Church & State

There are buildings that belong to an administration, buildings that belong to an era, and buildings that eventually come to belong to the country. The Kennedy Center is one of those buildings. For over fifty years, this large expanse of white marble has sat along the Potomac as a unique landmark in Washington, DC. Unlike many of the memorials in our nation's capital, it honors music, drama, and the arts. Whether you like or dislike its architecture, it has become an integral part of our capital's history, and that history may be threatened.

Hollywood has long been interested in politics, but sometimes the roles are reversed. Every so often, a performer leaves the stage to try something even harder than entertaining: leading a community. Sometimes, these efforts work out well. Other times, they show that being popular and being a good leader are not always the same.

The extent to which the American electorate and Congress’ work habits are at odds with one another is apparent—and widening every day. Congressional schedules—especially during election years—paint a picture lawmakers will soon struggle to defend. Few accomplishments will outweigh the reality of congressional calendars filled with repeated weeks-long recesses, bloated “district work periods” and what feels like an obsession with legislating off session. In 2026, Congress took roughly a two-week vacation for Easter and Passover. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Both chambers went home for recess from the last week of March until the middle of April. Only to come back into town for three days, kick off a month filled with short work weeks, long weekends and more breaks on their never-ending summer vacation.

Americans like to think our national arguments are original. Every generation likes to believe it is living through uniquely calamitous times, utterly disconnected from what has gone before. Few debates are more stubbornly cyclical -- or more willfully misunderstood -- than the struggle between religion and government. The battle over church and state didn't suddenly erupt in the twenty-first century. It wasn't created by modern secularists, or contemporary "culture warriors," or even activist judges. It's as old as the republic itself -- and it was intentionally written into the nation's political DNA by people who had seen firsthand what happens when faith and power sit together on a throne.

In the fall of 2025, the East Wing of the White House—one of the most evocative, freighted, storied rooms in American public life—ceased to exist. Not to be remodeled. Not to be quietly modified. Destroyed. Reduced to dust so that a massive new ballroom complex could be built in its place, at breathtaking speed and with stunning secrecy. What vanished was not merely an auxiliary structure, but a living archive of presidential history, wartime survival planning, First Lady leadership, and one of the most extraordinary cultural rooms ever housed within the executive mansion. The destruction of the East Wing was not simply a construction decision. It was an act of erasure.