God Save Texas: A Journey Into the Soul of the Lone Star State (30 page)

Bills that are not considered controversial are often placed on the local and consent calendar. Included were 121 uncontested bills awaiting a pro forma vote in the House. However, if five or more members object to a bill, it must then go through the normal legislative process and be scheduled for discussion on the House floor. The clock for such discussions ran out at midnight on May 11, the Thursday before Mother’s Day weekend. Hours before midnight, the Freedom Caucus objected to the entire slate of consent bills, making it impossible for them to be heard in the 2017 session. The doomed consent bills included two that addressed the sharp rise in maternal mortality in Texas. Shawn Thierry, a Democrat from Houston, begged Freedom Caucus members to spare her bill, which would have commissioned a study that focused on low-income black mothers. Thierry herself had nearly died giving birth four years before because of a severe reaction to an epidural. She was forty-two years old at the time, an age when pregnancy complications are more likely. “But I certainly didn’t know that I was three times more likely to die by virtue of being African American,” she said after reading a state-issued report. She argued that her bill was pro-life, because the mothers who died in childbirth had carried their babies to term. The Freedom Caucus members agreed with her on this point, but they refused her request, explaining that it wasn’t personal. “It was like a drive-by shooting,” Thierry later said.

Next, the Freedom Caucus chewed up time in leisurely debate, bringing the House to a standstill. An hour passed as they considered inconsequential amendments to a bill on industrial-workforce training. It was an old tactic, perfected by minority Democrats in the past.

Drew Springer, the representative from North Texas who killed Stickland’s anti-hog-abatement amendment, pleaded for H.B. 810, which would fund experimental stem-cell treatments. He spoke on behalf of his wife, who was in a wheelchair. Such treatments “might give somebody like my wife a chance to walk,” he said, between sobs, as supporters gathered around the microphone. “I’ll trade every single bill I’ve ever passed, every single one, to get the chance to hear H.B. 810.” The Freedom Caucus gave in on this one, and it passed.

Among the slain consent bills was H.B. 3302, a sunset safety-net bill. It had been crafted to preserve important state agencies that would otherwise be phased out under the automatic review policy, which takes place every twelve years. One of the five agencies up for review was the state medical board. If the medical board expired, there would be no one to license doctors. It wasn’t clear if members of the Freedom Caucus had realized the far-reaching consequences of killing H.B. 3302.

Dan Patrick, however, recognized that an important lever had been handed to him. The only way to avoid the consequences of H.B. 3302 failing to pass was for a similar bill to be passed in the Senate—which had a later deadline—and then be sent back to the House. On the Monday after Mother’s Day, Straus wrote a letter to Patrick, formally requesting that the Senate pass such a bill, along with the budget, so that the legislature could avoid a special session. In response, Patrick privately sent him the specific terms for such a deal. The House had to pass the bathroom bill and another of Patrick’s priorities, a bill that intended to put a brake on local property taxes. In return, the Senate would agree to pass its own version of the sunset safety net bill, as well as the budget and several other items, including one championed by Straus, which dealt with school finance reform. Over the years, the state’s contribution to public schools has sharply diminished, with property taxes having to make up the difference. To restore the balance, Straus wanted to add $1.5 billion from the state to the public schools. However, Patrick’s offer came with what Straus called a “poison pill”—a provision for vouchers for private schools, which the House had already firmly rejected; moreover, under Patrick’s terms, the state’s contribution would be a fraction of what Straus proposed.

Patrick felt that Texas schools had enough money. In an op-ed published in early June, he noted that total education spending, including universities, was already the largest item in the budget—“about fifty-two per cent of all state dollars.” He added: “It is disingenuous to suggest that we are, somehow, holding back funding that we could spend on schools.” (PolitiFact pointed out that education spending, as a percentage of the Texas budget, is lower than it has been in at least twenty years. It is among the lowest, per capita, in the country.)

By now, the ill will between Patrick and Straus had spilled over into the chambers they led. San Antonio Republican Lyle Larson, who is close to Straus, accused the Senate of “taking hostages” when it promised to pass certain House bills only if the House voted for Patrick’s priorities. “I’ve got six,” Larson cried. “How many other bills were held hostage by the Texas Senate?”

