants sitting against the library’s wall, slinging a 30-rack of Modelo. For this neighborhood, it was standard behavior. I cannot tell you how many vagrants I saw in D.C. drunk and strung out of their minds loitering in public. But one dude decided to pull down his pants and take a leak behind a rather skimpy bush that didn’t give him any privacy. Meanwhile, a mom pushing her baby in a stroller was walking down the block right past the bush where the man was relieving himself, and she made the wise decision to immediately swing her stroller around and proceed in the opposite direction. Before I joined her, I spotted a Metropolitan Police car, uselessly parked about a block or two from the library. I was very close to returning to my apartment with my stack of books, but decided to let the cops know what happened. I felt it was my neighborly duty to be a narc. So, I knocked on their window. Sure, we’ll check it out. I lingered for a bit because I was excited to see these vagrants get arrested. The cops drove down the street, slowed down as they passed the library, and then kept driving, as if nothing had happened. And the vagrants just kept on drinking, as if nothing happened. And, perhaps naively, I was stunned.