by Leroy Moore/ DAMO - PNN

Inspiration from the past adds to the vision of Harambee’s 2003 KUUMBA Art Show (KUUMBA meaning creativity in Swahili) on Jan. 25th at Oakland Library, Eastmount Branch. The organizing around the first and hopefully annual KUUMBA Art show that will display paintings and other visual artworks from disabled African Americans have stimulate me to do some research on some well known African American painters of our times. By surprise I also found that three major African Americans Painters, Horace Pippin, William H. Johnson and Jacob Lawrence all experienced some type of disability that showed up in their paintings. These artists\painters all painted the struggles and beauty of their people during their times, Horace Pippin 1888-1946, William H. Johnson 1901-1970 and Jacob Lawrence 1917 -2000.

All three seemed to follow the same migration from the South to the East, New York City. In search of a community that will accept them as a Black man, an artist and they were all touched by and painted the poverty of the Depression Era, war and segregation of Black soldiers etc. Although they acquired their disability later in their life, their stories should be held up for disabled African American artists and youth. Their life, art and struggle to get known are medicine that heals my feelings of being alone as an outspoken, African American disabled artist\activist and gives me a history to pass down to young disabled African Americans.

Horace Pippin became disabled in War World I by a bullet in his right shoulder. Although he always enjoyed drawing he said that, "World War I brought out the art in me…" He taught himself to paint with his left hand by guiding it with his wounded arm. In his 1943, painting, Man on a Bench, a self-portrait, shows his life-long battle with depression. Like many Black artists, writers and advocates in history and even today gave and continue to give so much but hasn’t and often today still don’t receive recognition for their artistic talents and massages they have displayed and deeply believe in. KUUMBA will be an annual platform for public awareness and recognition of the artistic talents of disabled African Americans. The struggle of recognition of Williams Henry Johnson and his artwork is a tragic story of how many talented Black artist\advocates have been invisible in the artistic circles of their times only to be uncovered after their death. The last 22 years of Williams Henry Johnson life was spent in a Long Island’s Central Islip State Hospital, New York's largest mental heath facility and at one point the second largest institution of its kind in the world. Johnson was diagnose with an advance case of syphilis-induced paresis causing server mental illness while the State of New York kept his paintings in a shack for almost 17 years without telling his parents of his art collection, his residency at the state hospital and his death in 1970.

Although he didn’t paint while he was in the state mental institution, in his last series, Fighters for Freedom, you can see that his mental illness affected his motor skills returning to more primitive and simple formats compare to his early paintings. Although his paintings were considered to be "juke" his legal Guardian from the courts and the Smithsonian Institution kept the paintings from his family. They restored them which led to a new found fame of his paintings to the artistic audience while he remained in Central Islip State Hospital not knowing that his artwork have finally found an audience. All three painters struggled with depression. This is no surprise during the times they lived; extreme poverty, racism, war and lack of access to health care almost is the mirror of what African Americans are going through today. In Jacob Lawrence’ Hospital Series, he captures a different story compared to William Henry Johnson. While Johnson didn’t paint, Jacob Lawrence was inspired while he was hospitalized for his depression. In 1949 Jacob Lawrence admitted himself into the Hillside Hospital, a psychiatric hospital, for treatment for his battle with depression for almost a year. He continued to paint and painted eleven paintings some dealt with what he saw and the daily events in the hospital, Creative Therapy and Depression, received good care and had deep feelings of people with mental illness and the field of psychiatry while he was there.

KUUMBA Art show is pulling from our roots as disabled African Americans in the US and also in the new post-Apartheid, South Africa. December 3rd of 2001 South Africa celebrated the International Day of Disabled Persons by holding Vis-Ability Arts Festival aim to use the arts as a vehicle to not only raise awareness, but to give special recognition to artists with various disabilities. It focused on artists with disabilities, also celebrates artists without disabilities, a move toward an integrated society and arts environment. Vis-Ability Arts Festival is held annually in the City of Cape Town. Dan Rakgoathe, who is blind, Tommy Motswai, who is deaf and physical disabled artists exhibited their paintings which explored their experiences as being disabled and politics of South Africa.

KUUMBA is adding to this history of artistic expression by displaying the struggles, daily life, activism and beauty of African Americans with disabilities, youth and adults through visual artwork of the Bay Area. Like many Black artists were attracted to Harlem , NY and created the Black Arts Movement, Harambee hopes to do the same with KUUMBA for Black disabled artists here in the Bay Area. The day will consist of video screening of, Life Itself, starring the multi-talented poet and painter, Michael Bernard Loggins, poetry, music, food and an exhibit of paintings, drawing and other visual artwork by disabled African American youth and adults i.e. Halisi Noel-Johnson plus info about Harambee, DAMO and Accessible Technology. The art exhibit will stay up at the Oakland Library, Eastmount Mall Branch through Black History Mouth, February till March.

KUUMBA INFO
WHEN: Jan. 25th 2003
TIME: 3-5pm
WHERE: Oakland Public Library
Eastmount Mall (Library)
7200 Bancroft Ave.
CONTACT: Sonia Ricks (510) 428-2990

*************************************************

Break the Frame; Tell it like it is
A poem in tribute by Leroy Moore

A broken frame
eliminates Webster’s definition
Art comes from within

Horace Pippin
self taught, who would of thought
a Black, poor, WWI Veteran

with a wounded arm
became the foremost artist
of the twentieth century

"Pictures just come to my mind,
and I tell my heart to go ahead."
Decorating discarded cigar boxes with charcoal

Creating his own unique painting style
burning images on wood panels
using a hot iron poker for the color

Pippin opened a new avenue
Leading to a display for public view
Colorful and painful experiences scratching to get out

Years of his Creative Therapy equaled
The End of War: Starting Home
by using his left arm to prop up his right forearm

crafting his first masterpiece that depicted horrors of war

Hunting memories
surfaced a deep depression
painting was his medicine

Reminded the country
"there was war then but there will be peace again."
Saw more discrimination

against the next generation of Black soldiers in WWII

"I paint it exactly how I see it!"
Mr. Prejudice
waiting for Black soldiers back in the U.S.

Supported by his family
traded his paintings in lieu of payment for food
at Black businesses in PA’s West Chester community

Free from influences of academy
expressing himself in his own way
finally received some recognition

The price he paid
for being Black, poor, self taught and disabled
caught him in two worlds

Took a toll
Although his paintings sold
Pippin lived on the brink of poverty

Felt the pressure of the art industry
broke up his family
wife addicted to diet pills

trying to get Pippin’s attention
had a break down and slipped into a mental confusion
she died in a mental institution

Look into the eyes
of the Man on a Bench
tells Pippin’s story and depicts the future

of Black painters
who followed in Pippin’s footsteps
Beauford Delancy, William H. Johnson and Jacob Lawrence

all felt the sting of being Black and an artist
so they displayed it in their paintings
Loved art but mentally crumbled under the tension of racism

Pippin the first Black disabled painter
broke the frame of ‘what is art’
Delancy continued to paint although he went insane

Lawrence told his experiences
through the‘Hospital Series’
Fame didn’t reach Johnson or Delancy
who were isolated & forgotten behind institutional white walls
while outside governments, court guardians, friends and art critics
fought over their art and personal property

Their names and messages almost faded from art history
A few Black scholars have put them back on the page and in art galleries
But very few go into depth about their disability

A broken frame
opens up the mind to endless possibilities
Like Pippin adapt to your situation but always display

Peoples’ beauty, the inequalities and injustice in society

*************************************************

Pulling From Our Roots Black Disabled Artists\Painters Then & Now

Inspiration from the past adds to the vision of Harambee’s 2003 KUUMBA Art Show (KUUMBA meaning creativity in Swahili) on Jan. 25th at Oakland Library, Eastmount Branch. The organizing around the first and hopefully annual KUUMBA Art show that will display paintings and other visual artworks from disabled African Americans have stimulate me to do some research on some well known African American painters of our times. By surprise I also found that three major African Americans Painters, Horace Pippin, William H. Johnson and Jacob Lawrence all experienced some type of disability that showed up in their paintings. These artists\painters all painted the struggles and beauty of their people during their times, Horace Pippin 1888-1946, William H. Johnson 1901-1970 and Jacob Lawrence 1917 -2000.

All three seemed to follow the same migration from the South to the East, New York City. In search of a community that will accept them as a Black man, an artist and they were all touched by and painted the poverty of the Depression Era, war and segregation of Black soldiers etc. Although they acquired their disability later in their life, their stories should be held up for disabled African American artists and youth. Their life, art and struggle to get known are medicine that heals my feelings of being alone as an outspoken, African American disabled artist\activist and gives me a history to pass down to young disabled African Americans.

Horace Pippin became disabled in War World I by a bullet in his right shoulder. Although he always enjoyed drawing he said that, "World War I brought out the art in me…" He taught himself to paint with his left hand by guiding it with his wounded arm. In his 1943, painting, Man on a Bench, a self-portrait, shows his life-long battle with depression. Like many Black artists, writers and advocates in history and even today gave and continue to give so much but hasn’t and often today still don’t receive recognition for their artistic talents and massages they have displayed and deeply believe in. KUUMBA will be an annual platform for public awareness and recognition of the artistic talents of disabled African Americans. The struggle of recognition of Williams Henry Johnson and his artwork is a tragic story of how many talented Black artist\advocates have been invisible in the artistic circles of their times only to be uncovered after their death. The last 22 years of Williams Henry Johnson life was spent in a Long Island’s Central Islip State Hospital, New York's largest mental heath facility and at one point the second largest institution of its kind in the world. Johnson was diagnose with an advance case of syphilis-induced paresis causing server mental illness while the State of New York kept his paintings in a shack for almost 17 years without telling his parents of his art collection, his residency at the state hospital and his death in 1970.

Although he didn’t paint while he was in the state mental institution, in his last series, Fighters for Freedom, you can see that his mental illness affected his motor skills returning to more primitive and simple formats compare to his early paintings. Although his paintings were considered to be "juke" his legal Guardian from the courts and the Smithsonian Institution kept the paintings from his family. They restored them which led to a new found fame of his paintings to the artistic audience while he remained in Central Islip State Hospital not knowing that his artwork have finally found an audience. All three painters struggled with depression. This is no surprise during the times they lived; extreme poverty, racism, war and lack of access to health care almost is the mirror of what African Americans are going through today. In Jacob Lawrence’ Hospital Series, he captures a different story compared to William Henry Johnson. While Johnson didn’t paint, Jacob Lawrence was inspired while he was hospitalized for his depression. In 1949 Jacob Lawrence admitted himself into the Hillside Hospital, a psychiatric hospital, for treatment for his battle with depression for almost a year. He continued to paint and painted eleven paintings some dealt with what he saw and the daily events in the hospital, Creative Therapy and Depression, received good care and had deep feelings of people with mental illness and the field of psychiatry while he was there.

KUUMBA Art show is pulling from our roots as disabled African Americans in the US and also in the new post-Apartheid, South Africa. December 3rd of 2001 South Africa celebrated the International Day of Disabled Persons by holding Vis-Ability Arts Festival aim to use the arts as a vehicle to not only raise awareness, but to give special recognition to artists with various disabilities. It focused on artists with disabilities, also celebrates artists without disabilities, a move toward an integrated society and arts environment. Vis-Ability Arts Festival is held annually in the City of Cape Town. Dan Rakgoathe, who is blind, Tommy Motswai, who is deaf and physical disabled artists exhibited their paintings which explored their experiences as being disabled and politics of South Africa.

KUUMBA is adding to this history of artistic expression by displaying the struggles, daily life, activism and beauty of African Americans with disabilities, youth and adults through visual artwork of the Bay Area. Like many Black artists were attracted to Harlem , NY and created the Black Arts Movement, Harambee hopes to do the same with KUUMBA for Black disabled artists here in the Bay Area. The day will consist of video screening of, Life Itself, starring the multi-talented poet and painter, Michael Bernard Loggins, poetry, music, food and an exhibit of paintings, drawing and other visual artwork by disabled African American youth and adults i.e. Halisi Noel-Johnson plus info about Harambee, DAMO and Accessible Technology. The art exhibit will stay up at the Oakland Library, Eastmount Mall Branch through Black History Mouth, February till March.

