Texas Professors Are Leaving—But the Crisis Is Bigger (and Deeper) Than Texas
A recent report in The Texas Tribune describes what many of us working in higher education in Texas already know in our hearts: faculty are demoralized and, increasingly, they are leaving. Based on survey data gathered by the American Association of University Professors (AAUP), more than one-quarter of professors in Texas say they have applied for academic positions elsewhere in the past two years, while another segment plan to do so soon. Nearly two-thirds indicated they would not recommend Texas as a place to pursue an academic career (Melhado, 2023). These numbers tell a story of deep unease—of contracts not renewed, of faculty afraid to speak openly in classrooms, of colleagues censoring themselves out of fear of retaliation.
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| Source: Texas Tribune, Credit Tamir Kalifa |
At the heart of this attrition is a direct assault on academic freedom, a principle that undergirds the very possibility of democratic life. State laws now ban diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, and erode the stability of tenure, and faculty governance over such matters as curriculum and hiring.
Legislation such as Senate Bill 37, which stripped power from faculty senates and centralized it in boards of regents appointed by political leaders, has undermined shared governance. This environment does more than stifle dissent; it recasts universities as instruments of control rather than spaces of inquiry.
Texas may be experiencing these dynamics most visibly, but the crisis is national—and increasingly global. Many U.S. scholars are not simply moving across state lines but are choosing to relocate abroad, seeking academic environments in Europe or Canada where intellectual freedom is more secure. Overlaying this migration is the threat of Project 2025, a sweeping policy blueprint crafted by conservative think tanks that aims to dismantle public institutions, including higher education, and remake them according to a narrow ideological vision.
This project aligns with what has been called the Seven Mountains mandate, an agenda of religious nationalists who seek control over culture-shaping institutions—education foremost among them. Yes, read and understand this vitally important point.
This broader climate is fueled by the growth of Christian nationalism, a worldview that fuses political power with a narrow conception of religion. Surveys reveal its mainstream appeal: a majority of Republicans support declaring the U.S. a Christian nation, despite acknowledging its unconstitutionality; nearly half affirm the belief that God designated America as a promised land for European Christians.
As McDaniel (2022) and others have noted, Christian nationalism is not merely a matter of private belief but a political project that seeks to restrict belonging to white, Christian, U.S.-born citizens, and to delegitimize pluralism. When viewed in this frame, Texas is not an outlier but part of a larger campaign to curtail higher education’s role as a site of critical thought and democratic practice.
I argue that these moves are part of what decolonial scholars call the colonial matrix of power—an effort to control knowledge, suppress difference, and reproduce racial and cultural hierarchies. Yet resistance is alive. Faculty who continue to mentor students of color, who teach histories others would erase, who publish research under difficult conditions, are engaging in what I and other scholars term "transformational resistance" (Valenzuela, Unda, & Bernal, 2025; also see Solórzano & Delgado Bernal, 2001).
This is not resistance for its own sake but resistance that builds alternatives grounded in care, justice, and community. Every classroom where students feel seen, every syllabus that centers marginalized voices, is part of this work.
Why I stay. I would be dishonest if I said the thought of leaving hasn’t crossed my mind. Colleagues often ask why I remain in Texas when the hostility toward higher education—and toward scholars of color in particular—runs so deeply.
My answer is simple: I stay because my students and community root me here. Texas’ future is unfolding in our classrooms, in our neighborhoods, and in our community schools. Plus, we all pay taxes, don't we? To walk away would be easier, perhaps even safer, but staying allows me to live the very praxis I teach: to resist, to reimagine, and to plant seeds of justice where they are most endangered.
That does not mean we accept this reality as inevitable. It means we fight back. We refuse to concede our classrooms, our research, or our governance structures to political agendas. We form alliances with communities and insist that public universities exist to serve the people of Texas, not to advance the ambitions of politicians or religious ideologues. We keep teaching, writing, and testifying because silence would only deepen the culture of fear.
The AAUP survey offers a sobering warning, but it is also a call to action. Without resistance, fear becomes normalized. With resistance—embodied through solidarity, courage, and imagination—we preserve the possibility of universities that are truly democratic and inclusive.
Just last week, after class, a student told me, “Thank you for making space for voices like mine. I didn’t think college was for people like me until now.” In that moment, the rancor from the Capitol receded, and what remained was the truth of why I stay: because these students are Texas, because their futures are worth fighting for, and because each act of teaching becomes an act of resistance and hope.
McDaniel, E. (2022, Nov. 6). Talk of 'Christian nationalism' is getting louder—but what does the term really mean? Chronicle of Higher Education. https://www.chron.com/politics/article/what-is-christian-nationalism-17563003.php
Solórzano, D. G., & Delgado Bernal, D. (2001). Examining transformational resistance through a critical race and LatCrit theory framework: Chicana and Chicano students in an urban context, Urban Education, 36(3), 308–342.
