Power without purpose: Why Texas Muslims are politically absent amid the Gaza genocide

Texas Governor Greg Abbott has launched investigations into mosques, “banned” shariah law, and labelled the nation’s largest Muslim civil rights organisation, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), a “terrorist” organization.

Texas is home to over 600,000 Muslims, one of the largest, wealthiest Muslim populations in the US, with Houston hosting the state’s largest community. A 2023 Houston Muslim study found that 86% hold college degrees, more than half earn over $100K annually, and 16% earn 250K or more.

Despite this the community remains politically weak amid intensifying attacks. Existing political organising is often a shell, shaped more by elite capture priorities than grassroots needs.

Texas also has the fifth-largest Muslim population in the US and has more mosques than three states that rank above it.

In the 1980s, the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) and the Islamic Circle of North America (ICNA) led a surge in mosque construction to meet internal community needs nationally. But by 1990, an ICNA article lamented that most American Muslims did not attend mosques regularly.

Yet, 35 years later, the focus remains much the same.

But while few Muslims question the need for more mosques, almost no one asks whether the community needs political infrastructure; which political strategist Richard Healey defines  as “a strategic system to win political, economic, and ideological power.”

The Grassroots Policy Project outlines three dimensions of power: direct political involvement, organizational infrastructure, and ideological influence. Texas Muslims have fragments of the first, almost none of the second, and on the third, identity politics works against them.

What does exist is often structurally misaligned.

Where’s the power? The absence of coordinated political strategy

Money in politics is controversial, but it remains one of the most effective tools for influence. When used strategically, political action committees (PACs) offer a path to collective leverage. But in Texas, Muslims have built few PACs, and even fewer with independent agendas.

Since Oct. 7th, the genocide in Gaza catalysed political energy across Muslim communities. My research identified only a handful of small Muslim PACs in Texas, most founded in the last two years.

Irving Muslims PAC, launched in April 2025, after early voting started, is a work in progress that offers clear proof of concept. Irving, home to nearly half of the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex’s 80,000 Muslims, illustrates that  potential.

In its first campaign for Place 2 on the city council, Irving Muslims PAC spent no money but mobilized the Muslim vote. They partnered with Families for Irving (FFI) PAC, a Catholic-led group, to oppose the Lone Star Conservative Action Fund—a casino-backed PAC tied to Israeli-American Miriam Adelson, a major donor pushing to legalize gambling statewide.

For both Catholics and Muslims, the concern was gambling’s social harms; for Muslims, Adelson’s funding of Israeli settler groups linked to West Bank ethnic cleansing of Palestinians added urgency.

Launched after early voting began in April 2025, the PAC helped boost Muslim turnout to 13.1 per cent, up from 11.7 per cent, even as overall turnout declined. Nearly a third were first-time city voters. Though their candidate, Sergio Porres, lost to casino-backed David Pfaff, he gained ground in Muslim-heavy Districts 3 and 6.

With another election ahead, Irving Muslims and their allies aim to win a seat and pass an ordinance banning casino development.

The contrast with state-level organising is stark. Justice for Unity and Society Together (JUST) PAC, founded by a group of Muslims in October 2024, has embraced an access-first strategy aligned with elite interests. At a Houston meeting, founding members Sherif Zaafran and Farukh Shamsi pitched a plan: start with “safe” issues and tackle controversial ones later.

This model isn’t new. Emgage (founded in 2007) and its political arm, Emgage Action, have operated in Texas since 2011 with a similar approach—presenting as a leading Muslim civic group while being rejected by grassroots Muslim and Palestinian organisers for ties to anti-Muslim institutions like AIPAC, ADL, and AJC. Former staff say Emgage inflates voter engagement metrics and shields Democratic officials from accountability. JUST PAC appears to be replicating that playbook at the state level.

JUST PAC’s ties to Governor Abbott and corporate interests reveal deeper conflicts. JUST PAC operates within a web of Abbott appointees and corporate interests. Zaafran chairs the Texas Medical Board. His wife, Tara Turk Zaafran; cofounder Sophia Rehman; and donor Rao Ali are also Abbott appointees. Shamsi, a former Emgage board member, runs his family’s business Texas Clinic.

Zaafran is also a partner at US Anesthesia Partners (USAP), which runs its own PAC, USAP PAC. In 2023, the Federal Trade Commission sued USAP for monopolising and price-gouging in Texas; the company previously settled similar charges in Colorado.

Republican State Representative Tom Oliverson, Zaafran’s personal associate and fellow USAP business partner, has backed legislation targeting Muslims and Palestinians.

JUST PAC’s 2024 filings show that over $22,000 of its spending went to lobbyist Michelle Wittenburg. Aligning with its stated strategy of pursuing “safe” issues, both major bills appear to benefit its founders’ business and political networks, not grassroots Muslim concerns.

HB 2038, the DOCTOR Act, sponsored by Oliverson and passed in 2025, created a new licensing path for foreign-trained physicians to practice in Texas without repeating residency. Though framed as a fix for physician shortages, critics say it enables lower-paid, exploitative labour without addressing the real crisis: care affordability. Zaafran dismissed those concerns in the Texas Tribune.

