An Ex-pat Patriot in DC: Mourning Our Republic

“After checking our IDs at three separate security points, being sniffed by dogs, and passing through two metal detectors, the hundred or so assembled for my tour finally walked up the steps of the East Wing. The area was flanked by metal barriers covered in navy banners bearing the Great Seal of The United States: ‘E Pluribus Unum.’ I rolled my eyes and thought, ‘Oh, the irony.’”—Stacey Harris-Papaioann

By Stacey Harris-Papaioannou

MYKONOS Greece—(Hubris)—May 2025―Tears flowed; I didn’t hold them back. Our guide touched my shoulder hesitantly. She’d heard my quiet sobs as she was standing next to me in the auditorium, where about 50 of us had viewed a short video about the historical significance of the Capitol Building in Washington DC. “Are you alright, M’am?” she asked.

Seeing the concern in her eyes, I quickly smiled and responded, “Give me five years with a Democratic Congress and administration and I should be OK again.” She smiled at me apologetically, then herded our group on through the historic halls of a building that has both witnessed the rise of good souls and the disrespect shown the rule of law on January 6, 2021.

For me, visiting Washington DC in March fulfilled a long-held desire. The average American youngster of my generation was ritually treated to a school trip to the nation’s capital, but that hadn’t happened for me. For all my activism and passion about democracy, the opportunity to tour my nation’s capital did not materialize until this year.

FAWCO, the Federation of American Women’s Clubs Overseas, of which I am a member, was holding their biennial conference in Annapolis in March, providing me with a great opportunity both to attend the conference and spend a few extra days in and around The District.

When I began contemplating the journey, which I would combine with my annual pilgrimage to Florida, it was September 2024, and I was campaigning ferociously for Harris-Walz. The other guy couldn’t possibly be elected again, not after his mercurial first term. But, then, it happened. And my joy for the journey was diminished considerably. I dreaded his presence in a place I had believed he would no longer be welcome.

The dark clouds of doom rolled in for me after November 5. The only bright spot came on January 20. The weather was so grimly frosty that the Inauguration had to take place inside the Capitol. Below zero temperatures were welcome on that day: they meant we would not be subjected to media squabbling about crowd size numbers on The Mall for days after. The incoming administration, notorious for its “alternative facts,” would not have the opportunity to inflate reality, at least for this one event, instead of letting viewers simply believe their eyes.

As my departure for the US drew closer, the barrage of chaos-creating executive orders multiplied. I was looking forward to viewing the historic monuments and buildings in person, but was filled with trepidation as we watched the other guy take a torch to longstanding norms and received wisdom.

Serious planning for my days in Washington began on February 1. I did not want to go into a White House where the other guy was currently in residence, but I thought I’d be a fool not to take the tour, considering my proximity and the odds against my being in DC again any time soon.

Learning that I would need to make a tour request through my congressional representative, I cheated, at first: Because I have a personal relationship with a Florida congressman, I knocked on his door. But, as I do not reside in his district, he told me I would have to approach the Republican congresswoman who is my official representative. Eventually, this woman did respond to me, though knowing I had served as Country Chair for Democrats Abroad Greece, she did nothing to fulfill my request, unsurprisingly. Simultaneously, though, I reached out to my former representatives in Illinois, and it was the office of Senator Tammy Duckworth that came through: her staff facilitated the tour.

Tour applications must be made a minimum of 30 days in advance as spaces fill up fast on the rota. There are tours three days a week, three tours each morning on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Once a tour request is confirmed, an email arrives from the White House. Within the correspondence is a link to submit all vital information to be vetted by Security. A list of guidelines covering what is and isn’t allowed is included.

Security is draconian. Instructions warn that phones are OK, but no flash photography is permitted nor carrying a bag of any kind. Hence, I wore my deep-pocketed black trench coat in which I stowed my car keys, credit cards, and driver’s license; my phone on a lanyard around my neck. Security screening areas permitted no photos but had plenty of photos of the other guy with Melania at his side, obviously from his time as 45th POTUS.

One day after flying into Dulles from Florida, I navigated my way out of the metro station and walked the few blocks to the designated entry destination across from Sherman Park. There were already about 30 or so people queued up. As I was alone, it was a great opportunity to eavesdrop on the folks around me as they talked about DC, the tour, and dinner plans. The day was filled with warmth and sunshine and people in line—a mix of ages, from young children to seniors and some international visitors—spoke with a variety of American accents. Everyone seemed to be dressed a bit more professionally than usual, and several men in line wore suit jackets.

