A car show thrives in an occupied District
Amid armored trucks and empty corridors, D.C.’s car culture offered a glimpse of community unbothered by the occupation surrounding it.
Over the past few weeks, Washington, D.C. has been feeling less like a capital city and more like a staging ground. Videos flood social media of police checkpoints springing up in random pockets of the city (Uptown, Union Station, normally quiet residential streets) with federal officers and National Guard units stopping cars, issuing thousand-dollar tickets for tinted windows, and pulling drivers aside under the guise of “safety.” It feels arbitrary; it feels suffocating.
This is life in a federal city under occupation. Unlike residents of any state, D.C. natives don’t have full control over their own government. Mayor Muriel Bowser can argue, protest, and (sadly) bend the knee if the hopes of getting a golden star, but ultimate authority rests with whoever occupies the White House. Right now, that means the Republican Party and Donald Trump, whose heavy-handed use of federal police turned everyday D.C. into a maze of surveillance. To live here is to know you are vulnerable… not just to local policing, but to the whims of federal power.
Of course, not everyone sees it this way. Scroll through comment sections or talk to certain outsiders (including some who live here) and you’ll hear a very different story: that Trump’s show of force is necessary, even helpful. For those watching from afar, the armored trucks and roving checkpoints can look like “order” for claimed chaos. But for people actually living in this city, the picture is messier. Businesses along major corridors are losing money. Streets that once bustled with nightlife and entertainment are empty (or less crowded, to be fair). Residents are left weighing whether a night out is worth the risk of harassment, a citation, or worse. The toll isn’t abstract; it’s economic, social, and deeply human.
And yet. Yesterday in NE, another version of D.C. emerged. At Kenilworth Park, the 45 Auto Club hosted a car show that had nothing to do with intimidation or harassment, and everything to do with joy.
The cars told the story first. D.C. car culture has long gravitated toward V8 sedans — the Ford Crown Victorias, Dodge Chargers, Chrysler 300s, and a couple of Mercury Marauder (if you know me well, then you’ll remember when I was tearing the streets up in a Marauder of my own). These cars are inherent extensions of the city’s DNA, woven into its streets the same way go-go music pulses through its clubs or mumbo sauce finds its way onto every carryout menu. Big boy SUVs stood tall nearby, signaling another staple of D.C. life, while imports like a GT-R, souped-up Civics and whole Jeep crews (complete with those ducks on the dash) brought variety. A few gleaming classics from the ‘60s, the ‘70s, and, in one instance, much earlier reminded everyone how deep the love of cars runs here. The diversity of the lineup mirrored the diversity of the people: no single story, but many coexisting in one lot.
Social media might make you expect otherwise. Endless clips show law enforcement disrupting gatherings, harassing drivers, and making examples of ordinary people. Driving to the show, that unease sat with me. I kept wondering if federal police would roll through, if the Guard would use their power to make this event another casualty of the occupation. But they never came. Inside the park, the atmosphere was unbothered with food vendors lined up, grills smoking, music blasting, and car crews catching up like they hadn’t missed a beat.
Early on, I carried a nervous quiet in myself, much in part thanks to doom-scrolling through seeing too many clips of checkpoints and shutdowns. A recent close encounter with an aforementioned checkpoint and the current oddity of Union Station’s clash of armed soldiers and rock and roll-blasting protestors didn’t help. The people around me, though, seemed unbothered; they were smiling, setting up, and ready to enjoy themselves from the start. As more folks arrived, first in trickles, then in clusters, that joy only amplified. By mid-afternoon, the park was fully alive.
That’s the resilience I saw yesterday. Not in the abstract slogans of politicians (‘cause that’s all bullshit, anyway), but in the simple joy of people refusing to give up what they love. D.C. natives have always known how to carve out space for themselves, even when the city feels unlivable. This weekend’s festivity exhibited proof through cars parked side by side, friends sharing drinks, and music that refused to be quieted.
I’ll admit: my own instinct has been to retreat. I’ve cancelled plans, avoided driving to certain neighborhoods (or the entire city as a whole), and withdrawn from spaces I enjoy because the weight of occupation feels overwhelming. But watching how others came together without apology brought gratitude. Gratitude for the humanity that insists on showing itself even when the country’s leaders try to stamp it out. Gratitude for the people who keep creating joy in places where fear should reign.
Washington, D.C. may be “occupied.” Its residents may be trapped in the strange limbo of federal rule, with little power to dictate their own reality. But yesterday, just off Anacostia Avenue, none of that mattered. The only checkpoints were the rows of polished hoods and the only authority was the collective energy of a community determined to keep living.
But honesty demands I admit: I don’t see this ending soon. If anything, I expect it to get worse. We aren’t even a year into Trump’s second term, and the weight of federal control already feels unbearable. I fear the other side won’t muster the will to claw back power in 2026, leaving D.C. residents trapped in this strange limbo for even longer. What I saw at the car show was joy, yes, but it was also temporary… a glimpse of humanity shining through the cracks of a city bracing itself for darker days.