Katie Wilson has spent much of her adult life organizing in Seattle, co-founding the Transit Riders Union and playing an instrumental role in designing and passing the JumpStart Seattle Payroll Expense Tax on large corporations. This week, however, with elections just around the corner, we’re focusing on the person behind the work. 

Wilson is  running for mayor for the first time, challenging incumbent Bruce Harrell in what’s shaping up to be one of the city’s most closely watched races in years. Even The New York Times has weighed in, calling it part of a generational shift in politics. (You can listen to our interview with Mayor Harrell here and get to know the man behind the mayor.)

We caught up with Wilson to get a sense of who she is beyond the race—the kid who asked big questions, the Oxford student who trusted her gut, and the mom thinking about playgrounds and public bathrooms.

You grew up in Binghamton, New York, with parents who were evolutionary biologists. What kind of kid were you, and what early memory or influence from that time still shapes how you see the world?

I was a kid who loved reading, spent a lot of time romping around outside, and put more pressure on myself to excel than my parents did. When trying to learn or accomplish something, I was very persistent and single-minded. I was a pretty serious kid, but with a sense of humor and an independent streak. I think being raised by scientists taught me to value reason over authority; I wasn’t afraid to correct adults or speak up when I thought something was wrong, and I’m sure that made me a little insufferable sometimes.

I remember when I was about seven years old riding in the car with my dad and asking what the purpose of life was. He said something like, “To have children and raise them into healthy adults,” presumably trying to answer my question accurately from an evolutionary point of view. Endless cycles of procreation struck me as depressingly futile, and my internal response was something like, “there must be more to life than that.” Maybe I’ve spent a lot of my own life searching for it. 

You left Oxford just before finishing your degree in physics and philosophy—a big decision at a young age. What did that choice teach you about identity and trusting your own direction?

The Stranger reported that my favorite movie is Orson Welles’s 1965 Chimes at Midnight—I think my husband told them that. It’s adapted mainly from Shakespeare’s Henry IV plays, and it’s a coming-of-age story that resonates with me because it’s about leaving childish things behind and assuming great responsibility. 

I know it sounds counterintuitive and maybe absurd, but that’s what the decision to leave university was for me. Of course, almost no one understood that, and it was a very difficult thing to do because I had to accept that I was going to leave many people in my life confused, angry, and disappointed. I had to take a leap of faith, trust my gut, and accept that there was this wide gulf between appearance and reality. It led to a lot of self-reflection over the years and I definitely got to know myself better as a result.

You’ve spent years organizing for renters, transit riders, and low-income residents. We all see inequality every day, but was there something you saw, heard, or experienced that made you want to take action?

I don’t think it was ever one thing. On a personal and emotional level, like a lot of people, when I see someone in a bad situation I want to help. But I know from experience that it’s easy to get lost in, and paralyzed by, another person’s suffering. I realized pretty early on that people-helping-people only goes so far. The forces driving inequality and other social problems are structural and systemic—and that’s where the big solutions lie too. That’s why I became an organizer. Organizing isn’t charity, it’s about building power.

You’ve been at the helm of major campaigns—co-founding the Transit Riders Union, helping design the JumpStart Seattle Payroll Expense Tax to fund housing, and steering efforts to broaden transit access for students and low-income residents. When you think about leadership, what does it mean to you on a human level, not just political?

Leadership is about looking and listening for what people need, and reflecting that back to them in a way that opens up the opportunity to address that need through collaboration and collective action. On a human level, that process should be both educational and empowering, and sometimes it can be transformative. 

Everyone involved learns more about how our society works, how democracy works, and how power flows. People discover capacities in themselves that they didn’t know they had, and ultimately—hopefully, if we win!—together they accomplish something that improves not just their own lives but the lives of many other people as well.

You’ve held hands-on jobs like barista, laborer, and boatyard work before becoming a full-time organizer. How did that work shape how you relate to people or stay grounded in what matters?

I love the camaraderie that develops among coworkers when you’re doing hands-on work together. Building and repairing things gives such a sense of competence and accomplishment, and I especially enjoyed working outside. But I also experienced some really difficult and unpleasant workplaces, and I worked alongside people who had far fewer options than I did. At the boatyard, they would hire Latino workers during the summer and then lay them off with no notice as soon as work slowed down. 

For a while I was renovating apartments in Eastlake, turning studios into very small one-bedrooms so the owner could raise the rents and sell the building at a profit. The boss was so cheap he wouldn’t buy us ladders, so when we did ceiling repairs we had to stand on overturned five-gallon buckets. It was so unsafe. 

The bakery I worked at was attached to a restaurant, and there was a guy in the kitchen working 80 hours a week without getting paid overtime. But he didn’t want to complain because he was undocumented and needed the money to send back to his family. Getting to know people in situations like that definitely stayed with me.

You and your husband are raising a young daughter in Seattle. How has parenthood changed the way you see the city and its future?

Parenthood has given me a new appreciation for our parks, playgrounds, and community centers, as well as kid-friendly restaurants, cafés, and breweries. Especially raising a kid in an apartment, it’s so important to have public spaces where little ones can run around. 

And public bathrooms! They’re more important to me than ever. 

Being a mom also makes me see our affordability crisis in new ways. My daughter is a future Seattle Public Schools student, and a major driver of our schools’ enrollment problems is the high cost of living in Seattle. So many working people have moved out of the city because they can’t afford to sink roots and grow a family here, and that affects school funding and ultimately the quality of the education we’re able to provide.

Campaigning and activism can be intense. What helps you keep your balance or find quiet when things get noisy?

Before I had my daughter, it was riding my bike. For me, that was such a great way to get around the city while also getting some exercise and taking a pause from constant work and communication. Now with a toddler, to be honest, there’s not much balance or quiet in my life. But spending time with her is at least a change of pace from campaigning. Sometimes I’m just focused on reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar or feeding her oatmeal.

Every organizer has a network—friends, mentors, collaborators. Who do you lean on when you need encouragement or perspective, and what makes those people important to you?

Back in 2017 and 2018, I was deeply involved in the “head tax” campaign, a high-drama fight that I wrote about here. That was really a trial by fire, and many of the people I went through it with are still close friends and colleagues to whom I turn when things get tough. I’ve learned a ton from fellow organizers, leaders, and collaborators over the years—sometimes by osmosis and observation, and sometimes because they give really good advice.

After two decades here, what part of Seattle feels like “home”—a place, ritual, or event that reminds you why you fell in love with this city?

I love being out on Elliott Bay. Our waterfront is so special, and there’s nothing like looking back at the Seattle skyline from the Bainbridge Island ferry or the West Seattle, or Vashon, water taxis on a beautiful day.

If we could strip away the title of “mayoral candidate” and just ask Katie Wilson the person: At the end of the day, what matters most to you?

To bring it full circle back to your first question, at some point in my life, it occurred to me that if a child asked me the same question I had asked my dad, I’d be stumped. What is the purpose of life—what matters most? Of course, you could say “love” or “family” or “making the world a better place,” and those are all fine answers. But what’s an answer that I could really stand by—and that would also give a seven-year-old something to chew on for the rest of her life? 

After some thought, here’s what I came up with: To participate as fully, as consciously, and as passionately as possible in the great unfolding of the universe. That’s what I want to do.