Your feedback ensures we stay focused on the facts that matter to you most—take our survey.
J. Gordon Mitchell
Do you have a photo that could go here? Click here to submit it for this profile!
J. Gordon Mitchell (Democratic Party) is running for election to the U.S. House to represent Texas' 17th Congressional District. He declared candidacy for the Democratic primary scheduled on March 3, 2026.[source]
Mitchell completed Ballotpedia's Candidate Connection survey in 2025. Click here to read the survey answers.
Elections
2026
See also: Texas' 17th Congressional District election, 2026
General election
The primary will occur on March 3, 2026. The general election will occur on November 3, 2026. General election candidates will be added here following the primary.
Democratic primary election
Democratic primary for U.S. House Texas District 17
J. Gordon Mitchell is running in the Democratic primary for U.S. House Texas District 17 on March 3, 2026.
Candidate | ||
J. Gordon Mitchell  | ||
| ||||
| = candidate completed the Ballotpedia Candidate Connection survey. | ||||
| If you are a candidate and would like to tell readers and voters more about why they should vote for you, complete the Ballotpedia Candidate Connection Survey. | ||||
Do you want a spreadsheet of this type of data? Contact our sales team. | ||||
Republican primary election
Republican primary for U.S. House Texas District 17
Incumbent Pete Sessions is running in the Republican primary for U.S. House Texas District 17 on March 3, 2026.
Candidate | ||
 | Pete Sessions | |
| ||||
| = candidate completed the Ballotpedia Candidate Connection survey. | ||||
| If you are a candidate and would like to tell readers and voters more about why they should vote for you, complete the Ballotpedia Candidate Connection Survey. | ||||
Do you want a spreadsheet of this type of data? Contact our sales team. | ||||
Withdrawn or disqualified candidates
- Robert Brown (R)
Endorsements
Ballotpedia is gathering information about candidate endorsements. To send us an endorsement, click here.
Campaign themes
2026
Ballotpedia survey responses
See also: Ballotpedia's Candidate Connection
J. Gordon Mitchell completed Ballotpedia's Candidate Connection survey in 2025. The survey questions appear in bold and are followed by Mitchell's responses. Candidates are asked three required questions for this survey, but they may answer additional optional questions as well.
| Collapse all
As a Senior Enlisted Advisor and Senior Planner, I’ve advised commanders on the health and welfare of over 1,000 troops, coordinated the distribution of 68 million pounds of food, and helped vaccinate more than a million Texans. I’ve served on numerous local committees focused on housing, public safety, education, and human rights.
I hold multiple degrees, including a master’s from Johns Hopkins University in Government, Education, and Cultural Awareness, and I’m completing a second in Public Health from Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.
I’m not a career politician. I’m a responder. A father. A neighbor. I believe no one should have to fight alone for dignity or representation.
I’m running because the people of TX-17 deserve a leader who doesn’t just talk about showing up—they deserve one who already has. Because leadership matters.- Leadership Means Showing Up I’ve led in some of the toughest situations imaginable fighting wildfires, responding to hurricanes, serving during the pandemic, and standing firm on the school board when extremism threatened our kids’ safety. I don’t just believe in leadership when it’s convenient—I show up when it’s hard. Especially when it's hard. When emotions run high, and when the stakes are real. True leadership isn’t about titles or talking points. It’s about presence, service, and doing the right thing even when no one’s watching. That’s how I’ve led my entire life, and it’s exactly how I’ll represent TX-17 in Washington.
- People Over Politics This campaign isn’t powered by PACs, corporations, or political gatekeepers—it’s powered by people. I’m running to represent the families, workers, and everyday Texans who’ve been left behind by a system that too often rewards the loudest donors, not the strongest public servants. I’ve never played politics for personal gain—I’ve answered the call to serve, in uniform and in the community. It's what responders do. It is what I do - whenever and wherever needed. That won’t change in Congress. I’ll show up, listen with purpose, and fight for reproductive freedom, healthcare access, safe schools, and the right of every Texan to live with dignity and opportunity.
