"Have Had Enough”: The Story of Charles Evans and Resistance in Norway, SC

Throughout our history, moments when our people declared “enough is enough” are often overlooked and seldom shared. The narratives and factual accounts of Black resistance rarely appear in textbooks; instead, they live on through oral traditions—just as our ancestors intended. These powerful testimonies inspire us to recognize the importance of unity and self-reliance within our community. 

This particular account centers on the small town of Norway, SC—a railroad community that was predominantly Black in the early 1900s. It emphasizes the spirit of resilience and the profound impact that collective resistance can have. 

The early 1900s were marked by deep-rooted oppression, many aspects of which still echo today. Despite this, our community stood firm, determined to carve out its own path—focusing on progress, dignity, and self-determination. The Civil War had ended decades earlier, yet we were still seen as commodities. The incident that follows began with bigoted sharecropping arrangements and attempts to force labor under unjust conditions. 

In protest, the people of Norway refused to work the fields or tend crops under such exploitation. When siblings Addie and Judge Phillips—members of a white family—accused Lorenzo Williamson of “allegedly” cursing at them, they saw it fit to respond with violence.  Today, we understand that respect is earned and reciprocal.  If Mr. Williamson used strong language, he had every right under the so-called freedom of speech.  And still, they thought it reasonable to whip him—though they wouldn’t have whipped a dog.

Their desire to control and punish Black bodies remained deeply rooted in the same ideology that fueled the bloodshed of the Civil War. In their effort to subdue Lorenzo, they encountered Charles Evans and his brother, Jim Evans, who had followed him to the site in solidarity. Despite this, the Phillips siblings persisted with their abuse. That night, John T. Phillips—a Confederate veteran and father of the Phillips family—was shot. The community reacted with shock.

Charles Evans was accused of the shooting, but one must wonder whether he received a fair trial—if the jury even looked like him. They called him “mulatto” because of his lighter skin. I call him Black. I call all of us Black. And this, without question, is Black history.

They spent two days searching for the Evans brothers. Charles Evans eventually surrendered to the mob that had organized to capture him. When found, he was accompanied by Pink Harrell, John Felder and Ulysses Johnson —four Black men, all armed. Outnumbered, they reluctantly laid down their weapons. Evans’ comrades were beaten, and Evans himself was tragically lynched by the mob.

 But resistance did not end with his death. 

In the days that followed, 30 to 40 Black workers from the sawmill and planing mill went on strike, halting both operations. Historical records show that nearly 200 armed Black individuals from across Orangeburg County assembled at Freedmen’s Hill, just outside Norway. Another 500 gathered nearby—ready to defend their lives and dignity.

Even white newspapers admitted how much local resentment had built toward the Evans family. Charles and James Evans were children of Sarah Donaldson, a formerly enslaved Black woman, and John Evans, a white man who claimed them publicly. Their sister, Lilian Williams, born in Norway in 1885, eventually fled the town for good after the lynching. Norway, for her, became a place of mourning and defiance—a symbol of how freedom had been denied in the very land where her family had once been enslaved. As her daughter later put it, the Evanses were “voiced people”—they didn’t let white folks run over them. 

Even in death, Charles Evans represented more than just tragedy—he became a symbol of resistance. His family was educated, bold, and outspoken. Their refusal to accept the everyday mistreatment of Black people challenged the racial order, and for that, white mobs saw them as a threat. And yet, when Charles was lynched, and his body riddled with bullets, his people did not run. They gathered. They prepared. They stood firm in the face of oppression.

And in that moment, Norway, SC became more than just a small town. It became a battlefield for dignity—a place where Black men and women declared their worth, their voice, and their right to live free.

We cannot rely on schools to share these stories. We must pass them down through family, dinner tables, front porches, and car rides—wherever we gather. Because this is not just history. It is a legacy of courage, unity, and self-respect.