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Woods: Costume and class in Trump’s America

More than a thousand juggalos costume jewelry manufacturers usa—fans of the horror-art rap group the Insane Clown Posse (ICP)—chant this perfect refrain for our insane era in front of the Lincoln Memorial on Saturday September 16. Many of them are wearing clown paint on their faces or sporting tattoos or other signs that they are down with the clown.

He’s talking about the fact that the FBI has designated the juggalos as a “loosely organized hybrid gang”—a 2011 designation, which, juggalos say, has real consequences. One speaker at the rally, Jessica Bonometti, told how she was fired from her job as a probation officer in Virginia because she liked ICP-related photos on her personal Facebook page. Another, Crystal Guerrero, said she lost custody of her children for going to an ICP show.

Farris Haddad, who was introduced as “the motherfucking juggalawyer,” is speaking when the chant breaks out for probably the fifth or sixth time. “We’re talking about freaking music here. If this is allowed to stand, and so far it has been, then we definitely don’t live in a free society anymore,” he says.

He’s talking about the fact that the FBI has designated the juggalos as a “loosely organized hybrid gang”—a 2011 designation, which, juggalos say, has real consequences. One speaker at the rally, Jessica Bonometti, told how she was fired from her job as a probation officer in Virginia because she liked ICP-related photos on her personal Facebook page. Another, Crystal Guerrero, said she lost custody of her children for going to an ICP show.

So Haddad, as juggalawyer, is trying to sue the FBI.

“The Federal Court in Detroit actually tried to dismiss our case twice now saying basically that the FBI did nothing legally wrong by gang-listing thousands of normal everyday Americans.”

“Fuck that shit,” the crowd roars.

“That’s what we said, ‘Fuck that shit,’ Haddad says.

As Haddad tells the crowd that there is a new trial date, on October 11 in Cincinnati, Chris Lopez, a man with a van dyke beard, long hair, and a D.A.R.E. baseball hat walks up and hands a sweatshirt and a sandwich to Michael Troy, who wears a suit and a red toboggan hat and sports a handlebar mustache.

They did not know each other.

“He’s like a brother I never met before,” Troy says, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I give sandwiches to everybody,” Lopez says, opening up a cooler and showing me a couple dozen sandwiches.

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