Barack Obama has apparently decided to become America’s newest architectural critic.
During a campaign appearance, the former president took a few shots at Donald Trump’s renovations of the White House, particularly his enthusiasm for gold.
Obama joked that the place looked like “Saddam Hussein opened a Cheesecake Factory.”
Now, I’ll admit, that’s a pretty funny line.
I can appreciate a good joke, even when it comes from somebody whose politics I don’t particularly admire.
But what interested me wasn’t the joke.
It was the response.
Trump defended the work being done at the White House, talking about damaged plaster, broken architectural ornaments, neglected masonry, and the importance of maintaining one of America’s most recognizable buildings.
He said something that caught my attention.
The White House is a symbol of America, and it ought to be maintained properly.
And that got me thinking about something that has bothered me for most of my life.
Why do we accept ugliness, filth, and neglect in places where ordinary Americans have to live?
I grew up in New York City.
And if you know anything about New York, you know that it has some of the most magnificent architecture in the world.
Beautiful old buildings. Extraordinary stonework. Neighborhoods filled with structures that were built by people who clearly believed that even an ordinary apartment building could be something worth looking at.
Chicago is another city like that.
The architecture is breathtaking.
Or at least it can be, when somebody bothers to take care of it.
But as a young boy growing up in New York, I would sometimes travel through neighborhoods that looked as though the city had simply given up on them.
Garbage everywhere.
Filthy streets.
Buildings falling apart.
Public spaces nobody seemed particularly interested in maintaining.
And I remember asking myself a question that I still ask today.
How can we live like this?
How can we have so much beauty in one part of a city and so much neglect just a few miles away?
And why do we act as though the people who live in those neglected neighborhoods are somehow supposed to accept it?
I remember the images of President Jimmy Carter visiting the South Bronx in the 1970s.
If you’ve never seen those photographs, look them up.
Entire blocks looked like the aftermath of a war.
Burned-out buildings. Abandoned properties. Rubble where homes and businesses had once stood.
This was New York City.
Not some distant battlefield.
Not a disaster zone on the other side of the world.
One of the wealthiest and most important cities in the United States of America.
And people were living in conditions that should have embarrassed every public official responsible for that city.
Now, let me tell you something.
I understand poverty.
I understand that people struggle financially.
I understand that not everybody can afford a beautiful home, expensive furniture, or a freshly landscaped front yard.
But there’s something I have believed since I was a boy.
Being poor is not the same thing as being dirty.
Those two things are not synonymous.
And one of the most powerful reminders of that came to me thousands of miles from New York.
I was traveling through Asia for the first time.
At one point, I passed through an area of extraordinary poverty.
Some of the homes were little more than makeshift structures.
Tin roofs.
Dilapidated buildings.
Living conditions that would make most Americans stop and stare.
It was the kind of poverty that stays with you.
But something else stayed with me even more.
It was school time.
And I began seeing children coming out of those neighborhoods, heading off to school.
They were wearing uniforms.
White shirts.
And I mean white.
Beautifully clean, pressed, starched white shirts.
Here were children living in conditions of terrible material hardship, yet they were going to school looking as though their families had taken extraordinary care to send them out into the world with dignity.
I couldn’t get over it.
The contrast was remarkable.
These families didn’t have much money.
Some barely had adequate housing.
But somebody had made certain those children were clean, properly dressed, and ready for school.
That sight made an enormous impression on me.
And I’ve never forgotten it.
Because it demonstrated something I wish more people understood.
Poverty can limit your choices.
It can make life brutally difficult.
It can deprive families of opportunities that other people take for granted.
But poverty does not automatically erase pride.
And dignity doesn’t require a bank account.
Now, I don’t want anybody misunderstanding what I’m saying.
I’m not suggesting that people living in neglected neighborhoods are responsible for every condition surrounding them.
If the city doesn’t collect the garbage, that’s a failure of government.
If landlords abandon buildings, that’s a failure of property owners and the systems meant to hold them accountable.
If public officials allow streets, parks, and infrastructure to deteriorate, that’s a failure of leadership.
And if families are struggling to survive, the last thing they need is somebody standing over them delivering a lecture about appearances.
But that makes the question even more important.
Why should poor people be expected to live with conditions that wealthier people would never tolerate?
Think about it.
Let garbage pile up on the streets of an expensive neighborhood, and watch how quickly the residents start calling City Hall.
Let a public park in an affluent community become overgrown and dangerous, and somebody will demand answers.
Let streetlights stop working in a fashionable neighborhood, and suddenly there’s an emergency meeting.
But in too many struggling communities, those same problems become part of the scenery.
People get used to seeing them.
Officials get used to ignoring them.
And eventually, everybody starts acting as though that’s simply the way things are.
Well, I don’t accept that.
I didn’t accept it when I was growing up in New York.
And I don’t accept it now.
I think there’s something deeply wrong with a society that spends enormous amounts of money on grand political promises while allowing ordinary neighborhoods to deteriorate.
Politicians love talking about helping the poor.
They love holding press conferences.
They love announcing programs.
They love explaining how much money they’ve allocated to this initiative or that initiative.
And then you drive through certain neighborhoods and wonder where on earth all that money went.
The sidewalks are still broken.
The buildings are still neglected.
The garbage is still there.
But somewhere, somebody has a very impressive report explaining how successful the program has been.
Perhaps they should print the report on something sturdy enough to patch the potholes.
This is one reason the argument over the White House struck me as more interesting than another round of insults between two presidents.
The White House is a historic building.
It belongs to the American people.
Of course it should be maintained.
Of course its architectural features should be preserved.
And of course Americans are entitled to debate how much should be spent on renovations and whether particular changes are appropriate.
But the larger principle shouldn’t be controversial.
The places we inhabit say something about what we value.
That applies to the White House.
It applies to a public school.
It applies to a city park.
And it applies to a neighborhood where families are doing everything they can to get by.
There is nothing noble about neglect.
There is nothing compassionate about allowing people to live surrounded by filth.
And there is nothing progressive about making excuses for conditions that should have been corrected years ago.
I would love to see more politicians spend less time arguing about the décor at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and more time asking why some American neighborhoods still look as though nobody in authority has cared about them for decades.
Not just during election season.
Not just when the television cameras arrive.
Every day.
Because the people living in those neighborhoods matter every bit as much as the people living in the most expensive ZIP codes in America.
And they deserve surroundings that reflect that.
I still think about those schoolchildren in Asia.
Those bright white shirts.
Those carefully prepared uniforms.
The pride that was evident even in circumstances of extraordinary hardship.
I didn’t know those families.
I didn’t know their stories.
I didn’t know what sacrifices had been made to send those children to school looking that way.
But I knew I was witnessing something important.
A determination to preserve dignity when material circumstances offered very little comfort.
And perhaps that’s the lesson we ought to remember.
Money matters.
Opportunity matters.
Good government matters.
But so do pride, care, responsibility, and the belief that the place you call home is worth looking after.
Whether it’s a magnificent historic building in Washington or a tiny house with a tin roof halfway around the world.
And whether you’re wealthy or struggling to make ends meet.
Nobody should have to be rich to live with dignity.
And nobody should be expected to accept filth simply because they’re poor.
That’s something I believed as a young boy in New York.
And after everything I’ve seen in the years since, I believe it even more strongly today.
— Bo
Hear more of my observations, stories, and conversations on Rush Hour with James Golden on the Red Apple Podcast Network.
