Stories That Move You

“Mom, the whole focus of my work right now is to stop people from registering for Workfare, and make sure they have a safe place to go.” Michael was desperately trying to convince his mother not to go and register for Workfare.  “There is no way I will let my own mother do this.”

“Son, you don’t have to worry about me. It’ll be fine.  My position is a government job, and we are on the exempt list.  I have all the documentation I need.  Remember, your mother is nobody’s fool.” 

“I know that, believe me.  But I also know this president is wicked and racist, and this is his program... his baby.  I watched them drag people away all day, every day.    I also know that they treat people bad in those Workfare Centers – real bad.   It doesn’t look like they are doing any training in those places if you ask me.  Just stuffing people and storing them like animals.”

“And where are you hearing this from? Those REACH people?  Who are they really, anyway?  You sure they don’t have a secret agenda or something?” Sheila asked skeptically.

“They are a whole organization of people who understand exactly what Earl and his Workfare program really means for Black people.  They only confirmed what I have been saying from the beginning.  This is do or die time for Black people, Mom.” 

“Michael, I know you worried, but I am gonna be alright.  I just need to go down and get my registration card tomorrow.”  

“Well, I already see that I can’t talk you out of it.  At least let me go down there with you, just in case.” Michael had enough of these discussions with his mother over the years to know exactly when continuing to debate would be fruitless.

“Alright, since you don’t have anything better to do with your day, I am leaving work around 2:00 and heading straight there afterwards.” Sheila also knew if Michael made up his mind to come, he would anyway.  “You staying for dinner?”

“Staying for dinner? What? I came here for dinner!”  Michael laughed as he washed his hands over the kitchen sink. 

“Well, help yourself.  I just took the meatloaf out of the oven.  It’s still hot.”  Sheila enjoyed cooking for all friends and family, but found particular joy in feeding Michael any chance she could get.  She frequently commented on how thin he was looking, and would always ask, ‘Are you eating alright, boy?’

“Yes, ma’am.  I see you added the scotch bonnet peppers, too!” Michael noted as he cut into the meatloaf.

“Yeah, it’s now a standard part of the recipe.  I got to warn people, though, that it’s a little spicy!”

“Mmmmmm!  Yeah, that extra spice just takes it over the top!”  Michael took a bite and savored it.  “I have been dreaming about this for a minute.”

The next day after work, Sheila waited near the registration table for Michael.  She decided to text him.  ‘About to register.  You still coming?’

Michael immediately responded. ‘Almost there.  Traffic thick.’

Sheila stood and waited for five more minutes and then responded.  ‘Going to register now. It will be fine.  See you when you get here.’

‘I am almost there, Mom. Just wait.’ Sheila did not see that last text as she started to walk to the registration tables.  There were no lines at that moment, and she was able to sit down right away at a table across from a young female Workfare processor.  She gave another glance to see if Michael made it.  No sign of him.

“Hello.” The Workfare processor greeted Sheila with a transparent smile on her face.  “Can I see your driver’s license please?”

“Hi.  Yes, you sure can. ”  Sheila reached into her bag and retrieved her wallet and packet of documents.  She handed her the driver’s license.  “I have all my documents right here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  One second.”  The processor busily typed Sheila’s information into the computer.  “Let’s see what we have here.” 

Sheila opened the packet and pulled out a letter from her boss on State of New York letterhead.  She handed it over to the processor.  “This right here shows that my position exempts me from Workfare.”

The processor took the letter from her, and with her eyes already refixed to the computer screen, just placed it on the table in front of her.  “Let’s see what we have here.”  She repeats, clicking a few keys.

“Okay, I do see where you have an assignment request with the Motor Vehicles Department, but it doesn’t say that you are exempt from the training program.  Let me see here.”  She continued to type and stare at the screen.  Sheila, on the other hand, was starting to feel restless, and perhaps a bit less confident than when she spoke with Michael.

“What do you mean?”  Sheila asked, tired of her staring at the screen and typing.

“Can I see that letter again?”  The processor asked.  

“Of course.”  Sheila handed the letter over, regaining a bit of the confidence she lost.

The processor looked at the letter and the screen, and then back at the letter.  “I am sorry, but I will need to call my manager over.  I haven’t handled one of these cases before.” She got up and walked over to another lady at an adjacent table.  As they sat typing in her information and whispering while they stared at the screen, Sheila Dobson wore a look of deep concern on her face, her heartbeat getting louder and faster with each moment.  After several minutes that seemed like an hour, both women came over to the table.  

“I finally figured out what the story is, with my manager’s help, of course!”  She smiled, looking back to her manager, who returned the smile.  She continued, “Although you do work for a State in an exempt position, you are required to participate in the training program because you are a recipient of government assistance.  I…”

Sheila interrupted. “What do you mean government assistance?  I have worked for the State for 30 years!”  She raised her voice in anger.

“You received mortgage assistance as part of the SCALE program, and still owe over two hundred thousand dollars on the loan.  SCALE recipients are specifically qualified in section 296 of the Workfare Act.”

“This is crazy. You are crazy.  I am paying my mortgage every month with the salary that I earn.  That is not assistance.” Sheila’s loudness drew the attention of the WAs, and two began walking over.  “Check it again.”

“I did, ma’am.  And my manager did as well.  You have to complete the training program, but you do have a preferred assignment back to your government agency once you’re done.”  The processor explained in a tone so matter-of-factly that it only made Sheila’s responses sound angrier than they were.

“Are you the manager?  Can you read the letter from the Director of the Motor Vehicles department stating my position is exempt and essential to the operation?  What about that?”  She pleaded for them to review her case again.  Anything that would put her life back in order.