- Every Voice Matters TX-17 is diverse, resilient, and ready to be heard—from rural communities to small towns and cities. Whether you’re raising a family, running a business, farming your land, or finding your way—you deserve a representative who sees and hears you. That includes those often pushed to the margins—working families, seniors, veterans, young people, and underrepresented communities whose needs are too often overlooked. I’ll fight for reproductive rights, fully funded public schools, strong public health systems, access to healthcare, and the protection of our democratic institutions. I’ll also confront food and housing insecurity head-on. Every Texan deserves dignity, safety, and opportunity—every single time.
I don’t know that I have any singular “heroes” anymore. Over time, I’ve come to realize that the people I most respect aren’t usually in headlines or history books. They’re in classrooms, hospitals, shelters, and emergency rooms. They’re teachers shaping futures one student at a time. Nurses and hospice workers offering dignity when it’s needed most. Scientists solving problems we don’t yet fully understand. First responders running toward chaos when others are running away. Caregivers holding hands through fear and pain. These are the people I look up to.
I’m drawn to those who lead with compassion, who seek to understand rather than dominate, who see the beauty in the world even when it's buried beneath hardship. People who listen. People who stay. People who do the work.
They may not have titles or power or massive followings, but they show up. Every day. And they make things better for the people around them.
Lee Drutman’s Breaking the Two-Party Doom Loop is another cornerstone of my political philosophy. We are long overdue for structural reforms, such as ranked-choice voting (RCV) and proportional representation. The way our system currently functions rewards division and entrenches power. That’s not democracy—that’s dysfunction. And frankly, the Democratic Party stands to gain the most with RCV. I’m passionate about restoring trust in government, and that begins by reshaping how it serves the people.
Books like Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann are also critical, as are the countless works that tell the unvarnished truth of our country’s past: the Tulsa Race Massacre, the Trail of Tears, the legacy of redlining, and mass incarceration. These aren’t stories to bury or rewrite. They’re hard truths we must reckon with if we’re ever going to heal and move forward.
An elected official must listen first, not to reply, but to understand. In the military, I served as a Senior Enlisted Advisor, responsible for more than 1,000 troops. My first job was to truly hear them—really listen to them—and carry their concerns up the chain of command with clarity, accuracy, and urgency. That taught me the value of trust and what happens when leadership fails to show up. As a former drill sergeant, not showing up was never an option.
Leaders must possess a sense of urgency and absolute moral clarity. I’ve responded to natural disasters, led emergency response teams, and stood in the ashes of destroyed communities. I didn’t wait for instructions—I acted. That’s what leadership looks like: standing in the gap for others, not watching from safety and looking for photo ops.
Courage matters. Telling hard truths, resisting harmful legislation, and defending marginalized communities requires spine. But real courage also means vulnerability—admitting when you don’t have all the answers, surrounding yourself with people who challenge you to grow, and staying teachable. Always.
Above all, an elected official must remember who they work for. Not lobbyists. Not corporate donors. But the single parent working two jobs. The teacher fighting for her students. The kid in rural Texas wondering if anyone in Washington knows they even exist. They deserve more than lip service. They deserve someone who shows up—every single time.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I know how to show up. I know how to listen—especially to people who’ve been ignored. I’ve led in crisis, stood up in uncomfortable rooms, and made hard decisions when it wasn’t popular or easy. And I’ve never confused silence for neutrality.
My leadership style is shaped by decades of military service, frontline disaster response, and time on the school board serving one of the fastest-growing districts in Texas. I’ve managed complex systems, navigated competing priorities, and stayed focused on people, not politics.
But more than anything, I carry a relentless sense of duty: to show up early, stay late, and do the work, not for praise, but because it matters. Because people are counting on it.
I believe in service over self. I believe in leaving every space better than I found it. I believe in holding myself accountable first, before I ever ask it of anyone else.
You must know what matters: affordable housing, clean water, quality public education, healthcare access, and keeping rural hospitals open. You should know your district so well that no one ever has to wonder where you stand. They should see you first—when it matters most—leading from the front.
