Kayfabe and Misinformation Ran Amok in DC on July 4th
On July 4th, 2026, the United States of America celebrated two hundred and fifty years of independence from a colonial regime. Weather forecasts claimed it would be the hottest day in Washington, DC in 128 years. Despite the heat, I was determined to see the capital on what the White House called “the most important milestone in America’s history.” I put on my red, white, and blue, grabbed a water bottle and a hand fan, and ventured out.
DC was simmering—and packed. Hoards of people decked out in patriotic gear (and more than one MAGA hat) filled the metro stations downtown. From branded shoes to neck fans, hats to bracelets, it seemed as though people wanted—nay, needed—to remind observers that they were American from head to toe.
I headed towards the National Mall. In his first few months in office, President Donald J. Trump created a public-private partnership called Freedom 250 to celebrate the semiquincentennial (nevermind America 250, the Congressionally-authorized, nonpartisan organization created under President Obama). The project received support from several key corporate partners of the Trump administration, including Palantir, Oracle, and Lockheed Martin. The Great American State Fair, Freedom 250’s tentpole initiative, spanned across the whole National Mall. Conceived as a modern day World Fair celebrating the best of the country’s 50 states, the exhibition promised to feature “the people, traditions, innovations, and spirit that make America the greatest nation on Earth.”
It wasn’t quite that. Certainly there were some charming attractions: a daily rodeo, a mechanical milking cow at the Michigan booth, and a Florida shaped mini-putting green. But several stalls had little more than posters and advertising copy; others were literally empty. The Reflecting Pool, recently renovated for $14.2 million, was blocked by the National Guard. The Ferris Wheel was broken. Several curious attendees ended up hospitalized due to extreme heat. Worst of all, DC residents simply weren’t that interested—the fair attracted more insects than citizens. The Independent called the whole thing a “ghost town.” Slate called it a “crime against fun.”
Not the best use of $68 million in taxpayer dollars.
Ironically, the fair blocked access to a Washington, DC staple that already offers what the Great American State Fair supposedly wanted to achieve: the Smithsonian. Where Freedom 250 offered a smooth, simple, AI-generated narrative, the Smithsonian museums have celebrated American history for 180 years. They certainly offer a more diverse perspective than a glitchy AI rendering of “colonial Annapolis” at the Maryland booth. Perhaps the blockage was no accident, though—the White House has actively criticized the Smithsonian for its “radical activism” and pressured the Institution to remove materials that cast America in a negative light.
Later that evening, I settled down to watch the fireworks display, the cornerstone of any 4th of July celebration, from a rooftop at Georgetown University. After a two hour delay, they finally started at 11:59pm. Only one minute of fireworks on actual Independence Day! It was a colorful affair: lots of red, white, and blue, as expected, but other colors, too, like the President’s beloved gold and reflecting pool green. But watching from a distance, as I did, the “grand finale” was nothing but clumps and bursts of smoke. DC recorded the worst air quality of any major city in the world immediately after.
As I walked through the streets of the city observing all of this (while constantly feeling the eyes of the National Guard), I couldn’t help but wonder what this was all for. ‘Let them eat cake’ rang loud in my ear as I tried to balance the rambunctious sightseers with the oppressive news cycle I wake up to every morning. What is the purpose of all of this grandeur (or lack thereof)? Who is the audience?
In Prickly’s own The Know-Nothing Campaign Against Higher Learning, James Chandler, borrowing from Roland Barthes, explores the idea of a “spectacle without thought.” He uses “kayfabe,” the performative staging of events in professional wrestling, as a way of understanding the Trump administration. He notes that “kayfabe has become a distinguishing feature of Trumpian political spectacle more broadly.” The distinguishing feature of kayfabe though is that it requires a complicit audience. We all know it’s fake, but we choose to buy into the illusion and ignore the interests and machinations behind the show.
The UFC fight on the White House lawn to celebrate Trump's birthday, the vacuous 50-state-wide history tour, the Great American State Fair with its one dysfunctional Ferris Wheel—it’s all kayfabe. All part of a meticulously constructed show to drive attention away from the real issues, real political actions, and real consequences for the nation. Ever since Trump took office in January of last year, discontent has been festering within the Republican Party. First, Marjorie Taylor Greene called it quits and then Tucker Carlson expressed regret for supporting Trump. From Epstein to the war in Iran, cracks are becoming more evident than ever. How does the MAGA base cope? With fireworks and a fair! For many Americans, buying into the administration's kayfabe is a more manageable endeavor than grappling with the state of the nation.
The divide between the spectacle and the real was starkly apparent on July 4th. While some tourists flitted across the city, a parade of white supremacists marched to Capitol Hill. Hundreds of men affiliated with Patriot Front, an organization identified as an active hate group by the Anti-Defamation League and Southern Poverty Law Center, waved Confederate flags in the street and menaced people of color on public transit. There’s a link between the farce on the National Mall and the rising hate in the streets—just a week before the holiday, a Confederate Flag was removed from the Great American State Fair.
Prize fights and Ferris Wheels may seem innocuous, but if we fail to interrogate their function—where their funding comes from, where it goes, and why—we risk becoming complicit in Trumpian kayfabe.