About Me

John C. Harris (Wyn’Yasu)

I didn’t grow up imagining I would run for Congress.
I grew up trying to figure out where I belonged.

I was raised in Louisiana and Central Florida in environments shaped by contradiction. I learned early about racism, misogyny, and how power often hides behind tradition and silence. History was never abstract to me. It showed up in stories, places, and the things people avoided naming.

As a kid, I struggled in school. I daydreamed, stared out windows, and was often afraid to raise my hand. I skipped school to avoid bullies and spent time at abandoned construction sites reading history books and fantasy novels. I was fascinated by how societies rise, fall, and rebuild, and why some leaders create systems that last while others leave only wreckage behind.

I dropped out of high school and lived in my car. I started working physical jobs early, breaking concrete at seventeen, scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, and living on tips. I learned how fragile stability can be. Housing, healthcare, and dignity were never theoretical ideas to me. They were daily lived experiences.

Before leaving the South, I owned a small construction business and worked across residential and commercial projects. I learned firsthand what real labor demands of the body and how invisible that work often becomes once the job is done. That experience shaped my respect for workers and my belief that leadership should never ask of others what it is unwilling to do itself.

I moved through belief systems searching for truth. I went to Catholic school, was saved as a Southern Baptist, and later engaged deeply with skepticism and debate. What I learned is that most people are not cruel by nature. They are afraid, wounded, or defending stories they were never taught how to question.

In my late teens, I had early contact with the criminal justice system. That experience, and what I witnessed there, left a lasting mark on me and continues to inform my views on justice, accountability, and rehabilitation. It is a subject I take personally and seriously.

I briefly worked in the Florida House of Representatives and saw how easily power drifts toward comfort when it is not anchored by integrity. That clarity has stayed with me.

In 2011, I left Louisiana and rode my bike across the country to San Francisco. The trip took two months. Along the way, I experienced isolation, hardship, and open displays of racial intimidation. That journey taught me mindfulness, resilience, and how to listen to my inner self when there is nowhere to hide from it.

San Francisco gave me a home when I didn’t have one.

When I arrived, I bartended, then ran bars and restaurants, and eventually became a consultant helping struggling establishments survive. I assessed systems honestly, retrained staff, rebuilt menus and finances, and helped businesses find their footing again. I consistently learned that the hardest barrier to change was often at the top. Owners who had grown used to power often struggled the most with accountability.

Over time, I moved into construction leadership and now serve as Director of Construction, overseeing projects from crews on the ground to investor accountability. I specialize in process design, change management, and building teams that can hold pressure without breaking. I know how systems fail and how to rebuild them so they actually work.

In 2015, I began writing about masculinity, consent, and identity from my own experience. That work grew into workshops, conversations, and community-building efforts. Through that journey, I reframed masculinity to include vulnerability and empathy, which transformed my ability to form real friendships and healthy relationships.

I am nonbinary. I am queer. I am married. I believe human rights are not a spectrum but a foundation. Safety, dignity, healthcare, housing, and belonging should not depend on who you are or how much power you hold.

I believe leadership is service.
I believe humility means knowing when to take up space and when not to.
I believe integrity is doing the right thing even when no one is watching.

San Francisco is hurting right now, but it is not broken. It is a future-focused city trapped inside systems built for a world that no longer exists. I believe we can rebuild those systems with honesty, competence, and care.

I am running for Congress because this city deserves a representative who tells the truth, understands how systems actually work, and leads with courage and accountability.

I don’t want to be a hero.
I want to be useful.

I believe the greatest leaders are the ones who build something strong enough that it no longer needs them.

That is the future I want to build with you.