“Don’t mess with Texas”. Democrats are sounding their horns in celebration of the Republicans’ defeat

Austin. At one point, convoys of cars began honking their horns. And that was the sign that it was all over: even before the call from CNN – and even more so than the call from CNN – Texas had been decided by the honking horns of the Texan Democrats. The very same Texan Democrats who hadn’t won an election for thirty years and who, quite frankly, didn’t think they could win this one either. 

“We turned Texas blue,” shouts the crowd gathered outside James Talarico’s election watch party, where security have been turning people away for hours because there isn’t room for a pin. But people aren’t giving up their place in the queue. “Sooner or later we’ll get in. And even if I don’t get in, I want to be as close as possible to where it’s all happening. I want to hear when CNN says that Trump and the Republicans can no longer afford to take Texas for granted,” says Mark, in his fifties, wearing an office suit and flip-flops. “You know, here we say ‘Don’t mess with Texas’, and they’ve made a right mess of Texas. Far too many.” And so, Texas – a friendly but no-nonsense place – has set things right: it’s taken the keys to the state away from the Republicans and Trump. Not so much to hand them over to the Democrats, but to take them back

.”“I’ve been a Democrat for eight generations, just like Talarico, and as far as I know, our family’s always been Democratic,” Mark tells us, a big, burly bloke with the sort of build you’d expect from a Texan. “It’s hard to live in a state where you know your opinion will never count for anything, because you’ve no hope of winning an election. But in the end we won. In fact, I’d say we really gave them a proper thrashing”: the expression is colourful, but the meaning is clear.

“I have three children; my youngest is starting school this year. Governor Abbott’s education policies have funded private schools whilst neglecting state schools. And it shows. My children’s school has gone downhill considerably between Year 1 and Year 3,” says Kimberly, who is about thirty years old and who, whilst speaking to us, keeps crossing her fingers – almost like a tic, as if it really helped. “I’ve always been a Republican; my family are. I stopped supporting the party when Trump came along. My parents and my sister, on the other hand, carried on. We’ve had a lot of arguments over the years because of this. In this election, however, they told me they wouldn’t be voting. For people like them, that’s the absolute best they can do. But evidently, even putting someone like Ken Paxton forward as a Senate candidate was the absolute best they could do.”

Not far away, a tall young man with slightly tanned skin and plaited hair is sipping a Coca-Cola and is not talking to anyone. Perhaps he is shy. We ask him if he is happy, and he says yes. Then we ask him if he voted for Trump in the 2024 election, to see if it is true that the youth vote has shifted. But he does not answer us, merely saying in a whisper: “I can’t vote.” He does not tell us his name, and we do not ask. “But I hope ICE will carry out fewer raids now. They’ve taken away so many people I know. It’s hard to live in constant fear. At least – he corrects himself – that’s what I’ve been told.” Indeed. Who knows. The road ahead is long, and Trump remains unpredictable.

Before the evening drew to a close, James Talarico took to the stage – once again, as he has done at every public event for months now – to speak of David versus Goliath, of love being stronger than hate, and of the need to love one’s neighbour. All these fine words are simply another way of saying ‘Don’t mess with Texas’. Not even if you’re Donald Trump.