by Rose Miller
Underneath your palmetto fronds
you wait,
a heart that has roots imprinted in it
in red clay, in blue rivers,
in sands that remember every step...
Indigenous people, the enslaved,
immigrants in search of hope,
pupils carrying weighted backpacks,
heavy with hope.
The question is:
How do we make South Carolina better?
The answer is not one bill,
not one law,
not one leader waving a flag.
It is many hands,
many voices,
braided like sweetgrass baskets,
each reed, a little stronger when bound.
We begin with the children.
In schools where paint flakes from walls,
teachers creating lesson plans so intricately,
buying supplies from pockets already frayed.
Better to respect them,
to compensate them greater,
to restore teaching to the noble act that it can be.
It is science classrooms in every school,
libraries open after evening hours,
arts programs bringing color to every county.
It is a child in Allendale
who has an equal chance as a child in Charleston,
not with “luck,”
but because fairness was and should be the state’s decision.
School isn’t an expense.
It’s a seed,
and when properly sown,
it bears forests of imagination,
fields of leaders—
an orchard of promise,
a pillar of hope.
But children can’t grow
if the ground that they stand on is unstable.
And what of health?
Too often it’s a long ride:
a waiting list,
a pharmacy out of reach.
In rural counties,
families cobble together care
with fragments of resources.
Improvement means clinics on every corner,
mental health care with no stigma,
Trained and supported nurses,
hospitals that don’t shut down because profits ran dry.
It means remembering that health is not a privilege.
It is breath,
it is beating hearts,
it is the right of every resident,
no matter their income,
their race,
their geography.
Health is more than medicine.
It is the community itself.
It is the farmers market in Greenville,
the Gullah singing on the Lowcountry,
the laughter echoing from porches
where neighbors gather and pour sweet tea with tales.
Improvement is founded on that bond,
not destroyed by breakdown.
It is internet that stretches
out to even the most distant farm road,
so no student is left behind
because their home is pierced with isolation.
It means valuing small towns
as cities,
valuing innovators
as much as multinationals.
Community is the state’s immune system,
and unity is the oldest medicine we have.
But we must look in the mirror.
South Carolina bears scars.
It remembers chains and cotton fields,
separate but equal schools,
voices silenced for speaking out of turn.
To heal more,
We cannot bury these facts in a grave.
We must reckon with them.
History will not chain us if we are prepared to use it.
It is a compass,
indicating where not to tread again.
Teach it openly.
Sing it truthfully.
Teach the stories in schoolrooms,
in courthouses,
at family reunions,
until children understand
progress is not denial,
but strength to create
a future worthy of the sacrifices of yesterday.
Progress requires economy too,
but not that which leaves others behind.
Progress lies with the farmers who coax food from unyielding earth,
the garment workers, the craftsmen.
The spark of innovation in tech centers,
bring in more research centers,
nurture small businesses in towns
and highways neglected.
A strong state does not place all its hope
in tourist brochures.
It provides opportunity in each line of work,
so young men and women do not depart
because “opportunity is elsewhere.”
And yes
There is beauty worth preserving.
From the Blue Ridge Mountains
to Myrtle Beach,
from the Congaree’s serene forests to Charleston’s cobblestone roads,
This state holds treasure.
Improvement is cherishing it,
keeping waters pure,
air clean,
parks clean, wildlife whole.
Tourists may visit to stand amazed,
but citizens are still in search of
a state still worth loving.
So how do we improve South Carolina?
We do it together.
With hands that cultivate gardens in food deserts.
With students creating solar cars.
With legislators penning equitable budgets.
With creatives playing notes,
that tell us where we have been
and where we might go.
Healing is not a magic trick.
It is a decision,
new each day,
like the sun on palmetto fronds,
like surfing against the shore.
The question is not whether we can get better,
but whether we will.
And I believe we will.
Because strength runs deep here.
Because each hurricane faced
was weathered.
Because each injustice resisted
was a brick pulled from the wall.
Because beneath the palmetto,
the roots have always whispered:
rise with me.
Rise and become.
South Carolina,
Your tale is not complete.
It is half-written,
the ink is still wet.
Imperfection is the pen in our hands,
and the conclusion,
The conclusion is ours to inscribe.
About Rose Miller
Rose Miller is a senior at Ridge View High School in Columbia, where Nicole Walker is her AP Research and Magnet Director. The daughter of Ray Miller, Rose enjoys superheroes and the supernatural. She plans to study criminal law and minor in psychology or forensics before working as a criminal profiler.