At 17, I Heard My Name and Realized the Story Was Now About My Generation
EDITOR’S NOTE: Jelani Bankole Thompson is a 17-year-old high school senior. On Aug. 25, he attended his first funeral for a King-era civil rights leader Dr. William G. Anderson, where his father, nationally acclaimed journalist, author and public intellectual Bankole Thompson, delivered the eulogy. This is Jelani’s reflection on what he witnessed and what the experience came to mean for him.
By Jelani Bankole Thompson
When I walked into Empowerment Church in Southfield with my dad on Aug. 25 for the funeral of Dr. William G. Anderson, I knew the day was important, but I didn’t fully grasp the weight of it at first.
To someone my age, history often feels very distant, something that’s usually confined to textbook pages or old video clips. Knowing that Dr. Anderson was a 98-year-old civil rights leader who worked alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was one thing. But sitting in a room filled with people who actually lived through that era made the history feel real.
Looking around the room before the service started, the atmosphere immediately caught my attention. It was filled with dignity and respect. The people in the audience weren’t just attending a ceremony; they were honoring a man whose courage directly shaped the opportunities we have today. You could see it in their faces, a deep sense of reverence, shared history and gratitude.
When my dad walked up to the podium, I felt a mix of pride and quiet focus. Watching him step up to honor Dr. Anderson made me realize the immense responsibility on his shoulders.
As he began the eulogy, the room fell silent. His voice seemed to steady the space, bringing Dr. Anderson’s legacy to life. I watched the audience react as he spoke, older heads nodding in agreement, quiet whispers of support and shared moments of emotion.
Then came the moment that caught me completely off guard: my dad mentioned my name during the eulogy.
Hearing my name spoken in front of everyone shifted everything for me. In an instant, the service stopped being just about the past and became about the future.
When my dad talked about me, my generation and the freedoms we inherited, I understood what he was really saying. He was pointing out that the rights, safety and privileges I enjoy every day weren’t free, nor were they accidental. They were paid for by the sacrifices, risks and determination of people like Dr. Anderson.
Hearing my dad express that made me look at my own life differently. It made me realize that the civil rights movement isn’t a closed chapter from decades ago. It’s an ongoing torch pass.
Learning about the sacrifices made by Dr. Anderson’s generation made me realize that the opportunities I enjoy at 17 were never guaranteed, but hard-won through immense struggle. It transformed my perspective from taking my freedoms for granted to viewing them as a sacred inheritance that requires continuous effort and respect.
For me personally, receiving the torch means accepting a duty to actively participate rather than remaining a passive bystander in the ongoing fight for equality. The responsibility that comes with it means using my voice, education and daily actions to uphold civil rights and push that movement forward.
Attending the service with my dad gave me a whole new perspective. It wasn’t just about mourning a legendary leader or listening to my dad give a speech. It was a reminder that history is alive, and that my generation now carries the responsibility to honor the sacrifices made before us and protect the progress we inherited.
I walked away from the funeral deeply changed. I no longer viewed history as a collection of distant events, but as an active, living and continuous story that now involves my own family.
Seeing my father, Dr. Anderson and my own future through this new lens gave me a clearer sense of direction and purpose for the life ahead of me.
