A Conversation With Jewelean Jackson

Jewelean Jackson in front of her former home, which was repossessed and sold to someone else for a fraction of the mortgage owed. She is a proud client of Dress for Success, which offers apparel and training for job success. Photo by Sarah Whiting

My story begins the way everyone’s does — with birth. But the circumstances around that birth shaped the rest of my life in ways I didn’t fully understand until much later.

I was an army brat, the eldest of eight children. My father served his country, but while he was deployed overseas fighting, my mother was left behind to make difficult decisions for the rest of us. Sometimes that meant deciding whether we would sleep in the station wagon. Other times it meant returning to the Alabama Delta to stay in a small room at my grandmother’s shack, which had an outhouse.

Growing up that way planted a conviction deep inside me: Housing is a human right. Especially in a country like the United States, where the resources exist to make sure no one sleeps in a car or under a bridge. And yet here we are.

Now that I’m pushing 80 years old, I’m realistic enough to know I probably won’t live to see homelessness eradicated. Too much of our country’s foundation is built on greed, capitalism, and systems that were never designed for everyone to thrive. When your founding fathers were slaveholders, inequality gets baked into the structure from the beginning.

My life has been a long journey through many layers of instability. I’ve slept in cars. I’ve stayed in shelters. I’ve lived in places that were barely livable. And today, to be perfectly honest, I have shelter because of the generosity of a friend. But even when my circumstances have been difficult, I’ve never stopped working to make meaning out of the struggle — to share my experiences so others can learn from them.

I intend to be a homeowner again. If we have this conversation again in a year, I plan to be talking about that.

My Work as a Housing Advocate

For six years, I’ve been involved in the work of addressing homelessness. That chapter began when I left my position at the University of Minnesota Community-University Health Care Center, where I had the honor of becoming the first Black woman to hold the role of chair. I was invited to work directly on homelessness issues. My first instinct was to focus on disparities affecting African American women.

It didn’t take long to see something larger: the powerful intersection between housing and health care. At the time, one of the city’s largest homeless encampments sat directly across the street from the clinic. It became impossible to ignore that you cannot talk about health without talking about housing.

Today I serve as one of 14 consultants with lived experience on the Minnesota Interagency Council on Homelessness. I’ve been involved since its creation, helping design and shape the effort from the beginning. Our goal is to challenge the stereotypes that dominate the public conversation about homelessness — the idea that it only happens to “those people,” or that it’s always someone’s personal failure.

The truth is that homelessness can happen to anyone.

Core Factors to Address

What I believe is still missing from many solutions is empowerment. Real empowerment means helping people recognize their own worth and agency, even in difficult circumstances. It means understanding that resources exist, that battles may be lost but the larger fight continues, and that dignity doesn’t disappear simply because housing does.

I raised my daughter with that mindset. Even when we were in shelters or temporary situations, I reminded her that we were still citizens of this country. We still had options. We still had dignity.

Empowerment matters not only for those experiencing homelessness but also for the people holding the power. If you’re the one with the pen and the checkbook, you need a strong enough sense of self that you don’t look at someone in need as if they are broken or inferior. Too often the system is structured like a ladder of pressure — someone above pushing down on you, so you push down on the person below. That has to change.

My own sense of empowerment was hard-won. Growing up, we were the only Black family on the military base. My siblings and I were the only Black children in school. We were called the ugliest names imaginable. I was told every day that my dark skin, my African features, and my hair made me less than. Even within my family, I was labeled “the ugly child.”

When every message around you says you’re unworthy, it takes years to build the armor needed to face the world. But eventually I did. I moved to Minnesota and became one of the first Black flight attendants for Northwest Airlines. Later I worked in radio — partly because I figured people could hear my voice without judging my face.

Over time I began discovering something powerful: my worth wasn’t defined by anyone else’s prejudice.

The fifth principle of Kwanzaa is Nia, which means purpose — and purpose has guided much of my work. I often ask myself three questions: “Who am I? Am I who I think I am? Am I all that I can be?” Those questions keep me moving forward.

Homelessness isn’t just a policy issue. It’s a human issue, a public health crisis, and a moral test for our society. We have the resources to address it. What we lack is political will.

Still, I believe in perseverance. I’ve seen legislation pass by a single vote. I’ve seen young people fight back against unfair housing practices and win. I’ve seen what happens when people refuse to give up. So, as long as I’m here, that’s exactly what I intend to do.

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