Republicans Rammed Through Their Texas Power Grab in the Trumpiest Manner Ever

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It was midnight in the Texas Capitol, and everyone was waiting for Democratic Sen. Carol Alvarado. They wanted to know if she’d filibuster H.B. 4, the Donald Trump–pushed gerrymandering legislation that aims to gain five more Republican seats in the U.S. Congress. The state Senate had just reconvened after a three-hour dinner break called by Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick. Alvarado, who’d filibustered for over 15 hours in opposition to a voter-suppression bill in 2021, was armed with comfortable sneakers, a catheter (the speaker gets no bathroom breaks), and thousands of letters from Texans across the state who opposed the bill. She would not let the fight die quietly.

It was a doomed effort. Alvarado knew it. Everyone in the Capitol knew it. Around the country, most everyone watching knew it: Texas Democrats lacked the votes to stop Republicans from passing the new maps, and Republicans would stop at nothing to heed Trump’s demand that they help him tip the 2026 midterms in the president’s favor. But state Democrats were determined not just to go down swinging but to bring as much attention as they could to the issue—in the hopes that elsewhere, people with more power would take up the cause.

None of it went according to plan.

By the time Alvarado was set to start, it had already been a long day. For hours, the Democrats had paced the green carpets of the Senate chambers, questioning Republican Phil King, the chair of the body’s redistricting committee. Did he know that U.S. Rep Al Green, a vocal Trump critic, would be cut out of his district? Why was he stacking Black votes in Houston into one district? King certainly knew what the new maps mean for Green, and Republicans are almost certainly packing Black votes to limit their influence in electing Democrats. But no matter the question, King replied with a variation of the same answer, a formulaic denial of intent designed for the court battles that will follow: I know nothing about the making of this map.

Monitored by a sergeant-at-arms at the door, opponents of the bill watched in the upstairs gallery. When a Democratic senator made the case for the illegality of the bill, they quietly clapped or snapped their fingers. “When you’ve got the president of the United States saying Republicans are entitled to five more seats in Texas—well, we want them to know they’re not entitled to it,” said Amy Webberman, a member of Forwrd-ATX, a local activist group. “If people vote for the seats, that’s one thing, but they’re not entitled to it. … Even though they’re going to pass the bill, we are here to make our voices heard. If we don’t, it’s like we’re agreeing with them.”

King concluded by passionately declaring why the senators should support his bill: “I’m convinced that if Texas does not take this action, there is an extreme risk that that Republican majority will be lost. If it does, the next two years after the midterm, there will be nothing but inquisitions and impeachments and humiliation for our country.” With these words, an observer from the gallery played a song from his phone of a chirpy voice singing “Bullshit!” until the sergeant-at-arms made him turn it off.

With the questioning complete, Alvarado’s filibuster was the last hurdle.

The filibuster wouldn’t be the first time this month Texas Democrats had welcomed risk and bodily discomfort to forestall the passing of H.B. 4, which redistricts the state with what Gov. Greg Abbott calls “one big beautiful map.” House Democrats fled the state in early August to break quorum in the Texas Legislature’s second special session; for this, they received arrest and death threats and were forced to permit police escorts to track them upon their return. Rep. Nicole Collier, refusing to sign a Republican permission slip required of anyone who’d broken quorum, was locked overnight in the House chamber. The approximately 50 Democrats who left have altogether been fined about $500,000 for their effort.

On the last day of the fight, minutes after midnight within the Senate chamber, no one was sure whether Alvarado’s filibuster would happen—not the spectators in the gallery, not the state troopers installed at the gallery door, not the Democratic senators. But the Republicans prowling the floor of the Senate, mostly white men, had a spring in their step; they were literally patting each other’s backs. Because Patrick, who looked pleased up on the dais, his hand resting on the head of his gavel, had apparently cooked up a plan over that long dinner break.

With three bangs of the gavel, Patrick called the session back to order and handed the floor to Sen. Charles Perry, a Republican twice named by Texas Monthly magazine as one of the state’s worst legislators. Perry announced that an email Alvarado sent out at 3 that afternoon had made a fundraising request. This filibuster, he proclaimed, was a campaign stunt that “held the Senate hostage,” an ironic choice of words given that his party had forced Collier to sleep in the House chamber earlier that week.

“Official work is being used to support Sen. Alvarado’s campaign,” Perry said, giving the words as much indignation and shame as he could muster. “It is disrespectful, violates the decorum of the Senate, and personally, I am offended by it.” The gallery laughed, inspiring Patrick to hammer his gavel once again: “Any outbursts, first warning—next time, you’re out of the gallery!” he said.

Then the Republicans’ gambit became clear.

After his speech, Perry motioned to “move the previous question,” a rare parliamentary maneuver that shuts down all discussion and leads directly to the vote. The long-established practice of the Senate filibuster in Texas had been shut down, something that no one, at least in this chamber, had seen before. Democratic Sen. Roland Gutierrez asked Patrick, “Senator, what is the precedent for doing this?” After a long pause, Patrick replied, “That is not a proper parliamentary inquiry,” before proceeding to the vote.

“With 18 ayes and 11 nays, House Bill 4 has finally passed,” Patrick said, striking the gavel one last time. Witnesses in the gallery yelled, “Fascists!” “Shame!” and “We all saw this!,” a reaction resulting in one man’s quick expulsion from the Capitol by state troopers as the senators watched, some filming the altercation on their phones.

“This was an absolute pretext,” Democratic Sen. Sarah Eckhardt said later, surrounded by witnesses who had filed out of the gallery. “Yes, Carol Alvarado put out a fundraising plea. Every single member of that chamber does. We are not on a fundraising moratorium. This is completely unprecedented. Adam Hinojosa, who is a Republican, put out a clip of him doing his speech earlier tonight on social media. And Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick himself had a fundraiser kickoff this week. … This is how this chamber operates now. … That is not democracy. Where there is no dissent, there is no democracy, and that lieutenant governor will not tolerate any dissent.”

In times as desperate as these, it’s unclear how much Alvarado’s filibuster really would have mattered. The fight over Texas’ congressional maps had made headlines for weeks, and how much would one more marathon speech have moved the needle? On some level, Texas Democrats’ push to nationalize the issue has already worked: California is working on its own redistricting plan, one aimed at negating the advantage that Trump’s new Texas map aims to hand Republicans.

But Republicans’ gambit—their quick changing of the rules to shut out the opposition—is a microcosm of today’s broader political struggle: Trump is afraid that voters will take away some of his power in next year’s midterm elections. But instead of trying to win those voters over or listening to what they may want, the president is attempting to change the rules of the election, silencing his critics in a bid to hold on to power—democracy be damned.

Attempting to silence the opposition, however, has a way of backfiring, galvanizing people to take a stand.

When Alvarado appeared, one young Latina woman made her way through the crowd of reporters to talk to her. The woman had headed home during the long dinner break, aiming to go to bed, before changing her mind and coming back. She’d wanted to hear Alvarado. “I’m just a mom and a Texan,” she told the senator. “We’ve been trying so hard all week; we’ve been rearranging our schedules to be here. … I keep telling people, ‘You must be involved. You must go testify, you must write letters, you have to do all these things.’ ”

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