KUUMBA INFO
WHEN: Jan. 25th 2003
TIME: 3-5pm
WHERE: Oakland Public Library
Eastmount Mall (Library)
7200 Bancroft Ave.
CONTACT: Sonia Ricks (510) 428-2990

by An illin and Chillin editorial By Leroy Moore/PNN

Both are robbing Paul to pay Peter? From San Francisco to Sacramento people with disabilities will and are bleeding from proposed budget cuts and local propositions. In San Francisco Proposition N, Care not Cash is racing to the implementation deadline of July. First it was the Dot Com Boom that kicked us out of our own community now under Gavin Newson’s Pro N San Francisco’s homeless shelters will be evicting people who are not on CAAP including people with disabilities to make room for recipients of CAAP. That means people like me who are disabled and on SSI will need to be transfer to state funded nursing homes but these nursing homes are full and goes against full inclusions that is the theme of federal, state and local disability laws. On April 17th the Coalition on Homelessness had a rally at Next Door, a San Francisco Homeless Shelter, and many elders and people with disabilities are trying to answer the question that Gavin Newson and some voters didn’t think of! With a lack of low-income accessible housing and proposed budget cuts in the Bay Area and at the capital, where will housing and independent living services come from?

On a state level Governor Gray Davis is proposing the most sweeping cuts to the developmental disability system ever, calling for suspension of the 1977, Lanterman Developmental Disabilities Services Act. On April 7th The Community Advocacy Network headed by Trry Boisot and Marty Omoto who is the legislative director of United Cerebral Palsy Association called over 2,500 advocates, family members and service providers to the State Capital. We attend two budget hearings, in the Assembly and Senate pertaining to services, laws, and other programs that people with developmental disabilities rely on. While Prop N talks about services, Governor Davis is proposing to scale back services for people with developmental disabilities. For example, eliminating18 optional Media-Cal Benefits i.e. physical therapy, medical equipment dental services etc., making parents pay for Regional Center’s service under the Parental Co-Payment proposal and tighten the state’s definition of disability which is used to determine weather individuals are eligible for services. Another common factor of San Francisco’s Prop N and Governor’s proposed cuts in developmental disability system is the hijack of the funds in both systems to the general fund to balance the budget.

For more information on the advocacy activities of the Community Advocacy Network around the state budget and people with developmental disabilities call:
Marty Omoto (916) 446-3202 and for info on updates on Proposition N and to get involved to stop the implementation of it call the Jennifer Freidenbach at the Coalition on Homeless at (415) 346-3740.

by Gordon Hilgers/PNN Dallas Correspondent

Next time you're out walking the Trinity River levees (in Dallas), holding hands with your honey and watching egrets walk on pink stilts and fleets of starlings streak in formation into the twilight over downtown Dallas, try taking a closer look at the bridges. Underneath huge concrete pylons, you'll see the jagged and scarred underbelly beneath Dallas "compassionate conservative" image.

Yes, they're still there. Each night you might be attending "Greater Tuna" or eating some of it, oblivious to this shameful fact of Dallas life--hundreds of homeless people are do their best to survive beneath whatís ironically called "the freeway." If youíve ever wondered where the tramps, bums, vagrants and addicts and domestic abuse victims all go when Dallas, a cosmopolitan city, rolls up its sidewalks tighter than either the Torah or Britney Spearsí britches, try taking a stroll down underneath the I-45 bridge some night.

Surely, we jest. Aren't there more pertinent things to do? Recently, for example, an anonymous donor gave the City a check for $6 million, enough to underwrite construction of another "signature bridge" connecting Dallas proper to South and West Dallas. The prim Calatrava superstructures, boosters boast, will show the world Dallas is indeed classy. It will be a symbol, weíre told in bright newsprint, which will prove Dallas is one happy city, not two as in the good old days, when a rich one and a poor one faced off across the Trinity like two wild dogs defending respective territories. But on the streets, among those whoíve nowhere to go, word is out: Calatravaís coming to town to build "luxury hooches" for the disenfranchised of North Texas.

Right now, Calatravas every homeless wingnut's "buddy." And signatures? Once complete, Calatravaís steel and concrete ballerinas will be graced by hundreds of them: 352 Crip, SeKt, Menace, ESL, Eat the Rich. A can of spray paint, a good sharp knife, and just like behemoth Martha Stewart home decorating projects, those bridges will be signed pretty as a postcard from Nantucket Sound.

Surely, local architectural wonders being used as "howdy boards" by poor people will be another inescapably obvious sign the City exercises priorities that are, in a word, surreal. Look at the polarities. Affordable housing or luxury condominiums? A living wage or a seven-figure "golden parachute"? Good roads or more convenient locations for shock absorber stores? A place where homeless people feel safe a new Saks on West Davis? These choices, and how they play among powerbrokers, reveal City government priorities for what they are, and the economic values underpinning them are there for every citizen to see. A busted City budget is announced only a week after the Palladium deal got rammed up our snouts? Are we blind? Or simply stupid?

Case in point: While itís been on the books over at the Mayorís office for months, a proposed $6 million municipal "Homeless Assistance Center," complete with a safe haven where street people can sleep without fear of being rousted by police most of whom don't even venture into certain Dallas neighborhoods because the crack gangs control even the vacant lots down there--has been all but scuttled. Scuttled? Why would a world-class city scuttle proposals to help its poorest citizens? Was the old chestnut that you can tell the moral clarity (W.ís term, not mine) of a nation according to how it treats its poorest citizens only a palliative? Go ahead. Be the judge on this. The question before you is: Why are these things happening?

In the illimitable 30th anniversary words of Deep Throat, the anonymous source that blew the Nixon Administration right out of the swamps of the Potomac: Follow the money.

Many citizens may not even realize it, but homeless advocatesóeven the homeless themselvesóhave been fighting the City over bridges for years. And, in case youíre afraid to venture among the earthworks and trash heaps that already grace nearly every overpass within a half mile of City Hall, weíd like to suggest a safer way: a theatrical presentation that very well could get you up to snuff on how the City of Dallas and the concept of democracy apparently mix like crude oil and spring water, preferably the more rarefied brands available in many Southeast Dallas trailer parks. PCBs, courtesy of the Texas Water Control Board, are, of course, optional, even if theyíre mandatory to many Southeast Dallas residents as one of the cityís biggest little secrets.

"Bridges," a politically charged piece of theater by longtime anti-poverty and civil rights activist John Fullinwider, recently celebrated its premier public reading at the Undermain Theater in Deep Ellum. Part of WordSpaceís "Texas Unbound" literary festival, "Bridges" is a tale Fullinwider says he wrote to honor the men and women he met under the Taylor Street bridge in 1994.

Fullinwider himself wonít readily admit it, but "Bridges" isnít at all "loosely based on true events that took place when the unprecedented occurred: Dallasí homeless stormed Dallas City Hall, shouting to then Mayor Steve Bartlett to "Stop Arresting Homeless People!" Rather, "Bridges" is tightly based on the now legendary "bridge protests" that spanned a year in time when one man, a man who really lived, a man named Prince Johnson, challenged the Cityís anti-sleeping ordinance, only to be found dead before the case could get to trial. In other words, "Bridges" is almost fiction. The real man, the real challenger to cash and carry politics in Dallas, really did die. The African American Artists Alliance will once again perform "Bridges" at the Undermain in mid-August.

"Most of the characters in my play are composites taken from a number of real people," Fullinwider admits. "I meant the play as a commemoration. If I could have sculpted a statue to honor Prince Johnsonís life, I would have built a statue. Still, you know, self-expression is a pretty powerful force. Iíd been carrying that story around inside my head for six years, and I finally decided I was going to try and write it. If everyone who read the play were to tell me, ëThis stuff isnít very good. Why donít you stick with leaflets?í I would have said, O.K."

Directed by Charles Hillman, a former homeless man ("He spent a winter around a fire barrel," says Fullinwider) who also has been connected with both the cityís theater community and its small circle of progressive African American activists for nearly 20 years, "Bridges" tells the fable of Prince Mason, a homeless man living under a freeway bridge. With the help of a civil rights lawyer played by Cynthia Anzaldua, Prince Mason sues the City of Dallas, hoping to overturn its anti-sleeping ordinance.

The target of a number of ensuing protests in the body of the play is Mayor Jack Ransome, a political figure so ensconced in the game of politics that he sees the growing problem of homelessness in his city as a threat to his future political aspirationsónot to mention the cityís pending Olympic bid. Strutting on the stage of the Undermain like the cock of the walk, overtly concerned over "the flies in the Mayorís soup," Ransome, like nearly all Dallas-bred politicians and bureaucrats, just can't see the grassroots view of things from his perch in a political skybox.

He's myopic and deluded, like Sinclair Lewis Babbit, though he believes heís farsighted and lucid, a booster with a strong handshake and horsewhip sharp decision-making capabilities that make sissies run. His concerns are based on hierarchy, on rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, on coercion rather than compromise, on dividing the private from the public and always opting out for what wonít get tarnished by the light. And the homeless are about to blow his cover.

If this quick take on the text of Fullinwiderís "Bridges" sounds familiar to those who watch local politics closely, itís because itís thinly veiled truth. The aptly named Mayor Ransomeóbeholden to the money men and worried over whether or not he's going to win the election game and thereby take home the Monopoly board--instructs the City Attorney to remove the homeless from underneath area bridges "by any means necessary" and to get Prince Mason, played by David Butler, off the City's back. Prince Mason, after all, is not the Mayorís buddy.

The end result is murder. Prince Mason is killed by a police informant, hustler and junkie by the name of, well, D-Town. In real life, Prince Johnson, the homeless man who actually did challenge the Cityís anti-sleeping ordinance in 1994, was also murdered, shot in the face. Though the case officially never has been solvedóthe blame was first placed on a small time drug dealer from Oak Cliff, but the charges turned out to be bogusómany who were there with Prince Johnson, attorneys who were there, housing activists who were there, John Fullinwider who was there, all believe the man was not only murdered but set up. By whom is anybodyís guess. Whatís important is this: The civil rights lawsuit, which resulted in a temporary injunction against the Cityís anti-sleeping ordinance by a Federal judge in 1995, a near landmark act of jurisprudence which for a time actually manacled the hands of a city government that was chomping at the bit to arrest homeless people for sleeping in public, wa s eventually dropped f

When asked about this rumored set-up murder of a plaintiff in a Federal civil rights case, John Fullinwider is unequivocal: "Want to know why I think Prince Johnson was murdered? Because the main person that identified his body admitted to Princeís defense attorney that sheíd only killed the man because ëtheyí threatened to revoke her probation if she didnít. As far as I know, the case is unsolved."

Despite the loss of a valued friend willing to take a long shot for the betterment of others, Fullinwider waxes over his personal involvement with these "bridge protests" sparked by Prince Johnsonís troublesome stance against an anti-sleeping policy more intelligent city governments across America consider inhumane and a violation of human rights, not mere civil ones.

In 1994, Fullinwider says he became aware local police were repeatedly harassing homeless people living hard, cobbled-together existences under bridges forming a ring around what some high-profile Dallasites have only recently been calling "the loop" in this latest push of downtown Dallas as fashion statement.

