Kirk Watson
Based on Wikipedia: Kirk Watson
In February 2008, during MSNBC's coverage of the Wisconsin Democratic primary, Senator Kirk Watson of Texas appeared via satellite to advocate for Barack Obama. Host Chris Matthews asked him a simple question: name one of Obama's legislative accomplishments. Watson froze. Silence stretched across live television. Matthews eventually excused him with a cutting remark: "He's here to defend Barack Obama and he had nothing to say; that's a problem."
It was a humiliating moment for a politician who had built his career on being the sharpest mind in the room—the guy who graduated first in his law school class, edited the law review, and could outmaneuver opponents in complex policy debates. Yet this stumble didn't define Watson's trajectory. If anything, his ability to survive such moments and keep climbing speaks to something essential about modern Texas politics: persistence matters more than perfection.
The Making of a Texas Democrat
Kirk Watson grew up in Saginaw, a small city wedged into the sprawl northwest of Fort Worth. It's the kind of place that doesn't produce many Democratic politicians—Texas's suburban exurbs trend reliably Republican. But Watson came of age in a different era, graduating from Boswell High School before heading to Baylor University in Waco.
At Baylor Law School, he distinguished himself immediately. Editor-in-chief of the Baylor Law Review. First in his class. A clerkship on the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit—one of the most prestigious appellate courts in the country, covering Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi. These credentials matter in Texas legal circles, where the path from elite law practice to political office is well-worn.
By 1990, Watson had risen to president of the Texas Young Lawyers Association. He was building a reputation as someone who could work within institutions while pushing them toward change. Governor Ann Richards—herself one of the most consequential Texas Democrats of the twentieth century—appointed him chairman of the Texas Air Control Board in 1991.
This was not a glamorous job. Air quality regulation rarely makes headlines. But Watson used the position to shepherd a significant bureaucratic merger, combining the Air Control Board with the Texas Water Commission to form what became the Texas Natural Resources Conservation Commission. He also oversaw implementation of the 1991 amendments to the federal Clean Air Act, the landmark environmental legislation that required states to develop detailed plans for reducing smog, acid rain, and toxic air pollutants.
Mayor of Austin, First Time
In 1997, Watson ran for mayor of Austin. He had recently moved from Rollingwood—an independent municipality nestled within Austin's boundaries—to Austin proper, making him eligible for the nonpartisan position.
Austin in the late 1990s was a city at war with itself. Environmentalists and developers fought bitterly over growth policy, water quality, and the fate of the Edwards Aquifer—the underground reservoir that supplies drinking water to much of Central Texas and sustains unique ecosystems found nowhere else on Earth. Watson campaigned on a promise to build consensus, a word that sounds anodyne but represented a genuine shift in approach.
He won. And then he got to work on what would become his signature achievement: transforming downtown Austin from a collection of vacant warehouses and parking lots into a living urban center.
The strategy was called "Smart Growth," a planning philosophy that emerged in the 1990s as an alternative to sprawling suburban development. Instead of building outward into undeveloped land—particularly the sensitive watersheds that feed the aquifer—Smart Growth encouraged denser development in already-urbanized areas. Austin offered tax incentives to developers who built housing and retail downtown. The vacant lots and industrial spaces began filling in with apartments and shops.
The Digital District That Wasn't
Watson's boldest gambit came in 1999, when he championed a redevelopment project along several blocks of waterfront property downtown. The vision was a "digital district"—a public-private partnership that would anchor Austin's growing technology sector in the urban core.
The site included Liberty Lunch, a beloved outdoor music venue that had hosted everyone from Nirvana to Willie Nelson. The venue was demolished, along with dilapidated warehouses, to make room for the new development. This kind of trade-off—cultural landmarks sacrificed for economic development—would become increasingly contentious in Austin as the city grew.
Watson and architect Larry Speck courted Computer Sciences Corporation, or CSC, a major technology firm. The deal was audacious: Austin offered $10.4 million in tax incentives if CSC would anchor two office buildings on the site instead of building a planned campus in a watershed area. There was a catch—CSC had to foot the bill for a new city hall building.
