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Life, Values & Legacy: Our Chat with Jeremiah Steen of Downtown Detroit

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Jeremiah Steen. Check out our conversation below.

Hi Jeremiah, thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What do you think others are secretly struggling with—but never say?
Many folks, especially in positions of power, are quietly wrestling with a fear they won’t name: the fear of becoming irrelevant. In a world where movements are youth-led, tech-enabled, and driven by lived experience, the traditional playbook is losing its grip. Titles, tenure, and degrees no longer guarantee influence, or respect.

They see a new generation rising. Bold. Informed. Collaborative. And unwilling to wait their turn. For some, that’s inspiring. For others, it’s threatening. Most don’t know how to respond, so they retreat behind status or sabotage what they can’t control.

But here’s the truth: relevance is earned, not inherited. And while they hesitate, we build. We organize. We disrupt. We design futures rooted in equity, not ego.

The next wave of leadership is not coming, it’s here. And it doesn’t look like what came before. It’s younger, more inclusive, more creative. It’s strategic and unafraid. And most importantly, it’s not asking for permission.

So if you’re reading this and feel the weight of that shift: good. It means you’re paying attention. The question isn’t whether you’ll be replaced. The question is: Will you evolve, or be left behind?

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Jeremiah Steen, and I’m the Executive Director of the Steen Foundation, a youth-led philanthropic organization I launched with a $3,000 grant from the Jane Goodall Institute. Since then, we’ve helped direct over $11 million toward youth-serving initiatives, acquired Pages Bookshop as a literacy and civic hub, and created nationally recognized programs like the 4-Hour Mural Challenge and youth-led grantmaking juries, which put real dollars and decision-making power in the hands of Gen-Z leaders.

I also serve on the Michigan Nonprofit Association Board, chair the board at Life Leaders, and was one of the youngest Trustees ever at the Skillman Foundation, helping steward over $550 million in assets for Detroit youth. As a co-creator of TradesForce, I helped connect more than 1,600 young people to union-backed, high-impact jobs in the clean economy.

At the core of everything I do is the belief that young people are not the future—they are the now. My work centers on building intergenerational systems that restore trust, shift power, and move capital to where it’s needed most: the hands of communities.

Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. What part of you has served its purpose and must now be released?
The part of me that sought validation from institutions and individuals who were never built to hold my kind of vision. Early on, that need to be accepted helped me gain access. But now, it’s a weight. I’ve learned that constantly trying to be palatable to power only dilutes the impact I’m here to make. That part has served its purpose. I’m releasing it — because I wasn’t called to fit in. I was called to build, disrupt, and lead unapologetically.

What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me how to sit with myself, unfiltered, uncelebrated, and uncertain, and still choose to keep going. Success never taught me that. It gave me applause, but not endurance. Pain showed me who was real, what was necessary, and what I was truly made of. It stripped away the noise and revealed the work that matters. That clarity? No award or title can replicate it.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. Is the public version of you the real you?
The public version of me is polished, strategic, and often exhausted. It’s the version that knows how to survive rooms I was never supposed to be in. But is it the real me? Not entirely. The real me is softer, sometimes scared, still figuring it out. But I’ve built a brand on certainty, results, and resilience, so I rarely show the doubt, the grief, the parts still healing. The truth is, I’ve mastered the art of appearing whole while still patching the cracks.

Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. What do you think people will most misunderstand about your legacy?
That it was easy, or that it was all strategy and ambition. People will see the accolades, boards, and initiatives and think I was just another polished prodigy who “had it all figured out.” What they’ll miss is the cost, the relationships strained, the anxiety masked by poise, the weight of being the youngest in rooms designed to swallow people like me whole. They’ll misunderstand the urgency behind my work as ego instead of survival. They’ll overlook how much of it was built out of necessity, not just vision, and how much I sacrificed just to be taken seriously.

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