City Hall Plaza, at least at the time--and according to frustrated mainstream media commentators who not only didnít have a handle on the situation but didnít want a handle on it--was one, vast, open-air bedroom. Homeless people were prostrate all over the place. At the highest levels of both government and private industry, way at the top of those glass towers where pigeons dare to tread, it had become fairly certain that City homeless policyónamely, ignore the buggers and pray they disappearówasnít working. While some homeless individuals then using City Hall Plaza as a makeshift home may insist to this day they were only trying to send local politicians a fairly conspicuous message, something relatively easy to read like Hooked On Phonics or Goodnight Moon, the City, alarmed at the number of people apparently passed out all over the place and ruining everybodyís buzz, decided to act out a kind of fantasy taken straight from movies like Schindlerís List or W ild In The Streets

People's only possessions were confiscated, trashed and burned. Families were separated. Police arrested the homeless in scores as huge "bluebird" paddy wagons appeared nearly every night. Those who resisted were jailed. Those who didnít resist were, of course, jailed too. One thing Fullinwider remembers was evident to him at the time was easy to see: Nobody was getting any help. Arrested or not for sleeping in public, addicts were still addicted, drunks still drunk, families without homes still roughed it every night and, perhaps worst of all, Vietnam Veterans lived out their perpetual service to their nation "in country" and under a bridge.

Because of the police sweeps and the enforcement of a controversial ordinance that was only complicating life for the cityís homeless population, Fullinwider, several attorneys affiliated with the ACLU, civil rights activists, area preachers and the homeless themselves got organized. First they were seen picketing City Hall and the offices of The Dallas Morning News, and conducting public hearings under the bridges. Soon, when it became apparent the City wasnít listening (does it ever?), organizers scaled up their protest campaign.

"That's right, right there on television, we crashed Dallas Mayor Steve Bartlettís press conference," Fullinwider says, his voice betraying that he just loves this stuff. "It was a scene just like the one in the play. We walked into the roomóit wasnít a very big roomóopened up a huge banner that read "Stop Arresting Homeless People!!!" and when Mayor Bartlett tried to get out of the room before the press turned its cameras on this, we wrapped the Mayor of Dallas in our banner.

"All the reporters were just there," the activist-playwright adds. "They turned the cameras on the Mayoróand on usóto see what heíd do. We kept shouting. Bartlett just stood there for a moment, then he tried a trick designed for the impromptu press coverage: He kept asking one man, ëCan I help you get to a shelter? Can I help you with anything?í It was a pretty lame performance. We saw what Bartlett was doing, putting on a big public show of compassion for the cameras. So we kept on shouting: ëNo! No! Stop arresting homeless people!í"

In addition to writing plays and causing hassles for big-bucks politicians who are afraid of bad publicity, John Fullinwider has credentials involving local anti-poverty campaigns and civil rights struggles like the anti-sleeping ordinance protests at least a mile long. Currently, he teaches at Dallasí Metropolitan Educational Center, an alternative school for kids who have either previously dropped out of school or are in danger of doing so.

"It's a real neat school," Fullinwider says of the Cedars area public school. "About 200 kids go to it. Itís all one-on-one, self-paced instruction. As an activist, heís been a member of the infamous Bois díArc Patriots, a protest group; helped found the local offices of Common Ground; has built houses for homeless people; and has published poetry in Texas Observer. Heís most famous for organizing West Dallas residents against lead smelters in the 1980s. Now that heís married, however, he says heís had to scale back his activities in order to be a good father. Evidence of this is plenty: His daughter wants to be a playwright and follow in her fatherís footsteps. Sources indicate Emily is currently working on her first full-scale production.

The Undermain production of John Fullinwiderís "Bridges" will reprise in mid-August. During the playís June 13 reading, the room was almost full, but Fullinwider admits that most in attendance were old friends, co-workers and acquaintances. I looked around for the Mayor or maybe a couple of City Council members, but I didnít see anybody big-time. In fact, I didnít see anybody from the homeless service community either, something that wouldíve made me feel less alone lost in a frou-frou crowd filled with New Age pony boys, truly a stranger in a strange land.

I did get to see a couple of prominent homeless advocates take the stage after the playís reading--which cost eight dollars--when Robert Trammell of WordSpace offered the audience a panel discussion. Homeless activist, Jim Schutze of Dallas Observer and his homeless advocate counterpart from The Dallas Morning News, arts critic Tom Simeóboth of whom have been right there in the trenches, defending the rights of the poor--gave great speeches. But something was wrong with the picture.

The audience, responding palpably to Fullinwiderís play, seemed all stoked up to talk to the playwright, the director and the actors and actresses about their social mission in performing such a politically-explosive work of theater, and about homelessness in Dallas in general. Instead, spokespeople treated us to a conversation about funding smaller arts organizations in the wake of the New Age of Austerity ushered in by the Bush Administration. This was entertaining. Artists and the homeless are in similar predicaments in America, and really ought to learn how much commonality they actually share. I met several down-and-out local artists during my trek through homelessness, and some of them were nationally known, too.

As the reporters got into a snit-fit over whether or not large buildings damage cityscapes, I looked at the banner above them. It read, "Stop Arresting Homeless People!!!" As we listened to reporters sitting in a row talking about the arts, I also couldnít help but think: This looks like one of those scenes from the Cuban Revolution: Che Guevara, Fidel Castro and fellow travelers, in full revolutionary regalia, khaki uniforms, little army hats, conducting a Communist consciousness raising session for the peasants and proles. That surreal comparison in my mind was, by itself, almost worth the price of a ticket. I put it in my journal immediately.

by Dee

When fully armed soldiers stand on the steps of government buildings in Third and Fourth World Banana Republics it is a sign that a coup has occurred

Are the fully armed soldiers standing on the steps of the White House in Washington DC signifying that a coup has taken place by the Bush Administration?

Does this image bother anyone but me - why are we letting this happen?

Has the US become a Banana Republic for the Bush Administration ? – do they want us to believe that by constantly showing us this image…?

by Po’ Poet Charles Pitts

I STEP ON THE SCENE

SAY HI TO A FEW FRIENDS

PROTEST A LITTLE

YEA

WE NEED SOME NEW PROTEST CHANTS

MAYBE DR. DRE COULD GIVE US SOME BEATS

A CAB PULLS UP

YOU CAN SEE THE BLOOD ON HER FINGERS

AND A BIG PATCH OF RAW FLESH ON HER LEG

THE CABBIE IS STRUGGLING

TO GET HER TO THE SHELTER

SHE’S BARELY CONSCIOUS

I PICK THIS LADY UP

(BLEEDING LADY)

( I HOPE I DON’T DROP YOU )

TAKE HER TO THE DOOR

THAT’S WHEN I MEET THE “LOVELY DIRECTOR”

“SHE DOESN’T LIVE HERE “ I am told

“COULD YOU CHECK? I ask

SHE JUST GOT HERE FROM THE HOSPITAL”

“I’M THE ACTING DIRECTOR” I am told

“WE KNOW OUR CLIENTS “

“SHE DOES NOT LIVE HERE “

“I’M SORRY “

by Andy DellaRocca/PNN Media intern

"Andy, grab yourself something to eat." I was startled to hear somebody
call me by my first name. How did this woman know my name? Why was she so
concerned about my diet? I then remembered the name tag that I had been
given at the front entrance, on which I wrote "Andy: Poornewsnetwork." The
tag hung from my upper chest, and as I sat in the wooden fold-up chair in
Susan Cieutat's living room, I pondered how nice it would be if we all wore
name tags, all of the time. "Please, you must be hungry."

I wasn't at all hungry, I had just eaten. But after a third person
requested that I take advantage of the platter that was spread out in the
dining room, I rose and squeezed past the others to arrive at the table.
There before me stood a table full of bagels, cream cheese, and fruit salad.
"Have you been eating enough fruit?" rang my mother's voice in my head,
and despite the affirmative responses I've always given her, I knew that I
hadn't been, so I filled my plate with blueberries, bananas, melon, and
apples, and went back to my seat. I ate the food quickly, eager to get back
to reading the pamphlets that were handed to me concerning Oregon's
comprehensive Health Care Finance Act, Universal Health Care in San
Francisco, and the Universal Single Payer Health Care Resolution. As I read
these, and ate my fruit, I thought about how justified my mother's concerns
were, both that I was living without a health plan, and that I didn't eat
enough fruit.

"I have to pay $100 dollars to find out if I still have cancer? That's
immoral," Jose Ramirez, a Cuban emigrant, now living in the United States,
told us he had said to a doctor from whom he received treatment in the past,
and who had presented to him a bill for a medical exam. We were all
introducing ourselves, and when I heard the statement by Jose, I realized
that I'd better start the tape recorder.

Health Care For All San Francisco, a local non-profit group, was hosting
this event in Susan Cieutat's living room. Amongst the tall bookcases that
lined the walls of her bright home sat about 25 adults of all ages, who
represented a variety of organizations such as the Gray Panthers, Neighbor
to Neighbor, and Health Care for All. The featured guest was Anne
Sunderland, who works for the Institute of Global Health at the University
of California, San Francisco. She recently attended the World Health
Organization's conference on biotechnology and health in Havana, Cuba, and
was here to speak about Cuba's biotech industry, as well as the state of
health care around the world. My tape recorder whirred as she stood up to
speak.

"Although it's relatively easy to be unaware of this while living in the
United States, we are really living in a time of great crisis in terms of
health around the world. And this crisis is fueled in large part by what
are referred to as 'diseases of poverty'. These are infectious diseases
that disproportionally affect poorer regions of the world."

Her discussion had begun, and she outlined for us the statistics that many
of our brothers and sisters are coping with in the more impoverished areas
of the world. Ten to fourteen million people dead of infectious diseases
each year, 90% of whom live in developing countries. Sixty-five to 75% of
the 40 million individuals infected with HIV live in sub-Saharan Africa.
Ninety percent of the one to two million malaria deaths that occur each year
are children, under the age of five, living in the same region. And two
million people die each year of tuberculosis. The numbers are astounding.

"Imagine looking around the room today and knowing that, without a doubt,
one in every four of us was HIV positive."

The room was overwhelmingly filled with middle-class white folks, and I was
fairly confident that very few of those around me, if any, were infected
with the virus. In sub-Saharan Africa however, almost everyone would be
poor and black, and one in four would be positive.

"How many of you in the room have been impacted by tuberculosis, or have had
a loved one impacted?" Anne asked.

Two hands went into the air, and one of the women that raised hers conceded
that it were elephants in the zoo which she knew were infected.

Anne explained that much of the disparity between health care systems around
the world is due, in large part, to the lack of biotech industry in
developing countries. Biotechnology is the application of biological
knowledge and techniques to create new products and technologies. It is the
medical implications of this technology that is relevant to international
health. Vaccines, for example, are a biotechnological creation. The
establishment of biotech industries in richer countries, and the absence of
such industry in poorer ones, has been labeled the "genomics divide."

"Only 1% of the new drugs that were brought to market between 1975 and 1997
were developed specifically for a disease of poverty. Why is this
happening? Well, essentially, most of the biotech capacity, in terms of
technology and infrastructure and funding and trained scientists, just
resides in the developed world. Many of these resources reside in companies
of the developed world which function in market economies, where making a
profit is the overwhelming objective.

"Despite the huge numbers of potential patients in the developing world for
treatment for a disease of poverty, they don't necessarily represent BUYERS,
or customers, in the fact that neither they, nor their government in many
cases, can afford to pay the prices that the drug companies feel they need
to charge to recoup their investment costs to get a profit... to give you
the background of the INDUSTRY perspective of why this market failure has
occurred and is continuing to occur."

Cuba is important because it stands as an exception to the rule of the
genomics divide. Cuba's biotech industry is extensive. This is due to the
country's leader, Fidel Castro's, commitment to health and the health
sciences and his continued investment in the biotech sector. Even during
the 1990's, after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the economic aid for
Cuba that went with it, Fidel put one billion dollars into the industry.

What has been the result of this investment? The development of original
vaccines for certain forms of hepatitis and meningitis. The production of
generic drugs which have been exported to regions of the world where the
high prices demanded by the biotech corporations of the industrialized world
cannot be paid.

Cuba's health system has treated many individuals from outside of Cuba.
Persons from the Ukraine, who were affected by the Chernobyl disaster, went
to Cuba for treatment. Many Americans have likewise been treated by the
Cuban health system.

