Goodwill Plantation: 17.5 Million Luxury Living on the Backs of the Enslaved
- CUBNSC
- Jun 18
- 4 min read
By Javar Juarez | New Progressive Journal
Eastover, S.C. -This past weekend, I found myself standing at the edge of history—deep in the Lower Richland countryside at the Goodwill Plantation, also known as the Goodwill Historic District. Located off US 378 near Eastover and resting within the Wateree River Heritage Preserve, this sprawling property stands as both a natural marvel and a solemn reminder of South Carolina's brutal legacy of slavery.
It was my first time ever seeing an alligator in real life. The creature slithered across a patch of earth that, just a few generations ago, was soaked with the blood and sweat of enslaved Africans. I had come for a remembrance day organized in honor of Juneteenth and the preservation of African American history. But by the time I arrived, the guests had departed. I was alone, following signs through bumpy trails until I arrived at a sacred scene: two slave cabins, divided by a single tree, dating back to the 1800s. A sign beneath them bore quiet witness to a past that still cries out.
Goodwill Plantation is beautiful. But I could not experience peace there. As someone who is spiritually sensitive, I felt a war in the atmosphere—a tug-of-war in the heavenlies between good and evil. Though quiet in sound, the land thundered with ancestral voices. Many of you reading this may not share my spiritual framework, but we can all agree: what happened here was evil.
The Goodwill Historic District encompasses 10 contributing buildings and two contributing structures, including a millpond, canal irrigation system (c. 1827), overseer’s house (c. 1857), two slave cabins (c. 1858), and other facilities that supported the plantation's vast agricultural operations.
Added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1986, Goodwill was once owned by P.T. Barnum, who used it as a winter retreat for his circus animals, and Edward Barnwell Heyward, a planter who sent nearly 1,000 enslaved people to Goodwill during the Civil War.
The estate dates back to 1795. In 1854, it spanned over 7,400 acres. Edward Heyward, the father of South Carolina’s 88th Governor Duncan Clinch Heyward, transformed the land into a major agricultural outpost, planting cotton, sweet potatoes, peas, beans, and corn. The exploitation was massive, and the legacy lingers in the soil.
As I walked alone through the trails, the natural beauty stunned me—rare butterflies, flowing water, and birdsong. Yet every step reminded me I was walking on sacred, violated land. It was my first visit to Goodwill Plantation, and I had no idea how spiritually heavy it would be. I fell to the ground in front of the Heyward House, overwhelmed by the presence of those who had been enslaved there. I could feel them recognizing me.
The spirits of people like Bessie Goodwine, reportedly the last living enslaved person from Goodwill Plantation, born in 1840 and said to have lived to see over 2,000 people freed in 1865, are still alive in memory if not in body. Whether or not the houses she once occupied still stand, her legacy is etched into the air.
It was this spiritual connection—and the harsh reminder of systemic injustice—that made my heart burn with righteous anger. I stood not just before history but before its unrepentant inheritors. The very land once soaked in the blood of my ancestors is now occupied by grand homes overlooking Goodwill Lake. The estate is on the market for $17.5 million, flaunting its 14 bedrooms, 13 full bathrooms, and regulatory approval for a 22-lot community.
By the time I reached McMasters Lodge, built in 1910 and still standing, my thoughts turned to the current South Carolina Governor, Henry McMaster. This is his family’s land. His grandfather, Samuel B. McMasters, bought the plantation in 1910, turning it into a preserve, tenant farm, and hunting retreat. The McMasters legacy is deeply entangled in the soil of Goodwill—and in the perpetuation of systems that have long denied justice to Black South Carolinians.
To be frank, I have no sympathy for politicians like Henry McMaster, Alan Wilson, Shane Massey, or Merrell Smith—those who perpetuate racism, deny reparations, and cloak white supremacy in bureaucracy. To walk those dirt roads is to feel the full weight of their inheritance, and to see firsthand the generational wealth extracted from the bodies of enslaved Black people.
Richland County was home to over 11,000 enslaved people by 1860, held largely by fewer than 50 major slaveholders. The entire region—from the University of South Carolina to the Kirkman Finlay estate—was built on stolen labor and stolen land. The system that birthed these atrocities is not gone. It simply changed forms.
And so, I do not offer forgiveness for these wrongs. I call for reparation. I call for reckoning. If we are to have a future that honors our past, then those in power—both Republican and Democrat—must be held to account. Let Goodwill Plantation stand as more than a symbol of beauty or commerce. Let it be a site of education, a site of mourning, and a site of mobilization.
Our ancestors cry out from the soil. Will we listen? Or will we continue to build fortunes on their bones?
All Images subject to copyright do not use without written permission email: News@cubnsc.com
Thank you for this it’s important to know how the sons of the confederacy are still in power in the south including the governor. The history of hate runs deep by blood and this place is no exception how are they gonna sell it with that kind of history and structures who is going to live there? They never show the full story