I Learned Exactly Why American Architects Stay Tight-Lipped About the Government

This spring, I attempted to write a story about design professionals’ reactions to the various changes coming to Washington, D.C.—the "Triumphal Arch," the East Wing demolition, and broader refurbishment efforts. I ran into one major problem: the architects I reached out to were a bit too nervous to speak openly about whether or not these projects would address civic needs, or if they’d simply be a waste of taxpayer and donor dollars. This isn’t necessarily unusual. Over the past 10-plus years that I’ve been covering the built environment, I’ve sought out architects, designers, landscape architects, and urban planners to get their informed opinions garnered from decades of working on complex projects that involve public funding, corporate interests, and public approvals, sometimes to be met with a nervous "no, thank you." Despite the courageous disclosure culture brought about by the #MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements, many of those working in the industry have played their cards close. As architecture hits central issues in D.C., as well as in lightning-rod projects like data centers, immigration detention facilities, and other endeavors that bring the profession to the fore, this recent round of rejections inspired me to dig deeper. I was interested in hearing why architects, specifically, remain reluctant.

Speaking out—whether against sketchy labor practices or questionable design endeavors—is a risky business. Like any other industry, architecture hinges on building relationships; clients don’t always come out of the woodwork from a Google search, and keeping stakeholders happy is a fragile task rife with risk. For larger-scale municipal projects that require taxpayer dollars issued at either the city, state, or federal level, architects frequently build relationships through procurement processes like Requests for Proposals, in which firms submit a prospective design and budget to be evaluated by the government entity. Those processes, however, are often a black box. One landscape architect who requested anonymity because he works on those types of large federal projects, who I’ll call Joe, says that this opacity in procurement discourages voicing critical opinions of federal projects, like the proposed triumphal arch. 

"One is never clear as to who is approving a project or a proposal among competing teams," he says. If an architect publicly criticizes a municipal project it could be counted as a judgement against them in any future applications, especially if those evaluating submissions were the subject of their earlier critique. He adds that, in this current administration, he wouldn’t be shocked if any public opposition to the government would be a reason to not select a particular team.

It explains why it was so difficult to find architects who wanted to speak openly and on the record about their opinions on the planned D.C. projects, but Joe says that the hush-hush culture of procurement causes bad business practices—like not being paid on time—to go unaddressed, too. Delayed payments are a common problem that stress architects’ abilities to make payroll and keep the lights on, but little can be done. In the private sector, these disputes can be resolved in court; on federal projects, Joe explains, "the reliability of one to be paid relies a little too heavily on political clout or sway that a certain employee of the department would have, or other leadership exerting pressure, in order to act on an invoice."

These problems don’t go away at the local level, either; in fact, Joe says that they can be exacerbated because the relationships between architects and city officials are more intimate. In Toronto, Dan Seljak was working as a marketing professional at an architecture and urban planning firm when he became a vocal critic of the city’s effort to close a local corner store that was operating without legal zoning. It was the first fight that would lead him to advocate for a 2025 city ordinance that would re-legalize corner stores across the city; he sometimes had to work against neighborhood groups with which his employer had worked. "There was some nervousness from executive management that the personal work I was doing as an advocate would somehow be seen as the position of the firm, which it wasn’t," he says.

"Opinions my own" in an X bio carries a lot of weight in these advocacy scenarios—those who wish to take a stance or express an industry-specific opinion might choose to moonlight, rather than rely on their firm to lead the way. Some might choose to join outside organizations like the American Institute of Architects; at the federal level, the organization has been a vocal critic of President Trump’s East Wing demolition and Kennedy Center projects, but Joe notes that even being a member of these groups (or signing a petition) could jeopardize his firm’s ability to secure future work. Some instead have opted to join groups like The Architecture Lobby, a nonprofit that helps professionals organize their firm around issues like climate, carceral architecture, and unionizing. Here, architects can find likeminded critics and build momentum, says Blake Fisher, an organizing committee member at the Lobby.

"I think it’s hard within the profession to dissent without fundamentally threatening your livelihood," he says. The Lobby, he explains, works to build power around how architects might have more agency in the types of projects their firms decide to take on, or to influence firm leaders to refuse certain projects or conditions. Here, moonlighting as an activist, critic, or advocate isn’t a matter of working alone. It’s a place to come together as an independent group to ensure that architects feel safe expressing their values in a way that can challenge architecture being used merely as a tool of wealth.

This seems to be at the heart of the issue: Architecture is fundamentally beholden to capital, and that capital has many, many strings attached. Elizabeth Timme, who leads the Los Angeles–based Office Of, specifically structured her design and planning firm as a nonprofit that partners with community organizations, aligning not just their visions but their work, too. "I think that if you want to be in a coalition and have an impact through this professional lens, you need to have a business operation that is exactly the same as a community-based organization or a community development corporation," says Timme. "You cannot say, ‘The rules that apply to you are nice. I’m here to help you do your thing, but those things don’t apply to me.’"

It can put them at odds with funders that have their own agendas, many of which she says are "trending conservative" as they chase federal dollars, but she believes that their model helps to undo the exchange of commodities that keeps architects quiet when facing unethical or problematic political-design agendas. It also allows her to speak more freely about projects and endeavors: In our conversation, she expressed frustration and disappointment at various initiatives to rebuild after the 2025 Los Angeles fires that have allowed marginalized residents to slip between the cracks.

After the fires, Office Of offered to help any Altadena resident of color rebuild their home for free. Acknowledging that homeowners of color (regardless of financial circumstances) are more likely to be displaced after natural disasters, their pro forma service—which captures each family’s unique financial circumstances and cost of living—is tied to one’s racial identity, not their income. The choice to provide this free service to BIPOC residents angered grantmakers, as well as large firms, she says. She wasn’t surprised.

"Many architects know that they want to be of service, and there’s a lot of very practical ways that architects can stand behind their values," says Timme. "However, that’s not the prevalent form to which architects are of service. Architects are of service through fees." In some ways it’s an unavoidable reality of working in architecture; pushing for change, raising issues with problematic business practices, or even refusing certain projects publicly might ruffle enough feathers to chill any progress. Still, Timme is hopeful, particularly as she’s seen her firm grow, and younger professionals opt out of capital-A architecture and move toward more holistic, urban practices like hers that align the architect’s operations and morals with those of the community-serving groups. "I think that more people want to figure out how to do better work that’s community stabilizing," she says, "and more people are aware that the built environment is the harm."

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