Black Texans Built More Than 400 Schools When the State Would Not

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In 1921, the Black families of Hill Prairie, in Bastrop County, built a two-teacher schoolhouse. The Rosenwald Fund in Chicago sent $800—equivalent to $15,000 in today’s dollars. The county sent nothing. In total, the families raised $1,630 themselves, more than two-thirds of the cost, and deeded the finished building to the public school district that had put nothing into it.

The school house in Hill Prairie was one of 527 buildings in Texas that was built with support from the Rosenwald Fund, a Chicago philanthropy that paid part of the cost of a schoolhouse when a Black community raised the rest, for Black students. Between 1920 and 1932, Black Texans built 527 Rosenwald buildings in fifty-two counties: 464 schools with room for 57,330 children, 31 teachers’ homes, and 32 vocational shops. The money tells the story. Black Texans contributed $392,851; the Fund contributed $419,376. The people who the state refused to educate matched a Chicago philanthropist almost dollar for dollar.

The program had started in Alabama in 1912, when Julius Rosenwald, the philanthropist and president of Sears, Roebuck, let Booker T. Washington use a gift to build six rural schools in Alabama. The match was the idea from the beginning. Rosenwald would not give a school. He would help a community build one. By 1917, the Julius Rosenwald Fund existed to do that across the South, and in 1920 Texas joined.

Texas needed it. Its rural Black schools in those years ran short terms, with one teacher for all grades, in buildings that were often churches or nothing at all. The Fund’s conditions were the lever. A community had to run school for at least five months. A one-teacher school needed two acres. The building had to be deeded to public authorities, who then had to maintain it. A community that met those conditions forced its county to own a school it had not asked for.

Most of the 527 schools were raised in East Texas, where most Black Texans lived at the time. In Bowie County, 32 built; Smith County, 22; Rusk County, 22. But the ring of Black communities around Austin also built its share, and the Fund’s ledgers survive for each one. Travis County built five: Littig in 1927, Gravel Hill and Pflugerville in 1928, Comanche and Pilot in 1930. Bastrop County built Hopewell and Hill Prairie in 1921, Elgin in 1923, and St. Mary’s Colony in 1925. Caldwell County built a Lockhart school in 1923. Guadalupe County built Sweet Home outside Seguin. At Lockhart, the district paid $18,000 of a $22,000 building, the largest public share in the ring, and Black families still added $2,500 of their own.

The Black Texans who raised the money are the part of this history that has not been told. At Hopewell, in Cedar Creek, the land came from Martin and Sophia McDonald. Both had been enslaved as children. Martin was sold to Bastrop County at the age of 2. They married in 1874, bought 83 acres in 1876, and held 1,100 by 1906. They told other freedmen to buy land and send their children to school, and a community grew around them. Martin died in 1912. In January 1919, the family’s heirs deeded 1.5 acres for a church and a school. The school opened in 1921 with their daughter, Artelia McDonald Brown, as its first teacher. On school-closing night each spring, the children recited speeches from memory while the whole community ate together on the grounds.

At Lockhart, the first principal was R. A. Atkinson, who was also the agricultural instructor and the man who counted the Black scholastic population for the census. The school board minutes record him petitioning the board for improvements year after year. Most requests were deferred. When he asked for a janitor, the board had its secretary tell him that his students would be expected to sweep the building. He kept petitioning. In Kendleton, in Fort Bend County, Tellie Benjamin Mitchell had run the two-room Powell Point School since 1904. In 1923 he persuaded the Rosenwald Fund to build him a new one: six classrooms, an auditorium, and a library, finished in 1925. He ran Powell Point for 50 years and served a term as president of the Colored Teachers State Association.

