Justin Kanew is glad to be back at the Tennessee State Capitol, though it’s not exactly a joyful occasion. Emotions are already high at the start of the legislature’s special session on Aug. 21, which Gov. Bill Lee convened to focus on gun reform following the deadly March 27 shooting at the Covenant School.
Republican lawmakers made it clear they wouldn’t pursue such changes. Despite conservative recalcitrance, protesters still take to the Capitol in droves on the morning of Aug. 21 calling for action. They form a prayer ring around the Capitol building and march through the streets. Nearby, members of the far-right extremist group the Proud Boys, armed with weapons and their faces mostly hidden, rally against any reform.
The seven-day session ultimately proved to be hectic, hopeful and sad, and Kanew documented as much of it as possible with just a cellphone for his popular progressive outlet the Tennessee Holler. Kanew has been a frequent and familiar face on the Hill since launching the Holler in 2019, building its reputation on both confronting Republican lawmakers directly and pushing out shareable videos of their most alarming and ridiculous quotes.
He’s always drawn the ire of conservatives, but the negative attention turned scary when a mystery gunman fired at his house in Williamson County in early April. The shooter was never identified. The legislature was still in session at the time, but Kanew laid low for his and his family’s safety. Kanew says it wasn’t easy to return to the Capitol for the special session, but it felt important to make the effort.
“It feels good to be back with all these people around,” he says, waiting for a press conference to begin on the ground floor of the Cordell Hull State Office Building. Protesters fill the room and hallway, many of them wearing red shirts — the color of advocacy group Moms Demand Action as well as one of Covenant’s school colors.
“Even if nothing happens on gun safety reform … people are awake now,” says Kanew. “They’re dialed in, and it feels like the beginning of something.”
As the day continues, it becomes more apparent that the Republican supermajority would do everything in its power to silence the opposition and bar as many protesters from the chambers as possible. Troopers block off access to one of the public galleries, water fountains are turned off despite the summer heat, and rules to ban signs and punish lawmakers who speak out of turn are passed.
Kanew takes to social media with a photo of state troopers blocking access to the House chamber and a bold caption: “Today at the Capitol is by far the most un-American fascistic day we have seen, by far.” That Instagram post went on to receive more than 2,800 likes in one hour.
When Kanew posts photos and videos, Tennesseans notice — and sometimes so do people outside the state. His posts have been repurposed by progressive flagships like MSNBC and Last Week Tonight With John Oliver and big social media accounts like Rex Chapman on X (formerly Twitter). The Holler has 196,000 Twitter followers and another 101,000 on Instagram.
“I can do a lot of damage with a little phone,” says Kanew.
The Holler has had perhaps its biggest year yet in 2023, amplifying controversies like a high school photo of Gov. Lee in drag and unearthing new ones like audio of House Republican infighting after a high-profile hearing to expel Democrats Justin Jones and Justin Pearson. Even though Kanew wasn’t at the Capitol for the Tennessee Three hearings, search results for the Tennessee Holler skyrocketed around that date according to Google Trends. The media outlet has a broad reach that inflames the outrage of progressives both inside and outside state borders.
Hate it or love it, you can’t deny the Holler’s success.
Kanew wasn’t involved in politics or journalism for most of his adult life. He used to be a screenwriter in Los Angeles, worked for National Lampoon, and was even a contestant on The Amazing Race. He arrived in Tennessee in 2016 and ran for Congress one year later as a Democrat, partly in response to the rise of Donald Trump and the far right. He lost the 2018 race to conservative Republican Mark Green.
Afterward, he and Holly McCall — a reporter turned Democratic political operative — founded the new media outlet, believing there was a need to highlight progressive movements in Tennessee. McCall had met Kanew through politics, and though she wasn’t part of his campaign, she offered him friendly advice throughout. Though she’s a co-founder of the Holler, she stresses the platform is mostly Kanew’s endeavor.
“I’m a little jealous of him, because he produces so much content, and he gets seen by so many people,” says McCall, now editor of nonprofit watchdog outlet Tennessee Lookout. “As journalists, we’re not really here for clicks, [but] why produce the stories if people aren’t going to see it?”
Some of the success is owed to Kanew’s confrontational style: Videos feature him approaching Republican politicians and shouting charged questions. Officials usually respond with outrage, offense, disdain or some combination of the three. Senate Majority Leader Jack Johnson (R-Franklin) called Kanew a “jackass.” Rep. Monty Fritts (R-Kingston) labeled him a “hippie with a cellphone.”
