THE NIGHT THE GUNS FIRED — AND THE CHURCH MUST REMEMBER
February 8, 1968
Not every important day in history comes with fanfare. Some are remembered only by the families who lost someone and the communities that still feel the pain. February 8 is one of those days—and it deserves to be remembered.
On this day in 1968, in Orangeburg, South Carolina, three young Black men were killed by law enforcement during a peaceful protest. Their names were Samuel Hammond Jr., Henry Smith, and Delano Middleton—all students at South Carolina State College, a historically Black institution. They were unarmed. They were not rioting. They were not attacking anyone. They were protesting segregation.
What happened that night became known as the Orangeburg Massacre—a tragic and little-remembered moment when law enforcement opened fire on student protestors on a college campus, killing three young men and wounding many more. Despite its severity, it has not been widely remembered in American historical memory.
WHAT LED TO THE MASSACRE
In early 1968, a whites-only bowling alley called All-Star Bowling Lane still operated in Orangeburg, defying the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Black students and local activists organized peaceful protests, asking only for access to a public space.
Tensions escalated over several days. On February 8, nearly 200 South Carolina state troopers confronted student demonstrators near the South Carolina State campus. A fire was lit nearby—its origin remains disputed. What is not disputed is what followed.
Without a clear warning, troopers opened fire, shooting into a crowd of students. More than 25 people were wounded, many shot in the back as they fled. Three young men were killed.
No officer was ever convicted.
THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED
The Orangeburg Massacre did not receive the national attention given to similar events. Just ten days later, the nation would focus on unrest in Vietnam and political turmoil elsewhere. Orangeburg faded from headlines—and, for many, from memory.
Even more troubling, the victims themselves were blamed. Protesters were arrested. Activists were prosecuted. The dead were quietly buried. History moved on.
But the Word of God teaches us that silence in the face of injustice is never neutral. It sides with the powerful.
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and sees the blood that cries out from the ground (Genesis 4:10). God does not forget—even when nations do.
A WORD FROM THE CROSS
This massacre occurred just two months before the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It unfolded in the same climate of fear, resistance, and hatred that made King’s preaching on nonviolence so costly—and so necessary.
Jesus tells us that those who take the sword will perish by the sword, yet He also warns that those who ignore injustice will answer for it (Matthew 26:52; Matthew 25:45). The Gospel does not allow us to choose comfort over truth.
On the cross, Christ absorbs violence without returning it. But He does not call it righteous. He exposes it. And He demands that His followers remember.
WHY REMEMBRANCE IS A CHRISTIAN ACT
To remember the Orangeburg Massacre is not to dwell in bitterness. It is to bear witness. Christ calls us to remember the oppressed, to speak for those whose voices were silenced, and to walk humbly in truth (Micah 6:8).
When the Church remembers rightly, it refuses to sanctify injustice with forgetfulness. It insists that reconciliation must be rooted in truth. It declares that Black lives lost to violence while hurting no one are not footnotes—they are neighbors. Fellow Americans. Brothers and sisters.
The Apostle Paul urges believers not to repay evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good (Romans 12:17-21). That good includes memory, truth-telling, and repentance where needed.
A CALL TO THE PRESENT
Today, February 8, is not just a historical marker. It is a summons.
A summons to remember.
A summons to lament.
A summons to follow Christ with eyes open.
If we preach love of enemies—as Jesus commands—we must also tell the truth about the enemies love has confronted. Forgetting Orangeburg does not heal wounds. Naming it might.
The Church must be a place where history is faced, not feared; where justice is pursued, not postponed; where the cross shapes how we remember the dead and how we protect the living.
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Lord of truth and mercy, We remember the lives lost at Orangeburg, the blood spilled, the silence that followed, and the grief that still lingers. Make us a people who remember rightly, love courageously, and walk faithfully in the way of Christ, until justice and peace embrace. Amen.
BDD
