| Greenville News
About 30 minutes after Governor Henry McMaster’s coronavirus press conference on Friday, another governor broke the news.
An Associated Press reporter revealed that the governor of Alabama had just issued an order to stay at home, making South Carolina the only state in the region without such a broad restriction on daily life. She asked McMaster, why are we resistant?
“South Carolina is unique,” he replied. “Our people are unique, our structure is unique, the industries, the businesses – each state is not like any other state.”
Coronavirus SC updates: Here’s what you need to know
Palmetto State was then one of nine that did not impose an order to stay in a home or shelter there, which would mean that residents could only travel when they needed to. It is a strict measure to protect people from the rapidly spreading respiratory virus that killed 10,000 Americans on Monday.
We were really part of an unusual group in South Carolina – one in ten Americans who didn’t live in these new confines.
But then something happened.
Over the weekend, many people were on the roads, on the water, in stores, said McMaster on Monday afternoon.
Our neglect forced him to make it mandatory to stay at home, leaving only to work and for what we need, he said. Starting at 5 pm on Tuesday, we will face criminal charges if we do not hear.
In the same press conference, health officials announced 2,232 confirmed cases of COVID-19 across the state, representing 183 more cases than on Sunday.
McMaster’s tone was a twist. Since health officials stood by him to confirm the first cases of coronavirus at a press conference on March 7, he consistently said that he believed in our common sense, our ability to do the right thing.
His faith, it seems, was not enough.
‘A certain hostility’ infects a state that likes to be different, says analyst
Our state’s response to the global crisis, from what happened in the governor’s office to the supermarket aisles, reveals a part of who we are, our self-determined spirit shaped by a long and difficult history.
Some call us independent bad words. The challenge may lie only in our DNA.
Map of coronavirus SC: A county-by-county analysis in COVID-19 cases
David Woodard explains it this way: For whatever reason, we like to be different.
We are proud to be different, said the political expert at Clemson University. We were, no matter what happens in the future, forever defined by being the first to shoot the Civil War.
We have a lot in common with the South and the rest of the nation, but “there is a certain savagery, a certain hostility and willingness to fight that infects us and does not seem to be evident with others,” said Woodard.
Marjory Wentworth, the award-winning South Carolina poet who teaches at the College of Charleston, noticed how different the state’s response was from the back seat of her car a few weeks ago.
She drove from Maine to her home in Mount Pleasant. As they passed New Jersey and Pennsylvania, the world emptied. Signs issued coronavirus warnings. The effect was scary, even scary, she said.
They arrived at the South Carolina border, and the world was busy and full again. The COVID-19 highway signs have not yet been installed. This scene was scary and scary too, she said.
We are not immune to disasters or newbies when it comes to responding. Our disasters tend to come as wind, rain and rising water.
Wentworth knows that. She moved to Palmetto state just before Hurricane Hugo hit the coast in 1989.
When hurricanes arrive, we prepare for them together, she noted. They come at once, over hours, maybe days. When we rebuild, we rebuild together.
Pandemics ravage for weeks, perhaps months. COVID-19 looks different because not everyone is affected at the same time, said Wentworth. Not yet.
Even so, we want to help others and we can be informed about what to do, in the interest of the community, but it seems that we must be informed in a particular way.
Speak correctly if you expect us to hear, the ex-congressman says
Bob Inglis explains this – and he knows a little bit about how to reach the South Carolinians. He has represented Greenville and Spartanburg counties in Congress a few times. He is the executive director of a group that promotes free initiative actions on climate change.
“We learn from people who like us … we can’t learn anything from people who don’t like us,” he said.
You can’t sound like the smartest guy or girl in the room, he said. You will turn people off as soon as you open your mouth.
A report from the University of South Carolina’s Social Media Insights lab shows that the state’s social media conversations in the first week of March reflected skepticism, as well as a concern that the media may be exaggerating the threat.
Over time, President Donald Trump has been the biggest influencer, according to Kaitlyn Park, manager of the Insights Lab. Trump works here in part because his approach depends on keeping him in the system, said Inglis.
More: Data predicts peak use of coronavirus resources in South Carolina on April 24
We are a small state, and Inglis said that we tend to be overlooked or feel a little less. We are not usually invited to the party, so we like punters.
To hear traditional authority figures, we have to feel confident, said Inglis raised in Lowcountry, who lives on a farm in Greenville County. They have to look us in the eye, with respect, when they are talking to us.
