Teaching the Basics: Right and Wrong

By Chaquita Williams

 

                “What can I do to help?” she asked during the Depression of the Thirties, the civil rights movement of the Sixties and the desegregation of the Seventies.

                Thelma Vivian Grant Richardson, 82, has spent a lifetime trying to answer her own question.

                 For Richardson, the answer came through years of preparation then progress and philanthropy.    

                Even as a teenager, Richardson believed she must go a step further than her generation. “Society told me that my generation was doomed, so I wanted to prove them wrong.”

                Richardson was raised in Moncks Corner, S.C., when the South was segregated. From the 1870s to the 1960s, local and state Jim Crow laws mandated a “separate but equal” standing for African-Americans. In South Carolina, schools, restaurants, restrooms, transportation systems, parks, beaches, even the State Fair were segregated, which often meant services were available to whites but not to blacks.

                Used books in rundown schools, no service at the lunch counter, unsanitary bathrooms, and a back seat on the bus meant neither treatment nor opportunities were equal for black Americans.

                Richardson says of the Jim Crow era, “Blacks were treated as less than nothing. America was not a place for hope. It was a place for helplessness.         

                “At that time, I thought that the best way to better society and the South was to teach. Teaching was what allowed me to ask, ‘Why is this thing the way it is?’ and ‘How can I make it better?’” says Richardson.

She remembers teaching as a profession that African-Americans commonly chose. “I didn’t feel as if it was the only thing I could do. I felt like it was something I had to do, something I was chosen to do.”

                She attended Berkeley Training High School and recognized her passion for education. “I had a principal who really backed me to the hilt. He really influenced me to go to college. I was just really interested in education,” Richardson said.

                In 1944, Richardson attended the Colored, Normal, Industrial, Agricultural, and Mechanical College of South Carolina (now South Carolina State University). She graduated in 1948, earning an associate degree for teaching in secondary education with a major in English and a minor in social studies. Richardson returned home to Moncks Corner, S.C., where she taught English at Berkeley Training Elementary School and Berkeley Training High School from 1952 to 1962 and at the R.A. Ready School from 1962 to 1967.

                She began teaching at Macedonia Elementary and Middle Schools in 1967. During the summers of 1968 and 1969, she attended the College of Charleston, which first enrolled black students in 1967. There, Richardson earned her teaching certification in elementary education. She retired from teaching in the public school system in 1991.

                Richardson’s sister, Maggie Grant Lawyer, 65, recalls Richardson’s experience as a teacher and mentor. “Thelma was dedicated to becoming the best teacher in Berkeley County. She felt that she had to learn all she could to address all the needs of the students. Thelma always stressed to me that there was more to do in our world. Our world was the segregated South.”

                Richardson’s brother, Willie Grant, Jr., 59, agreed with Lawyer. “My sister was born to be a teacher. She would always come home on her college vacations and tell Maggie and me what she learned. The old girl would always show us ways to write and read properly,” he said.

                Richardson continued to teach her sister and brother lessons.

“She also had a good way of knowing how to do more than teach, though. I think that’s why she went into the shoe repair business with my brother-in-law,” Grant added.

The World as a Classroom

                 “My husband and I thought he could use the skills he learned at college to start the business,” said Richardson.

                Richardson’s husband, Jesse Richardson graduated from Claflin College (now Claflin University) in 1950. After college, he served in the Navy from 1951 to 1955. In 1956, Richardson entered a G.I. program that taught carpentry, painting, and shoe repair. He began his own shoe repair business in 1957.

                “After Jesse finished the G.I. program, we decided to open up a shop in St. Stephens, S.C. We called it Richardson Shoe Repair Shop,” said Richardson.

 “I generally stayed in the shop, but Jesse would go out from time-to-time and talk to passersby so they would come in the store,” she noted. “The community really received Jesse well because he was a people’s person. Both races, black and white, respected him. We knew there was racial stuff going on, and we thought that the business was a sign that progress was on the horizon.”

Richardson’s belief in progress turned into a moment of lost dreams and fragmented promises: “My idea of hope was shaken one night.

                “One night, I guess it was around twelve or one o’clock in the morning, Jesse and I received a phone call. Someone had burned down the shop. We drove over to St. Stephens and saw the kerosene container and the black rag outside the door of the shop. I don’t know what happened.

                “I still ask myself, ‘Who?’ and ‘Why?’”

                While there was no investigation into the arson, the Richardsons decided to reopen.

                “That shop was the only thing we had. But Jesse knew that all wasn’t lost.

                “In about 30 days, he built our shop back. He renewed my spirits,” said Richardson. “We kept our shop until the early 1970s. I was an equal partner with Jesse in the shop and an equal partner with him in marriage until his death.” 

                “Thelma worked really hard with Jesse to keep the shop,” says Grant. “People really admired her for being a leader for women in the community.”

                Lawyer attests to Richardson’s use of her skills. “Thelma had a business head, but she always kept education in mind. She even put some of what she learned in college into church programs.”

Business Tools Meets College Supplies

                 Richardson attends Wesley United Methodist Church in Moncks Corner, SC. She has served on the Wesley mass choir, Sunday school commission, and senior usher board. She is currently the church historian and serves on the stewardess board.

