By Javar Juarez (CUBNSC) Columbia, S.C. - Yesterday marked a significant moment in South Carolina's political landscape as Black Democrats gathered on the steps of the Statehouse in protest of the controversial "Uncensored America" event, held last night at the University of South Carolina's Russell House. The protest, seen as a bold stand against what many perceive as hate and aggression toward vulnerable communities, featured prominent leaders such as House Representative Jermaine Johnson, Justice James founder and CEO Tiffany James, outgoing Representative and Black Caucus Chair Dr. Ivory Thigpen, and House District 79 Democratic candidate Hamilton Grant organized by Carolina For All’s Lawrence Moore.
Upon arriving at the event, I found a modest crowd of just a few dozen people, many holding signs denouncing hate. The scene was dominated by a pack of eager journalists, hungry for soundbites. Representative Jermaine Johnson’s powerful remarks about choosing love over hate resonated deeply with me. His words captured the frustration of a community tired of the same divisive rhetoric. Hamilton Grant, too, made a compelling call for the state assembly to pass a hate crimes bill—pointing out that South Carolina remains one of only two states without such legislation.
Tiffany James delivered a powerful statement, highlighting the deep disrespect behind the "Uncensored America" event. The organizers had replaced Vice President Kamala Harris’s name with the degrading moniker “Cumala,” a move widely regarded as a blatant attempt to sexualize and demean her. “For far too long, Black women in America have been overtly sexualized,” James declared as she emceed the gathering. She urged the crowd, saying, "Every single one of you is what democracy looks like. Remember not to stand for hate—not just when the Proud Boys show up, but in your workplaces, classrooms, and neighborhoods. We must stand up against hate wherever we are and whoever we're with, if we are to live in peace, unity, and love."
Roast of Kamala Harris at USC: A missed opportunity for real conversation
Arriving at the Russell House on the University of South Carolina campus was a relatively subdued experience. Students carried on with their evening activities, seemingly unaffected by the presence of dozens of police officers, campus police, state troopers, and members of the Richland County Sheriff’s Department, who were there to secure the event. Sheriff Leon Lott himself was on hand, ensuring safety amidst the growing tensions that many in the community and news media had anticipated prior to the event.
The protestors who had gathered earlier at the Statehouse, alongside Democratic leaders, had set up a table and posted their materials along the protective guardrails outside the Russell House. However, the scene became more chaotic as one moved closer to the building, with a helicopter overhead adding to the noise and confusion. The police K-9 units, while likely a safety measure, only heightened the atmosphere of unease, leaving many students visibly uncomfortable.
Once inside the Russell House, entry was relatively smooth thanks to pre-registration for the roast. However, the atmosphere inside was anything but lively. The crowd trickled in slowly, with the first four rows reserved for those who had paid for VIP seating—a designation that amounted to little more than a front-row seat. Another row was marked "royalty," though its purpose seemed equally insignificant. There were no refreshments—no water, snacks, or anything to alleviate the mundane waiting experience. Students appeared confused, unsure of the event’s structure, and many grew bored as there were no opening remarks, entertainment, or even pre-recorded content to hold their attention. Instead, there was an overwhelming presence of police and an abundance of reporters.
The event did not start anywhere close to on time, and there were peculiar occurrences that only added to the unease. I noticed several individuals taking pictures and videos from behind a curtain, with only the lenses of their cameras visible, and the odd movement of the curtain betraying their presence. In front of me sat an older white man who, without turning around, used his phone’s front-facing camera to discreetly film what was happening behind him. He later tried to engage me in a conversation about Frederick Douglass, the Second Amendment, and the need for ammunition as a means to "defend democracy." It was unsettling, to say the least.
