Pull up a rocking chair, friend, because South Carolina is about to have itself an election, and there’s no better place to talk about it than the porch — where the breeze still pretends to care about us and the humidity is at least polite enough to wait until sundown before attacking.
For almost ten years, Henry McMaster has been our Governor — strolling, not sprinting, through public service like a gentleman who knows the biscuits aren’t going anywhere. Henry has the temperament of a man who could announce a hurricane while petting an English Bulldog and still make you feel calmer afterward.
And we will miss him. That Fog Horn Leghorn drawl.
That white-gray hair flip that could withstand wind, rain, and Senate filibusters. Peggy’s charm. And those Bulldogs — always parked at Henry’s feet like chubby little security guards, staring at everyone like, “Are y’all sure this is the government?”
But here we are, turning the page. And honey, this next chapter looks like somebody dumped all kinds of characters into the gubernatorial gumbo and said, “Good luck tasting your way through that.”
What South Carolinians Want (Besides a Cold Front)
We want calm.
We want truth.
We want leadership that doesn’t involve shouting, stomping, or blaming the nearest inanimate object.
We don’t want someone acting like they’re auditioning for a cable news role. We don’t want someone who blames the whole room when the problem is sitting right in their chair.
And we definitely don’t want anyone doing interpretive dance around the word responsibility.
Give us honesty, spoken in indoor voices.
Give us clarity, without the footnotes.
Give us someone who can say, “My bad,” without requiring 14 press releases and a prayer circle.
Now for the Candidates — and Lord, What a Cast
Picture a family reunion where everybody’s trying to explain why they should be in charge of the grill.
Pamela Evette
Pamela shows up with a clipboard, a plan, and probably a cooler full of snacks alphabetized by flavor. Businesslike, polished, steady. The kind of woman who could run a board meeting, direct traffic, and fold napkins into swans, all while keeping her voice under 60 decibels.
Jermaine Johnson
Jermaine is 6’7″, so you see him coming before the mosquitos do. He’s thoughtful, approachable, smart, and grounded — the opposite of a political peacock. If calm leadership had a spokesperson, it’d look suspiciously like him.
Ralph Norman
Ralph has been in politics long enough to qualify for frequent-flyer upgrades to the front row of every committee room. You always know where he stands. He doesn’t tiptoe, he doesn’t whisper, and he does not — under any circumstances — do “subtle.”
Josh Kimbrell
Josh is that enthusiastic cousin who shows up early and starts explaining economic theory before he even sits down. Media-savvy, fast-talking, energetic. You’re not always sure if he’s in the race, almost in the race, or thinking about getting back in the race, but he’s definitely talking about it.
Alan Wilson
Alan has been Attorney General since phones still had home buttons, and now he’s officially running for Governor. He knows the legal system like some folks know the Waffle House menu. But this new job? Whole different kind of rodeo. He’s out of the AG lane and trying out the front-runner boots — and we’ll all be watching to see whether they blister or fit.
Nancy Mace
Oh, Nancy. She arrives like a firecracker in heels. She is running for Governor, and rumor has it she may vault out of Congress entirely to run faster. Full of vim, vigor, volume, and a dash of chaos, like someone threw Red Bull at a campaign poster. At one time, she truly could’ve been a strong Governor. But you cannot blame the entire galaxy for your mistakes, and you cannot take credit for the neighbor’s casserole. South Carolinians notice things like that.
If she stays in, expect fireworks. The question is:
Do voters want fireworks… or blessed silence?
So Where Does All This Leave Us?
Right here on the porch, rocking slowly, watching the sun settle behind the pines, and wondering which one of these characters we want signing the paperwork next year.
Do we want calm?
Do we want energy?
Do we want experience?
Do we want someone who doesn’t break into a sweat when the microphone turns on?
Do we want someone who can say “good morning” without starting an argument?
Next year, we get to decide.
One thing we don’t need: a circus.
One thing we don’t want: chaos.
And one thing we absolutely refuse to accept: someone telling us the dog ate their homework when the dog is clearly asleep on the porch.
South Carolina is turning the page.
And the next line?
That’s up to the porch-sitters, biscuit-makers, and ballot-casters from the mountains to the marsh.
While I Breathe, I Hope
WHILE I BREATHE 