                She often participates in civic programs, such as the annual Black History Day Program, Easter Day Program, Family and Friends Day, and the Emancipation Day Program, held every January 1st.

Emancipation Day is usually celebrated on April 16. On that day in 1862, President Abraham Lincoln signed the Compensated Emancipation Act, which freed more than 3,000 slaves in the District of Columbia. However, slavery did not officially end in the rest of the United States until after the American Civil War, which lasted from 1861 until 1865.

“The church sees Emancipation Day as both a freeing of the slaves and a freeing of society’s shackles. Society still has a way of holding people back, you know. It ranges from education to business to politics,” Richardson says. “On Emancipation Day, I usually recite poetry, and we have a singing program with other churches. This year, we decided to do something different. 

                “We decided to have an Emancipation Day Parade.”

                The parade was held on January 1, 2009. Richardson served as grand marshal. She is the first person to serve in the position.

                The Rev. Lee C. Bines, pastor of Wesley United Methodist Church, chose Richardson as the grand marshal.

                “Ms. Richardson was chosen because no one could have filled her shoes at that moment. As an active member of Wesley, she has participated in church activities and the community as well,” said Bines. “She is there for any person who needs her input; she tries to make their life easier.

                “Ms. Richardson not only teaches us about life but leads us spiritually and mentally to a higher level,” he said.

“So, the choice for grand marshal was clear,” he continued.

                At the Emancipation Day Parade, the church collected money for Richardson in honor of her 52 years of service to the church. She refused to take the money.

                “I didn’t want to take the money for my use,” said Richardson. “I knew it could be put to better use.

“For years, I wanted to start a scholarship fund for students in the community. I got my chance that day,” she added.

That day, the Wesley congregation started the Thelma Richardson Scholarship Fund. The fund will annually award ten high school seniors college scholarships.

“We still haven’t decided how much money each student will receive. The program is just beginning, but we have great plans for these students,” she said. “I don’t want them to have to worry about money for college like I did.

“My hope is to get the scholarship in full effect by August of this year,” she continued. “I will do whatever I can to help my community. I believe that help starts with building foot soldiers to fight the battles of the future.”

“Thelma has shown great versatility throughout her life,” said Lawyer.

“She is an example for all ages.”

Williams is a student at Columbia College, majoring in English with an emphasis in business and professional writing.

Dying Promises

By: Sara O’Lena

Finally, I have a few minutes with my mom, just me and her. Well… me, her, and the night-shift nurse constantly walking in and out of the hospital room, checking her oxygen level, her blood pressure, her temperature, changing her IV every half an hour as it runs out of pain meds.

My mom can’t open her eyes. She can’t respond to me. She can’t even nod her head to let me know that she knows I’m there. I stroke her hands as I lie next to her on the twin bed of room 513. Her hands are as cold as ice. They look like the hands of someone in a casket –they are wrinkly, pale, clammy, and hollowed out.

In two months I’m supposed to be starting my senior year of college, thirteen hours away in South Carolina. Just four months ago I had my first legal drink. Just five months ago I experienced my first heart break. Just seven months ago my mom told me she was dying. Just eighteen months ago I was home on fall break for my mom’s 50^th birthday party.

My mom won’t seen any of her three children find the love of their lives, have children, buy homes, or even graduate from college.

I know this is my last chance to talk to her, to tell her all those things I have to say now.

“Now? I really have to do this now?” I think.

I am watching my mother die. I smell rubbing alcohol and disgusting hospital cafeteria food. I am crying, just like I did on December 26, 2007 when my mom told me she only had six months to live.

The tears fall harder and harder as I think about how I will feel when I graduate from college and look into the crowd and don’t see my mother, or how I will feel as I say “I do” without the mother of the bride sitting in the front row.

Stop thinking and get to talking! I’m running out of time.

I try to maintain my composure, but my voice cracks…

“…Mom, you are making this awfully difficult, you know…”

“How am I supposed to relay to your grandchildren how amazing you are? How am I going to show them that you are my best friend?”

“How can I help them realize that you are the greatest woman I have even known?”

“How am I going to keep Dad going?”

“How am I going to finish school?”

“Mom, don’t worry. I promise you I will finish school, just as you want me to. I will go back to South Carolina. I will graduate, and I will go to grad school.”

I squeeze her hands tighter and talk louder as her oxygen hisses and tears fall from my cheeks onto the bed sheet.

“Oh, and I’ll make sure that stubborn twin of a brother I have finishes, too! I promise to take care of Dad and the boys the best I can.”

“I will keep in touch with Amy because I know you guys have been best friends for over 25 years.”

“I will make sure dad doesn’t get rid of any of the cats. I will help him keep the house clean, pay the bills, and go grocery shopping- and not just for junk food!”

“Oh, and mom, if you are waiting for me to say goodbye so that you can leave this Earth, it’s not going to happen.”

I sit upright so I can see her face.

“I will say that I love you more than anything ever, I will say that I am extremely proud of you for the battle you have continually fought, I will say that I will try to stay strong, but I will not say goodbye.”

“Instead I’ll say I’ll see you later, because Mom, I will see you later.”

Twenty-seven hours later she is gone.

It seems instantaneous.

I am motherless.

