American culture YouTuber and journalist Nick Johnson drives down a rutted track outside Ravenden, Arkansas, and says the quiet part out loud: “Down that dirt road, there’s a group of people building a whites-only community.”
He’s there to see it himself and talk to the people behind it.
And he finds them – along with a camera-ready founder, freshly poured gravel, and a pitch that tries to mix homesteading with hard exclusion.
“Return To The Land,” Explained By Its Founder
Johnson introduces Eric Orwell, the man fronting a group called Return To The Land. Orwell tells Johnson they’ve bought 160 acres and carved it into three-acre “shares” for members only – white, straight, and, in Orwell’s words, committed to “traditional European values.”
He insists this isn’t about hate. He calls it “free association,” a private, member-owned company on private land, carefully designed – he says – to avoid Fair Housing and civil-rights violations because they’re not listing lots for public sale.
Members buy shares in a company; residency comes with the shares.
That legal theory is central to the entire project. Orwell tells Johnson they “tried carefully not to violate” federal law. It’s a clever framing – and it may be the weakest plank in the whole platform.
How They Say It Works
Orwell walks Johnson through the process: apply to the private membership association, fill out a questionnaire, sit for an interview, clear a third-party background check, then visit and “get to know us.”
If the board votes yes, you can buy a share tied to a specific parcel and homestead it.
The rules are explicit. If you no longer align with the organization’s values – Johnson asks about someone who comes out as trans – residency can be revoked, though you can still sell your share.
On camera, Orwell repeats a theme: the difference between public commerce (where anti-discrimination laws apply) and private life (where they claim broad freedom to exclude). It’s a neat line.
Whether it holds in court is another matter entirely.
Inside The Gate: Who Lives Here And Why
Johnson meets several residents who describe the place as rural, safe, and orderly – and emphatically homogeneous by design.
Peter tells Johnson he left the Northeast, spent time in South America, and now wants to homestead with like-minded people.
He’s frustrated that reporters only want to ask about “racism and the Holocaust,” when, he says, they should be asking about gardens and goats.
Allison, who grew up nearby, says the arrangement felt normal – “most people are majority white anyway” – and praises the power to “vet our neighbors.”
For school, she says Arkansas homeschool laws are friendly, and she prefers the certainty of a co-op to public classrooms that, in her view, might introduce “trans stuff” to kids.
Another resident, Scott Thomas, frames it as prepping plus community. He says demographics can “change real fast,” and he wanted out of schools where teachers were “teaching the kids stuff I didn’t want them to learn.”
Patrick has a DIY solar setup and tells Johnson this is partly about sovereignty – fewer codes, fewer inspectors, more control.
Across interviews, Johnson finds a consistent refrain: comfort in sameness, suspicion of mainstream institutions, and a belief that culture is collapsing elsewhere.
The Ideology, In Their Own Words
Orwell pitches “preserving European heritage”, citing everything from Greek philosophy to Christian and Norse values.
He argues that “white Americans” are a legitimate ethnocultural group whose identity is under attack, pointing to things like style guides that capitalize “Black” but not “white.”
He tells Johnson he supports Black or Jewish intentional communities, name-checking the Freedom Georgia Initiative, and says the backlash is a double standard.
He even floats the idea of a “confederacy” of separate identity-based enclaves across the country.
It’s a slick rhetorical move – framing exclusion as symmetrical and therefore fair. But as a practical matter, it erases the power dynamics and history that make a “white-only” project in America qualitatively different from minority self-help communities.
What The Town Says
Johnson also talks to local officials and residents.
One man with military experience shrugs and says he judges individuals, not color. Another local leader tells Johnson the group isn’t in town or even in county, they’ve caused no law-enforcement issues, and they’ve even attended fundraisers.
The sentiment nearby seems mixed: curiosity, some wariness, and a lot of “as long as they’re not breaking the law.” That’s an important note – lawfulness, not endorsement.
People can be polite at the fall festival and still be uneasy with what’s happening in the hills.
The Legal Tightrope They’re Walking
Orwell tells Johnson the Arkansas Attorney General looked preliminarily and said nothing appears illegal – a narrow, tentative posture, not a blanket blessing. He also acknowledges lawfare is the real risk: complaints, regulatory investigations, civil suits.
Even in his best case, he concedes that a Fair Housing penalty “wouldn’t force us to sell,” but lawsuits cost money, and discovery opens doors they might prefer closed.
My view: their entire structure leans on the distinction between private association and housing. Courts often look at substance over form. If functionally you’re running a housing development that excludes on protected grounds, a membership wrapper might not save you.
Even if it does for a while, that’s a fragile peace. One disgruntled ex-member or neighbor dispute could pull the pin.
The Sales Pitch Meets The Fine Print
With Johnson as guide, the place reads as half-homestead reality show, half ideological project. There’s a sawmill, a patchwork of tiny houses, tents, and sheds, and talk of doing it mortgage-free “like grandpa did.”
They say 40 people live there now, with “more coming in the fall,” and the first 50ish shares sold out quickly. Some are already reselling.
That resale market could become a legal minefield. When money changes hands for the right to live on a parcel, judges may decide it’s housing regardless of the corporate paperwork.
One of Johnson’s more revealing threads is political. Several residents say they don’t trust national politics, see both parties as captured, and don’t even vote.
One asserts U.S. policy is driven by foreign interests, another says Democrats would shut this down, while Trump gave them a bit of “room” – but he’s not “America First” in their eyes either.
That’s important: the animating force here isn’t loyalty to a politician. It’s disaffection – and a belief that the remedy is withdrawal into a controlled environment.
Free Association Isn’t A Shield For Harm
Journalists are supposed to let people speak, and Nick Johnson does that. He also shows the place, the faces, the routines, and the contradictions. That’s real reporting.
Here’s where I’m critical. The “private association” frame is being used to normalize racial and sexual-orientation exclusion in housing.
Dressing it up as homesteading doesn’t change the core: some people are barred because of who they are. That isn’t just “preference.” It’s structural discrimination.
And yes, the law draws lines between private clubs and public accommodations. But when a project scales, markets shares, builds roads and utility spurs, and ties residency to a financial instrument, it starts to look like a neighborhood, not a dinner club.
The more it behaves like housing, the more likely it gets treated like housing.
What Happens When Reality Shows Up
Johnson’s interviews hint at internal stress points. What if a member’s kid comes out? What if someone changes beliefs? The answer – revoke residency – isn’t a solution; it’s a flashpoint. Property fights between former friends are how case law is born.
There’s also the economics. Homesteading is hard. Off-grid setups break. Families need healthcare, jobs, and schools.
If the place grows, it will need infrastructure – and that draws inspectors, lenders, and code. Each step invites outside scrutiny that undermines the fantasy of total control.
Strip away the PR, and Johnson documents three things:
People who want control over neighbors and norms.
A legal gambit that tries to recast exclusion as association.
And a community that might be less an answer than a pause button on the modern world.
Nick Johnson’s work captures the humanity on camera – goats, gardens, small talk – without softening the stakes. It’s a rare inside look at a project that’s both fringe and familiar. America has seen this impulse before. It rarely ends the way the founders promise.
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Gary’s love for adventure and preparedness stems from his background as a former Army medic. Having served in remote locations around the world, he knows the importance of being ready for any situation, whether in the wilderness or urban environments. Gary’s practical medical expertise blends with his passion for outdoor survival, making him an expert in both emergency medical care and rugged, off-the-grid living. He writes to equip readers with the skills needed to stay safe and resilient in any scenario.