The Smoke Eater for Aug. 26, 2025
Guarding down by DC's lazy river.
Good day, this is The Smoke Eater for August 26, 2025, and don't blame me, I just work here....
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1720, 2025-08-25
The Wharf
Washington DC
About 20 years ago, Maine Ave., in South West DC, is where you'd go to get fresh seafood. Residents would fish along the Potomac River for their dinner. Merchants would sell blue crabs and oysters trucked in at dawn from fisherman out on the Chesapeake Bay.
There isn’t much left of the old market. There are still some fishmonger’s down on Maine Ave., now officially called “The Municipal Fish Market at The Wharf.” The men selling their morning haul from an old shack or rusting trucks aren’t men reeking of rotting fish guts. Now there are two rows of clean, white tents tucked into the shadow of the 395 bridge that leads into D.C.
Right now, there's at least a dozen National Guard soldiers walking back and forth along the renovated, upscale split retail and residential area that’s been rebranded as, “The Wharf.”
They're carrying pistols today. Most of them have strapped their sidearm to a plastic kydex or heavy nylon leg holster. A few have them fastened to their chest rig. Nobody looks like they have any intention of using them.
If you listen to the administration, you'd think that this area, where children run through a small fountain as old men in goofy Panama hats nosh al fresco on overpriced oysters and cocktails, was overrun with rapists, sodomites and a child slave trade run by transnational criminal gangs.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
As a kid, at the height of the crack epidemic, I remember coming down here with my grandfather to get crabs and seeing a bunch of old winos, and divorcees living in houseboats. In my early 20s, when the city was well into recovery, I could ride my bike down here for a cheap meal. There was still a fair bit of trash, homeless folks, and the pungent aroma of an open-air seafood market hung in the air. It wasn’t anything unexpected.
It’s a city. Cities are dirty. And things get bad when your budget is dependent upon a bunch of wealthy and transient politicians who’ve spent decades fucking with the city’s most basic funding, services, social programs, infrastructure and the power of local government.
There are still winos and divorcees at Maine Ave., or “The Wharf.” Instead of Mad Dogs, they're drinking Malbecs. The divorcees don't slink off into their houseboats after work, they strut (preferably, after happy hour).
The only thing remotely menacing is some asshole walking around with a large Bluetooth speaker slung across his shoulder. He shuffled his way to Recreation Pier, an outcropping along the waterfront walkway with recycled plastic tables and chairs; swings; boat rentals; and a large decorative awning. He sat and watched the water taxis ferry people up and down the river for a moment before slothing off. He dragged his hideous rubber sandals - a cross between purple Yeezy's and Crocs - across the planks of wood as he strolled. This man has no intention of running from anyone because, aside from being obnoxious, he isn’t committing a crime.
And being an obnoxious asshole isn't a crime. At least not yet.
So hundreds of guardsmen from Ohio, Mississippi, Tennessee, South Carolina, Iowa, and West Virginia just pace back and forth. Keeping a peace that was, for all their flaws, already enforced by the Washington Metropolitan Police Department.
With thumbs hanging off OCP plate carriers, and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, they put on the show the president ordered them to.
They didn't notice the spastic toddler who ran off down Recreation Pier. The students and remote workers corralled him for his exhausted mother. The guard hanging around the pier just kept talking with one another and trying not to look bored.
The last time federal agents and the Guard were called into D.C. was after an army of Trump supporters attempted an insurrection on January 6th, 2021. Guardsmen were stationed throughout the Capitol region, heavily armed and armored in riot suits. Capitol Hill became a fortress covered in barbed wire, teaming with agents from alphabet agencies.
Back then, people in D.C. welcomed the Guard and federal agents. They were looking for neo-Nazis; white supremacists; armed militias; Three Percenters and hundreds of lone wolf attackers that were, by definition, homegrown domestic terrorists intent on denying the peaceful transfer of power to destabilize the government. Now, some of those same people are serving in the second Trump administration.
Today, the general mood towards the guard might be seen as indifferent. Nobody is sure what they’re doing here. Most just silently pace back and forth. Whenever there’s a photographer appears, they’ll wince ever so slightly, duck their heads, cover their faces or turn around.
The few guardsmen who will actually talk say they’re on a peacekeeping mission. While they can’t outright say it, the unspoken implication is that they’re keenly aware that this is all very stupid.
As I was leaving The Wharf, one group of Guardsman stopped me. They were friendly when I ran into them earlier. One asked where they could find my photos, so I passed them my card. I explained they could find much of my work on Getty and AFP, and more on my website.
“Remember,” I said ad I turned to leave, unsure of what more I could offer, “To stay hydrated.”
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