The tears came when she was gone, but so did the obligations. Suddenly, I am a mother figure to my brothers and a partner figure to my dad.

My dad calls the funeral home, but I make the dreaded phone calls, the “the time has come” phone calls. I call my friends. I call my mom’s best friend Amy. I call my mom’s mom. I call my mom’s brothers and sister. I call everyone.

After the calls, I gather the photos for the boards to be displayed at the funeral home. I look for my mom’s funeral arrangements in her hidden diary back home. I plan the food and beverages the family need during the services, and contact the church, and help dad pick out the songs and church readings.

The ordering of the headstone, the wake, the funeral service, and the luncheon afterward pass by just as quickly as my mom’s last months.

Now, to the inherited to-do-list.

I inherited a “to-do” list.

I promised my mom I would go back to school. I planned to, just not six states away. Not right away at least.

I enroll at the community college in my hometown so I can be with my dad and closer to my brothers.

Whenever I start to feel overwhelmed, I feel her presence, not physically with me in the room, but within me. My mom is here. I can feel her. She always knew when something was wrong or when I was stressed. She’s still here to help. I am not alone.

My dad and I take over the bills and start an on-line banking system that we both can follow. We take death certificates to the bank, send them to life insurance companies, and bring them to the car insurance office.

It feels like we were erasing her. But I know, in the subtlest ways, she is still with me.

Photos of us together line my dresser. Cards she had given me hang on the turquoise wall of my bedroom. And sometimes, as crazy as it sounds, I even feel as if she is selecting the songs that play on my iPod.

“In My Daughter’s Eyes” by Martina McBride. “Again?! Mom, I know! I know that you are still here, but do you have to play it every time I put my iPod on shuffle?!” I laugh aloud.

I travel with my dad and my twin brother, Luke, to Luke’s college to check in with the financial aid office and residence life. Normally, I would be in South Carolina moving into my own dorm room, worrying about my own student loans, not taking care of my brother’s schooling! But this is what she would be doing, and if I can be anything like her, I’ll take it.

Classes begin at my temporary school. Every night that I have homework I also have dishes to do, dinner to cook, a floor to sweep, cats to feed, a brother to check in with, and a dad to comfort and care for.

Through it all I keep those lyrics in mind… “When I’m gone I hope you see how happy she made me. For I’ll be there in my daughter’s eyes.”

As much as I think about being away in sunny and warm South Carolina rather than cold and snowy Illinois, I know just by looking at pictures of my mom I am making her proud.

Six months pass rapidly. Homework, tests, and midterms come and go. Bills paid, groceries bought, the cats fed, Luke checked up on.

Promises are kept.

At midterm I decide to follow up on one of my most important promises to my mom — finishing school. Of course I have been taking general education classes at the community college, but I need to go back to South Carolina. I need to be a Columbia College woman again. I need to graduate sooner rather than later.

Again, I make some phone calls. But this time they aren’t so dreaded. This time I call my academic advisors, the dean of students, and the registrar. My schedule is put into place, my housing deposit is made, and my room slowly fills with boxes and baskets ready to be packed.

Although I constantly worry about leaving my dad or being far away from Luke, I know I have to go. For myself and for my mom. If she were still alive I would be at Columbia College, and since she is alive within me, I will be at Columbia College.

And here I sit in my dorm room of Asbury Hall on the campus of Columbia College in South Carolina. I’ve already talked to Luke today, he’s doing well. My dad will call me in exactly 26 minutes to discuss finances, how he is doing, and how tired he is of the five cats that are still with him at home.

Next to me is a coffee mug with my mom’s photo on it. In front of me are those pictures that lined my dresser back home. To my left are the cards that hung on my turquoise wall, but now they are on my rainbow colored cork board. And what do I hear in the distance… “for I’ll be there in my daughter’s eyes…”

Define Feminism …

By: Lauren Bach

 

“Which one are you? A slut? Or a lesbian?”

That was the first question on a guy’s mind when he met a SVA girl. I wore the SVA uniform – white blouse, green plaid pleated skirt, knee-high socks – and by the end of my four years, I knew the reputation that came with it.

“Which one are you? Slut or lesbian?” I’ll never forget the day I heard that question for the first time; I’ll never forget because it was the day that I became a feminist.

The F-Word

SVA is a small, private high school, or “academy for girls,” surrounded by oak trees, historic monuments, and charming gingerbread houses in downtown Savannah, Georgia.

Quite the setting for my introduction to the f-word: feminism.

I am 14 years old and too ridiculously naïve and optimistic to believe that sexism still exists. I have survived two weeks of freshman year. The hardest part of adjusting to SVA has not been making new friends or remembering my class schedule; it’s been not getting lost. You see, SVA was founded in 1845 and designed in the Greek Revival style, a really fancy name for the confusing maze of corridors and staircases that make up the three-story main building.

By some miracle, I have conquered that labyrinth. So far, I love all my classes and teachers. I’m even filling up on extracurriculars, the choir and the volleyball team. High school is turning out to be everything I dreamed it would be.

You could say that I’m floating on cloud nine as I sit in the gym after school, waiting for volleyball practice to start. Some of the varsity girls are talking about BC football games. BC is a military school for boys and our brother school. I have yet to attend a BC football game.