There’s a long tradition of journalists chasing down public figures — WSMV’s Carley Gordon sprinted after disgraced former Speaker Glen Casada while she was pregnant — but Kanew’s approach feels different. Sometimes he seems to be seeking a more emotional reaction, hurling accusations at elected officials that they’re afraid of democracy or don’t care about constituents, and tacking on a question mark at the end.
Kanew says he’s asking questions he wishes the rest of the press would ask, but the confrontations can feel more performative than informative. At the same time, watching the most powerful men in the state squirm with discomfort or turn red in frustration is cathartic. That’s especially true when Kanew is calling out hypocrisy.
One video, which has 2.9 million views on Twitter alone, shows Kanew confronting Gov. Bill Lee at a press conference about a ban on drag performances. A photo of the governor dressed in drag for a high school event had surfaced. Kanew printed out the photo and showed it to Lee, asking, “Do you remember dressing in drag in 1977?” Lee reproached Kanew, but he didn’t relent, following the governor to his car while asking more questions like, “Is it only illegal when gay people [dress in drag]?”
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Kanew is not a bad interviewer when the Republicans stop and chat. There’s footage of him having a reserved conversation with former Rep. Bruce Griffey about a social media censorship bill. Kanew allows Griffey to explain himself and blurt out contradictions, and Kanew’s pointed follow-ups feel sharper. (Granted, Griffey does eventually walk off, leaving Kanew to shout a follow-up question.)
Kanew says that while some lawmakers stop and talk to him, most don’t. “And so when they do that, yeah, sometimes you’ve gotta shout the questions at their backs as they run from you.”
The Holler’s slogan even alludes to this approach: “Always yell the truth.”
His friend and co-founder McCall has some mixed feelings on Kanew’s in-your-face style.
“I love Justin, but I wouldn’t do things the way he does,” she says. “On the other hand, sometimes I look at that and I think, ‘Boy, I wish my balls were that big.’”
On day two of the special session, the area in the Capitol outside the House chamber is blockaded by stanchions to give politicians an easy exit, while spectators and protesters huddle shoulder to shoulder against the walls. It’s a special setup for the August session, and it means Justin Kanew can’t get as close to the representatives leaving the chamber as he usually does. State troopers also provided an additional buffer — Kanew describes one cluster as a phalanx while recording.
When Rep. Justin Pearson (D-Memphis) stops by the stanchion for an interview with Kanew, two white men in cowboy hats begin shouting at the politician, calling him a communist and saying his work for gun control is equivalent to slavery. (Pearson is Black.) Kanew turns his phone on them, and asks them to define what a communist is, shouting the question as they walk away.
Besides his phone, the only hardware Kanew has is a $100 mic that plugs into his iPhone. He used to have a steady-rig for his phone but abandoned it, finding it too clunky and invasive. He says he relies on about three programs, including an editing app. Phones have “definitely democratized a lot of things,” including journalism, he says. His video captions feature big, bold text against solid blues and reds — not the most artistic presentation, he admits, but it does tell potential viewers what the video is about.
Kanew calls social media the Holler’s lifeblood. Shake-ups to Twitter — now called X — have hampered his reach somewhat, but the Holler still performs well there and on Instagram.
“Our engagement levels have been pretty high for a while because our audience isn’t just listening, they’re participating,” he says. The platform doesn’t just push its own content, but is quick to repost and amplify content from other progressive and critical news sources. And though the Holler is free, the popularity has helped grow a base of donors backing the platform.
Most photos and videos are emblazoned with the Holler’s bold, mostly red logo. Progressive politicians and activists get retweeted and boosted, witty takes and journalists’ critical observations about the legislature are preserved via screenshots, and Kanew often adds his own commentary to aggregated content.
“I like to say that when people like [NewsChannel 5’s] Phil Williams light a fire, we pour gasoline all over it,” says Kanew.
Sometimes the most damning footage the Holler posts has nothing to do with Kanew’s foot-chases at the Capitol. Tennessee Republicans say bizarre stuff frequently while in session, like Frank Niceley’s confusing comments about Hitler’s homeless period or Reps. Mike Sparks and Andy Holt defending Ku Klux Klan leader and Confederate general Nathan Bedford Forrest. It’s all livestreamed and archived online, and the Holler reposts it.
“We’ve tried to take on the role of combing through these boring — frankly — session videos and finding the minute-long exchanges that the people need to see to understand what’s happening in their Capitol,” says Kanew.
