The death of Rev. Jackson, the Rev. Jesse L. Jackson Sr., the civil rights icon, Baptist minister, global humanitarian and two-time presidential candidate who for more than six decades stood at the center of America’s struggle for justice, equality and political empowerment, has sent shockwaves across Chicago, the nation and the world.
Rev. Jackson died peacefully on Tuesday, February 17, 2026, at age 84, surrounded by his loving family at his South Side home. His passing marks the end of a towering chapter in the modern Civil Rights Movement — a life that stretched from segregated Southern libraries and jail cells to presidential politics, corporate boardrooms and international diplomacy.
Purple bunting now hangs above the doors of the Rainbow PUSH Coalition headquarters he founded in 1971, a solemn reminder that the iconic leader, Rev. Jackson, who fought racism, demanded corporate accountability and opened doors long closed to Black professionals is gone — but not his spirit.
Born October 8, 1941, in Greenville, South Carolina, Rev. Jackson’s first defining confrontation with injustice came when he was barely out of his teens.
During a 1959 winter break from the University of Illinois, where he had enrolled on a football scholarship, Rev. Jackson returned home to Greenville needing research materials unavailable at the segregated “colored branch” of the public library. When he attempted to use the downtown Greenville Public Library, he was barred because of the color of his skin.
He vowed to return.
On July 16, 1960, during a summer break, Jackson united with seven other students in what became known as the “Greenville Eight.” They walked into the downtown library, selected books and sat down to read.
Dr. Margaree Seawright Crosby, one of the eight, vividly recalled that day.
“We wanted to go to the downtown Greenville library. We knew that our parents had paid taxes so that we could use that library as well as anyone else. We were not able to go because we were Black.”
Crosby had just completed her freshman year at South Carolina State University in Orangeburg. She had already experienced protest there.
“We had demonstrated in downtown Orangeburg going to the lunch counters and the library. I remember marching downtown in Orangeburg with a group of hundreds of students, and they stopped us with the water hoses and tear gas.”
After meeting with Jackson’s pastor, the Rev. James S. Hall, vice president of the South Carolina NAACP, the students decided they would attempt to use the Greenville library again.
“We walked uptown to the library and sat down. The director told us to go upstairs. We went upstairs, very nice and polite, but they then told us we could not be in that library because it was not for us Black people,” Crosby said.
The students returned to Rev. Hall and told him what had happened.
“When we told him, he asked us why we left. We told him that if we had not left, we would have been arrested. He said maybe that is what we wanted them to do.”
They went back.
Within minutes, police arrived.
“I remember one officer tapping me on the shoulders saying, ‘I am going to ask you three times to leave, and if you don’t, I will take you to jail,’ and he did just that. He did the same thing with the other seven.”
They were arrested and charged with disorderly conduct.
“We were arrested just for going to the library to read a book,” Crosby said.
Their names and home addresses were published in local newspapers. Death threats and hate calls followed. “It was frightening, but we did what we had to do,” she said.
The Greenville City Council closed both the main library and the poorly stocked Black branch. Within two weeks, fearing legal action and mounting public pressure, officials reopened the downtown library to everyone.
“We went to court, but the judge threw the case out and opened the library for everybody; so, within two weeks the library in downtown Greenville in 1960 was opened for everybody. I felt great. We won back in 1960, and I will never forget what happened that day. I was very proud of myself.”
Crosby later became a professor emeritus at Clemson University. When she and Jackson were high school students, Clemson was for whites only. When Jackson ran for president, she introduced him to her students.
For Jackson, that first arrest “triggered a whole dynamic for the world to see,” and it changed the trajectory of his life.
“We were brought up under crippling, racist policies,” he reflected. “Because we fought back and resisted, we have a different America today. Our standing up had an impact upon oppressed people around the world.”
He would later describe himself as “a long-distance runner.”
After graduating from North Carolina A&T State University in 1964 — where he served as student body president and became active in demonstrations in Greensboro — Jackson enrolled at Chicago Theological Seminary. But history intervened.
In 1965, during the Selma voting rights campaign, Jackson joined fellow seminarians who traveled South to support the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s push for voting rights. King quickly recognized his organizing ability and appointed him to lead Operation Breadbasket in Chicago, the economic arm of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.
Under Jackson’s leadership beginning in 1966, Operation Breadbasket used boycotts and negotiations to compel corporations to hire Black workers and contract with Black-owned businesses. Employment audits were conducted. Executives were summoned to churches. Public commitments were demanded.