“You know what they say about SVA girls, don’t you?” says one of the senior players. This is a rhetorical question, but I’m curious.

“No. What?” I ask innocently because I haven’t yet developed insecurities about being out of “the know.” I will soon.

This girl, a seasoned senior, is reluctant to spoil my naiveté. She answers anyway,
“Most guys think we’re all either sluts or lesbians.”

It’s like telling a little kid that there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. At first, I laugh, that short puff of laughter that typically follows a really bad joke.

And then, I get mad.

“What? Why would they think that?” My voice is high and squeaky. The girl sighs. “They just do. They see our uniforms, and that’s what they think.”

Around me, the conversation carries on, but in my head, I’m thinking:
That’s so stupid. So. Stupid.
Boys are so stupid.
Why do they think that? It’s just so stupid.

I don’t understand. We aren’t more promiscuous than other high school girls. Or more inclined to homosexuality. And our uniforms look nothing like the costumes in Playboy magazine or Britney Spears’ music video. They are frumpy. Practical. Mandatory. And the nuns always check to make sure our skirts touch the floor when we kneel.
Minutes go by. Volleyball practice starts. I hit the ball especially hard today.

Even though it doesn’t make sense to me, I begin to see that our green plaid skirts labeled us the minute we put them on and doomed us to a four-year sentence of objectification and frustrated sexuality.

I know this isn’t right.

By the end of the day, I make an irrevocable decision: I will become a feminist.

Weeks and months pass. I reject every expectation of my gender. I cuss. I belch. I display my bruises and scrapes proudly because I am just as tough as the guys.

I avoid tanning beds and shoe sales and pink cardigans. I refuse to dream about engagements and white weddings. I fashion my own kind of feminism and outlaw all the things I think a decent, self-respecting woman shouldn’t do.

Looking back, I see a reactionary decision, an act of self-defense. This declaration of independence changes my whole world.

X-Ray Vision

I begin to see my classmates differently, to recognize the polarizing effect of those two words – slut or lesbian – on girls I have known since we were 10 years old and still singing Spice Girls’ songs.
Suddenly, we are like superheroes or spies, leading a double life each day.

At school, we are loud, unkempt, and funny. Sometimes we are even intelligent. We have opinions that we aren’t afraid to share. We parade around boldly in our clunky brown suede shoes, also mandatory.

To see us pouring out of the front gates at 3 p.m. is truly magnificent – 500 fresh, makeup-free faces and 1,000 knee-high socks.

We could be an army if we only knew our strength.

But by night, we are a whole different breed. We fuss endlessly over our hair. We pluck and paint our faces. We slap on high heels and giggle more than necessary in our carbon-copy lacy tanks and tight jeans.

We have changed one uniform for another.
I begin to feel a sense of separation. Us becomes them, the enemy, Judases who have betrayed their own sex with a lipsticked kiss and a wink.

I scrutinize them, my classmates and other girls my age, as they strut up to the movie theater or through the mall. To them, the world is a giant catwalk. They swish their ponytails and flip their hair with sideways glances.

I see two girls who have known each other since gymnastic classes in kindergarten; they have shared birthday parties and laughed away hundreds of sleepovers; they are Best Friends for Life, and even at 16 they still have those half-piece hearts tucked away safe in a jewelry box. One look from the BC hunk, and those two girls turn on each other like rabid dogs.

Superwoman

In many ways, my decision to become a feminist is like a vow of chastity. I abstain from all those things I deem sexist. Like football games. And dances. And pearl necklaces.

I judge anyone who indulges in these things. One day after biology class, I even re-organize the food chain and put the male sex at the bottom.

Sophomore year, I sequester myself from what I like to call the “cheerleader cult,” those sinners who read Cosmo like the Bible and get more excited about their boyfriend’s sports games than about their own.

I become an uncompromising superwoman from Venus.

Along with my new identity, I gain new powers. Suddenly, I discover that I can destroy a guy with a raised eyebrow and a few bitter words. I can also decipher the sexual habits of any girl based solely on her shoes and the length of her skirt.

With my little band of outcasts – girls who are too brainy, too tall, too fat, or too weird for the cheerleaders – I eat my lunches far away from the bright yellow cafeteria. We congregate in the dungeon, a cold corridor of gray stone in the bottom floor of the school, my very own fortress of solitude

I feel empowered. And I am. But I’m also a little self-righteous. And aloof. Also, maybe stuck up. And bitchy. The list is endless.

I don’t know it at the time, but I am pigeon-holing myself and my gender just as much as the sexists.

Compromises

Volleyball becomes the outlet for all my angst, a way to be a part of something without conforming to the “cheerleader cult.” Of course, in the years after high school, I will learn that cheerleaders are actually real people. I will even befriend one or two.

I never go to a BC football game, but I do attend a BC play. And find myself a boyfriend. And then a prom dress.

Some people will call me a hypocrite, but wise mothers and mentors will explain that I’m just learning that life is not black and white.

At 21 years old, I know they are right.

I glance at my St. Vincent’s ring while putting on a pink sweater, and I laugh. I wonder what my 14-year-old self would think.

What would she have to say about my skinny-dipping escapades after graduation? About my decision to attend a women’s college? About my three-year abstinence from dating?