He says the people in charge aren’t telling the true story about what’s happening in Tennessee: “Things like us being number one in medical bankruptcies [and] at the bottom in poverty.”
“I feel like people really are voting against their own best interests in our state,” he says. “And the only way for them to know about that is to show them.”
The Tennessee Holler’s voice is often one of righteous progressive anger. Because of that, critics have accused Kanew of publishing clickbait, he says. His unorthodox style and slanted messaging does raise an important question: Is Kanew a journalist or an activist?
McCall has a short answer: “He’s both.”
“I don’t think Justin gets enough credit amongst all the old-school journalists around here,” says McCall. She says people need to recognize that journalism is evolving. “It’s not going to be what it was 50 years ago, or even 20 years ago.”
Kanew breaks or bends some of the more staid tenets of journalism regarding opinions and reporting. He’s openly in favor of progressive bills and candidates and a harsh critic of conservative schemes to undermine rights like abortion or squash debate in the Capitol. He roots for politicians like state Rep. Gloria Johnson (D-Knoxville), has spoken out at a school board meeting in Williamson County and even visited the White House with state Rep. Justin Jones (D-Nashville).
Kanew doesn’t try to hide his biases, and it’s likely that builds trust with his followers. “I’m aware of what it looks like when Justin Jones brings me to the White House, but I’m not hiding the fact that Justin and I see eye to eye on most policy issues,” says Kanew.
Kanew calls objectivity a myth — and to be sure, the standard notion of objective journalism is facing more scrutiny than ever these days. For one example, journalism scholar Anita Varma argues that journalism is more effective when it focuses on addressing inequalities instead of aspiring for passive objectivity. The Holler’s clear point of view, especially in a time of diminishing local media, has likely helped the outlet find a foothold.
Perhaps more compromising is the fact that Kanew made videos for Democratic candidates and donated money to political campaigns. His forays into politics as both a candidate and an advocate seem to be enough to keep him out of the Tennessee Capitol Hill Press Corps, the collection of reporters who monitor the state legislature for various outlets. Kanew says the group has voted to deny him entry multiple times.
“If Fox News and Newsmax can be in the White House Press Corps, we sure as sh*t should be able to be in the press corps here in Tennessee,” says Kanew. “Especially since we tell the truth, they don’t.” He says that because he’s not in the corps, he isn’t allowed on the House chamber floor after a session like other outlets are. He also thinks there’s a double standard, since The Tennessean also runs editorials and endorses candidates.
McCall arguably faces similar issues as Kanew when it comes to perceived conflicts of interest. After leaving journalism for a time, she ran for office and worked as a campaign manager. But while Kanew built up his nontraditional platform, McCall returned to a more traditional newsroom that, while funded by a progressive think tank, lacks a bold partisan alignment. And while McCall pens fiery, liberal columns for her outlet, Republicans will still talk to the Lookout’s legislature reporter Sam Stockard because of his own reputation and history of reporting. In contrast, the Tennessee Holler is a one-man show most of the year — the editor’s opinion is also the reporter’s.
The Holler’s verification standards may also be too loose for traditional newsrooms. Kanew says the Holler wants to be a place where people can “sound the alarms” — like teachers who want to express concerns about schools’ lack of COVID-19 precautions. Sometimes, tips get published and pushed out even when the claims can’t be totally verified. Kanew says the Holler makes clear what has and hasn’t been confirmed, and that he doesn’t double down if the tip is disproven.
“When we find out something isn’t true, we will walk that back,” says Kanew. “We’ve apologized in the past. … We’ve deleted stuff and issued corrections in the past. I think that’s all part of a commitment to the truth.” He notes that bigger publications still make mistakes too.
One source familiar with the press corps’ decision tells the Scene that in addition to concerns about Kanew’s political involvement, there was also trepidation that allowing in the Holler would also mean admitting the conservative Tennessee Star, which had a staffer who was actively lobbying for Republican causes. The discussion and decision inspired the creation of a new document: a written set of rules of conduct for Tennessee Capitol Hill Press Corps members, which explicitly prohibits involvement in political campaigns and advocacy. The source adds that membership in the pool doesn’t guarantee floor access — the House speaker determines that. (Kanew says he would be fine with allowing the Star in.)
In the end, McCall isn’t sure Kanew would gain much from joining the corps. “Like, what, would he be sitting up in that Plexiglas media booth?” she asks. “That’s not who he is.”
