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17 Jul 2025

“My People Will Be Ready” | Reflections on Medgar Evers at 100

By DeSean Dyson

When I walked into the panel discussion commemorating Medgar Evers’ centennial at the Two Museums in Jackson, MS, I knew two things would happen. First, I’d learn something new about a man who has become an anchoring force in my life. Second, I’d leave inspired—because in his darkest hour, when everything seemed hopeless, Medgar dared to hope, arriving at a singular declaration: “My people will be ready.”

“He sat on the arm of a chair in the living room, put his head in his hands, wiped away tears, and said, ‘My people, my people. Will they ever be ready?’ Within a moment, his resolve returned, and he answered his own question “Yes, yes, we will be ready.” (The Autobiography of Medgar Evers: A Hero’s Life and Legacy Revealed through His Writings, Letters, and Speeches)

His life’s work was about pushing humanity forward. Every action he took moved us closer to dignity and justice—not just for himself or the people he knew, but for a world he believed was bigger than we often dare to see. He didn’t just lead, he pushed. Because his people had to be ready.

Even before the panel began, that legacy was on full display. I was welcomed by a table of confident, serious young people, organizing with purpose. One made sure I had registered. Another smiled and handed me resources for attendees. Just like that, I was reminded: there’s always more work to be done—and here they were, already doing it.

Born and raised in Jackson, I’ve always had a certain proximity to Medgar’s story. It gives me a specific lens. But even that requires intention. As Myrlie Evers-Williams once said, Medgar “never craved attention.” As large as his life was, you could miss him. He was present, but not always seen.

That truth surfaced quickly in the panel. Mississippi was known worldwide for the racial terror it inflicted on Black citizens. Medgar knew this violence intimately. When leaders and neighbors like Rev. George Lee, Lamar Smith, and Clinton and Beulah Melton were killed, Medgar was there. He supported their families and made sure the world saw what freedom was costing.

As NAACP field secretary, Evers documented injustices across the state. But it wasn’t just a job. It was personal. The public lyncing of a family friend, Willie Tingle, while Evers was a boy—resulted in trauma that Evers carried with him for the rest of his life. He wept when Emmett Till was murdered. Myrlie said she “never completely understood what made the murder so different from the ones that preceded it,” but it felt like “proof there would be no real change until the rest of the country decided there must be.”

Though often behind the scenes, Evers was central to some of the movement’s most defining moments. When James Meredith integrated the University of Mississippi, it took federal troops and a U.S. president. But Meredith later said the effort wouldn’t have succeeded without Medgar’s quiet, constant support.

One of the most painful stories was of Evers’ work with Clyde Kennard, a Black veteran who tried to enroll at the University of Southern Mississippi. Kennard died in prison, his health broken by a system that deliberately crushed him. Medgar once broke down in tears sharing Kennard’s story at an NAACP convention.

There was also the Woolworth sit-in led by Tougaloo students—a turning point in Jackson’s movement history. As violence erupted, Medgar was urged not to show up; his presence was too much of a lightning rod. He supported the students from a distance. A month later, he was assassinated. But the fires he lit had already taken hold.

Sitting in that room—surrounded by students, scholars, and community members reflecting on the life of a man who shaped our city’s culture—I felt deep gratitude. Not just for what Medgar did, but for what he still teaches us. About courage. About sacrifice. About the kind of world we might yet build if we keep showing up.

The world needs us. We’ve got to be ready.

 

Sources for further learning:

 

Cover photo: Mississippi Civil Rights Museum