Medgar Evers was a man who poured his life into a nation that seemed to want nothing more than to erase him. Born on July 2, 1925, in Decatur, Mississippi, he grew up under the crushing weight of Jim Crow. At age 12, he witnessed the lynching of a family friend and saw the boy’s bloodied clothes displayed on a fence for nearly a year, a grotesque warning to any Black child who dared to dream too loud or walk too tall.
At the age of 17, he joined the U.S. Army. He served valiantly during World War II, helping with the Normandy invasion as part of the segregated Red Ball Express. He wore the uniform of a country that refused to see him as fully human. After returning to Mississippi, he couldn’t even vote. The same America he defended overseas refused to let him sit at a lunch counter. But Medgar didn’t give up on this country. He went to work trying to save the soul of America.
In 1954, the same year the Supreme Court decided Brown v. Board of Education, Medgar became the NAACP’s first field secretary in Mississippi. He organized voter registration drives, launched economic boycotts and pushed for school integration. He investigated the lynching of Emmett Till. He fought every day for the most basic human rights—at a time and place where such work could (and eventually did) get you killed.
Opponents of racial equality tried to kill him many times before they succeeded. His home was firebombed. His family was threatened. But he kept moving forward. On June 12, 1963, just hours after President Kennedy gave a national address on civil rights, someone shot Medgar Evers in the back in his driveway. He was carrying a box of NAACP T-shirts that read “Jim Crow Must Go.” The hospital initially refused him because of his race. He died less than an hour later. His children watched their father, only 37 years old, bleed out on their front porch.
The white supremacist who murdered him, Byron De La Beckwith, walked free for three decades. Two all-white juries refused to convict him. It wasn’t until 1994, after relentless advocacy from Medgar’s widow, Myrlie Evers-Williams, and others, that Beckwith was finally sent to prison.
Now, more than 60 years after his assassination, the United States is trying to erase Medgar again.
In 2011, the U.S. Navy honored Evers by naming a cargo ship the USNS Medgar Evers. It was a symbolic yet powerful recognition of his service, sacrifice and unwavering belief in democracy. But in 2025, the Pentagon—under Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth—announced plans to strip the names of several civil-rights leaders and social justice icons from Navy vessels, claiming they no longer align with the department’s “warrior ethos.” Medgar’s name is on the list. So are Harvey Milk, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Cesar Chavez and Harriet Tubman.
In Jackson, Mississippi, the city Medgar called home, the city council unanimously passed a resolution condemning the move. Reena Evers-Everette, his daughter, called the decision a slap in the face—and a cowardly attempt to erase her father’s legacy from the national narrative. As if that weren’t enough, earlier this year, Medgar’s name and biography were quietly deleted from the Arlington National Cemetery website, where he’s buried as a war veteran and martyr for civil rights.
This is not just a policy change. It’s an attack on memory. It’s an attack on truth. It’s an attack on us.
So here is what we must do. We must fight like hell to keep Medgar Evers’s name where it belongs—not just on a ship, but in the bloodstream of this nation. Call your members of Congress. Demand public hearings. Support the local leaders and family members who are speaking out against this decision. Share his story widely, especially with young people who are being taught a whitewashed version of America’s past.
If you’re a teacher, consider incorporating him into your curriculum. If you’re a parent, tell your kids about a man who gave everything for justice. Use his story to inspire your activism, your art, your voice.
And do not let them erase his name from that ship. Medgar Evers fought fascism abroad and racism at home. He died for the idea that America could be better, fairer, freer. Stripping his name from a Navy vessel is not just disrespect—it is historical violence.
America didn’t deserve Medgar Evers when he was alive. And the way we treat his legacy today proves we still don’t. But maybe, just maybe, we can begin to earn the right to speak his name by protecting it. By telling the truth. By continuing his fight.
Let Medgar’s name sail—not just on a ship, but in the hearts of every generation that refuses to bow to injustice. Let that be our answer to those who want us silent.
We will not be silent. Not now. Not ever.
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