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In 2016, American artist Julian Raven submitted his towering 7 x 15 foot portrait of President Donald J. Trump—titled Unafraid and Unashamed—to the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery. The massive, boldly rendered painting had previously been exhibited at the 2016 Republican National Convention and had received wide public attention. Raven’s submission was rooted in a belief that the Gallery, as a federally supported cultural institution, existed to reflect America’s diverse historical and political landscape.

But the Gallery’s director, Kim Sajet, rejected the portrait, stating that it was “not from life, too big, too political, too pro Trump and no good!” That justification, used to bar a patriotic image of a sitting president, would later unravel. Not only was the same Gallery eager to accept overtly political pro-Obama works, including Shepard Fairey’s 2008 “Hope” campaign poster and two enormous 7-foot portraits of President Obama, it had repeatedly embraced political content—so long as it aligned with progressive ideology.

In 2025, Sajet resigned after former President Trump publicly stated that she rejected Raven’s painting “because it was too political,” declaring her conduct “highly partisan.” These events have exposed a glaring constitutional crisis, one that now compels intervention by the United States Supreme Court.

Julian Raven’s lawsuit, Raven v. Sajet, No. 17-cv-01240 (D.D.C.), alleged a direct violation of the First Amendment: viewpoint discrimination in a public cultural institution. The Smithsonian is chartered and funded by Congress, its board includes federal officials, and it serves the American public. The Constitution applies.

In Rosenberger v. Rector and Visitors of Univ. of Virginia, 515 U.S. 819 (1995), the Supreme Court made clear: once a government entity opens a platform for expressive content, it may not exclude speech based on viewpoint. That’s exactly what Sajet did—and never denied. Her defense relied on the government speech doctrine and qualified immunity, avoiding a factual dispute but suppressing dissent.

The hypocrisy of Sajet’s curatorial stance is stark. While Julian Raven’s pro-Trump portrait was rejected for being “too political,” the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery enthusiastically welcomed and promoted explicitly political pro-Obama artwork—most notably, Shepard Fairey’s 2008 “Hope” campaign poster, and two massive 7-foot-tall side-by-side portraits of President Barack Obama by Chuck Close.

Fairey’s Hope image, which became the iconic symbol of Obama’s presidential campaign, was first added to the Gallery’s collection in 2009 and displayed prominently again in 2013 during Obama’s second inauguration celebrations. It was unquestionably campaign propaganda, not neutral portraiture. Yet the Gallery embraced it as culturally and historically significant.

More strikingly, in conjunction with these celebrations, the Gallery displayed two towering, side-by-side portraits of Barack Obama by renowned artist Chuck Close—each approximately 7 feet tall, echoing the monumental scale of Julian Raven’s own work. These Close portraits were produced from photographs taken during Obama’s presidency and celebrated as part of a broader cultural moment exalting the 44th president.

Yet when Raven submitted a similarly scaled and patriotic image of President Trump, the same institution that praised and promoted Obama’s political iconography turned him away.

This is not about curatorial standards or artistic quality. It is about political alignment. And in a government-funded institution, such bias is not just wrong—it’s unconstitutional.

The District Court dismissed Raven’s case under Pleasant Grove City v. Summum, 555 U.S. 460 (2009), reasoning that art curation is government speech and therefore immune from First Amendment scrutiny. But this approach was narrowed in Matal v. Tam, 582 U.S. 218 (2017), where the Court held that viewpoint discrimination is unconstitutional—even when the government oversees the platform.

“The danger of viewpoint discrimination is that the government is favoring some viewpoints and disfavoring others,” wrote Justice Alito.
— Tam, at 235

The Smithsonian, like Amtrak in Lebron v. National Railroad Passenger Corp., 513 U.S. 374 (1995), is a quasi-governmental entity: federally created, governed, and funded. Its decisions must conform to the Constitution.

Raven’s case is not isolated. It fits within a robust tradition of First Amendment protections for controversial art:

• Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ (1987): Despite public outrage, museums refused to censor it. Taxpayer-funded exhibits continued.
• National Endowment for the Arts v. Finley, 524 U.S. 569 (1998): The Court upheld NEA grant conditions but reaffirmed that viewpoint-based funding or exhibition decisions are unconstitutional.
• Mapplethorpe controversies: Graphic sexual content in publicly displayed works provoked backlash—but courts and institutions defended them as protected expression.

These precedents demonstrate that offensiveness alone is no basis for suppression. And if a crucifix in urine can be defended as public art, so too must a presidential portrait celebrating a conservative figure.

In Pennsylvania v. Board of Trusts, 353 U.S. 230 (1957), the Supreme Court struck down a state’s attempt to redirect a private religious trust to secular purposes. The ruling emphasized that when the government interacts with expressive or charitable institutions, it may not alter their purpose or impose ideological filters.

Here, Raven submitted art in furtherance of a civic and political mission. Sajet’s rejection, driven by viewpoint, violated the same constitutional boundaries identified in Board of Trusts.

Despite Raven’s compelling legal and cultural case, the art world has remained silent. The same critics, curators, and institutions that vigorously defend art as a vehicle of “resistance” or “activism” were nowhere to be found when Raven was shut out for expressing support for a conservative president.

If Raven had painted Trump being torn down or lampooned, his work likely would have been heralded as “provocative.” But since he painted him with dignity, he was dismissed.

This silence reveals a deeper truth: many of today’s “free expression” defenders are really ideological enforcers, not constitutional allies. Their concern for artistic freedom evaporates when the message doesn’t align with their politics.

Equally troubling is the mainstream media’s refusal to cover Raven’s case, even as it includes constitutional questions, institutional resignations, and presidential commentary. Major outlets that rush to defend offensive or fringe art stayed quiet when a Trump-supporting artist faced actual censorship by a public institution.

This selective coverage is a textbook example of manufactured consent—curating the narrative not based on news value, but on ideological comfort.

The Supreme Court must now confront the question left unresolved:

Can federally supported, publicly governed institutions exclude expressive works solely because they express the “wrong” political viewpoint?

The answer must be no. The First Amendment exists precisely to protect unpopular, minority, or dissident views. The exclusion of Raven’s work is precisely what the Constitution forbids.

The Court must also revisit the misapplied government speech doctrine, clarify the limits of qualified immunity in expressive contexts, and reaffirm the central holding of Barnette:

“No official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion.”
— West Virginia State Bd. of Educ. v. Barnette, 319 U.S. 624, 642 (1943)

Julian Raven’s 7 x 15 foot portrait is more than just a painting—it is a mirror. It reveals how our institutions, while claiming to champion free expression, have allowed ideological bias to dictate artistic inclusion. It shows that patriotism, when it supports the “wrong” president, can be treated as cultural heresy. And it reminds us that the First Amendment is not a partisan instrument—it is a national covenant.

The silence of the media. The silence of the art world. The silence of the courts. All must end. It is time for the Supreme Court to speak—and for the Constitution to be seen on the walls of the nation’s most important museum.