by Olivia Colt/Race, Poverty and Media Justice Intern

Soft-spoken and determined, Lisa Washington is a loving mother of two and a devout follower of her faith. Like almost all mothers, her eyes brighten with the mention of her two sons, Franshat and Daylan, but the light goes out quickly and a dark cloud covers her eyes. Her expressive face crumbles with grief when she talks about losing her children.

Lisa is a victim of Child Protective Services (C.P.S.). She is just one of so many whose families have been torn apart by the C.P.S. system. Lisa hasn’t seen her eldest child, Franshat, in four years and is only allowed bi-weekend visits with her younger son, Daylan.

“I lost my children and was refused legal council because of my religious beliefs,” Lisa stated clearly and unapologetically in POOR Magazine’s Community Newsroom, where she had come to share her five year struggle with C.P.S. Lisa is a Jehovah’s Witness and has experienced severe religious discrimination firsthand in a country that claims to give all people the freedom to practice and exercise their own religious beliefs, as well as denounces and makes illegal discrimination of any kind based on religious beliefs.

As I sat listening to her painful story, I thought about my three cousins, Shaleena, Joseph, and Diamond. They are my Uncle Jackie’s children and live near Tacoma, Washington with their mother Ingrid. I saw them this past Easter holiday when I went to visit family in San Diego. Unlike the rest of my very Catholic family, these three cousins are Jehovah Witnesses, and like Lisa have struggled with discrimination and persecution for their religious beliefs.

Lisa’s personal struggle with discrimination and C.P.S. began on March 11, 2002 when Alameda County took custody of Franshat, placing him in foster care, due to a disciplinary action by Lisa: she pulled his ear. My parents have disciplined me very similarly while growing up—spanking, ear pulling, wooden spoons, and one of the most memorable: my mom took off her shoe and threw it at my head. I look back on these instances in my life and cannot imagine being separated from my mother for these occurrences; I misbehaved, therefore I was punished. Lisa acted in a way no different than most parents do. This does not make her a bad parent, an ill-fit parent, or any of the other labels widely overused by C.P.S. to rope in more children, more money, and break more homes.

Ripping a family apart detracts from the mission and stated goals of C.P.S., which are to “provide specialized welfare services that seek to prevent dependency, abuse and neglect of children.” They also seek to provide services that will stabilize families in crisis and preserve the family unit. Inherently, the original purpose of C.P.S. was respectable, pulling children out of homes where there is extensive physical, emotional, and mental abuse. However, as C.P.S. has grown, greedy and self-serving people have found a very lucrative and easy way to access a tremendous amount of money. FightCPS.com stated that in 2003 alone, bounty payments for adoption in 44 states and territories amounted to $17,896,000.00.

Lisa is not an unfit parent. She is a hard working woman who loves her children. He ex-husband even testified to that extent during a custody hearing in 2003 regarding the fate of her younger son’s custody. In fact Claiborne Sibley defended his ex-wife, until the council representing their children shushed him. Lisa has also willing undergone psychological and psychiatric evaluations and examinations to prove her sound mental and emotional health.

Over the last 4 years of her case, Lisa has had turn over in her legal council several times by her court appointed public defenders. Many of which had been advised to not take her case because of faith base—because she is a Jehovah Witness. In fact, one of her attorneys, Ernest Anderson, a long time friend of the family, was asked by Commissioner Sue Alexander if he was comfortable representing Lisa. In open court, he said yes. Several months later, Mr. Anderson removed himself from the case due to extensive harassment from associates and colleagues for representing Ms. Washington.

“My trails of injustice have driven me to this conclusion—that my defeat is solely based on a religious prejudice that resides in our judicial system within Alameda County,” Lisa stated adamantly. The C.P.S. has once again employed blatant intimidation tactics and persecution of mothers for something as simple as a tugging of the ear.

