“People hate what they don’t understand.” The United States of Insanity embodies this mantra, and if you watch the film, you’ll hear these wise words uttered by a man in clown face paint. But maybe that’s part of the point.

The fact that I felt compelled to comment on Joseph Bruce and Joseph Utsler’s face paint speaks volumes about how appearances can prejudice. The two collectively form the alternative hip-hop musical group Insane Clown Posse, also known as ICP. The United States of Insanity details their fight against the FBI to prevent the government from labeling them and their fans, who call themselves Juggalos, as a criminal gang. It is now streaming on Amazon Prime.

The film describes Juggalos—female fans are Juggalettes—as commonly lower working-class individuals who show their affection and affinity for the group by painting their faces in a similar clown style as Bruce and Utsler, who go by the stage names Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope. Juggalos not only embrace the hatred so commonly directed at ICP’s music, they make it the “soundtrack of their lives,” according to the group.

Many meet at the annual “Gathering of the Juggalos,” shirtless and sporting face paint, along with “hatchetman” tattoos. There’s also plenty of band merchandise, including T-shirts and beanies. Their clothing and iconography make them immediately identifiable … when they aren’t hiding it.

If it can happen to a Juggalo …

The decision to associate is an important one for Juggalos. After all, ICP’s music is not critically acclaimed, to say the least. In a somewhat self-deprecating manner, the musicians and their fans seem to champion ICP’s music as being notoriously … bad.

As the film progresses, various Juggalos describe the prejudice they have received for their love of ICP’s music. They recount being fired once their employers discovered their musical allegiance. We hear about people being arrested for nonviolent offenses like driving under the influence of alcohol, only to be placed in the jail’s gang unit. One fan explains being denied custody of his son because a room in his home houses his ICP memorabilia.

This leads to the heart of the film’s discussion: How and why has the FBI labeled ICP and their fans a street gang?

“If this happened to a band that America liked, the country would be up in arms,” the group notes.

We learn that the FBI operates from a national definition of what constitutes a street gang, and they believe ICP fits the bill. According to the film, though, the FBI in reaching that conclusion relied on isolated incidents of criminal activity committed by individuals who identify themselves as Juggalos. I’ve dealt with the Department of Justice and gangs before, but I’ve never had a Juggalo case.

First Amendment concerns

The band fights back, with help from the American Civil Liberties Union. Ultimately, ICP and some Juggalos file a federal lawsuit against the FBI, challenging the agency’s designation of the musical group’s fans as a criminal gang. After six months, the suit is dismissed by a Detroit federal judge, based on the government’s position that the plaintiffs didn’t have standing. They argued that any harm inflicted upon the fans was inflicted by third parties, such as local law enforcement.

The plaintiffs appealed the decision to the Ohio-based 6th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals. The film audience hears portions of the appellate arguments during which government attorneys argue that the gang designation is simply information the FBI provides local law enforcement agencies to use as they see fit.

Regardless, the trial court’s decision is reversed, and the case is remanded back.

Upon remand, the government again moves for a dismissal, and the trial court again grants their motion. The case is appealed once more; however, this time the dismissal is sustained. The appellate court reasoned that since law enforcement isn’t forced to act on the FBI’s gang designation, the FBI isn’t responsible under the Administrative Procedure Act.

Undeterred, the Juggalos march on Washington, D.C., on Sept. 16, 2017, complete with an ICP concert at the Lincoln Memorial. They aren’t happy with the final decision, but they know their fight was on behalf of something bigger than just ICP.

After all, as one of the ACLU attorneys featured in the film commented, “If the government can target a group of people based on their musical tastes, they can target a group of people based on anything at all.”

What is ‘gang evidence,’ and how does it work?

The United States of Insanity ends on a mostly positive note: Even though the Juggalos lost their court battle against the FBI, they raised public concern for their cause while shedding light on some problematic interpretations of what constitutes a “gang.”

As discussed earlier, the FBI uses a national definition with set criteria as to when that label is appropriate, including the following:

  • The group has three or more members, generally aged 12–24.

  • Members share an identity, typically linked to a name, and often other symbols.

  • Members view themselves as a gang, and they are recognized by others as a gang.

  • The group has some permanence and a degree of organization.

  • The group is involved in an elevated level of criminal activity.

Furthermore, in the federal criminal system, the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994 created punishment enhancements of up to 10 years for members of criminal street gangs who commit certain crimes.

In my home state of Oklahoma, we have a few gang-related statutes. For instance, “[a]ny person who attempts or commits a gang-related offense” either as a condition of membership or while in association with any gang or gang member “shall be guilty of a felony offense.” That felony is punishable by up to five years in addition to any other penalty imposed.

Additionally, prosecutors often try to employ “gang” evidence in their cases. I’ve seen many offer it as res gestae in the matter, arguing the evidence is necessary to give the jury a complete understanding of the crime.

Really, though, it’s usually just a bold-faced attempt to offer propensity evidence to prejudice the jury against the defendant. In that vein, prosecutors will often result to arguing FRCP 404 or the state equivalent—which allows otherwise prohibited propensity evidence—in hopes of proving the proffered gang evidence will show motive, opportunity, intent, preparation, plan, knowledge, identity, absence of mistake or lack of accident.

Don’t get me wrong: Gangs are real. They can be really dangerous. But as The United States of Insanity shows, an affiliation with a group, even one the government labels as a “gang,” isn’t a person’s only defining characteristic.

It’s foolish to say that every action they take is in conformity with, mandated by or in furtherance of the group.

Adam R. Banner is the founder and lead attorney of the Oklahoma Legal Group, a criminal defense law firm in Oklahoma City. His practice focuses solely on state and federal criminal defense. He represents the accused against allegations of sex crimes, violent crimes, drug crimes and white-collar crimes.

The study of law isn’t for everyone, yet its practice and procedure seem to permeate pop culture at an increasing rate. This column is about the intersection of law and pop culture in an attempt to separate the real from the ridiculous.

This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.