Trump and Johnson Sound Alarm: Tennessee’s Red Wall Faces Liberal Siege

Paul Riverbank, 12/2/2025A deep-red Tennessee district turns into a bellwether as Republicans and Democrats battle fiercely in a race with national stakes—underscoring eroding party strongholds, tightening House margins, and a restless electorate demanding answers on rising costs and political polarization.

The sudden fuss? Simple math and political nerves. House Republicans walk a tightrope every morning, just 219 seats to the Democrats’ 213. That thin majority, already singed by unexpected Democratic wins elsewhere, means every contest becomes a must-win, even here—where the GOP usually cashes its checks without worrying about the fine print.

On Monday, House Speaker Mike Johnson all but sprinted between appearances alongside Matt Van Epps, the Republican candidate with military stripes and a résumé dotted with local government gigs. The two courted voters in Franklin, outside Nashville, eager to wring every drop of turnout they could. At one point, Johnson phoned Trump in for a bit of live-wire campaign theater. Both hammered home the same refrain: Entitlement is the enemy. “Special elections are strange,” Johnson told the assembled faithful. “A lot of people take for granted in a deep red district like this that the Republican is just going to win automatically. Nothing’s automatic.”

Van Epps didn’t look rattled—on camera, at least. Rafts of homegrown endorsements buoyed him, and he projected assurance, telling reporters, “We’re going to win decisively tomorrow.” He seemed to trust the familiar muscle memory of GOP victories gone by, even as new faces came out to knock on doors and make late calls.

Yet the Democratic challenge, personified by Aftyn Behn, felt energized in a way that hardly anyone recalls in these parts. Behn—an organizer, state legislator, and, by now, a fixture at progressive rallies—turned up her own volume, insisting this was about more than partisan lines. Monday night found her at a virtual rally, with figures like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Al Gore chiming in from distant screens. The message was consistent, sharp: inflation, health care, pocketbook strain. “Angry about high grocery prices? Worried about health care costs? Feeling burned by tariffs? Then Dec. 2 is your day to shake up Washington,” Behn told supporters.

Her campaign manager, Kate Briefs, didn’t sugarcoat things—the odds tilt uphill for Democrats—but pointed to early vote patterns that painted a picture neither party could entirely decipher. “Their agenda is deeply unpopular -- and because early vote returns show this race is a dead heat. They can’t talk about fixing healthcare, lowering costs, or protecting our hospitals because they have no plan. So instead, they’re throwing mud.”

That “mud” wasn’t in short supply. Republicans focused on framing Behn as dramatically liberal—“as far left as you can get,” Trump said, for good measure layering on charges about her supposed antipathy for everything from country music to Christianity, citing critical remarks about life in Nashville as proof. Behn, for her part, brushed it aside, “Nashville is my home…this race has always been about something bigger. It’s about families across middle Tennessee that are getting crushed by rising prices.” Then, almost offhand, she added that voters motioned toward her in grocery store aisles, asking if anyone in D.C. actually understood what their week looked like.

Strangely enough, in these final days, Van Epps’ campaign ads offered a subtle, telling shift. No mention of Trump. No flash of the Republican label. Instead, just: “American Patriot.” Commentators read that as a sign of so-called “Trump fatigue” setting in, an uncertainty about how much to lean on national figures in districts where the base’s mood might be in quiet flux. “The sudden competitiveness of a special House election in a heavily gerrymandered Republican district is a good summation of Trump and the GOP’s current political freefall—and the rising political fortunes of Democrats,” one seasoned analyst remarked, not that Van Epps’ team would say so outright.

What’s not up for dispute is urgency. House Speaker Johnson repeated as much to Fox News Digital: “Every seat counts.” Losing even one in districts like this—places presumed unshakable just a cycle ago—would all but force Republicans into constant triage, their majority hanging by a thread.

As polls open, both parties hustle and hope, knowing that Tuesday’s verdict will echo well beyond the hills around Nashville. A close call or a landslide either way will be parsed for meaning, lessons, and warnings about what’s coming next. This quiet district—usually background noise—suddenly finds itself center stage, its voters writing the first notes in the next act of America’s political drama.

