On August 25, 2025, the heart of Washington, D.C. became the stage for a striking—and, to many, unsettling—display of presidential power. The U.S. Department of Labor building unfurled a giant banner of President Donald Trump’s face, his steely second inaugural portrait staring out over the city. This was no ordinary government signage: the banner stretched across three stories of windows, flanked by an American flag and a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt, each emblazoned with the motto "American Workers First" and the logo for Trump’s America 250 programming.
The boldness of the display was matched only by the controversy it ignited. According to The New Republic, this is not the first time in 2025 that a federal building has showcased Trump’s image in such grandiose fashion. Earlier in the spring, the Department of Agriculture hung a similar banner featuring Trump alongside Abraham Lincoln, a move that drew immediate comparisons to the personality cults of authoritarian leaders like Saddam Hussein and Kim Jong Un. The echoes of Big Brother were hard to ignore as Trump’s visage loomed over the capital, prompting critics to accuse the administration of flirting with authoritarian symbolism.
California Governor Gavin Newsom was among the first to voice his outrage, taking to social media with a pointed message: "THANK YOU, GLORIOUS LEADER," he wrote, pairing his words with a photo of North Korean leaders Kim Jong-Un and Kim Jong-il. The jab was unmistakable. Newsom’s office, along with other Democratic leaders and labor advocates, condemned the banners as an authoritarian stunt and a slap in the face to American democratic norms.
Labor advocates were quick to highlight the irony. "Trump has never been on the side of workers," the Ohio Communist Party tweeted, accusing the president of breaking promises to protect steelworkers' jobs and violating the collective bargaining rights of millions of federal workers. They added, "Not to mention the upcoming cuts to Social Security. Don’t be fooled." The message was clear: the banners, in their view, were little more than propaganda, masking an administration hostile to the very workers it claimed to champion.
Former Labor Secretary Robert Reich, who served under presidents Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, and Bill Clinton, offered a detailed critique. He noted that Trump’s Department of Labor was "aiming to rewrite or repeal 60+ worker protections, including: Minimum wage for home health care workers, Rules that improve construction & mine safety, OSHA’s ability to punish employers for unsafe workplaces." Reich added, "The 'pro-worker' president," with a heavy dose of sarcasm, underscoring what he and others saw as a gulf between the administration’s rhetoric and its policies.
So why include Theodore Roosevelt, the 26th president, on the banners? Roosevelt is often celebrated for his "Square Deal" policies, which advanced worker protections such as an employee liability law for industrial injuries and an eight-hour workday for federal employees. He also sought to limit the use of court injunctions against unions. The juxtaposition of Roosevelt and Trump—two very different figures in American labor history—sparked debate about whether the current administration’s actions honored or undermined Roosevelt’s legacy.
Meanwhile, the banner’s unveiling came amid a broader federal crackdown in Washington, D.C. President Trump had recently mobilized the National Guard to work alongside the D.C. metropolitan police, aiming to address crime, homelessness, and undocumented immigration. Earlier in August, Trump invoked the Home Rule Act, effectively granting the executive branch control over the city’s police force for 30 days, with the option to ask Congress for an extension. This move represented a significant federal incursion into local governance, one that had not gone unnoticed by the city’s residents and leaders.
The public response was swift and largely negative. According to a Washington Post/Schar School survey released just days before the banner’s appearance, a resounding 79 percent of D.C. residents either somewhat or strongly opposed the federal measures, with only 17 percent in favor. The perception of crime in the city had actually decreased since April 2024: only 31 percent of respondents described crime as "extremely serious" or "very serious," down from 65 percent the previous year. An impressive 78 percent of residents reported feeling "very" or "somewhat" safe in their neighborhoods, while just 21 percent felt "not too safe" or "not at all safe."
For many local business owners and vendors, however, the federal presence was more than just a political debate—it was a matter of survival. Yassin Yahyaoui, who sells jewelry and glass figurines, lamented, "Everything has stopped over the last week." He noted that most of his customers and fellow vendors, especially those who speak Spanish, had "just disappeared." The sense of unease and disruption was palpable on the city’s streets.
Yet not everyone opposed the federal intervention. Some community members voiced support, seeing the National Guard’s presence as a necessary step to curb crime and enhance public security. The divide underscored the complexity of public opinion in a city often at the center of national political battles.
Amid the tension, Vice President JD Vance and Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth made a show of solidarity with service members, sharing meals at the city’s main train hub while demonstrators gathered nearby. The administration’s actions—both symbolic and practical—continued to fuel debate about the proper balance between federal authority and local autonomy, as well as the role of presidential image-making in American democracy.
For many observers, the banners were more than just oversized portraits; they were a statement about power, control, and the direction of the country. The use of government buildings to display the president’s face—especially in such a dramatic fashion—raised uncomfortable questions about the boundaries between patriotism and propaganda. As The New Republic noted, the sight of Trump’s scowl looming over Washington, D.C. felt eerily reminiscent of regimes where the leader’s image is omnipresent, a constant reminder of who holds the reins.
Whether the banners will remain or be quietly removed in the coming weeks remains to be seen. What’s certain is that their appearance has reignited debates about presidential power, workers’ rights, and the symbols that define American democracy. As the capital continues to wrestle with federal intervention and shifting public sentiment, the image of Trump—both literally and figuratively—casts a long shadow over the city’s future.
