Every day of Donald Trump’s second term, it feels as though we have entered a dystopia. Nationalism pervades even geological names; old allies are humiliated in public; economic policy has been reduced to declaring trade wars (then calling them off again). One thing, however, has gone largely ignored, although it perfectly sums up Trump’s ideology: his architecture.
In December 2020, towards the very end of his first term, Trump issued an executive order aimed at “Promoting Beautiful Federal Civic Architecture”. Written in the clumsy style of a first-year undergraduate dissertation, this order stipulated that architecture should “uplift and beautify public spaces, inspire the human spirit, ennoble the United States, command respect from the general public”, among other things. While the order, like many others, was revoked under Joe Biden’s presidency, it has apparently remained present in Trump’s mind. So much so, actually, that it was the subject of a memorandum issued on Trump’s second inauguration day, earlier this year.
Is there anything wrong with making our cities more beautiful? As I write this, I need only look out the window to confirm that the aesthetics of modern cities can indeed be depressing. Research shows that bad architecture and bad urban planning represent a very real health hazard: they foster loneliness, isolation and anxiety, all of which have been proved to reduce quality of life and shorten life expectancy. Trump’s suggested response, however, diverges strongly from what researchers, sociologists and psychologists advise. While they favour the development of shared community spaces and green areas, as well as involving communities in the process, Trump’s administration has a more radical, less effective and somewhat bizarre solution: neoclassicism.
Trump’s architectural policy is much more serious than it sounds
If you are not familiar with neoclassicism, think ancient columns, domes and whitewashed statues. Neoclassicism was born in 18th-century Europe, at a time when the rediscovery of Pompeii and Herculanum sparked wider interest in Greek and Roman aesthetics. All of Europe was soon smitten with Roman-style columns: the National Monument of Scotland, the Brandenburg Gate and the Paris Pantheon were all born from this inspiration. Neoclassicism later moved further west, to the United States themselves, giving birth to monumental buildings such as the Capitol.
That this policy should be reintroduced so early in Trump’s second term comes as a surprise. At a time when US public bodies are being so savagely cut back, one could ask whether any federal buildings will be needed at all.
This stylistic obsession may seem something between absurd and grotesque. After all, when a country’s institutions are on the verge of collapse and Europe is left alone to face the Russian invasion of Ukraine, there are more pressing matters than aesthetics. I’d suggest, however, that Trump’s architectural policy is much more serious than it sounds: it reflects the wider landscape of his ambitions for his country and for the world.
Architecture and urban planning have always been a playground for the powerful. By leaving your imprint on a city, you make sure your political legacy will not be erased from the country’s memory. European cities are perfect examples of this. In Paris, many layers of urban planning are superimposed on one another, each of them reflecting a different idea of what a capital city should look like. On the same day, you can stroll along Philip Augustus’s 12th-century city wall, admire the classical façade created by Louis XIV for the Louvre and finish your visit with the Centre Pompidou’s extravagant high-tech style. Architectural choices are never benign: they encapsulate a worldview.
Totalitarian regimes have always been keenly aware of the crucial part played by urban planning in their peoples’ mindset: fascist Italy, Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia all had dramatic impacts on their cityscapes. Nazi architect Albert Speer was a close friend of Adolf Hitler’s, and they spent hours trying to imagine what Germania, the Reich’s future capital, would look like (spoiler: it had columns). Elements of Greek and Roman architecture were supposed to root the Reich’s power in a sense of ancient grandeur, just as the use of Nordic runes in written communications acted as a reminder of Germanic traditions. In this sense, it was an integral part of the Reich’s propaganda, alongside Nazi party rallies and the suppression of “degenerate” art in favour of nationalist aesthetics.
What, then, does Trump’s obsession with neoclassicism tell us? His starting point—that neoclassicism equals “beauty”, as opposed to “ugly” modern architecture—is in itself a statement. There is no shortage of well-built and aesthetically pleasing contemporary architecture; one can think of American architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s bold and imaginative designs. But this is not what Trump has in mind: his executive order explicitly disapproves buildings that “subvert the traditional values of architecture”.
Architecture is a means of propelling us back in time
And this is where architecture and social policies meet up. It is not enough, it seems, to promote “traditional values”—whatever that means—in the fields of family, society and foreign policy; aesthetics, too, must be aligned with moral beliefs. We enter a dangerous territory, one where art ceases to be judged on its plastic qualities and is measured by its moral worth.
This is part of the magical thinking that also dictates most of Trump’s beliefs: “Make America Great Again” by pretending the 20th and 21st centuries, with their dramatic social changes and artistic boldness, never happened. Architecture and urban planning are seen as a means to propel us back in time, quite literally.
One could ask how adding columns to federal buildings will stop inflation or foster social justice. But it does not matter, because those who could voice an opinion on the subject are barred from the conversation. The 2020 executive order was built around the distinction between “the general public” and “the elite” that has become so crucial to so many populist leaders. If you are unsure who “the elite” are, just have a look at the order’s footnote: the elite is defined as “artists, architects, engineers, art or architecture critics, instructors or professors of art or architecture, or members of the building industry”. In other words, absolutely anyone can have their say about architectural policy in the US, except those who chose it as their career.
Not that any of this is really surprising; we’ve seen it before. After all, as Hannah Arendt wrote in The Origins of Totalitarianism, “totalitarianism in power invariably replaces all first-rate talents, regardless of their sympathies, with those crackpots and fools whose lack of intelligence and creativity is still the best guarantee of their loyalty.”