"We are really talking about a needs-based system where the health needs of
the citizens dictate what products are researched or developed by the
industry. The meningitis vaccine, for example, was developed after an
outbreak of meningitis in the 1970s."

As she said this, I couldn't help but think about the way that the market
has failed to address the health needs of the capitalist world. At POOR, we
once discussed "sleeping sickness," a disease for which there is a very
simple treatment. However, many people throughout the poorer regions of the
world continued to die from the disease. The cure, in the meantime, was no
longer being produced, because it was deemed unprofitable. Once the drug
was discovered to help relieve acne, however, companies began to produce it
once again. Only because well-to-do adolescents were worried about
"pizza-face" were impoverished individuals in the poor world allowed access
to the easy treatment of sleeping disease.

The state-run health system of Cuba, which is free to all of its citizens,
has resulted in infant mortality rates and life expectancy rates almost
identical to those in the US, "despite the fact that Cuba continues to live
in what we consider third world poverty, in terms of material poverty,"
emphasized Anne.

The successes of Cuba's health sector lies in stark contrast to the
deficiencies of the United States health care system, where I've been denied
coverage because of a past bout with bronchitis, and where Jose needs to
fork over $100 for his doctor to tell him the results of his cancer test. I
looked around the room and saw many seniors in the chairs, listening to Anne
talk. Some of them may be dealing with health issues as we speak. Perhaps
their retirement portfolios have dissolved in the wake of the Wall Street
scandals. Who is going to provide them with the necessary health care? If
I break my foot and can no longer work my job, will I need to go onto the
street because I can't cover my medical expenses?

Health Care for All has been advocating a Universal Single Payer Health Care
Resolution for the state of California. To learn more, check their website
at www.healthcareforall.org.

by Richalda Thomas and Tiny/PoorNewsNetwork

it started quietly - just a few of us POOR folk gathered in the Tenderloin in front of the San Christina Hotel- a single room occupancy(SRO) hotel in the heart of the Tenderloin District of San Francisco - it is the residence of one of our very low-income staff writers - I chuckled at the odd juxtapose of people with signs protesting the War cheerily walking towards the march through our "bad" neighborhood ..

After a few minutes of handmade sign choosing - i settled on "POOR Magazine says no to all wars against poor people of color locally and globally". Our small group consisting of Joseph Bolden, Christina Heatherton, TJ Johnston and myself began the walk to the Embarcadero to join the hundreds of thousands in San Francisco who like folks in London, New York, San Diego, Australia and hundreds of other cities across the globe, were protesting this new act of criminal oppression being proposed by the rich white folk in office...a war in Iraq

"I am a man who is interested and involved in many things.." one of our most inspiring encounters occurred quite early in the morning at the intersection of 5th and Market as we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ben Dunn - dressed in a regal brown world war II army uniform - carrying a sign that said; Take a stand against war and racism" He was one of several WW2 vets protesting this unjust war who were present at the march. After a few more encouraging words with Mr. dunn off we went....

"Who wants war.. Not in our Name!!!.... What Schools are present here today?" Our contingent was halted at 1st and Market as we met up with approximately 700 multi-racial, multi-cultural students from San Francisco State, City College of SF, UC Berkeley, UCSF, USF and many more .. sharing ..... resisting and marching...against a war with no legal or ethical basis....

One of POOR Magazine's youth in the Media interns who attends City College on a parttime basis when she can juggle child care for 12 month old baby and win the ongoing battle with Calworks (welfare) which continues to question her desire to even pursue a formal education was in this contingent..." This is all such bull-shit" what are we fighting for? " Richalda Thomas started breaking down the truth to any of us who were listening, "while they keep us busy fighting against this war mess.. they are cutting our school budget at schools across the nation like CCSF, and slashing all the social service budgets.." I nodded in agreement as she railed off the crimes against poor people and people of color that are happening under Bush that we can't even begin to address because he is constantly coming up with more frigtening things to fight everyday... Her words reminded me of Dee's (co-editor of POOR) opinion,
"The real war is already happening, everyday under this homeland security act they have stripped our civil and constituional rights down to nothing and now have armed men with M16 rifles on the white house steps 24/7 ... this is a coup .. that's what this is, a coup of this nation..."

"Bush voodoo dolls.....Bush voodoo dolls" - at the embacadero we encountered several clever handmade protest signs including one of my favorites: "Stop Madcowboy disease" and "a village in Texas has lost its idiot".... as well as a very real articulation of death to women and children that will happen if there is war in Iraq- several women dressed in chadors holding bloody dolls....moaning and crying.... I was not able to pass their performance without feeling a shudder of terror....

"Black Reparations yes... Racist Wars No..". a coalition of several African Descendent youth and adults who were working on HR40 the bill for black Reparations were in the march with a beautiful banner that spanned the width of the street

"We are here for the people - we are working for justice..." an ILWU labor contingent of several hundred multi-racial men and women dressed in black marched as an enclave within the march in cadence to "An injury to one is an Injury to All"

The day included many beautiful and inspiring speeches, one from Jeremy Corbin a parliament member in England who is fighting the sell-out Prime Minister of England Tony Blair (otherwise known as George Bush's right-hand man), "this march of all these amazing people - we need to come together for other than just the war - we all need to come together- because together we can fight for justice for poor people, for education for children, for the rights of all people...."

"We can Stop this war..." Danny Glover who spoke at the rally - spoke to marchers at the New York and San FRancisco march "Together we can stop this war..." As I looked upon the crowd of 300,000 people all dedicated to truth, all not believing the lies, nor accepting the illogic of this corporate takeover of our government.. for a moment...I believed him ...

by Richard G. Hall, JR. (PNN Prison Correspondent)

Former U. S. Supreme Court Justice, Earl Warren used to become emasculated by the mere thought of reading the daily newspaper. I guess his gut twisted in a tight knot reviewing press packed with corruption, criminality, social incompetence, in humanity and down –right failure! In the face of such a daily deluge of ‘Cess. The good stuff has little real impact. Mr. Warren always read the sports page first, to spare himself a serious stomach ulcer. Because the only thing dirty in it, was the athletes uniforms, it really made no difference how the chips of victory or defeat fell. The very best that the human spirit could give, was always exemplified to the fullest.

On March 5, 2003, I forgot all about the Earl Warren Technique. And just had to read the “Bay Area” Section of the San Francisco Chronicle, First. The caption that busted my eyes said: “Out of Balance – Oakland has more special needs students but less money.”
Rest assured, the article was both appalling, and certainly tear jerking. And this is nothing short of an understatement.

Nearly 6,000 Oakland, California school children with an array of mental, and physical disabilities, are possibly on the verge of suffering for even more unfortunate circumstances. Not because of any fault of their own. But because adults incompetently managed the economic affairs of the “Oakland Unified School District.” As it stands, certain folks are complaining that over the past 3 years, the Oakland Unified School Districts cost to care for and educate special needs kids, Has increased by one-third- to $31 million in 2002. Even though the number of special needs kids has relatively remained the same. It would be very interesting to hear the 411 on “Oakland’s Military Academy.” Which was allocated a few cool $million, to militarize and educate less than 500 kids.

Nevertheless, this is not the time to waste time elaborating on printed paper currently. Regardless of California’s current budget fiasco. There are exceptions to the rule, when it comes to the budget ax. Especially disabled school children. It’s ironic how the U. S. Government can fling American tax-dollars to countries all over the Globe. In order to allegedly assist them in improving their social condition. That’s all well and good. But what about the downward spiraling conditions of Americas poorest communities? And it is even more of a slap in the face, that U. S. Government officials would even consider extending “Turkey” possibly $30 billion. Just to use that country as an allied task force military launch pad. For the sole purpose of the destruction and bloodshed of war against Iraq.

That’s a brilliant idea! The U. S. Military could park a few jets and tanks on the grounds of a few Oakland Public Schools. And charge the government a couple billion dollars. That would certainly save the Oakland Unified School District from losing its educational freedom to the scourge of bankruptcy! So what if it now costs $31 million to educate special needs kids. America’s – professional athletes in quite a few cases, have contracts bigger than that. How much does a single nuclear weapon cost.

All that matters is, 47% of Oakland’s special needs kids have learning disabilities. What so-called moral citizens should worry about, is the 25% of those kids who are afflicted with language and speech impairments. Who is unempathetic enough to look the 12% of them who are mentally retarded, and tell them they may be booted out in the cold because the O. U. S. D. is short on cash? The most despicable wretch on earth would not dare stoop so low! Did I mention the 2% that suffer from Autism? I could bring up the 1% who no sweat off anybody’s back that fewer than 1% are deaf, deaf and blind, have multiple disabilities, and brain trauma injuries?
It is bad enough that Oakland’s healthy school kids are suffering from the O. U. S. D’s Below substandard promotions. Now This!

Another stupendous irony can be reflected when the “California lottery” was started. What happened to the high sounding punch line!” It Will Help California Schools?”
Considering quite a few California School kids don’t even have text books to sorta learn from. And many of them that do, use outdated ones. So much for the California Lottery helping school kids. While every body is being spooked about possible terrorist attacks to come. Especially the so-called threat of Bio Chemical weapons. It might be a damn good idea to inoculate quite a few folks with ant- selective amnesia and selective empathy vaccines.

some folks have even gone so far as to claim, because of the money used on special education, the Oakland Unified School District is in the financial mess its in. Can you believe that? There’s no shortage of cash to slam folks in state prison, with a 25-to-Life sentence for stealing a G. I. Joe from J. C. Pennies. And I’ll assure you, if any of Oakland’s Special Needs kids, God forbid, Committed
adult type crimes. The only thing that will be out of Balance is real Justice! And God knows there will be plenty of available cash to lock them us. “God Bless America is an all wrong Song to Sing.” It should be!” God save America’s children. Especially those with special needs!”

by Carol Harvey

On Saturday, August 3 at 1:00 a.m. I emerged wide-eyed from "Signs" at the Coronet on Geary and walked down to Cala Market for an Odwala. In the check-out line was a skinheaded-looking blond guy and his spikey-headed girlfriend.  She giggled, "I have to take out a loan to live in this city."  He commiserated, saying something about her staying at his place for the time being. 

Out on the street with my drink, I passed a hooded young guy on the corner.  A perfectly curved stream gushed copiously upwards from his pants into the street.  His friend, hands slung in pockets, slouched idly a few yards up by the bus stop, waiting.  The golden stream guy finished and stepped past me spritely saying a bold, "Hello!"  "I just peed in front of you in the street, Lady, and you can't do nothin' about it," smirked all over his face."

I walked a few yards East up Geary.  The skinheaded-looking blond guy emerged from the bushes pulling up his zipper.  He joined his girlfriend.  I called as I walked up behind him fast, "Are you homeless?"

"No."  He said, turning.

"They are arresting homeless people for what you just did in the bushes."

"They can arrest me," he screamed. "In fact, you can tell them my name," and he hauled up the front of his shirt.  Blazoned across his very white chest in huge Gothic letters was the word, "Stortz."

"What's that?" I said.

"My name, Bitch!  You can tell the police, and they can come and get me."

"You make it hard on homeless people," I said.

("Note to self: I'm mad enough about the unfairness of this that I am willing to commit the foolhardy act of confronting a nonhomeless skinheaded-looking guy in the middle of Geary at 1:30 a.m. on a dark Friday night.)

He's not alone.  They do it outside the bars in the Marina. Their kids do it behind the trees in Alta Plaza, and in the street next to their cars on Valencia in the Mission.  Some of them are adults, some children.  Most have homes.

So, send out the SFPD with the quality of life citations!   It's "Storz!", folks, and he ain't homeless.  He's a housed San Franciscan, a guy with the Goth tattoo of his name on his chest, over there right now doing his civic duty by watering the bushes. 

And, me, I'm over here trying not to drag it home on my shoes. 

by Poverty Scholar/Facilitator; Dee Gray, Teaching Assistant;Alex Cuff

1st ‘reading’ by PSI Poverty Scholar; Jewnbug

1). What was the transubstantive error in the movie?

