Who could have guessed that a frog costume would launch one of the strangest protest movements of 2025? What began as a satirical stunt outside Portland’s U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility has now spread to multiple cities nationwide, combining political dissent with absurdist humor and inflatable dance parties.
Welcome to “Inflatable Resistance” — the latest chapter in Portland’s long history of turning protest into performance art.
Portland’s Dancing Protesters vs. ICE
Over the past several weeks, demonstrators have gathered at the ICE building at 4310 S. Macadam Avenue in South Portland to protest immigration enforcement and, more broadly, the federal government’s approach to civil unrest.
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But instead of angry chants or violent clashes, something uniquely Portland happened: the protests transformed into dance raves.
Videos that quickly went viral on TikTok, Reddit, and YouTube show groups of protesters doing the Cha Cha Slide and Macarena in front of heavily armed ICE guards. At one point, protesters in colorful costumes danced while officers stood stiffly at attention behind barricades — the contrast between joyful absurdity and institutional seriousness was striking.
One viral clip, captioned “Meanwhile at the ICE detention center in Portland…”, shows dozens of protesters dancing in the rain while speakers blast Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family.”
It’s bizarre, theatrical, and, as locals say, peak Portland.
How a Dancing Frog Started It All
The trend began with a 29-year-old Portland resident named Seth Todd, who attended a protest wearing an inflatable frog costume. Someone filmed him joyfully wiggling in front of federal officers, and the footage exploded across social media. Within hours, “Freedom Frog” (as he’s now affectionately known) became a meme.
The internet dubbed him #PortlandFrog, and his clip has since racked up millions of views. Soon after, others joined the movement — showing up in costumes ranging from a giraffe and panda bear to a blue dinosaur and even a unicorn.
Todd told local outlet KATU News, “If they want to intimidate us, we’ll respond with laughter. We’ll dance, we’ll play music, and we’ll remind everyone that protest doesn’t have to look angry to be powerful.”
A Surreal Scene in South Portland
By the following weekend, the protest had turned into what some are calling “The Portland Dance Party for Freedom.” Inflatable animals, disco lights, and portable speakers have turned the parking lot outside the ICE building into a surreal, carnival-like scene.
One viral TikTok shows a line of protesters — inflatable giraffe, elephant, frog, and dinosaur among them — dancing in unison while holding signs reading “ICE Cold Hearts” and “Hop Out of Hate.”
The Reddit reaction has been mixed but largely amused:
“Bring in all the food trucks! Nom nom while dancing. Best way to protest ever.” — OogieBooge-Dragon
“Absolute chaos as tens of people take to the streets.” — skinnyguy699
Some online commenters argue the protests trivialize serious issues, while others see the humor as a creative act of resistance. One Portlandian on the forum summed it up perfectly: “It’s performance art with a purpose — absurdity is our defense against oppression.”
From Portland to the Nation
As with most things that start in Portland, the Inflatable Protest Movement hasn’t stayed local for long. Within weeks, copycat demonstrations have been spotted in Chicago, Illinois, Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Lawrence, Kansas.
In Chicago, protesters dressed as an inflatable Statue of Liberty, a grizzly bear, and a penguin gathered outside a federal courthouse, blasting techno remixes of protest songs. In Tulsa, participants organized a “Balloons for Justice” march, complete with dance circles and a conga line.
Videos under hashtags #FreedomFrog, #InflatableRebellion, and #ProtestDanceParty have collectively amassed tens of millions of views.
Social media users have even begun nominating Freedom Frog for “Protester of the Year.”
The Authorities Respond
Despite the laughter and costumes, the situation outside Portland’s ICE facility has grown tense at times. ICE officers have warned protesters not to block driveways or entrances, but some continue to occupy the space.
On multiple occasions, guards have used pepper spray and tear gas to disperse crowds — with “Freedom Frog” himself reportedly being hit by tear gas during one confrontation. The sight of a deflated frog costume crumpled on the pavement became a darkly comic yet haunting image of state power clashing with silliness.
Still, the protesters keep returning. Each night seems to bring more costumes, more music, and more dancers refusing to give up their right to assemble — even if it looks more like a festival than a protest.
Why It Resonates
Portland’s inflatable protests embody something deeply rooted in the city’s culture: a mix of humor, rebellion, and performance. From the World Naked Bike Ride to climate marches with marching bands, the city’s activism has always balanced sincerity with spectacle.
Experts in political psychology note that satirical protests often have greater staying power than conventional demonstrations because they disarm opponents and attract wider attention. “When people laugh, they engage,” says Dr. Maria Alvarez, a cultural studies professor at Portland State University. “What the Freedom Frog movement does brilliantly is fuse absurdity with accountability.”
It’s protest as public art — joy as a weapon.
Portland’s Legacy of Creative Resistance
This isn’t the first time Portland has turned confrontation into choreography. In previous years, protesters dressed as stormtroopers, bananas, and even giant mailboxes have gathered for causes ranging from climate justice to free speech.
The inflatable protests feel like the logical next step — part meme, part movement, and entirely in character for a city that prides itself on being both progressive and proudly weird.
As one participant told local reporters, “We’re not here to scare anyone. We’re here to remind people that freedom is supposed to be fun — not fearful.”
The Movement Expands Beyond Politics
Interestingly, the inflatable protests have also inspired unrelated gatherings — from dance marathons for charity to LGBTQ+ pride events using inflatable costumes as symbols of joy and inclusivity.
Even local businesses have joined in: Portland breweries have hosted “Freedom Frog Ale” nights, and costume shops report that inflatable suits are selling out faster than ever before.
At this point, the phenomenon has crossed from protest into pop culture — a reminder that sometimes resistance doesn’t have to look grim to be powerful.
The Spirit of Portland Lives On
Whether you see it as satire, solidarity, or social spectacle, Portland’s inflatable protests reflect a city unafraid to fight injustice with imagination. In an era of political division and fear, a group of dancing frogs, dinosaurs, and unicorns might seem ridiculous — and that’s precisely the point.
In the words of one sign spotted at the protest:
“If you can’t laugh while demanding justice, the system has already won.”
So while ICE agents stand rigid behind their fences, Portlanders keep dancing — proving once again that, in this city, joy itself can be an act of defiance.
And now, from Tulsa to Chicago, inflatable dancers are joining the movement, one bounce at a time.