Behind all of them stood a woman most Texans have never heard of. Mary Jane Sims was born in Round Rock in 1874, began teaching at 16 in a Bastrop County school, and taught at Prairie View, now Prairie View A&M, from 1900 to 1920. In the 1920s, she was the Jeanes supervising teacher for Williamson and Travis counties. The Jeanes teachers were Black educators, nearly all of them women, paid in part by a Philadelphia-based fund, whose job was to travel a county’s rural Black schools, visit each one, and report. Sims rode the Williamson and Travis circuit in the decade those schools were built. Texas had Jeanes teachers in seven counties in 1920 and 13 by 1923. She finished her degree at Samuel Huston College in 1927, taught at Gregory and Olive Street schools in Austin, became the district’s first Black supervisor of primary reading, and in 1946 opened the first nursery school for Black children in Austin at Greater Mount Zion Baptist Church. Austin named an elementary school for her in 1956.

What became of the buildings is the rest of the story. The Gilmer-Aikin Laws of 1949 rebuilt the state’s school finance system and tied state aid to enrollment, which pushed small rural districts to consolidate or close. After 1954 Bastrop County’s rural Black schools did not integrate. They closed, and the children were sent to town. Lockhart’s school closed in 1964 and its bell was sold. The Texas Historical Commission counts 39 Rosenwald buildings that are still standing in Texas and 21 that have been demolished—most of the rest are unaccounted for. Hopewell is standing. The family that gave the land has been restoring it since 2016, with a contractor, a youth job-training crew, and a cooperative’s grant. In 2023, House Bill 4752, which would have had the state restore the South Central Texas buildings as community learning centers, passed the House unanimously but died in a Senate committee. 

The record settles one thing. People with no vote in the white primaries that decided Texas elections of the time, no seat on the boards that ran their schools, and no authority over public education, built 527 public buildings and made the state keep them. Nothing they used was given to them. The Jeanes teachers held a visit and made a report, and turned the visit into a meeting of parents and the report into a record the county could not bury. A family like the McDonalds held a deed, and turned an acre and a half into a school the district was bound to maintain. A community like Hill Prairie held its own cash, and raised the match before anyone in authority had said, “Yes.” The method was the same each time: start with what you already hold, run it, put it on the record, and ask last. 

This fall, Huston-Tillotson University in East Austin, the successor to Samuel Huston College, where Mary Jane Sims took her degree in 1927, opens a semester-long symposium on the Jeanes teachers with Central Texas Interfaith, a broad-based organizing network. Its participants, students and community members, will each take one decision inside a routine they already hold and carry it the way the Jeanes teachers did: redesign it, run it, make it public, organize around it, and ask last. The Jeanes teachers would have recognized them.

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‘After the Genocide, the Genocide’: A Houston Doctor’s Record of Gaza

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On September 24, a federal judge ruled that the University of Texas at Austin had acted within its rights when it canceled a pro-Palestinian protest in April 2024 and later suspended one of its student organizers. Twelve days later, on October 6, Fady Joudah’s Exhibit G: Poems, Essays, and Photographs of Gaza was named a finalist for the National Book Award for Poetry. 

If the three years since the events of October 7, 2023, have been one long court proceeding, argued on college campuses and in the press, whom is Joudah’s new “exhibit” meant to persuade?

“Since the genocide,” he writes in one poem, accounts of Palestine in English have been tasked with absolving “the culture industry of its complicity.”

That phrase “culture industry” comes from Theodor W. Adorno and Max Horkheimer. In 1959, Adorno cautioned that Germany could not work through its Nazi past while the causes of Nazism persisted, and he was wary of anyone impatient to feel clean. Joudah, a Palestinian American and an internal medicine physician at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, writes of a catastrophe that has not ended. As one poem puts it, “After the genocide, the genocide.”

Yet accounting, too, can help a nation feel clean. In “Late Hussein, Late Ali,” Joudah imagines Israel’s archive of drone strikes: “The civilized keep records to purge their wickedness from the national soul, recollected in tranquility.” Borrowing Wordsworth’s definition of how poetry originates, Joudah turns the phrase against a nation recollecting its violence with a clear conscience.

