The weekend of the 2025 presidential inauguration, Washington, D.C. hosted a legion of Trump fans donning red MAGA hats, American flags and patriotically charged costumes. The so-called “silent majority” had found its voice and showed out, sporting their finest red attire. Driving four hours from Durham, NC, we went to conduct interviews and take photos, observing Trump’s return to the White House.
Walking through the Washington subway on the morning of Jan. 19 — the day before the inauguration — bits of scarlet hastily bobbed through the crowd. Undeterred by Washington’s sub-freezing temperatures and wind chill, determined admirers power walked out of the station. Outside, they joined thousands of others in line for Trump’s final “Victory Rally” in the Capital One Arena.

Through the afternoon, supporters inched their way through the snaking line hoping to gain entrance into the arena. As the 3 p.m. kickoff neared, supporters still trudged through frozen mud as an onslaught of rain, sleet, snow and hail frizzed the the tight, blonde curls of middle-aged women and dampened the clothes of the ill-prepared. Lacking volunteers or organizers, prospective attendees relied on disinterested police to guide them through a series of steel gates and concrete checkpoints. While the path of the crowd was heavily secured, the line itself was governed by assertive personalities where legitimate authority fell short. Self-enforcement reigned as frustrated men threatened to physically confront line cutters, all in front of their young, onlooking children.
By 3:30 p.m., after six hours in the twisting line, we stepped through a break in the towering fence. From outside the pack, turning corner after corner, we had a view unattainable to those still plodding forward — the procession was a futile mess. Rather than celebratory, the atmosphere was one of frustration and betrayal as those who’d waited for hours realized they would never get seats. Although there had been no formal announcement, it became clear to many that the doors had closed long ago, leading thousands to leave the line, scrambling and forcing their way into the futile red crush surrounding the arena.

On the edge of the fenced crowd, an old woman, seemingly alone, sat shivering against the gate. Paying no mind, tired and cold supporters moved forward as the woman struggled to her feet. As we left the mass clumped by the Capital One entrance, a cold slush began falling once again and the merchandise hawkers’ cotton winter MAGA hats suddenly became “water-proof.”
That night, those disappointed by their inability to get into the Victory Rally learned from their mistakes, determined to arrive earlier for Monday’s public post-inaugural celebration — also hosted at the Capitol One Arena — as redemption. Some never left the crowd in front of the arena, sleeping on the concrete in improvised camps for a chance to see Trump in the flesh. In the dark early hours of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, overshadowed by Trump’s second inauguration, supporters yet again made their way through the fenced line winding in front of the same arena.

The people were out and the energy was high. By 5:30 a.m., thousands were already in line. Police and the National Guard paced in front of checkpoints and armored trucks blocked off intersections. A middle-aged Asian-American man dressed in a general costume repeatedly passed beside the crowd, waving an American flag, chanting Trump slogans and saluting fellow supporters. A woman, wearing a “Never Surrender” rice paddy hat, followed closely behind. In the dense queue, a man waving another American flag beckoned us to snap his photo, which led to a conversation with a former Trump campaign volunteer. Our chat was cut short as the woman eagerly joined a booming “U-S-A” chant ripping its way through the crowd.
Merch vendors, some busing all the way from the Bronx, woke up bright and early, ready to hustle. Every facet of Trump’s personality, image and brand was commodified in merchandise, much of which was ironically made in China. MAGA T-shirts, scarves and winter hats were the most sought-after items in the sub-freezing temperatures; however, vendors also displayed tackier items including golden chains affixed with Trump bobbleheads and automatronic Trump dolls banging cymbals. Many supporters wore red visors with his signature orange swoop peaking out, or shirts with “I’m voting for the felon and the hillbilly.” In the vast line, supporters mimicked Trump’s dance moves, mannerisms and speaking style.

This same file weaved through the heart of Chinatown, under the Friendship Arch, a traditional paifang. The irony was clear as both Biden and Trump’s national security strategies have centered on managing tensions between the U.S. and China. Foreign reporters wearing neutral palettes peppered the red crowd, having crossed oceans for the opportunity to interview and snap photos of the often carnival-like spectacle.

