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Built for Suffering: The Roots of Texas’s Approach to Reproductive Health

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Built for Suffering: The Roots of Texas’s Approach to Reproductive Health


Sitting in her San Antonio living room, I was flooded by the fixtures of a “happy home.” I was surrounded by seasonal Halloween decor, dogs were licking my feet, and a kindergartner in a tutu was offering me juice. Kendra Joseph was doing the hostess thing, preparing to tell me her story, but I could already see the suffering in her husband Eric’s face. Polite, but intense, he kept a wary eye on Kendra, possibly wondering if talking with a journalist was indeed a good idea.

Texas had recently passed a law prohibiting almost all abortions. The lobbying, marching, press-releasing voices had gotten a lot of play in the run-up to the new law, resulting in two narratives: “bans off our bodies” versus “life begins at conception.” I wanted to expand the conversation, to look for the ripple effects of the bill beyond the spotlight.

It was my birth doula who introduced me to the Josephs. Kendra had, two years earlier, terminated a pregnancy in the second trimester when she found out that the baby she very much wanted was suffering from painful, life-limiting birth defects. Kendra’s medical history put her in a high-risk category, so any pregnancy she carried to term could be her last. She and Eric sat down and considered a balance of suffering. Should they wait out a probable miscarriage and almost certain death of the newborn within hours of delivery, to the devastation of their then-preschool daughter and possible preemption of future pregnancies? Or should they end the life of the unborn baby to minimize the suffering, both his and theirs? 

Kendra chose to have an abortion in 2019. Several miscarriages later, in 2021, with Texas’s new law and a high risk of other complications, Kendra and Eric were worried about trying again. Their eyes welled with tears while they told their story. Eric’s face flushed with frustration from time to time when talking about the counternarrative others had proposed, seeking to undermine their confidence that the decision they were making was necessary. My chest grew tight with sorrow for the baby they wanted, and the fear they felt. But even sitting at that table, our voices wobbly with emotion, I could already hear the rebuttals on social media. Like Eric, I knew the counternarrative, and I knew how Kendra’s suffering did nothing to unsettle it.

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The counternarrative had been my upbringing. I knew it better than I knew every line of my favorite movie in high school, Tombstone, a historical fiction based on figures that had grown larger than life and achieved legendary status well beyond their actual historical significance. That’s not unlike the abortion conflict, which has made single-issue voters out of so many Americans, mostly because it became an easily dramatized icon for a clash of cultures. Fictionalized versions of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday uphold and whitewash the taming narrative of the 1880s Wild West. Abortion exemplifies and oversimplifies the religious right’s 1980s battle for the soul of America. And like gunslinging-hero stories do for the settling of the West, the iconic status of the abortion conflict overshadows the real human suffering involved. In a movie moment harrowingly accurate to both 1880 and 1980, a dashingly squinty Kurt Russell, playing lawman turned entrepreneur Wyatt Earp, surveys the dusty stagecoach town waiting to be monopolized and says to the other Earps, “We’ll make our fortune, boys.”


The burden placed on childbearing women has always been a subject of discussion, starting literally “in the beginning.” Or at least two chapters of the Bible later, when Eve was told that having babies would be painful. Painful is only the half of it, though. Having children is dangerous. You know that book What to Expect When You’re Expecting? Well, if it had been written anytime before the 1920s, it probably would have been just a single page: Expect to die, because you might. If you don’t, call your mom and ask her what to do. Unless she died in childbirth, which she might have.

Even now, when the risk of dying is much, much lower, it does still happen, in damning racial disproportion, as do catastrophic injuries. Women get diabetes while pregnant. Preeclampsia, frequently fatal in previous generations, can still damage the liver and kidneys. Some are violently ill for the entire nine months of pregnancy, to the point of needing intravenous fluids. Even those of us with “normal” deliveries were often millimeters away from life-altering complications. Had it not been for the top-notch surgeon on call the night I had my son, I would have had to catheterize myself in order to pee for the rest of my life. Then there are the statistics on increased poverty for single mothers and intimate-partner homicide. Being pregnant, having a baby, and raising a child are not always the blessed events we’d like them to be.