Exhibit G (Publisher)

Joudah keeps his own records for a living. In Exhibit G, the medical chart assumes poetic form. He examines Gaza as he was trained to examine a patient. In the essay “A Glass of Water, a Burning Boy,” he describes footage from October 2024 of Shaban al-Dalou burning to death in a hospital courtyard. The fire moves “cephalad,” toward the head, and al-Dalou is “beyond nociception,” past feeling pain. 

Asking the reader’s permission for “the vulgarity,” Joudah likens the young man’s raised arms to a pose from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video. He then asks: “Is there a death we have not cheapened?” Clinical language keeps the brutality at a professional distance, but the pop-culture reference collapses it. 

The essay moves to Houston, to the hospital Joudah works “in, at, or for,” which “spends millions of dollars to drag a single American life out of imminent death.” One spring, a retired physician kept his dying wife on life support for three weeks, until the couple could reconcile “with futility on their own terms.” The wife, an arts patron concerned “only about beauty,” not mortality, called Joudah Dr. Death. “She couldn’t have known,” he writes, “I was in the middle of my genocide.”

In Gaza, there was no such time for reconciliation. Bystanders threw a blanket over the burning al-Dalou, which the fire devoured on contact. What links the two deaths, Joudah writes, is “a healthcare system borne of a system that spends gazillions to annihilate other lives in wars.”

He records an American doctor’s verdict on Gaza’s vanished doctors: Only “animals for physicians” would abandon their patients as they did. Joudah’s reply is addressed to the reader: “Your good, kind doctor said it. Your next appointment.”

Most of the book’s photographs come from the Gaza Soup Kitchen, which Joudah’s friend Hani Almadhoun started “in lieu of grief” after Israel killed five members of his family. They show children lining up with pots and water jugs—almost none of the carnage American readers have learned to expect.

Joudah interrogates how such pictures get made, and for whom. In “Exhibit G: Surviving Image,” adults remind the children to smile, and the photographers, “thirsty and hungry as the kids,” also “shoot for the donors in the USA.” A reader who knows how the smiles are produced can find no easy comfort in them. Joudah asks: “What image of childhood is enough for a people to stay alive?”

Another poem transposes Adorno’s dictum—“To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric”—for the news cycle: “In a species where the news commits genocide, / one should not report news after Gaza.” Two photographs follow: boys and young men pushing dented pots through a gap in a concrete wall and two photographers pointing long lenses toward them.

Portions of Joudah’s record are redacted. The brackets that titled his previous collection in 2024, […], return in “Late Hussein, Late Ali”: “On March […], on the […] of Ramadan, during year one of our genocide, on the day you abstained, and the resolution passed, a legislative absolution in which I and my family tree were non-binding— / and with the aid of your AI eye in the sky, Israel killed Hussein.”

The brackets withhold the date, but the sentence points to one. Hussein was killed after the United States allowed a United Nations Security Council ceasefire resolution to pass by abstaining from the vote, then dismissed it as non-binding. Hussein was 22, a recent graduate, who was just months from his commencement when the “extermination began.” His younger brother, Ali, was killed months later. “No colleges, only dust,” Joudah writes. 

“The premier demand upon all education,” Adorno said in 1966, “is that Auschwitz not happen again.” Joudah has less faith in schools. Gaza has gone without them for “a year, now two, then three and counting,” he writes in “Surviving Image,” and, in an empire, education is “the incubator of illuminators and eliminators.”

He sees one defiant exception in the student encampments of 2024. “Where else in the US today,” he asks, in “Baby Moses & Khalas,” “is a shared living space capable of organized resistance?” The state, he notes, “comes down hard on universities to disintegrate the last, albeit flimsy, effective physical presence of community in America.” 

Texas has proved him right. In the UT case, Judge Robert Pitman relied on Tinker v. Des Moines, the 1969 Supreme Court ruling best known for protecting students who wore black armbands to protest the Vietnam War. It also permits schools to restrict speech when they reasonably anticipate substantial disruption. Pitman found that UT had—even though its own police anticipated a peaceful protest. 

