The capital of this republic—supposedly a beacon of democracy—has become the nation’s premier playpen for buffoons in suits and, now, in fatigues. Three governors, eager to polish the presidential behind, are sending National Guard troops hundreds of miles to patrol Washington, D.C., as if the place were Fallujah with cherry blossoms. Trump, a man whose politics run on grievance and showbiz, demands soldiers in the streets, and the governors obey.
West Virginia’s Patrick Morrisey promised 300 to 400 troops, thumping his chest about “public safety and regional cooperation.” South Carolina’s Henry McMaster chimed in with 200 more, and Ohio’s Mike DeWine offered 150 military police, like a man showing up to a potluck with Spam. None of them, mind you, can actually solve D.C.’s problems. But they will look terrific in B-roll footage.
D.C. is the great colonial embarrassment of America: taxpaying citizens, no vote in Congress, and a mayor who has to ask permission from the imperial overseers.
Mayor Muriel Bowser, who has the thankless job of presiding over this colonial relic called D.C., pointed out the obvious: having American soldiers police American citizens on American streets is, well, un-American.
A fine irony, that. The very city where self-government was supposedly enshrined in marble doesn’t even get a vote in Congress, and now its citizens are treated like misbehaving wards who need a stern spanking from the boys in camo.
The city has more cops per square inch than any place on Earth—FBI, CIA, Secret Service, Capitol Police, Park Police, the works. If you sneeze in Dupont Circle, three badges appear to hand you tissues. Yet suddenly, we’re told, the place needs a few hundred guardsmen from West Virginia? This is not law enforcement—it’s choreography.
This is government by cheap theatrics. Crime is serious, but calling in troops from coal country is like hiring jugglers to do brain surgery. The whole thing is symbolism masquerading as policy—civic voodoo with uniforms.
The governors aren’t defending D.C. citizens; they’re auditioning. They dream of camera pans over Humvees on the Mall, Trump grinning in the foreground like a carnival barker. It’s politics as show business, with bayonets as props.
What we see in D.C. is America in miniature: a bloated empire, terrified of its own citizens, resorting to soldiers for problems that require schools, housing, and competent governance. But soldiers are faster, flashier, more obedient. And when the president wants his toy soldiers on parade, the governors deliver.
