Party in the USA

Party in the U-S-A

In April, some frat boys from the University of North Carolina protected the American flag from anti-Israel protesters. On Labor Day, they got their reward: a $500,000 party.

By Olivia Reingold

September 4, 2024

Do you still love America?”

Hundreds of fraternity brothers, Jewish college students, and their dates respond to the question, posed by country musician John Rich, by howling with delight into the night sky. Two girls, both in white dresses and cowboy boots, clink their vapes together, as if to say cheers. Others cup their hands around their mouths to chant: “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

Of course they love America! These are the boys from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, who were hailed as patriots last April when they defended the American flag from a crowd of jeering anti-Israel protesters. Just as their peers were descending deeper into madness, setting up encampments on college campuses nationwide, these Vineyard Vines–clad students stood up for normalcy when they rushed to protect Old Glory. After their image went viral, John Noonan, a former adviser to then–presidential hopeful Mitt Romney, established a GoFundMe in their honor. The purpose? “Throw these frats the party they deserve.”

Thousands answered the call, and half a million dollars later, voilà—Flagstock 2024, as organizers called the event, was born.

And so it was that at 2:30 p.m. on Labor Day, dozens of journalists from around the country poured in looking for a show. They placed us in a press pen (thankfully, I escaped) and told us to wait. So we did. There were maybe thirty porta potties, enough chicken wings to feed an army, and security was flown in from New York. It was obvious that the organizations were expecting a “rager” (Noonan’s word) of mammoth proportions.

I assumed I just had to sit back, and the frat bros would come. But it was more a trickle that never really picked up beyond that. Of the 7,000 tickets that were distributed to the university’s Greek chapters, the campus ROTC program, and local veterans, fewer than a thousand people showed up.

It didn’t take long to figure out why. The gestalt of the party was conservative—although, c’mon, protecting the flag shouldn’t be a conservative gesture!—which caused many students to stay away.

Yik Yak, an anonymous message board popular among college students, was covered in messages telling students to stay home. “Don’t go to flagstock,” one person wrote in a note that soared to the top of the message board. “It’s all very loudly in support of conservative causes.”

In the beer line, Lance Adkins, a recent graduate who said he had helped guard the American flag for hours on that fateful day, told me he couldn’t convince any of his friends to tag along.

“It’s definitely a political move,” he said of their decision to skip Flagstock. “They think it’s a Republican event, and they just didn’t want to go because of that.”

When I found Dan Crenshaw, the Republican congressman from Texas, viewing the concert from the VIP section and wearing a skintight shirt, I asked him how he explained the low turnout.

“Organizers did everything they could to make it not political,” he said. “It’s too bad because it’s just the flag—it’s not about politics.” On the other hand, once former president Donald Trump decided to make a campaign ad to honor the flag protectors, it’s hard to say that it completely avoided politics.

To some of the attending Jewish students, the flag wasn’t the only point of Flagstock 2024. Since October 7, the anti-Israel movement has taken an increasingly anti-American, and even anti-Western, stance. Flag burning has become a common phenomenon; it was recently spotted at a protest outside of the Israeli consulate during the Democratic National Convention. At Flagstock 2024, the American flag and Israel were intertwined, at least to some.

One such man was Benaya Cherlow, an IDF veteran who recently fought for 120 days in Gaza. He told me that he emerged from Hamas’s tunnels last April only to receive a text with an image of the UNC fraternity brothers protecting the American and Israeli flags. He took it as a clear endorsement of his cause.

“When we saw these guys, we understood that we’re fighting not only for Israel but also for America,” he said, and added that he immediately showed the image to his fellow soldiers for “encouragement and power.”

Seated near the buffet of chicken wings, provided by—duh—Hooters, Cherlow, a dual American-Israeli citizen, said many Israelis assume they’ve “lost America.”

“Then when you show them this picture of young students who aren’t afraid, standing for hours in the rain, holding the American and Israeli flags, you understand that it’s not the end. We didn’t lose America. They didn’t give up on us.”

Cherlow, 28, said friends of friends connected him to the organizers of Monday’s event, who then put him in touch with some of the fraternity brothers in the image now seen around the world. That’s why, he told me, he drove nearly five hours from D.C., along with four other Israelis, to reach tonight’s event, to meet the students who first came across his phone screen in Gaza.

I asked him what it was like meeting them for the first time.

“You know, when you come home from Gaza, and you don’t see your family for a long time, you don’t speak—you hug,” he said. “That’s what we did with the students. We just hugged.”

Looking around, it was easy to forget that these were some of the smartest kids in America. The vibe was somewhere between a Trump rally and county fair. Among a sea of girls in push-up bras and guys in MAGA hats, a 21-year-old named Alana Goldman told me, “I came even though I was like, ‘I probably disagree with most people here on everything politically.’ ”

Then she smiled. “But it looked like it was going to be a fun party. So I figured, why wouldn’t I go?”

It’s a good question—why wouldn’t a college student attend a party with free beer, Hooters girls, chicken wings, and live music? Once the sun set, and the various flags attendees draped around their necks—American, Israeli, American-Israeli—had fallen off, the party became just that: a party.

By 9:30 p.m., at which point most other press was escorted off the premises (sorry, New York Times!), the frat came out of the frat bros. None of the other journalists were there to deliver this scoop: The attendees got properly wasted. Up in the VIP section set aside specifically for the flag protectors, a growing number of young men hobbled all over the place, tripping on the muddy ground.

One student in pastel shorts placed his arm around his stumbling friend, laughing as he told onlookers, “Nothing to see here.”

Nearby, a girl tried to show two friends how to smoke a cigar. “Honey, you have to inhale harder,” she told a girl with a middle part and a nose ring.

When the fireworks began shooting off—the big finale of the night—a few were so drunk they couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from. When one saw the explosions in the sky, he high-fived his friend.

“Nice!” he yelled.

It was good to know that somewhere back on campus, some of the kids they protested against—the ones who had ripped down the flag in the first place—were probably getting drunk, too.