The first two buildings went up. They're now part of the Second Street District, a pedestrian-friendly stretch of shops and restaurants that exemplifies the walkable urbanism Watson championed. But CSC eventually pulled out before constructing city hall. The company vacated the premises entirely.
A similar story played out with Intel. In 2000, Watson secured $15.1 million in tax incentives for the chipmaker to build a new downtown headquarters. Intel stopped construction. The unfinished building was demolished in 2007. In its place now stands the Austin United States Courthouse—a beautiful building, but not exactly the tech hub Watson had envisioned.
Landslide
Despite these setbacks, Austin voters overwhelmingly approved of Watson's direction. In 2000, he won reelection with 84 percent of the vote—the highest percentage any mayoral candidate has ever received in Austin's history.
That kind of margin suggests something beyond mere competence. Watson had genuinely changed how Austin thought about its future. The debate was no longer whether to grow, but how. The downtown renaissance he championed would continue for decades, eventually transforming Austin from a sleepy state capital with a famous music scene into one of America's fastest-growing major cities.
The Abbott Defeat
In November 2001, Watson stepped down as mayor to run for Texas Attorney General. It was a significant gamble. The attorney general race is statewide, requiring a Democrat to win not just in liberal Austin but across conservative rural Texas and the swing suburbs of Houston, Dallas, and San Antonio.
His opponent was Greg Abbott, a Republican with his own compelling personal story. Abbott had been paralyzed from the waist down in 1984 when a tree fell on him while jogging—an accident that led to a lawsuit and a multi-million dollar settlement that would later become politically controversial. Abbott had served on the Texas Supreme Court and carried the backing of the Republican establishment.
Watson lost decisively: 41 percent to Abbott's 57 percent. In Texas politics, this kind of statewide defeat often ends careers. Democrats who lose badly rarely get second chances.
Abbott, meanwhile, would go on to serve as attorney general for over a decade before being elected governor in 2014. He remains governor today, having won three consecutive elections. The 2002 race, in retrospect, was a turning point for Texas politics—not just for the two candidates but for the trajectory of the state itself.
The Senate Years
Watson didn't disappear after his loss. He practiced law, chaired the Greater Austin Chamber of Commerce, and waited. In 2006, he ran for the Texas Senate seat being vacated by Gonzalo Barrientos. He won with over 80 percent of the vote, returning to elected office in a position that suited his skills—a legislative role requiring coalition-building and policy expertise rather than statewide campaigning.
The Texas Senate is a peculiar institution. With only 31 members representing a state of nearly 30 million people, individual senators wield enormous influence. The chamber operates on personal relationships and procedural mastery. Watson proved adept at both.
Texas Monthly, the magazine that serves as something like the official chronicler of Texas political life, named him "Rookie of the Year" after the 2007 legislative session. Two years later, they called him one of the state's ten best legislators and, with characteristic Texas flair, dubbed him "the Galápagos penguin of the Texas Legislature"—a reference to the isolated penguin species that evolved far from its Antarctic relatives, much as Watson had evolved into a distinctive political creature within the Republican-dominated chamber.
Transportation Wars
Much of Watson's first year in the Senate was consumed by transportation policy—specifically, a bitter fight over highway tolling in Central Texas.
Here's the background: Texas has historically funded highways through gas taxes and vehicle registration fees. As construction costs rose and fuel efficiency improved, that revenue stream became inadequate. Meanwhile, Central Texas was growing explosively, and highways planned decades earlier had never been built.
Previous transportation boards had proposed a solution: toll the new highway capacity. Build the lanes, charge drivers to use them, and use the revenue to pay for construction. The idea sparked intense opposition. Texans, accustomed to "free" highways funded by gas taxes, objected to paying twice.
Watson became chairman of the Capital Area Metropolitan Planning Organization, known by its acronym CAMPO—the federally designated transportation planning body for the Austin region. He led a public process to analyze which projects were needed, how to pay for them, and what benefits they would provide. In October 2007, the CAMPO board approved a plan to add toll lanes to several existing highways by a vote of 15 to 4.
The compromise held. It wasn't popular, but it was workable. This kind of unglamorous policy work—building consensus on contentious infrastructure decisions—exemplified Watson's approach to governance.
