Jarvis McKenzie says he was waiting at the edge of his neighborhood before dawn for a ride to work on July 24 when a white man in a car grabbed a rifle, fired through the open window and shouted, “you better get running, boy!” McKenzie told his story a month after the shooting as renewed attention focuses on South Carolina’s lack of a statewide hate crime law.
The shooter faces an assault and battery of a high and aggravated nature charge and could face up to 20 years in prison if convicted. But the only charge tied specifically to bias in Richland County came under a local hate crime ordinance, a misdemeanor that carries a maximum sentence of a month behind bars. South Carolina and Wyoming are the only two states without their own hate crime statutes.
McKenzie said the confrontation left him and his family shaken. “I feel like somebody is watching me. I feel like I'm being followed,” he said, describing ongoing uneasiness every time he leaves home. His attorney, Tyler Bailey, said the absence of a statewide law sends a dangerous signal: “The subliminal message that says if you’re racist and you want to commit a crime and target somebody for their race, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation or whatever it is you can do it here.”
Pressure to enact a state hate crime law has built over a decade following the 2015 massacre at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, when nine Black worshippers were killed. After a summer of racial unrest in 2020, business leaders made passage a priority and the South Carolina House approved a version of the measure in 2021. Despite support from some Republicans, the proposal has repeatedly stalled in the state Senate, where leaders have kept it off the calendar on procedural grounds.
Senate Majority Leader Shane Massey has argued that hate crime legislation can deepen divisions and that existing state laws already allow judges to impose maximum sentences for violent offenses. “The problem right now is there is a number of people who think that not only is it feel good legislation, but it is bad legislation,” Massey said on the Senate floor in May 2023. Gov. Henry McMaster, a former prosecutor, has expressed similar reservations, saying he understands local ordinances but fears the challenges that come with trying to discern motive or policing speech.
Supporters of a statewide law counter that federal statutes are not a full substitute. Federal officials have limited resources and jurisdictional constraints, including restrictions on prosecuting juveniles, and decisions to pursue federal charges are made in Washington, D.C., rather than locally. Richland County Sheriff Leon Lott, who pushed for the county ordinance, said local authorities need a clearer tool to address crimes motivated by bias. “It’s common sense. We’re making something very simple complicated,” Lott said.
About two dozen South Carolina local governments have adopted their own hate crime ordinances in recent years in an effort to build momentum. But those local measures are constrained to misdemeanors and short sentences, leaving advocates to press the Senate for a bill that would add enhanced penalties—potentially years to existing sentences—for violent crimes driven by race, religion, sexual orientation, gender, or ethnicity.
Democrats in the Senate have expressed frustration that other proposals—ranging from stiffer penalties for attacks on health care workers to protections for police animals—have moved forward while hate crime legislation remains dormant. Supporters say Republican leadership keeps the measure buried because they fear procedural votes would allow it to advance despite backing from moderates in their own party.
Business groups, survivors of racial violence and civil rights advocates have made passing a hate crime law a priority in recent sessions. They say the absence of statewide protections undermines public safety and tacitly emboldens extremists. Opponents counter that existing criminal statutes suffice and caution against the legal and evidentiary challenges of proving motive.
In the wake of the July shooting, McKenzie’s experience has become another focal point in the debate. While prosecutors pursue the felony assault charge, the misdemeanor hate crime filing under the county ordinance marks the first time the local law has been used in connection with surveillance footage showing the shooter emerge from his vehicle, point a rifle and fire toward McKenzie’s car before driving into the neighborhood.
Law enforcement officials say state-level statutes would allow prosecutors greater flexibility to seek enhanced penalties in clear cases of bias-motivated violence. Critics maintain that federal law remains a backstop and that state action risks unintended consequences. For now, advocates continue to urge the South Carolina Senate to hold a vote and give voters and victims a definitive answer on whether the state will add bias-driven enhancements to its criminal code.
McKenzie said the shooting has altered his day-to-day life and his sense of safety. “It’s heartbreaking to know that I get up every morning. I stand there not knowing if he had seen me before,” he said. The debate over whether the state will formally recognize and punish bias-motivated crimes is likely to continue as lawmakers weigh legal, political and social implications ahead of future legislative sessions.