Rice University, where I study, is private, and its policy defines a demonstration as “one or more persons” and lets officials revoke approval “at any time and for any reason.” Both universities govern protest by what might happen. Exhibit G, true to its title, is evidence of what already has.

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“All hope is local,” Joudah writes in “Symphony in G Major.” For him, local often means his garden in Houston. In the book’s final lines, he discovers a monarch butterfly dead there: “Whatever failed her, migration / or procreation, wasn’t wicked to her. / I stroked her powdered wings / and left her for the ants.”

Hers is one of the few deaths in Exhibit G that no person caused, but Joudah treats it no differently than the rest. He looks closely, and he writes.

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Why Aren’t Texas Democrats Talking About Abortion?

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In a deeply personal 60-second ad aired in September ahead of the state’s midterm elections, Texas Democratic gubernatorial candidate Gina Hinojosa shares her tragic pregnancy loss story. More than two decades ago she and her husband were “overjoyed” expecting their first child until an “unimaginable diagnosis” of trisomy 18, a severe genetic condition, assured a fatal outcome. 

“The doctor said I need you to understand she is not going to live,” said Hinojosa, her voice cracking through tears. “I did understand, but I was making that choice. I chose her.”

Hinojosa proceeds to say her daughter, who did not survive birth, is “why” she fights for Texas families’ “right to send their kids to good neighborhood schools. For an economy where their kids can afford to stay, where the powerful don’t get to tell the rest of us how to live.” Glaringly absent from the heartfelt political ad is any mention of reproductive rights, abortion, or Texas abortion laws. In fact, with anti-abortion undertones, the video could reasonably be interpreted as projecting a “pro-life” message to viewers unaware of Hinojosa’s robust pro-abortion legislative record during her almost 10 years serving in the Texas House. Reproductive rights advocates—while proudly and publicly endorsing Hinojosa as a gubernatorial candidate—told the Texas Observer that the campaign spot has even disappointed some in their community.

The “choice” Hinojosa so painfully explains she could have made many years ago—that is, between giving birth and undergoing abortion—is today, virtually non-existent as an option. The ad, likely meant to appeal to moderate and Republican voters, is a strategic one in what is considered a competitive race, at least based on recent polling. 

“We have been encouraging candidates like Gina to speak about abortion access unapologetically and with clarity. When we don’t explicitly use the word abortion, we produce greater stigma and shame,” said raven Freeborn, chief executive officer at reproductive rights advocacy group Avow Texas. “This is a crisis that ends in death. It is necessary for our candidates to be brave, bold, and direct about abortion rights.”

Gubernatorial candidate Gina Hinojosa speaks at the 2026 Texas Democratic Convention in Corpus Christi. (Photo by Eden Shamy )

In a state that barred nearly all abortion care months prior to the fall of Roe v. Wade and enforces one of the strictest criminal bans in the nation, with no exception for rape, incest, or lethal fetal anomalies, and which has led to a devastating string of deaths amid a maternal mortality crisis) abortion rights would seem to naturally dominate the November midterm election cycle; instead, leading statewide Democratic candidates such as Hinojosa and Senate candidate James Talarico appear to be placing the issue on the back burner. 

Freeborn says there is a “noticeable difference” between the way local and down-ballot candidates, like some running for the Texas House, are vocally embracing reproductive rights versus what candidates at the top of the ticket are saying, and that appears intentional. 

While Hinojosa signaled she would help “do away” with the steep criminal penalties doctors face for performing abortion, including up to life in prison, during a recent Politico interview, she also admitted that widening abortion access “will not be my priority as governor because that takes way more than the election of a governor.” However, if elected governor, Hinojosa could certainly use her power to veto Republican-backed bills that come across her desk, set legislative priorities, and issue executive orders, as Governor Greg Abbottt did during the COVID-19 pandemic to temporarily block abortion care. 

When asked to comment on concerns that the campaign is avoiding the issue of abortion rights, especially considering her opponent’s aggressive track record of championing anti-abortion policies, Hinojosa issued a statement that omitted the word. “[Abbott] has put countless women’s lives and fertility at risk because he decided we should be forced to carry sick babies that will not live. When I’m governor, I will make sure that Texas women have the right to make their own choices, and be able to do so with privacy and dignity.”

