At 4:03 a.m. on July 4, the Guadalupe River breached its banks in Kerr County. The flood came fast and silent—crashing through windows, sweeping entire homes off their foundations, ripping families from their beds. At least 132 people are confirmed dead. Nearly 100 remain missing. The Hill Country has become a graveyard of wreckage and regret.
This wasn’t just a natural disaster. It was a cascading failure of systems, leadership, and responsibility. Restructuring the Texas State Guard could help prevent future failures.
On Independence Day, warnings came early. The National Weather Service issued flood alerts well in advance. Forecasts predicted more than 10 inches of rain. But Kerr County never activated the federal emergency alert system (IPAWS). Instead, it relied on CodeRED—an opt-in notification platform that most residents had never even heard of. Sirens stayed silent. No evacuation orders were issued. And hardly any swiftwater teams were staged in advance.
State officials reportedly asked the Austin Fire Department to deploy rescue crews. According to sources familiar with the request, the department declined—citing budget constraints—even after the state pledged reimbursement. Meanwhile, FEMA’s response was delayed by a newly imposed rule requiring Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem to personally approve any disaster expenditure over $100,000. That bureaucratic bottleneck stalled life-saving deployments for nearly 72 hours.
In the void, civilians did what government wouldn’t.
They didn’t hold press conferences. They didn’t wait for orders. They moved.
In those first 72 hours, the most effective responders weren’t government forces—they were civilians. Team Rubicon, the United Cajun Navy, Texas SAR, and even firefighters from Acuña, Mexico, showed up and got to work. Organizations like H-E-B, Operation BBQ Relief, The Remnant Ministry and Heroes for Humanity brought food, fuel, medics, and manpower long before federal trucks rolled in.
No one coordinated them. No one ordered them in. They simply answered the call because someone had to.
We’ve seen this before. In Hurricane Harvey, civilians in bass boats and high-water trucks rescued families from rooftops while government assets and the National Guard waited on bureaucratic red tape. During the border crisis, counties like Kinney declared an invasion and acted seemingly alone while federal agencies looked the other way. Now, in Kerr County, history has repeated itself, at an unbearable cost.
The root of the problem isn’t a lack of compassion or courage. It’s structure. It’s command and control. It’s readiness.
The Texas National Guard is indispensable—but increasingly misaligned with its core mission. Operation Lone Star has diverted manpower and training from defense priorities. As Gen. Daniel Hokanson, former Chief of the National Guard Bureau, put it: “The reason the Guard exists is to fight and win our nation’s wars.” But that mission, split between federal and state obligations, often leaves the Guard unavailable for rapid local response.
Meanwhile, the Texas State Guard—Texas’ only fully state-controlled force—remains sidelined, under-resourced, and operationally irrelevant. It lacks not just personnel, but structure, autonomy, and a mission built for 21st-century threats.
That must change. And this special session offers a rare chance to do it.
Gov. Greg Abbott has added flood preparedness, emergency communications, and Hill Country recovery to the legislative call. Those priorities align directly with the re-filed House Bill 213, originally introduced during the Regular session—a policy crafted by the Texas Public Policy Foundation and backed by a growing, bipartisan coalition of lawmakers.
This isn’t speculative. Florida already proved the concept.
In 2022, Gov. Ron DeSantis reactivated the Florida State Guard. When Hurricane Helene made landfall, Florida’s Special Missions Unit—composed of retired Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Air Force Combat Controllers, MARSOC Marines, Rangers, and veteran law enforcement—was already in motion. They flew into devastated areas, navigated floodwaters, and reached trapped families that others couldn’t. They delivered aid, coordinated rescues, and saved lives.
FEMA arrived much later. The difference wasn’t luck. It was readiness.
Texas is much bigger, more exposed, and more strategically vital than Florida. We don’t need to copy their model — we need to surpass it.
Such a reorganization would allow Texas to stand up its own Special Units within the State Guard—leveraging our deep bench of combat veterans, medics, engineers, law enforcement retirees, and first responders. The talent is already here. The will to serve is already here. What’s missing is the structure to harness it.
By implementing this model, Texas can achieve what few other states have: dual-component military structure where each force—National Guard and State Guard—operates at peak readiness, without competing or cannibalizing resources. The Texas State Guard would finally emerge as the state’s dedicated frontline defense force, capable of protecting Texans against natural disasters, border threats, cyberattacks, and other 21st-century challenges with speed, professionalism, and autonomy. This bill provides the structural solution Texas needs.
It restores balance between our state and federal military responsibilities. It unlocks the potential of thousands of willing Texans ready to serve. It enables us to build the most capable, responsive, and independent state military force in the nation. This measure is not merely a policy innovation; it is a strategic imperative for Texas’s future security and sovereignty. is a declaration that Texas will meet this century’s threats on its own terms.
If Texas is serious about saving lives, not just mourning them, this legislation is the only measure on the table with the structure, scale, and speed to make it happen.