After checking our IDs at three separate security points, being sniffed by dogs, and passing through two metal detectors, the hundred or so assembled for my tour finally walked up the steps of the East Wing. The area was flanked by metal barriers covered in navy banners bearing the Great Seal of The United States: “E Pluribus Unum.” I rolled my eyes and thought, “Oh, the irony.”

“E Pluribus Unum” is Latin for “Out of many, one,” and it has been a traditional motto of the United States since 1776, symbolizing the union of the original 13 colonies into a single nation. It appears on the Great Seal and on US currency.

I could feel my pulse accelerate and had to stifle my anger at the thought that the other guy is all about “Me, Myself, and I,” as opposed to e pluribus. His mission is division. He has little respect for the great melting pot that has given the idea of America its strength and hope.

On a side note, to further parse my animosity, prior to coming to DC, I had a mini family reunion in Florida with several cousins. Knowing me well and learning of my trip to the capitol, they joked that they would need to amass potential bail money and secure criminal legal counsel in The District for me. They were certain I would burst out, impassioned, against any MAGA I might encounter—elected official or wannabe king. I had purposely selected a Saturday tour as opposed to a weekday, as I was practically guaranteed that while I was flying into DC the other guy would be headed to South Florida, where he controlled the narrative, for a couple of rounds of golf.

As we entered the building, our first stop was The Gift Shop. I couldn’t help but giggle that this first contact with The People’s House involved taking our money. The area should probably have been designated The GRIFT Shop, as there was plenty of the other guy’s paraphernalia on offer, red hats “Made in China” and all.

The tour of the White House itself is free and self-guided, meaning you walk through areas cordoned off but with staff on call to answer questions. There is posted information for you to read about the significance and history of the space you are viewing as you walk through each area.

Six past presidencies were on display on the wall leading through to the interior of the
East Wing: those of Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama, Trump, and Biden. And directly outside was the Jackie Kennedy Garden. Upon exiting the building, you can your photo taken beneath the presidential seal. To the right as you exit is a portrait of Obama that I learned has now been replaced.

 

 

My journey to The District included visits to the Capitol building, the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, and the Washington monument. These places have long been recognized across the globe as symbols of the United States and democracy. But by the end of my first day in DC, my melancholy had taken a deep dive into depression as I processed what little respect the current administration has for the idea of democracy and the rule of law.

On my second day in DC, I choked on my sorrow as I toured the Capitol Building.

Odysseus Elytis, the great Greek Nobel laureate, poignantly explored the theme of feeling like a stranger in one’s own homeland. In his poem “A Beautiful and Strange Homeland,” he reflects on the paradoxical nature of Greece—a land that is both intimately familiar and profoundly enigmatic. Elytis’s work often intertwines themes of nostalgia and beauty with the alienation one might feel even in one’s native land, and this tension resonates with me now. 

As the US goes through political upheaval now, with daily strains on guardrails long in place set up to protect, especially, the nation’s most fragile, I feel estranged in my own country. There is a loss of both national pride and unity. Triggered by the reality of how far we have strayed from our ideals, sadness and loss overwhelmed me in the Capitol. I am still trying to shake it off. I understood that the entire city is dedicated to sacrifice. Male and female patriots died to protect, honor, and serve Democratic principles and the rule of law upon which the US Constitution is based. And today we have elected leaders who denigrate democracy and disrespect our armed forces and our veterans.

Generation upon generation of Americans have made the ultimate sacrifice to protect our existing freedoms and the ideal of that freedom. DC symbolizes the country’s history, values and sacrifices. The Lincoln and Jefferson memorials insist that visitors reflect upon the words and actions of the leaders who shaped the nation. Viewing the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial gave me goosebumps as I recalled his “I have a dream” speech, delivered just blocks away, to a nation struggling to become its best self.

The monuments remind us of our national identity and a very recently shattered unity as well as ideals of democracy, freedom, and justice. In the shadow of these monuments, I felt the full weight of the ideals they represent.

As in Athens, Greece, DC’s monuments immerse visitors in history at every turn. Walking through these sites, reading the inscriptions, and seeing others pay their respects make history feel immediate and real and, regrettably, the ideals we fought for seemingly fleeting, under the current administration. The District’s monuments serve as powerful reminders of the nation’s past, its struggles, and the once valued principles we took as givens as a culture. 

As we circled the tidal basin and viewed the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt carved in granite, one of my fellow travelers remarked that perhaps the entire Congress needed to take a field trip here to be reminded of what the country was all about. My anguish began to morph into determination by day four in DC.

