After my last column about the 27 vacant county buildings, someone left a comment that stuck with me.
They didn’t argue about whether the buildings exist.
They asked something sharper: Who are those buildings really for?
One commenter said they closed their business, tore down a quarter-million-dollar building piece by piece, and moved their family out of the county.
I could feel their frustration … frustrated with a system they feel leaves them out because they’re not in the right circles.
Now listen. In a small county, people naturally work with whom they know. Trust matters. Relationships matter. Human bias, even the unintentional kind, exists everywhere. That’s not scandalous. That’s human.
But when opportunity feels out of reach, it doesn’t feel human.
It feels personal.
So if we’re going to activate 27 empty buildings, we have to answer something clearly:
How does the average person get in?
Not the person with the biggest checkbook. Not the person with the deepest connections. Not the person whose family has been here the longest. The person building from scratch.
We have to have a vision for the structure. Without a vision, the buildings will perish. That sounds familiar for a reason.
Twenty-seven empty buildings sitting quietly aren’t just inventory. It’s a test. A test of whether we can connect possibility with process.
Here are a few practical ideas worth exploring:
A clear, public surplus property inventory that’s simple to find and understand. Not buried in paperwork. Transparent pricing. Transparent process.
A surplus property town hall focused specifically on strategy. Put the buildings on the screen. Invite aspiring entrepreneurs, contractors, investors, everyday citizens. Ask: What could these become?
Public-private partnerships and citizen-oriented investment models. What if smaller local investors could pool capital? What if small business seed partnerships helped someone bridge the gap between “great idea” and the bank saying no?
Some people just want a shot at becoming somebody.
And let’s be honest. Everybody wants to be somebody.
Economic development isn’t just ribbon-cuttings and press releases. It’s whether local people believe they have a lane.
Because when people believe they have a lane, they stay.
They build.
They invest.
They mentor.
They don’t tear things down and leave.
Twenty-seven empty buildings don’t discourage me.
It challenges us.
Who are those buildings really for?
And more importantly, how do we make sure the answer includes more people than it excludes?
Now, before I go, next week I’m starting a short series on the U.S. Constitution and the South Carolina Constitution — and how they actually affect you — because it’s hard to win a game when you don’t know the rules, and even harder when you didn’t realize you were in one.
This should be fun, guys.
Kenny Robertson, an educator and comedian, is a native of Ridgeway.