Prior to the Civil Rights Movement, the ubiquitous “Whites Only” sign hung in establishments such as restaurants and public bathrooms to designate spaces as racially segregated. Since the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, that type of explicit exclusionary racism has been relegated to the annals of history. Imagery such as “Whites Only” signs was left to history books, museums, and memories—not out in public places. Until now.
In the rural heart of northeast Arkansas, an insidious experiment in modern segregation is unfolding in the form of a self-proclaimed whites-only settlement known as “Return to the Land” (RTTL). The group has taken shape under the guise of self-reliance, faith, and community sovereignty, but is in fact determined to build a settlement for white people.
RTTL, which formed in 2023 and includes roughly forty people, limits its membership to people of European descent, and does not accept members of the queer community, Jewish people, or anyone else deemed “culturally incompatible” with the movement's self-described concept of whiteness and gender normativity. The goal of the movement, according to co-founder Eric Orwoll, is to build a “fortress for the white race” in the United States.
There, in the shadow of the Ozarks, RTTL has established an enclave of whiteness, rejecting the notion of a United States where non-white people are fully included in society. On the 160-acre compound, men are tasked with manual labor and building the community while the women are expected to prepare food and educate the children. Inside a portacabin schoolhouse, with homeschooling practices, the women in the community teach the children white nationalism and white supremacy—far removed from the dreaded teachings of Critical Race Theory, wokeness, and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI).
The existence and growth of this community and other communities that exclude people of color in less explicit ways pose a threat to racial relations and civil rights in Arkansas and throughout the country. With the apparent success of the community in Arkansas, the leaders of RTTL plan to expand, for starters, to nearby Springfield, Missouri. Tracey Wolff, pastor and member of the local Springfield NAACP, noted in a recent interview that this type of movement represents a major regression for Springfield and Missouri as a whole, which has seen progress in racial equity over the past several decades.
“I went to school here in the [19]80s, and it was a totally different Springfield than the Springfield I came to in 2019. What I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced today is a much more inclusive Springfield than what I experienced in the mid to late ‘80s,” Wolff told local news outlet KY3. “We want to see that continue and grow so that everybody feels welcome and our city thrives.”
Given the tenets of the RTTL group, however, that progress seems likely to be challenged. Legal scholars believe that the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and other landmark legislation clearly prohibits the establishment of a formally segregated community. However, RTTL operates under a private membership association (PMA) model, an increasingly common legal maneuver used by ideologically driven groups to evade civil rights protections.
PMA arguments have been successful in the courts, notably in cases such as Boy Scouts of America v. Dale. In this case from 2000, the Court ruled that the Boy Scouts, a private organization, could exclude an openly gay adult from serving as a troop leader in keeping with the organization’s stated values. The Court stated that forcing the Boy Scouts to include the gay scoutmaster would violate the group’s First Amendment right to freedom of association.
Today, PMAs attempt to replicate the Dale framework by asserting exclusion as being within their right to freedom of association in keeping with their values. But in its 2010 ruling on Christian Legal Society v. Martinez, the Court found that Hastings College of Law was within its right to decline to recognize a Christian legal society as an official student group due to its exclusive membership policy; it is unclear whether such exclusions are truly belief-based or rooted in protected status.
PMAs structured as private clubs still may be subject to civil rights laws if they function like public accommodations or engage in public services. The legal parameters are not concrete, but by branding their land and organization as a private association, RTTL argues that it can legally discriminate with regard to housing, education, and association. This tactic exploits constitutional loopholes while undermining the Fair Housing Act, which prohibits discrimination in housing against marginalized groups, such as people of color and LGBTQ+ people.
But the true threat of the growth of movements like RTTL lies not just in its existence but also within its stated goal to expand into other states. The group represents the sharp edge of a resurgent ethnonationalist movement, bolstered by mainstream political cover, legal gray zones, and cultural complicity. Its growth is a chilling indicator of how white nationalist ideologies are evolving, embedding themselves within legal systems and aesthetics that obscure their true purpose.
The ongoing cultural normalization of white identity politics—say, the right wing’s recent embrace of an American Eagle ad in which actress Sydney Sweeney makes coy, punning references to her superior “genes”—makes open white nationalist politics such as RTTL’s appear as the extreme end of a broader shift.
The open nods to pro-whiteness coincide with a rise in anti-Black and anti-immigrant racism. Once driven into coded language, this hatred is now openly asserted across public institutions, legal frameworks, and even white supremacy-fueled hate crimes. The 2023 report from the Southern Poverty Law Center documented a record number of white supremacist hate groups in the United States. The 2024 report also noted the increased efforts to combine the white supremacy with anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric. Americans with marginalized identities are less safe today than they were a decade ago and, according to the FBI, more than 50 percent of racially motivated hate crimes in 2023 targeted Black Americans, the highest proportion on record.
These cultural and political regressions are not accidents; they are the result of decades-long organizing by far-right legal movements. Groups like the Federalist Society and America First Legal have ensured that courts across the country—including the Supreme Court—are increasingly hostile to racial equity. The Court’s decision to strike down affirmative action and weaken the Voting Rights Act demonstrates the degree of capture. RTTL and other white nationalist efforts are protected, not persecuted, in this legal climate. Their use of PMAs and other exclusionary business operating models are made more effective by the fact that legal authorities are either indifferent or ideologically aligned.
The threat posed by RTTL is not just symbolic; it is part of the American infrastructure. It is reflective of how land, law, culture, and courts are being re-engineered to protect white exclusivity. Combating these developments will require more than condemnation. It will demand organizing, legal innovation, and a new narrative for what collective anti-racist work looks like in the United States.
As hate finds new ways to homestead, resistance must root itself just as deeply.