A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

On reading single-issue advocacy in a world of stacked legitimate needs

The Editorial in Question

The Dallas Morning News editorial board ran a piece on May 8, 2026, titled “In Dallas County, 17 years of lifespan can be a matter of ZIP code.” It summarized the 2025 Community Health Needs Assessment from Dallas County Health and Human Services and Parkland Health, noted that life expectancy in ZIP code 75210 (South Dallas) is 67.8 years while 75205 (Highland Park) is 85.0 years, and concluded — as these editorials always do — that “it’s important to continue to invest in creative solutions” and that the report “can serve as a roadmap for where the county must focus its attention in the years ahead.”

The piece is factually accurate, morally serious, and analytically empty. It identifies a real problem. It commits to nothing. It quantifies nothing. It assigns responsibility to no one. It does not specify a single dollar figure, a single agency, a single accountability mechanism, or a single trade-off against the dozen other legitimate needs sitting on the same county budget.

This is not a criticism of the editorial board’s intent. It is a criticism of a genre. Single-issue advocacy editorials, written one at a time across a year, never confront the governmental reality that hundreds of legitimate needs compete for the same finite tax base. Every one of them reads as if it were the only thing that mattered. None of them ever sit in the same room and ask: if we did all of these, what would it cost, and who would pay?

This blog post tries to answer that question for the health disparities issue specifically, and then for the eleven other issues most likely to generate identical editorials over the next twenty-four months.

A Note on Framing: Why Daily and Decade, Not Monthly

Before getting into numbers, one disclosure about how the costs are presented here.

It is conventional in advocacy writing to translate annual costs into monthly equivalents. “Forty-six dollars a year” becomes “less than four dollars a month,” which becomes “less than a streaming subscription,” which becomes “less than a cup of coffee.” This framing is not neutral. It is a deliberate technique borrowed from subscription marketing — the same one used to sell gym memberships, cable packages, and software-as-a-service contracts.

It works because the human brain weighs small recurring numbers as if they were trivial, even when the cumulative cost over time is substantial. A four-dollar-per-month gym membership feels free. The $480 you have spent on it over ten years, having gone twice, does not.

Public budgets deserve more honesty than that. Property taxes are not a streaming subscription. They are a permanent claim on household income, paid every year for as long as you own the home, and the obligation does not end when the program does. A “creative solution” funded by a one-cent rate addition in 2026 is still being paid in 2036. The cumulative impact on the homeowner is the relevant number, not the monthly slice.

So this post uses two framings instead. Per day, which is granular enough to feel real without disguising the recurrence — a $46 annual cost is 12.6 cents a day; a $416 annual cost is $1.14 a day. These numbers do not flatter the proposal the way “less than four dollars a month” does, but they do not understate it either.

And cumulative ten-year cost, which is the relevant horizon for property tax decisions. Most rate additions are not one-time. They become part of the baseline. A homeowner buying a $300,000 home in 2026 will likely still own that home — or one similar — in 2036, and will have paid the full ten-year cost of every initiative funded by every rate addition along the way.

Both framings will be applied consistently below. The reader can decide whether the proposals are worth the actual price.

First, Fix the Comparison

The 17-year gap headline is rhetorically powerful and analytically misleading.

Highland Park (75205) is not a representative benchmark. It is one of the wealthiest enclaves in Texas — median household income above $250,000, highly educated, near-universal private insurance, low rates of obesity, smoking, and untreated chronic disease. A life expectancy of 85 years there is not a target a public health system can plausibly aim for in South Dallas, because the inputs that produce 85-year lifespans in 75205 are not primarily medical. They are wealth, education, occupation, marriage rates, neighborhood physical environment, and intergenerational compounding of all of the above. No health intervention in 75210 will replicate the conditions of 75205 within a generation.

The right benchmark is national life expectancy. U.S. life expectancy is approximately 77.5 years (CDC, post-COVID recovery). Texas runs slightly below at roughly 76.5 years. The Dallas County average is around 79 years.

Reframed against those benchmarks: 75210 at 67.8 years is 9.7 years below the national average, 8.7 years below the Texas average, and 11.2 years below the Dallas County average. 75205 at 85.0 years is 7.5 years above the national average — an outlier in the other direction. The policy-relevant gap is not 17 years. It is roughly 10 years between South Dallas and the country as a whole, and that gap is the one a public health system can actually attempt to close.