I don’t know. All I know are the facts: I’ve been a feminist for seven years. I’ve also flirted with Italian Don Juans, jumped off a waterfall in Costa Rica, danced in the streets of London and Paris, and studied abroad in Wales.

I don’t have my green plaid skirt anymore, but I do have a passport full of stamps, a purple cap and gown, and an eager ballpoint pen.

Does that mean I’ve finally got it all figured out? Not by a long shot.

Have I left behind all my superwoman tendencies? Hardly.

And if you asked me to define feminism right now, would I have the answer?

Well …

How about you ask me again in seven years?

Heavy Soles

By Chaquita Williams

                He bought me those shoes. The shoes were a gift.

                “These shoes will help you get your feet off the ground,” he said.  He bought me a new pair of round toe, patent leather, three-inch heels from Shoe Show for my special day.

That day was May 25, 2005, Graduation Day. He said he was coming.

He didn’t show up.

                On that day, I could hear the forceful clickety clank of the heels, the clap, clap, clap of the crowd, and the throb, thump, throb, thump contraction of my heart as I walked across the stage. The faces in the crowd greeted me with joy and pride.

He wasn’t there.

                At home, I looked at those black, glistening high heels. I placed those shoes amongst the footgear that guarded the walls of my closet. Like this cluttered closet of faded Levi jeans, candy-colored T-shirts, and Sunday best outfits, my heart was jam-packed.

He wasn’t there for my first grade Dads’ Day or my first basketball game.

                Somehow, despite 18 years of disappointments, I had thought those shoes represented the relationship my father and I would now build.

                It’s funny. Gifts can trick us that way. He has always tricked me that way.

A Team of One

                He let me have his basketball the summer before I started junior high school.

                I looked at the round, inflated, brownish-orange ball with apprehension. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked. “I like to watch basketball on TV, but I don’t think I can play.”

                “If you practice hard enough, you could try out for a team one day,” he said.

                My father took the ball from me and ran his fingers across the faded, stenciled Spalding letters. He fixed his eyes on the ball as if he were calculating its circumference.

                “Okay, Dad,” I said. “I’ll play since it’s so important to you.” 

                Every afternoon, I shot free-throws at the shaky, makeshift basketball goal my father made during one of his visits.

                I practiced until the sun hid behind the pillows.

                I practiced until I could no longer hear the bounce, bounce, bounce of the ball.

                I practiced until the rope began to shrivel, like the moss hanging from the trees that surrounded the dirt-covered basketball court.

                I practiced like he told me.

                Every afternoon, I practiced without my father. I made the basketball team like he wanted.

                I even won the Best Offensive Player of the Year Award. I wanted him to see Coach D. present it to me.

                He wasn’t there.

                I told myself that I was okay. It was enough for me just to wear the same jersey number my father wore in high school.

                It’s ironic. He participated on a team in high school. He encouraged the development of his team members.

                Why couldn’t he build good sportsmanship and commit to being on my team?

                Why couldn’t he pick me as the Best Daughter on his team?

                I didn’t want that basketball. 

Standing Alone

            On December 25, 1994, he gave me a silver charm bracelet adorned with a cross, a Bible, and praying hands.

                “You can wear this to the father-daughter dance we’re goin’ to,” he said.

                I got ready for the dance, dolled up in a velvet green, white-laced dress that Mom bought me.

                Mom drove me to the dance and walked with me into the school gymnasium. “Your father will be here soon,” she said. “I’ll wait ‘til he gets here.”

                I looked at the door, waiting to see if he was going to strut in.

He said he was coming. I watched the door every time it opened, wishing it was him.

                I stood against the wall, listening to the giggles of the girls and the chuckles of the dads.

                Mom couldn’t get me to sit down.

“I’ll stand up ‘til he gets here, Ma,” I said. 

He said he was coming.

                He didn’t show up.

                I stood there until the little hand on the clock covered 9 and the big hand covered 12.

                I stood there until the gymnasium had no more girls, no more dads. Just one little girl with a shiny bracelet.

No Room for One More

            On May 25, 2005, Graduation Day, I looked in my closet at the collection of footgear stacked atop each other in boxes.

The round toe, patent leather, three-inch heels were placed in the corner. The basketball lay nestled beside a pair of Air Jordan’s. The sterling bracelet hid in the pink and purple heart-shaped jewelry box my father gave me.

I have no more room for gifts.

Williams is a student at Columbia College, majoring in English with an emphasis in business and professional writing.  

Where are the women in S.C.?

By Pia-Luisa Lenz
Women in South Carolina are special: They live in the only state in the nation with an all-male Senate. Despite the candidacies of U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton and Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, 2008 did not become an extraordinary election year for U.S. women. In South Carolina, for the first time in three decades, no women will serve in the Senate. Women picked up three of 124 seats in the S.C. House; 17 will serve in 2009. But not even one woman will serve in the 46-seat Senate.

For Donna Dewitt, chair of the Southeastern Institute for Women in Politics, the need for women as representatives is based in the fact that “Many times women bring a different perspective to issues. While men may not be as aware of these issues, strong women leaders are instrumental in helping men to understand them.”