Joy Jenkins, a former reporter and current University of Missouri professor who has researched the changing nature of local journalism, says that in some ways the Holler fits into a much longer tradition of “partisan journalism.” It’s a tradition that stretches back to the colonial days, preceding modern styles and notions of objective reporting.
Jenkins — who used to teach at University of Tennessee — also points to an interesting difference in the way national and local outlets define the Holler. National publications may call it a local website, or Kanew a reporter. But local outlets are more likely to label the Holler a “progressive news site” or highlight its activist nature — still recognizing it as “something worth referencing and sourcing,” says Jenkins, but less certain about what to call it exactly.
The distinction might not matter much to most followers online, especially since even doubters of Kanew’s reporting credentials can’t deny the Holler produces newsworthy items.
The Holler had two major scoops this year that might give Kanew his best case for being a legit newshound. The first — and more salacious — was exposing Republican Lt. Gov. Randy McNally’s flirty emojis on racy photos of a young gay man. The second was a leaked recording of a closed-door House Republican meeting following the expulsion hearings of the Tennessee Three, which was full of infighting.
Kanew calls it his favorite scoop, especially since the leak came from one of the Republicans — “I guess they realized the best way to piss their own people off is to do it through us.” But he won’t reveal where the leak came from.
With big gets like those, plus constant pressure on the Republicans in person, could you blame the average news consumer for lumping the Holler in with other outlets? McCall expresses concern that viewers might think all journalists need Kanew’s exact confrontational approach. But she thinks there’s room for many styles of reporting.
“I think as journalists, we have to embrace all forms,” says McCall. “And Justin, his way is not my way. But there’s a lot about it I admire, and I think he has shown that there is more than one way to communicate political news in Tennessee.”
Jenkins says that while opinions will differ on whether Kanew is a journalist, it’s important to recognize that the Holler is “self-promoted as a progressive site.”
“Readers can see that and recognize that and understand it is coming from a particular point of view,” she says. “The hope for any good concerted news consumer is that they’re looking at multiple sources.”
And the Holler’s model might have aspects worth noting for more traditional newsrooms. Jenkins points out that the Holler leverages social media in effective ways by updating its platforms consistently and amplifying the voices of like-minded progressives.
“It’s a fascinating model, and I imagine others will take notice,” she says.
No matter how he’s labeled, Kanew shows no sign of slowing down. “He’s got an incredible amount of energy,” says McCall.
“I wake up feeling like I got shot out of a cannon every single morning,” says Kanew. What keeps him going, he says, “is just a strong desire to make this a better place for my kids to grow up. [It’s the] same thing that got me to run for Congress, [as well as] a strong commitment to getting out the truth.
“And then also, you know, I’d be lying if I didn’t say … there was a pissed-off energy behind a lot of it. I feel like there’s a lot of gaslighting and lying going on in our state.”
The special session lasted longer than expected, but it still didn’t result in any new gun laws. There was frustration and disappointment as voices from around the state, including those of Covenant parents, were ignored. Kanew was there to capture the struggle — and to get in the faces of politicians.
One video from the final day shows Kanew belligerent as ever, even telling a staffer with a broken arm to “get your cast out of my way.” The exchange is just seconds of the minutes-long video, which is mostly Kanew walking alongside a cluster of lawmakers, including state House Majority Leader William Lamberth (R-Portland), shouting questions and comments at them.
“That was embarrassing,” says Kanew in the clip. “Why are you afraid of democracy? This isn’t a good look. I’m just trying to help you guys.” One politician tells Kanew to leave the state if he doesn’t like how Tennessee is being run.
Online, people reacted positively to the video. Several of the more than 140 quote-tweets laud Kanew’s efforts: “They really hate people actually asking them questions”; “This is good — watch these cowardly evil bullies smirk at each other for the entire walk”; “We need people who push back like this.”
It’s hard to imagine an Associated Press or Tennessean reporter badgering lawmakers the same way. But not because those reporters aren’t brave enough to ask difficult questions of those in power — they are, even when it doesn’t look flashy, or when accountability looks more like some well-timed records requests. But it’s also hard to imagine the lawmakers responding any differently no matter how gentle or hostile the question. And after an emotional special session in which they ordered state troopers to remove grieving mothers from assemblies, it’s very hard to think they deserve respect or civility.
For a few minutes, their bubble of authority is pierced as Kanew follows and shames them, broadcasting it for all to see. The lawmakers will go home and return to whatever their normal lives look like, but at least they also know they’ll have to deal with this incessant hippie with a cellphone next session. And perhaps that’s the appeal of the Holler’s motto to always yell the truth.
