House Bill 23 isn’t reform. It’s a deregulation love letter dressed in bureaucratic drag. The Texas Builders Association (TBA)—those tireless champions of shoddy workmanship and warranty loopholes—have finally outdone themselves. With HB 23, they’ve managed to package municipal sabotage as “efficiency,” handing builders a golden ticket to bypass the very departments that are supposed to protect the public from half-baked development plans and regulatory dumpster fires.
Let’s not sugarcoat it: this bill doesn’t “streamline” jack. It legalizes the oldest con in the book—hiring your own referee. When cities don’t respond fast enough (or, heaven forbid, push back on a plan that’s an affront to basic engineering), builders can now call up their favorite “third-party reviewer” to rubber-stamp it into existence. These aren’t disinterested professionals; they’re paid enablers picked by the people they’re supposed to be regulating. If you think that smells like conflict of interest, congratulations—your nose works.
HB 23 even manages to redefine what a “plan” is, just in case some rogue official thought they could still scrutinize construction documents. Now everything from subdivision layouts to site development plans falls under this privatized inspection circus. It’s deregulation wrapped in a procedural fig leaf. Municipal authority? Gone. Public accountability? Evaporated. Oversight? That’s now a service available to the highest bidder.
And who’s cheering this along? The usual suspects. TBA and their pet legislators, who’ve spent years neutering warranty protections, gutting local control, and training inspectors to stay in their lane—preferably with blinders on. In places like Austin, where some officials still pretend to care about health and safety, HB 23 is a preemptive strike. It takes the power to say “no” and gives it to someone who’s paid to say “yes.”
As for homebuyers—congrats, you’re the proud new owners of homes blessed by the Church of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. If your foundation cracks, your walls leak, or your electrical panel sparks like a Fourth of July show, don’t worry—someone with a business card said it was fine. And the city? They were legally obligated to sit on their hands while it happened.
In conclusion, HB 23 doesn’t just burn the house down—it sells you the scorched remains with a 1-year builder warranty and a hearty “best of luck.” Welcome to third-world Texas, where the builders write the rules, and the rest of us get to live in the consequences.