Eventually the case was settled. The court granted Claiborne Sibley full custody of their youngest child Daylan. Franshat is still in the clutches of the system moving from foster home to foster home, as Lisa desperately tries to piece her family back together. Living without her two children, Lisa’s life is filled with pain and sadness.

I couldn’t imagine not living with my mother because she tugged on my ear when I was bad or my cousins being torn away from their parents- caught somewhere in the claws of the system- just because of their family’s doctrine of faith. Religion and discipline are both personal choices and have nothing to do with how we love our families.

On Easter I sat with my cousins, we broke bread together and shared a meal. It didn’t matter that they didn’t celebrate this holiday the same way we did because we are a family that loves and cares for each other in spite of everything else. The same way Lisa loves and wants to care for her two children, but can’t because of a system that wants to separate, not support families.

For more information about COURTWATCH – you can call POOR at (415) 863-6306. or go on-line to www.poormagazine.org. To get in contact with Lisa Washington you can call her at 510- 300 7014

by Staff Writer

There are a lot of people here at the US Social Forum claiming solidarity, claiming alliance, claiming other people’s struggles for their own personal gains. At POOR, we are poor. We’ve fought through fire, illness, disease. Gunshots, poverty – you name it – to get here. To get to the US Social Forum. To this place that’s supposed to be filled wall to wall with people in “solidarity” with folks like us. And how were we treated by our privileged brothers and sisters? We were separated from the forum and relegated to a bathroom where it was impossible to share our skolarship. We were treated like an annoyance when we asked for an acceptable space. We were told we were fire hazards when we tried to actually work with what we were given. Our signs were torn off the wall because “tape is not allowed” when other organizations were allowed to keep THEIR signs on the walls.

The folks at the social forum, people claiming to be at the forefront of social change treated us no different than the folks they claim to be fighting against. We are put in basements everyday so we are not seen, not heard, not felt. Access is granted only to those with the pass of a certain color, respect is given only to those with resources and connections. If we can’t be treated like human beings at the US Social Forum, what hope do we have that these people are even capable of creating social change? What’s worse, if these people and organizations are working against us, what does that say about out chances – poor, abused, people with disabilities, people of color – what does that say about our chances of finding TRUE solidarity?

by Sam Drew/Poverty and Race Scholar/PNN community journalist

Let me get this straight. San Francisco has an unexpected surplus of $130 million in its budget. The Board of Supervisors voted $28 million for affordable housing in one of the most unaffordable cities on the planet and the Mayor vetoes the appropriation and refuses to spend the money! But wait, the story gets even stranger. This is the same city that wonders why working class families are leaving in droves and openly asks what it can do to maintain it diverse population. Doesn't make a damn bit of sense does it?

To fight against the senselessness and injustice in the mayor's decision, representatives from The Coalition on Homelessness, as well as POOR Magazine poverty scholars, Supervisor Chris Daly, State Senator Carole Migden and several other community organizations stood on the steps in front of San Francisco's ornate City Hall. These groups had merged together as one to collectively slap some sense into the mayor and to demand that the money that was earmarked for public housing repairs and services and affordable housing be restored.

John Avalos, aide to Supervisor Daly wasted little time getting to the
heart of the matter, as he said to the crowd, "We asked the Mayor for support" for the $28 million budget supplemental but all "we got was a back door veto."

The need for this money is painfully obvious in a city whose housing market has become increasingly unaffordable. The reason this money is needed, as Avalos simply stated, is "to keep San Francisco working people living in the city."

Housing in San Francisco is three times as expensive as the national average. In the Bay Area affluent housing markets are getting stronger, while the housing market in poorer areas is softening and hardly any lower income families can afford to purchase housing. The median price for an existing single family dwelling in the Bay Area hit a record high of $720,000 in April.

Jazzie Collins addressed one of the most vexing issues about affordable housing, which is the problem with the definition of affordability itself. "Let us take the lead in [making] affordable
housing under$100,000 a year...what we have [now] is only affordable to those that can buy a condo." The message was directed to the Mayor to let him know this is strictly business not personal, "To the Mayor we are attacking your positions not your character," Jazzie added.

