Juggalos march on Washington: ‘We’re a family not a gang'
In 1864, Abraham Lincoln was being besieged by a clown.
Dan Rice, the most famous clown of the time – he was also an animal trainer and a strong man – was running for state senate in Pennsylvania. He had based his campaign on attacking Lincoln over his handling of the civil war.
Rice lost the election and Lincoln’s clown problem ended. Until Saturday, that is, when more than a thousand people, many wearing clown make-up, gathered at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial on Washington DC’s national mall for the long-awaited Juggalo March.
The Juggalos – the name given to fans of the band Insane Clown Posse – were in Washington to demonstrate against the FBI labelling them a “gang”, a designation they say has led to discrimination from police and in the workplace.
Paint-clad protesters began to gather at around 1pm. Some Juggalos wore full face make-up in tribute to Insane Clown Posse duo Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J; others were wearing actual clown trousers and shoes; many more sported Juggalo Tshirts and sipped Faygo, a midwestern soda popularized by the band.
Just like Lincoln, these clowns had a problem – in the form of a hastily arranged pro-Trump rally that was also taking place on the mall, less than a mile away.
The Trump event, which organizers had dubbed the “mother of all rallies”, had been called by supporters of the president, aiming to give him a shot in the arm after a turbulent introduction to the White House.
The mother of all rallies could have overshadowed the Juggalo event. But among the Insane Clown Posse enthusiasts, it was clear they were not worried. Juggalos had travelled from across the country to attend the march, a rare opportunity to gather en masse, and they were determined to enjoy it.
Chris Fabritz, with whom the Guardian spent the day, is known as “mankini” among certain Juggalos due to his penchant for wearing a bikini. He was hosting 14 Insane Clown Posse fans in his two-bedroom apartment over the weekend, which he said illustrated the bond between Juggalos.
“We’re a family. We welcome everybody with open arms,” Fabritz said. “We’re people who genuinely believe in the human spirit.”
Fabritz added that he and his fellow Juggalos would “give you the shirt off our back if you needed it”. He was wearing a black bikini top and a pair of American flag underpants at the time.
The clown paint and overtly masculine music of Insane Clown Posse – during the march Shaggy 2 Door described the band’s output as “the world’s most hated music” – has given the band and their adherents something of a comical air.
But the FBI designation of Juggalos as a “loosely-organized hybrid gang”, made in its 2011 National Gang Threat Assessment, has had real consequences for fans of the group.
“Many Juggalos subsets exhibit gang-like behavior and engage in criminal activity and violence” the FBI assessment said. “Law enforcement officials in at least 21 states have identified criminal Juggalo subsets, according to [National Gang Intelligence Center] reporting.”
Insane Clown Posse say that designation is unfair, claiming various people who commit crimes could often be said to be fans of certain musicians.
A number of Juggalos, represented by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Michigan and Insane Clown Posse themselves, are attempting to have the ruling overthrown. Until then, Juggalos are suffering.
Todd Okan, 35, was among those on the mall. He said he was pulled over by police in Sacramento, California, because he had stickers of Insane Clown Posse’s “hatchet man” mascot on his car.
“They said these symbols are considered a gang symbol,” Okan said. “They were asking me, like: ‘Are you a leader of this gang?’” Okan, who is an accounting auditor, said he was not in a gang.
“I was like: ‘This is the music I listen to.’”
Others had similar stories. Jessica Bonometti, from Manassas, Virginia, said she was fired as a probation officer in March 2016 as a result of her support for Insane Clown Posse. She had liked several photographs of the band on Facebook, she said, and was told by her boss that her affiliation was the reason she was fired.
She said she had been unable to find a job since then, hampered by the firing and a lack of references.
“My job was everything to me,” she said. “I’m 34, I don’t have kids, I don’t have a husband, so my job was like my life. I didn’t leave my house for a year after. I just couldn’t deal with people. I felt like a misfit. Like I don’t belong. So to say that the effects of it have been devastating would be a serious understatement.”
The Juggalos began marching just after 5pm, after an expletive-laden speech from Shaggy 2 Dope – real name Joseph Utsler – and Violent J, aka Joseph Bruce. The Juggalos pride themselves on a sense of community: chants of “family, family” echoed around the Reflecting Pool, as did the Juggalo identification cry of “whoop, whoop”.
In the late afternoon sunshine people waved signs – “Is your band next” was a popular one – as they strolled east along the mall and ringed the Washington Monument, passing around 500m from the Trump event.
Ahead of the Juggalo event there had been concerns about the proximity between the two groups. In Charlottesville in August, a rightwing demonstration ended in the death of anti-racism activist Heather Heyer as white supremacists launched attacks on counterprotests.
Organizers of the Trump rally had claimed thousands of people would attend. On Saturday, streets surrounding the mall were blocked by police cars. But instead, by midafternoon, the mother of all rallies had only attracted around 400
people. The crowd gathered in a space the size of a football field on the lush grass of the mall – which made for a lot of free grass – where they listened to hourly pledges of allegiance and numerous renditions of the Star Spangled Banner.
The supporters milled around amiably in the fenced-off enclosure. Some picnicked on the grass, others held American flags aloft.
Tahnee Gonzalez, 31, was carrying a cloth banner that depicted Trump holding an assault rifle, standing on top of a tank. There was also an eagle on it. She had travelled from Phoenix, Arizona, to attend the rally. She said she decided to come to “show the fake news that there is support for our president”.
“It’s America first now. We can no longer support any other country until ours is completely united and strong again,” she said. “I want my fellow millennials to know they need to rise up before it’s too late.”
The only millennials rising up on the mall that day were on the other side of the Washington monument.
The upbeat, open-minded nature of the Juggalo march, in spite of the reason for it taking place, provided a stark contrast to the Trump event, where people waved anti-communism flags and talked variously about Hillary Clinton’s emails, the need to “take our country back”, and craven politicians.
The only palpable similarities between the events was that both took place on the national mall and both offered free face-painting – although the stars and stripes designs at the Trump rally differed in style from those of the Insane Clown Posse crowd.
“When you step in we throw politics aside,” Fabritz said as the Juggalo march wound its way back to Abraham Lincoln’s statue. “We’re Juggalos, and we just love everyone.”