Photos by Caitlin Abrams
Jeanette Rupert
One of Jeanette Rupert’s myriad intersecting identities—ICU nurse at Methodist Hospital in St. Louis Park
Look closely enough at local news photos or footage surrounding just about any significant societal or cultural event since March 2020 and, invariably, you’ll spot Jeanette Rupert. It might take you a minute to find her, though. That’s because Jeanette Rupert is not working nights in the COVID ICU, spending days in the courtroom consoling families like Daunte Wright’s, or running the medic tent at George Floyd Square the rest of the time to be seen or revered—she’s there to be necessary.
“They said, ‘Jeanette, there’s a chair for you on the stage,’” Rupert recalls of Amir Locke’s funeral service. “And I said, ‘That’s not my place. My role is right here on the floor in front of the family, picking up snotty tissues.’ That’s what I’m about. I’m about serving. I don’t need to be seen.”
Rupert grew up barely a block from 38th and Chicago and donned a variety of professional hats over the years—ministry, assisting special-needs adults as a nurse, early childhood education. But it wasn’t until the intersecting tribulations of this current moment that all her disparate livelihoods sharpened into a vividly singular focus. She realized when COVID hit, and has time and again since, that she’s here for one reason: to run to where healing is needed and to provide it. Her purpose, as she puts it, is “to help the brokenhearted, to comfort those who weren’t, to listen those who feel unheard, to see those who feel unseen.”
In between night shifts at Methodist, day shifts healing her community both physically and spiritually, and—during what little downtime she has that’s not spent sleeping—being a wife and mother, Rupert, perhaps impossibly, found a few minutes to call us. And when she did, perhaps more impossibly, the famously non-famous Rupert was even willing to talk about her exceedingly extraordinary life—albeit in the humblest terms possible.
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Your current life trajectory began with a tragedy.
My son was 7. He was going to be Shepherd Number Two in a school play, and we had parked our car—the school was actually right down the street from the Metrodome. And I had two other small children at the time. We were getting both girls out of the car seat. My son’s waiting on the sidewalk. And then we heard a tire screech, and I turned around and saw a car stop in the middle of the road, and I heard people screaming for help. And because I had [nursing assistant] training from 2003, working with special-needs adults and working in a group home setting, I felt like I could help. My husband looked at me like, “Go.” I mean, I felt like it was my appointment. And so I ran over. And I saw a jacket that looked extremely familiar rolled up against the back wheel of the car, and it was then that I realized it was my son.
Oh my God.
Yeah. They got him to the ICU, and being in the ICU was just a scary experience. My son breaking his femur, the largest bone in the body—the surgeries he went through, the orthopedic care we got while we were in the ICU, and then watching him go from being in the ICU to a wheelchair, to crutches, to walking and running and being completely healthy like nothing has ever happened—I was really touched by the care they gave.
But nursing is, like, my fourth career. I was in early childhood education at the time. As I was teaching—this was now 2011, the following year—my nursing assistant credentials were going to expire if I didn’t use them however many shifts a year. One of my students’ parents was a radiologist and said, “Hey, why don’t you apply at Methodist and maybe get a couple hours?” So I applied, not for a specific unit, and they put me on an orthopedic unit. So, full circle.
That’s crazy.
The manager said, “Jeanette, you should be a nurse.” I’m like, “No, I don’t think so. I’m a teacher.” She’s like, “I really think you should.” And after maybe five years of drilling that into my brain, I finally applied to nursing school. I graduated in 2017 [and became an] RN. During that time, my dad was battling cancer.
Geez, one thing after another.
School was very challenging. I was raising four children now, I was a wife, I was working full time, I was going to school full time, and I was taking care of my father—in a Black household, the oldest child has a lot of responsibility. So, when he got sick, I carried a lot of that burden, going to medical appointments, helping my mom, and helping my siblings and everyone navigate what’s happening and what’s going on.
That sounds like A LOT.
But I graduated with highest honors, I was the commencement speaker at graduation, and then went straight into my BSN at Metro State and graduated summa cum laude in December 2018. My dad showed up with his cane and stood for me and clapped. And then, eight weeks later, he passed away.
It’s great that he was able to see your commencement.
