Eureka Springs Leads the Way
- John-Michael Scurio
- 7 days ago
- 4 min read
It started with a sign. Simple. Quiet. A rainbow of hands reaching skyward under the words: “Everyone is Welcome Here.”
But in today’s political climate, even kindness has become controversial.
That’s what Sarah Inama learned the hard way. A dedicated teacher in Idaho, Inama had long believed that inclusion was a baseline ... something you taught naturally, like the alphabet or gravity. Her classroom was a sanctuary: a place where every child, no matter who they were or how they identified, could feel safe, seen, and celebrated.
Then came House Bill 41. And everything changed.
The Day Kindness Got Called "Political"
Under the sweeping legislation, messages like Inama's (those affirming the belonging of Black, white, gay, trans, immigrant, Christian, Muslim, queer children) were no longer “neutral.” They were labeled ideological. Dangerous, even. And in an almost dystopian twist, Idaho’s attorney general, Raúl Labrador, deemed her banner too partisan for the classroom.
Sarah was told to take it down.
She didn’t.
She chose instead to walk away from the career she loved, unwilling to teach in a space where empathy had become a liability.
Let that sink in: A sign that once said “you belong” now reads as a threat to some. Not because it changed ... but because we did.
This Isn't About a Poster. It's About a Pulse.
What happened to Sarah in Idaho is not isolated. Across the country, especially in conservative strongholds, there’s a shift happening, a retreat from pluralism. It’s showing up in school policies, library book bans, legislative chambers, and PTA meetings. "Hate Has No Home Here" signs are being pulled down. Posters advocating racial diversity are suddenly red-flagged. Support for same-sex marriage among some groups is waning.
Somewhere along the way, “welcome” became radical. “Kindness” became contested.
And when that happens, when inclusion is branded political, it’s not about neutrality. It’s about power. It’s about who gets to feel safe in a room, and who gets pushed to the edges.
But then … There’s Eureka Springs.
Tucked in the misty folds of the Ozark Mountains, there’s a little town that has chosen a different path.
Eureka Springs, Arkansas doesn’t just accept diversity, it dances with it. Built on a foundation of queer liberation, art, and wild-hearted hospitality, this place doesn’t hang rainbow flags for optics. It hangs them because they mean something.
Let me paint you a picture from my perspective as a local:
A gallery owner curates only LGBTQ+ artists for Pride Month ... and keeps them on display long after the month ends.
A drag queen named Patti Le Plae Safe hosts events here all the time, and the only thing controversial about it is the glitter.
A café owner knows your pronouns and uses them without flinching.
A retired couple opens their home every summer to queer youth who need a weekend off from hiding.
In Eureka Springs, “Everyone is Welcome Here” isn’t printed on a banner. It’s baked into the wood in the trees, the water in the creeks and the dirt in the hillsides.
A Conversation That Says Everything
If Sarah were to visit here, right now, she would feel instantly welcome. Upon arrival, she'd likely find herself in a little café, staring out a window, quietly heartbroken about her recent resignation.
The owner, a local barista and artist with kind eyes and rainbow earrings brings her tea and a freshly baked scone. “You look like someone carrying a story,” he'd say.
And so, she will tell it to him.
About the classroom. The banner. The resignation. The feeling that she’d been exiled for choosing love over silence.
The barista would nod. “Here,” he'd say, “In this beautiful place, in Eureka, we don’t hang signs to make a point. We live them.” Our signs mean something here ...
This is the heartbeat of Eureka Springs. Not just tolerance, not even acceptance . . . but welcome as a practice.
Welcome is a verb here in Eureka Springs - not a catch phrase. A slogan. A marketing angle. Life here is radically inclusive and it shows.
It lives with the lovely lady at So Good Kitchen who knows your pronouns and uses them. It lives in the drag brunches happening at The Gravel Bar, the biker rallies, the annual AA convention, the queer river float trips, the poetry nights at The Writer's Colony, the polyamorous events, the car show events, Halloween festivities and more ...
Our quiet little town makes space for people who’ve been pushed out elsewhere.
And it matters. We matter.
We ALL matter.
Because when places like Eureka Springs exist, when they hold the line against the rising tide of fear and censorship, they become more than destinations. They become beacons. Proof that another way is possible.
Inclusion Is Not Partisan. It's Human.
The truth is this: when someone calls “welcome” political, what they’re really saying is that you are political. That your humanity is up for debate. That your child’s safety is a talking point.
But in a town like Eureka Springs, no one asks you to shrink. No one asks you to explain.
Here, welcome is the air you breathe.
So, What Can You Do?
Refuse to be silent. When kindness is challenged, speak louder. (click here often - I speak very loud.)
Support sanctuary towns. Visit them. Spend your money here (and there.) Share stories from here (and there.)
Practice welcome. Not just in slogans, banners or lawn signs, but in daily actions, at your workplace, in your schools, and around your table.
Downtown, Eureka Springs, AR
Better yet, come visit Eureka Springs.
Let us remind you what community can feel like when love leads.
Stay in a Hispanic-owned B&B. Sip coffee in a rainbow-draped café. Walk the winding streets where joy isn’t whispered but shouted. Carry that feeling home with you. Feel the tug. The tug from Eureka is real ... (read about Eureka's Gotahold Brewing here.)
Because maybe, just maybe, if enough towns, classrooms, and communities choose the practice of welcome (real, radical welcome) then no one will ever again be asked to take down a sign that simply says: You belong.
Eureka Springs continues to show us the way. Every day,
I am so grateful for Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
It is a beautiful, beautiful place to call home.❤️
