Why Showing Up Still Matters in Texas (and Everywhere)

Texas is more than land and oil and big skies. It is a state that holds 31.29 million people and carries inside it an entire spectrum of America’s contradictions. Pride and struggle. Progress and resistance. Triumph and tragedy. For those of us born here, our roots run deep. It is not easy to explain to outsiders why we stay or why we fight so hard, but the answer often comes back to this: Texas is not just where we live. It is who we are.

When I think of Barbara Jordan, I think of a voice that carried the weight of an entire country’s conscience. She was not simply a Black woman in politics during a time when the halls of power were almost entirely white and male. She was the moral gravity in the room. Born in Houston’s Fifth Ward, Barbara Jordan knew what it meant to come from a place often overlooked and underfunded. She carried that with her into Congress, and when she spoke, she spoke for every Texan who had been told they were less than. Her presence in Washington was proof that we belonged not as tokens but as architects of the democratic vision itself.

Ann Richards, on the other hand, turned politics into a stage where truth was delivered with humor sharp enough to cut through arrogance. She came from Lakeview, Texas, a small town girl who understood the grit of working people and never let anyone mistake her charm for weakness. Ann Richards knew what it meant to live in a state where power was often locked away in rooms that women were not invited into. So she barged in anyway, with wit, with grit, with a silver hairdo that became its own symbol of defiance. She made politics personal. She made them human.

And then there was Molly Ivins, a journalist, not a politician, but every bit as influential in shaping the political imagination of Texas. Molly was a firecracker with a pen. She called out hypocrisy with humor so raw and so real that even her opponents sometimes had to laugh through their discomfort. She gave Texans permission to see politics not as something distant but as something that touched our kitchens and our backyards. She belonged to us because she told the truth the way Texans tell the truth...straight, funny, and unforgettable.

Today, that torch has not gone out. It burns in women like Representative Jasmine Crockett, who speaks with a clarity that slices through spin and pretense. She embodies a generation of Black women politicians who are no longer asking for permission to lead but demanding accountability, boldly and unapologetically. Jasmine Crockett’s voice reminds us that Texas has always been more complicated than the stereotypes — that it is diverse, restless, creative, and unwilling to be flattened into caricature. Nicole Collier’s quiet yet relentless work for criminal justice reform carries the same weight. These women are not anomalies. They are the blueprint Barbara Jordan helped write, Ann Richards helped sharpen, Molly Ivins helped broadcast.

What makes these women so special is not only that they existed but that they refused to bend to the environments that sought to erase them. Barbara Jordan was not supposed to rise from the Fifth Ward to Congress, but she did. Ann Richards was not supposed to outwit a system built for men, but she did. Molly Ivins was not supposed to make people laugh while telling the hardest truths, but she did. Jasmine Crockett is not supposed to hold her ground in a chamber designed to silence her, but she does.

For women in Texas, these names are not just history lessons. They are survival guides. They show us how to navigate the paradox of living in a state that is both deeply conservative and endlessly progressive, both proud of its independence and still struggling to honor its diversity. They remind us that fighting for a better future is not new work. It is inherited work.

And to those outside the United States, Texas may look like an endless tug-of-war between red and blue, between rural and urban. But the real story is messier and more human. It is the story of people who know what it is to be overlooked, who understand the ache of watching opportunities slip away, and who continue to show up because they believe the next generation deserves more. That is what Barbara Jordan taught us. That is what Ann Richards lived. That is what Molly Ivins wrote down, often with a laugh. And that is what Jasmine Crockett carries in her voice today.

This is why voting matters here. It is not only about policy or party. It is about culture and community, about dignity and the fight for inclusion. For those of us born and raised in Texas, there is a deep pride in standing our ground, in believing that our voices matter even when history tries to tell us otherwise. We do not show up to vote simply because it is a right. We show up because it is an act of remembrance, of resistance, of hope.

The paradox of America, and especially of Texas, is that we are a nation built on lofty ideals and deep injustices. To vote here is to wrestle with that paradox, to look it square in the face, and still choose the better parts of our human instincts. It is to acknowledge that our humanness, our shared humanity, is always the compass.

So when we walk into the booth this November, we are not just choosing policies or propositions. We are standing on the shoulders of Barbara Jordan, Ann Richards, Molly Ivins, Jasmine Crockett, Nicole Collier, and countless others who showed us how to fight with courage, with wit, with persistence, and with love for the people of this state.

Their blueprints are clear. The only question now is whether we will follow them.

 

Tasha Monroe

Founder, Simply Edyn & Co.

Writer & Editor, The Commons Dispatch