There is no Independent Party in Texas.
That’s worth saying up front because when some people hear the word “independent,” they assume we’re talking about a third party. We’re not. An independent candidate is simply someone who runs for office without a Republican, Democratic, or any other party label beside their name.
That question landed in my inbox this week when former Amarillo State Senator Kel Seliger, former State Representative Glenn Rogers, and Sarah Stogner, the district attorney for Ward, Reeves and Loving counties, joined independent lieutenant governor candidate Mike Collier in a federal lawsuit challenging Texas ballot-access laws.
Texas maintains some of the most restrictive ballot-access laws in the country for independent candidates. Under current law, an independent candidate running statewide in 2026 must collect more than 81,000 valid signatures—and can’t gather a single signature until after the primaries are settled. Anyone who voted in a
Republican or Democratic primary is barred from signing.
In a normal year, that leaves about 113 days. But the lieutenant governor’s race went to a runoff this spring, shrinking Collier’s window to roughly 30 days to find more than 81,000 Texans who sat out both primaries. That’s a difficult task under any circumstance, but especially for grassroots candidates without access to large donors or professional petition operations. The result is a system where getting on the ballot often depends as much on resources as it does on voter support.
The lawsuit is significant, and its biggest impact may ultimately be at the local level. County races are often centered on roads, public safety, county government, and other issues that are fundamentally nonpartisan. Yet Texas election laws make it extraordinarily difficult for independent candidates to compete.
What also caught my attention is that the lawsuit arrives just as the Republican Party of Texas is pushing to close primary elections, making it one of its top priorities coming out of the state convention.
At first glance, those seem like separate debates. I don’t think they are.
Both raise the same question: How much choice should Texans have when they walk into a voting booth?
Texas has run open primaries for decades. Any registered voter can choose a Republican or Democratic primary each election cycle without registering with a party.
Supporters of closed primaries argue that Republicans should choose Republican nominees and Democrats should choose Democratic nominees. That’s a reasonable argument.
But across rural Texas, the primary is often the election. In many counties, winning the primary is effectively winning the seat. Closing primaries would place even greater emphasis on party identity and less on the independent-minded voters who don’t fit neatly into either camp.
Viewed separately, closed primaries and ballot-access restrictions may seem unrelated.
Viewed together, they point in the same direction: fewer choices.
And that’s what concerns me.
Not because I think Texans should vote for independents. Not because I think Republicans or Democrats are wrong. But because systems matter. The rules we create shape the kinds of candidates who emerge from them.
When participation narrows and competition declines, candidates have greater incentive to appeal to the most active partisan voters rather than the broader public they will eventually represent. And it isn’t only a Republican habit—the same dynamic exists in safely Democratic districts.
The question is whether we’re building a system that rewards problem-solvers or partisan performers.
That matters in rural Texas because most of the issues we deal with every day aren’t partisan. A farmer worried about groundwater, a community trying to keep its hospital open, or a county commissioner struggling to maintain roads isn’t looking for ideological purity. They’re looking for solutions.
The problems themselves don’t care about party labels. They care about results.
That’s one reason local government often works differently than national politics. The best local leaders are rarely the ones who can recite the most talking points from Austin or Washington. They’re the people who know the community, understand its challenges, and have to live with the consequences of their decisions.
That’s what I’ve always meant by Dirt Democracy: the people closest to the problem usually have the clearest view of the solution.
It’s important to view this lawsuit through two lenses: the legal argument itself and the people making it.
Seliger, Rogers, and Stogner have spent much of their political careers putting constituents ahead of party expectations. They don’t agree on every issue, but they seem to agree on one thing: Texans should have more opportunities to choose their leaders, not fewer.
Texas has always prided itself on independence—not as a political party, but as a core Texas value.
And that’s really what this debate comes down to.
Not whether independent candidates should win. Not whether Republicans or Democrats should lose. But whether the people, rather than the parties, remain in charge of the system.
Dirt Democracy starts with a simple belief: the people closest to the impacts of a decision should have the strongest voice in making it. If that’s true for schools, water, roads, and land use, it ought to be true for elections too.
The question isn’t whether Texans will make the right choice.
The question is whether we trust them enough to make it.
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