This tug of war over appropriations and budget supplements goes to the heart of what this city stands for. Can San Francisco become a "family
city" or will we become a big museum with exhibits on 21st century working families? Do we try to decrease the number of people forced to live on the streets or do we do a Manhattan shuffle like Mayor Rudy Giuliani of New York and play hide and seek with the problem?

Skyrocketing housing costs make middle and low-income families more vulnerable to homelessness if they lose their jobs. One of the fastest growing segments of the homeless population is children

Poverty scholar and POOR Magazine representative Jewnbug gave arousing speech focusing on her housing difficulties. "I was homeless at the age of 8. I'm still struggling to live in San Francisco. The
only way I can live in San Francisco is on Section 8". Jewnbug put a humorous touch on the dire need for housing when she said, "Housing is a right. It shouldn't have to be like buying a diamond necklace!" As she left the podium she was visibly shaken after her deeply felt oration. While she put her hands over her face the crowd and I clapped heartily at her emotional outpouring.

The percentage of San Francisco Bay Area households who could afford a median price house fell from a paltry 20% in July 2003 to under 10 per cent in 2006.

The question arises if the city doesn't assist those in need of housing. Then who does it benefit with its surplus?

"Who is getting housed in this city? - its huge corporations like Lennar," exclaimed tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia editor of POOR Magazine and poverty scholar. Lennar Corporation is the Miami based company in charge of the asbestos laden redevelopment project at the Hunters Point Shipyard. This billion-dollar company has had the red carpet rolled out for it while doors are being closed on the homeless, poor and working families.

SRO Collaborative Families with children living in SRO Hotels are
considered homeless in San Francisco. The Mayor's Budget includes a 25% cut to families living in Single Room Occupancy Hotels (SRO Families United). This will dramatically reduce peer-based services to the 527 families residing in SRO hotels in San Francisco. In addition, the SRO FU is in need of a $100,000 in funding from DPH to make up for budget cuts from Human Service Agency.

Homeless families are severely neglected by the Mayor's budget. Whiles there are over 2,000 homeless families in San Francisco, there is nothing in the budget to address this crisis. $5,000,000 is needed in operating subsidies to ensure the poorest families can move into City and redevelopment funded affordable housing units going on line next year.

All one has to do is look at Mayor Newsom's donation chart to see where the deep pockets are in San Francisco. The largest per person donation came from the Financial District at $388.57 per person on a population of 374. Next highest was Embarcadero/Gateway at$75.32 on a population of 3,335.

One way I can try to make sense of the whole mess is try to define it
in terms of the politics of glass and steel versus the politics of
flesh and blood. In city after city politicians toss money at developers, building owners and huge corporations in the hope of
increased revenues.

Sometimes cities hit the jackpot and revenues flow. But more often the
citizens have to clean up after the mess the politicians have made. But there always seems to be money left over for the next slick talking developer with promises of jobs and revenues. But flesh and blood politics deals with human needs like housing, food and education. There is always a shortage of funds.

When it comes to housing the poor, there always seems to be an excuse, whether deficit or surplus. If there is a surplus we have to save for a rainy day. If it's a deficit we have to slash funds starting with you!

Weighing in on the side of flesh and blood was Valerie Tulier District Representative for State Senator Carole Migden, who said, "Senator Migden absolutely supports the community and their demands for affordable housing in San Francisco... she also wants to ensure affordable means affordable. We have to understand the strategy to address different levels."

What makes this 5o'clock veto particularly galling is that last year's affordable housing supplemental passed without the political intrigue
and controversy. Last year's appropriation delivered on 170 units of affordable family housing, 184 units for seniors and people living with disabilities and 270 units of supportive housing for formerly homeless people.