As the clock approached 8 p.m.—the scheduled start time—the ballroom began to fill, primarily with USC students. I struck up a conversation with a group of young white students who were remarkably pleasant and well-informed. They voiced concerns about the Democratic Party's leadership, expressing a strong distrust of Congressman Jim Clyburn and other "corporate Democrats," whom they felt were disconnected from the needs of the people. The conversation turned to the fight for a $15 minimum wage, with criticism of Mr. Clyburn for condemning businesses and lawmakers opposed to raising the federal minimum wage, while some of his colleagues in Congress were paying their interns far less. They pointed out that the House provides only $25,000 for intern compensation, which is often insufficient. Among the offices paying interns less than $15 an hour were some of the most prominent liberal names in Congress including Clyburn himself: Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA), Majority Leader Steny Hoyer (D-MD), Congressional Progressive Caucus Chairwoman Pramila Jayapal (D-WA), and liberal champions like Katie Porter (D-CA), Madeleine Dean (D-PA), and Ted Lieu (D-CA).
The students also expressed frustration with corporate influence in politics and the monopolies that dominate American life. Several of the young men, business students at USC, brought up the recent lawsuit in which Express Scripts, one of the nation’s largest pharmacy benefit managers, sued the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), demanding the agency retract a report that claimed industry middlemen contribute to high drug prices. These students voiced concerns about corporate monopolies across various sectors and felt that while Democrats often blame Republicans for giving tax breaks to the wealthy, Democrats themselves are complicit in propping up corporate interests.
Amidst the controversy surrounding the event, a deeper truth began to surface.
I noticed a palpable unease as more Black attendees entered the space, immediately shifting the atmosphere. It was as if the white attendees suddenly felt exposed, as though they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. The tension in the room became more pronounced, so I engaged in conversation with those closest to me, hoping to ease the discomfort. What I discovered was surprising: these individuals were not driven by a sense of superiority, but rather by a deep-seated feeling of inferiority. Though it may seem counterintuitive, their disdain appeared to be rooted in fear—fear of Black excellence, fear of challenging the traditions upheld by their elders, and fear of being ostracized by their own communities if they embraced more progressive ideals. The older generation, like the man sitting in front of me, seemed to exert an oppressive influence over the younger attendees, who were visibly conflicted, torn between clinging to outdated beliefs and exploring new perspectives.
Many of the people present at the event seemed to have latched onto hate as a way to feel powerful, masking deep feelings of loneliness and insignificance. They were isolated, both emotionally and ideologically, and desperately needed to be shown a path toward love and unity. They needed to understand that the strength they feared in Black people was not something to be resented but something that could uplift them all.
Many students appeared worn down, with deep, persistent coughs, puffy eyes, and disheveled appearances. They seemed visibly stressed, and while college life is often challenging, it was clear that something more than the usual pressures was weighing on them. The torment in their eyes was unmistakable.
The history of the "MAGA" base is often oversimplified, but it has deep roots that stretch back to the antebellum South. Many of Donald Trump’s supporters come from a lineage of poor white Southerners who, during the era of slavery, were disenfranchised by the "master class"—the wealthy landowners who owned both land and slaves. These poor whites, unable to compete with slave labor, suffered greatly, often jailed or ostracized for holding abolitionist views. Their lack of social status left them wandering the South in search of work, trading with enslaved people, and ultimately, being exploited by the very system that kept them poor.
Today, the most aggrieved white men come from a legacy of rejecting the ruling class, yet many now find themselves trapped in a system that closely resembles the one their ancestors fought against. Modern-day corporate structures, built on the same oligarchic principles, continue to oppress the very people who support them. Sadly, much like Black Americans, many in Trump’s base do not know their own history. As I waited for the event to begin, I found myself engaging in meaningful conversations with some of these young men about this shared history, while we all waited in vain for the program to start.
After an hour and a half of waiting, without anyone approaching the microphone, people began to leave. Two USC students walking past me remarked, “Today is National Burger Day, and burgers at Wendy’s are only fifty cents—we’re out of here,” before making their way toward the exit.
