I covered my first Texas Republican Party Convention in 2010, during the Tea Party movement’s ascendance at the state and the national levels. My editors warned me ahead of time that I would see and hear some wild stuff, but cautioned me against taking any of it too seriously in my reporting. This was “red meat” for the base, not serious policy. I got the memo: my coverage, for the Dallas Observer alt-weekly, was full of snark and derision.
But 14 years later, many of the priorities for which I mocked the Texas GOP’s faithfulest-of-the-faithful have indeed been realized, both here in Texas and nationally. Now, their latest platform, which delegates voted on last weekend, endorses the conspiracist “great reset” theory, declares that “abortion is not health care, it is homicide,” and calls for a new election law requiring candidates running for statewide offices to win a majority of Texas’ 254 counties, effectively barring any Democrat from the position. And that’s just the start.
The Texas GOP platform has been driving policy in Texas and beyond not just recently, but for several years.
Yet the chief politics reporter for the Austin American Statesman just called the platform “more of a wish list for the most activist members of the GOP than a road map that will be followed to the letter by lawmakers in Austin or Washington.” Even the Texas Tribune’s otherwise thoughtful, comprehensive reporting on the convention describes the party platform as “traditionally … seen not as a definitive list of Republican stances, but a compromise document that represents the interests of the party’s various business, activist and social conservative factions.”
These views — which echo the cautions my editors issued to me as a new politics reporter 14 impossibly long years ago — aren’t merely outdated. They’re patently incorrect, contradicted by demonstrable evidence that the Texas GOP platform has been driving policy in Texas and beyond not just recently, but for several years.
Back in 2010 I took note, for example, of a convention vendor selling T-shirts reading “AMERICA’S UNIVERSITIES: THE LAST BASTION OF COMMUNISM.” Today, of course, attacking higher education — especially the censorship of critical race theory, queer history, and most recently, pro-Palestine advocacy — is a basic plank of Republican politics.
In 2016, the Texas GOP platform backed anti-transgender legislation targeting trans people using gendered facilities like bathrooms and locker rooms. Today, “bathroom bills” and bans on trans student athletes and on gender-affirming care are taking hold in Texas and across the country — Gov. Greg Abbott signed a law attacking trans athletes in 2021. In 2018, the Texas GOP platform called for the “constitutional carry” of firearms, which became reality in 2021. And the Texas GOP has fantasized about outlawing and criminalizing abortion for over a decade; it became the first state to totally ban abortion through the SB8 “bounty hunter” law, even before the Dobbs decision struck down Roe v. Wade.
During the 2016 state GOP convention, as the party was grappling with an even further-rightward pull from a growing contingent invigorated by Donald Trump’s bare bigotry, I wondered: “How do you steer a ship that’s veering wildly out of control … on purpose?”
The farthest-right factions of the Texas GOP have amassed a tremendous amount of power and influence.
The answer to my question was, apparently, to let go of the wheel entirely. The pro-Trump wing of the Texas GOP is no longer a faction of the party, but its core. And the same is now true of the Republican National Committee, complete with (as NBC News put it) “a new leadership team hand-picked by the former president, a formal signal of his takeover of the national Republican Party.”








