On a sunny October day in Portland, Oregon, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem stood atop the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility, surveying the scene below. What she saw was hardly the battlefield that had been depicted by certain corners of the internet: just a handful of protesters—one even donning a chicken suit—milling around in the distance. Yet, as images and videos of Noem’s rooftop stance spread rapidly across social media, a very different story took hold. MAGA influencers and right-wing media personalities hailed the moment as an act of extraordinary heroism, with one commentator declaring, “Noem just stared down violent Antifa rioters on the roof of a Portland ICE facility.”
This spectacle, which took place on October 7, 2025, quickly became a lightning rod for online mockery and critical news coverage. According to The New York Times, the event highlighted a growing rift between local reporting—which described the protests as small and largely peaceful—and the narrative being amplified by pro-Trump media figures, who painted Portland as a city teetering on the edge of civil collapse.
But how did a few protesters and a guy in a chicken suit become the centerpiece of a national drama? The answer, according to reporting from both The New York Times and Oregon Public Broadcasting (OPB), lies in the Trump administration’s deepening alliance with a network of social media influencers. These personalities, including Benny Johnson, Nick Sortor, and Katie Daviscourt, were flown in to Portland to tour the ICE facility alongside Noem. Their mission: to produce viral content that would reinforce the administration’s message that Portland was under siege by violent leftists.
“Yo, what’s up! We are on the ground in Portland, Oregon,” Johnson announced to his followers on X (formerly Twitter) as he arrived in the city on October 6. The next day, he and the other influencers packed into SUVs, passed through police lines, and followed Noem to the ICE facility. There, Johnson filmed Noem for his millions of online followers, later posting, “BREAKING: DHS Secretary Kristi Noem stares down army of Antifa and a guy in a chicken suit from the rooftop of the ICE facility here in Portland.”
Noem herself got in on the act, reportedly calling out, “Hey; Guy in the chicken suit. You can do better. Too bad they are uneducated and ill-informed.” The moment, as absurd as it was, became the centerpiece of an orchestrated media campaign. Yet, the reality on the ground was far less dramatic. Around 20 reporters from local and national outlets stood behind yellow caution tape, along with a handful of protesters. It was, as OPB described, “a sunny fall day in Portland, far from the burning hellscape portrayed online.”
Despite the calm, influencer Nick Sortor warned Noem that the real chaos erupted at night. “This is absolutely nothing as to what it is at night though. It’s really bad at night,” he said. “That sun goes down and it gets totally lawless.” Such claims, though, have not been supported by local law enforcement or journalists. In fact, state and federal law enforcement have reported that the protests are small and confined to just one or two city blocks, with many nights seeing fewer than two dozen people. As The New Republic noted, “many protesters are in pajamas, sharing pastries, throwing a frisbee, and playing board games.”
Yet, the narrative of a city in chaos has been repeated and amplified by the Trump administration and its allies. At a White House roundtable the day after the Portland photo op, President Trump declared, “The amazing thing is you look at Portland and you see fires all over the place. You see fights. I mean, violence, it’s so crazy. And then you talk to the governor and she acts like everything is totally normal. It’s almost like, are you waking up from a dream or something?”
According to A.J. Bauer, a University of Alabama professor who studies media activism, this blending of government action with influencer propaganda marks a new development. “The streamers are actually counter-protesters themselves who are going and documenting the protests that they disagree with. The government is actually working hand-in-glove with those folks in order to promote the government’s message,” Bauer told OPB. “That is a new development.”
The consequences of this alliance are significant. Right-wing influencers, unlike traditional journalists, often eschew norms of balance and independence, instead starting with an ideological vision and shaping their coverage to fit it. Their content is not only published on their own feeds but is also picked up by major conservative outlets like Fox News and Newsmax, and at times even reposted by federal agencies. Local outlets such as OPB and The Oregonian have been denied the same access to the ICE facility, with DHS officials requesting links to their prior coverage before considering their requests.
This approach has led to what Bauer calls “two competing visions of reality.” On one side, local officials—including Oregon Governor Tina Kotek and Portland Mayor Keith Wilson—have rejected the need for a National Guard deployment, arguing that the Portland Police Bureau is fully capable of handling the situation. On the other, the Trump administration and its media allies insist that the city is in a state of “open insurrection.”
The stakes are high. The Trump administration has sought to deploy Oregon’s National Guard against ICE protesters, though this move has been temporarily blocked in court. Meanwhile, advisers have reportedly nudged Trump to invoke the Insurrection Act as a way to circumvent judicial checks on federal authority. The specter of militarized crackdowns looms large, especially as state propagandists produce content portraying law enforcement actions as heroic triumphs over dangerous enemies—regardless of the facts on the ground.
This dynamic is not limited to Portland. In Chicago, an ICE raid on a 130-unit apartment complex was similarly hyped by administration figures as a major operation against alleged gang members. Yet, as CNN reported, only two individuals were identified as possible members of the gang in question, with others having criminal histories that did not necessarily justify the scale of the response.
Amid all this, some voices on the right have acknowledged the disconnect. Conservative podcaster Matt Tardio, who has livestreamed the Portland protests, admitted, “I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve said I don’t think the National Guard needs to come out here. I feel that the Portland Police Bureau can handle it.” Tardio also noted that some online content is deliberately staged for viral effect, rather than reflecting reality.
As this media ecosystem continues to churn, the line between fact and fiction grows ever blurrier. The rooftop photo op, the viral influencer clips, and the administration’s rhetoric all serve to reinforce a narrative that, according to local officials and journalists, simply does not match the lived experience of most Portlanders. Grasping the scale and intent of this orchestrated deception is crucial for understanding the current political moment—and for recognizing the power of propaganda in shaping public perception and policy.
In the end, the story of Kristi Noem, a rooftop, and a man in a chicken suit is less about what actually happened in Portland and more about how reality itself is being contested, reframed, and weaponized in the digital age.
