The Great American State Flop
In the middle of the Great American State Fair, fifty yards or so from a scaled-down model of the triumphal arch that President Donald Trump is threatening to build (it reminded some visitors of the botched, runty Stonehenge in “This Is Spinal Tap”), sat a booth not for a state but for a federal district—Washington, D.C. The booth was similar to the others that occupied the National Mall for the sixteen-day event. Two walls had boards on which visitors could write their names or draw pictures; one had maps, inviting people to stick a pin to show where they were from. In two corners were lists of fast facts. Who knew that go-go, a percussion-heavy funk subgenre, is Washington’s official music? In another corner stood a plastic Yoshino cherry tree—the variety that lines the Tidal Basin—which people were encouraged to festoon with uplifting messages written on what looked like price tags. Holding down the booth was a team from Destination DC, the District’s tourism arm; the aim, a statement said, was to show “the culture of Washingtonians who live, work and thrive in our city.”
“I’m enjoying myself,” Romeo Guerrero, a retiree from St. Cloud, Florida, said. He was visiting, with his wife, for the first time. “It’s a beautiful city. People are very kind. If you listen to the news, it feels like it’s militarized. It’s not. Everybody’s helpful. There’s a lot of food.” The Guerreros had gone to the fair’s opening ceremony to hear the President, whose rally-style speech substituted for the slew of musical artists who had backed out after learning of the event’s partisan origins.
For all the politics involved in the fair’s conception, and all the tumult between the District and the President since his reascension, the vibe was mostly apolitical. The D.C. booth contained no reference to the compromise between Northern and Southern states that led to the city’s creation, in 1790, and no mention of the Home Rule Act, which allowed D.C. limited self-governance fifty-three years ago. The only nod to the National Guard troops that Trump deployed in the capital last year were the troops themselves, stationed around the fair.
Jim Grossman, a former executive director of the American Historical Association, wandered in. “So far, it meets my low expectations,” he said. He attributed those not to the D.C. booth’s staff but to the fair’s Trump-affiliated organizers. He had some notes on how the booth could have been improved: “Better representation of the District’s diversity, and a better representation of disenfranchisement, which is part of the District’s identity. There’s no indication of taxation without representation.”
Mary S. Templeton, a retired nurse who has lived in D.C. since 1968, was “delighted” with the fair, but said that the District’s fight for statehood “should be emphasized everywhere.” Her husband chimed in: “Our population is greater than two states’!”
But Washingtonians were not the fair’s target audience; airing the statehood grievance could have risked inviting even more micromanaging from an Administration that has already tried to take over some of the District’s most beloved cultural institutions. A federal employee who didn’t want to be identified noted, of the fair’s booths, “You can see that you’re only allowed to say certain things, show certain things.”
Mike Hopkins, a local wearing a cap with D.C.’s flag, lamented the political messaging he had seen in many booths: “That’s a turnoff for me.”
The D.C. booth featured a District-themed trivia wheel, with questions specific to each of the capital’s eight wards. (“Lincoln!” a visitor yelped, attempting to answer the question of which Ward 2 neighborhood, likely named after King George II and not the first President, is the oldest in D.C.) The prizes contained subtle references to the District’s long fight; winners got pins emblazoned with the logo for the statehood campaign (a cutout of the District and a big “51”), or key chains marked “statehood.dc.gov.” A few of the questions hinted at the struggle, too. One father-and-son pair looked flummoxed when presented with the question “How many votes does D.C. have in Congress?”
By the afternoon, the booth’s coloring wall was filled with names and comments, praise for and derision of the President scribbled side by side. A message reading “Trump 2028 2032 2036 2040” was crossed out and annotated with the word “Boooo.”
“The grass is great,” the federal employee said. “But I feel sorry for the people who travelled.” She’d found most of the booths superficial, lacking in historical context. “This whole thing is very indicative of what we’re living in right now,” she said. “It’s a show that has nothing inside it.” ♦