(NewsOne) —
There’s something telling about how unsurprised many of us were.
When the massive “Black Lives Matter” lettering on that stretch of 16th Street NW was painted over in early March, it didn’t shock many of us — not because we didn’t care, but because we always knew it was performative. The mural was never meant to last because it was never about lasting change.
Mayor Muriel Bowser defended the decision, saying, “We have bigger fish to fry.” Her rationale was economic and political, a gesture of survival under a newly re-empowered Trump administration and a Republican-controlled Congress threatening D.C.’s already-limited autonomy. But when “bigger fish” are being fried, who exactly is being cooked? And who decides what—or who—is expendable?
Let’s be clear: Black Lives Matter Plaza was never designed to be permanent. That much was obvious when the yellow paint first hit the pavement in 2020. It was a bold aesthetic move to “stick it” to Trump in 2020, not a sustained commitment to Black D.C. residents or systemic change. So when it disappeared under political pressure, it felt less like a loss and more like confirmation. It was always symbolic, a sleek PR response in the wake of the murders of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, while behind closed doors, our city’s budget told a different story.
In the fiscal year 2021, there was a proposed $578 million operating budget for the Metropolitan Police Department (MPD), representing a 3.3% increase over the previous year’s budget of $559 million. Bowser aimed to expand the force to 4,000 officers by 2021 — despite citywide calls to defund the police and reinvest in housing, education, and mental health services across the District.
Even as the streets erupted with calls to dismantle systemic racism, Black men and boys like Deon Kay and Karon Hylton-Brown were killed by MPD officers within months of each other in 2020.
On June 24, 2020, 18-year-old Deon Kay was shot and killed by an MPD officer in Southeast D.C. Later that year, on Oct. 23, 2020, 20-year-old Karon Hylton-Brown died after a police pursuit led to a fatal collision. Two officers were later charged in connection with his death. The same system that painted the words “Black Lives Matter” on a street corner continued to sanction the violence we were protesting in the first place.
So no, I wasn’t outraged when the mural was erased. I was reminded.
I was reminded that symbolism, without substance, is always the first thing to go when power shifts. That performative acts, while emotionally resonant, offer no protection in the face of authoritarianism. That what feels powerful in the moment can be undone with a single political calculation.
Mayor Bowser’s “bigger fish” framing is revealing. It implies triage. Prioritization. But it also suggests that defending the people and principles behind Black Lives Matter is no longer worth the risk. It was a calculated sacrifice, but when Black people, poor people, queer and trans people, and immigrants are so often the first on the chopping block in the name of political strategy—what does survival actually look like for us?
This question feels even more urgent as D.C. prepares to host WorldPride 2025 from mid-May to early June. On paper, it’s a monumental occasion: a global celebration of LGBTQ+ rights held during Pride Month in the nation’s capital. But behind the scenes, the same pressures that erased BLM Plaza are threatening the future of this event, too.
Several corporate sponsors, including Booz Allen Hamilton, have already pulled out, citing the Trump administration’s aggressive anti-DEI executive order. These companies, once quick to wrap themselves in rainbow logos each June, are now folding under white supremacist scrutiny. And while some activists might feel vindicated—we warned for years that corporate Pride was rarely about real solidarity—it’s still sobering to see how fast “support” can vanish when it’s no longer politically convenient.
Some are asking if the District should still host it. Others, like the African Human Rights Coalition, wonder if D.C. is even safe under the new regime. But the question I keep circling back to is: if we can’t advocate for our own progress in the city we call home, where do we go? If we can’t protect symbols and spaces that we fought for, how do we fight smarter, deeper, and longer?
The answer isn’t simple. But it does start with clarity: we must stop mistaking representation for liberation. The presence of murals, parades, and “historic firsts” doesn’t always mean we’re moving forward. In fact, it’s often used to pacify us while the systems that harm us remain untouched. We must demand more than visibility—we need transformation.
That transformation starts locally. D.C. may be a federal enclave, but it’s also our community. We must continue fighting for D.C. statehood not just as a political issue, but as a justice issue. Our city’s ability to govern itself is essential to protecting its most marginalized. It means defending our budgets, our schools, our healthcare, our trans youth, and our immigrant neighbors from federal overreach.
And if the mayor won’t advocate for that fiercely or doesn’t believe it’s worth the risk based on the size of the fish, then we must organize around her.
We must also protect WorldPride — not just the event but what it represents. We can’t allow it to be gutted in the name of risk management.
We must show up, host community-centered programming, support queer and trans Black and brown artists, invest in local LGBTQ+ organizers, and create safety on our own terms. Pride was never meant to be safe in the traditional sense — it was born out of rebellion. And maybe that’s what this moment demands again.
If we are indeed choosing our battles, we must ensure that the communities historically left behind aren’t the first ones deemed expendable. That includes Black residents whose lives weren’t centered in the city’s response in 2020. That includes LGBTQ+ people, especially those facing intersecting threats of transphobia, racism, and poverty. That includes sex workers, the unhoused, returning citizens, and young people struggling in under-resourced schools. This is not the time to scale back. It is the time to recommit.
We have to organize, vote, protect our neighbors, build mutual aid, fund grassroots work, and push institutions to do more than issue statements. We must continue to ask ourselves: What does safety look like without relying on systems that kill us? What does joy look like without corporate sponsorships that abandon us the moment it’s inconvenient? And what does power look like when it’s not just symbolic but structural, collective, and unafraid?
If Mayor Bowser and other city leaders believe they can choose which “fish” to fry in this new political era, then we—Black people, queer and trans folks, people with low incomes—must be vigilant about not becoming the meal. The mural was always going to go because it was never meant to stay. But our demands for justice, safety, and real change? Those remain.
Because if the symbols fall—and they will—it’s what we build next that determines whether we survive this moment or transform it.
And transformation is long overdue.
Preston Mitchum is the founder of PDM Consulting, based in Washington, DC. His work focuses on racial justice, gender equity, LGBTQ+ liberation, and the pursuit of policies that move beyond symbolism to create lasting change.
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