“No Kings 2.0”: Northeast Tennessee Unites With 7 million Across the Country

Co-authored and images by Raylee McKenzie

Thousands of Northeast Tennesseans gathered on West State of Franklin Road on Oct. 18 for the "No Kings 2.0" protest against "executive overreach” and “perceived threats to democratic norms.”

The Johnson City demonstration was part of a coordinated nationwide effort that organizers estimate involved nearly 7 million Americans. It was echoed locally by simultaneous sister protests in Bristol and Kingsport.

Held on a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon, the protest drew a notable cross-section of the Tennessee Valley. Young and old, lifelong progressives and disillusioned conservatives, families with children in tow and solitary voices of conscience all converged, engaging in what many called the most American activity imaginable: speaking truth to power.

John Baker, a local organizer and founder of the Pride Community and Education Center of the Tri-Cities, echoed this sentiment. "To me, this is what America is," Baker said. "Everybody. All means all, not just the rich white people. It has to be all."

A Movement of Millions

As one of the largest demonstrations in American history, the coordinated protests marked a watershed moment in American resistance politics. With over 2,700 demonstrations occurring simultaneously across the United States, the "No Kings" movement drew on deep wells of constitutional concern that transcended traditional partisan boundaries. In Northeast Tennessee alone, the regional turnout numbered in the thousands, with protesters filling sidewalks, hillsides and street corners throughout the afternoon.

This protest was the second to bear the "No Kings" name, following a smaller, inaugural demonstration in July. Both events were built on the momentum from the "Hands Off" protests earlier in the spring, which were organized to challenge perceived threats to judicial independence. The dramatic leap in participation for "No Kings 2.0"—from the hundreds of thousands in the summer to an estimated seven million on Saturday—signals a rapid coalescence of a diverse opposition.

Nationally, the "No Kings" protests were organized by a coalition of more than 200 progressive groups. Key partners included Indivisible, the 50501 Movement, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and Public Citizen, alongside major unions like the American Federation of Teachers (AFT) and the Service Employees International Union (SEIU). Other prominent partners such as MoveOn, the Human Rights Campaign and the League of Conservation Voters, also helped mobilize the extensive alliance.

The name itself—"No Kings"—echoes the founding principles embedded in America's revolutionary DNA. It's a direct repudiation of the Federalists’ fear that executive power, left unchecked, would metastasize into monarchy. For those gathered along these Tennessee streets, the reference was as historically resonant as it was urgent.

Tactical Frivolity Meets Serious Purpose

Among the hand-painted canvases, professionally printed banners and cardboard signs bearing messages of resistance, something unexpected emerged: inflatable animal costumes. Dozens of them. A technique borrowed from international protest movements and known as "tactical frivolity," these whimsical costumes serve multiple purposes—they signal the peaceful nature of demonstrations, provide levity for children attending with parents and have proven effective in de-escalating potential violence in other contexts. The unique costumes also serve as a visual watermark, making it difficult to misrepresent the peaceful event with unrelated footage of violence.

"This is exactly what our founders envisioned," Jennifer Torres said, a high school civics teacher who brought her two sons. "Peaceful assembly, free speech and holding power accountable. The inflatable T. rex I’m wearing? That's just making sure my youngest remembers this day as something positive, not scary."

The scene was both festive and purposeful. A fiddler played at busy intersections. Protesters meditated on grassy knolls. Signs reading "This is what democracy looks like" speckled against the crowd—the response line to a popular social justice chant that has become a rallying cry for democratic participation. An electric but peaceful soundtrack filled the air, as civil rights anthems blended with contemporary jams and the honking of enthusiastic motorists.

An Unlikely Coalition

What struck observers most wasn't just the size of the crowd, but its composition. This wasn't a protest drawn solely from predictable quarters. Alongside progressive activists were self-described moderates, registered Republicans experiencing what several called "buyer's remorse," and first-time protesters who'd never imagined themselves holding signs on street corners.

"I voted for my conscience in November, but what I'm seeing now isn't what I voted for," said a veteran and small business owner from Gray, Tennessee. "When constitutional principles are at stake, party loyalty takes a back seat, you know? I took an oath to defend the Constitution once. That oath don’t have an expiration date."

The diversity was generational. College students marched alongside retirees. Parents pushed strollers while grandparents wielded hand-painted signs. For many older attendees, the scene evoked memories of civil rights marches and Vietnam War protests—moments when American citizens stood up to redirect the course of history.

"I marched in the sixties," said Dorothy Blackwell, a 78-year-old who attended with her daughter and granddaughter. "I thought maybe my generation had done enough, that we'd secured these freedoms. But this has been a reminder that freedom isn't a one-time purchase. Unfortunately, it's kind of like a subscription that you have to keep renewing."

Justice at the Intersection

The protest also centered on critical civil liberty concerns facing the local community. Demonstrators distributed literature demanding the release of Alejandro Guizar Lozano, an immigrant rights activist detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement just three days earlier. For many protesters, Lozano's detention represented the kind of executive overreach the "No Kings" movement exists to challenge.

"When ICE can detain community organizers for advocating for their neighbors, we're not talking about immigration enforcement anymore—we're talking about silencing dissent," said Maria Gonzalez, a community organizer. "That's the playbook of authoritarianism, not democracy."

Traffic as Referendum

For hours, the pulse of the protest could be measured not just by the voices of those on foot, but by the response of those driving past. The overwhelming majority of vehicles honked in fervent support—sustained blasts of solidarity that drew cheers from the crowd. One vehicle, painted with pro-democracy slogans, circled the protest route multiple times; its occupants cheering from open windows.

The exceptions were rare but predictable. An occasional obscenity shouted from a passing truck. A handful of individual counter-protesters, whose presence registered but never escalated beyond verbal disagreement.

Meanwhile, protest organizers wearing neon yellow vests actively managed traffic flow and ensured demonstrator safety on downtown Johnson City's busy streets. "We planned every contingency, but honestly, the vibe was just positive," said one of several volunteer safety coordinators. "Even most of the people who disagreed with us just drove on. This was about exercising our rights, not picking fights."

A Perfect Day for Democracy

Clear blue skies, temperatures in the low 70s, and those characteristic wispy clouds that make October in Appalachia feel almost ethereal. Multiple protesters remarked on the symbolism—a beautiful day to be an American, to exercise the rights that define citizenship in a free society.

"Days like this remind you what we're fighting for," Kevin O'Brien said, a local artist who created several of the hand-painted signs visible throughout the crowd. "Not just, like, abstract principles, but the actual lived experience of freedom. The ability to stand on a street corner on a gorgeous October afternoon and tell your government 'No.' That's not a small thing. That's everything."

After the Signs Come Down

As the afternoon waned and protesters began to disperse, discarded signs and a single American flag rested on a bench at West State of Franklin Road and University Parkway. The image tells its own story: the tools of protest temporarily set aside, but the sentiment endures.

The nationwide scale of the “No Kings” protests suggests this wasn't a flash of reactive anger, but a sustained movement with organizational depth and broad appeal. In Northeast Tennessee, that movement looked like neighbors standing together under autumn skies, peacefully and joyously exercising rights that feel simultaneously ancient and urgent.

Whether history will record “No Kings 2.0” as a turning point or merely a moment remains to be seen. But for the thousands who lined the streets of Johnson City, Bristol and Kingsport, Tennessee, the answer was already clear: democracy isn't a spectator sport, and citizenship requires more than voting every few years—it requires showing up, speaking up and standing together.

On Oct. 18, Northeast Tennessee did exactly that.

https://www.nokings.org/about-nk