A member of Congress must be both a bridge to committee chairs, agencies, and federal programs and a blocker, standing in the way of legislation that threatens civil rights, reproductive freedom, or the safety of our communities. And we need leaders who don’t dismiss expertise for political convenience. I believe in trusting scientists on climate, doctors on public health, teachers on education, and researchers and academics on the data that drives better policy. If the people doing the work are telling us what they need, our job is to act on it.
Let’s be honest—people are tired of performative politics. I’ve led in crisis, not with press releases, but with logistics, strategy, and action. I know what it means to be held accountable when lives are on the line. That’s the standard I’ll bring to Washington.
As a drill sergeant, I understood that leadership isn’t about rank—it’s about responsibility. I made it my mission to lead with consistency, clarity, and care. I didn’t just teach values like integrity and service—I lived them, every day. I’ve received many letters from former recruits over the years thanking me, not for being the loudest or the toughest, but for being fair, honest, and human. They remember that I listened. That I showed respect. That I led by example.
Soon after, we became part of the so-called “white flight” to the suburbs. The move meant I could no longer play with my best friend, Raymond, who was Black. And to be clear—Raymond and I didn’t care about each other’s race. We cared that I had two bikes and he had a kiddie pool. We were thick as thieves. All I knew was that my best friend was gone, and no one could explain to me why it had to be that way.
That moment shaped the rest of my life. It planted a deep, visceral need to confront bigotry, to stand up to racism, and to ensure that no child—no neighbor—ever has to witness or endure that kind of hatred again. That memory is part of my DNA now. It’s not something I read in a book—it’s something I lived through with open eyes and a confused, broken heart, and now teach as a warning about the devastation hate brings us all.
Today, I see that same hatred rear its head again—through immigration crackdowns that criminalize families of color, through attacks on LGBTQIA+ youth, through policies that silence or punish Black, Brown, Indigenous, and marginalized communities. And I am just as angry now as I was confused then.
There’s something clarifying about being the last one out the door, scrubbing pots no one else wanted to touch, doing the job no one thanked you for. But that’s where I learned the value of consistency, humility, and accountability. When you’re part of a team—whether in a kitchen, in the military, or in public office—cutting corners doesn’t just affect you. Someone else picks up the slack.
Years later, when I became a drill sergeant, I passed that lesson on to my recruits. I used to tell them:
“Every single thing you do—every task you perform—you leave your signature. People who know nothing about you will judge your entire character based on what they see from your effort. Your signature defines you, like it or not. What do you want your signature to say about you?”
That mindset started behind a dish pit—where no one was watching—and followed me through deployments, disaster response, boardrooms, and everywhere else I’ve led. It taught me that integrity isn’t about attention. It’s about the standard you set when no one’s looking.
As a first responder, we know we’re going to see tragic outcomes—moments that stay with us, whether we speak of them or not. But trauma doesn’t just come from disaster scenes. It lives in classrooms, households, and everyday lives touched by violence, poverty, discrimination, and loss. That’s why we must treat mental health as essential infrastructure—comprehensive, robust, and accessible. Healing should never be a privilege—it should be a guarantee.
As a school board member, I listened as students poured out their pain—stories of racism, bigotry, bullying, and assault. They stood at that microphone—trembling, angry, brave, and hurting. And I sat on the dais, wondering: What could I have done to prevent this? What could we have done differently—as a district, as adults, as a society? That helplessness stays with me. I could speak truth, challenge policy, and demand better, but I couldn’t undo what had already been done. And I carry that.
What infuriates me—deeply and persistently—is the grotesque, deliberate transfer of wealth, power, and opportunity from the working class to the ultra-wealthy. The system isn’t broken—it’s working exactly as designed. And it’s crushing people. Families are working multiple jobs and still choosing between rent and food. Teachers are underpaid and overworked. Seniors are rationing medication. Women are being stripped of bodily autonomy. Children are gunned down in classrooms while politicians protect lobbyists. Our neighbors—especially Black, Brown, Indigenous, LGBTQIA+, and immigrant communities—are being targeted, silenced, and criminalized.