A man mounted a parking meter and shouted, “Doesn’t this feel like one big family reunion!?” A roar of affirmation erupted from the almost exclusively white crowd. Despite the confident proclamation, thinking back to the elderly woman who’d been sitting along, his words felt empty. What kind of family doesn’t come to the aid of the vulnerable? The individualism of the pro-Trump crowd contrasted starkly with the weekend’s simultaneous left-wing counter-protests, which emphasized community solidarity and grassroots organization. At the Party for Socialism and Liberation Rally, volunteers wearing neon safety vests maintained order for the march while others towed wagons and handed out free PB&Js, water and hand warmers.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.
As many fought off the inauguration’s morning chill, savvy opportunists walked by with buckets of hand warmers and steaming hot coffee — for a price of course. Passing a woman handing out stickers for the Daily Wire, we asked her whether she was a fan of Ben Shapiro, founder and leading face of the conservative media company. “I don’t know what that is,” she responded.

By the light of the morning, people started trickling through security. As supporters crossed the final layer of fencing, they filed through concrete dividers on which photographers perched, snapping aerials of the incoming crowd. Heaps of garbage and the remains of tents and sleeping bags, abandoned by the diehard supporters who’d slept in line, surrounded the entrance. Snickers, hand warmers, tangerines and even a full bottle of Bacardi were left behind as people dropped their non-essentials before security screening.
Those unfortunate enough to have kept bags or prohibited valuables frantically begged trustworthy-looking passerbys to hold onto their cameras and iPads. A woman who’d been waiting since 2:30 a.m. complained shrilly to anyone in earshot that her Louis Vuitton bag wasn’t permitted past the checkpoint. A stocky and fully inked security guard stood above the crowd hoarsely yelling, “If you have hats, take them off and put them in your hats,” mixing up his instructions after hours of shouting.

When Trump’s official inaugural ceremony began in the Capitol Building, his hardcore supporters waited a mile away, praying for a chance to get into the arena. They breathed warmth into their hands and bought overpriced merchandise, talking about the dawn of a new “Golden Age.” Simultaneously, a crisply dressed Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg casually took their warm seats in the front row of Trump's inauguration ahead of incoming Cabinet members.
Spending over $270 million on Trump's campaign, Musk has carved out a central role for himself in the incoming administration as leader of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) and Trump's right-hand man. His meteoric and uniquely public ascent into Trump’s inner circle blatantly demonstrates the outsized power and control money buys in our pay-to-play political system. However, Trump supporters at the inauguration expressed little concern about Musk’s proximity to power. Their sentiment was summarized by — he’s the richest man in the world, clearly he’s got some good ideas. When asked about Musk's massive conflicts of interest, a man waved the question off: “I’m not too worried.”

After taking the oath of office, Trump’s motorcade brought him to 20,000 adoring fans in the Capital One Arena, where a painfully awkward Musk raised controversy over an overt Nazi salute. Whether this was terminally-online rage bait or a “Roman salute” is irrelevant. The immediate torrent of excuses and lack of condemnation is uncomfortable, but unfortunately not surprising as even the most poisonous political rhetoric becomes normalized in American politics. Meanwhile, Trump signed Executive Orders, launching the pens into a roaring crowd. In the first hours of his presidency, Trump instituted pardons for Jan. 6 rioters, attempted to end birthright citizenship, withdrew from the Paris Climate Accords and removed protections for civil servants.

Trump’s erratic first week in office promised strength but brought chaos. The blitzkrieg of Executive Orders and scandalous Cabinet appointments has overwhelmed opposition from both sides of the aisle. On the left, bandwidth has been stretched thin by Stephen Miller’s “flood-the-zone” tactic, while on the right, Republicans unconvinced by Trump’s policies or appointments are threatened with well-funded primary challenges by TPUSA and Elon Musk.
Although many of Trump’s Executive Orders already face legal challenges, the policies’ draconian effects are materializing close to home. On campus, Duke undergraduate organizations have begun to warn students to prepare for potential raids by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), an agency conveniently invited to this week’s career fair.
Despite centering the working class in his campaign, Trump has filled his Cabinet with billionaires whose combined net worth exceeds the GDP of 172 countries. Although supposedly championing meritocracy, the administration is stocked with friends, family and big donors. Such appointments draw attention to the striking divide between the populist messaging that attracted Trump’s voters and the oligarchic reality of his administration.

Although obvious to many watching the inauguration, those celebrating at the Capital One Arena either didn’t register or didn’t mind the blatant display of wealth seated behind Trump as he began his second term. When only the rich, well-connected and lucky got seats to Trump’s exclusive inauguration in the Capitol, while the majority of his supporters were left in the cold, one has to wonder whether Trump’s new age will be golden or gilded.
Polyna Uzun and Quaid Sutherland are Trinity seniors.