Inflatable frogs, chicken suits and clown make-up: Protestors employing 'tactical frivolity'

But fancy-dress for protest isn't limited to so-called "Farnsy" rallies. In Portland, Oregon, inflatable costumes have become emblematic in the fight against ICE.

As a nonviolent protest form, 'tactical frivolity' is both disarming and charming, argues LM Bogad, the founding director of the Centre for Tactical Performance in Berkeley, California.

'Disarming', 'charming' and always there

Tactical frivolity describes those who employ humour and whimsy in their protests.

Or as LM Bogad, founding director of the Centre for Tactical Performance in Berkeley, California, puts it: protest that is "disarming and charming" and maybe a little surprising.

It's that element of surprise that can often throw off opposing forces or violence, he says. It also typically negates the use of violence.

"Instead of replying force with force — which you're probably going to be outmatched anyway — you're being unpredictable," Bogad tells ABC News.

"And your opponents may not be trained to deal with that.

"They're trained to smoosh you or crush you. And then you show up as a bunch of inflatable frogs."

Tactical frivolity dates back long before the existence of plastic costumes, Bogad notes.

"Once we have records, it's always there. There's always people demanding total obedience, and wherever there's that kind of demand for obedience, there's ridicule and resistance."

Sean Scalmer, professor of history at the University of Melbourne, agrees, pointing to forms of public mockery known as 'Charivari', widely popular in Medieval Europe and up until the 19th century.

The noisy mock serenade was often performed to denounce corrupt officials or other kinds of antisocial behaviour.

But in today’s mass media environment, activists must do more than simply launch a protest to get noticed by the press, he said.

"So that means that protests that are disruptive or novel or visually striking are going to be more appealing to the media," Scalmer adds.

"That in turn creates a kind of an incentive for those planning protests."

Since then, there's been Canada's teddy bear catapult, billionaires for Bush, or even the John Howard Ladies’ Auxiliary Fan Club.

Australia, in particular, has a unique connection to the form — perhaps due to our larrikin temperament, Commons Library historian Iain McIntyre posits.

Turning council meetings into a 'circus'

When a small group of Brisbane City Council enthusiasts were brainstorming ways to encourage their local community to watch, a commonly used refrain kept returning to them.

"We often say in videos, 'the council is a circus in a very unique way," Tight Knit member Tully Connor jokes.

In mid-March, the group of around eight regular council watchers descended upon City Hall, embodying exactly that.

Dressed in red noses and faces shellacked with jester face paint, they put out an open call for others to do the same in the hopes of encouraging civic engagement.

"The main way we could probably bring people in to watch council is if we made it fun," Connor explains.

"And people came. People came like we never would have imagined."

The group ended up bringing close to 70 members to watch the council that day — dozens more than the public gallery could actually fit.

Youth demonstrations in Madagascar are the latest in a number of Gen Z protests across parts of Asia, Africa and South America, and young people are galvanised to join some of the largest protests of their generation.

Connor said she was told it was the biggest turnout some council workers had seen in 25 years. And she believes the appeal to frivolity was behind its success.

"You had 67 clowns in Brisbane City Hall," she says.

"That is a very peculiar thing, and it was a majority of young people engaging with Council in a way that nobody engages in Council.

"They're invited in under the pretence that it's going to be fun and then they sit. And I think the more you watch, the more you realise how much this impacts you."

The political cost of 'clubbing a clown'

Of course, whimsy doesn't necessarily stop a protest from turning violent.

In Portland, an inflatable-costumed protester was later pepper-sprayed by an ICE officer, who sprayed directly into the outfit's air vent.

However, in some cases, tactical frivolity means protesters are undisturbed for longer because the outcome of instigating violence can often be detrimental for opponents.

"It's politically more expensive to club a clown with a truncheon than to just club a protester," Bogad argues.

"[The protesters are] showing wit. It's showing courage."

Foam rounds are softer and bigger than traditional bullets, but that doesn't mean they're completely harmless.

Protesters in Portland used perception to their advantage when President Trump declared they were creating a "reign of terror" in the city.

"You're going to invoke the Insurrection Act against a bunch of [expletive] people in inflatable animal costumes?" Jordy Lybeck, co-founder of Operation Inflation, told NPR.

"Cheekiness and humour can unmask and ridicule the opponent, and undermine their credibility," McIntyre adds.

"It's an emperor's new clothes sort of thing."

And as Bogad points out, a frivolous approach can help neutralise mockery by foes.

"In case you were about to make fun of us, look at us: We're dressed in these ridiculous costumes," he says. "We don't care. We're not afraid of ridicule."

When frivolity falls flat

Most agree that tactical frivolity alone won't necessarily yield change.

"I think the search for a single, golden key that's going to unlock authoritarian systems and win justice is a vain quest," Scalmer says.

Others - such as Saskia Brechenmacher and Shreya Joshi of the US think tank The Carnegie Endowment for International Peace — say the movement's methods are failing to mobilise partisan voters or expand into targeted organising.

"Protest movements have been most successful when they connect to a united political opposition that offers a believable alternative to the ruling government," the pair write.

Some even believe the causes are too grave for dress-up - something which McIntyre understands to a certain extent.

"It can become hackneyed, like any tactic, if you overuse it," he says.

"And it can take attention away from the core issue."

He points to groups like Extinction Rebellion, which lean on the theatrical as an example.

"There is the danger that with people breaking the law, or defying the law, the issue of environmental destruction gets lost," he adds.

"It becomes a civil liberty issue."

The case against levity is one Bogad ran into many times, before eventually coming to the term "serious play".

"I like to talk to folks who think that what we're doing is trivialising," he says.

"We are serious but not solemn. And just because I'm not frowning, it doesn't mean I'm not serious. It means I'm actually putting in hard work to make it attractive to people who don't already agree with me."

Recently, Bogad's book on tactical frivolity was independently translated into Farsi. He hopes it is a form of protest that Iranians can one day engage with, too.

"It's a form that made it through the Middle Ages when there wasn't much hope of fairness, and there wasn't much hope of justice," he says.

"As long as it's useful, it will continue to be used."

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