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Co-chairing a meeting with Sen. Barack Obama as equals – Guest Blogger Rev. Terrance A. Jacob

In honor of International Day for People of African Descent, which is observed internationally on August 31 each year, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited Rev. Terrance Jacob to share some thoughts about being a person of African descent. For more…


Co-chairing a meeting with Sen. Barack Obama as equals

A case of faith-based community organizing laying the ground for a North-South relationship of mutual respect and the power it wields

By Terrance A. Jacob

In July 2006, I received an unexpected call from Sen. Barack Obama’s office in Washington, D.C. He was visiting South Africa for the first time and wanted to meet with me. At the time, I was serving as the Africa director of the Gamaliel Foundation, a faith-based organizing network focused on justice, equity and grassroots empowerment.

Sen. Obama had also worked with Gamaliel, in the 1990s on the South Side of Chicago — though we didn’t overlap, he was intrigued that a former activist, imprisoned under apartheid, was doing church organizing across the continents.

At first, his staff requested a meeting in Pretoria. I declined because I was too busy organizing local communities, building participative democracy in the new South Africa. A colleague in Chicago warned me, “You just turned down the future president of the United States!” I laughed and said, “I’ve got democracy to build. What can a U.S. senator add to that?” (I was half joking.)

Eventually I agreed to meet the senator in Cape Town, where he was also visiting Archbishop Desmond Tutu. I made one request: I wanted to bring along some housewives and local clergy — real people from the communities I did organizing with.

We met at a hotel boardroom on the Cape Town Waterfront. Before Obama arrived, his staff approached me and said, “Reverend, the senator would like you to co-chair the meeting with him.” When he entered the room, Obama greeted us with warm hugs. At the long boardroom table, he and I sat at the head, my delegation on one side, and his — including the U.S. ambassador to South Africa, the U.S. consul general, and their spouses — on the other.

My delegation laid out our concerns: crime, drugs, unemployment and especially the devastating impact of HIV and AIDS in our communities. We shared how we had visited the U.S. embassy in Pretoria in 2005 with a delegation that included U.S. and South African Lutheran bishops, clergy and lay leaders — 20 people in total — seeking funding from the U.S. President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) for churches working with AIDS orphans and patients.

We were turned away. Our U.S. partners were charged with returning home to get leaders to write letters to the U.S. ambassador in South Africa. In South Africa, we continued to organize, which involved calling even cabinet members and Health Ministry staff to meetings with congregations across the country.

As we shared this, Obama leaned over and whispered, “Reverend, I turned out the targets. You do the pin.” (That’s organizing-speak for: “I got the right people in the room — now make the demand.”)

So we did. When the ambassador didn’t immediately respond, Obama asked, “Mr. Ambassador, if you received letters from U.S. church leaders requesting this funding, what would you do?” The ambassador replied, “Then I would have to act.”

I said, “Then we’ll organize hundreds of letters.” He agreed.

After the meeting, Obama and I embraced again to acknowledge our “win.” Within weeks, he launched his presidential campaign. One year later, in July 2007, I moved to the United States to serve the ELCA, where I was called to bridge the divide between the church’s activist and devotional streams — linking deep spirituality with public action.

But there was a twist.

Despite over 500 letters, we heard nothing from the ambassador. So my U.S. partners contacted Candidate Obama. He wrote directly to the ambassador: “Last year, when Rev. Jacob and I met with you in Cape Town, you promised to act if U.S. church leaders wrote to you …”

Soon after, the ambassador released a paltry grant of $10,000 for Diakonia AIDS Ministry in Soweto — a project of the Lutheran Diocese of Johannesburg. Then the South African Ministry of Health — through organized pressure — contributed $40,000, quadrupling the U.S grant.

That ministry continues to do powerful work to this day. I visited them in 2024, and the fruits of grassroots organizing and North-South relationships of mutual respect are still visible.

This wasn’t just a meeting with a senator. It was a moment that revealed what’s possible when faith meets justice with mutual respect.

