Joe Rogan anoints a new progressive star – can James Talarico triumph in Texas?

The Guardian

2 days ago

In late May, four of Texas's top Democrats convened on Zoom to strategize about the 2026 election. The upcoming Republican primary battle for Senate pits incumbent senator John Cornyn against the state's more right-leaning attorney general, Ken Paxton, and is expected to be bruising – greasing the skids for a potential Democratic pickup. With governor, attorney general and lieutenant governor also in play, the question the liberal quartet aimed to answer was whether they might divvy up these contests, thereby avoiding a contentious primary of their own.
On the call were three fixtures of Lone Star Democratic politics: Beto O'Rourke, Colin Allred and Representative Joaquin Castro. Less well-known was the fourth man, a 36-year-old member of the state's house of representatives from Austin's district 50 named James Talarico. A former middle-school language arts teacher and aspiring Presbyterian minister with the earnest demeanor and yearbook-ready countenance of a young Ron Howard, Talarico had begun his political career in 2018, flipping a swing district to become the youngest member of the house. A good bit greener than his colleagues, Talarico seemed an unlikely aspirant for the Senate run.
Then along came Joe Rogan.
The world's most influential podcast host had learned of Talarico from comedian Brian Simpson, who had been awestruck by a viral clip of the state senator taking a Republican colleague to task for her 'idolatrous' bill forcing public schools to display the Ten Commandments. A producer reached out, and within a few weeks the virtually unknown official was stepping into Rogan's Austin studio to offer his gloss on the radical teachings of Jesus. If the conversation was friendly – about two hours in, Rogan was practically begging Talarico to run for president – the reviews from Rogan's right-leaning, MMA-loving fanboys were less so. Many took particular issue with Talarico's reading of the Bible as arguably pro-choice or at least ambivalent about abortion.
Even so, Daniel had entered the lion's den and held his own. Within hours of the show's airing, Politico was enthusing that 'Joe Rogan's Latest Guest Might Turn Texas Blue' and Talarico's beaming choirboy mug was front and center on the Drudge Report.
'I learned this when I flipped the Trump district at the beginning of my career,' Talarico said. 'It's almost like asking someone on a date, or any relationship in your life – you have to put effort into it. If we're not going to make the effort to show up in these places where people are, then we can't be surprised when they don't make the effort to get off the couch and vote for us.'
The week marked a notable turnaround for a politician who just a few years ago hit what he calls his political 'rock bottom'. It was the fall of 2021, a year that had begun with the January 6 insurrection and a catastrophic winter storm that killed hundreds of Texans. Meanwhile, 'Maga' was ascendant in the Lone Star state. Officials rammed through the nation's most unforgiving abortion ban, legalized permitless carry and implemented a new civics curriculum Talarico describes as a 'historical whitewash'.
Then came an aggressive attempt to curtail voting rights that led him and dozens of Democratic lawmakers to flee the state in an attempt to deny the legislature a quorum. After 38 days, Talarico was among a handful who saw the writing on the wall and returned to Austin. As he explained in a lengthy op-ed, Texas Democrats held a dwindling stack of cards, and Congress would need to address the problem at the federal level. (The House delivered, but the bill failed in the Senate due to opposition from senators Joe Manchin and Krysten Sinema.)
Despite Talarico's hopes that ending the standoff might preserve a modicum of bipartisanship, it was not to be. In October, the legislature voted to redraw the state's congressional districts – an attempt to dilute the political power of Black and Latino voters and 'kill me off politically', he said. 'Walking on to that floor and realizing that my [Republican] colleagues weren't looking me in the eye, I felt like I had lost hope, not just in my colleagues and the institution, but in whether democracy was even possible in such polarized and divided times. It was my lowest point in public service so far.'
Overcoming an urge to pack it in, he opted to fight. As it happened, a seat in solid-blue Austin, where he'd grown up, was open. Talarico moved home and won handily. (Now, Texan Republicans are contemplating another redistricting as a way to further dilute the Democratic vote. 'Clearly their gerrymandering didn't hold from five years ago, and so now they're having to get back in there and do some touch-ups and fortifying,' Talarico said.)
Following his crisis of political faith, he made another critical life decision, enrolling in the seminary with the goal of becoming a minister. 'Jesus gave us these two commandments, to love God and love your neighbor,' he explained, noting that he considers his political career a vehicle for doing the latter. Now he understood: the two injunctions went hand in hand. Getting in touch with God, 'or whatever you consider to be the ground of your being', is what Talarico says makes love of neighbor sustainable. 'Whether that's in public service, as a teacher or a nurse or a firefighter or a police officer, or whether it's with activism or volunteering or just being a good person in your community, it is difficult and sometimes exhausting work, and that's why we have to be connected to something deeper.'
