Should Texas public school students learn about the Bible?

Yes, they should—but not in the way Texas education officials are going about it.

In June, Texas became the first state to require all public school students to read religious texts, as part of a newly approved list of nearly 200 readings—from “Hickory Dickory Dock” to Hamlet—mandated for all Texas public school students, Kindergarten through 12th grade. But what makes the new list especially controversial is that all of its religious readings come solely from a single text: the Bible. The list excludes texts sacred to faith traditions other than Christianity and Judaism—despite the fact that about one-third of Texans belong to neither of those religions.

This requirement that students read only the Bible, as I also argued in a recent report for Rice University’s Baker Institute for Public Policy, does a tremendous disservice to students, parents, and teachers. The “Bible-only” list doesn’t meet the need to learn about the major religious traditions that make up Texas and the nation today. It could impair public schools’ ability to serve a religiously diverse population. Worse, it threatens to turn non-Christian and non-religious Texans into outsiders in their own public schools.

The list, which takes effect in 2030, was developed by the Texas Education Agency (TEA), and, after contentious public hearings and some revisions, was approved by the State Board of Education in June. 

In all, the mandate includes 14 biblical selections—about one Bible passage for every 13 required texts. Among the many selected passages are readings about Jonah and the Whale (Grade 1), Moses and the Burning Bush (Grade 5), eight of Jesus’ Beatitudes (Grade 7), full chapters from Ecclesiastes and Lamentations (Grade 8), and 16 chapters from Job (High School). That’s a lot of Bible—even when spread out over twelve grade levels.

Governor Greg Abbott speaking at a Christian school in Bryan in 2023 (Logan Hannigan-Downs/College Station Eagle via AP)

TEA justified the biblical content by citing a 2007 statute requiring schools to offer an “enrichment curriculum” incorporating “religious literature, including the Hebrew Scriptures (Old Testament) and New Testament, and its impact on history and literature.” 

However, nowhere does that statute dictate that only the Bible be included. Yet that’s the road Texas education officials opted to take, despite criticism from numerous scholars pointing out the problems with so one-sided a canon. For instance, University of Texas history professor Steven Mintz criticized the list’s “overemphasis on the Christian tradition without providing the kind of contextualization and analysis that religious texts require.”

The new canon does have its defenders. The Atlantic’s Adam Kirsch argues that omitting the Bible from “young people’s education” leaves them “ill-equipped to understand America’s past, and therefore its present and future.” Similarly, Garion Frankel considers the Bible “indispensable to understanding the United States—and, frankly, the entire English language”; Texas students should graduate with “a strong working knowledge of [the Bible’s] stories, language and influence.”

Largely, I agree with Kirsch and Frankel. The Bible has had a substantial influence on Western culture and the American story. Students should indeed learn about it, and about the two religions that venerate it.

But teaching students only about the Bible does more harm than good.

For one thing, the Bible-only list doesn’t reflect today’s Texas. If you live in the cities or suburbs, you’re likely aware that Muslim, Sikh, Hindu, and Buddhist worship centers are springing up across the state, joining churches and synagogues on the religious landscape. (Indeed, this is a source of anxiety and even hostility for some Texans—and a wedge issue in the current election cycle.) Since 2007, the Christian share of the state’s population has declined from 84 percent to 67. One of every 17 Texans now belongs to a religion other than Christianity. And Texans who don’t identify with any particular religious tradition now make up just over a quarter of the state’s population.

Scholars and education professionals have long argued that for students to succeed in a religiously diverse society, they need basic instruction in the religions they’re likely to encounter.

Yet scholars also agree that such instruction must be religiously balanced (not privileging any religion over others) and nonconfessional (not promoting any religion). Public schools are not churches or missionary organizations: their job is to educate, not proselytize (something Texas’ governor, who says he opposes “indoctrination” in schools, would seem to understand perfectly well). In fact, both the United States and Texas constitutions prohibit government—including public schools—from favoring any religion over others.

