Covid-19: I Saw A Gaping Hole in the Matrix

When the Covid-19 virus hit, thanks to an exorbitant cable bill, I had already left the Matrix. It was the kosmos that influenced what we think. The hatemongering tool kept the high, mighty; the minorities, oppressed; and the tethered, unaware. An ersatz environment made for you to trust because watching was not seeing nor listening nor learning. Indoctrination prevented you from truth, love, liberty, and happiness. I saw a gaping hole in the Matrix from my run-down house nestled in the urban pastoral, a confined place ravaged by crime and sustained systemic racial poverty, populated by taken-for-granted black voters, and yet prepared for such a time as this.

Last December in Glenville, before the quarantine, shelves inside the New East Side Market, which had opened in May, were already empty. 

Before all this, there was the death of Jeffrey Epstein, the billionaire financier and convicted pedophile. He knew most of Main Street, Wall Street, Hollywood, D.C., and even British Royalty. Epstein’s death meant a big-name pedophile had been silenced. Countless others were arrested but the media downplayed the stories since the POTUS had made a connection between the Swamp he promised to drain, globalists, and pedophilia. 

Next, was the Harvey Weinstein trial. The Oscar winner and Hillary fundraiser who knew the same globalist friends as Epstein, now convicted of sexual assault, needed a walker. With pursed lips, his victims scolded toxic men. Didactic tweets furthered confusion: Women were equal, but tweet sensitive? Tinseltown, home to make-believe, paid these women large sums of money, albeit less than men, to pretend. 

There were worldwide protests, beautiful images of the cinematic umbrella marches for Democracy in Hong Kong. Protestors waved U.S. flags and used Revolutionary War rhetoric. A million people took to the streets because they wanted the American Constitution’s rights. According to the Matrix, recognizing Slavery as part of our history nullified this country's greatness. Nationalism meant white supremacy. MAGA hats triggered white privilege violence that harkened back to the Jim Crow era when Negroes were beaten for their skin color and inferiority.

This aided a resistance movement. Blacks realized the insanity of certain traditional and obsolete beliefs. Sovereignty derived from black voters had elected legislators who used them as the face of unequal suffering that never ended. Blexit members remembered the Democratic Party was the party of slavery, the KKK and mass incarceration—it was the plantation. A last straw: No borders. No walls. Massive illegal immigration—a renewable supply of minorities promised jobs, education, driver’s licenses, voting rights, health insurance, welfare, housing, etc. The audacity of Blexit hope was met with mockery from Matrix overseers: panelists from “The View,” hip hop stars, black athletes, writers, Hollywood, talk show hosts, multicultural touting college professors, and cable news commentators.    

Observers saw that politicians who aged in office will not solve problems but instead used issues for re-election and wealth gain. A careerist congressman was exposed for the murder rate and rat infestation in his majority black district. Journalists cried the representative was untouchable because of his Civil Rights Era experience. Vindicated because he had seen 1960s racism and the president was a racist.  He voted against a border wall. He joined the chorus: Impeach, impeach.

The distraction: Impeachment for obstruction of justice and abuse of power. February 4, 2020, at the end of the State of the Union, the House Speaker, another wealthy politician, tore up the President’s speech. The denouement, those who listened heard him mention the coronavirus which would shut down his rallies, decrease his approval ratings, increase our taxes, tank economic gains, halt black employment growth and his hope of re-election. 

The virus closed the border and necessitated travel bans. The diversity party offered two rich elderly white men as presidential candidates. Nonessential celebrities told us from their mansions: “Stay home.” Newspapers died. Talk show hosts read from home. People hoarded supplies. Cable news ratings soared as the quarantined watched White House briefings to see the president parry with planted journalism operatives. Meanwhile, as unemployment numbers and the death toll rose, politicians blamed the president for killing people while they held up the 2.2 trillion-dollar relief bill until it was padded with pork. 

This I saw: Shelves bare, privileges pruned; the utopian life you promised precluded the civil liberties whiteness takes for granted—the ones I deserve. Everything you hated, I needed. Everything I loved; you took. Levelled, you lived like me. An election looms. The gap widens. As expected, an inordinate number of blacks are dying of coronavirus.  

