In April 2025, Nashville’s oldest and largest encampment — known as Tent City or Old Tent City — was closed by Metro Parks, Metro Police, and the Office of Homeless Services. Located off Anthes Drive, this land had served as a sanctuary for unhoused residents for over 40 years. It was never just a camp. It was a community, a landing place and a lifeline for thousands who had nowhere else to go.
On March 31st, residents were handed 60-day eviction notices signed by OHS and Mayor Freddie O’Connell. In response, 14 residents drafted a petition asking for four things: a meeting with the Mayor, permanent — not transitional — housing, more time or a phased closure and access to land to continue using as a safe haven.
Their words were clear:
“We want housing—not transitional housing, not temporary housing, not motels — permanent housing …. Even if you moved everyone at Old Tent City into housing, it isn’t going to fix homelessness.”
As Nashville’s first Chair of the Homeless Planning Council (HPC) to have lived experience of homelessness, I did not live at Old Tent City—but I stood with its residents First Chair to EVER, that says alot. I witnessed the systemic failures that allowed this encampment to persist without meaningful support, and I spoke out when the city chose rapid displacement over dignity. I want to express my gratitude to Open Table Nashville and The Contributor for their unwavering support in this communal effort. Their dedication inspires us as we call upon our leaders to prioritize inclusive, community-driven solutions to address the breakdown of this 40-year encampment.
Tent City was not without its challenges. The absence of consistent oversight created vulnerabilities—ones that could have been addressed through intentional policy and partnership. But instead of investing in care, the city chose clearance. The lack of oversight became a convenient excuse for displacement, not a call to accountability.
Rapid decision-making risks sidelining critical voices and insights, including the urgent need for resources like street psychiatry, which was emphasized in our latest HPC meeting.
Achieving meaningful progress requires collaboration across all sectors, ensuring every voice is heard and valued as we shape Nashville’s future.
The broader context is sobering. In February 2025 alone, 1,106 evictions were filed in Nashville. For every one person housed, nearly eight were entered or re-entered into our Homeless Management Information System. TDOT continues to fence off major underpasses. Section 8 vouchers are paused indefinitely. New legislation makes it easier to clear encampments on commercial, residential, and public land. Across Tennessee, we lack over 3,500 year-round shelter beds and 121,000 units of housing for extremely low-income renters.
Residents at Old Tent City understood this reality better than anyone. Their petition asked for land to build a community, to clean and care for it, to pay property taxes, and to create a space for those who can’t access traditional shelters. Their vision was not just practical — it was prophetic.
I wasn’t aware of the misleading “Metro” signage until long after the closure had already happened. But once I learned the full scope, it became painfully clear — this wasn’t just displacement. It was erasure. While Nashville invests millions to welcome tourists with polished parks and luxury developments, the city quietly removed a 40-year-old community that had long served as a last refuge for its most vulnerable residents.
When I raised concerns, the pushback I received wasn’t met with transparent dialogue — it was silenced. There’s a discomfort in confronting the truth behind these decisions. It’s not fear of the Office of Homeless Services — it’s fear of what honest reflection might reveal: that this land held lives, stories, and sacred resistance. And that those truths don’t fit neatly into the city’s new image.
The closure of Old Tent City didn’t just displace residents — it exposed a deeper pattern of exclusion. Across Nashville, lived expertise is being sidelined in decision-making spaces where it should be leading. Those of us who have survived homelessness, trauma, and systemic neglect carry insights that no policy manual can replicate. Yet too often, our voices are tokenized, undercompensated, or erased altogether.
What’s happening now is more than oversight — it’s a quiet dismantling of the very leadership that could transform our systems. Instead of investing in peer-led models, we see advisory roles stripped of influence, and community members asked to “share their story” without being invited to co-author the solutions.
But there is another way. Peer-to-peer support and co-authorship are not just compassionate — they’re strategic. When people with lived experience collaborate to design policy, shape services, and hold systems accountable, the outcomes are more just, more sustainable, and more humane. We don’t need more panels — we need power-sharing. We don’t need more surveys — we need seats at the table, with stipends, decision-making authority and respect.
Tent City wasn’t a blemish — it was a mirror & a model the Unused Pods could be poised for only if they ask lived expertise. It reflected what happens when systems fail and communities rise anyway. Its closure marks more than a policy shift — it marks a moral one.
As I submit this reflection not just as a former HUD COC HPC official, but as someone who refuses to forget — and who believes in the power of co-authorship. This land held us. It held the truth. And as Nashville polishes its image for tourists, we must ask: who gets to stay, and who gets erased?
They cleared the tents, but not the memory.
THEY were here.
We are still here.
And we have always been ready to lead.