Clearly, the Bible-only list lacks balance. It designates one religious text, sacred to only two religions, as essential student learning. This is especially regrettable since it would not be all that difficult to bring at least a modicum of religious balance to the list. For instance, alongside Psalm 23, which is required reading for 7th graders, students might also read the Holy Qur’an, Sura 1, which expresses similar feelings of loving dependence upon the divine. Alongside Jesus’ mandated teachings about anxiety, 6th graders might also explore some of the many passages in Hinduism’s Bhagavad Gita that deal with calming the “restless, turbulent” mind.

The Bible-only list also fails the nonconfessional test. True, it does not explicitly promote the Bible, Christianity, or Judaism. Nor does it mandate some of the most Christocentric Bible passages, such as John 3:16 or John 14:6. That said, the list’s one-sided focus on the Bible opens the list “to a charge of proselytizing students,” as I wrote in in my recent report, since it “implies that the Bible is more important, more deserving of attention, and perhaps more authentically American than other faith traditions.”

For those who follow Texas politics, it should come as no surprise that state policymakers are privileging Christianity’s sacred text. The new list is only the latest move in a decades-long campaign to inject religious, and particularly Christian, content into public education. For instance, Texas officials recently mandated the posting of “In God We Trust” and the Ten Commandments in public schools, required school boards to decide whether to offer a daily period for prayer and scripture reading, and authorized the “Bible-infused” Bluebonnet Curriculum. 

The cumulative effect of these policies, combined with the new reading list, is to put a thumb firmly on the scales in favor of one tradition over others. 

Four decades ago, Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, a Republican appointed by President Ronald Reagan, warned of the consequences of official religious favoritism. In a 1984 decision, she wrote that government endorsement of any religion “sends a message to nonadherents that they are outsiders, not full members of the political community, and an accompanying message to adherents that they are insiders, favored members of the political community.”

That dynamic is perhaps the most disappointing aspect of Texas’ Bible-only list: It threatens to turn non-Christian and non-religious students, parents, and teachers into outsiders in their own schools.

Since the list doesn’t take effect until 2030, there’s still time for Texas education officials to prevent this from happening. It is my hope that officials will correct the list’s imbalance and create a canon that will ready students to flourish in the religiously diverse Texas we call home.

The post The State’s Bible-Only Reading List Is a Disservice to Texas Kids appeared first on The Texas Observer.

In the 2013 science fiction film Elysium, directed by Neill Blomkamp, the affluent orbit above the Earth’s atmosphere, enjoying a habitat free of hunger, thirst, and suffering. They have medical devices that can cure diseases with a quick scan. Below them, the planet has been depleted into an overcrowded and polluted wasteland where the poor struggle and are surveilled by droids. 

According to Naomi Klein, author previously of The Shock Doctrine and Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World, along with filmmaker, writer, and activist Astra Taylor, we are closer than ever to this harrowing dystopian vision, which they reference in their new nonfiction book, End Times Fascism: And the Fight for the Living World.

For those of us suffering through the upheavals of the second Trump administration, this vision doesn’t seem so far away, and people are seeking a way to fight it. Klein and Taylor offer a way to analyze the “world of perpetual upheavals” we are experiencing today and how to combat it. But is the model of resistance that they offer enough?

In the book, the authors identify religious extremists, the tech elites, and ethno-fascists as “end time fascists.” What they have in common is that they believe they will be the “chosen ones” in the apocalypse that they are accelerating—the “few ascending to a gated paradise while the rest of us are abandoned to the floods and fires of the damned.” While everyone else deals with the pain and suffering of pandemics, wars, climate emergencies, or economic insecurity, these end-times fascists are preparing an escape hatch: whether it’s the religious extremists in heaven, tech elites in bunkers, or the ethno-fascists in a country without immigrants. 

Like Hitler or Mussolini, end-times fascists tap into people’s resentments to prop up antidemocratic governments. But unlike the fascists of yore, whose goal in declaring war was to bring about a new world order with them in control, these end-times fascists don’t offer an end to the turmoil we are experiencing. As weapons become deadlier, the economy more precarious, and the world more dangerous, Klein and Taylor warn that we might miss the signs of this brand of fascism: “We were looking for a re-run but what we got was a sequel.” 