Charlotte Morgan is a writer from Cleveland, Ohio who teaches at Cleveland State University. She uses reportage to tell her stories of the black experience in America. In addition, before the virus, she taught lively nonfiction workshops for Literary Cleveland. Her work will be featured in Literary Cleveland's upcoming anthology Cleveland Stories Vol. II.

Raul Williams: A Hero in the Land

The Land is a local news startup that reports on Cleveland’s neighborhoods and inner ring suburbs. We deliver in-depth stories that foster accountability, inform the community, and inspire people to take action. Dear readers,   In this issue we are thrilled to introduce you to Charlotte Morgan, a longtime journalist and instructor at Cleveland State University, and photographer Karin McKenna. Please take five minutes to read Charlotte's profile of Raul Williams, a frontline social service worker at the City Mission. Additionally, we've included a provocative op-ed by Mansfield Frazier about Mayor Frank Jackson's interview with The Appeal. After five newsletters, we are slowly building our stride, but have a long way to go. Please keep sharing feedback. We are listening.   — Lee Chilcote and Tammy Wise Raul Williams once sought help at the City Mission. Now he helps clients there break the cycle of addiction and homelessness.   By Charlotte Morgan Photo by Karin McKenna For over 100 years the City Mission at East 55th and Carnegie has helped people in crisis with shelter, food, and other services. Raul Williams, who has worked there as a social worker and case worker for nearly two years, once stayed here while battling addiction and homelessness. Now he helps people with problems that dogged him for years.   He teaches a class called “A Touch of Reality” in which clients are taught to avoid the types of behavior that can result in illegal activity. “I can smell the B.S. a mile away and I tell them,” he says. “Some men keep coming back because they do not change.”   Williams, who is 51, has been sober for nine years. The Covid-19 crisis has recently impacted his job. Volunteers are not allowed on campus and some programs, including assessments of people looking for help, have been impacted. Many staff members still work from home, and partner agencies are not on campus right now.   One thing that has not changed, though, is the number of men coming through intake. Williams’ day begins at 4 am. “I come in and we clean and sanitize the facility,” he says. “The men here must wear masks. Some of them go out to the gas station at 55th and Cedar, so we have to be careful.” They go over to get their cigarettes. However, they are not allowed to bring food on campus.  Photo by Karin McKenna According to the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless, on any given night in Cleveland, 4,000 to 4,300 people are without homes – or more than 22,000 annually. US Census data shows that Cleveland ranks second in the country for poverty, just behind Detroit.   According to the May issue of the science journal Nature, not only does the economic damage from Covid-19 threaten to increase the homeless population, but close living quarters and lack of testing are also leading to growing outbreaks. Homeless people are more likely to have underlying health conditions, making them more at risk from the virus.   In an April blog post, NEOCH calls for a number of changes from city and county agencies in order to reduce the likelihood of outbreaks among people experiencing homelessness, including converting hotel rooms into housing, increased testing, and offering free masks and public sanitizer stations.   “We have changed the floor plan to give the men more space,” Williams says of how City Mission has adapted its services. The City Mission houses 110 men at Crossroads Men’s Crisis Center and 60 or more women at Laura’s Home Women’s Crisis Center, which is located at 18120 Puritas Avenue.   Other plans include building a pavilion so that clients have a place to sit outdoors. The project is still in phase one because of COVID-19. Since there are not very many people in the building, the City Mission is using this time complete roof repairs.   “To date, we have only had one person who has tested positive,” says Williams. “We’ve had a few close calls, but we’ve only had one hospitalization.”   A long journey   Williams was raised on the east side, not far from where he now works. “I grew up in the Longwood Projects” at East 37th and Woodland, he says. “I went to Central Junior High and graduated from East Tech High School in 1986. The neighborhood was called Dodge City because there were a lot of bullets flying around.”   He recalls stumbling upon three dead bodies in the apartment next door. “I knew that smell as a kid.”   “I come from the ghetto, but my brother out in San Diego retired from the Navy,” he says. “We are five years apart. He made good choices and I made bad ones.” Photo by Karin McKenna Williams’ decisions to get involved with theft and other unlawful activities cost him. “I served 10 years and then 11 and a half years in prison,” he says. “I came from a family where there were drugs and alcohol. There was a time when I needed shelter.”    