From Purl to Punk
- Corey Ray
- 3 minutes ago
- 4 min read
In the spirit of this Saturday's No Kings Protest — the third of its kind, taking place March 28 — the spotlight turns toward something that's been here all along: the quiet, persistent, powerful community action happening right here in the Tri-Cities.
This photo essay moves through three moments of resistance in the Appalachian borderlands — a knitting circle, a street protest and a punk benefit show — tracing what connects them beneath the surface.
It starts with "Resist, Stitch, & Bitch," where activism is slow and deliberate: needles moving, coffee cooling, a WWII-era Norwegian symbol quietly revived at a Starbucks table. From there, it follows another group of activists out onto State Street — the state line dividing Tennessee and Virginia — where the Bristol Action Group brings signs and inflatable frog energy to the base of the Bristol Guitar, drawing cheers and jeers. A heritage monument and a climate banner in the same frame.
Then it gets loud. A hardcore punk benefit at Fern Ridge Information Shop, raising money for reproductive rights and awareness for bodily autonomy across that same state line.
Through these photos, we see that Appalachia is not a political monolith. This is a portrait of the people here who keep fighting for freedom and autonomy in uncertain times.
Members of the "Resist, Stitch, & Bitch" circle gather to continue a lineage of domestic subversion. Their work draws direct inspiration from World War II Norway, where citizens wore red knitted caps—nisselue—as a silent, folk-rooted protest against Nazi occupation. By reviving the craft, these women transform a private act of creation into a public statement of contemporary resistance, proving that the softest materials can hold the hardest lines.
The rhythmic click of knitting needles pauses as news breaks on a smartphone: Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem has been "reassigned" to a special envoy role following a tumultuous year of bipartisan criticism and the fallout of "Operation Metro Surge." For the members of "Resist, Stitch, & Bitch," the announcement is met with a mix of shock and sharp, cynical laughter.
Left: A hand-knitted beanie, modeled after the Norwegian nisselue, sits finished and ready for distribution. This piece will be donated to Indivisible Tri-Cities, where its sale will fund local mutual aid initiatives. In the hands of "Resist, Stitch, & Bitch," the ancient "protective household spirit" of the nisse is reimagined as a modern safety net—turning wool and patience into direct resources for a community navigating a shifting political landscape.
Right: On the frost-edged afternoon of Feb. 22, 2026, Samuel Ward stands beneath the iconic Bristol Guitar, holding the Iranian flag aloft. As a member of the Bristol Action Group, Ward’s presence at this antifascist rally serves as a visual bridge between Appalachian resistance and the global "Woman, Life, Freedom" movement. By planting a symbol of international struggle in the heart of the "Birthplace of Country Music," the protest reframes the local landmark not just as a monument to the past, but as a stage for a modern, intersectional future.
At the intersection of State Street and Commonwealth Avenue, the Bristol Action Group transforms a historic boundary into a frontline of ideological friction. Standing before the iconic Bristol Guitar—a monument to the region's musical heritage—protesters face a gauntlet of public reaction. On this frosty afternoon, the air is thick with a cacophony of support and dissent: the steady rhythm of cheers from passing motorists met with the sharp, vocal jeers of the occasional passerby counter-protester.
A neon-green inflatable frog holds a strongly worded protest sign, a juxtaposition known as "Tactical Frivolity.” This is a protest strategy that utilizes the absurd to de-escalate tension and disarm aggression. By injecting humor into a high-stakes antifascist demonstration, protesters subvert the "violent agitator" narrative and confuse the tactical response of authorities. It is difficult to maintain a posture of stern, militarized control when the "threat" is a seven-foot squeaky amphibian, proving that sometimes the most effective way to fight power is to make it look ridiculous.
Amidst the low-frequency hum of soundchecks at Fern Ridge Information Shop, volunteers for State Line Abortion Access Partners (SLAAP) transform a merch table into a frontline clinic. As the "Femme Revolution" benefit begins, the booth serves as a high-stakes resource hub, distributing emergency contraception, "Plan C" medication, and harm-reduction literature. In a post-Roe Appalachian landscape, where the "State Line" is both a geographic border and a legal barrier, these volunteers represent the logistical side of defiance, ensuring that bodily autonomy isn't just a lyric screamed from the stage, but a tangible resource in the hands of the community.
The hardcore outfit Cordiletta becomes a blur of raw defiance as the singer launches herself across the floor at Fern Ridge. Her performance is a physical exorcism of the political tensions hanging over the Tennessee-Virginia line. Through guttural screams and fractured, twisting guitar licks, she channels the spirit of "Femme Revolution" into a visceral, sonic weapon. In this punk rock sanctuary, the quiet resolve of the nisselue weavers is translated into a roar.
Propped against a merch table at the Femme Revolution show, a hand-lettered sign declares: "Youths Against Fascism." While the music inside the Fern Ridge Information Shop is loud and abrasive, this simple piece of particle board serves as a quiet, steady beacon of continuity. It is a visual echo of the red hats worn by Norwegian grandmothers and the banners held on State Street—a signal that the "resistance" is not a fleeting trend, but an inherited responsibility. In the hands of a new generation of Appalachian activists, the fight for autonomy is being rebranded with the raw, uncompromising energy of the punk scene, proving that while the tactics evolve, the resolve remains unbroken.
In a corner of the "Resist, Stitch, & Bitch" circle, the generational hierarchy dissolves over a tangle of yarn. Christy Rogers, representing a new wave of Appalachian organizers, guides seasoned activist Kae Roberts through a complex stitch. This exchange is a reminder that while the elders provide the foundation of historical defiance, the youth bring the innovation and fire necessary to keep the movement evolving. Knowledge doesn't just descend; it flows in a continuous, reciprocal loop. As the needles click in asynchronous rhythm, the gap between the WWII nisselue and the "Femme Revolution" mosh pit closes, proving that the thread of resistance—once picked up—is never truly broken.