It’s not every year the political spotlight lands on Tennessee’s 7th Congressional District. Frankly, most election cycles see this stretch of Middle Tennessee as little more than a pit stop—solid GOP turf where the usual campaign energy is spent elsewhere. Not this time. On the day before the vote, the stakes soared, with the mood on the ground equal parts anxious and electric. Headlines in New York and Washington tagged this race as a weather vane, and if it wasn’t already clear, it became crystal once Donald Trump weighed in, “The whole world is watching Tennessee right now. And they’re watching your district. The whole world. It’s a big vote. It’s going to show something.”The sudden fuss? Simple math and political nerves. House Republicans walk a tightrope every morning, just 219 seats to the Democrats’ 213. That thin majority, already singed by unexpected Democratic wins elsewhere, means every contest becomes a must-win, even here—where the GOP usually cashes its checks without worrying about the fine print.On Monday, House Speaker Mike Johnson all but sprinted between appearances alongside Matt Van Epps, the Republican candidate with military stripes and a résumé dotted with local government gigs. The two courted voters in Franklin, outside Nashville, eager to wring every drop of turnout they could. At one point, Johnson phoned Trump in for a bit of live-wire campaign theater. Both hammered home the same refrain: Entitlement is the enemy. “Special elections are strange,” Johnson told the assembled faithful. “A lot of people take for granted in a deep red district like this that the Republican is just going to win automatically. Nothing’s automatic.”Van Epps didn’t look rattled—on camera, at least. Rafts of homegrown endorsements buoyed him, and he projected assurance, telling reporters, “We’re going to win decisively tomorrow.” He seemed to trust the familiar muscle memory of GOP victories gone by, even as new faces came out to knock on doors and make late calls.Yet the Democratic challenge, personified by Aftyn Behn, felt energized in a way that hardly anyone recalls in these parts. Behn—an organizer, state legislator, and, by now, a fixture at progressive rallies—turned up her own volume, insisting this was about more than partisan lines. Monday night found her at a virtual rally, with figures like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Al Gore chiming in from distant screens. The message was consistent, sharp: inflation, health care, pocketbook strain. “Angry about high grocery prices? Worried about health care costs? Feeling burned by tariffs? Then Dec. 2 is your day to shake up Washington,” Behn told supporters.Her campaign manager, Kate Briefs, didn’t sugarcoat things—the odds tilt uphill for Democrats—but pointed to early vote patterns that painted a picture neither party could entirely decipher. “Their agenda is deeply unpopular -- and because early vote returns show this race is a dead heat. They can’t talk about fixing healthcare, lowering costs, or protecting our hospitals because they have no plan. So instead, they’re throwing mud.”That “mud” wasn’t in short supply. Republicans focused on framing Behn as dramatically liberal—“as far left as you can get,” Trump said, for good measure layering on charges about her supposed antipathy for everything from country music to Christianity, citing critical remarks about life in Nashville as proof. Behn, for her part, brushed it aside, “Nashville is my home…this race has always been about something bigger. It’s about families across middle Tennessee that are getting crushed by rising prices.” Then, almost offhand, she added that voters motioned toward her in grocery store aisles, asking if anyone in D.C. actually understood what their week looked like.Strangely enough, in these final days, Van Epps’ campaign ads offered a subtle, telling shift. No mention of Trump. No flash of the Republican label. Instead, just: “American Patriot.” Commentators read that as a sign of so-called “Trump fatigue” setting in, an uncertainty about how much to lean on national figures in districts where the base’s mood might be in quiet flux. “The sudden competitiveness of a special House election in a heavily gerrymandered Republican district is a good summation of Trump and the GOP’s current political freefall—and the rising political fortunes of Democrats,” one seasoned analyst remarked, not that Van Epps’ team would say so outright.What’s not up for dispute is urgency. House Speaker Johnson repeated as much to Fox News Digital: “Every seat counts.” Losing even one in districts like this—places presumed unshakable just a cycle ago—would all but force Republicans into constant triage, their majority hanging by a thread.As polls open, both parties hustle and hope, knowing that Tuesday’s verdict will echo well beyond the hills around Nashville. A close call or a landslide either way will be parsed for meaning, lessons, and warnings about what’s coming next. This quiet district—usually background noise—suddenly finds itself center stage, its voters writing the first notes in the next act of America’s political drama.