She writes not only as a former first daughter, but as someone who grew up believing the White House belonged to the country first and any family second. To her, the demolition of the East Wing feels less like a renovation than an erasure, a decision made behind closed doors that treats history as disposable décor. The chandeliers, the corridors, the rooms where staffers worked unseen—she mourns them as chapters torn from a shared national diary.
His allies counter with blueprints and budgets, insisting the new ballroom will expand public events, host more state functions, and cost taxpayers nothing. They frame it as proof that patriotism can look like progress, not preservation under glass. Between those visions lies the real fault line: is the people’s house a living institution that must adapt, or a fragile archive that powerful tenants are duty-bound to leave almost untouched for whoever comes next?
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