Rolling Up the Red Carpet at The Kennedy Center

On February 1^st, the Trump administration announced that The Kennedy Center will close for a two-year renovation, offering few specifics about the scope or purpose. Framed as a renewal effort, the decision appears less a visionary investment than a desperate response to a prolonged struggle for the institution’s survival. This follows steep declines in programming after Trump took over the governing board, vowed to reshape its programming to fit his vision of the American arts, and then renamed the Memorial after himself. With an uncertain future, the Center’s destiny may be aided by some basic economics and history.

One clear indicator of organizational health is the ability to generate revenue. Even in this example of a non-profit, public-private organization, financials and consumer demand signal value. By these metrics, The Kennedy Center’s recent economic performance is deeply troubling. Following Trump’s imposition of partisan artistic oversight, ticket sales immediately fell 64 percent. In the summer of 2025, the Center generated only $1.6 million in subscription revenue, down from $4.4 million the previous year. Given the Center’s $266 million in expenses in 2024 funded by a combination of taxpayer dollars ($45.73 million in fiscal 2025), grants, and donations, a 64 percent drop in tickets sales may seem a small amount in terms of real dollars, but it signals a drop in value perception that will have huge follow-on effects.

The Center’s ability to generate revenue collapsed immediately after political intervention began -- a strong market signal reflecting that public art, a public good, does not appeal to consumers as a politicized version.

Many artists delivered equally clear protest messages. They “voted” with their feet by refusing to perform on the Center’s stages. Consider the symbolic poignancy of renown composer Philip Glass’ withdrawal of the world premiere of his Abraham Lincoln symphony which The Kennedy Center commissioned, joining a growing wave of cancellations. Celebrated soprano Renee Fleming withdrew from her performances while the National Opera announced leaving the venue after 55 years in residence. These decisions are not isolated acts of defiance; they represent a collective refusal to participate in an imposed political theater. It appears likely, therefore, shutting down The Kennedy Center is a move to avoid further political humiliation.

As someone who grew up in a post-Soviet country with first-hand experience of censored arts, the takeover of The Kennedy Center feels eerily similar. In Soviet-era Kazakhstan, it was disheartening that, given an abundance of talented artists and a unique cultural heritage, opportunities to engage with diverse fine arts were severely limited or non-existent while Soviet-style approved arts were readily available. The heavy-handed Soviet machine dictated what creatives were allowed to display in public spaces. Soviet propaganda, characterized by rigid, socialist realism, presents an odd blend of hyper-realistic and sterile nationalistic imagery reminding consumers of the all-powerful state and Party. With the rare exception of the Auezov Theatre that preserved Kazakh cultural heritage, the arts in Kazakh SSR were largely subsumed by Soviet influence. Today, the preserved remnants of this Monumentalism Era serve as remembrance of state oppression. Only since Kazakhstan’s independence in 1991, have artists in all genres began to reclaim the nation’s vibrant culture.

Diana T. Kudaibergenova, a lecturer at the University of Cambridge, shows that in authoritarian Kazakhstan, protest art has emerged as a central form of political opposition compensating for the weakness of formal institutions and enabling citizens to imagine alternatives to entrenched power. Tracing the Kazakh Spring from 2019 through the January 2022 protests, she demonstrates how visual art, performances, exhibitions, and installations function as political communication, mobilization, and even protection against repression. Rooted in independent art spaces outside state patronage, these practices transformed underground artist networks into engines of civic activism, culminating in movements such as Oyan, Qazaqstan (Wake Up, Kazakhstan). Wherever democratic institutions are constrained, art becomes a substitute political infrastructure.

Artistic expression emerges from inner worlds often uncomfortable, challenging, and unpredictable. When that expression is dictated or constrained, art dies and what remains is performance without vitality. Audiences seek to be transported, unsettled, challenged, and stirred by sound, color, or movement. For that to happen, artists must be free, unhindered by propaganda, censorship, or partisanship. When artistic programming is shaped by political authority, consumers opt out and the market unravels.

Unless The Kennedy Center is free from political interference, there is little reason to expect recovery no matter how extensive or expensive the external renovations may be. While upgraded facilities may appeal to some, artistic vibrancy depends on institutional independence. A fresh coat of paint cannot undo the damage caused by politicization. What is missing from the current approach is an understanding that performing arts are not decorative luxuries; they are deeply intertwined with social and political life, which Mr. Trump understands well. If the goal is truly to preserve The Kennedy Center as a cornerstone of D.C.’s cultural heritage, then revival will require not cosmetic renewal, but political restraint.