As I stood in the Capitol rotunda this week waiting to speak to one of the sheriffs in town for Sheriffs’ Day, a nicely dressed woman in her late thirties asked me for directions to registration. Registration? As a lobbyist? “Yes, she replied. I want to lobby for marijuana.” My confusion was then resolved: she was a citizen at the Capitol to petition her Legislature to make marijuana legal in Texas, a prospect not likely to happen, as noted in today’s The Dallas Morning News.
Nearly 300 marijuana enthusiasts made their way to the Texas Capitol on Wednesday to persuade tough-on-crime Republicans to loosen their stance on the drug.
They were sober and dressed to impress. And though lawmakers may give their proposal some consideration, their hopes are likely to go up in smoke.
Fully legalized recreational marijuana as in Alaska, Colorado, Oregon and Washington is not likely to happen. But there is a slim change bills will move forward for medical marijuana, not the kind that is smoked but in an extract where the key ingredient, Tetrahydrocannabinol or THC, is available for a variety of conditions, from controlling epileptic seizers to easing the suffering of chemotherapy. The poster child for the medical marijuana movement is Alexis Bortell, who has epilepsy, as reported on by The Fort Worth Star-Telegram and WFAA television.
Alexis Bortell’s story has attracted attention across Texas.
“Medical cannabis will help me,” the 9-year-old told WFAA.com. “It’s illegal in Texas, and we’re trying to change that.”
Two Republican lawmakers, including Rep. Stephanie Klick of Fort Worth, recently introduced legislation to legalize medical marijuana — not the kind you smoke, but rather cannabis oil. But it won’t be legal anytime soon.
In the meantime, Alexis’ family has decided to move to Colorado, where it is legal.
In a pointed moment of Greg Abbott’s State of the State speech, the governor called out freshman House member Will Metcalf. Abbott said the Republican from Conroe is the youngest member of the Legislature, having been born in 1984. “For his entire life, the State of Texas has been mired in litigation about school funding,” Abbott said. “I think we can all agree it’s time to put school finance litigation behind us. It’s time to stop fighting about school finance and start fixing our schools.”
Abbott was mostly correct. The only governor who has not had a school finance lawsuit hanging over his or her head since 1984’s Edgewood v. Kirby lawsuit was George W. Bush, also once known as Señor Suerte, Mr. Lucky. As Bush took office, the Texas Supreme Court ruled the so-called Robin Hood school finance plan adopted under Ann Richards was constitutional. Bush was free of the school finance headache. However, because of changing finances and demographics, no school finance funding formula remains intact for more than about ten years. So the school districts went back to court in 2003, and the state has been in litigation ever since, with a district judge ruling the system unconstitutional last year.
A decade of arguing has resolved little, and Abbott’s call to solve public school finance in Will Metcalf’s lifetime sounded like bold leadership. But like much of the rest of Abbott’s State of the State speech, he offered policies that polished the edges of Texas’ challenges without solving the bigger problems. For instance, the biggest problem of school finance is how to distribute money fairly and who has to pay for it. That is the detail that has bedeviled many of a state politician, and Abbott appears to be one more.
During Rick Perry’s tenure as governor, finding the nexus between campaign donations and government contracts or public policy was about as difficult as finding a rock in a quarry. Along with a few others, I practically made a career out of seeing the dots and putting them together. The library of material was so extensive that when Sarah Palin started talking about “crony capitalism” during the 2011-12 presidential campaign there was little doubt that her remarks were aimed at Perry. Now that Greg Abbott has replaced Perry, we should start wondering what all the money that put Abbott in the governor’s office will or won’t buy. Although we can easily say Abbott will be conservative as governor, it is still too early to tell whether he will feel a necessity to reward those political donors beyond a few appointments as university regents or to the Parks & Wildlife Commission. At the same time, when the inaugural committee for Abbott and Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick released a list of donors to the $4.7 million party, I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a report of the investment bank for would-be supplicants or a check list of special thank-you notes that Abbott and Patrick will have to sign.
Most of the first-glance news reports on the subject looked at the most obvious donors: Walmart, which wants a state liquor license or Charles and David Koch, who want government downsizing. There were questions raised about a state lottery vendor, Gtech, giving $50,000, and about how other donations came from gambling interests. The devil, however, often is not among the usual suspects who will turn up at the top of the list in almost every major Republican campaign in Texas. (Note, the Democrats have their list of regular donors as well, but I don’t care about them at the moment.) The story of how government operates often is in that second tier of donors, the unusual or the ignored. So I borrowed the list from the Texas Tribune and went through it to find some of the donations that aren’t regularly the scrutiny of media watchdogs. Here’s just a few:
January 20, 2015, was an unexpectedly warm day in Austin that capped a predictably heated political season. At eleven o’clock on the south steps of the Capitol, beneath broad blue skies, Greg Abbott and Dan Patrick were sworn in as the state’s governor and lieutenant governor, respectively.
These are anxious days in Houston. The locals, especially those who remember the bad old economic days, are edgy—a mood change that has come on about as quickly as, well, falling oil prices.
During my care-free years in college, I owned a single-action, western style .357 magnum revolver that my buddies and I would take to the bluffs overlooking the Missouri River. We’d sit, talk about the past, dream about the future and take potshots at whatever happened to float downstream. We were more likely to create geysers of water than to hit anything in the fast-flowing wide Missouri. Plinking with firearms was something I’d grown up with in the fields and streams on the outskirts of Dallas. As boys, we had BB guns, and then as teenagers we had more adult firearms. We shot tin cans along a railroad track, and once did battle with a v-formation of water snakes coming down the creek. Those days always come back to me whenever I hear John Prine’s song about a childhood of hunting pop bottles along the Green River in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky.
Those fields of my youth are gone, replaced by tract housing and apartments north of the Addison Airport, and many of the creeks where we splashed as boys are just concrete culverts. But despite all the times I went plinking when young, I’ve never felt so threatened as an adult to think it was necessary to carry a handgun for self-defense. I’m not going to argue the merits or demerits of carrying pistols, open or concealed, because there are enough standard bearers on both sides of that issue to knee-jerk it to death. I merely want to point out that the sales job for the open carry of handguns is something of a misunderstood and misleading bill of goods.
First, there is a great deal of misunderstanding about exactly what open carry means, because there are two types.
BurkaBlog readers, I bring you good news. In light of my colleague Paul’s pending retirement, my colleague Brian Sweany’s promotion to editor-in-chief, and my apparent inability to write daily posts without shirking my other assignments or giving up my hobby of railing against Obamacare on Twitter, the blog itself has been a little short-staffed.
Editor’s note: On January 16, John Daniel Davidson, the director of the Center for Health Care Policy at the Texas Public Policy Foundation, published a piece titled “On the Economics of Medicaid Expansion.” This is a response to that story.