Women nationwide made a net gain of one seat in the Senate, bringing the total to 17 women and 83 men, and a net gain of three seats in the House, from 71 to 74 women and 361men of 435 seats, according to the Center for American Women in Politics of the State University of New Jersey.

“The fact that we have no women in the S.C. State Senate tells me that we have regressed a bit in the last 20 years because we have had a woman who was a lieutenant governor, with Nancy Stevenson; we’ve had a woman member of the U.S. House of Representatives, with Liz Patterson; and we have had quite a few women in the State House of Representatives,” says Marcia Beazley. The 66-year-old Columbia resident has always been interested in the progress of women in South Carolina.

However, “2008 was a record, and it managed to get us from 23.7 percent of women serving in state legislatures to 24.2 percent,” says Debbie Walsh, director of the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, N.J.
While women are not represented in the Senate in South Carolina, in New Hampshire women now hold a majority in the state Senate, 13 out of 24 seats. This makes New Hampshire’s Senate the first state legislative body in U.S. history to be majority female.
The S.C. election results beg the question of equity in a state where women represent 51.3 percent of the population, in other words, the majority, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. South Carolina voters have never sent more than three females to the Senate at a time, according to the CAWP.

This time, all three female candidates running for seats in the upper chamber were defeated. Mandy Powers Norrell lost to Republican attorney Mick Mulvaney in York County’s District 16. Margaret Gamble lost to Democratic incumbent Nikki Setzler in Lexington, and Karen Michalik was defeated by Republican incumbent Phil Leventis in Sumter County’s District 35.
“While women continue to actively gain in the role of media and business, statistics indicate a stark contrast between South Carolina and other states in the role women in politics,” says Dewitt.
For her “The lengthy legislative session and lack of availability of political training deter many women from seeking political office in South Carolina, ranking it 50th in the nation in the number of women in elected office.“
Prior to the Election Day loss for women, South Carolina already ranked last among states in terms of women in elected office, according to the Southeastern Institute for Women in Politics.

“Part of the reason we’re not electing as many women to higher positions in South Carolina right now is that we haven’t had very many women–or at least not the right women–running. Running for public office is very expensive, and it’s hard to raise the money to do it, even if you win,” says Beazley.

“If you lose, you can be stuck with quite a lot of debt, and many S.C. women can’t afford that,” says Beazley who has been an active volunteer in campaigns for various local, statewide and national candidates and is an officer in our voting precinct.

In addition, “Many women view politics as a no traditional role for women,“ says Dewitt.

Palin did not win her bid to become the nation’s first female vice president, but many people agree she and Clinton – whose 18 million votes nearly carried her to the top of the 2008 Democratic ticket – are integral to a major shift in the way women are perceived in politics.

Though Beazley sees the importance of women in important political offices, she would not vote for a candidate only because of gender. “I have no idea why anyone voted for Palin. I believe that McCain lost some votes because his choice of Palin was an indication of the kind of person he might select to be in other positions of leadership. Very scary.”

Judy Beazley, Marcia Beazley’s sister-in-law, worked in the Obama campaign office in Columbia, S.C. She says, “The idea that Palin could become president was a frightening possibility to many. I think people only voted for her because she was new, she energized the conservative right, and because they wanted McCain to win. Palin gave no evidence of her ability to listen, compromise and work out bipartisan solutions that might not agree with her conservative values.”

For many women in South Carolina, Palin’s candidacy was no reason to vote for her and U.S. Sen. John McCain, the Republican nominee for president. In fact, women strongly preferred President-Elect Barack Obama, 56 percent, to McCain, with 43 percent. Women’s votes were a significant factor in Obama’s victory, with a sizable gender gap evident, according to an analysis of exit poll data by the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University.

“When Obama was nominated as the Democratic candidate, the Republican nominee selected a woman as his vice presidential running mate to try to pick up some of the votes from women who had backed Hillary Clinton,” says Marcia Beazley.

She observes that many Clinton supporters realized, that Palin did not have the same values and interests and experience as Clinton. “In fact, they were at opposite points on most issues. And she was not ready to be in a high level position of leadership.”

But for Dewitt, Palin’s nomination was an important step for women in the United States, “With her nomination, family- and women-related issues were viewed as political issues, in addition to traditional platform issues, indicating a different perspective to campaigning,“ says the chair of the Southeastern Institute for Women in Politics.

Judy Beazley still hopes for a change in the next few years, maybe with the help of Sen. Hillary Clinton, who is expected to be named Obama’s choice as secretary of state. “Clinton’s success makes her an important role model. And also in South Carolina, the potential for an increase in the numbers of women in leadership positions in definitely exists.”

“Women are natural leaders in their homes and workplaces. In the future we have to make recruitment, mentoring and training opportunities available to assist women in transitioning their power to politics,“ says Dewitt.

Pia-Luisa Lenz is an exchange student from Germany at Columbia College. She is majoring in English at Columbia College, a private liberal women’s art college in South Carolina.

S.C. young adults imagine Obama’s presidency

By Maresa Whitehead

 

South Carolina young adults are thinking about President-Elect Barack Obama’s first term. 

Two weeks after Election Day, Americans have shifted their focus from guessing the election’s outcome to forecasting Obama’s presidency.  During the campaign, Obama made promises regarding various issues, as do all political candidates.  Now, as he begins his transition into the White House, S.C. young adults imagine what Obama’s first term will bring.