*

Hedi would have a better life in so called “America.”
*
Hedi takes her Vietnamese family’s behavior about money as rude.

Hedi is conditioned to view things from a (KKK) white racist perspective and very Americanized not embracing the interdependence in her family in Vietnam.

But wasn’t there transubstantive error on the part of the Vietnamese family? What is it? Explain.

*

The Vietnamese family I think interpreted Hedi’s gift giving and her living in ”America” as her being wealthy thus why wouldn’t she help her family out with money and/or because “America” is capitalistic upfrontness about money wouldn’t be taken as rudeness and she wouldn’t be so emotional about it . However Heidi may not be hella wealthy she is still I feel in a financial position she can offer her family the support they are asking. The Mother however did make a comment about how she understood that Hedi has been raised in a different culture(lifestyle) and this talk of support for the family is something she is not being understanding too, but I feel that the Mother is still hurt by her daughter’s response even though she is trying to understand the conditioning that has influenced her daughter’s behavior.
*
The Mother showing Hedi the shrine for her grandma/ancestor/elder expecting her to understand/value/honor death in this same manner.

2). What was needed in this situation to have not made the ending so hopeless?

*

The daughter brings her Mother with her to meet her grandchildren and stays for a while.
*
Heidi goes to Vietnam and brings her husband and two daughters to meet their family.
*
Heidi stays in regular contact with her family and rediscovers and embraces her Vietnamese heritage and educates her children, husband and the family that adopted her. She doesn’t deny her heritage to the adopted family and they are confronted about their racism and classism. She builds a very strong bond with her family in Vietnam. She learns and realizes the lies of the American government and the truth, that her Mother never gave her up. She also is reducated about the war from the Vietnamese perspective and reality.
*
Heidi helps her family in Vietnam every month and understands the upfrontness about money is her family keeping it real. (In my family we discuss money openly and honestly we have to, it’s the way we survive. It really upsets me she isn’t supporting her family who really loves her and shows it and here she is with all this food etc...and she can’t even give anything. I am on welfare and will still try to help my family out.) Furthermore she is grateful for the constant affection from her Mother and family because she didn’t get that kind of affection from her adopted family she adjusts without being turned off by the physical closeness. She leaves the audience with her brainstorming about moving to Vietnam with husband, daughters or stays every summer in Vietnam.

3). What did you most empathize with and why?

*

I cried and cried about (Operation Babylift) children, babies taken away from their family, their Mother. I cried at the end because Hedi don’t even write her family back that’s beeped up. The lies the Mothers were told and this white woman trying to take childern to “America” really angers me.
*
I am happy she was reunited with her Mother but angry, frustrated with her attitude towards her family in Vietnam. I am sad for the Mother her pain her mourning over her daughter.
*
I dream and cry to meet my family one day. My family in Hawaii who are in contact through letters, pictures and phone but to touch them is something I hunger for. Many people who aren’t even Hawaiian get to travel, live, go to school in the home of my Ancestors my family. I didn’t even have money to go and over a year ago my grandpa died me and my dad, my brother couldn’t afford to go to the funeral. It hurts. I got two brothers who I haven’t even met who live in another state of colonizing and dream of meeting them. Heidi to me had the opportunity of a life time and she acted like a beep.
*
I think she acted like a (beep) and still is because she is not writing back and basically it looks like she has totally written them out of her life. I think that her behavior is a result from the following:

*
The adopted family never encouraged her to be proud of being Vietnamese/ mixed.
*
Believing that her Mother gave her up and probably being taught that by her adopted family.
*
Not being able to really identify with anyone or anything as a person who’s a mix of Asian and European heritage in the environment she is being raised in.
*
Not gonna be accepted in this society if she represents her Vietnamese heritage therefore assimilates to be an all “white American”. ( I myself as a mixed woman who’s mix is not your so called average mix and being someone who is non white but could pass if I chose to has dealt with white youth only wanting me to represent white and being attacked as a teenager by a white guy who called me a nigger and told me to leave the Sunset and go to Hunter’s Point . I tried to hang out with white youth at one point in time and felt so out of place I stopped hanging out with them but did make connections with youth who were non white who were hanging out with the same crowd. Here I was taking two buses from my hood to go kick it with white youth with the exception of a few youth who were non white. I felt so uncomfortable a lot times that I stopped. When I look back I feel the reason I did this was because I at 16 for the first time had been exposed to white youth who were well to do on a mass level and I was curios plus the parties the houses the cars the drugs the money appealed to me a mixed lite skinned young lady who’s poor, wished at one point could have their life with the exception of some things.) Heidi having this opportunity to not wish but actually was living the life as a youth in a white community who didn’t go with out food, shelter, clothing and could pass chose to for reasons of protection, acceptance and access.
*
Heidi didn’t get physical or verbal affection on a daily basis from her adopted family made her in ways a non touching feeling person. She is encouraged not only through lack of affection but the mannerism of this white community to be separated from family to succeed. When she left home she didn’t go live with anyone else in her adopted family not even the grandma. At the end of the movie you see her talking with her adopted grandma saying she knows her best but yet this family didn’t work together to intervene when the adopted Mother kicked her out of the house nor did anyone in the community. She did stay I believe with friends but it seems no one helped restore the relationship with her adopted Mother. This is another example of separatism which influenced her to not empathize with her family in Vietnam’s need for her intervention and support to help them survive. She was taught she had to survive on her own by this white community’s separatism.
*
The school she attended spoke on the war in Vietnam yet did they even discuss Operation Babylift and did they educate her on it with a prejudice towards Vietnam. I think perhaps they did therefore she is being conditioned to blame her Mother for having made the decision to have her adopted in “America” not the facts of who the oppressor is in this situation but she takes it out on her Mother. ( Myself can recall being upset with my Mother and Father of why were poor but as time went on I learned my parents are being oppressed and that they are trying to do what they can so we survive. I at that point in time had been conditioned to take it out on my parents instead of the welfare system, capitalism etc… I everyday must unlearn oppression and it’s conditionings.)
*
I think that Heidi is part of a community that is based on lies and teaches lies such as racizm, classizm and that individuation is a good thing. She lives around people who aren’t keeping it real who aren’t teaching the truth. Her family in Vietnam keeps it real in terms of where they are coming from and what they need. I think she ain’t used to such honesty and openness.

************************************

2nd ‘reading’ by Poverty Scholar Valerie Schwartz

1. What was the transubstantive error in the movie?

I believe there were several transubstantive errors in the movie. Beginning with "operation babylift" it was more than evident that the whatever they called themselves, representatives of the American government and adoption agencies. They did not seem to care that they were taking children away from their mothers and brothers, sisters, families and culture. They just knew they were "doing the right thing" without considering the ramifications of their of the program they were implementing and the long range effect it would have on the people involved. They were just doing their job for America is what they probably tell us. Another great American faux pas...

The second transubstantive error is made by Heidi herself, this was as crippling as "operation babylift" itself. She went very impulsively into finding and meeting her mother. I don't believe that she took the time to consider the contrast of culture and life between Viet Nam and the USA . I don't think she put forth much energy thinking about anyone other than herself and perhaps an unrealistic view of how her renuion would go her vision was myopic if not blinded by the thought of how she dreamed it would be.

The third transubstantive error was with her siblings and relatives in their thinking that Heidi would understand the concept of being responsible for her mother, family, and elders. I am sure that they were unaware of how many American treat they parents, siblings, and families in general: they don't understand that Americans have been brought up to believe in individuation and are basically brought up in the school of thought that we have come to know as "me, me, me, mine, mine, mine." I am not suggesting that they
disregard Heidi's behavior but unfortunately it wasn't considered.

2. What was needed in this situation to have not made the ending so hopeless?

I think that Heidi should have taken the time to find out more about her people and culture and especially done a lot of correspondence with her family before going. Americans don't even consider the idea that people in other countries live very differently than we do. Heidi regretfully I think entertained an "orphans dream" meaning that her life was gonna be wrapped up in a wonderful little package once she and her mother reunited that all her life she had wanted a June Clever type mother...ya know the loving TV mom who is always there, knows just what to say, and is very loving and nurturing. Nice thought, but not too real. Not that it couldn't be accomplished with some understanding, love, and work. I believe her mother truly loves her very much and really thought at the time that she did the right thing by giving Heidi up especially with the rumor of the burning of all the Amer-Asian children, but Heidi needs to get real and get off her pity pot. At times I had the definite feeling that her siblings were of little importance to her. I was disgusted by the way she reacted to the thought of helping out financially, she never even seemed to consider how good she has it, that she doesn't struggle from day to day. I guess I feel that Heidi should have put forth a lot more effort and it wouldn't have been so hopeless. She did initiate the reunion therefore I think she should have put more into making it work and tried to be aware of the cultural differences.

3. What did you most empathize with and why?

I can only empathize with Heidi on a small scale. The person or idea that I empathize with is probably with Heidi's mother. She was left with children to care for during a war, her husband gone and she did what she had to do to see that her children/family stayed intact, safe, and alive by being a G.I.'s consort. I know the reality of having to compromise yourself to feed your children. She then thinking she was saving Heidi from death at the hands of Vietnamese soldiers/ new regime, thinking that all the children would be rounded up and killed. What a horrible decision to have to make to make and then wonder for decades if she had done the right thing. I also caught a deep feeling when her family was asking her to help care for her mother and her mother explained to them that Heidi didn't understand, that it was too soon, and they shouldn't make her feel forced. That was truly a mother's compassionate and genuine love even though she was disappointed...she did not give up hope.

************************************

2nd ‘reading’ by Alex Cuff

1. what was the transubstantive error in the movie?

...there were so many. first of all, the vietnam war itself – or most wars, i
think. then, "operation babylift" – assuming that the vietnamese children were
better off with american parents. i feel that both heidi (i can’t remember her real name) and her mother are victims of the transubstantive
errors mentioned above. As far as their own transubstantive errors – yes, they both made the errors. The family asking for money is sort of a cross cultural “error” because americans don’t usually do that but I don’t think it’s a major error as in it didn’t really have much of a negative impact on the receiver of the error, heidi. If anything, getting upset was probably good for her in that it broke the comfort bubble she arrived to vietnam in. Okay so heidi’s transubstantive error was taking something as huge as a reunification with her mother very lightly. She made an error is getting personally insulted by the asking of money instead of learning more about the culture before her arrival. The family laid off when she got upset and didn’t press. They didn’t hold anything against her when she reacted to the request for help.

although i was appalled by heidi’s behavior when she went to visit her family in
vietnam, i can not find a way to blame her except for being super selfish and
badly educated. the latter probably contributing to the prior. i wonder why she
wanted to back to vietnam to meet reunite with her mother. If anything, she wasn’t prepared for what the trip meant.

2. What was needed in situation to have not made the ending so hopeless?

I really don’t know. Maybe more support and education and encouragement from the Filipino woman who escorted heidi to the village and acted for part of the time as translator. Really heidi needed to be different. I don’t want to come down so hard on her and say that she needs to follow through with the entire thing (which is what I feel) but she could have at least continued correspondence with the family, sent pictures of her children, maybe even gone back over with her family or something.

3. Who did you most empathize with and why?

Certainly the mother. Her emotion was so real to me as where heidi seemed cold and disconnected. The mother waited so long to see her daughter – the scene on the beach in the beginning, memories of heidi’s father was probably painful and of course the regret and guilt she probably felt for letting heidi go to the US. I empathize also for the family because they see and live with the mother’s pain and don’t really have a way to console her. The mother is strong through and intelligent, she seems to understand where heidi is coming from SO much more than heidi even tries to see where the mother is coming from. I can empathize with heidi if I try to put myself in her position – her life back home seemed so stale and I feel bad for her cause I feel she’s scared and wants to be comfortable even with the grandmother who doesn’t seem too warm. Heidi doesn’t get the richness she is missing in vietnam.

