Local government rarely attracts statewide attention, but when it does, it is usually because something has gone badly wrong. That is exactly what has happened in Lubbock County, where a long-simmering feud between two Republican officials has exploded into a constitutional dispute, a lawsuit, and a public spectacle that raises serious questions about governance, ambition, and outdated election laws.
At the center of the controversy are Lubbock County Judge Curtis Parrish and Commissioner Jason Corley. Parrish, the county’s top elected official, removed Corley from his seat this week after concluding that Corley had automatically resigned under the Texas Constitution by announcing a run for Congress too early. Corley disputes that interpretation, says he was effectively forced out, and is now suing to reclaim the office voters elected him to hold.
The clash is dramatic, but it is also predictable. This moment is not an isolated incident; it is the culmination of years of political hostility, clashing governing philosophies, and personal mistrust between two men who occupy powerful positions in the same courthouse.
A Law from Another Era Meets Modern Campaigning
At the heart of the legal dispute is Texas’ resign-to-run provision, a constitutional amendment dating back to the 1950s. The rule requires certain officeholders to resign if they become candidates for another paid office more than one year and 30 days before their current term expires. In Corley’s case, his term as commissioner was set to end on Dec. 31, 2026. He officially filed to run for Congress on Dec. 2, one year and 29 days before the end of that term.
That single day matters immensely.
Parrish says Corley’s actions triggered an automatic resignation. Corley says he was careful to avoid that exact outcome, working with an attorney and insisting that earlier steps, such as forming an exploratory committee, did not amount to formally becoming a candidate. The Texas Constitution is notably vague on when someone “shall in fact” become a candidate, leaving room for interpretation, political judgment, and—inevitably—litigation.
As one government professor observed, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it may well be a duck. But the fact that this question is still open to interpretation nearly 70 years after the amendment was passed suggests the law itself is overdue for clarification.
Modern campaigns no longer begin with a single filing date. They unfold through exploratory committees, fundraising efforts, consultants, branding, and social media presence. Applying a mid-20th-century rule to 21st-century political realities is bound to create conflict, especially when personal rivalries are involved.
A Feud Years in the Making
To understand why this dispute escalated so quickly, it is necessary to understand the history between Corley and Parrish.
For more than a year, the two men have been locked in a public tug-of-war over the direction of Lubbock County government. The most visible battleground has been the county budget. Corley has styled himself as a hardline conservative watchdog, willing to confront not only Democrats but fellow Republicans in the name of his constituents. Parrish, by contrast, has argued for stable revenue and competitive pay to retain experienced county employees.
Last year, Corley and another commissioner staged a monthlong walkout to block a tax increase, intentionally breaking quorum until a legal deadline forced flat revenue levels. The maneuver succeeded but required the county to draw $7.2 million from reserves to balance the budget. To supporters, this was principled resistance to higher taxes. To critics, it was brinkmanship that weakened the county’s financial footing.
This year brought a similar showdown. Parrish pushed for increased revenue, warning of long-term consequences if the county failed to invest in its workforce. Corley argued that residents, including those in Slaton, simply could not afford it. Once again, Parrish lost the vote.
The tension spilled into public budget hearings, where disagreements over employee pay became deeply personal. County workers attended meetings where their own raises were debated in front of them. At one point, Corley questioned who was doing employees’ jobs while they were present at the hearing, then dismissed the exchange as rhetorical. Parrish allowed the employees to respond, further inflaming tensions.
Parrish later warned that such conduct was dangerous, saying county employees are the county’s greatest asset and that morale and retention were at risk. He expressed concern that lower taxes could come at the cost of diminished services—an argument that resonates beyond Lubbock County and into broader debates about the true cost of “small government.”
The Irony of the Raise Vote
Perhaps nothing illustrates the contradictions of this fight more clearly than the vote on pay raises. While most county staff were denied raises, commissioners approved a 2% increase for themselves. Parrish attempted to redirect his own raise to other elected officials, and some commissioners pledged to donate theirs back.
Corley took his raise.
He defended the decision bluntly, arguing that well-paid professionals make for better governance. The comment may have been honest, but it landed poorly given the broader context. For many observers, it underscored a disconnect between rhetoric about fiscal restraint and the realities of political power.
Law, Power, and Precedent
Now the dispute has entered the courts. Parrish says his actions were purely statutory and that he would have done the same to any commissioner under the same circumstances. Corley argues that his constituents are being deprived of their chosen representative and that the lawsuit is about preserving their voice, not just his career.
Both claims can be true at once.
Parrish likely believes he is enforcing the law as written. Corley likely believes the law is being wielded against him in bad faith. The fact that Parrish appointed a replacement and that a judge has already declined to block that appointment only raises the stakes.
Beyond the personal drama, this case could shape how future candidates navigate Texas’ resign-to-run rules. If Corley prevails, the ruling may narrow the definition of when someone officially becomes a candidate. If Parrish prevails, officeholders across the state may tread more carefully, knowing that early campaign activity could cost them their current positions.
A Common-Sense Takeaway
From a common-sense perspective, this situation reflects a failure on multiple levels. It shows what happens when ambiguous laws collide with modern campaigning. It demonstrates how personal animosity can turn legal gray areas into political weapons. And it highlights how easily local governance can be overshadowed by ambition and conflict.
Voters are left watching two elected officials fight over process while larger questions—about services, taxes, and representation—remain unresolved. Whether Corley regains his seat or not, the episode should prompt lawmakers to clarify the resign-to-run provision so future disputes are decided at the ballot box, not through courthouse drama.