San Francisco is missing out on a golden opportunity to follow
through on last years positive steps. I hope to return for future actions to report and sup-port on the struggle for affordable housing.
But we better hurry because average people who can afford to live in San Francisco are becoming extinct

Speak out against the mayor's new budget Wednesday June 20 at noon at City Hall.

by Staff Writer

Undress the media

Get POOR Magazine out of the dressing room
to yo stage

Reality combined wit art

We are castaways

To play restricted parts

We are fire hazards

trouble breathing, unfair air

Airtime to
5 minute commercials

To one hour away

4 public service announcements

We are news, accomplishments & blues

Nothing but the truth

So we help God

I crossed the border early Thursday morning

Without my US Social Forum Passport

I felt I made it to the stage

On the down low tip

Undocumented

Still chanted & sang

Story quickly told

And then put out
tha back door

Cuz I'm fire hazard

And I breath unfair air

So I took over the airwaves

For public service announcements

Security at every post

Decided what pieces of bread become toast

Youth in the media

On a positive note

Wut a joke?

We are in the attic

Thru static 2 fix antenna

So the perception is clear

U marginalized me

U made no room for

JUST US

U disrespected Ida B Wells no center

U can't find us

U can't have justice

Po folks struggling to obtain

Technologies that document

Stories to educate

Only a few found

Security doesn ´ t make me feel safe

They make my heart pound

We are sound beings

Beings of sound

we create safe events

When we can build

A circle to build a community

People ´ s news

Workshops, panels, resource tables

In this for everyone-

Not just a few

We are many

Struggling to be heard

So let me kick

People had to really search

We are here

We are there

Yet even amongst

These gatherings making differences

They had no space to spare

So we had to rise up and challenge

2 get a bigger hallway

2 have our story flow through the airwaves

Painful and precious

Learning goes beyond four walls

We are media

Dispite displacement

We didn ´ t fall

by Joseph Bolden

The U.S. Forum in Atlanta is Kickin’My Ass!

Ok,most people in the know or heard the buzz about POOR Magazine going to Atlanta.

OH,GOD! Between the preventable Katrina’s ongoing tragedy,panic from Black higher upper class, middle,or Bourgeoisie
[Not much use that word, besides being hard to say its harder to spell too]

A little history sorry ladies have patience.

Although Du Bois
W.E.D. Du Bois {Look him up when you can.}
had originally believed that social science could provide the knowledge to solve the race problem,he gradually came to the conclusion that in a climate of virulent racism, expressed in such evils as lynching,peonage, disfranchisement,Jim Crow segregation laws,and race riots,social change could be accomplished only through agitation and protest.

He clashed with the most influential black leader of the period,Booker T. Washington,who,preaching a philosophy of accommodation,urged blacks to accept discrimination for the time being and elevate themselves through hard work and economic gain,thus winning the respect of the whites.

In 1903,in his famous book The Souls of Black Folk,Du Bois charged that Washington's strategy, rather than freeing the black man from oppression, would serve only to perpetuate it.

This attack crystallized the opposition to Booker T. Washington among many black intellectuals,polarizing the leaders of the black community into two wings—the "conservative" supporters of Washington and his "radical" critics
From [www.pbs.org/whet/aaworld/reference/articles/w_e_b_du_bois.html]

There more to this in the early and late 1960’s this theme is repeated by two late 20th century leaders Brother Malcolm X and Rev. Martin Luther King both want the race to move forward Malcolm advocates self empowerment, protection arm yourself and "by any means necessary."

Martin Luther King advocates peace learning from Gandhi.
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (1869-1948).

King knew to have all out war would lead his people to slaughter by a still repressive white government power structure.
{Didn’t say it’s near history repeating itself?} This is from [http://www.kamat.com/mmgandhi/gandhi.htm] like Booker T. Washington both knew the power of bloody,savage, mob rule whether it be in the South or Northern cities his people were at mercy ofquick-to-anger- killers that actually protects perpetrators of violence not its traditional victims.
My deep emotion angst, anger,and duo personality as an American Citizen of African descent is why did both Malcolm and Martin have to die?

