When Latricia Tate talks about addiction, she doesn’t speak from statistics. She speaks from experience.
Her parents were victims of the 1980s crack epidemic on Chicago’s South Side, a trauma that shaped her life and, ultimately, her calling. “Nobody talked about what was wrong with my parents,” Tate recalled. “It was like a secret.”
Today, Tate is the cofounder and CEO of Twin Cities Recovery Project (TCRP), a North Minneapolis-based organization tackling a public health crisis that many say still leaves Black communities behind, the opioid epidemic. She also runs a second TCRP site in South Minneapolis.
Tate’s journey began long before the phrase “opioid crisis” was part of the national vocabulary. As a child, she watched addiction unravel her family’s stability. “We went from having everything to no lights, no hot water, and my mom disappearing for days,” she said.
By her early 20s, Tate decided to help families like her own. She studied human services at Minneapolis Community and Technical College, interned with Pillsbury United Communities, and began working with families affected by addiction. “That’s when I knew this was my purpose, to be a voice for people who didn’t have one,” she said.
In 2016, Tate co-founded TCRP with her fiancé, Marc Johnigan, who was later killed in a 2021 car accident. Together, they envisioned a social club for people in recovery — a space for fellowship and fun without drugs or alcohol. “He wanted a place where people could have a good time and still be sober,” Tate said.
From those humble beginnings in a church basement, TCRP has grown into an organization employing nearly 30 staff, most of them people in recovery. “All of our staff, except me, are in recovery, from one year to 30 years clean,” Tate said. “That’s what makes us different. We’re not teaching from a book; we’ve lived it.”
“We don’t recover the same way they do in mainstream programs. We recover in our community.”
Despite billions in opioid recovery funding, Tate says Black communities still struggle for equitable access. “There’s one Black-led treatment center in Minneapolis that they currently work with, Turning Point,” she said. “Mainstream systems often make decisions for us without us.”
TCRP fills the gap between treatment and real life. When clients finish a 30-day program, the group connects them with peer recovery coaches, housing, IDs, sponsors, and ongoing mentorship. “We pick them up when they leave treatment and carry them the rest of the way,” Tate said.
The organization also operates the Minneapolis Addiction Recovery Initiative (MARI) Safe Station, a partnership with the Minneapolis Fire Department. There, anyone suffering from addiction can walk in anytime for immediate help. Firefighters trained by TCRP conduct initial assessments and contact peer recovery coaches who arrive within minutes.
In a video on TCRP’s website, Fire Captain David Carson welcomes viewers: “We’re happy you came in today to take this first step. We’ve partnered with TCRP to provide support in a judgment-free environment.” The Safe Station is open 24/7 for anyone seeking help.
The model, born from Johnigan’s vision, is among the first of its kind in Minnesota. “We’ll love you until you learn to love yourself,” Tate said of the team’s guiding philosophy.
‘This work gave me purpose’
Christopher Burks, a certified peer recovery specialist with TCRP, often responds to Safe Station calls. He battled addiction for three decades, surviving six overdoses. “I started shooting crack cocaine and ended up shooting meth,” he said.
Burks said recovery is often hindered by barriers like housing, employment, and criminal records. “People can’t get a job or decent housing. That keeps them stuck in addiction,” he said.
After Burks got sober, he still faced stigma as a felon. “I was still labeled a felon. So where was I going to go to get a job?” he said. TCRP trained him to become a certified peer recovery specialist, a credential that helped him rebuild his life. “That allowed me to get employment, housing, and my driver’s license back after 21 years.”
Burks went on to earn an associate degree from MCTC and is now pursuing his bachelor’s at Metro State University. “TCRP was the key to turning my life around,” he said.
Meeting people where they are
On any given day, TCRP staff fan out across North and South Minneapolis distributing harm reduction kits containing Narcan, clean needles, condoms, and information about treatment. They visit encampments, alleys, and shelters.
Tate remembers one young man named Trey. “He was 17, living behind dumpsters and using fentanyl,” she said. “I kept going back, talking to him, feeding him. He’d say, ‘Here she comes again.’ But now he’s one year sober and a certified peer recovery specialist.”
For Tate, Trey’s transformation captures TCRP’s mission. “That’s the face I see when I think about this work,” she said.
Johnigan’s death nearly broke her, and the organization. “I wanted to shut it down,” Tate admitted. “But the staff said, ‘Mr. Johnigan wouldn’t want that. We’re coming to work tomorrow.’”
That solidarity carried TCRP forward, expanding its reach through trauma-informed care, training programs, and partnerships with city and state agencies. Tate now serves on the Governor’s Advisory Council on Opioids and Addiction, where she advocates for racial equity in treatment. “We don’t recover the same way [white people] in mainstream programs do,” she said. “We recover in our community.”
Fighting for equity
Tate has seen firsthand how inequities persist. “We’ve had Black clients turned away from treatment centers that took white clients the same day,” she said. “Sometimes I’ll ask one of our white staff to call, and magically there’s a bed.”
Funding disparities, she added, remain a major obstacle. “We’re out here begging for scraps while larger organizations get the money,” Tate said. “Yet we’re the ones in the streets doing the work.”
Still, she remains grounded in faith, and in her grandmother’s resilience. “If she survived Jim Crow, I can survive this,” Tate said softly. “My assignment is to serve.”
Tate envisions a one-stop recovery hub offering wound care, therapy, and peer support under one roof. “People can take back what addiction stole from them,” she said. “That’s recovery. Not just sobriety.”
For now, TCRP keeps showing up. “We meet people where they are,” Tate said. “And we don’t cross the street when we see them coming.”
For more information, visit /www.twincitiesr.ecoveryproject.org/.
Scott Selmar welcomes reader responses at sselmer@spokesman-recorder.com.
