Nashville Whispers — Where interns fear the gropes more than the gavels
Remember Red Bank High? That idyllic Tennessee Eden where a student’s whispered plea on December 14th exposed a viper’s nest of teenage predation? The air still crackles with unanswered questions, and the silence from our esteemed General Assembly is as thick as a legislative pork barrel.
While Red Bank students face expulsion for hallway hijinks, whispers swirl around Nashville of interns dodging unwanted “office hours” with certain, shall we say, “influential” lawmakers. Whispers, mind you, because apparently, the Capitol has stricter NDA clauses than a Kardashian photoshoot.
But let’s face it, folks, a high school hallway is hardly the only space where power imbalances breed discomfort. Remember last year’s intern exposé in Senator Snodgrass’s office? The one where “coffee runs” mysteriously involved thigh-caressing and “research projects” meant afternoons in dimly lit back rooms? Crickets, right? Just more Nashville “charm.”
And don’t forget rasslin’ promoter Rep. Scotty Campbell, whose office door mysteriously needed frequent “repairs” whenever interns were on the schedule. Sure, the official report blamed rogue squirrels and misplaced staplers, but the interns’ nervous giggles told a different story. Campbell, who later resigned after an ethics subcommittee (pictured) found he sexually harassed a 19-year-old intern, stands as a stark reminder that the line between politics and predatory behavior is often invisible.
Meanwhile, Red Bank students walk out, demanding action. Their voices echo through empty legislative chambers, where only the faint scent of shoe polish and campaign donations linger. Our elected officials, those bastions of morality, huddle in backrooms, whispering about “process” and “due diligence” while interns clutch their resumes and dream of cubicles far, far away.
Dr. Robertson’s excuse — a police investigation cloaking delayed notification like a legislative immunity cloak — wouldn’t fool a kindergartener. In Nashville, investigations into intern-related “misunderstandings” move slower than a molasses truck uphill. By the time they’re done, the only evidence left is a faint aroma of lavender lotion and a stack of non-disclosure agreements taller than the Frist Art Museum.
Expelling the Red Bank students is a Band-Aid on a gushing wound. The real cure lies in Nashville, where whispers need to morph into megaphones. We need a reckoning, folks, a full-blown legislative exorcism to purge the Capitol of its predatory spirits. Until then, our halls and hallways will remain breeding grounds for the same brand of abuse, just with fancier titles and higher pay grades.
So, the next time you hear a hushed giggle in the Capitol corridors, remember Red Bank. Remember the silence of our supposed guardians. And then, raise your voice. Because sometimes, the only way to break the silence is to scream like a banshee and hope someone, anyone, wakes up and smells the predatory coffee brewing in Nashville.
The gavel shouldn’t be the only thing interns fear in this town. Let’s make those whispers our war cry, and drive the predators out of both our schools and our statehouses. The silence ends when we speak. Act now, before a legislative intern becomes the next anonymous plea.
Remember, folks, in Nashville, interns aren’t the only ones getting briefed on bills behind closed doors.