Malcolm X [B.1925–D. 1965)Martin Luther King [B.1929–D.1968]

After assassinating X why kill a peacemaker as well?

My conclusion at the time was Whites as a whole feared any voice and especially black voices who knew America’s underbelly of hypocrisy.

I still think they fear those and other voices but now there are other voices not only Black and Male, but Women,Gay Men/Lesbian Women/Bi Sexuals /Transexual/Youth who’ve been radicalized by their experiences.

In the 60’s it was so easy to kill leaders now there are so many no state, government can to there are just too many voices coming together.

The Upcoming trip to United Form in Atlanta as possibly history in all probability yes.

Between technology exchanging or for the moment loaned to those in the digital down slope craning our neck and eyes for continued not temporary borrowed ongoing educational access to ever advancing technology.

Why do you think I as a formally houseless, jobless,struggling writer/ life extension/Immoralist keep harping on tech?

Because the left out lot is the same that’s always left we’re just more of aware,the stakes are not only political,social, sexist,agist,its applied texism.

TEXISM or imminent fear of technological progress/change.

[Don’t try googling or Wikipedian it I made it up.]

I guess I’m worried that my apolitical self may not fit in with most of the people at the forum,my books not completed and I fear I have nothing to contribute.

Who personally worries about po’s folks living less while the rich find ways of staying on the planet longer.

I don’t its seem a logical next step to outlive the poor folks by denying these new life extending sciences.

Look at Bush with his Stem Cell limit to adult stem cell lines and now scientists have found ways around that problem to create stem cells.

This Presidential war for oil on the soil of Middle Easter countries who people are so ancient and wise that math,alchemy (forerunner of chemistry) and art, sciences dwarfs our supposed Americanized ways of learning,living,and life.

I don’t know,I’m going, but it scares me that I might not be able to contribute my share.

Besides my dancing sucks,have a one drink limit,no proof of my negative hiv/aids clean bill of sexual health how am I gonna get laid?

There's organizin'and fraternizin'.
Just being truthful and practical or pragmatic.

Hasn’t science came up with an insta-test where a prick of blood or scrape from tongue or mouth confirms my negative status?

Maybe that’s it the next breakthrough instant dirty/clean sexual status.

For those who invited us toGeorgia I thank you for inviting POOR Magazine to this momentous event and hope all us can exchange our knowledge and spread in across the globe.

Maybe I’ll try to be the 6th or 10th tourist in space.

Anyone have 20 to 40 million dollars to spare to take their place in line?
[maybe in case illness I'll take someone's place, yeah,right.]

And dear merciful ladies,I'm the lone black guy with a lazy left eye.

Not as sensitive about it as once before.

I don't bite (nibble a little) but a bit shy.

Lousy dancer however when playful muse whispers I move rythmicly in sheer joy of it.

Enchalla,may grace of angels guide us all.

by Staff Writer

Who is the superior? You?

Who is inferior? Us?

But who’s the one infectin’ nations with poverty, wounds full of puss?

Who let the people die? You?

Who was the people you killed? Us?

This ain’t a mighty nation

Hollin’ in God we trust

If that’s the case, why I see devil all over yo’ face-

Kids being murdered, prostituted-

And ya’ll praise that disgrace

In cali we got a terminator for a governor

Stand up fo’ youz, he ain’t gonna be back

Right then and there

He gone somother ya!

Send yo’ offspring to be amongst me claimin-

They understand my pain

Knowin’ damn well if they lived in our conditions

It’d drive they ass insane

I’m homeless & po’ while

Ya’ll organize ya hoity-toity committee

If ya down wit tha’ cause

Then why can’t ya sit down and have dinner wit me?

