By Pat Trevino | July 29, 2025
Senate Bill 12 was sold like a culture cleanse—a no-apologies takedown of “woke” ideology wrapped in the language of parental rights. Texas towns like Cuero, Yorktown, Refugio, and Goliad and especially all those border towns in the “Valley” that surprised everyone with their political shift. This was their victory march: that DEI was poison, that LGBTQ+ students were infiltrating tradition, and that Austin’s halls would echo only with voices that looked, prayed, and voted the “right” way which of course meant “their way”. These laws were crafted to make sure the pain landed squarely on queer kids, immigrant families, and young Black girls—the ones still daring to ask to be seen—only to be silenced with state law.
And SB 12 delivered. DEI offices? Scrapped. LGBTQ+ student clubs, and instruction on gender identity. Muzzled. Eliminating safe spaces for queer youth, no trauma-informed training for teachers, no mentorship programs for marginalized students. This wasn’t just a policy shift–it was a cultural purge. Teachers? Forced to choose between compassion and compliance.
But the wrecking ball didn’t just hit the “woke”—it smashed straight through the foundation of local control. Now, rural communities can’t even hire lobbyists to fight for clean water, better roads, or hospital funding. The bill gagged not just progressive voices—it gagged everyone. What began as political vengeance turned into self-inflicted silence.
The architects of Senate Bill 12—Creighton, Bettencourt, Leach, Lois Kolkhorst and their crew— They weren’t trying to protect kids. They were trying to protect their seats. They knew that in places like Cuero, Goliad, and Refugio, the phrase “woke agenda” hits harder than any policy memo. So they weaponized fear. They told voters that DEI was a Trojan horse for liberal indoctrination, that LGBTQ+ student clubs were grooming grounds, and that teachers were secretly transitioning kids behind closed doors. It was never about education—it was about domination. About rallying a base with moral panic and turning classrooms into battlegrounds.
Senate Bill 12 didn’t just muzzle progressive voices—it gagged rural Texas. The same politicians who promised to “give power back to parents” turned around and stripped local governments of their ability to do their jobs. While billionaires, oil tycoons, and corporate lobbyists cozy up to lawmakers in Austin, ticking off their wish lists for tax breaks, deregulation, and sweetheart deals, small-town councilmembers, judges, and commissioners are left voiceless. Their hands are tied. Their communities are cut off.
SB 12 banned local governments from hiring lobbyists—effectively silencing rural towns that rely on those advocates to fight for flood control, hospital funding, school improvements, and infrastructure. Meanwhile, the ultra-wealthy are still whispering in lawmakers’ ears, writing six-figure checks, and shaping policy behind closed doors. The bill didn’t level the playing field—it bulldozed it.
This wasn’t about protecting kids. It was about consolidating power. And now, the very communities that cheered its passage are waking up to find they’ve been politically hog-tied, and totally disarmed. SB 12 is designed to ban taxpayer-funded lobbying by political subdivisions like cities and counties. It prohibits cities from using public funds to hire registered lobbyists. It bans due payments to organizations that employ registered lobbyists (like TML). TML can’t even send a hired voice to testify on their behalf.
Local governments can’t join associations like the Texas Municipal League or Texas Association of Counties if those groups hire lobbyists. The Texas Municipal League (TML) has been a cornerstone of municipal advocacy and support since 1913, when it was founded by Austin Mayor A.P. Wooldridge and Herman G. James of UT’s Bureau of Municipal Research. Its mission was to empower Texas cities to serve their citizens more effectively.
Under SB 12 any resident can sue their local government for violating the law and if they win, they collect legal fees. This creates a chilling effect—local officials may avoid even borderline advocacy out of fear of lawsuits While our local government officials are gagged, billionaires, oil companies, and corporate PACs still wine and dine lawmakers. In the meantime we are left behind, watching our roads crumble and our hospitals close.
I’m not here to preach—Lord knows I’ve got my own struggles. But there’s a lesson worth sitting with: when laws are created to exclude or harm any segment of our society, they don’t just affect the people they target. They change the atmosphere. They make it easier to ignore suffering, harder to speak up, and more acceptable to turn away. That eats away at the character of a community. Little by little, we lose compassion, unity, and the kind of moral courage that makes a society strong. We end up fencing in our own humanity. And the truth is, we weren’t called to draw boundaries-we were called to build bridges.
