I met Jean Josey in a bright, sunlit conference room. She had on a green plaid sweater, a surprising choice given the sunny weather outside, and these neon teal sneakers that I’d probably see one of my classmates wearing the following week. The effect was something calm and cool, more like what you’d expect from a school counselor. Unassuming, in a way, but also open. Accepting. But she had this edge to her smile, like the two of you were in on a joke together.
The joke, of course, was the very real political crisis our country is going through right now. Abortion rights. Gun violence. Climate change. Polarization. The list was long—but so were her answers. They each had a specific cadence to them that is unusual in this era of politics; at first, she would outline the problem, then give a long list of solutions that could help the cause. “Gun violence,” she would start out with, and “We passed legislation that…” she’d end with. No longer cause and effect—the Jean Josey (For Dublin Mayor) way was problem and solution. And not just any solutions, but real, meaningful action.
I appreciated how direct and straightforward she was. The correct expression would be, “she was like an open book”, but that’s not quite right. She was something more thought out, more nuanced. There was some tangible quality to her, so that even through her candidness, there was a level of tact to her answers, like she knew why we were both there. It was remarkable to me, how well she balanced the politics with the truth.
Truth is one thing I found in abundance in Jean. There was a weight to her words, and I felt certain if I took to Google right then and there, I would find a replica of what she was saying. This too was comforting.
She was relatable, in an honest way. From jokes about woke white women to her unapologetic recounting of mistakes the city council has made, there was no fakeness to her. I could see how she had sat down with Pro-Trump Republicans for an hour and a half and, in her words, “They had a Jean Josey sign in their yard the next day.” I wouldn’t say she wasn’t like a politician, no, but she was the kind of politician you wanted to elect. Who you felt seen in.
Particularly, she had one story that really struck a chord in me. Not because it was grand, but because it was realistic. In 2019, Councilman Kumagai, as an openly gay councilman, requested to fly the pride flag at Dublin City Hall. It was, sadly, a controversial issue. The following council meeting with five officials, including Jean, was open to the public, and featured many homophobic opponents of the flag. The flag was called a perversion. An insult. Against the twelve people who opposed the flag, only one supported its flying. As Jean described the day, even I could feel the stone lodged in my stomach. The vote was a 3-2 for not flying the flag, based on a slippery-slope argument—there was no flag policy in place, so what was stopping them from flying a Nazi flag?
The backlash was as expected. High schoolers around Dublin were upset. Social media was upset. Jean was upset. “It was a fragile point. These kids needed to know we had their back. They needed to know we see them, and we love them.” To make a long story short, after a review of their actions and a lot of outcry, the decision was reversed and today, the pride flag flies over city hall. But all I could think about as she told me this story is that this is a story of true politics. Of listening to constituents and doing what is right.
Jean strikes me as one of those people who make history. She is clear-spoken and strong, and all about making things actually happen. And quite frankly, she has. From aiding a state resolution to make California an abortion safe-haven and hosting round table discussions with women, to safe-storage ordinances when it comes to gun safety, Jean has made many strides in improving our state.
Empowerment was the theme of some major questions I had for her, specifically about teen activism. She offered many tangible solutions to counteract the narrative of powerlessness around teenagers. Of course, things like encouraging adult voter registration are impactful, but teenagers themselves can make a difference too. “No one is too old to make a good sign, get in front of a camera, and advocate for their rights,” she said. She emphasized the importance of researching judges, party leaders, activists, and candidates for local elections, and to push for the ones that align with your values. This can look like phone banking, writing letters and postcards, or even going to their events and protests. Jean told me that an example of this had happened before in Dublin itself, that after the events of George Floyd in June 2020, high school students came out to a Dublin intersection and blocked the roads for eight minutes and twelve seconds—the exact time that George Floyd was held down for.
Around forty minutes in, after a particular question of mine about the Willow Project, she turned to me and put me in the hot seat. “Why do you care about climate change?” My hands had been sweating long before this point, but I felt a jolt right then and there. I answered with a truthful but standard description of how I cared about the millions of people who would suffer from our lack of action, and she walked me through how I could answer better. “Make it personal,” she said. Here lies Jean’s biggest advice for activism—to tell a story. That passion, she told me, that personal narrative, is what creates change. Her direct response was jarring and heartfelt—I felt, in almost an ironic way, empowered by her bold advice.
When I asked Jean about her own story, she told me one of a woman who was never interested in running, but who didn’t like the way city council was. About a woman who saw a problem, and realized the only way it was going to be fixed is if she fixed it herself. It is by no means an unheard-of story, but it is an admirable one. And it got me thinking. The club I interviewed Jean Josey for, Junior State of America (otherwise known as JSA), is a club about elections and empowerment. It is about fighting for candidates and causes we believe in, for going out into the world and making—being—the change we want to see. So when I shook Jean Josey’s hand—a woman whose vice-mayor campaign I had phone banked for, canvassed for; a woman I believed in—I felt that in many ways, this was a full-circle moment. Here was our candidate who JSA had helped elect, making change in the community and preparing to run again, this time for mayor of Dublin. And here was I, an enthusiastic highschooler wanting to learn about the women she elected—and maybe, just maybe, be inspired by her to do more.
At that moment, her hand in mine, I’d like to think I gave Jean a smile of my own. Thank you, I hope it said. And—this won’t be the last you see of me.
The Roar 