As a parent, I care deeply about what kind of world my kids will inherit—and who they’ll grow up to be in it. That’s why, amid rising political authoritarianism, white nationalism, and book bans, I take them to punk shows. Not just for the music (though that’s part of it), but because punk—especially the antifascist, antiracist strain that has long thrived in underground spaces—is one of the few places where resistance isn’t just theoretical; it’s loud, embodied, and lived. Punk shows offer my kids a crash course in moral clarity and historical memory at a time when those values are under open attack in our America.
This might seem like an odd educational strategy. After all, punk has never been about decorum or safety. But that’s precisely the point. In a moment where public schools are being stripped of honest history, where LGBTQ+ books are being pulled off shelves, and where Donald Trump openly echoes fascist rhetoric—calling immigrants “animals,” urging the military to police American streets, and promising “retribution” in his second term—I want my kids to see what it looks like to say no. Punk shows model that refusal in ways that are visceral and unforgettable.
Historically, punk has always been a thorn in the side of fascism. In 1970s Britain, bands like The Clash and Crass took on the National Front and Thatcherism with biting lyrics and community organizing. In the United States, Dead Kennedys mocked Reagan-era warmongering, while Black Flag’s raw fury gave voice to alienation under neoliberal capitalism. Later, bands like Anti-Flag and Propagandhi explicitly championed antifascist and antiracist politics. These were not just bands with a message—they created spaces where kids could see that being against oppression wasn’t fringe, it was necessary. Today, that spirit is alive and well—and I try to engage my kids with lyrics and the message regularly.
Compare that to what’s happening outside those walls. Trump has reiterated that the left is trying to destroy America, echoing language used by actual fascist leaders to justify censorship and violence. In states like Florida and Texas, anti- “woke” laws have banned educators from teaching about systemic racism or gender identity. Trans kids are being denied health care, book bans are metastasizing, and vigilante-like action is rising—often targeting the same communities celebrated in punk spaces.
This is not a neutral political moment. Raising children in it means making choices. I want them to know what solidarity looks like, what protest feels like, and how to recognize propaganda when they hear it. Punk shows—often organized by people barely scraping by but still finding ways to create a safe, defiant community—offer that kind of moral education. They teach not just resistance but joy, creativity, and collective care.
Some might argue that punk is too angry, too confrontational for kids. But have you seen the news? What’s “too much” is letting my children grow up thinking this is normal: leaders praising dictators, mobs threatening school boards, and presidential candidates promising to hunt down those with whom they disagree. I’d rather they scream along with a band calling out fascism than sit quietly while the world burns.
Luckily, many venues in our area are “all ages” and attended by an eclectic audience feeling the gravity of this American moment. You will see me and my kiddos throwing our heads around at Local 506 and Cat’s Cradle in Chapel Hill or The Ritz in Raleigh. Come join in the fun—all are welcome. Recently, we caught some West Coast thrashing at The Vera Project in Seattle. These venues—their audiences and the music erupting from them—are, at once, ragged, honest, and lovely.
Punk, in all its imperfect, chaotic glory, is a reminder that another world is possible—and worth fighting for. That’s the lesson I want my kids to learn now. Because by the time they’re old enough to vote, they’ll need not only the tools to recognize tyranny but the courage to defy it.
Dr. Nathan Boucher is an associate professor of public policy, nursing, and medicine at Duke University.