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The case of Shelbyville, Tennessee is proof that when communities come together—across racial and class lines—they can challenge hate and demand real change.
As racial tensions escalate in Springfield, Ohio, Haitian families are facing violent threats and harassment, reflecting a wider pattern of fear and division that’s being felt across the country. This isn’t just about racism and xenophobia; it’s also about political leaders exploiting white fear to distract from systemic failures.
But there is hope. Shelbyville, Tennessee—a town with similar challenges—demonstrates how communities can transform this tide of hate into a movement for justice.
While smaller and less white than Springfield, Shelbyville shares a common profile: Both towns have faced long-standing economic hardship, spurred by the loss of manufacturing jobs. Both have also seen more recent immigrant arrivals. With this combination of economic struggle and demographic shifts, both towns have been targeted for racial scapegoating and organized white hate.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people.
Much like how the Proud Boys and KKK descended on Springfield, white nationalists set their sights on Shelbyville five years ago. They chose the town because Somali refugee resettlement challenged their vision of a “white ethnostate.”
But instead of giving in to fear, many in Shelbyville pushed back. They organized counter events, like a pozole potluck just blocks away from the white nationalists’ rally—a peaceful, community-centered response that drew far more participants than the hate rally itself.
Similarly, many in Springfield have flocked to Haitian businesses in support, rejecting white, racist hate.
In Shelbyville, a handful of residents knew more needed to be done to confront the hate long-term, and they could not leave the fight solely to their immigrant neighbors. They needed to address the root causes of division and show white community members that their true enemies weren’t refugees or immigrants.
They started small, going door to door to alert neighbors about the hate group’s presence, identifying allies, and asking residents about their real concerns. What they found was telling—most people were far more worried about economic issues than about immigration. Residents complained about a few exploitative landlords monopolizing rental housing in the mostly low-income town.
Springfield faces similar challenges: a severe lack of affordable housing (a crisis across the nation) and politicians blaming Haitian Americans for those problems instead of tackling the real culprits—such as failed policies and exploitative landlords. Indeed, residents of Springfield have long faced a lack of adequate services across the board. One Springfield resident, interviewed by journalist Aymann Ismail, explained how he receives just $23 per month in food stamps, nowhere near enough to survive. When pressed further, many residents agreed that government neglect, not Haitian families, was responsible for their struggles.
Back in Shelbyville, the rejection of organized hate grew into something bigger—the Bedford County Listening Project (BCLP). The group adopted a “shared interest” approach, highlighting how white residents, struggling just as much as their immigrant neighbors, could benefit from joining forces to fight systemic injustices. The BCLP shows white residents that racism isn’t just morally wrong—it is a tool used by the powerful to divide them and maintain the status quo.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people. They organized for tenant’s rights, fought to improve housing policies, and even helped elect one of their own to the city council—unseating a decades-long incumbent. They also tackled racism head-on, playing a key role in defeating an anti-refugee ordinance in 2019 and standing up to the KKK’s efforts to intimidate the town during the 2020 election.
This isn’t some story about a group of progressive activists. As their staff organizer explained, “None of them were activists prior to this. And nobody was Democrat.” Some even voted for former U.S. President Donald Trump in 2016, though most had not voted at all. What united them wasn’t ideology, but a shared desire to improve their lives and community.
One BCLP member summed it up: “That [anti-]refugee thing was doing nothing. It was just another dumb tactic” to distract from what really matters—jobs, schools, and housing.
The Shelbyville case is proof that when communities come together—across racial and class lines—they can challenge hate and demand real change. The real question is which groups will reach these communities first, those like the Bedford County Listening Project or hate groups like the Proud Boys?
The BCLP isn’t an isolated example. It’s part of a growing movement, supported by national groups like Showing Up for Racial Justice and other grassroots organizations that are working to unite predominately white communities with people of color in the fight for justice. These groups know that we’re all in this fight together, and they need our support.
As our nation encounters mounting levels of extremism and political violence, intentionally fueled by mainstream political actors, communities like Shelbyville and Springfield show us two ways forward. One succumbs to fear and division, while the other fights for solidarity and justice.
