You discover that the education the Negro gets is designed to

Hear the solemn and fiery words of Medgar Evers, who declared: “You discover that the education the Negro gets is designed to keep him subservient. The poor black man is exploited by whites and by educated Negroes, too.” These words were born in the crucible of the American South, in the bitter days when segregation bound an entire people in chains not of iron but of custom, law, and deceit. Evers, a martyr for justice, spoke with the wisdom of one who had seen how systems of learning, rather than freeing the oppressed, were often designed to perpetuate their oppression.

To speak of education as a weapon of subjugation is to pierce the veil of hypocrisy. For while schools are built in the name of enlightenment, their true purpose can sometimes be twisted by those in power. Evers revealed that the lessons given to black children in his time were often stripped of empowerment, stripped of truth, and filled with teachings that kept their vision low, their opportunities narrow, their ambitions crushed. Such education was not a ladder upward, but a leash meant to bind them to fields, to menial labor, and to silence.

The word subservient is a dagger here. It points to the heart of systemic injustice: that those who controlled society did not fear ignorance, but rather feared awakened minds. For an awakened mind is dangerous to tyranny. Thus, the system gave black children only enough to read orders, to follow rules, to labor for others—but never enough to challenge, to lead, or to rise. And in this design, oppression was sustained generation after generation.

History shows us the cruelty of this truth. In the era of slavery, it was forbidden in many states to teach black people to read. Why? Because the slaveholders knew that literacy was a spark that could ignite rebellion, dignity, and freedom. Even after slavery, Jim Crow laws maintained schools that were underfunded, overcrowded, and neglected for black children. The intention was clear: keep them weak, keep them dependent, keep them from demanding equality. In this, Evers’ words reveal the deep wound of America’s educational injustice.

And yet, Evers was not blind to another painful truth—that even some of the “educated Negroes” had turned against their own, exploiting their brothers instead of uplifting them. This is the betrayal of the privileged few who, having climbed higher, forget the ladder and use their learning not for liberation but for gain. In every age, there are those who choose comfort over courage, and Evers laments their role in sustaining the exploitation of the poor black man.

The lesson for us is clear and sharp: education must never be permitted to serve as a tool of oppression. It must be reclaimed as a weapon of liberation, a force that strengthens the weak, uplifts the poor, and awakens the silenced. True education teaches not just obedience, but dignity; not just skill, but vision; not just survival, but freedom. A system that denies these is not education at all, but indoctrination.

What then must be done? Each generation must guard the classroom as fiercely as the battlefield. Parents must demand schools that teach truth, not distortion. Teachers must give their students the courage to question, to dream, and to defy injustice. And students must seize their learning, not as a chain but as a sword, wielding it to cut through lies and carve a path to freedom.

So let Medgar Evers’ words echo in our hearts. He spoke them not as complaint but as warning, not as despair but as a call to action. The struggle for just education is not yet finished. But if we, like him, are willing to see clearly, to resist exploitation, and to build schools that empower instead of enslave, then the day will come when no man’s learning will make him subservient, but instead make him free. And on that day, the blood of martyrs like Evers will not have been shed in vain.