Tennessee’s Red Wall Holds Firm as Van Epps Repels Progressive Push

Paul Riverbank, 12/3/2025Republican stronghold faces a serious progressive challenge, signaling political change in Tennessee’s 7th District.

The backdrop was more than tradition. Yes, the district’s voting history runs Republican red, but for weeks, local diners buzzed with rumors: Could it get close this year? National party committees must have thought so, judging by the rivers of ad dollars flowing in and the parade of familiar faces—politicians with practiced handshakes—making rounds through schools, union halls, and, of course, the ever-reliable barbecue joints.

Van Epps took a matter-of-fact line with supporters, relaying turnout numbers as if reporting logistics from a military operation. Meanwhile, his opponent—state Rep. Aftyn Behn—charted her own course, no less energetic, rallying pockets of progressive voters often overlooked in Tennessee’s entrenched politics. Her campaign, awash in optimistic slogans, drew inevitable comparisons to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and the wider progressive cohort. Behn herself seemed less interested in the labels, riffing at one rally about how “win or lose, you’ve already sparked something—in the South, of all places.”

The sheer volume of out-of-state firepower on both sides gave the campaign a theatrical edge. Speaker of the House Mike Johnson made sure to reserve time in his schedule to trail Van Epps, underscoring just how threatened national Republicans felt. Donald Trump, ever the showman, phoned in with trademark bravado; “The world is watching Tennessee,” piped up through crackling phone lines during a tele-rally, the implication clear that anything less than a landslide would be considered a warning sign.

If Republican alarms were loud, Democratic cheers grew equally pronounced. Progressive icons dialed in, and Aftyn Behn’s events became livestream meetups, with former Vice President Al Gore and notable activists lending virtual weight. “Affordability,” she hammered again and again, “isn’t partisan. It’s deeply personal.” That message, while resonant with some, clashed noisily against the district’s conservative instincts. In the final stretch, Republican strategists dug through past podcasts and old op-eds. One, labeling Tennessee “a racist state,” became campaign mortar fire. Van Epps made it an anchor: “These views just don’t square with who we are around here.”

Behn, for her part, laughed it off, half-joking to attendees about newfound fame—critics and all. She kept circling back to local issues, resisting nationalization in a district wary of outside influence.

As polls ticked toward closing, voters filed into community centers and aging gymnasiums, each with their own calculus of continuity versus change. It wasn’t a runaway—the subtitles would note that margins matter, perhaps foreshadowing where both parties may focus in upcoming election cycles.

When the dust lifted and the precincts finished their slow tabulation, Matt Van Epps could claim victory. Republicans breathed a bit easier—if only for now—reminded yet again that deep-rooted doesn’t mean unchangeable. For Democrats, losing the seat didn’t feel like outright defeat. Their campaign had, at minimum, rattled expectations and forced deeper discussion about issues some had pegged as settled.

Looking forward, party leaders on both sides are already dissecting results and recalibrating. In a year crowded with tight margins, this Tennessee seat offered more than just one side’s relief or another’s frustration. It served as a rough draft for contests, not just here, but anywhere a political ground swell might be hiding just beneath the surface.

Election nights rarely slip by quietly, but Tennessee’s 7th was restless even by that standard. What started as a seemingly routine defense of Republican territory—this patchwork of rural counties and Nashville exurbs stitched along the Alabama and Kentucky lines—quickly evolved into an election with all eyes pressed close. Matt Van Epps, a combat veteran and bureaucrat who might be more comfortable in a command tent than a campaign bus, found himself shouldering his party’s hopes in a contest Democrats fought with uncharacteristic tenacity.The backdrop was more than tradition. Yes, the district’s voting history runs Republican red, but for weeks, local diners buzzed with rumors: Could it get close this year? National party committees must have thought so, judging by the rivers of ad dollars flowing in and the parade of familiar faces—politicians with practiced handshakes—making rounds through schools, union halls, and, of course, the ever-reliable barbecue joints.Van Epps took a matter-of-fact line with supporters, relaying turnout numbers as if reporting logistics from a military operation. Meanwhile, his opponent—state Rep. Aftyn Behn—charted her own course, no less energetic, rallying pockets of progressive voters often overlooked in Tennessee’s entrenched politics. Her campaign, awash in optimistic slogans, drew inevitable comparisons to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and the wider progressive cohort. Behn herself seemed less interested in the labels, riffing at one rally about how “win or lose, you’ve already sparked something—in the South, of all places.”The sheer volume of out-of-state firepower on both sides gave the campaign a theatrical edge. Speaker of the House Mike Johnson made sure to reserve time in his schedule to trail Van Epps, underscoring just how threatened national Republicans felt. Donald Trump, ever the showman, phoned in with trademark bravado; “The world is watching Tennessee,” piped up through crackling phone lines during a tele-rally, the implication clear that anything less than a landslide would be considered a warning sign.If Republican alarms were loud, Democratic cheers grew equally pronounced. Progressive icons dialed in, and Aftyn Behn’s events became livestream meetups, with former Vice President Al Gore and notable activists lending virtual weight. “Affordability,” she hammered again and again, “isn’t partisan. It’s deeply personal.” That message, while resonant with some, clashed noisily against the district’s conservative instincts. In the final stretch, Republican strategists dug through past podcasts and old op-eds. One, labeling Tennessee “a racist state,” became campaign mortar fire. Van Epps made it an anchor: “These views just don’t square with who we are around here.”Behn, for her part, laughed it off, half-joking to attendees about newfound fame—critics and all. She kept circling back to local issues, resisting nationalization in a district wary of outside influence.As polls ticked toward closing, voters filed into community centers and aging gymnasiums, each with their own calculus of continuity versus change. It wasn’t a runaway—the subtitles would note that margins matter, perhaps foreshadowing where both parties may focus in upcoming election cycles.When the dust lifted and the precincts finished their slow tabulation, Matt Van Epps could claim victory. Republicans breathed a bit easier—if only for now—reminded yet again that deep-rooted doesn’t mean unchangeable. For Democrats, losing the seat didn’t feel like outright defeat. Their campaign had, at minimum, rattled expectations and forced deeper discussion about issues some had pegged as settled.Looking forward, party leaders on both sides are already dissecting results and recalibrating. In a year crowded with tight margins, this Tennessee seat offered more than just one side’s relief or another’s frustration. It served as a rough draft for contests, not just here, but anywhere a political ground swell might be hiding just beneath the surface.