The choice is ours.
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As racial tensions escalate in Springfield, Ohio, Haitian families are facing violent threats and harassment, reflecting a wider pattern of fear and division that’s being felt across the country. This isn’t just about racism and xenophobia; it’s also about political leaders exploiting white fear to distract from systemic failures.
But there is hope. Shelbyville, Tennessee—a town with similar challenges—demonstrates how communities can transform this tide of hate into a movement for justice.
While smaller and less white than Springfield, Shelbyville shares a common profile: Both towns have faced long-standing economic hardship, spurred by the loss of manufacturing jobs. Both have also seen more recent immigrant arrivals. With this combination of economic struggle and demographic shifts, both towns have been targeted for racial scapegoating and organized white hate.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people.
Much like how the Proud Boys and KKK descended on Springfield, white nationalists set their sights on Shelbyville five years ago. They chose the town because Somali refugee resettlement challenged their vision of a “white ethnostate.”
But instead of giving in to fear, many in Shelbyville pushed back. They organized counter events, like a pozole potluck just blocks away from the white nationalists’ rally—a peaceful, community-centered response that drew far more participants than the hate rally itself.
Similarly, many in Springfield have flocked to Haitian businesses in support, rejecting white, racist hate.
In Shelbyville, a handful of residents knew more needed to be done to confront the hate long-term, and they could not leave the fight solely to their immigrant neighbors. They needed to address the root causes of division and show white community members that their true enemies weren’t refugees or immigrants.
They started small, going door to door to alert neighbors about the hate group’s presence, identifying allies, and asking residents about their real concerns. What they found was telling—most people were far more worried about economic issues than about immigration. Residents complained about a few exploitative landlords monopolizing rental housing in the mostly low-income town.
Springfield faces similar challenges: a severe lack of affordable housing (a crisis across the nation) and politicians blaming Haitian Americans for those problems instead of tackling the real culprits—such as failed policies and exploitative landlords. Indeed, residents of Springfield have long faced a lack of adequate services across the board. One Springfield resident, interviewed by journalist Aymann Ismail, explained how he receives just $23 per month in food stamps, nowhere near enough to survive. When pressed further, many residents agreed that government neglect, not Haitian families, was responsible for their struggles.
Back in Shelbyville, the rejection of organized hate grew into something bigger—the Bedford County Listening Project (BCLP). The group adopted a “shared interest” approach, highlighting how white residents, struggling just as much as their immigrant neighbors, could benefit from joining forces to fight systemic injustices. The BCLP shows white residents that racism isn’t just morally wrong—it is a tool used by the powerful to divide them and maintain the status quo.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people. They organized for tenant’s rights, fought to improve housing policies, and even helped elect one of their own to the city council—unseating a decades-long incumbent. They also tackled racism head-on, playing a key role in defeating an anti-refugee ordinance in 2019 and standing up to the KKK’s efforts to intimidate the town during the 2020 election.
This isn’t some story about a group of progressive activists. As their staff organizer explained, “None of them were activists prior to this. And nobody was Democrat.” Some even voted for former U.S. President Donald Trump in 2016, though most had not voted at all. What united them wasn’t ideology, but a shared desire to improve their lives and community.
One BCLP member summed it up: “That [anti-]refugee thing was doing nothing. It was just another dumb tactic” to distract from what really matters—jobs, schools, and housing.
The Shelbyville case is proof that when communities come together—across racial and class lines—they can challenge hate and demand real change. The real question is which groups will reach these communities first, those like the Bedford County Listening Project or hate groups like the Proud Boys?
The BCLP isn’t an isolated example. It’s part of a growing movement, supported by national groups like Showing Up for Racial Justice and other grassroots organizations that are working to unite predominately white communities with people of color in the fight for justice. These groups know that we’re all in this fight together, and they need our support.
As our nation encounters mounting levels of extremism and political violence, intentionally fueled by mainstream political actors, communities like Shelbyville and Springfield show us two ways forward. One succumbs to fear and division, while the other fights for solidarity and justice.
The choice is ours.