Nose all in the air- naw

Those people are dirty

All tha money you made off me-

Ya took tha profits

Gave me the finger

Then flee

That’s fuhked up, didn’t even

Give us a blanket and sheet

To sleep on tha streets

Who said you was superior? You

Who said we was inferior? Not us

You gave a donation, yea

Tossed me a penny that collected rust

While as a whole you said

You respected immigration, racism, colonization and hurricane Katrina

Could I get some help to find my aunt, cuz after Katrina I still haven’t seen her

Don’t march wit me

You don’t want equality

Perpetrating in tha rally

Left us to die-

But hurried up and restored

Semi Valley

Takin’ billions to bring hell to millions

All over tha world

Cut my grant

Objective was to starve my baby girl

While ya sleep in silk

But my baby survived

Off my breast milk

She got up age

Asked where’s my daddy?

Damn baby girl, he got kilt

A Queen by blood

I’mma tell you what’s up

Quit smilin’ in my face

I know you don’t give a fuhk

I’mma keep spittin’ shit at white supremacy

Mr. KKK- better duck

Destroy you’ beastial mentality

Cuz I’m sick of it runnin’ amuch

Who is the inferior? You!

Who is the superior? Us!

by Angel Garcia/Poverty and Immigrant Scholar and Sam Drew/Race and Poverty Scholar

Para espanol mire hacia bajo

On a sticky Wednesday morning in June, Sam Drew, fellow reporter from POOR Magazine and myself were invited to a wedding ceremony. The couple, greed and corruption (ICE and the Woodfin Hotel Company) were hitched at high noon under the hot sun while security guards kept the peace. This theatrical marriage was meant to symbolize these two organizations, one created by the US federal government, one from an extremely rich individual as a corporation, each full of greed and corruption, joining together to prevent the Woodfin hotel workers from asserting their right to a living wage.

A large crowd had gathered to watch the 'ceremony' at the Oakland federal building in protest of the Woodfin Suites owner’s recent action of calling ICE voluntarily against his own employees. The reason: the Woodfin employees had demanded a living wage and workers rights.

'I’m standing strong with Woodfin workers in the fight for back pay,' said Leslie Littleton, under the bright blue Oakland sky as the crowd cheered in agreement.

As an inmigrant worker, myself, I have experienced this kind of abuse and I know all too well how often this tactic is used against low-income migrant families. Families that simply want a better opportunity to provide a decent life for their children; something we can’t get in our own countries. We will do anything to survive and put food on the table. As Teresa Molina, an inmigrante reportera for POOR Magazine, said, 'I am not here to take away jobs from others…I’m here to help my children survive.'

To survive in this country, we need workers’ rights, a living wage and respect from our employers. We are simply asking to be treated as equal human beings and not like slaves simply because we are undocumented. Everyone at the protest had gathered to fight for these basic human rights.

I spoke with Senora Luz Dominguez, who told me that when the employees started asking for 2 weeks back pay, many were fired. 'We’ve been fighting very hard to get the money we are owed, ' she said. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper as she added, 'It’s very sad to see the way they are using immigration against us.'

Samuel Hardage, the hotel manager, did not seem to have a problem hiring undocumented workers until they demanded their rights. According to John Frieke, a city councilmember of Emeryville, unlike three other hotels, the Marriot, the Four Points Sheraton and the Holiday Inn, the Woodfin Suites have refused to abide by Measure C, a living wage and workers’ rights ordinance for all hotels in the area.

In addition, the Woodfin Suites did not ask for verification of their workers’ social security numbers until September 2006 after workers had complained to City Council that the hotel wasn’t abiding by Measure C. Many feel that the sole reason for the hotel’s actions was the workers’ complaints.

The hotel then started taking serious legal actions against workers protesting. Frieke said when he went with three workers to speak with the manager, for an unknown reason he wasn’t in the office. 'The next thing we know the Woodfin is seeking a restraining order against us. But the judge wouldn’t hear it. Thank God for an independent judiciary,' said Frieke.