Hinojosa certainly isn’t alone. When asked about the issue during a recent CNN town hall, the Presbyterian seminarian and Austin state Representative James Talarico, vying for a U.S. Senate seat against Attorney General Ken Paxton, told an orthodox Catholic “pro-life” voter they could find “common ground” on abortion. He vocalized support for reducing abortions by decreasing the number of unplanned pregnancies through expanding access to sexual education and contraception. And drawing from his religious education, Talarico has continually asserted the Bible is “silent” on abortion. When asked by the Observer for a response to those who say he is not highlighting abortion enough, his campaign issued a laundry list of Paxton’s “disastrous” attacks on reproductive rights; yet Talarico doesn’t appear to be prioritizing exposing his opponent’s vast anti-abortion record on the campaign trail. 

For Democratic state Senator Nathan Johnson, who is hoping to replace Paxton as the next Texas attorney general over Republican Mayes Middleton, abortion rights are omitted as a priority on his campaign website, a stark departure from previous Dem AG candidate Rochelle Garza, who made the issue a key focus of her run in 2022—when Roe was overturned—and vowed to stop enforcement of the law. 

Paxton has wielded the power of the attorney general’s office to zealously defend the state’s extreme abortion laws, threatening hospitals, doctors, and abortion funds with legal action, and fighting in court against nearly two dozen women who suffered under the ban. As attorney general he opposed federal emergency protections for pregnant Texans; criminally charged and sought to imprison a Houston midwife for alleged abortion care; and is currently facing a lawsuit from the family of Tierra Walker, a Texas woman who died as a result of the state’s ban. 

“Paxton is such a clear target for Talarico, there is so much available to criticize when it comes to abortion rights,” said Freeborn. “But candidates are not seizing these moments, it feels like such a wasted opportunity.”

One factor at play is the perceived lessons gleaned from unsuccessful campaigns of the the recent past. Elevated by her 13-hour filibuster meant to defeat a package of abortion bills, former state Senator Wendy Davis ultimately lost her 2014 bid for governor, after being smeared “Abortion Barbie,” by the right wing. In reality, Davis sought to distance herself—or at least moderate her stance—from the very issue that propelled her, saying she would support a 20-week abortion ban (albeit if deference is given to the woman and her doctor), drawing ire from abortion rights advocates. Beto O’Rourke, easily bested by Abbott in his 2022 gubernatorial campaign, promised to rescind the state’s abortion ban and widen reproductive health care if he ascended to governor. And presidential candidate Kamala Harris chose Houston to host a heavily attended pro-abortion campaign rally in 2024 before her defeat by Trump. 

“One of the things that you’re seeing in this election cycle is largely an avoidance of an issue that has been front and center in many previous elections,” said Joshua Blank, Texas Politics Project research director at the University of Texas at Austin. “Democrats feel that campaigning around abortion would be a losing issue for them right now.”

However, recent polls show Texans are widely supportive of abortion rights, with even a decline among Republicans advocating for stricter abortion policies since the state’s laws went into effect. Nearly 40 percent of Texans strongly disapprove of how lawmakers have handled abortion policy and 43 percent believe abortion laws should be less strict, according to polls conducted this summer by the Texas Politics Project. And a 2025 study from the University of Houston’s Hobby School of Public Affairs found that almost half of Texans want the Texas Legislature to pass laws that make it easier to access abortion. An overwhelming majority, more than 80 percent, believe exceptions for rape and incest should be allowed as well as abortion in the event of a lethal fetal diagnosis. 

Demonstrators march and gather near the Capitol following the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade in June 2022. (AP Photo/Eric Gay, File)

Shellie Hayes-McMahon, executive director of Planned Parenthood Texas Votes, the group’s electoral arm, said that while Democrats are clearly “shying away” from abortion this election cycle, reproductive rights are still at the top of mind for Texans facing some of the most punitive laws in the nation. 

