COLUMN: Trump Rewrites History to Justify His Monumental Arch

The Reality of a Washington Under Construction

In the 19th century, Washington was not the imperial capital it later became. It was a muddy, unfinished, almost provincial city. Visitors complained about the lack of infrastructure, lawmakers struggled to find decent housing, and the federal government itself operated out of temporary buildings. Manning points out that there was no pressure to build decorative monuments before the Civil War, simply because the city still lacked essential functional structures. The idea that anyone could have dreamed of a triumphal arch when there weren’t even enough guesthouses to accommodate visitors is absurd. Washington was a capital in the making, not a fantasized “American Rome.”

There is something tragically revealing about Trump’s obsession with monuments. As if a nation’s greatness were measured in meters of stone and the height of arches. As if history could be erased and rewritten to justify architectural whims. Washington wasn’t waiting for an arch in the 19th century. It was waiting for roads, schools, and hospitals. But those things don’t capture the imagination. They leave no visible trace. They aren’t named after a president.

A Temporary Monument to Celebrate Victory

The only time Washington actually had an arch was in 1919, after World War I. But that structure, made of wood and plaster, was explicitly temporary, built to celebrate the return of American troops. It was never intended to last, and it was dismantled shortly after the festivities. Trump vaguely mentions an attempt in 1902, but historical records confirm no serious plans for an arch at that time. What Trump presents as a centuries-old aspiration is in reality nothing more than a series of non-events and nonexistent projects. The story he tells is a pure fabrication, pieced together from decontextualized fragments and imaginary desires.

This 1919 arch fascinates me. Because it was honest about its own transience. It said, “We’re celebrating a moment, then we’ll move on.” No outsized ego, no desire to leave a permanent mark on the landscape. Just a collective acknowledgment, and then life goes on. Trump, on the other hand, wants to carve his name in stone for centuries to come. He wants his arch to tower over the Lincoln Memorial, dwarf the White House, and rival the Capitol. It’s an obsession with permanence that borders on the pathological.

The Outlandish Proportions of a Presidential Ego

Trump doesn’t do things by halves. According to the Washington Post, he is planning a 250-foot-tall arch—about 76 meters. By comparison, the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, which he cites as a model, is only 50 meters tall. Trump’s arch would therefore be 50% taller than the Parisian monument. It would visually dwarf the Lincoln Memorial and rival the U.S. Capitol, which stands at 88 meters. When asked about this height, Trump did not deny it: “I’d like it to be the biggest of them all,” he said. Not the most beautiful, not the most significant—the biggest. As if size were the only criterion that mattered. As if physically dominating the landscape were synonymous with historical greatness.

This obsession with size makes me nauseous. Literally. Because it reveals a worldview where everything is measured in centimeters, in meters, in quantifiable comparisons. Trump doesn’t ask, “Which arch would best serve the collective memory?” ” He asks, “Which one will be the biggest?” It’s the mentality of a child in a sandbox—except that the sandbox is the capital of the United States, and the consequences are permanent.

Trump’s Architectural Frenzy

The Arch is just one project among an avalanche of construction projects launched by Trump since his return to the White House. He demolished the East Wing to build a $400 million ballroom, closed the Kennedy Center for two years of renovations, replaced the Rose Garden lawn with a patio reminiscent of his Mar-a-Lago estate, and redecorated several rooms in the White House with gilding and cherubs. He has installed a presidential “Walk of Fame” along the Colonnade, erected giant flagpoles on the North and South Lawns, and transformed the Oval Office into a gaudy version of himself. Trump is using his past as a New York real estate developer to leave an indelible physical mark on the presidency. Every building, every monument becomes an extension of his ego.

I wonder what it’s like to live with this constant need to transform, to build, to leave one’s mark. To never be satisfied with what already exists. Trump looks at the White House and sees something lacking. He looks at Washington and sees a blank canvas for his architectural fantasies. He can’t simply inhabit a place—he has to remake it in his own image. It’s exhausting just to think about it. And terrifying when you realize that these changes will last far longer than his presidency.

