Diabetes in Texas: Will Corporate Ties Hinder Real Progress?

Texas stands on the brink of a health crisis that’s been festering for decades. With over 11% of its population battling diabetes, the stakes couldn’t be higher. Governor Greg Abbott’s recent appointments to the Texas Diabetes Council, announced on April 9, 2025, signal a continuation of business as usual, a tepid nod to a problem that demands sweeping action. K. Renee’ Yarbrough-Yale, Dirrell Jones, Michael Kelly, and Jason Ryan bring credentials to the table, no question there. Yet, their collective resume, while polished, feels like a missed opportunity to ignite real change in a state where diabetes ravages communities, especially the most vulnerable.

Yarbrough-Yale coordinates inpatient diabetes programs at JPS Health Network, a vital role, sure, but one that’s tethered to the status quo of hospital care. Jones, a trial attorney, and Ryan, an energy executive, offer outsider perspectives that could shake things up, yet their ties to corporate interests raise eyebrows. Kelly, with his philanthropy background, hints at broader vision, but it’s not enough. In a state where insulin costs once soared out of reach for working families, and where rural clinics limp along without power, these picks feel like a safe bet when Texas needs a revolution.

This isn’t just about who’s sitting at the table. It’s about what’s at stake. Diabetes doesn’t hit everyone equally, it tears through Black, Latino, and low-income neighborhoods with a ferocity that’s been ignored for too long. The council’s job isn’t to tinker around the edges, it’s to advise the legislature on bold moves, to demand a system that delivers education, care, and hope to every corner of Texas. Anything less is a betrayal of the people who can’t wait another six years for progress.

Look beyond the council’s roster, and a brighter path emerges. Energy companies, often cast as villains, are stepping up in ways Texas could harness. Take Summit Ridge Energy’s partnership with OSF HealthCare, it’s slashed costs by $450,000 a year through solar projects, freeing up cash for patient care. In sub-Saharan Africa, SEforALL’s ‘Mission 300’ is pouring $2.5 billion into powering 300,000 health facilities. Why not here? Texas clinics, especially in rural stretches, still flicker with unreliable electricity, hobbling their ability to store insulin or run diagnostics. An energy exec like Jason Ryan could push for that, but will he?

Then there’s philanthropy, a lifeline for diabetes innovation. The University of Washington hands out $50,000 grants for pilot studies, while the Diabetes Research Institute in Miami scored $50 million to chase a cure for type 1. Texas has its own player in Michael Kelly, tied to Paso del Norte Health Foundation. Yet, the council’s track record leans on tweaking policies, not tapping these deep wells of private funding. Compare that to Kaiser Permanente, which went 50% solar in California, or Gundersen Health System, the first net-zero energy health network in the U.S. Texas could lead, not follow, if it dared to think bigger.

Diabetes Program Coordinators, like Yarbrough-Yale, prove their worth daily. At Park Nicollet Health System, they’ve nearly tripled the number of patients hitting quality targets, jumping from 10.6% to 28.5% in four years. They bridge gaps, train staff, and craft care plans that save lives. But one coordinator on a council of four isn’t enough to shift a statewide system. Texas needs an army of them, funded and empowered, not a lone voice drowned out by suits more at home in boardrooms than hospital wards.

The Texas Diabetes Council isn’t new to this fight, it’s been at it since 1983. It’s notched wins, like capping insulin co-pays at $25 a month for state plans, a lifeline for families stretched thin. House Bill 2536 forced drug pricing into the light, a rare victory for transparency. Telehealth expansions and tech access have crept forward too. But these are bandages on a gaping wound. With diabetes rates climbing, and disparities widening, the council’s biennial plans read like checklists, not battle cries.

Contrast that with what’s possible. Certified Diabetes Care and Education Specialists nationwide are slashing A1C levels by 2.3% through same-day visits and virtual outreach. The American Diabetes Association’s 2025 Standards of Care push nutrition and tech innovations that Texas could adopt wholesale. Instead, we get appointees who, while qualified, don’t scream disruption. Critics might argue stability matters, that seasoned hands like Jones and Kelly ensure continuity. But continuity’s the problem when it’s just more of the same, a slow march while people lose limbs, sight, and hope.

Historical wins don’t excuse today’s timidity. The council once led the nation as the first state body of its kind, spotlighting care gaps in the ‘80s. Now, it risks coasting on fumes. Philanthropy’s $160 million annual boost via the NIH’s Special Diabetes Program dwarfs Texas’ efforts. Energy partnerships cutting healthcare costs by 20%, as Adventist Health’s $457 million deal shows, dwarf the council’s incrementalism. Texas deserves a council that fights like it’s 1983 again, not one that settles for reappointments.

Texas can’t afford to limp along. These appointees might steer the council competently, but competence isn’t enough when kids in Houston’s Fifth Ward or El Paso’s barrios can’t get consistent care. The state’s got the tools, energy innovation, private dollars, and a legacy of grit. What it lacks is a council bold enough to wield them. Yarbrough-Yale, Jones, Kelly, and Ryan could surprise us, sure, but their profiles don’t pulse with the urgency this moment demands.

Here’s the bottom line. Diabetes isn’t a personal failing, it’s a public health emergency shaped by policy, access, and equity. The council’s job is to force the legislature’s hand, to demand power for clinics, coordinators in every hospital, and funding that matches the crisis. Anything less, and Texas stays a state where the powerful get by, and the rest get left behind. That’s not just a failure of imagination, it’s a failure of justice.