“I don’t think abortion access is being talked about enough this election cycle. It is not a priority issue on the campaign trail right now because Democrats are extra cautious,” said Hayes-McMahon.“But abortion is still a very important issue for voters, for families in Texas. These bans are literally killing women in Texas. How can it not be?”

Blank points out that the affordability crisis has dominated the midterm campaign cycle and for good reason, as rising fuel, housing, and food prices make the everyday cost of living untenable for some Texans. When the economy is strained, it tends to “crowd out” what are classified by political strategists as “social” issues like abortion care, he said. (Hinojosa exemplified this during a recent Texas Tribune interview by saying, “I live in reality. My agenda is an economic agenda. I have no interest in being in the space of culture wars.”)

“Democrats are trying to stay laser focused on the economy because they feel it provides them with the best chance of winning, even if that means they’re going to ignore some issues that are really important to their voters,” Blank said. 

Yet relegating abortion to merely a “culture war” issue is myopic, reproductive rights advocates argue. Abortion is inextricably tied to affordability, especially in Texas where the trek out of state for legal care—which may include gas, flights, hotel stays, and lost wages—can total thousands of dollars. Those Texans who are unable to obtain access and forced into parenthood must contend with escalating child care costs—and state-led cuts to assistance —amid inflation. Studies show denying women that access is linked to household poverty. In a recent lawsuit against anti-abortion activists, Texas mother Maria Puerto quantified the price of not having the economic resources to travel across state lines for care: Forced into two pregnancies while struggling as a single parent earning minimum wage, Puerto has requested $459,782– the average cost of raising two children in the state of Texas. 

And Texas abortion bans may be hurting the economy overall. A study from the Institute for Women’s Policy Research estimates that the laws cost the state nearly $15 billion annually in financial losses for women and businesses. 

“The ability to plan the size of your family is directly related to your financial security,” said Yvonne Gutierrez, executive director with Reproductive Freedom For All. “Reproductive rights are not just a social issue like some politicians want you to believe, they are absolutely intertwined with economic freedom. You cannot untangle them.” 

Still, not all Democratic candidates seem worried about speaking explicitly about abortion. Joining advocates during a recent rally outside the Department of State Health Services to demand the release of delayed maternal mortality data, state representative and candidate for lieutenant governor Vikki Goodwin stood as the sole statewide political candidate to attend the event. “Women are leaving this state because they don’t feel safe being pregnant in Texas. That is unacceptable,” she said, sharing that her daughter only felt comfortable giving birth outside Texas. Goodwin’s campaign website lists an action plan for reproductive health care, including a targeted call to repeal Texas abortion laws. 

“I think there’s hesitancy from some of the statewide candidates to make abortion a central issue, that it may harm their campaign,” Goodwin told the Observer in an interview. “But I think it’s just the way you talk about it. I don’t think anyone wants to see women dying during pregnancy. … It’s something that’s incredibly important to me, and it will be a high priority when I’m lieutenant governor.”

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Poll: Bobby Pulido Appears Poised to Flip the 15th Congressional District

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This article is a collaboration between the San Antonio Express-News, El Pais, and Puente News Collaborative, a bilingual nonprofit newsroom and funder dedicated to high-quality, fact-based news and information from the U.S.-Mexico border.

EDINBURG — South Texas voters who embraced Don Trump two years ago have largely soured on the two-term president, and many of them are now smiling on a Tejano music star who’s running for Congress as a Democrat, according to a new poll.

Less than two weeks before a pivotal midterm election, Bobby Pulido appears poised to flip the 15th Congressional District seat in this heavily Latino district where Trump dominated in 2024.

The poll — commissioned by the San Antonio Express-News, El Pais and the nonprofit Puente News Collaborative — found that likely voters favor Pulido 51% to 44% over Republican Congresswoman Monica De La  Cruz.

