Someone left hundreds of a certain phallic adult toy at an ICE facility in Portland in April. Rumor has it that they called it “Operation Dildo Blitz.” And it worked — not just to give us all some much-needed relief from the constant onslaught of state-sanctioned horrors, but as a legitimate form of political resistance. This is where we are. This is also, it turns out, exactly where we need to be.
The Rise of Tactical Frivolity
Tactical frivolity — using humor and absurdity to confront political injustice — is having a moment. We’ve seen the protesters in inflatable frog costumes and dinosaur suits. And then there was the dildo blitz, an action that went national. There were also other sex-toy-based events in April at facilities in Los Angeles; Broadview, Illinois; Washington, D.C., and other cities. On the more poignant end of the absurdity spectrum, in February, a violinist played the “Schindler’s List” soundtrack outside an ICE building in Portland, Oregon, while agents looked down from above. History is being written in real time, and some of it is extremely clever.
On the Frontlines with Audrey
Audrey, a queer investigative journalist and documentarian who asked not to reveal her last name for safety, has been living nomadically for almost four years and has been a witness to kidnappings, beatings and arrests. She was also there to document the dildos. Audrey has been posted up in Portland for seven months. In that time, she reports being tear-gassed, flash-banged, groped, pepper-balled, bear-maced, stalked, doxxed and assaulted by both federal agents and counterprotesters. Federal agents have called her by name. Back home, Audrey’s wife, who she says is sacrificing just as much, holds down the fort. On dildo day, Audrey laughed with her comrades at the absurdity of it all. Unfortunately, their levity was short-lived. Later that day, Audrey said she watched someone get beaten so badly by Federal Protective Services that they left in an ambulance. She documented both.
“From the outside, these moments [of absurdity] can seem pointless or disconnected from a larger movement,” she says. “But history tells a different story.”
Historical Roots of Tactical Frivolity
The history of tactical frivolity goes back further than you might think. L.M. Bogad, co-founder of the Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army and professor of political performance at UC Davis, told The Marshall Project that the strategic logic is simple: “It’s politically more expensive to club a clown than to club a regular person.” When agents in full tactical gear deploy pepper spray into the vents of an inflatable frog costume, something shifts in the public imagination about who the threat actually is.
Humor in political resistance dates back, at least, to the Middle Ages, when common people would criticize the king in ways that made them appear silly to avoid consequences. What is new is the specific texture of this moment — the dildos, the frogs, the dinosaurs — and the specific brutality they are pushing back against. ICE is detaining children. People are disappearing. The response, in part, has been to show up in a dinosaur suit. Not instead of grief, but alongside it.
The Role of Levity in Resistance
“For those of us on the frontlines, these moments matter,” Audrey says. “They give us a chance to laugh, to be human, to feel something other than rage. Because the reality is, for months on end, hour after hour, we endure trauma at the hands of federal agents while occupying these spaces.” There is a critique of tactical frivolity that surfaces every time someone shows up to a protest in a costume. Critics say that it undermines the gravity of the moment, that it prioritizes spectacle over impact, that it lets people feel like they’re doing something when they’re not. Audrey has heard this critique and she doesn’t buy it. “We can’t lead with rage alone,” she says. “If we do, we risk becoming indistinguishable from what we’re fighting against.”
Before all of this, she was, as she puts it, “just Audrey, the humanitarian.” She loved her country even as she distrusted her government. She still does. That tension is what keeps her on the road, keeps her camera up, keeps her in spaces that are less safe for others. Audrey is not looking away. Operation Dildo Blitz is now in the historical record. So is the ambulance that came after. Audrey documented both, because the frontlines require someone willing to hold the whole thing, the ridiculous and the brutal, without flinching from either. “Those of us on the ground,” she says, “we’re doing this for you. Even if you hate us.”
