A complaint for negligence, recently filed in the District of Columbia, describes what it calls “The Longstanding Hole in the Sidewalk in front of the IRS building.” The document offers a capsule history of the six-inch-deep, eight-inch-wide circular void in the tax agency’s sidewalk. Around September of 2011, the hole was filled with cement. By the summer of 2015, the cement had been removed. Orange cones subsequently appeared around the hole. That November, D.C.’s Department of Transportation determined that the hole needed to be filled, “contingent upon funding and weather.” A month later, the department referred the hole-filling job to the feds. Cones remained around the hole, off and on, through 2017. Years passed. The cones disappeared, along with Presidential Administrations and the Bed Bath & Beyond franchise. The hole in the sidewalk remained.
Since July of 2015, the hole has been “open, unfilled, and unlevel with the sidewalk, placing pedestrians at risk of stepping into it,” according to the complaint, which names the District of Columbia and the federal government as defendants. The plaintiff is a Georgia woman named Renee Ford. In June of 2024, Ford, who was then seventy, crossed Constitution Avenue after leaving the Smithsonian. Upon reaching the sidewalk, she accidentally stepped into the hole and fell, injuring her head, knee, hand, and foot. Ford has seen many doctors since then. She is asking for seven million dollars in damages; the District of Columbia and the federal government have been arguing about which of them is on the hook for the hole.
Recently, a curious pedestrian, visiting D.C., spent a few hours observing the hole as others blithely passed or carefully maneuvered around its maw. The hole was in its purest state: no signage, no cones. Just a chasm. The near-perfect circularity of the hole suggested that it had once held a pole or a post. Its contents that day: a dozen or so deteriorating leaves (some kind of oak, mixed with Japanese zelkova); two butts (Marlboro, Dunhill); four nutshells (probably pistachio); and light-bluish bits of a bird’s eggshell (species unknown but guessing robin).
“Oh, there is a hole,” a woman named Anita, who didn’t usually walk that way, said. She stopped to peer inside. “They should fix it, but they should put a cone or something.” A man on a scooter swerved around the hole, and a squirrel scampered toward it, before turning away. A young couple walked past. “It’s not right,” the man said. A bus driver, wearing a reflective vest, stopped to investigate. “Oh, man,” he said. “When it gets dark early, it’s probably not easy to see.” He suggested reporting the hole—but to whom? “You don’t know what side it’s on,” he said. “Is it D.C. or federal?”
“Usually there’s, like, a phone number you can call,” a mustachioed pedestrian said, after taking a look.
“They should fill it up,” a young woman said, eying the hole. She got the attention of a man in a suit, who was heading into the I.R.S. with another man. “I’m sure they would know,” she told him, pointing at the building.
“We’ll let them know,” he said.
Inside, a woman behind a lobby desk was aware of the hole. “Transportation already know,” she said. “They ain’t come out to do nothing about it.”
The occupant of a security booth across the street, beside the Smithsonian, wasn’t getting involved. “We have nothing to do with that,” he said.
Outside, near the hole, a man removed his headphones to offer comment. “Seems symbolic,” he said, noting the hole’s proximity to the I.R.S. building.
As five o’clock approached, foot traffic increased. “I’ve stepped in that,” a woman wearing glasses said, by the hole. A man from Texas, gaping at the hole, said, “I’ve never seen nothing like that.” A retired Middle East-policy guy stopped to chat. “You see a lot of cracked and uneven slabs” in D.C., he said. “I’ve tripped right along here.”
As the sun set, a golden light bathed the façade of the I.R.S. building, which is engraved with a quote from Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.: “Taxes are what we pay for civilized society.” ♦