This matters for two reasons. First, “close the gap to national average” is a defensible, fundable, measurable goal. “Close the gap to Highland Park” is not — it implies that public investment can override the entire socioeconomic gradient, which it cannot. Second, the policy interventions that move a 67.8-year ZIP toward 77.5 are different from the ones that would (theoretically) move it toward 85.

The first set is largely about preventable premature mortality — cardiovascular disease, diabetes complications, infant mortality, homicide, drug overdose, untreated mental illness. The second set would require rebuilding the entire socioeconomic substrate of a neighborhood, which is not a health department’s job.

So the honest framing: South Dallas residents are dying roughly a decade earlier than the average American, and most of that gap is driven by causes that are well-understood, measurable, and at least partially addressable through known interventions. That is the problem worth costing out.

What Actually Drives the Gap

The temptation is to assume the gap is about healthcare access. It is not, primarily. The research consensus, replicated across decades and dozens of studies, is that clinical care explains roughly 10-20% of health outcomes. The remaining 80-90% is split among health behaviors (smoking, diet, exercise, substance use), socioeconomic factors (income, education, employment, social support), and physical environment (housing quality, air, water, neighborhood safety, food access).

This means that pouring more money into clinics in 75210 will produce diminishing returns unless paired with food, housing, transportation, behavioral health, and income-support interventions. It also means that the most cost-effective interventions are usually not the ones with “health” in the name.

The 2025 assessment’s own findings reinforce this. The report cites behavioral and mental wellness as the top priority, notes that 14% of residents reported poor mental health (up from 10%), and identifies transportation, housing, and food access as upstream drivers. The editorial board read the report and concluded that we need creative solutions – two of the most abstract words that can be found. The report itself essentially tells you what the solutions are. Someone just has to write down the cost.

The Concrete Interventions, With Cost Ranges

Here is what a serious, county-wide push targeting the eight to ten lowest-life-expectancy ZIP codes — roughly 350,000-450,000 residents — would actually involve. These are not speculative. Every one of them has an evidence base, an existing operator in Dallas County, and a known cost structure.

Place-based primary care expansion. Parkland already operates Community Oriented Primary Care clinics. Adding or expanding a COPC site in a high-need ZIP runs roughly $3-6 million in capital and $4-8 million annually to operate, serving 15,000-25,000 patients. Federal 330 grants and 340B drug pricing offset 40-60% of operating cost.

Mobile health and street medicine. A fully equipped mobile unit is $400,000-$750,000 capital and $600,000-$1.2 million annual operating cost. Reaches populations that won’t enter a clinic.

Food-as-medicine and produce prescription programs. $15-40 per participant per month, typically $1,500-$3,000 per patient per year including clinical integration. For 5,000 high-risk diabetic and hypertensive patients in target ZIPs, this is roughly $7.5-15 million per year.

Non-emergency medical transportation. $25-50 per round trip. Bundled with appointment reminders and same-day scheduling, missed appointment rates drop 30-50%. For 50,000 trips per year in target ZIPs, the cost is $1.25-2.5 million.

Community Health Workers (promotores). $45,000-$65,000 fully loaded per CHW, each managing 50-100 high-risk patients. To meaningfully cover 75210, 75215, 75216, 75217, and 75241 you would want 60-100 CHWs at a cost of $3-6.5 million per year. This is the highest-ROI intervention in the literature for the populations in question.

Behavioral health integration. Co-locating LCSWs and psychiatric nurse practitioners in primary care runs $180,000-$280,000 per provider fully loaded. Telepsychiatry expansion is $150-250 per encounter. For meaningful behavioral health capacity in southern Dallas, the incremental cost is $8-15 million per year.

Housing-linked health and medical respite. $50-75 per bed-day for medical respite versus $2,500 or more per day for inpatient stays. A 50-bed Parkland-linked respite program runs $1-1.5 million per year and typically pays for itself in avoided readmissions.

Total order of magnitude: $40-75 million per year incremental, with 30-50% potentially recoverable through Medicaid, 340B, federal grants, and avoided acute care. The midpoint is roughly $57 million gross, or about $30 million net after offsets.

What That Costs the Average Homeowner

Dallas County’s certified taxable value is approximately $370 billion. The current county tax rate is approximately $0.215 per $100 of valuation. The Dallas County average taxable home value, after homestead exemption, is roughly $300,000.

Gross scenario ($57 million midpoint): $0.0154 per $100 of valuation — 1.54 cents added to the tax rate, or about a 7.2% increase. On a $300,000 home: $46.20 per year, or 12.7 cents per day. Over ten years: $462.