At its core, the House embodies the principle of proportional representation—giving voice to a plurality of communities, ideologies, and lived experiences across the nation. That diversity should be its strength. And historically, it has been the chamber where bold, grassroots-aligned legislation is introduced and debated—often well ahead of the Senate’s political will.
However, in recent decades—and especially in the current climate—we’ve seen a troubling shift. Instead of functioning as an engine of representative democracy, the House too often operates as a theater of performative politics. The emphasis on soundbites over substance, partisan brinksmanship over pragmatic policymaking, and corporate influence over constituent need has fundamentally eroded public trust.
The House should be where working-class needs are translated into policy, not where lobbyists write the playbook. It should be a place of fiscal responsibility and social responsibility, where the focus is on sustainable outcomes, not stockholder gains or CEO bonuses.
There’s no doubt that understanding how government works can be helpful. But experience alone doesn’t guarantee good leadership. I’ve seen plenty of so-called “seasoned” politicians who’ve spent years mastering how to protect themselves, protect the status quo, protect their donors—and enrich themselves—not the people they were elected to serve.
That’s exactly why I’m running. For too long, the incumbent in this race has focused more on PACs, dark money donors, and political favors than on the single parent working two jobs, still having to choose between childcare and healthcare. That’s not public service. That’s self-preservation at the expense of the people.
The truth is that not all experience is equal. There's a difference between time served and lessons learned. Some spend decades in government without ever learning how to listen, evolve, or act on behalf of the people who entrusted them with power. Others—often from outside traditional political circles—bring a wealth of experience forged in service, crisis, and problem-solving that can be even more valuable than a resume full of titles.
I’ve spent my life serving in high-stakes, high-pressure environments—whether as a senior enlisted leader in the military, a disaster response planner during the COVID crisis, or a school board trustee in one of the fastest-growing districts in Texas. Those experiences weren’t theoretical. They required action, accountability, and results.
What matters most is how experience is gained and for whom it is used. Is it about advancing a political career, or advancing the common good? Is it performative, or is it principled? These are the questions we should be asking—not just how long someone’s been around, but what they’ve done with the time they’ve had.
We are in desperate need of national repair—emotionally, economically, socially, and spiritually. We must confront a rising tide of division and dehumanization, where entire groups of people are vilified for simply existing. I want to live in a country that welcomes everyone, not just those who fit a narrow mold.
We must address the foundational crises that impact everyday Americans: the unaffordability of housing, stagnant wages, the erosion of access to quality public education, the lack of universal healthcare, and the unchecked epidemic of gun violence in our schools and communities. Our children should be able to learn in peace, not live in fear. They should be supported for who they are—not shamed, targeted, or legislated out of existence.
As someone who has led in crisis, served on the front lines of disaster response, and helped shape education policy for one of the fastest-growing districts in Texas, I’ve seen how resilient our communities are when they’re empowered with resources and respect. From combat zones to hurricane zones, I’ve learned that dignity, clarity, and compassion must guide our decisions.
The framers deliberately structured the House to be the most responsive branch of government, closest to the people, and most frequently held accountable. A shorter term ensures that representatives must remain actively engaged with their constituents, aware of local needs, and constantly earning the trust they were given. It discourages complacency and creates a regular opportunity for voters to evaluate whether their representative is truly representing them, or simply coasting on incumbency.
That said, the two-year cycle is a double-edged sword. While it demands urgency and attentiveness from elected officials, it also places a burden on voters to participate consistently and stay informed. If constituents disengage—or allow partisan inertia, gerrymandering, or special interests to dominate the process—the cycle becomes less about accountability and more about entrenchment. In that sense, the two-year term is not just a structural safeguard; it’s a shared responsibility between the officeholder and the public.
I believe elected office is a position of service, not a lifelong entitlement. Term limits can be a useful tool to prevent the entrenchment of power, discourage complacency, and ensure fresh ideas and new perspectives enter public service. That said, term limits alone are not a cure-all. Real reform also requires campaign finance transparency, an end to dark money and corporate influence, an end to partisan gerrymandering, and structural changes like ranked-choice voting that empower voters to choose the best candidate, not just the most well-funded or well-known.