Yeah. I started working in ortho, but I got bored, and I was itching to do something different. In January 2020, I went to one of the physician assistants, and I just said, “How do you know when you’re ready to go? How do you know you’re ready to transition or do something different?” And sure enough, the pandemic hit in March, and I knew that’s why I was itching—I was being prepared to transition into something that I would’ve never expected.
It’s like the pandemic presented itself in your life at exactly the right moment.
Yeah. My ortho unit was turned into a COVID unit. The patients were on a different floor, and people were scared to float. And I said, “I’ll go.” And I went.
I looked on social media at one point and saw a former teacher of mine asking for prayers for her sister who was in the ICU at Methodist. So, I reached out, and I said, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I want to help. Maybe I can set up a video chat.” And so I checked with the staff, and they were like, “Sure.” So, after my shift ended, I headed to the ICU; I got all PPE’d up and brought the video chat, and so she had a moment with her family. When I came out, the manager was standing there, and I was like, “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry if I overstepped my boundaries.” And she was like, “No. I’ve heard so many amazing things about you, and I just want to know if you’d be willing to join our team.” And I just said, “Yes, but let me get to my husband first.”
Was he scared for you?
His response was, “I know I can’t stop you. I’m here to support you.” And he said, “Only go if you feel this is what you’re supposed to do—I’m just trusting that you’ll be protected in all of this.” Because he didn’t know—I mean, people were sleeping in separate spaces from their families; we saw people dying left and right. He didn’t know anything about this. So, he just encouraged my heart and said, “For such a time as this, maybe this is what God called you to do.”
And then, boom, another tragic thing ensnares your community—this time right outside your mom’s front door.
Neighborhood I grew up in. My brother bought the house next door to my mom right after my dad died. Two of my sisters had moved back from their states to live with my mom and help take care of my dad. And so we’re all pretty much right on 38th Street.
How could you not run toward this too?
I don’t consciously think that I’m going to run toward something. I found a picture from when I was maybe a year old, and I’m holding my cousin. He was six months younger, but he was bigger than me. And in the picture, he’s just screaming and hollering, and I’ve got both of my arms wrapped around him, bringing him to our grandmother. And she’s on the couch laughing hysterically at me trying to lift this baby to her lap. I looked at that picture and said, “Wow, even as a 1-year-old, I went to bring aid.”
It’s deep in you.
My brother’s the one that called me and said, “Hey, Jeanette, something bad happened at Mom’s.” We rushed over, and seeing the need, we all just started giving it our respective gifts. My brother played his trumpet to bring calm. My sister helped organize marches. And my other sister was handing out water and driving to stores for supplies. And my other sister said, “Hey, Jeanette, a community member put up a makeshift tent, and they’re turning it into a medical tent. I think you can help.” And so I would work night shifts at the hospital and be at the med tent during the day, and vice versa. If I wasn’t working at the hospital, I’d be there all night providing mutual aid, care, whatever I could.
And this work ultimately becomes 612 MASH?
Minneapolis All Shall Heal, yeah. It got burned down twice. Who would burn down a medical tent? But someone did. And then it turned into a medical bus that was there and then eventually moved into the med shed. And this year, we are in the process of opening up our clinic right on 38th.
Man, that’s incredible.
By vocation as a licensed minister and as a nurse, I navigate healing in both areas. Sometimes I ask the community, “What is needed? Is it spiritual healing? Is it physical healing?” Sometimes they say, “We just want Reverend Jeanette right now; we just need someone to sit and talk to and just to process with.” And so with that, I end up being involved, heavily, in navigating relief of many families of stolen lives.
Reverend Jeanette?
I mean, I was in ministry for a very long time, graduated from Bible college. I grew up a minister’s kid; my parents were pastors for all my life, so I grew up around ministry. I know how to navigate it. You need the support spiritually, and you’re looking at physical healing or spiritual healing.
What do you mean when you say that you got involved in navigating relief of families of stolen lives?