When Fiction Becomes Official Narrative

What is striking about this “ark” story is not just the historical falsehood itself. It is the ease with which Trump spouts it—without hesitation, without nuance—as if he were reciting established facts. “For 200 years, they’ve wanted to build an arch,” he asserts. Who are “they”? The residents of Washington? Congress? Successive presidents? Trump never specifies, because precision isn’t the goal. The goal is to create an impression of historical legitimacy, to make people believe that his project is part of a long, interrupted tradition. It’s a technique he has mastered perfectly: inventing a past to justify the present. And it works, because few people will check the facts. Because a lie, repeated loudly and often enough, eventually comes to resemble the truth.

What terrifies me most is how effective this strategy is. Trump lies, historians contradict him, the media report the contradiction, and… nothing changes. His supporters continue to believe his version. Because it’s simpler, more heroic, more gratifying. The truth is complicated, nuanced, sometimes disappointing. Trump’s lie is clear, direct, and flattering. He says, “We deserve this arch; we’ve always deserved it.” And that’s irresistible to those who want to believe in eternal, unchallenged American greatness.

A dubious and unverified comparison

Trump claims that 57 cities around the world have arches, and that Washington is the only major capital city without one. This figure of 57 is not backed by any source, list, or verification. Where did it come from? It’s a mystery. Trump throws it out as if it were obvious, as if it were a universally recognized fact. But even if this figure were accurate, the question remains: why should Washington imitate these other cities? Why would an arch be the ultimate symbol of urban grandeur? Paris has its Arc de Triomphe, to be sure. But London has no monumental arch, and no one questions its status as a global capital. Trump’s logic is based on an imaginary competition in which cities measure themselves against one another through monuments, as if architecture were an Olympic sport.

This obsession with comparison tires me. It’s as if every city had to have the same symbols, the same monuments, the same markers of “greatness.” As if architectural and cultural diversity were a problem to be corrected. Washington already has its iconic monuments: the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol. Why on earth would we need to add an arch? Because Trump decided so. Because he wants to leave his mark. Not to serve the city or the country, but to serve his ego.

No Transparency on Funding

Trump has not disclosed the estimated cost of his arch, who would pay for its construction, or whether he would seek approval from urban planning authorities. He simply announced that a “committee” would be formed to review the project. No details have been provided on the committee’s composition, no specific timeline has been set, and no public consultation has been announced. The project is moving forward in total secrecy, as if Trump could simply decree the construction of a 76-meter monument without being accountable to anyone. This lack of transparency is characteristic of his governing style: announce first, work out the details later, and ignore criticism. The fact that no one knows how much this arch will cost—or where the money will come from—doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s as if budget constraints didn’t apply to his grand projects.

This lack of transparency revolts me. Because we’re talking about public money, national heritage, and a landscape that belongs to all Americans. And Trump treats it as if it were his own private garden. No consultation, no debate, no transparency. Just announcements from Air Force One and scale models presented to wealthy donors. It’s a symbolic privatization of public space, and no one seems able to stop it.

When the Present Rewrites the Past

The Trump Ark controversy is much more than a simple historical inaccuracy. It is a demonstration of how power can distort reality to serve its own purposes. Trump isn’t just proposing a new monument—he’s inventing an entire history to justify it, transforming centuries of neglect into a collective aspiration. He takes real elements, such as the eagles on the Arlington Bridge, and rearranges them into a fanciful timeline. He claims that Washington has been waiting for 200 years, even though historians confirm the opposite. And he does so with disconcerting confidence, as if the truth were a matter of opinion rather than facts. This arch, if built, will not merely be an architectural monument. It will be a symbol of our era: one in which lies have become commonplace, history is malleable, and the truth is optional.

I end this article with a deep sense of weariness. Because I know that nothing I write will change anything. Trump will continue to lie, his supporters will continue to believe him, and the arch will likely be built. It will dominate the Washington skyline for decades, perhaps centuries. And every time someone looks at it, there will be two stories: the one Trump invented, and the one historians have documented. Which one will endure? I’d like to believe it’s the truth. But I’m no longer so sure. Because monuments last longer than facts. Because stone speaks louder than books. And because Trump has always known that.

Signed, Jacques Provost