Net scenario ($30 million after offsets): $0.0081 per $100 — 0.81 cents, or about a 3.8% increase. On a $300,000 home: $24.30 per year, or 6.7 cents per day. Over ten years: $243.

For perspective: addressing the largest documented health disparity in the county costs the median homeowner somewhere between seven and thirteen cents a day in the near term, and between $243 and $462 cumulatively over a decade. That is a real ask, but a defensible one for a measurable improvement in premature mortality.

So far, so good. If health disparities were the only legitimate need on the county’s plate, the math would be easy. But health disparities are not the only legitimate need.

The Stack: Twelve Editorials Waiting to Be Written

Every issue below will get its own Dallas Morning News editorial within the next twenty-four months. All figures are incremental gaps — the marginal investment needed beyond what is currently funded — not total need.

1. Health disparities and life expectancy gap — $30-57M/yr • $24-46/yr per $300K home
2. Affordable housing and homelessness — $50-100M/yr • $40-81/yr
3. Mental health and substance use infrastructure — $40-80M/yr • $32-65/yr
4. Pre-K and early childhood education — $60-120M/yr • $49-97/yr
5. Workforce development and adult education — $25-50M/yr • $20-41/yr
6. Criminal justice reform and reentry — $30-60M/yr • $24-49/yr
7. Food insecurity — $15-35M/yr • $12-28/yr
8. Transportation access and transit equity — $20-40M/yr • $16-32/yr
9. Aging infrastructure — $30-60M/yr • $24-49/yr
10. Child welfare and CPS-adjacent supports — $15-30M/yr • $12-24/yr
11. Domestic violence and sexual assault services — $10-25M/yr • $8-20/yr
12. Climate resilience and extreme weather preparedness — $15-30M/yr • $12-24/yr

The Stack as a Single Number

Stated honestly: the twelve-issue stack costs the median homeowner between seventy-six cents and a dollar fifty-three a day, and between $2,760 and $5,570 over a decade.

The Twelve Are Only the Tip of the Iceberg

Before going further, one more correction is owed to the reader.

Twelve issues is not the full universe of legitimate needs. Twelve is the number of issues that generate Dallas Morning News editorials — the photogenic, narratively coherent, advocacy-organization-supported issues that produce headlines. The actual operating budgets of the five entities in the Dallas County tax stack contain hundreds of legitimate, ongoing, often invisible obligations that no editorial will ever be written about, because they do not lend themselves to a 600-word op-ed with a sympathetic photograph.

Just to make this concrete, here is a partial sample of items that are real, recurring budget commitments and will not appear in any editorial in 2026: medical examiner capacity and forensic pathology backlog; indigent defense and court-appointed counsel funding; jury management and witness protection; election administration, voting equipment replacement, and poll worker recruitment; district clerk and county clerk records modernization; tax assessor-collector office staffing; public health laboratory accreditation and equipment; mosquito and vector control; animal services capacity and rabies surveillance; weights and measures inspection; code compliance and nuisance abatement; library system materials, technology, and rural branch operations; park maintenance and urban forestry; aquatic center operations and pool safety; cemetery maintenance for indigent burials; veterans services office staffing; probate court capacity; constable office operations across five precincts; juvenile detention staffing and youth services; adult probation and community supervision; pretrial services and bond supervision; victims’ services and restitution administration; civil process and warrants service; IT modernization, cybersecurity, and ransomware preparedness; records retention, FOIA response, and open records compliance; pension obligations and retiree healthcare (OPEB); workers’ compensation and self-insurance reserves; building maintenance, deferred capital, and ADA compliance; fleet replacement and fuel; emergency management, EOC operations, and FEMA match obligations; radio system modernization and interoperability; 911 dispatch capacity and call center staffing; grand jury and visiting judge expenses; auditor and internal audit function; purchasing and procurement compliance; risk management and liability claims; bond counsel, financial advisory, and rating agency fees; HR systems, training, and civil service compliance; facilities security and courthouse screening.

That list is not exhaustive. It is a partial inventory of one county’s general government functions. The City of Dallas has its own list, several times longer, including police and fire personnel costs that consume well over half the general fund. Dallas ISD has its own list, dominated by teacher salaries, transportation, special education, and federal compliance. Parkland has its own list, dominated by clinical staffing, pharmaceuticals, and uncompensated care. Dallas College has its own list, dominated by instructional faculty, student services, and accreditation costs.