A spokesperson from Barbara Lee’s office also spoke at the post wedding speak-out about her commitment to see justice for the Woodfin workers.

As I listened to the speakers, I began to wonder who the real criminals were, the undocumented workers surviving with pride and dignity or these companies who are working together to systematically abuse hardworking people? We are workers that are very important to the economy of this country and we’ve all been working hard for years, even decades with no rewards, no benefits and no rights. Like the Woodfin employees, I, too think its time we collect.

El matrimonio entre la avaricia y la corrupcion

Director de hotel en Emeryville llamo a agentes de migracion contra sus propios trabajadores para evitar un pago justo a los trabajadores- los trabajadores respondieron con un "matrimonio".
Por Angel Garcia y Sam Drew/PNN

En un pegajoso y aragan miercoles por la mañana el se ñor Sam Drew, un compañ ero y reportero de Prensa POBRE, fuimos invitados a una ceremonia matrimonial. Los novios, avaricia y corrupcion, los agentes de migracion y las companias de Woodfin Hotels, se casaron en la alta tarde debajo del sol mientras los oficiales de seguridad mantenian el order. Esta boda teatral simboliza a estas dos agencias, las dos llenas de avaricia y corrupcion que se union para prevenir que los trabajadores de los hoteles exijan sus derechos para un pago justo.

Un grupo grande de personas se unio para mirar la ceremonia en el edificio federal de Oakland mientra le protestaban al due ño de las oficinas Woodfin Suites por haber llamado a los agentes de migracion voluntariamente contra sus propios empleados. La razon fue que los empleados de Woodfin habian demandado una mejor paga y derechos para los trabajadores.

"Yo estoy parada fuertemente con los trabajadores de Woodfin en la lucha para que se les pagen sus pagos atrasados", dijo la senora Leslie Littleton, bajo el cielo azul de Oakland mientras el publico aplaudia en acuerdo.

Como inmigrante trabajador yo tambien eh tenido la experiencia de estos abusos y los conosco todos muy bien. Estas tacticas son communes y an sido usadas contra familias inmigrantes de bajos ingresos. Familias que simplemente quieren una mejor oportunidad para prover una vida desente para sus hijos; habeses estas oportunidades no las tenemos en nuestros paises. Nosotros hacemos todo para sobrevivir y para poner comida en nuestras mesas como la señora Teresa Molina, una reportera migrante de Prensa POBRE, dijo, "Yo no estoy aqui para quitarle trabajo a otros. yo estoy aqui para poder ayudar a mis hijos a sobrevivir".

Para sobrevivir en este pais, nosotros los trabajores necesitamos derechos, pagos justos y el respeto de nuestros empleadores. Nosotros simplemente estamos pidiendo que seamos tratados con igualdad y como personas humanas y no como esclavos simplemente por que somos indocumentados. Todos en la protesta se unieron para luchar por estos derechos humanos.

Hablé con la senora Luz Dominguez, quien me dijo que cuando los empleados empesaron a pedir sus dos semanas de pago atrasado, muchos fueron despedidos. "Nosostros hemos estado peliando muy duro para que se nos de el dinero que se nos deve", ella dijo. Mientras bajaba su voz ella agrego, "es muy triste ver la manera en que ellos esta usando a migracion encontra nosotros."

Samuel Hardage, el manager del hotel no tubo ningun problema al emplear a trabajadores indocumentados hasta que ellos excijieron sus derechos. De acuerdo a John Frieke, miembro del concilio de Emeryville, a diferiencia a otros tres hoteles, el Marriot, The Four Points Sheratton, y el Holliday Inn, las companias de Woodfin se an negado a segir la medida c. Esta medida aboga por los derechos de los trabajadores de los hoteles de la area.