Pulido with student musicians (Michael Gonzalez for Puente News Collaborative)

Among Latino likely voters, the gap widens, with about 57% for Pulido, compared with 40% for De La Cruz. The Latino population accounts for about 82% of 15th District residents and 65% of its likely voters. 

Pulido is also pulling ahead among independents, 55% to 33%.

The poll, conducted in Spanish and English, was carried out Oct. 13-16 by Texas Southern University’s Barbara Jordan Public Policy Research and Survey Center. The survey has a margin of error of 3.8%, with 5% of voters still undecided.

The Cook Political Report rates the 15th District race in the Rio Grande Valley as a toss-up. 

“If the economy was booming then Republicans would be doing much better in South Texas,” said Mark Jones, a political scientist at Rice University and co-director of the poll. “But the economy is not booming.”

Moreover, Jones added, the 15th’s new district map, part of the president’s gerrymandering plan to add more Republicans in the House of Representatives, may not be working out as envisioned.

Redrawn in the summer of 2025 by the Texas legislature, the 15th District now cuts north from a smaller swath of the borderlands to the growing and conservative counties east of San Antonio.

“The false assumption that Republicans made was that Latinos would vote the same way they voted for Trump in 2024, but that was very unrealistic — Latinos remain a swing vote,” Jones said. “Trump is underwater in the Valley, by 10 points. His bubble is bursting.”

Among the poll’s key findings:

52% of likely voters in the 15th District report being worse off economically than a year ago, while 21% report being better off and 27% report being about the same.

57% of likely voters disapprove of Trump’s handling of the economy. Just 37% approved.

51% of likely voters disapprove of the president’s handling of immigration and border security, while 47% approved.

Separately, in the gubernatorial and U.S. Senate races — and among the district’s likely voters — Gov. Greg Abbott leads Democrat Gina Hinojosa 49% to 46% and Democrat James Talarico is favored over Republican Ken Paxton 48% to 46%, according to a poll by the University of Houston Hobby School of Public Affairs.

If Pulido wins, he will have surfed a wave-like, nationwide retreat of the Latino vote from Trump and the Republican Party, analysts say. That swing has upended Republican plans and underscored the growing importance of the fickle — or persuadable — Mexican American voter.

Many of these voters don’t have strong ties to either major party.

Accordingly, Pulido has been running less as a Democrat and more on his personal popularity and a rejection of Trump, who won the district by 18 percentage points in 2024. 

“I’m not going to Washington to serve a political party. I’m going to serve you,” the two-time Latin Grammy Award winner told some 9,000 rambunctious fans at an Oct. 17 concert in his hometown of Edinburg, which he said was the last one of his 31-year music career. “I made music for me. I’m running for Congress for you.”

Much of Trump’s appeal two years ago may have been in his vows to fix what many here and nationwide saw as a broken border. This year, with undocumented border crossings reduced to a trickle, voters’ focus appears to have shifted from border security to the high cost of gas and groceries, according to the El Pais-Express News-Puente News poll.

The fear factor — a sense of chaos and conflict at the border — isn’t dominating the election cycle. Instead, ICE raids are increasingly seen as a drag on the economy, Jones said, pointing to the construction and trade sectors.

“A lot of industries that depend on undocumented immigrants have simply stopped functioning,” Jones said. “Houses aren’t being built, and therefore construction supplies aren’t being purchased.”

‘Promises turned out to be lies’

Pulido is hugely popular across South Texas. Nearly everyone seems to have a personal connection with the singer or claims to. That’s why he’s largely built his campaign around singing at dozens of quinceñeras — coming-out parties for 15-year-old girls that are cultural touchstones. 

Though De La Cruz is also from the Valley, her support is stronger in counties farther upstate and ranchlands away from the border, according to the poll results.

Her campaign did not respond to interview requests. 

Looking like a jigsaw puzzle piece, the 15th District runs north from the border through sparsely populated, brush-choked oil and cattle country. The Stars and Stripes dominate among the few flags flying on ranch gates and along urban streets. Deeply proud of their Mexican heritage, many district residents also are resolutely American.

