The House We Built

By Crystal Ellington

If I have to be honest, Jalen Hurts really screwed me. The Super Bowl star’s decision not to be honored at the White House set off a chain reaction in my head—one that brought up questions about loyalty, legacy, and who our democracy is really for.

Here I was, excited about my visit to the White House that had been scheduled weeks in advance through the HillVets LEAD Program —a fellowship that brings veterans to D.C. to sharpen their leadership skills and engage directly with policymakers. Then the story broke: Jalen Hurts would not be attending the White House visit to celebrate the Eagles’ Super Bowl victory.

Now, on the record, Hurts noted that he had “scheduling conflicts.” That didn’t stop basically the entirety of America—myself included—from speculating why he really didn’t go. It just so happened that other players, like A.J. Brown and DeVonta Smith, had scheduling conflicts as well.

I can’t say that I blame them.

Jalen Hurts is the first Black quarterback to make multiple Super Bowl appearances and the fourth Black quarterback to win the Super Bowl in its 58-year history, and the championship house he built with the Eagles built over the years was done meticulously and intentionally. Play by play. Brick by brick. The last time the Eagles won was in 2018, so we’re talking seven years of curating a team. If I were Jalen, I wouldn’t willingly put myself in a situation that could compromise the sanctity of—or jeopardize the legacy of— the house I helped to build. 

For a moment, I felt like a sellout for even contemplating going to this place that, quite frankly, feels like it really “ain’t really for the people” right now—and let me be clear, when I say “for the people”, I mean ALL the people. Unfortunately, it could be misconstrued that who is in the White House is representative of who America is and what Americans stand for; that is especially false at this current moment in history.

As I ruminated on my decision, I brought it up at a dinner with trusted colleagues—in a French restaurant, no less. I explained how it felt like a betrayal of the work I had devoted myself to since honorably separating from the Army in 2021. I thought about the veterans that I spoke to in Seattle during the throes of COVID, who were overcome with tears as I handed out food, blankets, and toiletries while I volunteered with Minority Veterans of America. Or the Black and Latinx high school students who gathered every Monday night at the Department of Education building in Washington, D.C. for College Bound, a mentorship program that prepares students from marginalized communities for college.

As I shared my concerns at the table, my peers listened intently, but I couldn’t place the look on their faces—I slowly recognized it as empathy. I vividly remember the words one colleague who said, “Not only should you go, but it’s your civic responsibility. That’s your house too.”

So, as I prepared to take the tour—wearing all black, because we should all be in mourning at this point—I mentally girded myself to see photos of the current Commander in Chief displayed everywhere, like a proverbial shrine to the decline of our democracy as we know it. However, what I was met with was beautiful art, pieces of American history preserved over the last two hundred years, and portraits of figures who had changed history forever, including those of President and First Lady Obama.

It then became apparent to me that this house signified many of the same principles that made the Eagles champions—determination, grit, and a devotion to something greater than a single individual. I felt an extreme sense of pride to be a part of the colorful, timeless tapestry that comprises American democracy. It was powerful to walk the same halls as Booker T. Washington, the first Black man invited to dine with a president at the White House or Victoria Woodhull, the first female presidential candidate in 1872.

I also felt the unbearable weight of the implications of the current administration, one that is unraveling that very same tapestry with incredible speed. A tapestry that includes women at every echelon of leadership within the military. The Tuskegee Airmen. LGBTQ+ servicemembers. The National Museum of African American History. The attempted erasure of the aforementioned doesn’t mean they didn’t exist—despite what those in power would have us believe. So, as I stood on that hallowed ground, acutely aware of my double consciousness—both pariah and patriot—I knew that I was honoring the legacy of all those who came before me.

If anything, touring the building that is a symbol of our American ideals showed me that, like so many others still in the fight, my work isn’t done—and probably won’t be in my lifetime. However, like so many buildings that have stood the test of time, we must continue to build brick by brick. Just like Jalen.

We have to be a lot more careful about who we let into our house.

Crystal Ellington is a US Army Special Forces veteran and serves on the board of The Chamberlain Network.