The Wendy Davis Filibuster
In June 2013, Watson found himself at the center of one of the most dramatic moments in recent Texas legislative history.
Senator Wendy Davis, a Democrat from Fort Worth, was conducting a filibuster against Senate Bill 5, legislation that would impose significant restrictions on abortion access in Texas. Under Texas Senate rules, a filibuster must be continuous—the senator must remain standing, cannot lean on furniture, and must speak only to matters germane to the bill.
After nearly eleven hours, the presiding officer ruled that Davis had strayed off-topic. Watson moved to overturn the ruling. The chamber erupted into procedural chaos. Spectators in the gallery began chanting so loudly that senators couldn't conduct business. The clock ran out on the special legislative session before the bill could pass.
It was a victory, but a temporary one. Governor Rick Perry immediately called another special session. The same bill passed within weeks—96 to 49 in the House, 19 to 11 in the Senate. Perry signed it into law. A state representative estimated the additional special session cost taxpayers around $800,000.
The legislation was later struck down by the United States Supreme Court in Whole Woman's Health v. Hellerstedt (2016), which found that the restrictions placed an undue burden on women seeking abortions without providing meaningful health benefits. But that ruling came too late for many clinics, which had already closed.
Blocking Whitley
In 2019, Watson played a key role in one of the few successful Democratic efforts to block a Republican priority: the confirmation of David Whitley as Texas Secretary of State.
Whitley had been appointed by Governor Abbott and immediately launched a controversial effort to identify non-citizens on Texas voter rolls. The project was deeply flawed—it flagged tens of thousands of naturalized citizens as potential non-citizen voters. Civil rights groups sued. Federal courts intervened. The backlash was swift and bipartisan.
Under Texas law, gubernatorial appointees must be confirmed by the Senate. Watson and other Democrats refused to provide the votes necessary for confirmation. Without Senate approval by the end of the legislative session, Whitley's appointment expired. He resigned. It was a rare instance of successful Democratic resistance in an era of Republican dominance.
Texas Monthly again recognized Watson as one of the state's best legislators for his role in the affair.
The Academic Interlude
In 2020, Watson announced he would resign from the Texas Senate to become the first dean of the University of Houston's Hobby School of Public Affairs. The school is named for Bill Hobby, the former Texas lieutenant governor who served for eighteen years and remains an influential figure in Democratic politics.
Watson's resignation was effective April 30, 2020—just as the COVID-19 pandemic was reshaping American life. He lasted less than a year in academia. By 2021, with Austin's incumbent mayor Steve Adler not seeking another term, Watson entered the race to become mayor again.
Mayor, Second Time
The 2022 mayoral election went to a runoff between Watson and Celia Israel, a state representative. Watson won narrowly—57,346 votes to Israel's 56,460, a margin of about 50.4 to 49.6 percent. A ballot proposition the previous year had changed mayoral elections to coincide with presidential elections, so this was actually a shortened two-year term.
Watson was sworn in on January 6, 2023—exactly two years after the January 6th insurrection at the United States Capitol, a coincidence that underscored how much American politics had changed since his first tenure as mayor.
Firing the City Manager
Watson moved quickly to assert control. Shortly after taking office, he led an effort to fire City Manager Spencer Cronk. The vote was 10 to 1.
The immediate trigger was the city's response to a February 2023 winter storm that left thousands of residents without power for up to twelve days. Austin Energy, the city-owned utility, had failed to prepare adequately and communicated poorly during the crisis. Cronk had also announced a four-year contract with the Austin Police Association against the explicit wishes of City Council, which wanted to vote on a one-year contract while negotiations continued.
Watson's choice for interim city manager was revealing: Jesús Garza, who had served as city manager during Watson's first stint as mayor in the late 1990s. Garza had also managed Stand Together Austin, a political action committee that supported Watson's mayoral campaign. The appointment drew criticism about conflicts of interest, but Watson defended it as bringing in someone with a proven track record.
Garza immediately began replacing top officials. Out went the general manager of Austin Energy, the CEO of the airport, the head of emergency operations, and the assistant city manager overseeing public safety. It was a wholesale housecleaning of the kind that rarely happens in city government.
