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On a balmy Wednesday evening, as thousands of immigrant rights demonstrators gather at The Coliseum in a mass of chanting, flag-waving protest, a smaller, quieter, but no less impassioned group comes together on the other side of the Cumberland River.
Twenty-seven stories above War Memorial Plaza, ensconced in the rarefied air of a conference room provided by one of Nashville’s most powerful law firms, the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition (TIRRC) holds what it calls a legislative reception. The purpose of the event is to bring lawmakers—some of whom are presiding over a raft of immigration reform legislation—together with immigrant rights leaders and the people they represent.
Within a half-hour, most of the legislators have quietly exited, leaving behind a remarkable assemblage of activists from different organizations, business owners and community and church leaders, as well as state employees who work directly with the immigrant population. This small, energetic group is the nucleus of a movement that is changing the cultural complexion of Middle Tennessee.
Many of them stand looking out the conference room’s windows, which give a sweeping view of downtown and beyond, to East Nashville. In the purple and gold light of sunset, thousands can be seen massing around the stadium, and an excited energy seems to bounce through the gray, corporate confines of the conference room.
“This is what it’s all about,” says Diana Holland, who runs a consulting firm that specializes in strengthening communication between Spanish- and English-speaking communities and businesses. She is also a co-founder of Tango Nashville, a dance school that promotes Argentine tango and culture. “What is going on today is something unprecedented,” she continues. She describes how the Latino community in Nashville is transforming, bubbling, taking advantage of rights unheard of in their home countries. “Some of us come from countries were the word ‘rights’ is not even in the dictionary.”
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As the marchers make their way in a peaceful, orderly column down Union Street, those assembled in the 27th floor conference room clap, take pictures and high-five each other.
On the street below, as War Memorial Plaza fills with protesters, another separate, small gathering stands staring at the sea of vocal humanity. This group, however, is not nearly as pleased as the folks 27 stories above them are.
Brian Crawley stands among this little band—perhaps 12 in all—holding a red, white and blue sign that reads “Arrest—Detain—Deport!! What laws can I break and not go to jail for?”
Jeff Mackense, who stands next to Crawley and is flying little American flags from his backpack and pockets while holding a full-sized stars-and-stripes before him on a wooden pole, agrees with Crawley’s sentiment. “I don’t care if they’re Mexican or Pakistani,” he says. “If they’re illegal, they should all be sent back.” Then he’s interrupted by his cell phone, which rings with the chorus of Merle Haggard’s “Fightin’ Side of Me.”
The anti-protest protesters are frustrated and outgunned. Most are reduced to yelling at the marchers filing into the plaza across the street, trying to engage them in a sidewalk-to-sidewalk shouting match.
The immigrant rights protesters for the most part ignore them, to the delight of the police in charge of crowd control. Some of the cops even compliment the protesters on “keeping it cool.”
Off the phone and unable to get the attention of the protesters, Mackense shakes his head—and his flag. “They come to the United States and protest with a Mexican flag,” he says. “I just don’t get it. I just don’t get it.”