Sheriff Dawanna Witt: Becoming what she once feared, defeating the odds

When Dawanna Witt reflects on her journey to becoming the 29th Sheriff of Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office, she doesn’t begin with ambition.

She begins with fear.

“I was that kid who was afraid of the police,” she says. “I didn’t trust anyone in a uniform.”

Today, she leads one of the largest law enforcement agencies in Minnesota. She is the first woman and the first person of color to hold the office in Hennepin County. Her presence alone signals change. But her story, deeply personal, nonlinear, and hard-earned is what makes her leadership powerful.

Born in Chicago and raised in South Minneapolis, Witt grew up in circumstances that frequently brought law enforcement into her family’s life. She saw firsthand what she describes as both “bad policing” and broken systems. Early on, she internalized a belief that police were not people she could trust.

Her childhood also included strong community memories: close-knit family in Chicago Heights, grandparents who anchored the household, and neighborhood life that felt connected. But when her family relocated to Minnesota, those bonds loosened. Adjusting to a new environment brought cultural shifts and instability. She recalls noticing, even as a young child, how different Minnesota felt from the community she had known.

At 15, her life changed dramatically: she became a mother.

Faced with the responsibility of raising a child while still a child herself, Witt made a painful decision. Wanting safety and stability for her daughter, she temporarily placed her with her child’s father, now her husband of 35 years, while she entered a shelter in St. Paul. Later, she enrolled in a program through the Amherst H. Wilder Foundation that supported adolescent mothers with parenting skills and independent living education.

By 16, she was living in her own apartment in Dinkytown and had re-enrolled at South High School. She joined the basketball team, eventually serving as captain, and graduated on time with honors and scholarships.

“There were systems that failed me,” she says. “But there were also people who didn’t.”

A social worker during her high school years became one of those pivotal figures; someone who looked beyond her circumstances and saw her potential. That experience shaped Witt’s guiding philosophy: be who you needed when you were younger.

She initially pursued nursing at the St. Catherine University before changing her major to chemical dependency and family therapy. Her work placed her alongside families navigating addiction and child protection. Families that looked like her own. She found purpose in helping children avoid the isolation she once felt.

Law enforcement was not part of the plan.

That changed during a tour of the Hennepin County Jail. A female deputy told her, “We could use more women and women of color in this field.” On a whim, and with little expectation of being accepted, Witt applied to become a detention deputy.

She was hired.

Working inside the jail forced daily interaction with law enforcement officers, and over time, her perspective shifted. “I realized they weren’t all the same,” she says. “Some shouldn’t be in uniform, yes. But some were good people.”

Determined to become the kind of officer she wished she had seen growing up, she earned her peace officer license. After being passed over for promotions, and overhearing doubts about her background, she moved to the Dakota County Sheriff’s Office, where she would spend 16 years building her career.

There, leadership invested in her growth. She earned a double master’s degree in public safety administration and management, studied policing practices in the United Kingdom, and developed programs centered on youth engagement. The encouragement she received helped dismantle lingering self-doubt.

In 2019, she returned to Hennepin County as a major. When leadership shifts created an opening for sheriff, colleagues urged her to run. She resisted at first, questioning whether the role was meant for someone like her.

She ran anyway, and won.

When assembling her command staff, she made one request: “Don’t let this job change me.”

For Witt, leadership is not about titles. It is about impact. She speaks most passionately not about policy wins but about people. Young interns sought her out after seeing her name repeatedly in the community, a young man was inspired to pursue law enforcement after observing her at the State Fair, and a former mentee is now training at the FBI Academy.

Those moments, she says, are confirmation that she is doing something right.

At a time when many agencies struggle with recruitment and retention, the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office is fully staffed. Many applicants cite leadership as the reason they want to join.

Witt attributes her effectiveness to having lived on both sides of the system. She understands distrust because she once embodied it. She challenges officers to consider why someone may fear them. She challenges community members not to assume every badge represents harm.

“We get nowhere without conversation,” she says. “Education heals.”

She does not deny that harmful policing exists. She does not dismiss community pain. But she believes progress requires acknowledging complexity and choosing engagement over division.

As the first Black woman in her role, scrutiny comes with the territory. Shortly after taking office, she received a message questioning whether her identity, not her qualifications, earned her the position. Her response was measured: if she were a white man with the same credentials, would the question even be asked?

She understands the pressure of being first. “I know I have little room to mess it up,” she says. “I want to keep paving the road.”

In her office hangs a photo from her swearing-in ceremony. In it, her granddaughter looks up at her with unmistakable pride.

“That,” Witt says, “is why I do this.”

Sheriff Dawanna Witt’s journey is not a story of perfect systems or easy victories. It is a story of resilience, self-work, and the determination to transform personal pain into public purpose.

For young Black girls in Minneapolis.
For teen mothers rebuilding their futures.
For children who once feared the badge.

Her leadership is more than representation.

It is proof that belonging in spaces of power is not about where you start, but about who you choose to become.

For more information, visit www.hennepinsheriff.org.