In a move that has sent shockwaves through the tourist-industrial complex, the Washington Reflecting Pool has been given a fresh coat of paint. Yes, paint. The iconic mirror of American political narcissism, where every self-respecting senator has posed for a campaign ad at sunset, has been rendered in high-gloss navy. Cue the sound of a thousand Instagram influencers sobbing into their kombuchas.
Americans, bless their patriotic hearts, have reacted with characteristic restraint. “It’s an abomination,” wailed one man, clutching a flag-shaped tissue. “The sacred water of our forefathers, now a swimming pool for aquatic bureaucrats?” Others have noted that the paint job, approved by the Interior Department as part of a routine maintenance upgrade, is actually waterproof and non-toxic. But logic has never been the strong suit of a nation that once elected a Cheeto as commander-in-chief.
Meanwhile, across the pond, the UK National Trust has been caught with its tweed trousers down. Freshly tarred with the brush of domestic outrage over their own aquatic aesthetic crimes, they have been criticised for “frittering away” funds on similar projects. Old feudal ponds painted to look like lakes, moats touched up with a nice shade of duck-egg blue. The horror. The horror of middle-Englanders who want their historic water features to retain the authentic murk of centuries of neglect.
But let us not forget, dear reader, that this is a nation that painted its own prime minister in 2019, and he turned out to be equally waterproof. The National Trust, however, has issued a statement: “We are committed to preserving the historical character of our water features. That character sometimes includes a subtle hint of blue.” Subtle? So subtle that a heron recently tried to land on what it thought was a particularly reflective lily pad.
The true absurdity is not in the paint but in the reaction. Americans, who have plastic surgery for their lawns and who willingly drink water from a hose, find this desecration of a pool that was only built in 1968. The Brits, whose ponds have been breeding mosquitoes since the Magna Carta, are apoplectic that a few litres of masonry paint have been employed to stave off the inevitable algal bloom.
Yet there is a deeper symbolism here. The Reflecting Pool, once a surface upon which Martin Luther King Jr. saw a dream, now reflects a painted-over reality. The National Trust, keepers of a heritage that is increasingly a theme park, are merely maintaining the facade. In a world where everything is a brand, why shouldn't a pond be a shade of corporate blue?
So I raise a glass of aviation-grade gin to the painters. They have performed a necessary service: They have united two nations in shared outrage. They have shown that whether you are an American patriot or a British traditionalist, you can still be furious about something as meaningless as the colour of water. And in a world of genuine crises, that is a triumph of misdirected energy.
As the paint dries and the tourists return, let us remember: The reflection you see is not the sky, but the hand of man. And it is beautiful in its terribleness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a puddle to mourn.
