The Flag Over Congress: A Story of Struggle, Resilience, and Democracy

On a brisk December morning in 1861, as the Civil War raged and the fate of the Republic trembled in the balance, a peculiar request arrived at the office of Architect of the Capitol Thomas Walter. The letter, written in a determined but uncertain hand, came from a Union soldier stationed near Manassas, Virginia. The young man, a corporal from New York, had written simply: “I wish to see the flag still flying over Congress. If it does, then I know the Union still stands.”

The request was relayed to the Capitol’s doorkeeper, who assured the soldier that the Stars and Stripes had not, and would not, come down. But his letter found its way into a conversation with President Abraham Lincoln, who, in his quiet but decisive manner, remarked: “Then let him see it.” A special order was given to fly the flag continuously, day and night, as a beacon to all Americans that the Union endured.

From that moment forward, the flag atop the Capitol became more than mere decoration. It became a sentinel, a reassurance to all those who fought and sacrificed that democracy, fragile and battered, still held.

The tradition of the Capitol flag endured beyond the war, finding new resonance in times of crisis. When the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 brought America into another great conflict, the flag stood firm, a silent testament to national resolve. And in the days after September 11, 2001, as smoke still curled over the ruins of the Pentagon and the Twin Towers, members of Congress—Democrats and Republicans alike—stood together on the Capitol steps, singing God Bless America with the flag flying above them.

But the flag over the Capitol has not only witnessed moments of war and crisis. It has stood in silent testimony to the great strides of the nation—the passage of the Civil Rights Act, the swearing-in of the first African American president, the celebrations of suffrage and equality. It has remained through bitter political divides, through assassinations and scandals, through reckonings and reconciliations, always reminding those who pass beneath it that the great American experiment is not yet finished.

Today, thousands of American flags are flown over the Capitol each year at the request of citizens who wish to mark special occasions—birthdays, retirements, military service, the passing of a loved one. Each flag is carefully raised, then folded and sent with a certificate stating the date it flew over the seat of government. The practice, which began during the Great Depression, has connected generations to that flag atop the Capitol dome, making it not just a symbol of Washington, but a piece of personal history for those who hold it.

And still, the original promise of that wartime letter from 1861 lingers. A country divided, a democracy challenged—yet the flag flies. It flies for the young soldier who wrote that letter long ago. It flies for those who sacrificed, for those who fought, for those who believed in the nation’s ideals even when they were difficult to uphold. It flies for those who have struggled to make America live up to its promise. It flies for the hopeful and for the weary. It flies not just to signal that the government still stands, but to remind the nation that its greatest work remains unfinished.

And so, whether viewed through the mist of a winter morning or the golden light of a summer evening, the flag above the Capitol remains where it was meant to be—not just an emblem of history, but a beacon for the future.