It’s spring in Washington, D.C., the most beautiful time of the year. Dogwood, forsythia, cherry trees, tulips and daffodils decorate every sidewalk, wisterias weep from porch overhangs, and redbuds pop up at every corner. The air is redolent of blossoms, a soft breeze sharing their scent through the streets. It’s the perfect backdrop for the columned monuments and buildings that remind us of the miracle of our democracy. Spring is normally the happiest time of year here.
But not this spring.
This spring Washington is a city in crisis. Physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. It’s as if the fragrant air were permeated with an invisible poison, as if we were silently choking on carbon monoxide. The emotion all around — palpable in the streets, the shops, the restaurants, in business offices, at dinner tables — is fear. People have gone from greeting each other with a grimace of anguish as they spout about the outrage of the day to a laugh to despair. It’s all so unbelievable that it’s hard to process, and it doesn’t stop.
Nobody feels safe. Nobody feels protected. This is a city where people seek and, if it all goes well for them, wield power. But today in Washington those who hold — or once held — the most power are often the most scared. It is not something they are used to feeling. I lived through the paranoia and vengefulness of Watergate. This time in Washington, it’s different. Nobody knows how this will end and what will happen to the country. What might happen to each of us.
Even those who work for President Trump are scared. The capricious and shambolic way he governed in his first 100 days has them all insecure in their jobs. Mike Waltz is out. Bets are on as to how long Marco Rubio will remain in all his roles and Pete Hegseth in his. Elon Musk is on his way out, though who knows whether he’ll be able to log back into the government’s most sensitive systems from wherever he is? Those most afraid are the Republicans on Capitol Hill. They are afraid of not just being primaried but also facing retribution. Lisa Murkowski said it out loud. “We are all afraid,” she said. “Retaliation is real. And that’s not right.”
And so the Republicans are so busy demonstrating their fealty to Mr. Trump that there’s no chance to have a conversation with anybody not also trying to do that. We aren’t even trying to get to know one another.
One night during Barack Obama’s second term, I sat next to Lindsey Graham at a Washington dinner party. He was, at that time, charming, funny, bright, thoughtful. Both of us were decrying the widening gap between Republicans and Democrats in our nation’s capital. I remember him turning to me and suggesting that we start having small dinner parties for Republicans and Democrats to get together and talk. I agreed immediately.
We never got around to it. That conversation could never take place today.
The Trump socializing style is a striking departure from what went on in Washington for decades. Salons, where we got to know one another and exchanged ideas, are out. The preferred entertainment now is large galas in gilded halls and cavernous buildings with lots of flags, ribbons, hats and noise.
Mr. Trump’s billionaire friends and cabinet are snapping up luxury real estate all over town, especially Georgetown (Robert Kennedy Jr.), which many of them appeared to avoid the first time around because it was considered too liberal.
The traditional social culture of Washington is low key. Women here wear flats and blazers and shirtwaist dresses, informal haircuts and little makeup. Men, too, don’t dress to call attention to themselves. But now it’s all flash and Fox News. The Trump women can’t be missed in a room. They give off a Palm Beach, L.A. vibe.
The restaurants of choice have changed. During the first Trump administration, Republicans tried to infiltrate Cafe Milano in Georgetown, overseen by the estimable Franco Nuschese. It could feel like Rick’s Cafe from “Casablanca,” with lots of black cars in front, some with flags; men with earphones, often Secret Service; and the seething locals about to stand up and sing “La Marseillaise.”
The MAGA crowd usually hung out at the former Trump Hotel, where the president dined regularly. Today it’s a different scene because there are so many fancy new restaurants in town. The new hot spots, Osteria Mozza in Georgetown and Keith McNally’s Minetta Tavern at Union Market, are so far attracting an eclectic crowd. Butterworth’s on Capitol Hill has emerged as a hangout for Republicans, enticing some Democrats to go incognito for sightseeing. A new club, Ned’s, has opened downtown in very posh digs. It has gotten a lot of ink because it draws from both camps. Journalists flock there in hopes of spotting cabinet members, but whether that lasts as things go bad — and they always do — remains to be seen.
This summer a new club, the Executive Branch — owned by Donald Trump Jr., Steve Witkoff’s sons and Omeed Malik — will open in Georgetown. With a Mar-a-Lago-esque membership fee of $500,000, expect it to be where the monarchical court life this president is imposing on Washington will play out.
With Mr. Trump in the White House, anyone who socializes with Democrats can come under suspicion.
Diplomats from other countries are reeling. They don’t know how to navigate relations with this unpredictable administration. I’ve noticed that embassies seem to have cut back on entertaining — traditionally the most effective way to maintain relationships. Trying to entertain in a city where people may not accept the invitations or not speak to their dinner partners if they come or, worse, may walk out is a challenge. One would be surprised by the number of prominent and official Washingtonians who consult astrologers and psychics. As a well-known Washington astrologer, Caroline Casey (a former congressman’s daughter), is fond of saying, “Washington is a spiritual hardship post.” People are looking for answers everywhere.
Among once powerful lawyers, journalists, politicians, academics and lobbyists who have made up official Washington for the past few decades, the feeling is one of impotence, fear and frustration.
The hallmark of this administration is cruelty and sadism, vengefulness carried out with glee. Mr. Musk said it best: “The fundamental weakness of Western civilization is empathy.” The prominent historian Michael Beschloss said during Mr. Trump’s last campaign that a second term could lead to “dictatorship and anarchy.” At the time, he was accused of being alarmist. Not anymore.
“Everybody in Washington is being tested today,” says Leon Wieseltier, the editor of the literary review Liberties. “The question is: What can we do? It’s a time when we all have to ask: What am I capable of? It’s time for people to ask: What am I willing to die for?”
But we still have to remember to live. I have continued to convene friends to commiserate, to laugh, to eat, to have a glass of wine, to despair, yes, but mostly to plan and search for a way forward.
Seeing the joy and relief of people getting together, not long ago, I scheduled an improv party. I have been taking improv classes for several years (performances and all), and for me, it’s been two and a half hours once a week of nothing but laughter. I come out of each class or performance exhilarated. Some 23 brave friends showed up at my improv party prepared to make fun of themselves, and we all did. It was a riot. And the star of the evening was Bob Woodward, whose dry, deadpan, self-deprecating humor carried the show. Amazingly, I didn’t hear Mr. Trump’s name come up once.
I was thinking about how perhaps improv might be a way to think about the way forward for each of us. Right now, the established script for how D.C. operates, and our roles in it, has been shredded. It’s time to write a new one. We need to be willing to surprise ourselves.
Impermanence is a natural state for Washingtonians. It’s a life of hails and farewells, which is why a sense of community becomes paramount. So you pick the members of your community carefully, knowing that you will lose many friends along the way but gain many as well.
I have always loved the caliber of the people who have been attracted to Washington. They almost always arrived optimistic, patriotic and civic-minded. Over time, some sacrifice their ideals to further their power (although not the ones who became and remain my friends). Whatever the political wave they rode in on, they were all honorable. I’m not sure that is always the case anymore. Nothing is more important to me than integrity, and when I’m with my friends, I feel safe and protected. I feel hope.
Sally Quinn is an author whose books include “Finding Magic” and the forthcoming “Silent Retreat.” She has been writing for The Washington Post since 1969.
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