 

Values, truths, and the sacrifice of our patriots and citizens will not be erased by MAGA spin campaigns to criminalize compassion, but why the American right has such a fanatical aversion to the higher qualities of the human spirit will forever elude me. Why demonize learning, empathy, scientific wonder, and the pursuit of justice? I don’t get it. Why is being kind and compassionate to one’s fellow humans a bad thing? And yet, in MAGAville, there are good humans and bad—read disposable—humans, and they will be sure to tell you the difference.

MAGAs acquire power by dividing and conquering. They target a somebody at fault for your circumstances and nurture your suspicion with blame and hate. Rather than feeling compassion for the one targeted, you channel your blame and make this individual or group the root of your problem. If “those somebodies” are vanquished or obliterated, your problem will supposedly disappear.

This is not a contest between red and blue, republican or democrat, but between being a kind human or a horrible one. MAGAs try to strip individuals of their innate compassion for others, replacing it with unjustifiable fear. The brown-skinned man who crosses the border into Texas in the cover of darkness, or the Muslim woman who seeks asylum after navigating treacherous seas are there to destroy your way of life. They will take away your livelihood, they will corrupt your children, they will make you forget Jesus.

The other guy and his minions want to end democracy. The other guy wants to amass power in such a way that he will never have to relinquish it.

But that will only happen if we let him.

Yes, I am depressed and dismayed. But neither of those feelings helps protect our rights. I am angry and outraged and in search of positive ways of channeling these feelings to do some good.

While I was still in the US, a few friends asked about my social media posts which were then uncharacteristically non-political and infrequent. I joked and told them that I wanted to make sure I got back to Mykonos without being waylaid by TSA. The last week in March, stories erupted of foreign nationals being sent back home because of what was on their phones in messaging or social media posts. And, then, the case of Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia was on everyone’s lips.

Now that I am safely home in Greece, I feel I can once again use my voice.

Read that again.

I feel safer in Greece and not at home as I use my voice against those who challenge democracy and the rule of law in the US, I, who always believed the First Amendment guaranteeing freedom of speech was a given.

Not anymore.

But my melancholy must morph into activism now.

As I begin each morning, I do not feel I have to trudge through the muck and mud of what’s happening across the Atlantic. Not because I am not in the US but because, even here, on my idyllic island in the Aegean, I still must face the daily consequences of the chaos the other guy is causing.

My right to vote by absentee ballot is being threatened by the SAVE Act that will force me to register in person.

My Social Security pension is currently in the stalled zone because of changes in that agency made by the other guy’s minions.

And my cost of living will be affected when tariffs are activated as the entire global economy falls victim to MAGA madness.

I am recalibrating by choosing a path that excites me and ignites me to take the lead. Working with others on the ground here in Greece and collaborators from across the globe, we will use our voices to point out injustice and insist on peaceful ways to change the narrative. The courts and public demonstrations seem like a good place to start.

The nation’s seal with “E Pluribus Unum,” is not meaningless. Yes, we are many. Yes, we are varied. But we are ONE. And that is our beauty as we strive to more fully embody unity; giving each individual the respect and opportunity the country promised from us all from the beginning. I, for one, intend to fight for the restoration of the republic.

As Benjamin Franklin put it, at the signing of America’s Declaration of Independence, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Later, in another fraught time, Martin Luther King, Jr., another of our country’s foundational teachers, said, “We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.”

Before things can get better, and MAGA’s philosophy can be defeated, we may all have to visit DC and raise our peaceful, determined voices together.

Editor’s Note: For readers fluent in Greek, here is the Elytis poem Harris-Papaioannou mentions in her essay:

Όμορφη και παράξενη πατρίδα
By Odysseus Elytis

Όμορφη και παράξενη πατρίδα
ωσάν αυτή που μου ’λαχε δεν είδα

Ρίχνει να πιάσει ψάρια – πιάνει φτερωτά
στήνει στη γη καράβι – κήπο στα νερά
κλαίει φιλεί το χώμα – ξενιτεύεται
μένει στους πέντε δρόμους – αντρειεύεται

Όμορφη και παράξενη πατρίδα
ωσάν αυτή που μου ’λαχε δεν είδα

Κάνει να πάρει πέτρα – τηνε παρατά
κάνει να τη σκαλίσει – βγάνει θάματα
μπαίνει σ’ ένα βαρκάκι – πιάνει ωκεανούς
ξεσηκωμούς γυρεύει – θέλει τύραννους

Όμορφη και παράξενη πατρίδα
ωσάν αυτή που μου ’λαχε δεν είδα