For 14 years, Ivan Nelson, executive director of African American Survivor Services, has dedicated his career to helping those grappling with addiction and recovery. As a licensed alcohol and drug counselor and a certified peer recovery specialist with a forensic endorsement, Ivan provides critical support to individuals and families impacted by the justice system.
But his mission goes beyond conventional addiction services. Nelson’s initiative is aimed at addressing systemic disparities that disproportionately affect African Americans seeking recovery.
Nelson witnessed firsthand the ambiguities and disparities in systems, particularly for people of color, while working in clinical services for special populations. Despite his advocacy for clients, he was often met with minimal concern from agencies and organizations, his concerns falling on deaf ears as they moved up the chain of command.
With that in mind, Nelson, along with other colleagues, aimed to provide services specifically for survivors of intimate partner violence, domestic violence, addiction and homelessness — communities that are frequently overlooked or inadequately served by traditional systems.
“People were just falling by the wayside, being further marginalized,” he recalls. “It wasn’t that they didn’t want to get better; the system wasn’t built for them.”
One of the biggest challenges in addiction recovery for African Americans is a lack of health care, especially for those coming from incarceration or experiencing homelessness. “Lack of health insurance is one of the main barriers,” Nelson explains. “We take a hands-on approach to help people navigate the system, making sure applications and everything are filled out properly.”
Their approach is rooted in culturally competent care — recognizing the importance of shared experiences and historical contexts that resonate with Black clients. “Being aware or having those shared experiences…speaks volumes to whether or not a person is going to stay in the treatment continuum,” he says. This understanding led the organization to hire an elderly Black woman to build trust with young Black women in the community, recognizing the cultural significance of respecting “mama” or “big mama.”
“We noticed that younger Black women were more comfortable when they saw someone who looked like them, who understood where they were coming from,” Nelson says. “It wasn’t just about providing services; it was about creating a space where they felt seen and respected.”
This reality is mirrored with individuals on the other side of addiction and treatment. Vivian Mims, local Rondo resident, has experienced similar challenges on the road to recovery. Mims recalls her childhood fondly, although the Rondo neighborhood, once a vibrant Black community, was dramatically disrupted in the 1960s by the construction of I-94.
“I remember playing on the concrete of what is now 94 when they were building the freeway. The community was split. It had a lasting effect on me,” she explains.
Her battle with addiction started at a young age, long before she understood its implications. “I remember enjoying having whiskey and honey as my cough syrup as a child and wanting it even when I didn’t have a cough,” she says, reflecting on her early exposure to substances.
“In the ‘70s there was a lot of partying, house parties, and clubbing in Rondo. That’s when my addiction to drinking really took off,” she recalls. As drugs like cocaine and crack began to infiltrate communities, Mim’s addiction took many forms, and her life spiraled out of control.
Despite being a scholarship student at the University of Minnesota and even becoming the homecoming queen in 1979, Mims found herself alienated by the racial tensions she faced. “It was very racist and degrading, and I stuffed it with substances,” she admits.
Mim’s path to recovery was not only shaped by her personal struggles, but also by the systemic barriers she encountered within treatment programs. She recalls her experiences in various programs, explaining how her race and the lack of cultural inclusivity made the process even more challenging.
“The AA meetings were pretty white. I didn’t really feel at home there,” she reflects. However, at the time, she found a sense of belonging in Narcotics Anonymous (NA). “When I got introduced to Narcotics Anonymous, I felt like I was home. There, I saw people who looked like me, and that made all the difference,” Mims shares, echoing Nelson’s sentiments about the power of representation.
Mim’s journey to recovery wasn’t easy, but it was life-changing. She celebrated 21 years of sobriety in October 2024, a milestone that has shaped her current role as a caregiver and mentor. “I got clean on October 20, 2003, and that marks 21 years now,” she proudly states.
During her recovery, Mims has rebuilt her relationship with her family, including becoming a caregiver for her elderly mother, who now lives in the same home Mims grew up in — a home that, during her addiction, she was once locked out of by her own mother. “I was able to become the proud homeowner of a home I was once not even welcome in,” Mims says.
Identity is central to their work and in Mim’s case was integral to conquering her addiction. “Identity is a big part of what we do,” Nelson emphasizes. “People need to see themselves in the recovery process. They need to know that their experiences are valid and that they can heal.
“We go all the way back, educating people on where trauma comes from in our community,” Nelson explains. “It’s about helping them understand that they’re not broken — they’re dealing with generational trauma that has never been addressed.”
Nelson explains, “We’re known for creating these pop-up events in the community. We go where people are — on the streets, in hotspots, on light rails, wherever the need is.” This approach has been crucial in reaching individuals who might otherwise be overlooked by traditional services.
Their work is a testament to the power of culturally responsive care and community-driven solutions. As Nelson and his team continue to advocate for policy changes and expand their reach, they are not only helping individuals recover but also challenging the systemic barriers that have long hindered African American communities.
“We’re not just trying to help people get clean,” Nelson concludes. “We’re trying to help them heal. We’re trying to build a community where they feel seen, heard and valued.”