A Call for Leadership Beyond Politics
Yesterday's protest at the Statehouse was significant, but it also underscored a larger issue: the disconnect between establishment Democrats and the communities they claim to serve. With the exception of leaders like Tiffany James, Jermaine Johnson, and Hamilton Grant, too many within the party are failing to use their platforms to amplify the voices that matter most. This is a major reason why Democrats have struggled to gain traction in South Carolina—they haven’t galvanized the people. They’ve been reluctant to meet communities where they are, unwilling to craft messaging that goes beyond fear or opposition to the other side. As a result, progress has been stalled, gerrymandered away, while corporate interests continue to manipulate both parties, creating a political landscape where true change feels out of reach.
The scene at Russell House reflected a shared sense of disillusionment across the political spectrum. Many Republicans are just as frustrated, realizing their needs are not being met by their own leaders. What both sides fail to grasp is that love—not division—has the power to bridge these gaps and create a path forward that benefits everyone, regardless of race or political affiliation.
It has become rare to see leaders who truly speak the language of the community and can rally people together in celebration and unity. Too often, Democratic leaders fall back on the same divisive narratives—blaming Republicans, vilifying the opposition, and perpetuating an "us versus them" mentality. While there are real issues to address, this one-dimensional approach misses the opportunity for more meaningful and productive conversations. Unfortunately, it seems that even establishment Democrats, like their counterparts, rely on fear and division as tools to maintain power.
A Call to the Church and the Community
Amidst conversations with fellow attendees at the roast, I found it particularly notable how often the church's role in spreading misinformation was discussed. Many pointed to how some churches have used their platforms to promote white nationalist ideals, stoking fear of the unknown—especially regarding migrants. In several discussions, both corporations and churches were viewed as equal contributors to issues like gerrymandering and the obstruction of community progress. Religious leaders were seen as vocal proponents of the religious political movement, often driving conservative talking points. Many young conservatives openly admitted that much of their political news and beliefs stemmed from the pulpit, with abortion often topping the list of concerns. However, when asked what Jesus would do in these situations, they grew silent, listening more intently. While they acknowledged the importance of love and personal autonomy, they returned to the Ten Commandments to support their stance. Yet, when confronted with the idea that Jesus’ crucifixion was meant for the remission of all sin, their abortion arguments began to unravel.
What struck me most that night was how many people attending the "roast," seemed to be crying out for love—though they may not realize it. Much like a child with behavioral issues seeking attention from an absent or unwilling parent, they are trapped in fear and in desperate need of guidance.
The Black religious community has a unique role to play in this healing process. It is our duty as the Black church to go where we are not often seen, to show love to those who have seemingly rejected us, and to help dismantle the walls of hate and division. Love is the ultimate overcomer, and it is the only way to break down the systems of power that keep us apart. This message did not come from a pulpit but from Black leaders standing on the statehouse steps yesterday. A message of love, tolerance, and acceptance is one that we don’t often hear from Black religious figures either. Too often, there is resistance to embracing anything "different," whether it’s the LGBTQIA+ community, white people, or conservatives. Yet I believe that God is calling us to cross those divides and reach out to our white brothers and sisters, helping them feel the love they so deeply desire.
It’s clear that many in the current youth base of the supposed MAGA movement don’t actually want to be there.
Moving Forward with Love and Purpose
Yesterday's events served as a reminder of the work that still needs to be done. The poor souls who gathered to mock Kamala Harris are misunderstood and afraid. Their fear of being replaced or forgotten has led them to embrace ideologies that do not serve them or anyone else for that matter. But we cannot meet their fear with fear, or their hate with hate. We must lead with love.The systems of power—both political and corporate—thrive on our division. It is only by coming together, by loving each other through our differences, that we can begin to heal. The Church, the Black community, and those who truly seek justice must rise above the noise and bring love to the forefront of the conversation. Only then can we create the kind of change that will last for generations to come.
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#CallForUnity #LeadershipCrisis #LoveOverHate #PoliticalTensions Kamala's Roast Ignites and Fizzles at USC As Community leaders call to action for love peace and unity
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