Activists Ambush Treasury Secretary: Chaos Erupts at DC Restaurant

Paul Riverbank, 12/19/2025DC restaurant erupts as CODEPINK confronts Treasury over sanctions—politics, protest, and power collide.

At first, diners turned by habit, curiosity winning. A few probably groaned, maybe rolling their eyes—Washington’s restaurants see a lot. Still, DiNucci wasted no time. Her words lobbed over half-eaten tagliatelle toward Scott Bessent, who’d been, until this moment, just another patron. “Here’s to the man eating in calm while his sanctions cause suffering—economic warfare at the expense of the innocent.”

A beat passed. You could almost hear phones being lifted, breaths caught, a wine glass set down just a tad too hard. CODEPINK has a knack for moments like these, where ordinary settings become the latest in their ongoing campaign against U.S. foreign policy. DiNucci was relentless: she cited a figure—600,000 deaths annually, she claimed, as a result of sanctions. The number bounced around the stone walls and hung, heavy.

Bessent wasn’t about to let it slide. He raised his own glass, echoing the protester’s words back at her but with that unmistakable note of derision only those used to a public stage can conjure. “You are ignorant—you truly have no idea,” he replied, his tone sharp enough to cut through the awkward silence. Some in the restaurant jeered, though to whom their outrage was directed—protester or official—remained ambiguous.

CODEPINK, of course, isn’t new to this playbook. Over the years, they’ve barged into congressional hearings, pulled off bold interruptions at galas and fundraisers, and made discomfort part of their signature. To some, it’s democracy in its rawest form: refusing to let people in power eat or meet in peace when policy decisions have global consequences. Others mutter about crossing lines—where does activism end and personal space begin?

As for Bessent, he stuck to the official line. Offhand comments to a reporter after the event—he mentioned sanctions are aimed at dangerous actors: “cartel leaders, arms brokers, Iranian paramilitaries.” The argument being, pressure works where dialogue seems fruitless, and collateral effects, they’d argue, are unintended but inevitable.

Restaurant staff hesitated in the aftermath. Should they intervene, escort people out, or simply pretend this was all part of the eclectic DC dining experience? Ultimately, Bessent didn’t finish his meal. He stood, threw on a coat, and made a brisk exit, trailed by an aide lamenting the cuisine—a hint of dark humor to cap the evening.

Washington’s dining scene has always been a little different. Politicians, lobbyists, their opponents—all cross paths here, the city making no secret of its status as both a power center and protest arena. Lately, these unscripted encounters are happening more. Lunch meeting or dinner date, no one is entirely insulated from the city’s political pulse.

Is this the messiness of democracy—real people confronting power in real time—or a sign of lines blurring beyond repair? In this town, probably a bit of both. The debate spilled out onto the sidewalk that night, as DiNucci’s supporters mingled with curious onlookers and someone—perhaps from the back—remarked that these days, the food’s never the main event.

Nothing settled, nothing quite resolved. Just another evening in Washington, where the politics never quite leave the room.

It started as an ordinary Tuesday night in Adams Morgan—steady hum of conversation, glasses catching the low light, forks chasing the last bit of sauce around plates. Then, almost on cue, the air in Reveler’s Hour rippled as a protestor stood, glass raised but not in a toast. Olivia DiNucci, unmistakably representing CODEPINK and wrapped in a blush pink scarf, announced herself with a hard stop. “We have something to say!”At first, diners turned by habit, curiosity winning. A few probably groaned, maybe rolling their eyes—Washington’s restaurants see a lot. Still, DiNucci wasted no time. Her words lobbed over half-eaten tagliatelle toward Scott Bessent, who’d been, until this moment, just another patron. “Here’s to the man eating in calm while his sanctions cause suffering—economic warfare at the expense of the innocent.”A beat passed. You could almost hear phones being lifted, breaths caught, a wine glass set down just a tad too hard. CODEPINK has a knack for moments like these, where ordinary settings become the latest in their ongoing campaign against U.S. foreign policy. DiNucci was relentless: she cited a figure—600,000 deaths annually, she claimed, as a result of sanctions. The number bounced around the stone walls and hung, heavy.Bessent wasn’t about to let it slide. He raised his own glass, echoing the protester’s words back at her but with that unmistakable note of derision only those used to a public stage can conjure. “You are ignorant—you truly have no idea,” he replied, his tone sharp enough to cut through the awkward silence. Some in the restaurant jeered, though to whom their outrage was directed—protester or official—remained ambiguous.CODEPINK, of course, isn’t new to this playbook. Over the years, they’ve barged into congressional hearings, pulled off bold interruptions at galas and fundraisers, and made discomfort part of their signature. To some, it’s democracy in its rawest form: refusing to let people in power eat or meet in peace when policy decisions have global consequences. Others mutter about crossing lines—where does activism end and personal space begin?As for Bessent, he stuck to the official line. Offhand comments to a reporter after the event—he mentioned sanctions are aimed at dangerous actors: “cartel leaders, arms brokers, Iranian paramilitaries.” The argument being, pressure works where dialogue seems fruitless, and collateral effects, they’d argue, are unintended but inevitable.Restaurant staff hesitated in the aftermath. Should they intervene, escort people out, or simply pretend this was all part of the eclectic DC dining experience? Ultimately, Bessent didn’t finish his meal. He stood, threw on a coat, and made a brisk exit, trailed by an aide lamenting the cuisine—a hint of dark humor to cap the evening.Washington’s dining scene has always been a little different. Politicians, lobbyists, their opponents—all cross paths here, the city making no secret of its status as both a power center and protest arena. Lately, these unscripted encounters are happening more. Lunch meeting or dinner date, no one is entirely insulated from the city’s political pulse.Is this the messiness of democracy—real people confronting power in real time—or a sign of lines blurring beyond repair? In this town, probably a bit of both. The debate spilled out onto the sidewalk that night, as DiNucci’s supporters mingled with curious onlookers and someone—perhaps from the back—remarked that these days, the food’s never the main event.Nothing settled, nothing quite resolved. Just another evening in Washington, where the politics never quite leave the room.