April 11, 2024: Cabbage on a Stick -

You may recall Rep. Andrew Clark (R-Georgia), who described the January 6 assault on the Capitol as “a normal tourist visit.”  

But over four days in DC last week,  Rick and I (and we do identify as normal tourists) could not find a single “Storm the Capitol” tour, not open admission, not timed entry, not reserved tickets, nothing.

I’m going with those who called Clark’s comment a “bold faced” lie, that “gravely contradicts” the events of the day. (Okay, just to quibble, I prefer “bald faced,” which is still the most popular term, but apparently “bold faced” and “bare faced” are catching up.) I mean, there are some photos of Clark barricading the door against rioters, which I hope he doesn't do for normal tourist groups. 

The tourists we did see were admirable, friendly, charming – little families, big tour groups, solemn veterans, bellowing grade school teachers (“If you FEED the ducks they become LESS WILD, and that puts them in DANGER!”), frolicsome teens. (As you enter the African American museum, there is a no-nonsense, Black-American-Mama-Voiced PA announcement forbidding “horseplay,” which made my day. I had forgotten  “horseplay.”) The only bad behavior I saw was two preteen girls whose mom had them snap off some cherry blossoms for a photo. I moaned, and mom gave me the stink-eye.

That was it, in terms of people being less than model citizens. Or non-citizens, for that matter. The foreign visitors were as sweet as the Americans.

Lots of tourist moments were very touching. I misted up over the dad, not a native speaker, who was declaiming the inscriptions at the Jefferson Memorial aloud to his wide-eyed kids. He was so noble, and so dramatic, and then he had to tangle with “inalienable.” And he just kept at it until he made it through. 

The through-line of the visit was that it was moving, in so many different ways. I’d get a hit of Pride, followed by Fury, followed by Awe, followed by Sorrow, and Delight, and Shame. (In no particular order, sites of big feelings: Lincoln Memorial; National Gallery of Art, Vietnam Veterans Memorial, African American Museum fourth floor of art, dance, music; African American underground exhibit on the Middle Passage; seeing the Capitol and remembering the defaced rotunda of Jan 6; Library of Congress exhibit of iconic photos, including the kneeling girl at Kent State and the young man ravaged by AIDS in his father’s arms; World War II Memorial; Smithsonian Rocks and Minerals exhibit; Trail of Tears installation in the American Indian Museum.)

                                                        (Note Tillamook, top line of the bottom white stripe. This flag is beaded. It's amazing.)

I love that American Indian Museum. It’s not crowded, which is both good and too bad. 

Some of the exhibits have a dry humor, for instance, a huge room blanketed floor to ceiling in sports team paraphernalia, fruit box art, Tillamook cheese logos (the chosen quesadilla cheese chez Wagner), Pontiac car icons and my favorite, Indian Princess Barbie, whose outfit, Mattel said, was meant to invoke “tribe.”  No specific tribe, just “tribe.” (But then Ken’s job was “beach.” No specific beach.)

Across the hall was a wonderful exhibit on Pocahontas, full of interesting things. At the end of that room there was a video playing, where ordinary people-on-the-street were interviewed and asked what they knew about her, which was Not Much. It was incredibly cringe-worthy, and funny-awful.  “She uh…. Liked Nature?” “She had great hair! I wish I had hair like that!” Then a very self-important guy explaining, “Well, there are TWO stories. There is the Disney Pocahontas, and then there’s the REAL Sacajawea.” 

Argh.

We sometimes went in search of lighter emotional fare – a garden, a view of the Potomac. This didn’t always work. At the American Botanical Garden there were a few carefully tended Hawaiian plants nicknamed Cabbage on a Stick. In the wild, only one individual plant survives, the others having been wiped out by goats, settlement, etc. I said to Rick, “It’s us. We brought the goats. We settled the island.”  I mean, not Hawaii, not us in particular, but US, people.

I am in favor of all of this, all the feels, all the history, all the pride and awe, shame and delight and sorrow.  Life is complicated, nationhood is a struggle. I am in favor of open admission to some Smithsonians, but then when I am squashed in a scrum of people, I find myself in favor of timed entry and tickets. I support screening people before they enter the Library of Congress, because it’s full of precious things, but really because there is an underground tunnel over to the Capitol, and bad guys might decide to use it. And I am tickled that “knitting needles” are specifically forbidden there. (Nowhere else we went, just the Library.)  

I expected to be bowled over by the trip. I just didn't expect to find myself grieving for Cabbage on a Stick.