HB 3320, also sponsored by Oliverson, sought to let large religious institutions self-insure if they met a $2 million premium threshold. If passed, it would’ve benefited wealthy religious institutions. Most Muslim institutions fall below that scale. There’s no public evidence the Muslim community prioritised this bill. Notably, Oliverson was Chair of the House Insurance Committee (2021–2025) and is a member of the National Association of Christian Lawmakers.

When corporate PACs lobby directly, their interests are clear. When routed through community-branded PACs, they gain legitimacy. JUST PAC did not respond to a request for comment. 

By contrast, Muslims United PAC (MUPAC) emerged from grassroots outrage over US support for Israel, backing mostly out-of-state pro-Palestinian federal candidates—earnest work, but ineffective in building power in Texas. Promoting Inclusive Leadership, Legislation, Accountability, and Reform (PILLAR) PAC meanwhile, focuses on elevating Muslim candidates at the city and county levels.

In short, Texas’s few Muslim PACs are donor-driven, narrow, or disconnected from state power. What’s missing isn’t money, it’s a coordinated strategy.

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Representation Without Accountability

Texas elected two Democrat Muslim state representatives, Suleman Lalani and Salman Bhojani, in 2022. For a community long starved of political presence, their victories felt historic.

Even when Muslims win elected office, the same structural limits apply—because representation without accountability is not power. That became clear after October 7. Democratic Rep Ron Reynolds, without any prompting from the Muslim community, publicly called for a ceasefire on November 3. When a Palestinian constituent told Lalani that 4,000 children had died, he responded, “people are dying every day and everywhere.” He only issued a ceasefire statement after Reynolds did—despite mounting pressure from his own community. Lalani did not respond to a request for comment.

Texas State Representative Suleman Lalani praying at the Western Wall, in Occupied Jerusalem, accompanied by his wife.

Texas State Representative Suleman Lalani praying at the Western Wall, in Occupied Jerusalem, accompanied by his wife.

The assumption that Muslim officials will naturally champion Muslim concerns falls apart under scrutiny. On legislation affecting Muslims and Palestinians, Lalani, Bhojani, and Reynolds have voted similarly. In some cases, Reynolds has been more responsive when directly engaged.

So who’s tracking legislation that impacts Muslims?

CAIR Texas and CAIR Action do monitor bills and engage lawmakers, but they rarely sustain public pressure at the local level. With no independent watchdogs or community accountability media, votes often go untracked, and politicians remain unchecked.

Sameeha Rizvi, CAIR Action Texas’s Policy & Advocacy Coordinator, said the challenge is translating growing engagement into sustained pressure, citing Texas’s political scale and the community’s historical exclusion. “Texas presents unique political and geographic challenges, and building durable accountability structures takes time—especially in a community that has historically been excluded or discouraged from political participation,” she said.

In contrast, the Jewish community maintains a robust infrastructure of advocacy organisations and community-driven media. On top of a US media landscape already favourable to Israel, Jewish constituents are alerted quickly when elected officials cross a line—and they act.

Muslim ethnic media, by contrast, often amounts to promotional fluff. Politicians pitch puff pieces and receive glowing coverage with no scrutiny.

The community’s true strength lies in service and moral standing. But here too, a critical gap emerges.

Moral authority without political muscle

Beyond mosques and elections, Texas Muslims have built significant moral and cultural authority: funding disaster relief, humanitarian aid, food pantries, and free health clinics.

This has earned the community credibility and goodwill. But credibility is not power.

A recent Ummatics Institute paper makes a key distinction: soft power only matters when it “reshapes perceptions and ultimately transforms behavior.” Service builds standing, but standing alone doesn’t influence policy.

The Catholic Church offers a clear counterexample. Its service work is embedded in a political system that converts moral authority into organised pressure—such as its long-standing advocacy for migrant protections.

Without coordinated infrastructure, Texas Muslims will remain unable to turn moral standing into political power.

The gap between civic energy and political leverage is clearest in how communities respond to repression. The Houston Muslim Study found that while a third of Muslims donate to local or national campaigns and 17 per cent volunteer, only 3 per cent contacted the governor’s office.

During Governor Abbott’s recent attacks on Muslims, CAIR Texas urged the community to email in protest. Some discouraged each other, fearing surveillance. This hesitation is revealing. But power means confronting hostile structures, not avoiding them.

As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Power is the ability to achieve a purpose.” Texas Muslims have yet to achieve safety, dignity, or the freedom to organise without fear.

The political gaps stem from postcolonial trauma in immigrant elders and inherited caution in younger generations—compounded by post-9/11 surveillance. Many respond with quiet survival: building homes, families, mosques. Inside mosques, they hold power. In politics and media, they’re tokenised and treated with suspicion.

If trust lives in religious institutions, then organising must begin there. The 2024 Abandon Biden/Harris campaign offers a model of coordinated, principled action—where grassroots politics met the moral clarity of imams and scholars.

Abbott’s attacks on mosques show that even religious spaces need political defence. Budgets must shift—from banquets to PACs, from buildings to field operations, from part-time volunteer “mom leaders” to full-time field staff. Politicians who cross red lines must be primaried. Coalitions must be built around shared interests.

The goal is simple: make anti-Muslim and anti-Palestinian bigotry politically costly.

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The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.