In July 2006, I received an unexpected call from Senator 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.
Senator Obama had also worked with Gamaliel in the 1990s on the South Side of Chicago—though we didn’t overlap, our paths were connected by mission.
At first, his staff requested a meeting in Pretoria. I declined—I was too busy organizing local communities and helping build 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 senator add to that?” (I was half-joking.)
Eventually, I agreed to meet in Cape Town, where he was also visiting Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his successor, Archbishop Njongonkulu Ndungane. I made one request: I would bring along some housewives and clergy—real people from the communities we were organizing. His team agreed.
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 Consul General, and their spouses—on the other.
My delegation laid out our concerns: crime, drugs, unemployment, and especially the devastating impact of HIV/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 PEPFAR funding for churches working with AIDS orphans and patients.
We were turned away.
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. Within weeks, he launched his presidential campaign. One year later, in July 2007, I moved to the United States to serve the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (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, we received a small grant of $10,000 for Diakonia AIDS Ministry in Soweto—a project of the Lutheran Diocese of Johannesburg. More importantly, the South African Ministry of Health—whom we had also organized—contributed $40,000, quadrupling the U.S. amount.
That ministry continues to do powerful work to this day. I visited them in 2024, and the fruits of grassroots organizing were still visible.
This wasn’t just a meeting with a senator. It was a moment that revealed what’s possible when faith meets justice, and when organizing brings everyday people face to face with power.
This is the story of how real change happens—not by proximity to fame, but through persistence, people, and prophetic vision.
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