In the mid-1800s, many states had antiabortion laws on the books. But, as Marvin Olasky reported for Christianity Today, such laws were rarely enforced. I see this as a sign that judges and juries knew that pregnancy was socially, ethically, and economically complicated, to say nothing of the physical dangers. It was highly likely that judges and juries in the nineteenth century had seen those dangers play out close to home. In a world where pregnancy had a mortality rate between five hundred and a thousand of every hundred thousand, there would have to be reasonable debate about whether or not a woman could end a pregnancy. And for a long time, even as medicine advanced, there was such reasonable debate.

This was a lively, multifaceted conversation, because there were also multiple viewpoints on fetal development. Reform Jews believed that life begins at breath. Catholics believed it begins at conception. Protestants were all over the map before the 1970s, and most considered various factors when weighing in on abortion and whether it was ethical in specific cases.

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Our ability to discuss and debate the medical ethics of childbirth changed when abortion became a powerful coalition-building issue for the Moral Majority, a moment Dartmouth historian Randall Balmer documents in his book Bad Faith: Race and the Rise of the Religious Right. Since many Catholics weren’t wholly on board with segregation and many women weren’t super activated by hawkishness in the Cold War, conservatives needed a moral rallying point to deliver votes.

In the religious right, conservative politicians found a vote-producing dairy cow, and abortion was the ring in its nose. They could guide her wherever they wanted to go, to any primary or gubernatorial race so a politician could fill up his vote bucket with those creamy pro-life votes. But for the ring to stay relevant today, it has to work post-Roe. Now that Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization has replaced Roe, making abortion a state-by-state issue, red-state politicians are in a race rightward to establish themselves as the most pro-life.

Courts have long taken up investigations into miscarriages and stillbirths, suspecting that women purposefully induce them, and those who are watching conservative state legislatures expect that such investigations will increase. As doctors struggle to figure out where they can and cannot legally intervene, imminent death has become the only reliable measure of a “health risk.” It’s a chaotic time to have an impregnatable uterus. Or to have a uterus that is difficult to impregnate, for that matter—many of these laws may restrict certain procedures commonly used during in vitro fertilization.

The goal for many politicians and activists in this race to the extreme is not to find the right balance, or a consistent ethic of life, but to find the most antiabortion stance out there, to claim the prize for “most pro-life,” either because they themselves were raised on the rhetoric or to get that pro-life voter milk.

In response to the deepening of the antiabortion trenches, those who want to expand abortion access have also become entrenched in extreme positions, and that has left very little room for pro-life Democrats. Supporting abortion as a legal right is all but essential to be a viable candidate in the Democratic Party. As part of their ethic of life, socially minded Catholics and evangelicals are against the death penalty and for strengthening social safety nets, immigration reform, and gun control. But they are outliers in the Democratic Party, because they include the unborn in that life-affirming ethic. Even socially progressive Americans who are not necessarily politically affiliated are, post-Dobbs, being explicit about supporting “a woman’s right to choose.” Being anything less than shout-your-abortion enthusiastic will leave you politically homeless in this hyperpolarized conflict.

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“There is no issue over which Americans are divided more starkly and passionately than abortion,” writes legal scholar Jamal Greene in his pre- Dobbs book How Rights Went Wrong. “Partisans in the debate over abortion rights seem to agree on nothing, indeed seem to hold views that are literally irreconcilable. They seem, moreover, to hate each other.”


So what was it that made abortion such a key issue for the church?

The rising threat of feminism in the twentieth century was a real concern to many in the church; it busied women not with free volunteer hours but with paid work. It challenged the denominations in which men enjoyed uncontested authority. Feminism gave women control over their budgets and their bodies—things some men had rather enjoyed controlling.

Feminism challenges the Christian patriarchy from the very first page—maybe the second or third page, depending on the size of the print in your Bible. In the creation story, after Adam and Eve fall from grace, God curses them, and in Genesis 3:16 God says to the woman, “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children.” In the hands of complementarian teaching, this curse is expanded beyond just the pain of labor to explain the ravages of raising children in a world determined not to help. It creates the self-sacrificial mom who gives up her body, her time, and her mental health for her kids and chuckles with long-suffering affection when they forget her birthday, interrupt her conversations, and wake her up at all hours of the night.