Lourdes Trevino-Cantu, 73, a retired high school librarian and lifelong resident of Falfurrias, now runs the town’s small but intriguing Heritage Museum, which focuses heavily on ranch life, the Texas Rangers and Mexican American culture.  

With the decline of ranching and the local oil industry, many Anglos who once held sway here — in politics and business — have moved away, Trevino-Cantu said. The Mexican Americans who remain feel their political allegiances pulled left and right.

“If I wasn’t personally connected to Bobby Pulido, I would probably be confused,” she said. “Those who voted for Trump last time are going to vote for Trump again because they don’t want to admit they were wrong. They believed in his promises that turned out to be lies.”

‘A terrible policy’

Ads on televisions in restaurants in Falfurrias, George West and other district towns warn that Pulido, Talarico and other Democrats are “radical” and “dangerous” Texans. One ad advises South Texans and Texans in general to vote Republican to get Trump’s agenda “across the line.”

Valley businessman Abad Morales, 36, said he’s done with fear-mongering. Though he supports tightening enforcement on the border, Morales has been outraged by detention and deportation by Immigration and Customs Enforcement of undocumented migrants who are otherwise law-abiding.

“I’m not going to lie, I did vote for Trump,” said Morales, who’s running as a Democrat for city commission in Weslaco, a border city in them15th District. “I am not against controlling the border, but what they are doing with deporting people is different.”

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In an interview, Pulido said he supports tougher border enforcement. But he is also calling for immigration reform to help border families as well as farmers, builders and other businesses that depend on migrant labor.

“Catch and release,” the Biden-era policy that allowed entry to hundreds of thousands of asylum seekers, “was a terrible policy, terrible,” Pulido has said. Apart from attracting millions of poor migrants to the border, the policy resulted in log-jammed immigration courts and delayed or derailed residency claims by residents or their relatives. 

‘A rejection of both parties’

Pulido’s bid to unseat De La Cruz, an ally of Trump, is among the most watched races in the country because it might be indicating another shift in the Latino vote. Long a bastion of the Democratic Party, the Mexican American vote shifted dramatically in favor of Trump and the GOP in the past decade.

Latino voters are becoming even more crucial as they look for a political home.

“What appears to be happening is more of a de-alignment than a re-alignment,” said Mike Madrid, a Republican political analyst and expert on the Latino vote. He co-founded the Lincoln Project, an anti-Trump organization. 

“It’s really more rejection of both parties,” Madrid said. 

Pulido’s son Rodrigo and wife Mariana (Michael Gonzalez for Puente News Collaborative)

African American voters are largely sticking with the Democrats, Madrid said. The Republican base — working class, white and non-college voters — are sticking with the party, despite economic pain, the Iran war and other worries, he said.

“The only group that’s moving are Latinos, and that swing you’re going to see a full display in the San Joaquin Valley, Allentown (Pennsylvania) and Rio Grande Valley,” Madrid said. “In many ways, the valleys in Pennsylvania, California and Texas represent the future of this country.”

‘Almost at the finish line’

Inside Bert Ogden Arena, Tejano music fan Martha Garcia, 54, anxiously waited for Pulido’s “La Ultima Desvelada” — the last sleepless party — to begin. She had mixed emotions. 

A lifelong fan of Pulido, she said she felt “sad that he won’t sing again,” but “I don’t know him as a politician. I don’t know how or what he will do.” 

She remains unsure if she’ll vote this time around. “The Democrats ignored us, but the Republicans are killing us” with high prices, tariffs and those “ugly ICE raids,” she said.

“I hope if Bobby wins he can turn the page,” she added. 

Pulido’s chances may rest on getting people like Garcia to cast a ballot. About half of registered voters didn’t bother in the 2024 presidential election.

While he’s popular in the borderlands, turnout in the northern parts of the 15th District could overwhelm his support.

“We’re almost at the finish line,” Pulido said at a recent event for other local candidates. “But if you don’t vote, we can lose this.” 

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