All in all it’s really a terrible situation. It’s hard to point blame on the victims which I think all of the characters in the movie were. Our invasion of vietnam and the post-transubstantive error of stealing children from their families is the underlying blame.

by Ace Tafoya/PoorNewsNetwork Community Journalist

Promise me everything, and give me nothing

Give with one hand

Smile and Grin; then take Back with somebody’s else Hand

Prop N! My Friend, No! No! No!

Help, House the Homeless! No

Help Cripple the homeless, and throw them out not off the streets

An excerpt from Contract Law(Lies) By A. Faye Hicks PO’ Poet Laureate/POOR Magazine

On the corner of Van Ness and Market St. last Monday afternoon, I saw a disturbing figure. A figure of a person lying on the street with a yellow blanket pressed tightly over their body. "Hell!," I said as I was ‘shocked and awed’ at the sight!... This country is spending billions of dollars on an unnecessary war. Billions that can make a difference in services all over the country.

I was part of a demonstration on Thursday, April 17, 2003 at the Next Door Shelter sponsored by the Coalition on Homelessness, POWER (People Organized to Win Employment Rights), POOR Magazine as well as many other agencies. Supposedly a model shelter for the city of San Francisco, Next Door which has a capacity of roughly 250 beds, was handing out eviction notices to clients in response to Proposition N or Care Not Cash initiative last week "I don’t like them (the eviction notices)," JoAnn Sanders a homeless advocate said to me at the rally. "I’m not sure if they are warranted. It’s amazing that the major politicians (Gavin Newsome, Willie Brown) plant their platforms on the backs of the poor and homeless."

Roughly 50 – 70 people turned up to speak out and let their voices be heard on the corners of Geary and Polk Streets. Even eggs that were thrown from across the street in our direction could not deter us from our protest.

Ed Willard and Marisa Franco from POWER led the people and the chants on the streets of the Tenderloin. We marched from the Coalition on Homelessness on Turk Street to 1001 Polk – Next Door Shelter. 

"Shelter Bed and $59

That’s Not Care –

That’s A Crime"

We want to let the City, Department of Human Services (DHS); the Board of Supervisors know what they are secretly doing behind closed doors in reference to Prop. N is not acceptable. "I think it is wrong giving out eviction notices to people who are on GA (the city’s welfare assistance program). This is only the early stages," Darrell Godbay from Shout said to me at the protest.

Reps from POWER have three simple demands for DHS, Trent Rhorer and the other co-horts: NO EXPULSIONS OR EXCLUSIONS FROM SHELTERS; HOUSING NOT CUTS AND NO FINGERPRINTING IMAGE MACHINES AT THE SHELTERS.

"People who most need the services (from the city) will be displaced," Garth Ferguson, a member of POWER said to me at the rally. A. Faye Hicks of the Po’ Poet’s Project of POOR Magazine let her lovely voice come through strong on a beautiful piece of poetry she recited. I tried to get a few comments from people who live at that shelter, but they uttered silence. "We aren’t going to put our fingers in your damn machines," warned Juan from Housing Not Borders. "The real crazies are the people like Trent (Roher, DHS). The war is here on the floor!," MC from Caduceus Outreach Services said at the podium.

Postscript;

After protests from the city’s poor and their advocates The Next Door Shelter later rescinded the eviction notices- and at this point the effort is to overturn Prop N through the courts and The San Francisco Board of Supervisors- To get involved in this effort call POWER at 415-864-8372. To read more about Prop N resistance scroll down this page and read Economic and Racial Cleansing #101

by Joe B.

Wednesday, Aug. 21, is my usual day off and like any working person I get miffed, upset, and downright pissed when my day is not completely over and work intrudes.

Like extra credit for school at first it’s a good deal for extra grades, a leg up on college but after awhile more and more x piles up until it turns into excess crap torture.

My work column finished Tuesday, I go to the tool for inputting work on the web and what happens – nothing everything is frozen and my written work is not posted because of a glitch either in or outside the network.

Its exasperating to go home and know it will nibble at you on your day off so her I am a half hour into 10 am trying once again.

I’m reading the Chronicle and got Headlines mixed like today’s "Research questions breast cancer risk "but another must have caught me half asleep "Scientists seek more control or bioengineer ed breasts.

Yes, its beasts it still got me thinking of bio-boobs.

If Bio-Boobs were possible by manipulating, on-off genes of fat-to-muscle of the female chest area.

Whether those genes are recessive or dominant - small breasts or large; hypothetically the recessive genes for small breasts can be turned off while dominant ones for large ones turned on.

If research scientist’s figure this out think where they’ll go next… lets say Viagra won’t be as popular as male size manipulation.

I’m probably wrong I still think cloning a penis, surgically cutting the original then placing the cloned piece in and reattaching the original helmet head which would make a slightly longer member without rejection problems.

Just think about the draining of blood and surgical procedures is gruesome enough to contemplate without worrying about reattaching veins to blood vessels.

Another item a week ago was about hundreds of people hoping to get a service sector job in Albertson’s and of the lucky few that got them.

I was thinking how Newsom’s Proposition N won’t help people find jobs because jobs are scarce in the City and taking money from G.A. workers because a few spend it on drugs and alcohol is a non solution and adds to being houseless.

Meanwhile people on General Assistance seeking work at whatever service jobs they can get.

Many will be lucky to get a $9 and hour job or jobs and yet the price of living index keeps rising and cost of living wages don’t keep up.

When I was on G.A. some of my check went to medicine, transportation, and rent but the bulk of mine went to books, paper, pens, erasers.

My dream was to be a columnist and published author also have a lap PC to save my writings on.

Most G.A. staff workers told me "Get real, get a job, you’ll never be a columnist – you don’t have the training or experience."

True but if I had listened these people I wouldn’t have leaned Photography, or become columnist at POOR Magazine.

I'd listen and did what I had to do anyway before, during, and after job searches, or on workfare.

I had to constantly split my money and personality to keep the G.A. money coming.

Now that I’m off GA I shutter at it taken away and the money is supposedly going to services to help except its not spelled out all that clear.

One more dream to go and then... more impossible ones to make true.

That’s enough for today. Bye.

by A. Faye Hicks

The Pagan goddess Esther of long ago

Seated on her throne

Handing out colored Easter Eggs, to her little Bunnies

The Bag Lady in Red, shaking her cup, trying to make a buck

The pharmacies filled with baskets for capital gain

Decorating their windows with wares, to make the queen a profit

Big chocolate bunnies, little pink and yellow rabbits, nestled in greenery

While the Winds and Sands of War, Run Rampart

Up and down the City streets, the shoppers are jostled

The Protesters of War

March with Pride

March in Stride

Hurry, hurry the winds of war is a Terror, a Worry

No houses, no jobs, no Food, no Money

Although the Easter Bunny is coming!

The War Machines Scurry

Oil for Food shouts the Army General

Food not Bombs the people shout

The Mayor of San Francisco Screams

“Stop marching and disrupting my City”

protest this War on your own “Home Base!”

Or “Homeless will have to pay this $900,000 a day

Out of the Care not Cash we set aside for They

Let them put on their Homeless Bonnet

I Hope that Paves the Way

Still the Easter Bunny is on its Way

Hiding colored eggs in city parks

In Glide and St. Anthony’s Food lines

Hop, Hoppity, Hop!

The Muni Bus is stopped

The streets are Blocked

The City of San Francisco is under seige

The mounted police is shouting Please!

As Rocks and Bottles are being hurled, scaring their Thoroughbred Ponies

“ Oh where can I hide my Colored Eggs?”

so they wont be confused as Hand Grenades

2, 000 arrested and detained

The Mayor screams “More Money to be deducted out of the Homeless Pockets”

They can forget about our promises and their Dreams

We have to pay the Police double time

We have to pay the Police triple Time

We don’t care if the Homeless don’t have a Dime

Just stop the Protesters March

Because the Easter Bunny is on His Way!

The Tourist Trade is “Money to be Made”

Their Shopping Shant be Stopped

Hop, Hoppity, Hop!

A. Faye Hicks
March 31, 2003

by Joe B.

KO, oops, meant to say OK. Our hypothetical alchemist has just completed the great work his mind, body in flux, voices living, dead, in his/her head until God commands her/him to rest which is done.

Most likely lost knowledge is regained, psychic powers ordinarily never discovered would’ve stayed dormant unrealized but now they emerge simultaneously full force hence the Lord’s rest command protecting the alchemist from accidental self harm.

A minor power is possibly invisibility whether physically or clouding human minds.

She or he may unconsciously use their new powers to reshape their appearance improving themselves down to the molecular level.

Mind travel through time would give our new alchemist access to lingering trapped thoughts in air.

Slowly she/he is able to control these vast powers and realizing they must be away from humanity to truly help them secretly.

Predicting outcomes of horse races, spinning wheels in casino’s, or knowing the winning lottery numbers makes it simple to win money or using the same knowledge for options, known and unknown stocks is beyond insider trading.

This is all hypothetical all I know about alchemist’s is what I’ve read and imagine.

Our alchemist has rested, learns about vast powers may by accident in a fit of pique will a human to stop living utter "Drop Dead" not realizing tragic results after that he/she will be most careful of power wielded because they will always know when a soul leaves its flesh vessel.

Other of her/his kind will contact, visit, befriend, or instruct in use of new found powers.

Now what if an Alchemist loves the dark side and is able to have any woman/man being an irresistible force?

An amoral illuminated one can wreck havoc on human psyche’s under their control.

from hypnotic trances, pheromone derived potions, to as in an Arthurian legend Merlin arranged after the Duke died while in battle against Uther's armies Merlin helps Uther who took Igraine (the Duke’s Wife) seduced Igraine by making Uther magically take on the appearance of her husband, Gorlois.

Uther made Igraine Queen by becoming his wife.
This is part of the Arthurian Legend. Look up www.britannia.com/history

An evil alchemist would eventually figure out how to switch or take over bodies borrowing them to be with which ever boy, girl, woman, or man that takes their fancy.

No human will be safe.

I don’t have this info in my head like mythical or real alchemist’s would.

An evil alchemist would eventually figure out how to switch or take over bodies borrowing them to be with which ever boy, girl, woman, or man that takes their fancy.

No human will be safe from his or hers amorous.

What kind of high would that be to see a man or woman you want to physically try out or be with temporarily you could and no one but God, another alchemist, or and unusually aware human.

They’ed get bored after a time the main theme is what would any of us do with these untapped power if they we had them at a moments notice?

That’s all there could be more but you have the main points.

So, Women, Men, boys, girls, young adults what would you do as a newly minted alchemist with a few hundred or thousand years with these power? Bye.

Please send donations to

Poor Magazine or in C/0

Ask Joe at 1448 Pine Street,

San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:

1230 Market St.

PO Box #645

San Francisco, CA 94102

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Valerie Schwartz/PoorNewsNetwork Community Journalist and Poverty Scholar

I Remember my Mama

In the Bean field, The Potato field

Sending us to school to learn our A B C’s

Keeping the Camp Fire’s Burning

We did not know Much about city livin’

In fact I didn’t know much ;of anythin’

Except a Mother’s Love

If we did without

It was with Style and Grace

No Complaints

Doing without was no disgrace

As I sit here reminissin'- Life goin on by

I have Strength and Courage

Instilled in me!

For times of sorrow

And times of joy

Although I shed tears, I Radiate Joy

When I am Low I remember my Mama....

About two-years ago on a somewhat hazy morning in the Tenderloin, the sun was ambivalent about trying to make an appearance on the 200 block of Hyde Street. I was reclining against the fence. I was sick and could barely move and the light that shone on me was from Lula B. Seymore, better known as Mama. "What's wrong, Sugar?" she asked me with that sweet voice that was always maternal and then added, "It's not like you to be laying down out here." I had a staff infection that was attempting a coup d' etat on my right leg, which I have ongoing vascular trouble/ulcers with. Mama went to her van and got out some aspirin, peroxide, ointment, and some clean socks and jeans for me. I managed to get up and go to the store to buy some Band-Aids with money she had given me. We talked for a while and when I felt strong enough, she then sent me packing down the street, care-package in hand, with instructions to, "Go get cleaned up and come back up here." Although I barely had the energy, I followed the instructions given and back to the corner I went. This is only one of many times that Mama helped me.