Every line item on every one of these lists has a constituency. Every one of them was added because something went wrong in the past — a child died, a court was sued, a pension was underfunded, a system failed an audit, a federal agency issued a finding. Every one of them is, in some sense, a legitimate need.

The twelve issues in the editorial-genre stack are real. They are also, in the larger budget picture, a small subset of the total claims on the tax base. When the editorial board writes that the county “must focus its attention” on health disparities, the implicit message is that health disparities should rise above the 200+ other items competing for the same dollar. That may even be the right call. But it cannot be argued without acknowledging the rest of the list, and the editorial genre as currently practiced never does.

This is why the local government finance officer — the assistant city manager, the budget director, the CFO — tends to look at advocacy editorials with a mixture of respect and exasperation. The advocate sees one issue and wants it funded. The finance officer sees the same issue and sees it sitting in a queue with dozens of others, all defensible, none fully fundable. The advocate writes the column. The finance officer balances the budget. The two activities are not the same, and pretending they are is a category error that has consequences for governance.

What the Stack Reveals

The county tax base cannot carry this alone. $340-687 million is 18-37% of Dallas County’s current $1.9 billion budget. SB 2’s 3.5% voter-approval cap means even spreading the increase over five years would require repeated tax ratification elections.

Most of these are already partially funded. The figures above are incremental gaps, not total need. The honest question is rarely “do nothing versus do everything.” It is “which marginal dollar moves which outcome.”

Jurisdictional fragmentation is the real killer. Health disparities span Parkland, Dallas County Health and Human Services, fifteen independent school districts, more than thirty cities, DART, the state, and federal programs. Every initiative requires herding cats across entities with different tax bases, boards, incentives, and voters.

Prioritization is unavoidable and political. If the county can only afford three of the twelve, which three? Editorial boards never answer this. They write the next editorial about the next issue, and the implicit message is that all twelve should be fully funded. They cannot all be fully funded — and the twelve are not even the full list. So the choice gets made by default — by inertia, by who has the better lobbyist, by which issue had the better photo opportunity, by which constituency turned out for the last election. That is not prioritization. It is the absence of prioritization, masquerading as governance.

The tax-rate framing gets weaponized in both directions. “Twelve cents a day to save lives” sounds cheap. “$2,760 to $5,570 of cumulative new property tax over the next decade, stacked on rising appraisals plus school M&O plus city tax plus hospital district plus community college plus DART sales tax” is what the homeowner actually feels when the bills arrive year after year. Both framings are true. Only the second one shows up in voter behavior, which is why TREs fail and bond elections get rejected even when each individual project is defensible.

The Stack That Already Exists

Everything above treats the twelve unmet needs as if they sat on a clean slate. They do not. Any conversation about new investment that ignores the existing stack is not a serious conversation. It is a fundraising pitch.

The Existing Tax Bill, Unstacked

Six thousand, six hundred eighty dollars a year. Eighteen dollars and thirty cents a day. $66,800 over ten years, before any rate or appraisal change.

The new $140,000 school homestead exemption that took effect for tax year 2025 reduces the Dallas ISD line by about $1,391 per year, but the homeowner still pays roughly $5,289 in combined property tax annually, $14.50 per day, $52,890 over ten years, on a $300,000 home with the homestead applied.

This is the baseline against which every “creative solution” editorial is implicitly asking for an increase.

What the Stack of New Asks Looks Like Layered On

Over a ten-year horizon, the additional cost of funding the editorial-board stack is $2,760 to $5,570 on top of an already-significant $52,890 baseline.

The Pressure That Makes This Worse

The math above assumes rates hold steady while new investment is layered on top. That is not what is happening. Dallas County total property taxes paid rose 32.7% from 2019 to 2024, an average of roughly 6.5% per year. DCAD valuations rose more than 14% in a single year between 2023 and 2024. Over the same period, every entity in the stack made cuts to its rate: the City of Dallas reduced its rate for ten consecutive years; Dallas ISD cut its rate by two cents for tax year 2025; Parkland held flat at $0.212 in 2025 after several years of reductions; Dallas County held flat at $0.2155; Dallas College reduced marginally.

And yet bills went up. They went up because a 14% jump in appraised value swamps a one- or two-cent rate reduction every time. A homeowner whose property gained 14% in appraised value and whose combined rate dropped by 1% still saw a net bill increase of roughly 13%.