 

“I think that the economy is going to do better,” said Katie Brewer, 20, an afterschool counselor at Lexington Leisure Center.

 

Obama will first face stabilizing the economy.  The economic downturn, affecting both businesses and individuals, overshadowed the last weeks of his campaign.  This year, 1.2 million Americans lost their jobs before Nov.  Home foreclosures reached record highs in early 2008 and continue to rise.  Automakers GM, Ford, and Chrysler are preparing to release a plan for the controversial bailout package they hope to receive from the government.

 

Since winning the presidential bid, Obama has spoken about how crucial this matter is.  “The consensus is this: that we have to do whatever it takes to get this economy moving again, that we’re going to have to spend money now to stimulate the economy,” the president-elect said in an interview on 60 Minutes that aired Nov. 16.

 

“The most important thing is that we avoid a deepening recession,” said Obama.

 

Obama plans to push for an economic stimulus package shortly after taking office on Jan. 20.  This fact brings hope to some young South Carolinians, but others still aren’t sure what to expect.

 

“I do think that his policies are really good, but I also think that it’s going to eliminate the middle class and make the rich richer and the poor poorer,” said Brewer.

 

“The economy is always going to go up and down, but we need to understand why it’s happening.  Hopefully, he’ll be able to resolve some things, but it won’t take just one person,” said Larisa Daly, a 20-year-old psychology major at USC.

 

The economy, while foremost in people’s minds, is not the only issue young adults are pondering.  Daly is also concerned about America’s foreign relations.

 

“I think he’s going to get America back in good standing with the rest of the world.  He’s going to let America be seen as a country that makes history instead of a country that gets involved in other countries’ business,” said Daly. 

“I also think he’s going to shift the focus off of Iraq and onto Afghanistan, where it should have been eight years ago,” said Daly, referring to the Iraq War.

 

But Brewer has a different opinion.  “Whenever we pull out of Iraq, a lot of bad stuff is going to happen in the Middle East.  It’s going to create chaos,” said Brewer.

 

Still, Brewer has a certain optimism about the situation.  “I am a firm believer that the fighting part of the war is close to being over.  They’re doing some amazing stuff over there—trying to rebuild—and we can’t just pull out.  If you are halfway through building a structure you can’t just leave it, or it will collapse.”

 

Morgan Brown, a 23-year-old Lexington resident on hiatus from Midlands Tech, concurs.  “We aren’t going to be able to pull out completely yet, but if we can minimize our forces, then it will be a step in the right direction,” he said.

 

Another big issue on the minds of these Midlands residents is health care.  “I don’t think he’s going to pass universal health care like he’s talking about,” said Brewer. 

“Even if it does work out, I don’t think it’s going to last—Again, it’s great in theory, but it doesn’t work.  First of all, I don’t think Congress is going to let him do it.  Second, I don’t really trust him to follow through,” continued Brewer.

 

But Brewer also knows that may not be entirely Obama’s fault.  “It’s one of the smaller issues of his platform, and I just don’t think he’s going to focus on that as much as other stuff, like the economy,” Brewer said.

 

Maresa Whitehead, a 22-year-old senior at Columbia College, will attend graduate school for creative writing.  She plans to teach at the college level and publish her own work on the side.

Facebook For President

By Cassey Williams

“Obama is my homeboy,” states a piece of flair, an application of random sayings and pictures that can be posted on a user’s profile page on Facebook, a social networking website used by over 50 million people, according to Wikipedia.

The amount of young people using these types of sites, between the ages of 18 to 29, was up to 67 percent during the election. Of those users, 27 percent used these social networking sites to find out information on the election, according to the Pew Research Center.

The candidates took notice of this, creating their own profile pages. The Facebook page of U.S. Sen. John McCain, the former Republican presidential nominee, peaked around  600,000 friends, while President-elect Barack Obama’s page acquired more than three million, a clear indication of the youth following he gained during the campaign season.

So just how big an effect did the Internet have on this election?

 “It made all the difference. I believe it made a big difference on the social websites such as Myspace and Facebook because people could voice their opinions freely to others that were not as informed about the election,” said Kristin Kirby, 20, a full-time student at Columbia College.

Alex Barcelo, 20, agreed. He said, “More and more people are on the Internet and there is a larger group of young voters who use the Internet.” Barcelo attends Midlands Technical College.

Erin Ringer, 20, believes that this Internet revolution had a lot to do with Barack Obama’s win. “He was able to attract many young voters via the Internet,” she said. Ringer is a student at the College of Charleston.

Even young Facebook users who did not vote for Barack Obama saw the impact that these social networking sites had on his election.

Kriby, a McCain supporter, said, “I think the Internet helped Obama win because all the young college students who agreed with his policies were able to unite online and voice their opinions for him.”

Barcelo, also a McCain supporter, agrees that Obama “won a huge majority of the youth vote,” and admits that he personally read election news “online rather than in print.”

Barcelo added that McCain’s loss was partly due to the fact that “he really didn’t apply himself to attracting young voters.”

Claire Hite, 20, a student at the College of Charleston said, “Young voters were more aware of what was going on in this election because of the Internet.”