Inglis emphasized one more point. If someone’s message is “moved by love”, which means it comes from an authentic care setting, South Carolina can just listen. It happened at your home. He was not taking the coronavirus as seriously as he should at first.
A phone call from his son, who works in emergency medicine in San Francisco, changed his mind. Your son is someone that Inglis loves and trusts. Her son did not have to work hard to convince his family to change their lives.
Nowadays, Inglis cleans the mail with alcohol before bringing it home. He cleans his purchases with bleach.
Even ‘Tiger King’ shows that SC spotlights are often not flattering
Visual artist Ment Nelson frames the idea of sending messages a little differently. And it does more than just get to know South Carolina – its people and places are its muses. In his paintings, neighbors fish from the bridge, a man from the fabric rides in his church in the countryside.
These are the scenes of his life and his world, and with his brushstrokes, Nelson demonstrates that we deserve not only to be seen, but shared in all his glory.
Raised in Varnville, he never saw South Carolina represented in the mainstream media. Famous natives he watched did not claim Palmetto’s status. They would skip those lines in their biographies. He understands why. Many black families have left the South in search of more opportunities in larger and more welcoming cities.
And if the mainstream media enlightens us, it seems that it is harsh and unfavorable.
See “Tiger King”, the # 1 show for so many Netflix subscribers who live at home. It is a sensational and wild trip of real crime. One of the main bizarre characters? Doc Antle of Myrtle Beach.
Nelson tweeted a joke about the show. He liked it almost 6,000 times.
All of this negative national representation – or lack of representation – results in something very personal. Some people don’t think that what they see on TV has to do with them.
Talking heads never speak to us. Why should we listen when they tell us what to do?
“I feel like we trust each other more than we trust what we saw on TV,” said Nelson.
Last week, Nelson’s grandmother, the woman who models a baseball cap on her website, died.
A new resident of Travelers Rest, Nelson returned to Varnville, a city of perhaps 2,000 in Lowcountry, from his homegoing services. He posted on Instagram an image of him in his mask, sitting next to empty chairs.
They all struggled not to hug, not to comfort themselves with holding hands or arms outstretched. But they tried to do their part. They kept their distance.
Nelson is trying to do what he can as an artist, reaching tens of thousands of followers on social media. He offered coloring book pages for those with boredom and plenty of coloring pencils.
Creativity will help heal crises, and South Carolina is a creative place, said Nelson.
Taste what we put on the kitchen table. Read the books we wrote. Listen to the songs we sing.
Today, this is a land where promise and repentance have taken root. It produced generations of complex and complicated people.
Yes, we are adapting too
The bonds that bind us all seem tighter than in most places, said Judy Bainbridge. She is a historian and author who worked for Furman University. We keep people from our families, churches and neighborhoods close by, and their voices are often the loudest.
We often trust our perceived community, she said, which can be Facebook friends or friends at Tommy’s Country Ham House or shared listeners from Fox News or a church circle.
Our state is so dispersed, she said, “there may be a special hesitation in following the guidelines from afar.”
Think about what you’ve always seen here. In some quiet places, the fine pines exceed what we have built. Consider the infinite horizon lines connecting our open fields to our seas. Where we can see the stars at night, far from the brightness of the big city.
More people live in Atlanta than in all of our major cities combined. New York City, the current capital of the United States coronavirus, is home to three million more people than in our entire state.
“I think people here feel safe,” said artist and storyteller Natalie Daise, “like it’s not really an impact for us, it’s a big city problem and the news is exaggerating it.”
People also “resist any government oversight, whether federal, state or local,” she said.
Daise is not a native, but has become an ambassador for the Gullah and Lowcountry communities. She and her husband, Ron, make a state encyclopedia for their efforts, which include books, stage performances, albums and television shows like “Gullah Gullah Island”.
Daise wears gloves while shopping. She and her family go to church on Facebook Live. She just made masks for her family.
In the past few days, a neighbor stopped by her backyard and talked about the Chinese conspiracy and overreaction. A young man who worked at Wal-Mart touched Daise’s arm when she went shopping a few days ago. He recognized her from television.
It is the closest she has been to anyone besides her family in a while.
She tries to keep in touch with her out-of-town relatives, especially those in affected areas like New York and Washington, DC
Social media and messaging apps make it easier today. But cell phone service is fickle.
So, Daise has to get in his car and drive a few kilometers, just to find a sign.