But wait; it gets better. The curse goes on to say, “Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.” Complementarian teaching, based on the premise that men and women hold different, God-ordained roles, interprets this to mean that women, who were designed to be subject to men, will fight against that design and wish to be over men, and men will be domineering.

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The complementarian curse—that both raising kids and being married are going to be sources of suffering—is used to reverse engineer the nature of women. Because God cursed those two activities, they must have been woman’s entire purpose.

Wait, though. A man’s curse is specific to work; does that mean he’s supposed to stay out of the home? No, because, according to the complementarians, he’s very much needed at home to rule over his miserable, accursed wife.

Whatever your belief about the historical accuracy and divine inspiration of the creation narrative, much suffering has come from the doctrine that women’s only sanctioned place is in the home. It has blocked women from education, economic independence, and voting rights and kept many in dangerous situations—including pregnancy. When feminism came along and told women there was an option other than misery, it messed with that dynamic. Tied into nearly every antiabortion sermon I have heard is a little detour of lies fomented by the sexual revolution and feminism. Unwanted pregnancies wouldn’t happen without sexual immorality, and women wouldn’t mind having more and more children if they weren’t trying to advance their careers. Blaming feminism for abortion is rooted in a theology that sees women’s desires for bodily autonomy as a curse.

Lost are the Kendra Josephs. Lost are the women being exploited and abused. Lost are the women who need chemotherapy and other lifesaving treatments incompatible with pregnancy.

Moral language creates easier binaries (right versus wrong), which makes it easier to establish distance. I think that’s why we prefer to talk about abortion as a moral issue, not an ethical or a medical one. But with the overthrow of Roe, an interesting thing started to happen. Because “abortion” is a medical term that applies to all sorts of methods and causes for ending a pregnancy, laws prohibiting abortion quickly ran into sticky situations. Having committed to the “abortion is evil” party line, lawmakers tried to argue that certain abortions were, in fact, not abortions. One pro-life activist, speaking before Congress, said that a ten-year-old having an abortion after being raped would not really be an abortion—which is incorrect. It’s not even true to say that abortion always means the death of an unborn child. When I had my “spontaneous abortion,” there was nothing inside the pregnancy sac. It was what is called an anembryonic pregnancy. No baby. No human life, other than mine.

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I’m not saying that there are no selfish reasons for abortions, or that there are no happily-ever-after abortion stories. However, when we insist on those two narratives, we will always see abortion as a political issue, and we will have no compassion for those who suffer inside of it.


This article was adapted from San Antonio–based journalist and author Bekah McNeel’s forthcoming book, This Is Going to Hurt: Following Jesus in a Divided America, from Eerdmans Publishing.

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Democrat James Talarico wins Senate primary in Texas

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Democrat James Talarico wins Senate primary in Texas


AUSTIN, Texas (AP) — James Talarico did not mention Donald Trump when he greeted exuberant supporters at his primary night celebration.

But the newly minted Democratic U.S. Senate nominee in Texas is now a front man for the political opposition to the Republican president, not just in his own state but around the country. With his victory over U.S. Rep. Jasmine Crockett, the state lawmaker from Austin will test whether a smiling message of unity and change is enough to answer voters’ frustrations amid discord at home and now a war abroad.

READ MORE: What to watch in the consequential Senate primaries in Texas

“We are not just trying to win an election,” Talarico told supporters in the Texas capital early Wednesday. “We are trying to fundamentally change our politics, and it’s working.”

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The campaign provided “Love thy Neighbor” signs to people in the crowd.

The question for Talarico as he heads into the general election campaign is whether he can generate enthusiasm from voters who opted for Crockett because they saw her as the more aggressive fighter against Trump. Crockett conceded to Talarico on Wednesday morning, saying that “Texas is primed to turn blue and we must remain united because this is bigger than any one person.”