I can't remember exactly when it was that I met Mama, an African-American elder, who had resided in the Bayview-Hunters Point district of San Francisco for several years working as a housekeeper for Children's Hospital, among other labor intensive jobs, before she became houseless or what we at POOR call, "Vehicularily Housed." It seems as though I had seen her around the Tenderloin and adjoining Market St. area for awhile. I would give a "guesstimate" it was the spring of 1998 when we first actually talked. It was on the corner of Hyde and Turk. This corner was a veritable sidewalk-mall whose proprietors were primarily homeless people. I have lived in the Tenderloin neighborhood for twenty-two years and therefore I know it very well. It has a high rate of crime, addiction, and despair as most areas of poverty do.

On that fateful day, my co-worker was inside the copy shop next to the Midori Hotel at Turk and Hyde streets getting copies made for my boss at the time; we did all the maintenance, painting, and whatever else was needed to be done in a nearby apartment building. As I waited, I sat on a milk crate playing some blues tunes on my guitar when Mama stepped out of the front door of her home, a dark green van. She made eye contact with me and gave a short but hearty little laugh while straightening her wig and said, " Hello, I'm Mama...That's what we need around here... a little music to soothe ourselves, praise the Lord." Mama then started, while humming, to set up her little sidewalk re-creation of a Goodwill store. She set down some blankets and then set the clothes and miscellaneous items she had to sell on top of them. We talked for a few minutes as she swept the sidewalk around her "store" and then it was time for me to get back to work.

After our first discussion, most every time I was on the corner, Mama and I would talk or exchange our "hellos" in passing. We forged a friendship on that corner. I started taking all the things that the former tenants had left behind or threw out and gave them to her so she could sell them, rather than take it to the dump. Eventually my boss became ill, was hospitalized, and I was back on the street again. Mama helped me through those times when I needed it and when I didn't.

Mama dealt with being poor everyday. When you are poor there are no days off. She fed and gave clothing to many of us who were, and still, are out there living on the streets. I remember how she used to pull out her little barbecue grill and make everything she could with what she had: soups, a pot of beans, sometimes chicken. She always shared with someone. Mama would not allow people to get high or sell dope next to her van. I remember her frustration with people sometimes; she also would never curse, but prayed instead. Mama always prayed, she prayed for everyone, myself included, and pray she did. Her faith was unyielding. There were days when she was hurt and angered with me for I was such a slave to my addiction. She wouldn't speak to me, or would tell me to come back later, and that was enough to shame me in ways that many could not. I'd walk away and she would tell me, "You got to fight those demons girl...now go." And as I walked I could hear her praying...

Rarely would anyone talk crazy to Mama, for most of us out there respected her and helped her in return. We wasn't havin' no-one "dis" Mama! I had seen the police give her tickets for selling her wares on the sidewalk without a permit. Some of them left her alone but when she would see them coming she got busy and put everything away quickly, and then they might still give her a parking ticket. I also know that some of the police used to "hassle" her for living in her van. Mama did not want to live in a "care-facility" and unfortunately I am afraid that she, as many elders do, felt it was not a choice.

As a person who is disabled, has been homeless, and is poor I have to stop and think about choices. Choices for elders, for the poor, and disabled are not always what I would consider to be choices. They mean having to choose between two-or-more evils. These "choices" are offered by systems that perpetuate poverty. Is it a choice for a person to live in a care facility where they are subject to many different kinds of neglect or suffer a houseless poverty? Is there a choice for elders who are forced into conservatorship by the county, such as Beatrice Sloan of Oakland (another African-American elder confined to a care facility and robbed of her assets by Government programs set up to "care for" elders which POOR Magazine has been advocating for)? Writes my colleague Ashley of POOR, " The nursing home industry is another form of big business disguised as hellthcare." Thus our elders are losing what they have worked earnestly and hard to keep and maintain: A family, a good home and integrity.

When I had the pleasure of attending Mama's memorial service last week, presented by the Faithful Fools Street Ministry where several family and friends spoke and presented words of grace in Mama's memory, more questions arose: Why did Mama have to leave after residing in her Bayview-Hunter's Point home for so long and what made her "choose" to live in her van? Some reports say that she was evicted due to an Owner-Move-In- Eviction. Some say it was her choice because she didn't want to live in a care facility. Was Mama facing a possible case management or conservatorship issue? Being told that she was a "very independent person", for me, does not answer the question, because of course, for poor folks, there is always the issue of shame. This society tells us it is bad to be poor - that something is wrong with you - not the people evicting you - not the system taking your assets - redlining your districts, employing you at nothing wages, and then criminalizing your poverty.

Being that I was in the dregs of my addiction I used to find myself in awe of Mama sometimes, that she had good boundaries and kept her faith intact. It just blew my mind that a homeless senior woman, alone, could deal with life out there knowing how harsh and just plain miserable it can often be and maintain a sort of grace, you might say. Yet, she never gave up. And on many days she inspired me to make it through another day in hell with just one of her beautiful grins, her intense, smiling brown eyes, and herself saying, "You stay outta trouble." There have been times since I have been in treatment that I wanted to go talk to Mama and let her know that I was okay. Today I want her to know that some of her prayers most assuredly have been answered, that I have been clean and drug-free for a year, and how very grateful I am for her friendship, love, and boundaries that I now understand. Mama's presence and spirit was always a beacon of light in the tempest of the Tenderloin and she will be missed and remembered by many.

PNN editors note; Mama was a contributor to POOR Magazine vol#4 MOTHERS, and will be included in the Poverty Heroes Anthology which will be released by POOR Press in December -as well, she was a powerful inspiration and friend to POOR mother and daughter editors, Dee and Tiny. If you would like to submit any words or art to POOR about Mama - please call us at (415) 863-6306 - if you would like to visit the Memorial Green Van - you can reach the Faithful Fools at (415) 474-0508 or go to the corner of Hyde and Turk street

by Anna Morrow

A woman lived with her husband and children in the middle of the Central American countryside. They had been married one year for each child and she regretted the arrival of her eleventh son. The lush green surroundings of her family’s small home beckoned her to free her sprit from the hardships of her life. But she remained angry and exhausted from worry unable to give love and affection to anyone in her family.

Early in their life together, her husband had fallen from a cliff and been left with the use of only one leg. She wept for him and for their bleak future for she could not imagine how he might provide for his ever-growing family. As the years washed over she recoiled further and further into herself, her personality and determination wearing away like the edges of a stone in the river. She became without hope. There was barely enough sprit in her to move her thin body. There was far less than enough for her to cultivate the dreams of living.

On the birth day of her eleventh son she thought perhaps the fates would take pity on her and sacrifice her life and the life of her child, but she awoke to find her self alive and her child crying fiercely. He’s too strong for his own good she thought to herself. Despite her reluctance to know this child she gave him a name, Fernando. And she let him suck at her breast though she knew there was nothing for him.

The woman grew more desperate with each passing day and soon became resolved to enact a plan: her eleventh child must go. He should be left to die for his own good and for the sake of her family. There was not enough food to go around and she could not bear this burden any longer.

On the night when the moon was beyond full and completely dark the woman left her bed with the small boy in her arms. She crept to entrance of her home and stood silent and frozen making sure that sure no one had heard her. Certain that she was the only one awake she set out into the warm night air. As she walked with her babe tucked safe and innocent against the curve of her body, she announced her intentions to the Gods. She asked that they look mercifully upon her and embrace her son’s spirit upon his return.

Finally she came upon her destination: a small entrance to a cave carved into the hillside. She walked into the dark hollow mouth, placed Fernando on the cold rocky floor and left. She walked away not saddened but relieved running down the hillside anxious to return home before her husband woke and found her missing.

In the cave, life was leaving the tiny infant. Bats hovered over him and clung to the cave ceiling watching down as hunger and cold overtook his small body. Slowly the invisible threads of his spirit began spiraling up and up away for his dying flesh. Inside these threads the spirit of the child Fernando came more to life than he had ever been in his body. He looked down at the small vessel that had carried him for short lifetime.Sadness and empathy so touched the core of his being upon looking down at this poor child that all the hunger of his existence would not let this spirit pass over. As the threads of light reached the top of the cave, the decision had been made. There at the top where the bats rested the spirit of Fernando flew into their souls.
Inside the bats of Latin America, aspects of Fernando live on, eternally hungry and seeking revenge on the mother who would not feed him. When the bats are hungry, the angry sprit of Fernando explodes inside of them and they grow to 100 times their normal size. Feet and legs of an older Fernando extend from their bodies and they run across the fields spreading their giant bat wings, crying and screeching in search of food.Not just any food;they hunger for the food that should have been Fernando’s and the food that might feed his family’s.They hunt for goats. They hunt for goats that can give milk. They hunt the females, the mothers. The campesino of Latin America all know the legend of Fernando.They call him Chupacabras, goat –sucker.

Once Chupacandra has found a goat to satisfy his unfathomable need to feed, he envelops it with his huge bat wings immobilizing and smothering it. He pierces the neck right at the jugular and sinks his bat fangs in deep. With a giant sucking that causes the winds to howl and run away through the trees, Chupacandras sucks the life giving blood from it’s victim. With one long draw of vengeance he tries satisfy the hunger of his soul, taking the food of those that live on without him and claiming what is rightfully his.

Every month when the moon is dark the campesinos pay their repects to Fernando’s soul. They offer food to the Chupacondras at the entrances of caves hoping to protect their livestock and trying to satisfy his great hunger.

by Joe B.

Welcome to One-Stop-Radio.

Had a call from a fem friend I haven't seen or heard from in months she called both my job-message and home phone.

Its an excellent night in 'Berk. I'm 'feelin an energized high another date planned Friday night.

Then the FCC Media is set for Saturday 10 pm.

Don't want to go, I know its important for free airwaves for everyone or there only be one concglom national mega corp spewing out its one message.

I get that. I go.
(I'm a apolitical worker in a political organization).
[its like 2 identical twin brother’s separated from birth. 1 is a sultry rhythm & blues singer the other a ‘gansta rapper who’s friends mistakes him as their buddy.

I may look the part but it ain't who I really am.]

I get a seat first where elders and persons in wheelchairs sit bad choice eventually they come and I have to find another spot to sit with room 253 rapidly filling up.

Another assignment is to get people-of-color from The Young Democrats. (My 3rd. editor is part of that group)

Something will go awry because I cannot be in two places at once if time overlaps between The FCC meeting and Young Democrats outside or in another room.

Moderator:Heather Hudson,Dir. of the Telecommunications Mgr.
Teresa Moore, Media Studies Instructor at the University of San Francisco. spoke also Supervisor Matt Gonzales,
Jonathan S. Adelstein,
Member of the Federal Communications Commission. F.C.C. (An unassuming hero but a he is one).
Ben Bagdikian, Former Dean of Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California at Berkeley.
Dino Dinovitz, Pres. and Gen. Mgr. of KRON-TV and member of the Board of the National Association of Broadcasters.

KRON-TV (The only news outlet covering this important session) ABC, CBS, NBC are noticeably absent which is as telling as if they were trying to argue their case for Consolidating the airwaves.

There's another name which I've forgotten.
Brenda Payton, Columnist for the Oakland Tribune.
Aimee Suzara, Youth Media Council activist and writer.

There was also Peter Coyote, Actor/Activist and Songstress Sarah Jones
Patti Miller’, Dir. of Children & the Media Program at Children Now.

Gail Silva, Executive Dir. of Film Arts Foundation.
Brother J, Hip-hop artist.

There are many more people to long to mention.