End Times Fascism

Compared with Klein in her 2007 book, Shock Doctrine, which explores the way in which “shocks” like wars, terrorist attacks, coups, and natural disasters have been exploited by right-wing governments to pave the way for neoliberal policies in the aftermath, Klein and Taylor here seem to struggle to thread the needle between the different sections of the book. The section that best supports their thesis is one on how tech giants are racing to build artificial intelligence and its accompanying data centers, which will destroy countless jobs and the habitability of the world for the sake of profit. “The tech right’s willingness to eliminate our life sustaining jobs and human relationships cannot be separated from their indifference to what little remains of the planet’s fast vanishing wildlife and plant diversity,” Klein and Taylor write. 

Other sections, like one describing anti-immigrant ethno-nationalist movements motivated by the “great replacement theory,” make weaker connections to the end-times agenda. 

Overall, the authors fall short in tying disparate political, economic, and religious groups back to the fascist state and the highest levels of government, namely Trump. By failing to do so, it seems more daunting to hold power to account when the target of resistance is not clear. 

So what is to be done about end-times fascism? Other recent books by Klein offered a clearer and more cohesive road map for resistance: from reclaiming populist politics in her No Is Not Enough: Resisting Trump’s Shock Politics and Winning the World We Need (2017) to advocating for the Green New Deal in On Fire: The (Burning) Case for a Green New Deal (2019).

EXPOSING A WOUND WITHOUT A SUBSTANTIVE CURE…

Maybe apocalyptic fascism does indeed encapsulate our current moment, but after pushing readers to the nightmarish precipice we stand on today, what do Klein and Taylor offer for those of us who have no choice but to look for a solution?

The last section of the book, titled “Let’s Stay,” is devoted to ways people have resisted, such as community calls for moratoriums on data centers, organizing against federal violence in Minnesota, and international protests against the tech giants. The authors write that we must demand strict regulation of AI, an elimination of “weapons that threaten us,” and the redistribution of billionaires’ wealth. They suggest public ownership or containment of AI—equivalent to past calls for nuclear nonproliferation. 

They criticize liberals, who have recently evaded discussion of climate change, including Kamala Harris, who stayed silent on the issue and embraced crypto during her presidential run. The authors add that there’s been a “failure to translate powerful issue-based movements into a coherent broad-based political program.” 

For an example of such a political program, they look to Zohran Mamdani’s democratic socialist mayoral campaign in New York City. Klein and Taylor characterize Mamdani’s campaign and other examples of resistance to data centers as reflecting a “politics of hereness,” or a commitment to community that contrasts the tech elites’ desire to escape the disaster they helped create. 

Perhaps the act of staying and fighting against fascism is a revolutionary act in itself, but it’s unclear if Klein and Taylor’s politics of hereness offers a coherent vision for how to fight the influences of religious extremists, tech, and ethno-nationalist end-timers. Is End Times Fascism just exposing a wound without a substantive cure to heal?  

The post Can We Survive Naomi Klein’s Depiction of ‘End Times Fascism’? appeared first on The Texas Observer.

In the era of President Donald Trump, any admission of weakness or wrongdoing has become increasingly rare, but tension over the future of the party could hardly be denied at last week’s midterm Republican convention in Dallas. While the floor and lower levels of the arena were well attended, the upper levels of the arena were sparsely populated—despite the GOP giving out free tickets leading up to the event.

“I will be the first to go ahead and say that it is a little concerning as a Republican that we have to be summoned in the midterms,” said Jason Fricks, a young Republican who drove down from Oklahoma to attend the convention. “That’s never been done before.”