A roar went up in the House, which only increased in volume when Democrat Harold Dutton, a black state representative from Houston, took the microphone. “When the Senate won’t
respect
us, they need to
expect
us,” he said. “I don’t know if they can
see
us, but would you open the door so they can
hear
us?” The House doors were flung open as the frustrated representatives bayed like wolves at the Senate chamber.

Governor Abbott had warned Straus that he would demand action on the bathroom bill, even if he had to call a special session to get it. With the Speaker’s blessing, a compromise was crafted by Chris Paddie, a Republican representative from Marshall. It was styled as an amendment to a bill on school safety and would affect grade schools and high schools but not universities or government buildings. It affirmed the right of all students to use the bathroom with “privacy, dignity, and safety,” but it did not explicitly bar students from using particular bathrooms.

Across Texas, school districts and chambers of commerce seemed resigned to accept the amendment. In Straus’s opinion, it codified a reasonable practice that many schools had already adopted. Still, there was bitter opposition in the House by members who saw it as appeasement. Rafael Anchia, a Democratic state representative from Dallas, reminded the other members that since January, when they began debating the bathroom issue, ten transgender people had been violently killed in the United States. He read their names aloud.

The amendment passed the House, but it didn’t satisfy Patrick. Straus refused to go further. He declared that Patrick could take Paddie’s amendment or leave it. “For many of us—and especially for me—this was a compromise. As far as I’m concerned, it was enough. We will go no further. This is the right thing to do in order to protect our economy from billions of dollars in losses and more importantly to protect the safety of some very vulnerable young Texans.” He added that it was “absurd” that the bathroom bill had taken on more urgency than fixing the school finance system.

Patrick called a press conference shortly afterward. He said of Straus’s remarks, “Instead of siding with the people of Texas—and, as a Republican, siding with Republicans of Texas—he has decided to support the policies of Barack Obama, who said, ‘I want boys and girls in every shower in every school in the country.’ ” (Obama never said that.) Patrick then added a remark aimed directly at the reluctant Governor Abbott: “Tonight, I’m making it very clear, Governor. I want you to call us back on your own time.”

The two chambers succeeded in passing a budget, but a special session seemed inevitable.

Abbott clearly hated the position he had been thrust into. He had said repeatedly that there was still time in the regular session to resolve these issues. But time had now run out. A special session devoted almost entirely to the bathroom bill would focus even more unwanted national attention on Texas.

To add to the pressure, on May 27, the CEOs of fourteen companies with a significant presence in Texas, including Apple, Amazon, Cisco, Google, and IBM, sent Abbott a letter. “We are gravely concerned that any such legislation would deeply tarnish Texas’ reputation as open and friendly to businesses and families,” it said. The bill would harm the companies’ ability to recruit talent to the state, they asserted, adding: “Discrimination is wrong and it has no place in Texas.” Ray Perryman, a respected economist in Waco, did his own study of the bathroom bill. He forecast that its passage would cost the state $3.3 billion in gross state product and the loss of 36,000 jobs, most of them in the tourist industry. Indeed, convention bookings in the state were already suffering cancellations while the measure was being discussed.

Reporters caught up with Abbott at a gun range, where he signed a bill lowering the cost of handgun licenses. “Texans’ ability to bear arms is going to be even bolder today than it’s ever been before,” he said. He then shot a few rounds at a target sheet, which he proudly displayed to the reporters, who have generally been very kind to him. This was the day after Montana had held a special election and chosen as U.S. representative a candidate who had body-slammed a reporter, sending him to the hospital. It was also the same season in which Trump had declared the press to be the enemy. Abbott held up his bullet-riddled target and said, “I’m gonna carry this around in case I see any reporters.”

On the Friday before the end of the regular session, Straus told me, the lieutenant governor sent two emissaries from the Senate to visit with the Speaker in his office. They seemed nervous. One of the senators carried an envelope, apparently containing the language of the bathroom bill that Patrick would accept. The senator, a lawyer whose name Straus would not disclose, told Straus that the language had been carefully crafted to ensure that the bill would override any local antidiscrimination ordinances. The senator started to open the envelope, but Straus said not to bother. “I’m not a lawyer, but I am a Texan,” he said. “I’m disgusted by all this. Tell the lieutenant governor I don’t want the suicide of a single Texan on my hands.”