An overlap in time did happen before 12 noon arrived Sarah Jones, an intoxicating songbird spoke eloquently about Clear Channel's power to determine an artists career to help or hinder their them in what they write and or sing.

I quickly asked her for a picture gladly she said it would be alright.

Outside is another problem.

Youth with bloody wounds and scars (fake) are eating lunch standing in line as the Salvation Army fed them and later me with ham sandwiches, pink lemonade, soda, potato chips and regular or fluoridated water.

I had forgotten something (it happens when there is too much to do I tend to dump something like PC's dumping excess info.

Seeing for four Asian youths all young girls.

I tell them my name, who I'm with and asked them can I take a photo of them quickly adding "If you say no I won't do it.

Some giggling, chatting, looking about and they say yes.

One shot of the four length wise.

"Thanks, My job's done" I announced.

It sounds idiotic but got me back into City Hall.

It bores, excites, and is tiring but I stay.

Ashley Adams or Addams spoke more eloquently with more passion than I could muster.

All I could’ve said is "I like going to Malls and Mega Super Markets they’ve got almost everything in them you’d want to buy or need but it there’s an item I want they don’t have they tend to say "If we don’t stock it then its not needed."

I also so like small stores that have things mega stores don’t have and given the choice I chose small Mom & Pop stores.

I don’t want to hear one-voice, view, or side of many sided stories.

Mr. Michael Powel, son of Gulf War General Colin Powel says "Mergers make media profitable."

He’s alright with consolidation its all gravy to him.

To me will all this Con-Solid-deviation will end up scraping the bottom of and everyone else will be starved for information that will be harder and less able to find.

Choice and free market controls is what is needed not a return to the late 1800’s infamous robber baron’s of railroad owner fame.

Time to link up, find whom owns what, their connections, and not buy, listen, dis-investment there and reinvestment of independent voices.

What does this all boil down too? Money.

Switch dials, turn radio’s off, you can by dvd’s, video’s from independent makers dis-linking from corporations.

They lose or hemorrhage money spending ad time, giving freebies, to regain a customer base no longer listen, looking, or buying their adds.

Folks the money they make to use against us is our own money!

Lets spend it in our best interest not theirs.

If any readers have other suggestions please hurry up and spread the word before June 2, 2003,

Because its 37 days and we don’t have a secret government "Back-Step" to ward off stealth theft of the publics airwave’s. Bye.

Please send donations to

Poor Magazine or in C/0

Ask Joe at 1448 Pine Street,

San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:

1230 Market St.

PO Box #645

San Francisco, CA 94102

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by PNN Staff

The Po’ Scholar fund needs your help to sponsor very low-income media makers get their voices heard in print, on-line and radio media

POOR’s New Journalism/Media Studies Program has been teaching very low-income poets, writers, and journalists how to investigate, research and write a story on issues related to poverty and racism that impact their communities and families. While they train in a classroom setting, they also get field training as "Community Journalists", for PoorNewsNetwork (PNN) and The San Francisco Bayview reporting on serious issues such as police brutality, race and class based profiling, homelessness, youth justice, disability, immigration, welfare reform and many more issues facing all of us as a community.

Please help POOR Magazine empower these new scholars with a Voice – so they can be heard to make change. Due to the position of people in poverty they are unable to attend training without your financial help. Any donation helps!!!!

Sponsor Program

100% of your donations go to the cost to train each intern and to a stipend that is given to the Community Journalists – the stipends are $450.00 per month for 6 months. Their tuition is $600.00 for the entire semester program at POOR Magazine

Donor Levels:
Full Sponsor (sponsors the full tuition and stipend of an intern for six months)
$3300.00
Partial Sponsor ( sponsors the stipend of an intern for 6 months)
$ 2,700.00
Sponsor-Lite; One month’s of an interns stipend
$450.00
Sponsor-Sliding Scale- Anything you can give!!!!!! From $10-to $100.00

All donations are tax deductible – no donation is too small. Please send check or money order to POOR Magazine 2940 16th street #301 -Make checks out to POOR Magazine (note Po Scholar fund on your envelope) or call us at (415) 863-6306 for more info

by Staff Writer

The Poverty Hero Project was a literary and visual art project created by artists at POOR Magazine in collaboration with Community Defense Inc. The three lead artists; Lisa Gray-Garcia, Leroy Moore and Dee Gray facilitated a series of 10 eight week workshops on the creation of this new form of literary hero. These workshops culminated in a 55 page full color anthology published by POOR Press and a series of 12 radio narratives broadcast on PNN's KPFA radio show - to get a copy of the book or CD of the radio shows please contact POOR Press (415) 863-6306

Dee Gray's Statement

I developed the notion of Poverty Hero to be realized as a series of workshops in which each workshop participant would re-write the stories of poverty into stories of hope through literary and visual art

I incorporated several literary "devices" such as myth, fantasy, metaphor and story which would transform the stories of poor folks from the tragic to the heroic. I began the series by investigating several myths established in indigenous cultures as they would be appropriate for the majority of the communities who we were writing with (i.e. of color and from poverty) We began with a comprehensive study of The Hero With an African Face - a book by Clyde W. Ford on the Mythic Wisdom of Traditional Africa. We then studied The Myth of the chupacabra – the chupacabra is a campesino myth created out of a tragedy that occurred simultaneously in several communities across the Southern United States, Central and South America Each workshop participant created their own Chupacabra myth transforming their own 1st person experiences - all in preparation for their final creation of the Myth of Grace Wells - Poverty Hero

To make the transition from Fantasy to myth i.e. to apply the myth to a real person we next integrated a real man – i.e. a "bandit" from India who already had a very mythic, bigger than life quality based on his survival and resistance through extreme poverty and colonization.

We made many transformations of this man – man to animal – animal to man – man to man- man to woman and finally, back to his "real" self.

These early stories acted to "free up" the creative process of the workshop participants to enable the participants to transform the Poverty Hero; Grace Wells, an elder, disabled, African Descendent woman (83) who was facing eviction from her home of 14 years.

Through the rewriting of Grace’s story the participants not only honored Grace’s struggle through poverty and displacement but as well facilitated her resistance to that hopeless end through an alternative literary reality. This happened concurrently with the advocacy work that was done for Grace by the other POOR Magazine media organizers and participants who worked in tandem with Lawyers and community organizers to insure that in fact Grace was not displaced.

Dee Gray, writer, conceptual artist and Licensed Therapist, is the previously houseless, currently at-risk, Co-editor and Co- Director of POOR Magazine

by Joe B.

June Jordan’s Legacies Live.

Wednesday, April 30, 2003 in U.C. Berkeley’s Barrow’s Hall people gather for a special night of celebration as youthful wordsmiths gather in strength and force guided by June Jordan.

June Jordan.

She was a Professor of African American Studies at the University of California at Berkeley where she directed the enormously popular Poetry For the People program. Poetry For the Peoplereceived a Chancellor's Recognition for Community Partnership on September 19, 2000.

Jordan, an award-winning poet, professor and activist, are mourning her loss.

After battling cancer since the 1970s, Jordan died Friday at age 65.

She is an award-winning poet, professor and activist, novelist, essayist.

It'll take more pages to list all that she is an has done and lives change both personally and through her powerful, lyrical works. Italics mine.

As a professor of African American studies at UC Berkeley, Jordan founded and directed "Poetry For The People," a course in which 150 undergraduates participate in marathon poetry readings
before large audiences.

They also study the poetry of African Americans, Arabs and Arab Americans and many other groups Jordan considered generally overlooked in the classroom.

Jordan is survived by her son, Christopher Meyer.

"Though the master has moved on," said Reed, "the Jordan school of poetry, I suspect, will be with us for a long time. This is her legacy,"

Thanks to: Ms. Kathleen Maclay, Media Relations.
(Taken from the June 17, 2002.
www.berkeley.edu/news/media/releases)

Jordan’s Legacy Continues.
From 1973 to 2003 30 years of evolving spoken word power.

As usual I here bits of news about it but its peripherally a micro dot way in the real of this near empty brain pan.

It’s on a Wednesday.

(wouldn’t you know it my day off after doing yoga practice in S.F.’s City College and getting a healthy African descended woman using a hacksaw to break my own lock, seems I locked the key in locker.

After that bit dodo brain wit I race home to shower and wear clean clothes, no lunch.

I’m looking forward to one on one with someone in Berkeley after the KPFA radio program.

Called and called no answer only to find out later that she and her sister were going to a baby shower later that day.

After the show wrapped close to 5 pm. called again mostly forgot that a Poor M’s intern is one of the poet’s speaking in Barrow’s Hall in U.C. Berkeley.

I decide to stay until 6 pm. Lost of youth helped setting up sound systems, food, and chairs some by the poets themselves.

I wait, get a seat and save a few for guests who said they were coming.

So many heart searing emotional/physical pain of women from family, culture, men, women, plus rumor and speculation of strangers.

One guy did a sensuous, deliriously, delicious tome on eating fruit that made the young and older women swoon and I never looking or eating fruit as just an ordinary undertaking ever again.

(I should’ve learned that from tongue lashing strawberry ice cream cones on Market and Polk Streets).

The event is worth missing some delayed physical pleasure in the night.

Only one guest shows the other is sick waiting in the car.

I wanted to stay but before leaving kissed her hand, hugged, praising Christina for her work using action instead of words conveying how her words said to me.

A place I always passe as a kid but never went in was open where people danced slow, steady, and close won’t try to pronounce the name buts in Berkeley far from my friends home as I find out by walking.

After three dances and being whipped about by a young, strong, pregnant woman (I swear she has the strength of Hera, an angry, jealous Greek Goddess, wife of Zeus who couldn't keep his godhead under his robes).

Called a last time then left Super Mother to be walking into the night toward a good time and maybe afterwards sleep.

Christina’s words came to me as I near Berkeley High School.

As shadowy figures appear I keep my hands swinging empty knowing that sudden movements, jerks, can mean bullets or a blade in my gut.

Wary, I walk slow smiling to young and old men walking or standing on the street, near bars, and bus stops.

I cannot forget for a second I’m a black man, male in America and can be killed either by accident of identity, by police or rival gang’s even a group of women can take unfocused rage out on me if I give the wrong signal while on their path.

Finally after reading R. I. P.’s on a stop sign at one the safety zones to slow down traffic I go up the door aware of two police officers male and female both white as I pass them my hands out slowly swinging.

The car is there after three knocks I leave then turn to knock one a last time. (why am I out here in the pitch black of 10:07 pm because of a chance of flesh on flesh, head knocking bed-board, high energy dehydrating rock solid body rocking soul meshing, brain numbing pleasure.)

You know the answer people.

I pass the cops seeing them, hands in pockets not looking at them as if there invisible.

‘Damn, its still a dangerous for black men in America and I’m a timid guy not basher of women or anyone else just a regular mortal man ‘walkin with blood veined swelling refusing to ease up.

Walked to bart and down on bench a small white woman.

("Don’t go sit near her, it’s late at night, she’s alone, don’t know what’s she thinking how she’ll react just stand and wait for the Colma/Daily City train).

Another white woman sits by the first and I wasn’t going to sit by them no matter how tired my feet are and besides my helmet head is still vibrating
up/down, back and forward twitching, pressing urgently this wasn’t a before bed, bathroom urge, or morning urination urge but the primal only a woman’s primal secreted flesh and juicy slick wet can help calm down but not tonight just full arousal frustration.

I’m gonna let it deflate on its own and let it/me suffer as a lesson to not do stupid things that can get me killed.

Still some things are worth missing besides it would take me and hour or so to release and sleep was beating us both.

Helmet lost the fight and the bigger brain learns to control its smaller reptile one.
Ladies, Women, Youthful Adults.

I’ve been accused of writing porn.

Please tell me if that is true and how can I avoid it if I do. Bye.

Please send donations to

Poor Magazine or in C/0

Ask Joe at 1448 Pine Street,

San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:

1230 Market St.

PO Box #645

San Francisco, CA 94102

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org