The Great American State Fair’s Great Belly Flop

“For your safety, please back away from the stage,” a man’s voice boomed through the speakers of the main stage at the Great American State Fair during a typical sweltering day on the National Mall. It was July 4—the busiest day the fair had seen after a week’s worth of lackluster attendance and early closures due to the heat and drizzling rain. Organized by the private-public group Freedom 250, the fair was meant to be the pride and joy of President Donald Trump—a capstone to a semiquincentennial celebration kicked off by a UFC cage match on the White House lawn for Trump’s 80th birthday. Yet, for a brief moment on the country’s anniversary, it seemed like Trump and the MAGA faithful might have the last laugh over the liberal media (myself included) who had insulted the fair and its attendance: The place was packed.

The moment didn’t last. Wind gusts blew dust onto everyone, lifting up a tent and knocking down a section of the temporary fencing. “For your safety, please back away from the stage,” the frustrated crowd monitor begged again over the sound system.

As the crew slowly lowered the large audio speakers from the sides of the stages, a loud whoosh overhead drew the attention of the crowd. A nearby out-of-state trooper started to take down the decorative Freedom 250 tarps tied to the fences as they flapped ominously in the strong wind. Meanwhile, cheers erupted from the crowd as the planes for the military flyover continued zipping back and forth.

It was confusing, but a lot of things about the fair were confusing. Had I missed an announcement about why the stage was shutting down? Why would anyone want to stand facing the main stage, when it was an obvious visual obstruction for the fireworks? The fair runs until July 10, so it was far from clear why police and other security personnel were taking apart installations on the fair’s busiest day.

The answer came against the roar of the flyover. “Due to approaching severe weather, we are temporarily pausing the event,” another loudspeaker notification announced. This declaration didn’t carry the same exasperated tone that the crowd monitor did; it was delivered by the now-familiar robotic voice that presided over early closures at Freedom250 festivities. This message would play on repeat for the next 75 minutes, but most of the attendees weren’t paying it any attention.

And why would they? Not only had they waited hours to get in, but the show was still going on—particularly the relentless formations of F-35s, B-1s, and F-22s overhead. A couple screamed with joy and high-fived one another after one set flew by. A few guys threw a football back and forth across the lawn of the Mall. The line to get into the display area for the state of Florida was as long as ever, though a single National Guardsman stood blocking the door.. Families held their spots on the ground, oblivious to the closure announcements. “Are we really evacuating?” I asked one of the US Marshals assigned to patrol the fair. “I mean, I know we are supposed to, but…” I waved my hand at the crowd.

We were, he said, “but no one gives a rat’s ass.”

Half an hour after the “temporary pause” announcement, a few members of the Guard started to yell for people to leave. A handful of troops slowly corralled people across the lawn, or at least tried to. Even as they told everyone to leave, fairgoers asked for photos with them. Several Guard members huddled around one of the picnic tables, trying to convince the people who had staked it out to leave. People in Freedom 250 T-shirts also demanded that everyone leave—and again, with virtually no results. Eventually, police on motorcycles cruised onto the fairgrounds. Once it became clear getting arrested was a possibility, people slowly trickled to the exit.

As we reached the edge of the gates, more Guard members stopped us in order to allow an emergency vehicle to pass, while people in the line heckled them. “I thought it was so important we had to leave!”

The execution of this poorly planned evacuation didn’t improve beyond the grounds of the great State Fair. Once we were all the way out, there was nowhere to go. No one instructed the crowd to shelter in museums—the only buildings nearby and open on the holiday—and as it turned out, they were full by this point, anyway. So we all stood in the street, trying to figure out where the line would form again. National Guard troops and Homeland Security agents tried to direct the crowd, but clearly had no idea where anyone should go. From time to time, people cried out for the help of medics. Numerous emergency vehicles drove through the crowd at close quarters.

Eventually, I’d had enough. I jumped the bike racks provisionally corralling the crowd , and left the area. I passed groups of people, many in MAGA hats, huddled together in doorways, under awnings, and at the entrances of parking garages. Children were crying; parents were tired. But everyone still wanted to hear the president’s speech and see the fireworks, which would only come hours later. Reports from those who stayed in line indicate that the entrance never actually reopened, and the fireworks were fully obstructed from the crowd’s view—but over a mile away, far from the fairgrounds, we had a perfect view of the show.

As for the fair, it has since returned to its roots: There are no lines for entry, and numerous panels featuring administration officials mocking journalists to a crowd of 30 people. If you’re in need of solitude and would like to visit the fair for yourself, you have until July 10. Fair warning, though: It’s supposed to rain much the rest of the week.