As racial tensions escalate in Springfield, Ohio, Haitian families are facing violent threats and harassment, reflecting a wider pattern of fear and division that’s being felt across the country. This isn’t just about racism and xenophobia; it’s also about political leaders exploiting white fear to distract from systemic failures.
But there is hope. Shelbyville, Tennessee—a town with similar challenges—demonstrates how communities can transform this tide of hate into a movement for justice.
While smaller and less white than Springfield, Shelbyville shares a common profile: Both towns have faced long-standing economic hardship, spurred by the loss of manufacturing jobs. Both have also seen more recent immigrant arrivals. With this combination of economic struggle and demographic shifts, both towns have been targeted for racial scapegoating and organized white hate.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people.
Much like how the Proud Boys and KKK descended on Springfield, white nationalists set their sights on Shelbyville five years ago. They chose the town because Somali refugee resettlement challenged their vision of a “white ethnostate.”
But instead of giving in to fear, many in Shelbyville pushed back. They organized counter events, like a pozole potluck just blocks away from the white nationalists’ rally—a peaceful, community-centered response that drew far more participants than the hate rally itself.
Similarly, many in Springfield have flocked to Haitian businesses in support, rejecting white, racist hate.
In Shelbyville, a handful of residents knew more needed to be done to confront the hate long-term, and they could not leave the fight solely to their immigrant neighbors. They needed to address the root causes of division and show white community members that their true enemies weren’t refugees or immigrants.
They started small, going door to door to alert neighbors about the hate group’s presence, identifying allies, and asking residents about their real concerns. What they found was telling—most people were far more worried about economic issues than about immigration. Residents complained about a few exploitative landlords monopolizing rental housing in the mostly low-income town.
Springfield faces similar challenges: a severe lack of affordable housing (a crisis across the nation) and politicians blaming Haitian Americans for those problems instead of tackling the real culprits—such as failed policies and exploitative landlords. Indeed, residents of Springfield have long faced a lack of adequate services across the board. One Springfield resident, interviewed by journalist Aymann Ismail, explained how he receives just $23 per month in food stamps, nowhere near enough to survive. When pressed further, many residents agreed that government neglect, not Haitian families, was responsible for their struggles.
Back in Shelbyville, the rejection of organized hate grew into something bigger—the Bedford County Listening Project (BCLP). The group adopted a “shared interest” approach, highlighting how white residents, struggling just as much as their immigrant neighbors, could benefit from joining forces to fight systemic injustices. The BCLP shows white residents that racism isn’t just morally wrong—it is a tool used by the powerful to divide them and maintain the status quo.
Unlike many anti-racist efforts among white people that focus on personal behavior or privilege awareness for a liberal, middle-class audience, the BCLP focused on real-world issues affecting white working-class people. They organized for tenant’s rights, fought to improve housing policies, and even helped elect one of their own to the city council—unseating a decades-long incumbent. They also tackled racism head-on, playing a key role in defeating an anti-refugee ordinance in 2019 and standing up to the KKK’s efforts to intimidate the town during the 2020 election.
This isn’t some story about a group of progressive activists. As their staff organizer explained, “None of them were activists prior to this. And nobody was Democrat.” Some even voted for former U.S. President Donald Trump in 2016, though most had not voted at all. What united them wasn’t ideology, but a shared desire to improve their lives and community.
One BCLP member summed it up: “That [anti-]refugee thing was doing nothing. It was just another dumb tactic” to distract from what really matters—jobs, schools, and housing.
The Shelbyville case is proof that when communities come together—across racial and class lines—they can challenge hate and demand real change. The real question is which groups will reach these communities first, those like the Bedford County Listening Project or hate groups like the Proud Boys?
The BCLP isn’t an isolated example. It’s part of a growing movement, supported by national groups like Showing Up for Racial Justice and other grassroots organizations that are working to unite predominately white communities with people of color in the fight for justice. These groups know that we’re all in this fight together, and they need our support.
As our nation encounters mounting levels of extremism and political violence, intentionally fueled by mainstream political actors, communities like Shelbyville and Springfield show us two ways forward. One succumbs to fear and division, while the other fights for solidarity and justice.
The choice is ours.