“We did review that.  Unfortunately, the director has no jurisdiction over the laws and the Administration’s procedures.  You can file an appeal with the Administration.  However, you must do so from within the training program.”

“I have a job.  Can’t you read?  Why would I need training to do my own job?  A job I have been doing for 30 years!”  She caught herself yelling, and toned her voice down midway through.  “I don’t need no training.”

“Ma’am, I didn’t create the laws.  I just have to follow them.  Unfortunately, you do as well.” She nodded at the WAs who stepped closer to Sheila.

Sheila saw this and eyed her chance to exit the situation.  She collected her documents and began to stand.  “I have to talk to my boss and figure out what we can do. I will be back.”

“Sorry ma’am, but you have to come with us.”  A WA grabbed her arm on either side.  She violently pulled her arm away from them, but they just grabbed her again, only more firmly.  They began to lead her towards the building.

“Get your hands off me!  Stop!  Help!”  She screamed as she felt her feet no longer on the ground.  No longer in control of her own movements.

At the same moment, Michael hurriedly parked his car, looking ahead towards the registration tables.  He recognized his mother just as the WA grabbed her.  Michael was more 50 yards away from them, but he covered it quickly. He sprinted full bore to his mother as they carried her away against her will.  

“Hey!  Stop!  Let her go!”  He caught up to them, and jumped on the back of one WA, knocking him to the ground.  He punched him several times while they were down, and then got up to take on the other.  That’s when he saw his mother struggling to get out of his grasp.  He ran over and pulled him off of her.

“Go, Mom!  Get in touch with Odessa!”  He yelled to Sheila while restraining a WA with a chokehold, and keeping an eye on the other.  He knocked out the WA, and quickly turned around only to see the processor manager with a gun pointed directly to his head. 

“Put your hands up in the air!”  She screamed.  The first WA recovered to his feet and drew his own handgun.  

Michael held his hands up.  “I am unarmed.  Please, I just thought my mother was in trouble.  That’s it.” Michael looked on to see if his mother was out of danger, and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t see her.  She must have gotten away, he thought.  His brief feeling of relief was interrupted when the WA he punched returned the favor with a hard right cross straight into Michael’s gut. 

He wasn’t expecting the punch, and its sheer force relieved his body of every bit of air. He mustered enough strength to react and block the second punch.  He tackled the man with a forceful thrust and managed to quickly get him in a headlock.  As the WA struggled against Michael’s grip, the boom of a large caliber handgun stopped everything for a moment.  Michael quickly surveyed his body and confirmed that he wasn’t shot.  He turned to locate the source of the gunshots, and saw a WA with his weapon drawn and pointed directly at his head from ten feet away.

“Just give me a fucking reason.” The brawny WA said to Michael as he aimed the gun.

Michael briefly considered making a run for it, but thought better of it when the number of WAs and guns quickly accumulated.  He had his hands in the air when a WA cracked his baton on the side of his head with so much  force that he thought his head exploded.  Michael fell to the ground, but he was still conscious.  He felt all the blows to his back, his legs, his head.  The WAs were taking turns kicking and swinging their batons at him, and Michael lost all awareness after few minutes.  It was a relentless attack that seemed to increase in ferocity with each moment.

“Okay! Okay!  That’s enough.”  One voice finally seemed to have enough.  “Let’s get him in there.  We can do the paperwork tomorrow.  With the way he was acting, I am sure he belongs there anyway.”  They dragged his limp body through the doors into the building, losing a shoe to the steps along the way.

Inside the building, the perilous state of Workfare participants became clearer.  Immediately after the door closed, they were fitted with ankle monitors, with the information logged into a computer.  They were led to one of the two holding cells – for men or women.  The holding cells were furnished with long wooden benches and some portable bathrooms lining the walls.  Men with open wounds lay bleeding on the floor.  Others screamed at the top of their lungs, trying to get the attention of the WAs assigned to guard duty.  “Help him!  He’s dying!” one screamed.

“I need to make my call!  I demand to speak to my lawyer!” The man who thought he should have been excluded because of his assets was still yelling.  He was still asking to make his call after three days in the holding area.  A WA violently slammed his baton against the gate directly in front of his face, causing him to jump back.  “Fuck you!” He screamed as the guard walked away with a smirk.

In the women’s pen, it was a similar scene.  Injured women were sprawled on the benches or on the floor.  A young woman in late-stage pregnancy laid on the bench, having contractions, as other women helped.  

“We need some help!  She’s having a baby,” some screamed.  “At least give us some water and towels.”  The guards made no attempt to help or even interact.  They ignored the screams of anger and pain without a second thought.  

“Shut up!” One guard finally yelled back. “Just shut the fuck up, all of you.  You are giving me a fucking headache!” 

Michael laid in the corner of the men’s cell, every ounce of his body screaming with pain. This place was worse than anything he had seen.  He felt some relief that he was at least able to save his mother from this place.  Odessa and Devin should be able to keep her safe while he figured out a way to get out of his situation.  Better him being locked up than her, he thought.  He couldn’t bear the think of his mother in this place.

“Michael! Michael!”  Was he hearing things?  That couldn’t be Sheila’s voice coming from within this ratchet place. “Michael. You here?”

“Mom?  Mom?” He musters all his strength to crawl to the front of the men’s cell.  “is that you?  Why?”  he saw his mother standing in front of his cage, restrained by WA’s, and his heart sank.  “How?  Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe, baby.  I couldn’t run away.  I just couldn’t.”  She cried as they escorted her down the hall to the women’s pen.  “I love you, son!”

“I love you too, Mom!  And don’t worry!”  Michael yelled as much as the pain would allow him.  “I am gonna get you out of here!”