Facebook users around the state are aware of the implications of this technological revolution. The instances of voters using the Internet to gather information on the candidates has doubled since the 2004 election, in all age groups, and it does not seem to be slowing down, according to Pew.

The youth vote turnout was a major factor in this election and in Obama’s victory. According to the Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement, between 49 and 50 percent of eligible voters 18-20 showed up at the polls. His attempts to reach young voters through the internet proved to be a successful move.

Kirby summed it up best: “I read more online because it was easier to access.”

Why Did They Vote?

Voters stormed the polls in record numbers not seen in 100 years. What compelled some of South Carolina’s voters to brave the long lines and waits, as long as three or four hours for some?

Bobby Snuffer, 34, a deputy for the Lexington County Sheriff’s Department, said it’s important to vote because “this country has survived for many years, through many battles, because the people within this country have stood united, continued the morals and values taught, and have elected one person every four years to continue our success.”

“However, if the people of the United States choose the wrong president, then all that we’ve created will crumble,” Snuffer added.

Snuffer, who is a public employee, noted that, “These comments are solely my opinion and are not influenced by others.”

Renea Williams, 41, summed it up by saying, “I vote because it is my right.” Williams is a school photographer for Strawbridge Studios.

Robbin Wardlaw, 34, an English teacher at Ridge View High School, said she votes in order to better “the economy and education reform.”

Wardlaw said she typically votes “by candidate, sometimes Republican and sometimes Democrat.”

Snuffer has a similar method. He said, “I base my vote by the attempts and accomplishments through the political years conducted by the candidates.”

Williams said that she simply “looks at the issues.”

Snuffer believed that U.S. Sen. John McCain was the best candidate because, “He has served in our armed forces, has worked his way up the political chain for the people, by the people. He stands to the meaning of our country. He’s not racist, and his past accomplishments reveal he can strengthen our country and not work against it.”

Williams is an business and professional writing major at Columbia College.

 

Republican Women Consider Sarah Palin

By Cassey Williams

Sixty percent of American women younger than 50 said they would not vote for Sarah Palin. Some of South Carolina’s young Republican women agree, while are still standing strong in their support of Palin.

In late October three young Republican women spoke about how they were feeling about the election. More specifically, they spoke about how they felt about John McCain’s choice of running mate Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska.

Two  voted for the McCain-Palin ticket, while the third was set on voting for the Obama-Biden ticket, despite her Republican background.

Throughout the country, the lingering question for Republicans is what, or perhaps who, lost this election for McCain. Could Sarah Palin’s inexperience and interview botching be at fault?

Brittany Brunson, 20, thinks it had something to do with Palin.

 “She lost votes for McCain, because she is inexperienced and says dumb things,” said Brunson who is a junior at USC.

Hannah Anderson, 18, a McCain supporter, has similar notions. She said, “I think she lost him votes with her behavior before the election.”

Courtney Epting, 20, also a junior at USC, stuck behind her original belief that Palin would make a good vice-president.

Epting doesn’t blame McCain’s loss on Palin, but rather the fact that, “McCain did not have the same following as Obama from the beginning.”

“If anything, she may have helped him gain voters just because of her sex,” Epting added.

Brunson, an Obama supporter from the beginning said, “Yes, I’m happy how the election turned out. I think Obama will be an amazing president.”

Anderson said she, too, is happy with the election and thinks “Obama will do a good job as president.”

Epting, on the other hand, said, “The election did not turn out the way I had hoped, but I’m not disheartened about it.”

Williams is a business and professional writing major at Columbia College.

Obama 2.0

This is a continuation of Election 2.0.

—

President-Elect Barack Obama in particular utilized the Internet’s strengths – its global audience, its 24/7 immediacy, its ability to spread information virally – to help further his campaign.

“Obama capitalized on connecting to younger voters by using technology. McCain failed miserably at using technological tools,” said S.C. political blogger Jennifer Read.

“Obama’s campaign used the Internet to level the playing field. They registered new voters, recruited volunteers and used the Internet to bring people to the campaign who had never been involved before,” said John O’Connor, a political reporter for The State newspaper.

He added, “Obama made the best use of Facebook and other networking sites to keep in touch with die-hards and newcomers. Then they used that information, and e-mails, to constantly tap those people for small campaign donations.”

Even after his successful campaign, Obama continues to use the Internet as an outreach tool for citizen involvement. His transition team website www.change.gov, gives readers a constant feed of news and addresses agenda points to be tackled after his inauguration.

Tammy Stokes, S.C. political blogger, is thrilled by the site. “It’s fantastic. He immediately reached out to educate voters about his plans. It offers transparency and planning that we’ve not seen in a while. I think citizens will love that.”

But blogger Earl Capps sees no difference between it and any other transition site. “It’s not intended for long-term use, only to separate the incoming administration from the current one. Separating the transition team from the current administration is pretty standard practice.”

Obama has embraced the Internet full-force. The president-elect plans to release videos on YouTube to address the nation. These clips harken back to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fireside chats. As The Washington Post’s The Clickocracy blog put it, “The White House has gone YouTube.”

Brooks is an English major and art minor at Columbia College. Graphic design and linguistics are two of her passions.