Talarico will need all the help he can get in a Republican-dominated state where Democrats have gone decades without winning a statewide race. He will face either U.S. Sen. John Cornyn or state Attorney General Ken Paxton, who advanced to a Republican runoff on Tuesday.

Conventional political wisdom has it that Talarico was the stronger Democratic candidate in November, especially if Republicans nominate Paxton, a conservative firebrand who has weathered allegations of corruption and infidelity over the years.

WATCH: What’s at stake for Democrats and Republicans in the Texas Senate primaries

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Although Democrats are often choosing between moderate and progressive candidates in primaries, they faced a largely stylistic choice in Texas.

Talarico, 36, is a Presbyterian seminarian who quotes Scripture and rarely raises his voice. Crockett, 44, is an unapologetic political brawler who hammers Trump and other Republicans with acidic flourish.

Both have been reliably progressive votes in their current roles and telegenic faces across cable news and social media. Both represent generational change for a party with aging leadership. Each called for a more equitable economy and society. Each talked about bringing sporadic voters into their coalitions.

But Talarico’s broader argument is one that he could have made regardless of whether Trump was in the White House. Talarico’s campaign, he said often, is about addressing a country whose fundamental divide is not partisan but “top vs. bottom.” He regularly assails the rise in Christian nationalism. A former teacher, he has advocated for public education –- and against Texas conservatives’ policies to restrict curriculum and reshape how U.S. history is taught.

“He’s just a good friend and he’s a serious advocate for the disenfranchised and a serious policymaker,” said Lea Downey Gallatin, 40, an Austin resident who became friends with Talarico when they interned together for a congressman.

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Crockett promised Democrats that she could increase turnout within the party’s base, while Talarico campaigned on the theory that he could pull new people into the party’s tent.

“I can’t tell you how many have come up to me, whispering that they’re not a Democrat,” Talarico said as he campaigned in San Antonio in the closing days of the primary campaign. “I can’t tell you how many young people have said it’s the first time that they’ve ever voted, and that they are participating for the first time.”

As he strolled through the city, Talarico posed for pictures and greeted the singer of a Tejano band playing nearby. He later spoke to hundreds of people at the historic Stable Hall, a 130-year-old circular structure built for showing horses and now a converted event center. Hundreds more, unable to get into the full event, wound around the corner and along the sidewalk for blocks.

Inside, Lori Alvarez, a 39-year-old who works for a disaster relief nonprofit, said she supported Talarico because “he really listens to what we need.”

“I think he’s going to be able to make change in Washington for us,” said the married mother of three young girls.

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Yet that was not what attracted so many voters to Crockett.

Troy Burroughs, a 61-year-old Navy retiree, called Crockett “rugged” and “the only one I see fighting for us.”

He added: “I like how she doesn’t back down from anybody.”

Burroughs said some voters probably saw Talarico as more electable because he is more soft-spoken. But, he said, “We’ve got to get into the gutter with these folks, because that’s where they are.”

Talarico, meanwhile, keeps fighting his own way.

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“Tonight, the people of our state gave this country a little bit of hope,” he said Tuesday, “and a little bit of hope is a dangerous thing.”

Barrow reported from Atlanta, Figueroa from Austin, Texas, and Beaumont from San Antonio.

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Big top, bigger mission: Inclusive Omnium Circus makes Texas debut in Garland

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Big top, bigger mission: Inclusive Omnium Circus makes Texas debut in Garland


Garland is about to witness a different kind of big top spectacle when Omnium Circus’ new show “I’m Possible” rolls into town for its first Texas performance on March 16 and 17 at the Atrium in Garland.

This inclusive circus was founded in 2020 by founder and executive director Lisa B. Lewis. She is no stranger to the circus world. Lewis grew up attending the circus with her grandfather, who was a Shriner. She would then later begin her own circus career at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College.

A performer in a black suit rides inside a cyr wheel
against a stage lit in red. The letters of the OMNIUM
sign are in the background.

The idea for an inclusive circus came to her during one of her first experiences working as a clown. Lewis says that during her performance, she saw a row of grumpy teenagers.