An outspoken progressive Christian is something of a unicorn in today's political environment – a sign not only of the secularism that has characterized the Democratic party since the Reagan years but of the ever-increasing ties between the far right and the evangelical movement. Perhaps nowhere is this alliance more pronounced than in Texas, where the last legislative session saw a flurry of bills that would, among other things, allow prayer in public schools, fund parochial schools with taxpayer money and outlaw the provision of litter boxes for students – an actual bill based on a debunked rightwing hoax. The latter proposal stalled after Talarico's polite if methodical humiliation of the bill's author became one of his many viral TikToks; the others, including the Ten Commandments bill, became law.
Talarico has done more than simply oppose what he considers to be bad legislation. He regularly calls out fossil fuel barons Tim Dunn and Farris Wilks, who backed the legislative crusade. 'They basically own every Republican member of the state senate,' he said, noting that they are by far the state's biggest political donors. 'They own a majority of Republicans in the state house. They own every statewide elected official. And they run a massive network of thinktanks and advocacy organizations and media outlets. So their empire has really taken over state government. And they have a pretty extreme theocratic vision for for the state and the country.' Asked whether a Handmaid's Tale-style dystopia seemed possible, he said, 'We're a lot closer than people think.'
Talarico defines the effort to wed government with biblical ideology as Christian nationalism, 'the worship of power – social power, economic power, political power, in the name of Christ', as he put it in a 2023 guest sermon. Accusing adherents of turning Jesus 'into a gun-toting, gay-bashing, science-denying, money-loving, fear-mongering fascist,' he declared it 'incumbent on all Christians to confront it and denounce it'. Posted to YouTube, the sermon has since garnered 1m views.
The question now is not merely whether Talarico can translate that kind of social media buzz into votes but whether he wants to. He expects to obtain his master's in divinity next year, and he often speaks of his desire to one day take over the ministry at his home church, St Andrew's Presbyterian.
But a slight detour to the US Senate seems increasingly possible – an indication of his growing popularity and ambition as well as a notable vibe shift on the left. A recent poll found that 62% of Democrats wanted their party's leadership replaced. And a strong contingent has shown a hunger for candidates, such as Talarico, who are willing to lean into progressive values without apology (he has, for example, mounted a forceful defense of gender-affirming care for trans kids).
While Talarico makes a strong case for the undercurrent of wealth redistribution inherent in Jesus' teachings, he doesn't call himself a socialist – certainly not in Texas. Still it's not hard to see parallels between his meteoric rise and that of New York City's socialist mayoral hopeful, Zohran Mamdani, another young state legislator whose online savvy, bold progressivism and evident sincerity have endeared him to liberal voters. (In 2019, Talarico walked across his 25-mile district – nearly double the distance of Mamdani's recent Manhattan hike.)
For Talarico, the key to winning over the electorate is authenticity. 'Voters can sniff out that consultant-driven messaging,' he said. 'The poll-tested stuff is just not going to cut it.'
Moreover, voters are spoiling for a fight. One quality they appreciated in Trump, he said, was the aggression he'd shown on behalf of his vision, however malevolent. Democrats, he said, need to bring that kind of energy to the fight for a better world. And while Jesus Christ was famous for his humility and pacifism, Talarico noted, he was also an uncompromising radical who could tap into a combative side when needed.
'If we are doing our best to mimic Jesus, being kind and humble and meek are all part of it,' he said. 'But when the powerful are abusing people, we have to stand in the way, and that requires courage and bravery, and speaking truth to power.'
In late June, Talarico appeared at a town hall in San Antonio alongside Castro and O'Rourke, a show of unity before what may well turn into a heated primary race. Befitting his status as the youngest and least seasoned politician on the stage, he spoke first. But as Talarico recalled the story of Jesus's cleansing of the temple, when he ejected the money-changers and merchants from the Lord's house, he didn't sound like a man inclined meekly to wait his turn to run for higher office. 'To those who love democracy, to those who love our neighbors,' he proclaimed, 'it's time to start flipping tables.'
As for the Senate race, Talarico is praying on it. He'll make a decision this summer, he said.