This puts every taxing entity in an impossible bind:

• Raise rates to fund any of the twelve issues, and they are politically punished for raising rates in a rising appraisal environment.
• Hold rates flat while appraisals climb, and they collect more revenue without a vote, which Texas SB 2 was designed specifically to constrain.
• Cut rates, as most have been doing, and they generate good headlines and modest savings, but they also lose the capacity to fund any of the twelve unmet needs.
• Cut rates while appraisals climb, the actual recent pattern, and the homeowner still sees bills rise, the entity still collects more revenue, and nobody is happy.

Suppose the homeowner’s $300,000 home is reappraised to $330,000 — a 10% increase, well within recent norms. At the existing combined rate of $2.226850, the bill rises from $6,680 to $7,348 — an increase of $668 in a single year, with no rate change at all. If the same homeowner is then asked to absorb the midpoint stack increase of $416, the bill goes to $7,764 — up $1,084 from the prior year, a 16.2% increase, even though every entity in the stack might claim it “held rates flat” or “cut rates.” Over a decade, with appraisal increases compounding even modestly, the cumulative additional burden runs into the tens of thousands of dollars beyond the already-substantial baseline.

This is the lived experience of the Dallas County homeowner. The official rate changes are real, the appraisal increases are real, and the gap between what the homeowner hears about rate cuts and what the homeowner experiences on the bill is the political problem that makes every new initiative substantially harder to fund than the unstacked math implies.

Why Every Entity in the Stack Is Already Squeezed

None of the five entities in the stack have spare capacity to take on a major new initiative without either reallocating existing spend or raising additional revenue. Dallas ISD is subject to recapture (Robin Hood), which sends a significant share of locally raised school taxes to the state. The City of Dallas has $1.25 billion in voter-approved bond debt rolling onto its books from the May 2024 bond, plus pension obligations, plus baseline service demands.

Dallas County has held its M&O rate roughly flat for years and absorbed unfunded state mandates. Parkland is absorbing rising charity care costs, an expanding uninsured population, and the operational burden of being the safety-net provider for the entire county. Dallas College has the smallest rate and the smallest base.

So when the editorial board writes that “the county must focus its attention” on health disparities, the implicit demand is that Dallas County — already the smallest-rate non-college entity in the stack, already carrying state-mandated obligations — should somehow find $30-57 million per year inside an existing $1.9 billion budget.

This is not an argument for doing nothing. It is an argument for being honest about what doing something actually requires: explicit reallocation, explicit new revenue, explicit prioritization across the twelve issues (and the hundreds of other line items behind them), and explicit coordination across entities that currently do not coordinate. None of which appears in the editorial that started this conversation.

A Note on Implementation: Why Programs That Get Funded Still Fail

Even if the money showed up tomorrow, most of these programs would underperform. Not because the interventions don’t work — the evidence base is solid for almost everything listed above — but because the delivery mechanisms are usually wrong.

Trust beats marketing. Programs run through churches, barbershops, and existing community institutions get three to five times the engagement of programs branded by the county or hospital. Faith-based partnerships in South Dallas are not nice-to-have — they are the only way many of these populations will be reached at all.

Default enrollment, not opt-in. When eligible Parkland patients are auto-enrolled with the option to decline, uptake runs 60-80%. Opt-in versions of the same program run 15-30%.

Eliminate the paperwork tax. Every form, every eligibility re-verification, every “bring three documents to this office between 9 and 4” cuts uptake meaningfully.

Pay for outcomes, not enrollment. Contract CHWs and community partners with 20-30% of payment tied to documented engagement, not headcount served.

Cash and gift cards. $25-50 incentives for completing a screening, attending a follow-up, or finishing a class. Cheap, evidence-based, and politically uncomfortable, which is exactly why most public health programs do not use them at the dose that actually works.

Measure the right thing. Life expectancy is a twenty-year lagging indicator. Track one-year proxies: HbA1c control rates by ZIP, hypertension control, prenatal care initiation by twelve weeks, ED visits for ambulatory-sensitive conditions, behavioral health follow-up within seven days of crisis. If those don’t move in eighteen to twenty-four months, the program isn’t working regardless of how good the brochure looks.

