I consider myself on the left. I'm definitely in opposition to the president. He's so blatantly and openly corrupt, and such a slimeball. There's a line that you're crossing when you're separating children from their parents. That fueled a lot of the fire.

I bought a pickax at the Home Depot in Glendale. I concealed it in a guitar case, and I went down to the star. I put on some headphones; I was listening to Death Grips, which is some high-energy, ridiculous music. It gave me the energy I needed to tear through the star.

I'd heard from a lot of people that a sledgehammer was the right tool for the job, but the pickax worked. Rocks were flying up in my face. I wanted to obliterate the thing, because I thought that would be a statement: We're removing him from the ground, we're removing him from Hollywood, we're removing him from California, we're removing him from the United States.

Johanna Siring

When I was done, I turned myself in at the precinct in Beverly Hills. They put me in cuffs and took me down to Hollywood. From Hollywood, they took me to downtown L.A. When they were frisking me, they found a little piece of rubble in my shirt pocket. The guy put it to the side, and he's like, “One rock. Put it on the inventory list.” But I wish they hadn't found that so I could have a little piece of the star, a little souvenir.

My mom, who supports Trump, was just aghast. She told me I should have stayed in jail. But I got bailed out within 24 hours, by somebody who would like to remain anonymous. I did make it public that I spoke to Robert De Niro after my release. I don't know how he got my number. I mean—it might have something to do with that anonymous bailout. Maybe. I'm really not at liberty to say. [A spokesperson for De Niro denied that he had any association with Clay.—Ed.]

Three days later, I got another call: “Don't be alarmed, but we're the Secret Service, and we're coming to your house.” So I went outside, and I just see these two suits that are walking toward me. I walk over to meet them, and they're like, “We're the Secret Service,” and they flash their badges. But they kind of thought it was funny. I didn't harm anyone; I didn't commit a violent act. After we got to talking, one of them gave me a high five.

The West Hollywood City Council had a meeting about removing Trump's star. I got up and spoke, and it was really dramatic: “I see this country being destroyed. I see nuclear bombs. We gotta get this guy out of office!” I went over my two minutes, but I still had more to say. The people opposing me were yelling, “Over your time! Over your time!” So it became a fucking mess. Then they voted unanimously to remove it, but it was West Hollywood, not Hollywood, so the vote was just symbolic.

The Walk of Fame is a whole boulevard of different people who have lived amazing lives. David Bowie. Marilyn Monroe. Taking Trump's name out of there is very rich and symbolic. I'm sure his ego was torn up about it, considering it's the second time that it's happened. He's like, “Damn it. Not again.”

I want to be seen as somebody who saw things going horribly and had to take a stance, before things got even worse than they already were. I've participated in protests before—but my problem with peaceful protest is, what needs to happen for political change to arise? I think it takes a dynamic, explosive event.

—As told to Jesse Barron

This story originally appeared in the December 2018/January 2019 issue with the title "A Star Is Torn."