I’ve seen firsthand how some officials hold onto power for power’s sake—more focused on their next re-election than their constituents’ daily realities. That’s not public service. I support reasonable term limits as one part of a broader effort to restore trust in government, reduce corporate influence, and return power to the people.
Rep. Jasmine Crockett brings fire, focus, and fearless advocacy to every committee room—she calls out hypocrisy in real time. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez consistently pushes for climate justice, economic reform, and marginalized voices, while navigating relentless political attacks. Rep. Greg Casar brings the soul of an organizer to Congress, always rooted in the needs of working people. Rep. Joaquin Castro champions human rights, healthcare access, and immigrant dignity with steady conviction.
These are leaders I respect—not because they “play the game,” but because they fight every day against the dysfunction that surrounds them. They work to move the needle, even when the system pushes back.
But if I had to name someone whose example most informs how I approach leadership, it would be Pat Tillman.
For those unfamiliar with his story: Pat was a professional football player with the Arizona Cardinals who gave up a multimillion-dollar contract to enlist in the Army after 9/11. But what defined him wasn’t just his service—it was the way he thought. He was reflective, curious, and skeptical of easy answers. He read philosophy, questioned power, and challenged every institution he encountered—including the military. He didn’t serve for praise or politics. He served because he believed it was the right thing to do.
That kind of character—quiet courage, intellectual honesty, a deep sense of duty—is what I try to emulate. Like Pat, I don’t believe in following blindly or leading for recognition. I believe in asking tough questions, showing up when it matters, and serving with integrity, even when no one is watching.
In 2014, as a new school board trustee, our district was rocked by a wave of student suicides. A student group invited the community to gather at a local park to grieve and find support. I publicly committed to attend, only to be told by other board members that I shouldn’t. They didn’t want to confront the grief. They preferred a moment of silence, a platitude, and then to move on. But our kids were in pain. I went. I stood with them. I cried with them. And in that moment, I learned that leadership isn’t about titles or comfort—it’s about presence, especially when others turn away.
A few years later, a Black high school student stood before the board, trembling as she described the racism, bullying, and isolation she endured in our schools. She broke down mid-sentence. Several peers followed, courageously recounting experiences of discrimination, sexual assault, and being silenced. I looked up at the “No Place for Hate” banner we paid thousands for and said, “If we don’t live the values we hang on these walls, we’re not allies—we’re liars.” It caused a stir. But the students and families knew exactly what I meant. It wasn’t a stunt. It was accountability.
And for nearly five years, I served as a drill sergeant in the U.S. Air Force. Every value I taught—integrity, service, excellence—I lived. When I told a recruit they mattered, I meant it. When I said to lead by example, I did it. I entered the gas chamber first and exited last. I cleaned toilets. I ate last in the chow hall. Why? Because real leaders don’t bark orders from above—they earn respect from beside you. That’s how you build trust. That’s how you change lives.
In a pluralist democracy like ours, policymaking is inherently a process of negotiation. When functioning as intended, democratic institutions are designed to channel competing interests into deliberative outcomes. That means each party must come to the table with two things: their non-negotiables and their negotiables. That’s how sustainable policy is built—through clarity, transparency, and mutual recognition of core values and shared goals.
You don’t enter those negotiations prepared to concede your principles, but you also don’t show up expecting unilateral victory. That’s not statesmanship; that’s gridlock. And gridlock disproportionately harms working people who rely on functioning government systems.
Unfortunately, the current political climate rewards division over collaboration. Both parties, at times, have incentivized extremism over engagement because polarization drives media attention, voter outrage, and campaign contributions. But this strategy erodes the capacity of institutions to solve real problems. It reduces governance to spectacle and renders compromise politically dangerous, if not professionally fatal.
The truth is that durable policy requires coalition-building. I’ve spent my life in crisis leadership—whether on the battlefield, in disaster zones, or at the school board dais—and I’ve seen what real problem-solving demands. It’s messy. It’s unglamorous. And it requires the courage to work with people you don’t always agree with.