What an Editorial Board Could Actually Demand

The editorial genre is not going to disappear. But it could be improved with a small number of disciplines. The next time the Dallas Morning News editorial board writes about any of the twelve issues, the piece would be infinitely more useful if it included:

1. A specific dollar figure, with a defensible methodology.
2. A specific funding source — Parkland levy, county general fund, bond, state appropriation, federal grant, philanthropy, or some combination — with the trade-offs of each named.
3. A specific accountable executive at a specific entity, by name and title.
4. Specific outcome targets with twenty-four-month deadlines, expressed as one-year proxies rather than twenty-year lagging indicators.
5. An explicit statement of what gets cut or deferred to make room, since the stack does not allow for everything to be funded simultaneously, and the broader budget contains hundreds of additional items competing for the same dollar.
6. A reference to the rest of the stack and the rest of the budget, with at least an honest acknowledgment that prioritization is required.
7. An honest cost framing, expressed annually and over a reasonable multi-year horizon, not disguised in subscription-style monthly equivalents that make permanent obligations look like impulse purchases.

This is harder to write than “we must do better.” It is also the only kind of editorial that has any chance of producing the outcome the editorial claims to want.

The Real Question

The editorial concluded that the community health needs assessment “can serve as a roadmap for where the county must focus its attention in the years ahead.” It cannot. A 200-page document that nobody is held to is not a roadmap. It is a record of intentions.

The 2028 assessment will almost certainly show similar gaps unless someone decides, in public, with a dollar figure and a deadline attached: which of the twelve items get funded, which get deferred, which of the hundreds of other budget items gets reduced to make room, who pays, who is accountable, what the proxy outcomes are, and what happens if those outcomes are not met.

That decision is hard. It is politically uncomfortable. It will produce winners and losers. It will require the editorial board, the county commissioners, the Parkland board, the city councils of all thirty-plus cities in the county, and the legislative delegation to all sit in roughly the same room and agree on roughly the same priorities. None of that is easy.

But it is the actual work of governance, as opposed to the performance of it. The current editorial genre — a single issue at a time, no numbers, no trade-offs, no names, no deadlines, costs disguised in monthly slices — is the performance.

The 17-year life expectancy gap is real. The 10-year gap to the national average is the policy-relevant version of it, and it is also real. Both can be partially closed with $30-57 million a year of well-targeted investment, which on a $300,000 home works out to between seven and thirteen cents a day in the near term, or $243 to $462 cumulatively over ten years. That is true.

It is also true that affordable housing, mental health, pre-K, workforce, criminal justice, food insecurity, transportation, infrastructure, child welfare, domestic violence, and climate resilience all have their own legitimate cases and their own dollar figures, and the combined ask on the same homeowner is between seventy-six cents and a dollar fifty-three a day, or $2,760 to $5,570 over ten years.

It is also true that those twelve issues are only the visible portion of the budget. Behind them sit hundreds of additional line items — medical examiner capacity, indigent defense, election administration, library operations, pension obligations, IT modernization, courthouse security, animal services, vector control, and dozens more — every one of which is a legitimate need with its own constituency, its own legal mandate, or its own past failure that produced its current funding.

And it is true that the same homeowner is already paying $5,289 a year, post-homestead, on a $300,000 home — $14.50 a day, $52,890 over a decade — split across five separate taxing entities, none of which have spare capacity, all of which are watching their constituents’ bills rise faster than their rates fall. Adding $2,760 to $5,570 over ten years to fund the stack of new asks lands not on a blank slate but on top of a baseline that has already grown 32.7% in five years, against the political backdrop of a homeowner who is told every September that rates are being cut while their bill keeps going up.

You cannot do all of it. You can do some of it, well, with discipline and accountability, and the rest will have to wait or be done by someone else or not be done at all. That is the choice. Pretending the choice doesn’t exist is what the current genre of advocacy editorial is for.

But somebody has to do the math. Otherwise the 2028 report will read exactly like the 2025 one, the 2031 report will read exactly like the 2028 one, and the residents of 75210 will continue to die a decade earlier than the average American while editorial boards continue to call for creative solutions.

That is not a roadmap. That is a recurring obituary, written in advance, for people who do not have to die that early.

A closing thought: Ironically, the most impactful budget balancing approach available to governing officials is this – don’t start new programs or expand existing programs. Nobody asks, “knowing what we know now, would we fund this program if it was newly presented to us today?”

Credit is not handed out for a tough “no” in reality. For counties, most programs are mandated by the state. For other entities, it is collectively the taxpayers themselves requesting the elected officials to provide new or expanded services to meet a real or perceived need. Cities and ISDs are focused on quality of life demands. Counties, when you really drill down, are arms of the state dealing with the “ugly” services that someone must do!

Lewis F. McLain Jr. operates CityBaseLab, providing sales tax analytics, municipal finance modeling, and dashboard development for Texas local governments.