The GOP sought to project a united front against what they called radical communism with a two-day lineup of speakers that regurgitated the same talking points and even the same jokes in an attempt to plaster over the public’s discontent with the high cost of living. They flaunted Trump’s tax cuts and aggressive immigration enforcement while targeting the Democratic Party’s left-wing figures, such as Zohran Mamdani and Abdul El-Sayed. Their own controversial right-wing ideologues, who have publicly clashed over the party’s vision, could still be seen walking the halls of the American Airlines Center and emphasizing that the perceived threat of a socialist takeover was too great a risk to not vote Republican this November.

President Trump speaks at the 2026 GOP midterm convention in Dallas. (Photo by Eden Shamy )

Figures like the right-wing podcaster Ben Shapiro, the failed Florida gubernatorial candidate and provocateur James Fishback, and conspiracist Laura Loomer, for example, could be seen rubbing elbows with devoted members of the MAGA base. All have expressed their concerns about losing to the Democratic Socialists of America, but all share deep disagreements on the level of acceptable overt bigotry, support for Israel, and whether Trump has gone far enough.

“While you might have frustrations with the Republican Party, I think we can all get behind good America first candidates up and down the ballot,” Fishback said in an interview with the Dallas Express, one of the many right-leaning outlets featured at the convention.

Fishback won only 10.5 percent of the vote in Florida’s Republican gubernatorial primary this year, but his audience consists mostly of young conservative men who could shape the future of the party. That’s in large part because of Fishback’s Christian “America First” stance and opposition to the Iran war, which he believes Israel dragged the U.S. into—a framing that has won over conservatives who are skeptical of Trump’s foreign policy.

Fricks is one of those young men who’s been watching Fishback carefully from Oklahoma and was excited to meet him at the convention. The 20-year-old communications student is chairman of the Rogers State University College Republicans. Fricks said he disagreed with Fishback’s “comments toward the Jewish community” and his “comments toward Byron Donalds” (the Republican nominee for Florida governor), but he admired Fishback’s personality and ideals.

“He puts things like it is, and he’s not afraid to stand up and defend his beliefs,” Fricks said. “He wanted to put Florida first.”

Fricks said he also sees people like Vice President JD Vance, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, and the late Charlie Kirk as the figureheads of the future conservative movement. 

Convention-goers at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. (Photo by Eden Shamy )

The second day of the convention landed on the one-year anniversary of Kirk’s assassination and just a day before the 25th anniversary of 9/11. Speakers at the convention often spoke about both acts of extremism in the same breath, as well as the numerous attempts on Trump’s life, tying them into one narrative about the dangers that the radical left poses to the future of the United States.

“The hate that killed Charlie Kirk, that knocked down the Twin Towers, that led to two assassination attempts on President Trump, it just keeps getting worse and worse,” U.S. Senator Ted Cruz said. “And we are witnessing a new and dangerous red-green alliance: communists and islamists coming together and sweeping over the Democrat Party.”

Attendees wore red t-shirts and hats honoring Kirk, who has become the face of a deeply loyal and religious MAGA base. Like Fishback, Kirk’s often polarizing and unapologetic stances wrapped in Christianity connected with young men. Fricks said he considered himself “more of an independent, more outside the MAGA spectrum—but recently, with the passing of Charlie Kirk and the election of Trump, I have kind of come around.”

Few politicians have delivered that brand of Christian conservatism in the same edgy manner as U.S. Representative Brandon Gill. He is the youngest Republican in Congress, representing Texas’ 26th Congressional District in North Texas, at age 32. Gill walked onto the stage on the first night to loud cheers and shouts of “I love you Brandon!”

Gill’s love of leading questions and outright trolling of government officials during congressional committee hearings has turned him into a quickly rising star in the party and online.

“I think it’s only appropriate that we kick this convention off properly… with a land acknowledgement,” Gill quipped, met by laughter and surprise. Only an hour later, the longtime talk show personality Adam Carolla also began his remarks with a land acknowledgement that fell flat by comparison.

Gill was just one of many Texans who dominated the agenda. Hosting the convention in Dallas allowed the GOP to spotlight critical races in the state, including the newly gerrymandered districts that the party is hoping to flip this November.

