Priced Out: Legislative Pay in the South Is a Vestige of Plantation Politics

By Brandon Upson | New Progressive Journal Chief Political Correspondent

There’s a quiet truth hiding beneath the controversy over South Carolina’s proposed legislative pay raise. The way we compensate lawmakers in the South is a holdover from the plantation model of governance, where wealth determined power. All the while, working-class people, especially Black people, were shut out of decision-making entirely. 

While the South no longer runs on cotton and chains, it still operates on the idea that only the privileged can afford to govern. Legislative pay in South Carolina and other former slave states is so low that it practically guarantees that everyday people are priced out of politics. That’s not an accident. That’s by design.

In South Carolina, lawmakers earn just $10,400 a year, a figure that hasn’t changed since 1990. It’s labeled a “part-time” job, but the demands are anything but. From January to May, legislators must be in Columbia three days a week, often driving hundreds of miles to get there. And that’s not counting special sessions that stretch into the summer. All of this with almost no support—most lawmakers share one legislative aid between three or four other colleagues, and that staffer stays in Columbia, not in the communities they serve. Tell me: how can any working-class person afford to do this job and still pay their bills?

The recent pay increase, an $18,000 annual boost to in-district allowances starting July 1, has sparked legal challenges and cries of foul play. Critics argue it violates the state constitution because lawmakers approved it through a budget proviso rather than a stand-alone bill. But while the courts may decide the technical legality, the deeper question remains: Why do Southern lawmakers make so little to begin with?

Let’s look at the numbers. 

Most of the former Confederate states pay their legislators some of the lowest salaries in the nation:

• South Carolina: $10,400

• Mississippi: $10,000

• Alabama: $53,956 (one of the few outliers after a reform push)

• Georgia: $17,342

• North Carolina: $13,951

• Tennessee: $28,000

• Florida: $29,697

• Louisiana: $16,800

Now compare that with non-slave states, especially those that were part of the Union and industrial North:

• California: $128,000+

• New York: $142,000+

• Illinois: $89,000+

• Massachusetts: $73,655

• Michigan: $71,685

• Washington: $63,144

Data Source: National Conference of State Legislatures (NCSL) 2024 legislative compensation data

The difference is very telling. In many Southern legislatures, compensation is so low that only retirees, business owners, or the independently wealthy can realistically serve. That leaves working-class people, single parents, and young professionals effectively barred from office. And that’s the point.

This isn’t just about dollars and cents. It’s about access to power.

Former South Carolina State Representative Krystle Matthews, a working-class Black woman and mother of five, gave voice to this injustice on the House floor during the 2022 legislative session. She openly shared her financial struggles while serving. With the cost of travel, lodging, childcare, and other expenses, she couldn’t afford new tires for her car until her colleagues took up a collection. That wasn’t just a moment of vulnerability; it was a reflection of a structural problem: the system is rigged to keep people like her out.

And it’s not just Matthews. Across the South, promising everyday leaders are forced to choose between serving their communities and paying their bills. The old plantation system made sure only landowners and aristocrats had a say in government. Today, low pay and barebones legislative support keep that tradition alive in a new form.

This is intentional austerity, not an oversight. And it’s no coincidence that the states clinging hardest to these outdated compensation models also have deep histories of voter suppression, racial inequity, and economic exclusion. Opponents of the pay raise argue that public service shouldn’t be a full-time job. But when only the wealthy can afford to serve, the result is a government that doesn’t reflect the people, especially not poor and working-class communities, rural voters, or communities of color. It reflects wealth and entrenched power.

The lawsuit challenging South Carolina’s pay raise might succeed on a legal technicality. But that shouldn’t distract from the truth: if we want a more just, representative democracy in the South, we need to tear down the financial barriers that keep people out. Raising legislative pay is about more than fairness—it’s about breaking the remnants of a system built on exclusion. It’s about acknowledging that power should belong to all of us, not just those who can afford to govern for free.

As justice reform advocate Glenn E. Martin once said, “Those closest to the problem are closest to the solution, but furthest from power and resources.” Nowhere is that more true than in South Carolina politics. When wealthy lawmakers dominate the legislature, the problems that everyday people face get ignored, delayed, or misunderstood entirely.

That’s why the pay structure matters. It’s not just about money; it’s about whose voice gets heard in the rooms where decisions are made. In communities across our state, people are crying out for help on real, tangible issues: affordable childcare, elder care for aging parents, after-school programs to keep kids off the streets, access to safe transportation, job opportunities for returning citizens, and protection from both gangs and police violence. Add to that the crushing cost of rent and the everyday tax of being poor in America—and it’s clear these aren’t theoretical problems. They’re lived realities.

In 2023, I met Cheryl Moore in Denmark, South Carolina, while she was standing in line to pay her water bill. She was upset because her bill was $50 more than usual. She calmly explained to the young woman behind the glass that even an extra $25 from her fixed income meant she’d have to go without three packs of meat that month. That’s three meals. 

If Cheryl wanted to serve in the legislature to fight for people like herself, she couldn’t afford to. That’s the true cost of keeping legislative pay low. It’s a cost we all bear when the people with the solutions are locked out of the system designed to solve them.

If we’re serious about equity, about repairing the wounds of history, and about building a democracy that truly serves the people, then we must ensure that everyday people can afford to serve.