Jackson understood that civil rights had to move from lunch counters to payrolls.
Following King’s assassination on April 4, 1968, Jackson emerged as one of the most visible younger leaders of the movement. Ordained on June 30, 1968, by the Rev. Clay Evans, he grounded his activism in faith.
Tensions later surfaced within the Southern Christian Leadership Conference over leadership direction and strategy. In 1971, Jackson formally parted ways with the organization and founded Operation PUSH — People United to Serve Humanity — on Chicago’s South Side.
The early headquarters at the Capitol Theater at 79th and Halsted became a nerve center for economic pressure campaigns and voter registration drives.
Bishop T.L. Barrett recalled the tension of those early days. When gang members demanded Jackson leave the theater because it was in their territory, Barrett said, “Jesse said he was not leaving.” Barrett took his hand and told him, “You’re not going by yourself. I will walk with you.” The confrontation ended without violence, and PUSH flourished.
Jackson later purchased the former K.A.M. Israel Congregation Temple building, transforming it into the permanent headquarters of what would become the Rainbow PUSH Coalition.
Every Saturday, Jackson blended preaching with economic strategy, delivering rhythmic calls for justice. His affirmation became generational:
“I may be poor, but I am somebody. I may be on welfare, but I am somebody. I may be in jail, but I am somebody. I am God’s child.”
He popularized the phrase “Keep hope alive,” which transcended campaign slogans to become a moral declaration.
Jackson’s national prominence expanded dramatically during his presidential campaigns in 1984 and 1988. In 1984, he became the first African American to mount a viable nationwide campaign for the Democratic nomination. In 1988, he won several primaries and caucuses, earning nearly seven million votes.
His “Rainbow Coalition” strategy united Black voters, working-class whites, farmers, laborers, immigrants and marginalized communities.
Former President Barack Obama reflected on his influence.
“For more than 60 years, Reverend Jackson helped lead some of the most significant movements for change in human history,” Obama said. “Michelle got her first glimpse of political organizing at the Jacksons’ kitchen table when she was a teenager. And in his two historic runs for president, he laid the foundation for my own campaign to the highest office of the land. We stood on his shoulders.”
Jackson’s influence extended internationally. He traveled to conflict zones, including the Middle East, advocating for prisoner releases and peace negotiations.
Rev. Dr. Marshall Hatch, who began traveling with Jackson in 1999 on a peace mission between Israel and Palestine, praised him for “taking the mantle of working with Dr. King and he never gave up from the beginning to the end.”
Even as his health declined, Jackson remained engaged. Initially diagnosed in 2017 with Parkinson’s disease, he later learned he was living with progressive supranuclear palsy, a rare neurodegenerative disorder. He endured hospitalizations, including battles with COVID-19, yet continued making calls to elected officials and advising on legislation.
Rep. La Shawn Ford said Jackson was “a giant not only in Chicago but also in the movement for civil rights, human rights, and justice across the nation and around the world.”
Bobby Rush said simply, “He saved my life.”
Father Michael Pfleger reflected, “The Lion sleeps. We marched together, were jailed together, stood on the Dan Ryan together and last night I had the gift to pray with him and Mrs. J before he left us.”
Rev. Cameron Barnes said, “There is no passing of a baton. There is an army of batons by way of service.”
Attorney Barbara Arnwine said registering voters was “the best way to honor the memory of Rev. Jackson.”
Rev. Ciera Barnes-Chamberlain called him a “tireless champion of the poor and marginalized.”
Rev. Emma Lozano said, “He really inspired a lot of people.”
Jackson is survived by his wife, Jacqueline; their children Santita, Jesse Jr., Jonathan, Yusef and Jacqueline; daughter Ashley Jackson; and grandchildren.
Rev. Jesse L. Jackson Sr.’s life was marked by triumph, controversy, courage and complexity. He unsettled power structures, negotiated with presidents and dictators, confronted gangs and corporations, marched in Selma, shut down highways and registered millions of voters.
From a segregated library in Greenville to presidential politics and global diplomacy, he remained what he once called himself — a long-distance runner.
His passing closes a towering chapter in civil rights history. Yet the echo of his voice — urging Americans to organize, vote and “keep hope alive” — will continue to reverberate long after the purple bunting comes down.