In 2001, Williams found himself at the City Mission. He can remember his time there and in particular, a social worker named Reggie Adams who still works there. “I've known Reggie for 30 years. We were in some of the same prisons. He was honest and forthcoming with me. He told me to address my hurts, hang-ups, and pain, and not to add drugs and alcohol on top of them or else my life would never get better.”   But Williams had not learned his lesson. “I got out of prison October 31st, 2010 and went to live in South Euclid with a woman I knew from my past,” he says. An Ohio Lottery scratch off game turned into a $10,000 windfall. “I bought her a washer and dryer and gave her $2,900. I kept $6,900 and moved out.”   “It was August 15, 2010, the day my favorite aunt Joyce Milan died,” he continues. “She was a pastor.” Raul remembers how his aunt wrote him encouraging letters while he was in prison. He took part of his money and got high. An unusual experience marked the turning point in his life.   “Let’s just say I felt my aunt came to me. On August 19, 2010, I checked myself into Windsor Laurelwood Center. I went into a dual diagnosis unit and that’s where I met Miss Juanita. She gave me an AA book. I went from Laurelwood to Matt Talbot for 90 days of rehab.”   From there, Raul went to Project Share, a sober transitional housing program run by the Salvation Army through the Harbor Light Complex at East 17th and Prospect. “Then, I ended up in Procop, which was at 4001 Trent Avenue on the westside,” he says. “You had to have five months of sobriety before you were admitted.”   This is where Williams’ long journey towards sobriety and self-sufficiency bore fruit. “I lived there and eventually worked my way to my own place,” he says.   Peace of mind   In January 2011, Raul furthered his rehabilitation plan by enrolling in Cuyahoga Community College. “I worked on my body, running to get peace of mind,” he says.   He posted videos on social media of himself drenching in sweat as he jogged across the Carnegie Lorain bridge. When it was cold, he ran in his sweat suit. On Sundays, he posted the healthy meals that he proudly prepared for himself.     His focus paid off as he earned his Associate Degree at Tri-C, then his Bachelor’s in Social Work (BSW) at Akron University.     He worked at Stella Maris in Cleveland, gaining experience in providing drug and alcohol recovery assistance. Then, in August of 2018, he found a place at the City Mission. Photo by Karin McKenna After arriving early, Williams begins waking the men up at 6:30 am for personal hygiene care and soon, breakfast at 7:30 am. Residents spend at least a half an hour receiving teaching from the bible because the City Mission’s approach is faith based. By 9 am, the men enjoy an hour where they can travel. The day is structured to give clients time to go on appointments, but also to gain skills like responsibility in order to succeed.    “I run the 12-step program from Alcoholics Anonymous” since Reggie has been off, says Williams. “I teach the men to stop listening to things they hear in their head and be willing to take directions from others.”   This means getting a sponsor or a support group and home group. “That’s just for the guys that are dealing with the drug and alcohol issues. We have people here who are dealing with mental health issues. Tell what you’re feeling and thinking. Take your meds and don’t add street drugs on top of it.” Raul says that when they do this, often these men wind up in jail or in institutions.   Case management involves helping people solve their problems by connecting them with the proper agency. Outside case management helps them with housing. All of it begins during intake. “When you come through the doors of the City Mission, you pee in a cup and that determines how you proceed in our program. If it comes back dirty, we connect them with recovery services. They get an assessment which now we do over the phone because of the virus.”    Raul knows that not all the stories have a happy ending. Some men have to deal their sex offender label. Others feel that living around men reminds them of prison. “We make everyone accountable. Those who don’t do well, we may send them to 2100 Lakeside. Sometimes they will send a case to us.”   In one memorable case, a former Cleveland Browns player came through the shelter. “He was a 6’5” Defensive End, who played on the team in the 1980s,” Williams says. He came through the shelter and he had suffered brain trauma. “He was not here long, he stayed for a few days and he moved to Kent. He left a voicemail thanking me for my class and for my honesty.”   However, no matter what Williams does for the community, some do not believe in his transformation nor commitment. “Some of my family members and I do not communicate with me because they believe that I will go back to my old ways.” But Williams says that he will not. He is thankful for his transformation including his marriage to his wife Simona in 2016. He has turned his life around and works to assist others.        Each Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, Raul can be found in the kitchen at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church kitchen serving those in need of a holiday hot meal and fellowship. He has been doing it for nine years. His tenth anniversary was disrupted by the coronavirus outbreak.     When asked why he volunteers, you get the same honest answer: “Because I ate in that kitchen.”