 

The Rev. Terrance A. Jacob is an ELCA pastor who emigrated from South Africa, his country of birth, when he accepted an invitation by the ELCA bishops in Minneapolis-St. Paul, with whom he had done global community organizing as CEO of Church Based Community Organizing, South Africa. He served on the central staff of the Gamaliel Foundation (Network) out of Chicago and has taught and done organizing in Kenya, Tanzania and Zimbabwe.  He now serves St. Andrew Lutheran Church in Franklin, Tenn., as senior pastor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My Identity is Not Up For Discussion” by Guest Blog Author Rahel Mwitula Williams

In honor of International Day for People of African Descent, which is observed internationally on August 31 each year, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited ELCA Director for Innovation and Ideas to share some thoughts about being a person of African descent. For more information on International Day for People of African Descent, visit International Day for People of African Descent – EN | United Nations.


Names carry immense significance. They are a marker of identity, heritage and personal history. Because I am of African descent, my name is a reflection of and connection to my ancestral roots and cultural identity. However, in a world shaped by patriarchy and systemic biases, the journey of owning and explaining one’s name can be a challenging experience. One wants to maintain one’s culture and hold it dear to one’s heart, but this can be difficult because not everything about one’s culture is worth maintaining and, like many other things, culture evolves over time.

In many African cultures names are not merely labels but encapsulate stories, values and histories. A name might signify a particular event, convey hopes for the future or reflect familial lineage. For example, my name is Rahel Mwitula Williams; however, I was born Rahel Norbert Mwitula. Yes, my father’s first name is my middle name because, in our culture, this is a way to trace one’s lineage. So I am Rahel, daughter of Norbert, of the Mwitula clan. I can trace my lineage back through many generations: Rahel Norbert Yoram Mtemibala Mwitula. Here is the breakdown:

  • Rahel, daughter of Norbert.
  • Granddaughter of Yoram.
  • Great-granddaughter Mtemibala.
  • of the Mwitula clan.

When I got married, maintaining my African heritage was important to me, so I made my clan name my middle name, which is not traditional in our culture. In theory I was supposed to be Rahel Jason Williams (yes, you read that right), taking my husband’s full name as per patriarchal custom. However, I went against these cultural norms and decided to go with Rahel Mwitula Williams. Hence, I personally want people to respect and acknowledge my full name as I choose to identify.

Unfortunately I constantly must fight people and institutions to ensure that they say and acknowledge my full, complete name as I identify myself. (And don’t get me started on the difference between Rachel and Rahel.) For example, I found out that I have two email addresses at work, Rahel.Williams@elca.org and Rahel.Mwitula-Williams@elca.org, because it was considered a “good idea” to give people options. However, there is no option with my name. It is what it is — Rahel Mwitula Williams. I decide what I want to identify as, just like any other group fighting for their identity.

Choosing to own and proudly use one’s given name in such an environment is a powerful act of resistance. It is a declaration of my self-worth and an affirmation of my cultural identity. At the same time, society is more patient with those from the global north than with those from the global south. People from the global south are repeatedly asked to come up with a global-north name or nickname but not the other way around.

  • My name is an affirmation of my identity, connecting me to my heritage and personal history. It is a daily reminder of where I come from and the stories of my ancestors.
  • My name gives me the opportunity to educate others about my culture, promote diversity and foster greater understanding and respect.
  • My name breaks stereotypes and challenges the notion that non-Western names are inferior or inconvenient. It confronts the biases ingrained in patriarchal and colonial mindsets.
  • My name empowers me to refuse to conform when I am pressured to change and fit in. It is a statement that I value my identity and heritage, regardless of societal expectations.

I am Rahel Mwitula Williams.


Rahel Mwitula Williams is director for innovation and ideas with the ELCA, having previously served as director of Global Mission funding. Born and raised in Tanzania, East Africa, she migrated to the United States with her family at age 12. Rahel is a member of Shekinah Chapel, a Lutheran church in Riverdale, Ill., where her husband, the Rev. Jason Williams, serves as pastor.

She holds a B.S. in psychology from Loyola University, a Master of Science degree in international public service from DePaul University and an executive scholar certificate in nonprofit management from Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University.

She is a founder and the creative director of ILAVA, a social enterprise that uses fashion to inspire and implement change around the world

In addition to her roles at the ELCA and ILAVA, Rahel is a nonprofit development executive who specializes in working with major donors, both in the United States and internationally. Rahel achieved a significant personal milestone in 2023 by climbing to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, one of her proudest moments.

For more from Rahel Mwitula Williams: