No Justice, Just Optics: Hate Crimes, Reparations, and the Real Divide in the Democratic Party
- CUBNSC
- 3 hours ago
- 11 min read
By Javar Juarez | Editor, Columbia Urban Broadcast Network | OP-ED
South Carolina Democrats are once again rolling out the blue carpet for their annual “Democrat Weekend,” complete with speeches, receptions, and the highly anticipated keynote from Maryland Governor Wes Moore—the nation’s only Black governor. But amid the cheers and staged photo ops, I refuse to participate in the theater. This is no time for celebration. This is a moment of betrayal.
Governor Moore’s recent veto of Maryland’s Reparations Study Bill—legislation initiated by the Maryland Legislative Black Caucus to explore the generational consequences of slavery and systemic racism—is nothing short of a historic failure. The bill passed the House, and despite his veto, there appears to be enough support to override him. It also had public backing. It carried with it the aspirations of Black Marylanders seeking not just recognition, but remedy. Moore, propelled to power by Black faith and votes, chose political convenience over principle.
And in the same breath, Moore has found time and state funding to support Holocaust education, illuminate government buildings in symbolic remembrance, and codify Jewish historical memory into law. None of that is wrong. In fact, it’s commendable. But if one community’s suffering is worthy of public reverence and governmental action, then so is ours.
“Tonight, the First Lady and I have lit Government House yellow for Maryland Holocaust Remembrance Day. We must bear witness and learn from this dark period in our history so we do not repeat it” . - Gov. Wes Moore
Let’s not forget that Maryland—specifically Annapolis—was once a port of entry for trafficked African bodies. Let’s not forget that the Eastern Shore birthed Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass. If any place should lead the conversation on reparations and historical accountability, it is Maryland. Moore’s veto sent the opposite message: Black pain remains optional in America’s moral calculus.
And while Maryland fumbles truth and justice, South Carolina fares no better.
The Clementa C. Pinckney Hate Crimes Act: Delayed, Diluted, and Disrespected
It has been nearly a decade since the Mother Emanuel massacre shocked the world and claimed the life of Senator Clementa Pinckney along with eight fellow parishioners. Yet South Carolina remains one of only two states without a hate crimes law. The Clementa C. Pinckney Hate Crimes Act—what Representative Wendell Gilliard calls a Human Rights Bill—once touted as a step toward healing, now lies bogged down by political maneuvering and intra-party conflict.
Rep. Wendell Gilliard, the bill’s author, says he remains optimistic but frustrated:
“We passed other bills in less than 90 days. Why has this taken 10 years? Justice delayed is justice denied,” he told CUBN in an exclusive interview.
When asked how he felt about other bills, including H.B. 4042—which enshrines the IHRA definition of antisemitism into South Carolina law—he stated:
“I supported that bill. I support anything that fights hate. Supporting that bill puts us in a position to say, ‘Look, we support your cause—what about ours?’ That’s always been my approach.”
Notably, that antisemitism bill was fast-tracked with sponsorship from Democratic Representative Beth Bernstein, who has yet to show similar urgency for legislation addressing anti-Black violence.
Hate Crimes and Reparations: The Quiet Disrespect of Black Lives
Representative Beth Bernstein, the only Jewish legislator in the House, is heralded by some for her stance on antisemitism. Yet her legacy in Black communities is fraught. Her baseless attacks on the Richland One School District—which resulted in millions in legal fees and the shuttering of a learning center—are rarely discussed in the halls of the Statehouse. Her reluctance to champion the broader hate crimes bill calls into question whether “moral clarity” is selectively applied when Black lives are on the line.
And it gets worse.
Republican Rep. John McCravy III was recently accused of using the N-word in an interview. In response, Democrats filed a censure resolution—but instead of demanding a public hearing or swift accountability, the resolution was quietly sent to the House Ethics Committee, a political black hole known for burying uncomfortable truths.
Even more bizarre is the suggestion that the Speaker of the House may have used members of the Black Caucus to settle his own internal party disputes—namely, between him and McCravy. This, of course, appears to be without the support of the Black Caucus Chair, Rep. Annie E. McDaniel, who—with a steady hand—continues to work to open up pathways for expanded discussion and to ensure that members of the Black Caucus remain steadfast and on one accord.
Asked whether introducing the censure resolution was a misstep, Rep. Gilliard said:
“That was called in the 12th hour. We weren’t briefed. We were reacting in solidarity against the use of the N-word. Had we strategized, maybe we would have acted differently. But we did what we thought was right in the moment by standing in solidarity.”
“There were concerns the Black Caucus was being used, but I have great respect for Rep. Annie McDaniel. She’s a bold leader. We acted with integrity.”
Why are Democrats walking into GOP infighting with no clear strategy? Why are they weaponized against each other instead of protecting their constituents?
Naming the Hate Crimes Bill Controversy
Representative Hamilton Grant—whose wife’s grandfather, Rev. Daniel Simmons, was among the nine slain at Mother Emanuel—seems hesitant to name the hate crimes bill after Senator Clementa Pinckney, though he said he continues to support the legislation.
He emphasized that the focus shouldn’t be on the name, but rather on what the bill represents.
“I don’t have a personal issue with the name. My concern is broader—Senator Pinckney was one of nine victims. Naming the bill after only him risks excluding the others and the survivors. The Senate version avoids that by being more inclusive. Our focus should be on passing the bill, not debating its name.”
Grant went on to clarify his legislative history with the bill:
“One of the first bills I co-sponsored was Rep. Wendell Gilliard’s hate crime bill. This session, leadership in the House decided not to bring it up again because it always passes the House but stalls in the Senate. Senators Margie Bright Matthews and Deon Tedder introduced a version that got further traction. The Senate typically does not name bills after individuals, which contributed to its progress.”
Still, his concerns go beyond the bill’s title.
“I’ve heard from lawyers and my colleagues in the House who are lawyer-legislators, and they have an opinion that the current language of the bill could be misinterpreted and weaponized against the community it was meant to protect. I also know that Republicans really don’t have an appetite for hate crimes legislation.”
Grant also shared a conversation he had early in his term with Senate Majority Leader Shane Massey:
“He told me the Senate has no appetite for hate crime legislation. He offered vague alternatives like gun storage or closing the Charleston Loophole, but I fundamentally disagree with his stance that current laws already address hate crimes.”
In contrast, Rep. Gilliard remains resolute on the importance of naming the bill after Senator Pinckney and moving it forward without dilution or delay:
“There should be no controversy. It’s not about compromise when it comes to honoring Black people—especially a state senator who was murdered. Pinckney deserves to be honored. You don’t stage or grandstand over something like that.”
Gilliard also emphasized the bill’s practical benefits:
Mandated reporting of hate crimes helps identify hot spots.
Investigations and responses can be expedited.
Public trust and willingness to report hate crimes increase.
“This bill is for the good of the entire state,” he concluded.
Senator Pinckney was not just a victim; he was a sitting state senator, a pastor, and a public servant. Refusing to name the bill after him is not about inclusion—it’s about erasure. According to Gilliard, Senator Pinckney’s widow has expressed support for the bill, and one of the late senator’s daughters has as well. Community voices in Charleston believe the reluctance to name the bill is more political than principled.
Both chambers of the General Assembly have introduced legislation titled the “Senator Clementa C. Pinckney Hate Crimes Act”—House Bill H.3039 and Senate Bill S.247—with nearly identical language aimed at enhancing penalties for violent crimes when the victim is intentionally targeted based on race, religion, sex, gender, national origin, sexual orientation, or disability. Both bills define applicable crimes to include violent offenses under Section 16-1-60 and assault by mob in the second degree, and both impose additional penalties of up to $10,000 in fines and five years in prison. They also require proof beyond a reasonable doubt of intentional targeting, special verdict instructions to the trier of fact, and either a separate indictment or a separate count in the indictment to trigger the enhanced penalties.
However, House Bill H.3039, introduced by Rep. Wendell Gilliard and supported by a large and diverse coalition of sponsors, has shown significantly more momentum. Senate Bill S.247, introduced by Senator Tameika Devine, remains stalled in committee with little public commentary from its primary sponsors. This silence has only deepened frustration among constituents and advocacy groups, who view the lack of engagement and transparency as an obstacle to real progress. While both bills are structurally aligned and substantively sound, the real difference lies in visibility, political will, and advocacy—areas in which the House appears to be taking the lead.
To date, Senator Devine, Senator Margie Bright Matthews, and Senator Deon Tedder have not responded to requests for comment.
A Necessary Caution: Rep. John R. King’s Call for Safeguards
Former chair of the South Carolina Legislative Black Caucus, Representative John R. King, has brought a critical voice to the hate crimes bill debate—one rooted in both caution and conviction. While fully supporting the need for hate crimes legislation in South Carolina, King warns that without proper safeguards, the bill could ultimately harm the very communities it aims to protect. His position is not rooted in opposition but in a long-standing awareness of how good intentions can lead to harmful outcomes in a state with a legacy of over-policing and racial bias.
In his public statement, South Carolina Needs a Hate Crime Bill—But Not One That Harms Black Communities, King writes:
“We must include racial impact studies. We must have oversight mechanisms to monitor enforcement. We must require data collection on prosecutions. And it must be reviewed regularly to ensure it’s being applied fairly.”
He added pointedly:
“Justice without accountability is not justice. It’s theater. And our communities deserve more than a performance.”
King also voiced sharp criticism of Maryland Governor Wes Moore, calling for the South Carolina Democratic Party to disinvite Moore as keynote speaker of the Blue Plate Dinner following Moore’s veto of Maryland’s reparations study bill.
“Reparations are not just about wealth,” King stated. “They are about acknowledgement. The optics of a Black governor vetoing a reparations commission are, frankly, painful.”