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“They had their arms folded like they were mad and grumpy, and then my partner, whom I was working with, began telling jokes in sign language,” Lewis said. “How he knew they were deaf, I don’t know. The group of teenagers immediately started laughing, and the energy of the entire section shifted.”

Lewis said that in that moment, something clicked in her head, and she realized the power of inclusion.

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She would then go on to spread joy through the art of circus to special-needs kids. And then later, she created Omnium Circus.

“Circus elevates our belief in ourselves; it allows us to see the best of what humanity has to offer,” Lewis said.

A female with blue hair facing a man with a red hat
between them is a large bubble with...

A female with blue hair facing a man with a red hat
between them is a large bubble with smaller bubbles
inside of it. There is a golden light coming from
behind the bubbles.

Maike Schulz

Omnium is a Latin word meaning of all and belonging to all. The circus’ mission is to create joy and entertainment for all no matter the body you inhabit or the skin that you’re in.

The hour-long show in Garland will feature many inclusive acts, such as deaf singer-songwriter Mandy Harvey, an America’s Got Talent finalist and Golden Buzzer winner.

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The show will feature two ringmasters: deaf ringmaster Malik Paris will conduct the sign-language portion of the show, while ringmaster Johnathan Lee Iverson will handle the vocal portion. Iverson is the first Black ringmaster for a major U.S. circus, the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus.

A juggler wearing red and black gazes at his pins in
the air while cast members around him...

A juggler wearing red and black gazes at his pins in
the air while cast members around him look on in
amazement. The letters of the OMNIUM sign are in
the background behind the performers.

The show will also feature the six-time Paraclimbing World Cup champion, the world’s fastest female juggler, clowns from Dallas, plus more.

Details: March 16 at 7 p.m. and March 17 at 10:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m.at the Atrium, 300 N. 5th Street, Garland. Tickets are $21.99 for youth and $27.19 for adults.



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Texas GOP Sen. Cornyn tries to hold his seat for a 5th term while Democrats Crockett, Talarico face off

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Texas GOP Sen. Cornyn tries to hold his seat for a 5th term while Democrats Crockett, Talarico face off


DALLAS (AP) — Texas Republican Sen. John Cornyn is trying to hold on for a fifth term in Tuesday’s GOP primary, while Democrats will choose whether to send Rep. Jasmine Crockett or state Rep. James Talarico to a November general election where the party once again hopes it has a chance.

Texas is one of three states kicking off this year’s midterm elections, a slate of primaries that come as the U.S. and Israel are at war with Iran. The war, which began over the weekend, has killed at least six U.S. service members, spiraled into a regional confrontation as Iran retaliated and sent oil and natural gas prices soaring. President Donald Trump, who campaigned on an isolationist “America First” agenda and went to war without authorization from Congress, faces mounting questions over its rationale and an exit strategy.

Tuesday also is the final day of voting in North Carolina and Arkansas in primaries that mark the start of the 2026 midterms, as Democrats look to break the GOP’s hold on Washington and derail Trump.

Cornyn faces a challenge from MAGA favorite Ken Paxton, the state’s attorney general, and Rep. Wesley Hunt in a contest that’s expected to advance to a May runoff between the top two vote-getters. The three Republicans have campaigned on their ties to Trump, who has not endorsed in the race.

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Crockett and Talarico each argue that they are the stronger general election candidate in a state that backed Trump by almost 14 percentage points in 2024 and where a Democrat hasn’t won a statewide race in over 30 years.

Voters also are choosing House candidates using new congressional district boundaries that GOP lawmakers — urged on by Trump — redrew to help elect more Republicans.

Cornyn fights to hold seat, Crockett and Talarico race for Democrats

Cornyn hopes to avoid becoming the first Republican senator in Texas history not to be renominated.

His cool relationship with Trump is part of why Cornyn is vulnerable. He and allied groups have spent $64 million in television advertising alone since July to try stabilize his support.

Paxton began campaigning in earnest only last month but has made national headlines for filing lawsuits against Democratic initiatives. He has remained popular in Texas despite a 2023 impeachment trial on corruption charges, of which he was acquitted, and accusations of marital infidelity by his wife.