My journey into public service began because of a fiscal disaster hiding in plain sight. In the early 2010s, I was one of the first in my community to speak out against the use of capital appreciation bonds (CABs)—financial instruments that delay interest payments for years, leaving taxpayers with massive debt loads in the future. Our local district had taken on hundreds of millions in CAB debt. It was shortsighted, irresponsible, and deeply unfair to future generations. I ran for the school board to stop it, and we did. That experience taught me a hard truth: too often, public finance is driven by politics, not prudence. That has to change.
If elected, I’ll approach the House’s constitutional authority over revenue with three guiding principles:
1. Tax justice. Our tax code should be fair, equitable, and focused on lifting up working families, not preserving loopholes for the ultra-wealthy and corporations.
2. Budget integrity. I’ve seen the damage caused by deferred costs and deceptive budgeting. No more gimmicks. No more passing the buck. We must invest wisely and account honestly.
3. People-first investment. Revenue should serve the public by funding education, healthcare, infrastructure, disaster response, and the social safety net. It should never be a reward for campaign contributions or backroom deals.
As someone who has led in high-stakes environments—whether on the battlefield, in emergency response operations, or in local government—I know the difference between scrutiny that strengthens a system and spectacle that weakens it. Oversight is essential to good governance, but it must be rooted in fact, not conspiracy; guided by principle, not political retribution.
If elected, I would advocate for a return to meaningful congressional inquiry. That means using investigative authority to:
Expose corruption, fraud, and misuse of taxpayer funds
Hold both public and private entities accountable for actions that harm the public interest
Ensure federal agencies are operating transparently and ethically
Investigate systemic failures that deepen inequality or threaten democracy
But just as important as how we investigate is why. The purpose must always be to strengthen democracy, not erode it for partisan gain. The American people don’t need more soundbites or grandstanding. They need leaders willing to ask hard questions, follow the facts, and accept inconvenient truths.
If a committee exists to pad résumés, push pork-barrel projects, or serve corporate donors and special interests, I’m not interested. We’ve seen enough of that kind of performative politics—and it’s part of what has eroded public trust in our institutions.
What does interest me are committees where the mission is clear: to serve the people. Committees that roll up their sleeves and do the difficult, often unglamorous work of improving lives—whether that’s around public education, housing, healthcare, disaster response, or protecting civil rights.
That kind of work can’t happen without honest conversation, collaboration, and sometimes—yes—compromise. I know that word gets treated like a political slur these days, but I’ve led through crisis, and I’ve seen what real problem-solving looks like. It’s not theatrical. It’s not tribal. And it sure doesn’t wait for permission from party leadership. When the people are hurting, they expect us to act—not posture.
Years ago, I became alarmed by a public institution’s use of complex, long-term debt instruments that saddled future generations with outsized repayment obligations. The lack of oversight and the willingness to trade short-term gains for long-term consequences compelled me to act. I dug in, educated myself, and began sounding the alarm—publicly. That advocacy helped push the state legislature to enact stronger regulations on predatory borrowing practices, limiting these types of financial instruments to no more than 25% of a public entity’s debt portfolio. I never wanted to run for office. I just couldn’t stay quiet while families and children bore the cost of irresponsible financial planning.
That’s how I’ve always approached public service: if something’s wrong, fix it. If someone’s hiding the ball, call it out. If people are being misled, make the truth unavoidable.
Government must operate with radical transparency—not just because it builds public trust, but because it ensures better outcomes. That means clear budgeting, open meetings, accessible public records, and independent oversight. We need elected officials who understand finance and policy—not just politics—and who will lead with clarity, honesty, and a long-term vision rooted in service.
Note: Ballotpedia reserves the right to edit Candidate Connection survey responses. Any edits made by Ballotpedia will be clearly marked with [brackets] for the public. If the candidate disagrees with an edit, he or she may request the full removal of the survey response from Ballotpedia.org. Ballotpedia does not edit or correct typographical errors unless the candidate's campaign requests it.
Campaign finance summary
Campaign finance information for this candidate is not yet available from the Federal Elections Commission. That information will be published here once it is available.
See also
2026 Elections
External links
Footnotes