Calling in the State Troopers
In March 2023, Watson took a step that surprised many in Austin's progressive political establishment: he reached an agreement with Governor Greg Abbott—his old rival from the 2002 attorney general race—to deploy Texas Department of Public Safety troopers to patrol Austin streets.
The context was a genuine crisis. Austin Police Department was short-staffed, with over 300 vacancies. Response times for 911 calls had deteriorated badly. Street racing had become a viral phenomenon, with videos circulating of crowds surrounding and harassing police cars with live fireworks.
Some city council members objected that they had been left out of conversations before the announcement. But Watson defended the decision as pragmatic—the city needed help, and the state could provide it. That a Democratic mayor would work so openly with a Republican governor reflected both Watson's centrist instincts and the severity of Austin's public safety challenges.
Measurable Improvements
The results were tangible. By November 2023, Austin's 911 call center was answering 93.28 percent of calls within fifteen seconds, compared to just 69.18 percent in July. It's the kind of bureaucratic metric that doesn't make headlines but profoundly affects residents' daily experience with their city government.
In October 2024, City Council approved a five-year contract with the Austin Police Association by a vote of 10 to 1. The police union had been operating without a long-term agreement since September 2022, which had hampered recruiting and retention efforts. Stabilizing that relationship was essential to addressing the staffing shortage.
Homelessness
Austin's visible homelessness crisis had become a defining political issue. Encampments along highways and in public parks had grown dramatically during the pandemic years. Voters had already passed Proposition B in 2021, reinstating a ban on public camping that the city council had previously repealed.
In July 2023, Watson secured almost $65 million from the state of Texas for local groups to expand emergency shelters and provide resources for people experiencing homelessness. He also led efforts to add hundreds of shelter beds through the opening of new facilities and expansion of existing ones.
But the issue exposed tensions in Austin's approach to homelessness. When Integral Care, Travis County's largest mental health provider, announced plans to eliminate staff positions due to budget problems, Watson worked to find emergency funding. Central Health, the local healthcare district, approved last-minute funding in its 2024 budget.
Watson argued that the homelessness response system needed fundamental reform. In his newsletter, he wrote that Austin had "developed a bad habit of seeking funding for programs without establishing how we'll ultimately judge success. We're too often measuring progress simply by how much we're spending, not by the actual results of that spending."
He proposed an independent audit of homelessness services across multiple agencies. But the Travis County Commissioners Court blocked the effort in February 2024, objecting both to the selection of McKinsey & Company as the consulting firm and to spending money on an audit rather than direct services.
Land Use Reform
Perhaps the most significant long-term issue facing Austin is housing affordability, which is fundamentally a land use question. Austin's zoning code, last significantly updated in 1984, restricts most residential land to single-family homes. This makes it difficult to build the denser housing that could accommodate population growth without sprawling ever further into the surrounding Hill Country.
Efforts to reform these policies have faced fierce opposition from homeowners and neighborhood associations who fear changes to their neighborhoods' character. Watson has engaged with this issue, though comprehensive zoning reform remains unfinished as of late 2024.
Reelection
In 2024, Watson ran for a full four-year term. He won in the first round, avoiding a runoff by exactly 13 votes. It was the narrowest possible victory—a margin that suggests Austin voters remain divided about his leadership even as they ultimately chose to continue it.
Watson is now 66 years old, serving his fourth term as Austin's mayor (counting his two earlier terms and the current one as separate). He has outlasted countless political rivals, survived a humiliating defeat in the 2002 attorney general race, navigated the transformation of Texas from a competitive two-party state to a Republican stronghold, and returned to lead a city that has grown from half a million to over a million residents during his political career.
Whether his second stint as mayor will be remembered as fondly as his first remains to be seen. The challenges are different now—not vacant lots downtown but housing affordability, not building consensus on growth but managing the consequences of growth that has already happened. But Watson's career suggests one enduring truth about politics: the ability to persist, adapt, and find practical solutions to immediate problems matters more than ideological purity or rhetorical brilliance.
He still couldn't name Barack Obama's legislative accomplishments. But he kept showing up.