This is an op-ed version of an analysis I gave on the tort reform situation in Louisiana while filling in for Moon Griffon on Friday. I have also done an expanded version and loaded it into the podcast, since I didn’t have my own show on Friday.

When Louisiana voters gave Jeff Landry the keys to the governor’s mansion in 2023, it wasn’t just a political victory—it was a mandate. Not for personal ambition. Not for backroom politics. But for real, structural conservative reform in a state that has been bleeding jobs, insurers, and working-class confidence for years.

Which is why what’s happening now feels like déjà vu. And not the good kind.

The Outsider Who Stepped Inside

Let’s start with this: I don’t think Jeff Landry is corrupt. I don’t think he’s a RINO. And I certainly don’t think he got into office with anything other than the best intentions. He’s got a track record of fighting the good fight for conservative values in Louisiana.

But what we’re witnessing right now is a classic cautionary tale—one we’ve seen too many times.

A conservative outsider comes in promising to fix a broken system. He’s got the charisma, the momentum, and the message. He runs against the entrenched power brokers, the swampy machinery, and the status quo that has driven people to the brink. And when he wins, he walks into office ready to break the mold.

Then… something changes.

When Power Starts to Whisper

Suddenly, those doors that were once shut open wide. The handshakes start. The quiet meetings. The “you’ve gotta play the game to win the game” conversations. The people who were once adversaries become, well, “reasonable.” And just like that, the crusader becomes a manager. The outsider starts sounding a lot like the insiders he promised to stand against.

And when it came time to talk insurance reform—when it came time to tackle the issue that has hammered Louisiana families for years—Governor Jeff Landry flew out to meet trial lawyers. Not the Insurance Commissioner. Not the industry stakeholders. Not even the voters who put him there.

He met with the people who’ve made millions standing in the way of tort reform. The very same people who’ve flooded the airwaves with billboards and lawsuits while insurers flee and premiums skyrocket. He didn’t bring them to him. He went to them—on their turf, on their jet, with PAC money from “Protect Louisiana Values” footing the bill.

That’s not leadership. That’s alignment.

The Wrong Kind of Transaction

This is how transactional politics works: “I’ll give you a little bit of what you want, so I can hold on to what I want.” You trade in principle for influence. You throw your base a bone here and there, and hope they don’t notice the real deals happening behind closed doors.

But Louisiana conservatives aren’t stupid. They notice. They remember who stood in the way of reform for decades. And they see who’s in the room now.

Make no mistake—tort reform wasn’t just a plank in some generic conservative platform. It was the promise of 2023. Conservatives ran and won on it. They beat trial lawyer candidates in key districts. They ushered Jeff Landry into the governor’s mansion without a runoff, a clear signal that the state was ready for bold, conservative change.

And now?

Now we’re told it’s not time yet. That tort reform will have to wait. That these other things matter more right now. That we need to be smart about this.

We’ve Heard That Before

That’s the same song we’ve heard from governors and legislators for decades. And look where it’s gotten us: among the highest insurance rates in America, a lawsuit culture that has driven providers out, and a system that punishes working people while enriching the few.

Landry’s argument seems to be: “Let me use the machine to fix the machine.”

But the machine doesn’t get fixed from the inside. It fixes you.

The Choice Ahead

Jeff Landry still has time to make the right choice. But he needs to understand something: that mandate in 2023 wasn’t about him. It wasn’t a blank check for compromise. It was a call to conservative action—to challenge entrenched interests and put Louisiana on a new path.

That doesn’t happen in a duck blind with donors.

That happens in the Capitol, with voters watching.

And if Jeff Landry forgets that, he may soon find himself in the same place as the politicians he once ran against—surrounded by influence, but abandoned by the people who believed in him most.