Congresswoman Monica De La Cruz from the 15th District spoke early on day one and took shots at her opponent Bobby Pulido, an award-winning Tejano singer beloved in South Texas who is polling strongly despite Trump previously carrying the district by 18 points. She was introduced by her brother Carlos De La Cruz, who is seeking to join her in Congress from Texas’ 35th Congressional District outside San Antonio.

On day two, Webb County Judge Tano Tijerina received applause for talking about how he abandoned the Democratic Party and ran for Congressional District 28. According to Texas Southern University, Tijerina is also polling lower than his opponent, Henry Cuellar, despite the redistricting.

(Photo by Eden Shamy)

Attorney General Ken Paxton isn’t looking too hot either, according to polling, campaign finance reports, and even the president who endorsed him. Trump spent both nights of the convention acknowledging that Paxton is hard to look at, listen to, or vote for.

“I said I don’t like the way Ken dresses,” Trump said, backdropped by a crowd of supporters who waited hours for a position behind the president. “And then I said I don’t really like the way Ken talks. And then I said something that they really hated… I don’t really like the way he looks. I don’t like it!” The stadium erupted in laughter.

Trump insisted that voters pretend it was him on the ballot rather than Paxton to make the idea easier to swallow. He also pledged that he would return to Texas and other competitive states to rally voters in an all-out push to November. Those tactics might work for the loyal “Front Row Joes,” as Trump calls them, but not for the 51 percent of Texans who said they disapprove of Trump’s performance as president in the latest polling from the Texas Politics Project. That includes 14 percent of Republicans who said they somewhat or strongly disapprove.

“I have some friends who usually support Trump,” said Michael Rosenberg, who has attended two previous Republican conventions. “They’re seeing higher gas prices and higher inflation going around and things that affect their business, and they’re saying that they think this is wrong.” Rosenberg came all the way from New Jersey decked out in a big Uncle Sam hat, having lucked into one of the free tickets. He believes Trump has done a tremendous job during his presidency so far, but he said he can’t convince everyone that the war in Iran has been worth it.

Rusat Ramgopal, executive director of the GOP in Queens, New York said this year’s midterm convention offered a unique opportunity to bring the party together. He argued it should happen more often, pointing to the annual party conferences in places like the United Kingdom. While Republicans are apprehensive about losing seats in November, Ramgopil said he thinks the Democrats are actually far more divided.

“The Democrats are increasingly going down a socialist path,” said the New Yorker, repeating one of the convention’s core themes. “Who is the leader of their party? Is it Gavin Newsom or AOC? Is it Zohran Mamdani or Hakeem Jeffrees? That party is in such a disarray right now.”

Inside the American Airlines Center, which sat within an even larger security perimeter, convention-goers were insulated from the protests and rallies on the outside. The Texas Democratic Party held a press conference on day one led by Chairman Kendall Scudder and joined by fellow Dems from around the country. They called out Trump for the high cost of goods, citing his calamitous war on Iran and the trade war with Canada.

“We’re here to point out the facts over the farce. If you listen to what’s being said across the street, you might feel like you’re living in some separate reality,” Pennsylvania Congresswoman Madeleine Dean said. “The truth is that the average family lost nearly $3,800 to inflation and tariffs by President Trump.”

President Trump at the 2026 midterm convention. (Photo by Eden Shamy)

One protester did manage to burst the RNC bubble during Vance’s keynote address, waving the flags of Palestine and Mexico as he descended the steps of the stadium. The crowd broke into chants of “USA!” and pumped their hands against their chests as the protester was quickly escorted out by security.

The convention ended with a brief rehashing of Trump’s rambling two-hour speech from the night before and a tsunami of balloons as opera singer Chris Macchio belted out “America the Beautiful.” 

Press and delegates waded across the floor through balloons waist-high, popping underfoot, and exited into the hot Dallas night still not quite knowing whether this unexpected convention and Trump’s leadership would carry them through the midterms.

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