The day after Daunte Wright was killed, I went to the scene to pray. And this young man came up, and he and his cousins were in just bloodshot tears. And I was like, “How you holding up, young king?” And he was like, “I’m struggling.” And I just held him, and he stopped. And then later I found out that he was Daunte Wright’s brother, and I asked, “What do you need right now?” And he said, “A prayer vigil.” Six hours later, we hosted a prayer vigil. Since then, I’ve walked with the Wright family through all their trials, court hearings, and even sentencing. Being present in the courtroom, being present behind the scenes, being present wherever grief is navigated.
Jeanette-Rupert
In COVID’s early days, Rupert felt compelled to transfer to the ICU to help however she could.
Your story never ceases to take unfathomable turns.
Now I get phone calls quite a bit when there’s trauma or someone that’s needing someone to talk to. Amir Locke’s family—just being present.
What has being so near the center of all this been like for you personally?
It’s been challenging. I mean, even prior to Daunte Wright, I was there for George Floyd’s family when they had sentencing. I had Reverend Jesse Jackson on one side of me and Reverend Al Sharpton on the other.
Incredible.
It is surreal, but I also understand divine appointment. But, yeah, people ask, “How in the world do you end up in these situations?” And I honestly don’t know. It usually ends up being someone calls and says, “Hey, we need you,” and I just show up. I’m not here for myself. I don’t get paid. When the cameras are off, when the doors are closed, people have no idea I’m there.
Emmett Till’s family called over the summer of 2021 because they wanted to celebrate what would’ve been his 80th birthday at George Floyd Square. They said, “Hey, can you and your sister plan this?” Even though it’s been 66 years, Emmett Till’s family still holds grief—they still have not seen justice.
You brought Emmett Till’s family through this. George Floyd’s. Daunte Wright’s. The list goes on. How do you bring your own family through this?
It starts at the dinner table. Having crucial conversations with your kids. I sit with my kids, and I get a temperature check. What are you feeling? How are you holding up? Sometimes I don’t have the answers for them, but I let them know we’re going to stand on the side of justice and what’s right.
In December, my son was home from college. He’s going into law and wants to be a judge, and I was able to invite him to the courthouse to watch the trial of Kim Potter from an overflow room. And I said, “Well, what did you like most?” And he said, “Honestly, the highlight wasn’t meeting the attorney general, it wasn’t meeting attorneys like Ben Crump and Jeff Storms, it wasn’t even meeting the families.” He said, “The best part was seeing Mom do what she does. When she came in, the presence that she commanded in the room—she would just walk in the room, and the room would calm.” He said, “I was really proud to be your son.”
Your son was proud of your healing work. Do you ever wish you had more time to focus on the broken systems creating the pain you heal in the first place?
I already know that I have been called to help the brokenhearted, to comfort those who weren’t, to listen those who feel unheard, to see those who feel unseen. But as you navigate healing, you have to look at the root cause. It’s not about putting a Band-Aid over a bullet hole; it’s about bringing about true impactful change. What do we do to ensure that we’re not seeing these tragedies happen again? Because we’re dealing with trauma on top of trauma on top of trauma. It’s not just about the healing process, but it’s also about preventative care. We’re going to run ourselves ragged running around just trying to deal with the aftermath. I don’t want to go to another funeral of a kid—going to the funeral of a 15-year-old on the very day of my daughter’s 15th birthday.
How, in the depths of all this, do you manage to still find hope?
Hope is imperative. To have hope that the generation underneath me will get that much better and then they’ll continue the work. Because it’s not going to be overnight—this is a marathon. And so pacing ourselves and knowing that we have to do our part, but then the baton gets passed and someone else gets to keep the forward progress.
Passing the baton to people like your son.
Ever since he was a kid, he’s just had this heart for justice. The only time he ever got in trouble, he was standing up for another kid. He wanted to be an anesthesiologist, a neurosurgeon, or a judge—he told me that ever since he was 13. And when George Floyd was murdered, he said, “Mom, I want to be a judge. I want to be a part of the solution to help our Black and Brown community to have equity in the justice system.”
Sounds pretty hopeful to me.
Very, very hopeful. When we had the youth march for Amir, there were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of teenagers marching from St. Paul’s Central High School to the Governor’s Mansion. And just being a part of that is something that I feel is so important. Because our kids are watching us. And so we need to inspire them to help facilitate their dreams in that legacy. We need to help them do greater things than we have done ourselves.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
