In a year already marked by seismic political and cultural shifts, the White House—long a symbol of American ideals—has become the epicenter of a transformation as controversial as it is visually striking. On September 7, 2025, the Trump administration did what no previous federal government had dared in over four decades: it attempted to dismantle the peace vigil that has stood continuously in front of the White House since 1981. According to EL PAÍS, this vigil, the longest-running demonstration in U.S. history, was removed at the president’s direct order after a journalist described the protest tent as an “eyesore” during a press conference. Yet, in a testament to the resilience of protest and memory, the demonstrators rebuilt the vigil that very afternoon, right back in its historic place.
This incident, while symbolic, is just the tip of the iceberg. On the same day he returned to the White House, President Trump signed an executive order mandating that all federal buildings adhere to a “regional, traditional, and classical architectural heritage.” The move, as reported by EL PAÍS, has drawn sharp criticism from architectural experts who argue it attempts to impose a narrow narrative on the nation’s diverse built environment. The order is part of a broader vision: Trump’s ambition to recast Washington, D.C., as an imperial capital, echoing the grandeur and opulence of a new gilded age.
The president’s taste for gold and spectacle is well-documented. Even before his presidency, Trump’s Manhattan penthouse and Mar-a-Lago home were showcases of maximalist, gilded décor. Now, he is bringing that same aesthetic to the executive mansion. According to EL PAÍS, the White House is undergoing its most dramatic transformation in decades. Trump has covered the walls and furniture of the Oval Office in real gold, clarified in a social media post to dispel any doubts about its authenticity. Plans are underway for a new ballroom and banquet hall, complete with golden chandeliers and a capacity for up to 900 guests. The renovations extend to the Rose Garden, where the iconic lawn—originally designed during John F. Kennedy’s presidency—has been replaced with a concrete floor, a move Trump claims is to prevent women’s heels from sinking into muddy ground. Trees have been replaced, new flagpoles added, and the flooring in several rooms refurbished. The estimated total cost? Around $250 million.
Funding for these projects, as EL PAÍS reports, comes from donations by companies eager to curry favor with the administration, which keeps meticulous records of every major private-sector contribution. This has not gone unnoticed by the Democratic Party, which has launched congressional investigations into the nature of these negotiations and the influence they may wield over federal policy.
The changes are not merely cosmetic. They are deeply political, aiming to recast the narrative of American power and erase the influence of past leaders. In August 2025, Trump relocated the official portraits of Barack Obama, George W. Bush, and George H. W. Bush to less visible locations within the White House. The following month, he established a presidential hall of fame featuring every president—except for Joe Biden. Biden’s portrait was replaced by a photo of an autopen, a pointed jab referencing the device Biden used to sign executive orders. This act has been widely interpreted as an attempt to delegitimize his immediate predecessor and rewrite the story of recent American leadership.
The cult of personality has reached new heights, quite literally. Democratic Senator Adam Schiff’s report, cited by EL PAÍS, details at least $50,000 spent on oversized posters of Trump adorning federal buildings such as the Department of Agriculture and the Department of Labor. In September, the Bitcoin industry temporarily installed a 3.6-meter-tall golden statue of Trump holding a Bitcoin outside Congress, a spectacle that drew both supporters and critics. The U.S. Department of Labor even tweeted a photo of the president in front of one such poster, emblazoned with the slogan “AMERICAN WORKERS FIRST!”
But the most dramatic—and, for many, heartbreaking—change came on October 23, 2025. On that day, as reported by The Forward, the East Wing of the White House was demolished. Where the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden (also known as the First Lady’s Garden) once flourished, there is now only an expanse of yellow-brown dirt. The First Lady’s Office, shaped over the years by Eleanor Roosevelt and Rosalynn Carter, has been reduced to a heap of twisted metal. The corridors that once linked the West Wing’s seat of power to the public’s point of access have vanished, replaced by scarred, dusty red brick and the exposed innards of the house.
This demolition has not only erased physical spaces but also the intangible legacy of those who shaped them. The destruction of the East Wing and its gardens has been seen by many as a symbolic rebuttal to the ideals once embodied by the White House. In 2017, Cynthia Erivo performed “Take Care of This House”—a song from Leonard Bernstein and Alan Jay Lerner’s musical 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue—at the Kennedy Center. Her performance, as The Forward notes, was a moving invocation of the White House’s role as a humble, shared home, not a gilded palace. Today, that song feels less like a call to stewardship and more like an elegy for a vanished era.
Leonard Bernstein’s vision of the White House, and of America itself, was one of aspiration—a belief that the country could live up to its founding promises of liberty and justice for all. The musical, though short-lived, celebrated the contributions of presidents, first ladies, and especially Black servants who helped shape the nation’s history. The contrast between that vision and the current landscape—a site of rubble and opulence to come—could hardly be starker.
As the excavators clear away the remnants of the East Wing, questions linger about what will rise in its place. Will Trump’s new ballroom, with its golden chandeliers and grand scale, truly make the White House greater than the gardens and offices it replaces? Or will the transformation mark the loss of something more profound: the quiet energy and sense of collective ownership that once defined America’s most famous home?
For those who remember walking the corridors of the East Wing, or standing in the First Lady’s Garden, the changes are more than architectural. They signal a shift in what the White House means—to the nation, and to the world. In the words of Bernstein and Lerner’s song, “Take care of this house / Be always on call / For this house / Is the hope of us all.” Whether that hope can survive amid gold leaf and concrete remains to be seen.
In the end, the White House stands not only as a seat of power but as a mirror for the country’s values—sometimes shining, sometimes scarred, but always contested ground.