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Senate GOP leaders, who are backing Cornyn, worry that Paxton’s liabilities would require the party to spend substantially to defend the seat if he is the nominee — money that could be better used elsewhere.

READ MORE: Lawsuit by Trump ally Paxton asserts unproven claim of autism risk from acetaminophen

Paxton has run ads touting his support from Turning Point USA, the group founded by the late conservative activist Charlie Kirk, as well as Kirk’s praise for Paxton before he was assassinated in September.

Hunt’s entry into the race in October made it trickier for any primary candidate to win at least 50%, the threshold needed to avoid a May 26 runoff.

All three Republicans have run ads boasting of their coziness with Trump.

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On the Democratic side, the party’s first major contest of 2026 offers a choice between stylistic opposites as it hungers for its first Senate win in Texas since 1988.

Talarico, a seminarian who often references the Bible, has held rallies across the state including in heavily Republican areas. Crockett, who has built a national profile for zinger attacks on Republicans, has focused on turning out Black voters in the Dallas and Houston areas.

Talarico had outspent Crockett on television advertising by more than four to one as of late February. He got a burst of attention last month from CBS’ decision not to air his interview with late-night host Stephen Colbert. Colbert said the network pulled the interview for fear of running afoul of Trump’s FCC. Talarico’s campaign announced it raised $2.5 million in the 24 hours after the interview — which was streamed online — was pulled from TV.

Key House primaries

Texas Republicans’ unusual, mid-decade redistricting was aimed at helping Trump’s party pick up five Democratic-held seats in an effort to avoid losing control of the House. It set up some intraparty conflicts between Democratic incumbents, and what are expected to be some of November’s most competitive races.

In the 34th District, former Rep. Mayra Flores is attempting a comeback. Flores made history in a 2022 special election as the first Republican to win in the Rio Grande Valley in 150 years, but she lost her bid for a full term later that year. She faces Eric Flores, a lawyer endorsed by Trump, for the nomination to run against Democratic Rep. Vicente Gonzalez.

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In the 23rd District, Rep. Tony Gonzales is considered vulnerable after fellow Republicans called on him to resign over an affair with a staffer who killed herself. He is being challenged by gun manufacturer and YouTube influencer Brandon Herrera, who calls himself “the AK guy.” The district includes Uvalde, site of a deadly 2022 shooting at Robb Elementary School.

Republican Rep. Dan Crenshaw is challenged in the 2nd District by GOP state Rep. Steve Toth, who was endorsed by Sen. Ted Cruz.

Former Major League Baseball star Mark Teixeira is running in District 21, in southwest Texas, for the seat held by Republican Rep. Chip Roy, who is running for state attorney general. Teixeira, a Republican, played for four MLB teams, including the Texas Rangers and the New York Yankees when they won the 2009 World Series.

Democrat Bobby Pulido, a Latin Grammy winner, is running in South Texas’ 15th District against physician Ada Cuellar. The nominee will face two-term Republican Rep. Monica De La Cruz.

In the 33rd District, Democratic Rep. Julie Johnson faces former Rep. Colin Allred, a former NFL linebacker and 2024 Senate nominee. Johnson, a first-term congresswoman, is seen as vulnerable partly because Allred previously represented part of the district, which weaves through the Dallas and Fort Worth areas. He also retains a national fundraising network from his Senate campaign.

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And Democratic Rep. Al Green also is fighting to stay in office after his Houston-based 9th District was drawn to be lean Republican. Green, 78, is now running in a newly drawn 18th District against Democratic Rep. Christian Menefee, 37, who won a January special election for the current 18th District. The new one includes two-thirds of Green’s old district.

Abbott and Hinojosa seem bound to face off for governor, while Roy seeks Paxton’s office

Republican Gov. Greg Abbott is running for reelection and faces a likely matchup with Democratic state Rep. Gina Hinojosa.

Four-term U.S. Rep. Chip Roy is seeking the GOP nomination for state attorney general, with Paxton running for Senate. Roy has been a prominent member of the conservative Freedom Caucus.

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