Trump’s Bigotry Is a Drug to Texas Republicans
When Donald Trump‘s stumbling campaign blew into Texas for a three-city tour last week, its literature described its second and last rally in the state as an event in Houston, one of the most diverse cities in the United States. But it wasn’t. Trump’s rally was held in The Woodlands, a too-clean and vaguely menacing compound of glass, steel and well-manicured lawns some 35 miles north of Houston’s downtown.
Instead of a city council, The Woodlands, founded by George Mitchell, the pioneer of shale fracking, has an executive board. Residents of The Woodlands are more than 92 percent white. It’s easy to see why Trump went there: The few protesters who drove in from out-of-town were easily kept in check by the horse cops providing picket defense for oil company headquarters and chain restaurants.
Trump’s rallies and fundraisers in the state were chock-a-block with the color we’ve come to expect. He didn’t make a lot of sense. He said some provocative things. He swore, and acted out. At a fundraiser in San Antonio, he was cornered by some donors who wanted him to walk back his trash-talking of NAFTA, and he told them, in essence, to shove it.
But the comical theatricality of Trump’s visit obscured something more sinister. Texas used to be a slightly more welcoming place for immigrants, even undocumented ones. But anti-immigrant rhetoric, weaponized over the course of successive elections, has been ratcheting up. Nativism is a drug, and Trump and his greasy surrogates are offering right-wing Texas voters something closer to the uncut kind than anything they’ve had before. Now that the state’s Republicans are embracing Trump, the risk is that even after he flops in November, they’ll have to peddle it too.
Take Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick’s speech introducing Trump in The Woodlands. Patrick is one of the strangest politicians in the state’s modern history — a local TV sportscaster from Baltimore who became a right-wing radio shock jock after a devastating midlife crisis and ended up controlling the Texas Senate.
He’s a leader of a new wave of Texas conservatism: It’s Patrick, not Gov. Greg Abbott, who you want to watch if you’re looking for clues about where Texas Republicans are headed. In 2014, Patrick ran one of the most anti-immigrant campaigns in the state’s history. He’s out to dismantle Texas’ public education system. Those outside the state might know him for his anti-trans bathroom activism.
Patrick was an early and staunch supporter of Ted Cruz. Every time Cruz climbed a stage for an election-night event, Patrick made sure to stand close by, in view of the TV cameras. But as soon as Cruz dropped out of the 2016 race, Patrick hopped in bed with another. At the state convention two weeks later, Patrick flaunted his communications with Trump HQ.
In The Woodlands, he sealed the deal. He was now on the Trump train, he told the crowd, declaring his intention to help “squash [Clinton] like a bug in November.” He promised Trump’s supporters that “Donald Trump will be the change agent that you’ve been hoping for and praying for and working for your entire life.”
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