King’s broader critique—of both Governor Moore and the hate crimes bill—reflects a growing disillusionment within Black communities. The demand is clear: symbolic gestures are no longer enough. We need substance, structure, and protections that ensure justice is applied equitably, not selectively.
When asked about King’s public criticisms, Rep. Wendell Gilliard responded:
“I don’t think that was fair. I’ve known the victims personally for years. That should’ve been off-limits for political jabs. I’ve supported this movement for a decade. That’s not how leaders should behave. I won’t engage in back-and-forth. I’ll answer in my own way—with dignity.”
While their methods and rhetoric may differ, both King and Gilliard are fighting for the same end: a South Carolina that no longer ignores the weight of hate—and no longer leaves its most vulnerable communities unprotected. The conversation between these two leaders is not a distraction; it is a necessary reckoning about how we pass laws that don’t just look good on paper, but stand up under pressure in real life.
The Democratic Party’s Dysfunction
There is a clear and growing crisis of leadership within South Carolina’s Democratic Party.
When asked whether House Democrats are united, Rep. Wendell Gilliard responded bluntly:
“Not like they used to be. Everything starts with leadership. When leaders become self-serving or operate in cliques, we fall apart.”
That fracture is showing. Younger members like Representatives Hamilton Grant and Jermaine Johnson are advocating for bold action—calling out racism, challenging complacency, and demanding accountability. But their energy is often stifled by outdated hierarchies, party insiders more concerned with maintaining position than building power, and a strategy that no longer fits the moment.
At the heart of the dysfunction is a party that has failed to expand its base. South Carolina’s population is growing, but so is its conservatism—fueled by far-right transplants and aging boomers who form the backbone of an emboldened Republican majority. Yet rather than meet this moment with vision and investment, Democrats have clung to tradition, locked in place by the very institutional stagnation they claim to resist.
Nowhere is that clearer than in how the party communicates. Black media outlets like CUBN are routinely ignored. Press releases rarely reach the communities they’re supposed to inform. Engagement is confined to performative gestures or siloed social media posts. The people remain uninformed, unorganized, and uninspired—because the party has not built the channels needed to connect.
“The Black press is essential. It’s our constitutional right,” said Rep. Gilliard. “James Brown understood that. That’s why he bought radio stations.”
But today’s Democrats seem more preoccupied with gala dinners, blue backdrops, and beltway influencers than with mobilizing the communities who have historically kept them afloat. They trend for the wrong reasons—or not at all.
To be clear, Democrats are not the only culprits in South Carolina’s political dysfunction. The South remains a stronghold of establishment rule—where power stays concentrated, political change moves at a crawl, and Republican dominance is sustained by the absence of strong counterweight leadership.
But if Democrats ever hope to lead again, they must first find their way back to the people they’ve left behind.
A Party Addicted to Black Loyalty
This is not just about one bill or one governor. It is about a party that has grown comfortable mining Black culture, voice, and labor—without ever fully honoring our demands.
We are paraded at press conferences, quoted in campaign ads, and visited in our sanctuaries every election cycle. But once the cameras fade and the votes are tallied, we are left with nothing.
No reparations.
No hate crimes law.
No protection.
No respect.
And yet, we’re told to be patient. Told to be quiet. Told to stay in line—for the good of the party.
Enough.
Yes, we understand the math. We are reminded constantly that Democrats are a “super minority” in South Carolina. But what we don’t hear is how that equation is supposed to change. What we don’t see is a plan. And from long-time figures like Minority Leader Todd Rutherford—my own representative—we don’t even get transparency.
Rutherford remains a political enigma, a figure operating from the shadows of power rather than standing in the light of public accountability. Among his colleagues, conversations around him feel coded, hesitant. It’s as if truth itself has become politically dangerous. But in a moment that demands moral courage, leadership cannot thrive in whispers.
And here’s the real throughline: whether it’s the refusal to pass a meaningful hate crimes law or the rejection of a reparations study, the issue is the same. Democrats want our loyalty without ever fully recognizing our suffering. They champion diversity in brochures but fail to fight for our dignity in policy. They will light buildings yellow for one history but won’t lift a finger to study our own.
If Governor Wes Moore can dedicate state funds to commemorate the Holocaust—and he should—then he can support a bill to examine slavery and systemic racism in Maryland. If South Carolina Democrats can rally to pass an antisemitism bill in under a year, they can do the same for a hate crimes bill that protects Black, LGBTQ+, Muslim, and immigrant lives.
What this all reveals is a party addicted to Black votes, but allergic to Black demands. A party that mistakes symbolism for strategy. That praises our resilience but avoids our reality.
We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re demanding equal footing in a movement that claims to stand for equity and justice.
The Democratic Party must stop treating Black support as permanent and unconditional. It is neither.
It is earned—or it is lost.
We remember everything.
And we are done being quiet.