By Jonah Ritter
Standing before the Lincoln Memorial today, it is easy to imagine that Abraham Lincoln was always revered. He was not. During his presidency, opponents in the North as well as the South attacked his judgment, his character, and the war he led. His 1860 victory came with less than half the popular vote in a four-way contest. The nation that later placed him in a marble temple had once been bitterly divided over him.
The contrast is striking, but it needs one important detail: Americans began proposing a national monument soon after his death. In 1867, Congress created the Lincoln Monument Association. Political disagreements and practical problems stalled its plan. Construction of the memorial we know began in 1914, and its dedication came in 1922—fifty-seven years after Lincoln's death. The National Park Service tells that history plainly.
Time did not make every argument against Lincoln vanish. It gave later generations a fuller view of the Union he preserved and the emancipation he advanced. Imagine the United States if the seceding states had become a permanent separate nation. We cannot prove what that country, or ours, would have become. Yet asking what a decision prevented is part of judging what it accomplished.
That is what comes to mind as I watch Washington change today. President Trump's planned White House ballroom is being judged while construction and controversy are still fresh. People have real questions about its size, design, cost, and the changes to the East Wing. Future presidents may have a different question: does this room allow the White House to host the large events it has long struggled to accommodate? Decades of use will tell us something that today's renderings cannot.
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| Rendering of the 250th anniversary arch planned for Memorial Circle, where preparatory excavation has been announced.” |
The proposed arch commemorating America's 250th anniversary makes the Lincoln comparison even more direct. It is a monument, meant to outlive the administration that proposed it. The National Capital Planning Commission advanced preliminary site and building plans in July 2026. That approval does not settle whether the arch should be built, whether its scale belongs in that setting, or what visitors will think of it fifty years from now. It does mean that today's political debate is only the opening chapter of its possible history.
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| Washington's public spaces during a season of restoration—fountains, sculpture, and monuments receiving renewed attention for America's 250th year. |
There is also less dramatic work underway: taking care of the capital we already have. The National Park Service describes a broad effort to repair Washington's historic fountains, stonework, sculpture, and public spaces in time for the anniversary and beyond. The Columbus Circle fountain at Union Station returned to operation in 2026 after being silent since 2007. The Meridian Hill cascade has reopened, and the gilded equestrian groups near the Lincoln Memorial have received attention as well. My collage illustrates the work at several familiar landmarks. It is fair to scrutinize workmanship and expense; it is also fair to ask what long neglect would have cost them.
The most consequential question, however, may not involve marble, gold, or water. It may involve Iran. Without American action against Iran's nuclear facilities, how much closer might the regime have come to a nuclear weapon? That is a counterfactual, not a fact we can measure. The strikes damaged facilities and set back activity, but the length of that setback cannot yet be established. In September 2026, the International Atomic Energy Agency said it lacked access to affected facilities and could not verify previously declared enriched uranium. I hope the danger has been halted for a long time. I cannot honestly say inspectors have confirmed that the entire program has ended.
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| A suitable landing for the Commander in Chief: The South Lawn has long welcomed Marine One. This before-and-after comparison shows how the landing area might be given a more fitting appearance beside the White House. |
There is a second possibility in Iran that makes the Lincoln analogy more human. If the Iranian people gain the freedom to choose a government that represents them instead of the Islamic revolutionary regime, that would be an emancipation in their own right. It would belong to them, not to an American president. And as Lincoln's story reminds us, freedom brings the hard work of building a durable nation after a profound division.
I am not claiming that Trump is Lincoln, or that a ballroom is a memorial. I am asking how we judge a contested undertaking while we are still standing inside the contest. A building's usefulness emerges over years. A restored fountain proves itself by continuing to run. A monument takes meaning from generations who visit it. And the full consequences of a decision about Iran will depend on a future that has not arrived.
Lincoln's memorial offers no guarantee about any of these outcomes. It offers a caution about certainty. History sees farther than a headline can.
