“I’m surprised D.C. isn’t burning right now.”
That was the comment. A casual statement tossed out like it was just another hot take. A few folks virtually nodded in agreement, using it as shorthand to express how angry people should be about the home of the Trump-Vance administration.
And I get it. I’m angry too. The thought of another four years under a Trump presidency, with JD Vance as VP, is not only exhausting; it’s dangerous. But when people who don’t live here use language like that — calling for fire and flames, even in a hyperbolic way to state people should be angrier — I can’t help but feel a particular kind of rage.
Because here’s the thing: D.C. is not just the White House and Capitol Hill. It’s not just monuments and museums. And statements like that — however well-meaning or passionate — erase the people who actually call this place home and who are actively engaged year-round, regardless of the president or Congress.
I’ve lived in D.C. since 2011.
I’ve organized here. I’ve marched here. I’ve cried and danced and built a community here. I’ve fought against anti-Black bars like Nellie’s Sports Bar — which violently dragged a Black woman down a flight of stairs and still kept serving drinks like nothing happened. I helped to lead a 10-week protest in the middle of a pandemic because Black people in D.C. deserve better.
I’ve organized with BYP100 DC, working with brilliant Black LGBTQ+folks on issues from police violence to housing injustice to reproductive freedom. Though I’m not a native Washingtonian, I don’t see D.C. through a tourist’s lens. I see it through the eyes of someone who’s buried friends, raised bail money, attended healing circles in basements, and yes, even had fun at places like Marvin’s.
So no, this city isn’t just a stage for political theater. It’s a living, breathing, complicated place. It’s home.
Let me be clear: two things can be true. Yes, we should absolutely critique the seats of power and the harm they perpetuate. And yes, we should hold the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court accountable. But we can’t pretend like that’s all D.C. is. And we especially can’t pretend that calling for the city to “burn” doesn’t impact the people who live here — people who are already navigating harm and actively resisting every single day.
Black people in D.C. are being pushed out of their homes daily. We’ve watched as gentrification sweeps through neighborhoods like Shaw, Petworth, and Anacostia — turning once-thriving Black communities into sanitized corridors of overpriced condos and dog parks. Washington, D.C., was nearly half Black by the mid-20th century, and more than 71 % by 1970. Today, D.C. has one of the highest rates of displacement in the country. That isn’t just this city’s story, but a disturbing national trend.
Contrary to popular belief, even in D.C., Black LGBTQ+ folks are constantly harassed, denied stable housing, and targeted for just trying to survive. The unhoused population in D.C. continues to grow, even as luxury buildings sit half-empty, offering rooftop pools but no compassion.
And police violence? It doesn’t just happen on TV. It happens right here. From the over-policing of Southeast to the murder of Black residents in so-called “high crime” zones, there is nothing hypothetical about the harm. All of this and D.C. still doesn’t have statehood, so the city is forced to rely on congressional approval.
When someone says, “I’m surprised D.C. isn’t burning,” what exactly is the surprise? That everything hasn’t been burned down yet? That the locals—often overlooked until it’s time to discuss the president—haven’t decided to torch a beloved photo-op?
But here’s the real question: is the fire being set in one’s own city? Unless living in some mythical land where justice flows like water and oppression has vanished, what’s actually happening at home? The same systems causing harm here are at work elsewhere, too.
Is organizing happening locally? Are city council meetings being attended? Are people confronting police brutality, evictions, school closures, and wage theft where they live? Are local officials being held accountable, or is D.C. simply being pointed to as an abstract villain?
Because here in D.C., we’re not waiting on you to act. We’ve been acting.
We’ve been building mutual aid networks to feed our neighbors. We’ve been fighting displacement by demanding more money in our city council budget go to housing. We’ve been holding mayors and council members accountable for bloated police budgets and broken promises. We’ve been protecting trans kids and fighting for reproductive justice. We’ve been preserving culture and history — not for likes, but for legacy.
We do this not because it’s trendy, but because we have to. Because for us, this city is not just a headline. It’s where we live, work, grieve, celebrate, and survive.
So, no — I’m not sorry that D.C. isn’t burning. But that doesn’t mean we’re not fighting.
D.C. is not a metaphor.. It’s not just the Capitol dome shining behind your protest selfie. It’s a home. A community. A culture. A fight.
And if you care about justice — if you really care — then you should be fighting everywhere.
So instead of calling for destruction, ask better questions: What am I doing in my own community? Who’s being harmed where I live — and what am I doing about it? Am I building power with people, or just building a brand?
D.C. doesn’t need pity. We need respect. D.C. doesn’t need white saviors. We need solidarity. D.C. doesn’t need fire. We need freedom.
Preston Mitchum is the founder of PDM Consulting, based in Washington, DC. His work focuses on racial justice, gender equity, LGBTQ+ liberation, and the pursuit of policies that move beyond symbolism to create lasting change.
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