Ademas, el empleador no pidio verificacion de numeros de seguro social a los trabajadores hasta septiembre del 2006 cuando los trabajadores se quejaron con el concilio de la ciudad que los hoteles no estaban siguiendo la medida c. Muchos sienten que las acciones de los hoteles fueron tomadas cuando los trabajadores se quejaron.

El hotel empeso a tomar serias acciones legales en contra de los trabajadores que se quejaron. El señ or Freike dijo que cuando el fue con tres trabajadores para hablar con el manager, por razones desconosidas el no se encontraba en la officina. " Sin que nosotros nos dieramos cuenta, Woodfin estaba consiguiendo una orden de restrincion en contra nosotros. Pero el juez no lo escucho. Gracias a dios que ay un magistrado independiente," dijo Frieke.

Mientras escuchaba a las personas hablar, yo empese a preguntarme ¿quienes son los criminales?, ¿los trabajadores indocumentados que sobreviven con orgullo y dignidad, oh estas companias que se unen para sistemáticamente abusar a los trabajadores? Somos trabajadores importantes para la economia de este país y todos hemos trabajado por años y decadas sin reconocimientos, sin beneficios y sin derechos. Asi como los trabajadores de Woodfin, yo tambien pienso que es hora de colectar.

by Staff Writer

Thinking back on my experience at the United States Social Forum with POOR Magazine, I feel many mixed emotions. First, when we (POOR Magazine) arrived at the Civic Center in Atlanta to set up our Community Newsroom meetings, an innovation by POOR Magazine that uses an indigenous organizing model to create media, we were allocated to an isolated, dank and damp confined basement hallway space with prison-like concrete walls painted in toxic oil-based battleship gray paint. Due to the extremely narrow hallway, we were told that our presence there was a potential fire hazard. We were marginalized and completely separated from the rest of the media and most of the USSF guests and participants.

We (POOR) were unable to access and work collectively with other media sources with whom we had hoped to collaborate with. We were also unable to get all of the USSF guests and participants into our Community Newsroom and media workshops, because they had to have a special media pass in order to get to the upstairs basement like dressing room. If they even had a pass and made it through the maze of confusion to the media center, they could just stand in the narrow, half blocked off hallway space were we were thoughtlessly put by the USSF planning committee to conduct our workshops and Community Newsroom. By the second day, a few of my fellow POOR colleagues and I developed acute asthma, unable to breathe properly, due to the toxic paint fumes and lack of fresh air in the media center.

I felt truly kicked to the bottom of the barrel, separated from the rest of the forum and hidden away in the darkness, not to do important media work but just to get sick with asthma. We had to literally fight for our right to be allocated to a more humane, healthy and open space that was accessible to all USSF guests and participants. We took it upon ourselves to find one that would not continue to segregate POOR Magazine’s community newsroom from reaching all people at the USSF.

In addition, there were no proper accommodations for people with disabilities, many being forced to use a freight elevator in the Atlanta Civic Center to access the basement area of the media center. This was a thoughtless and discriminating action of the USSF. By not providing access to those with special needs, the organizers ended up marginalizing even more people.

The media- made up of poverty, race and disability scholars- should have been the first thing that those who were attending and participating in the USSF saw when they entered arrived at the social forum, not just the vendors selling their cause. It is the voices, faces and words of the people that make a social justice movement, not capitalism with a 501c.3.

At the USSF, I was also very disturbed by the extreme paramilitary security presence, which totally contradicted the whole meaning of the forum itself. This was very unpleasant and unnecessary by all means for an event of such, one that is supposed to promote social peace and justice.

In addition to this, it was a social atrocity that there were no ‘real people’ from the local community in Atlanta representing at the USSF. Many houseless folks and low and no income people were kept out of the tall iron gates of the Civic Center, marginalized and cast away in extreme heat. They stood outside on the sidewalk surrounding the Civic Center completely ignored and disregarded. As a poverty scholar myself, I found this whole social dynamic very upsetting. Watching many young, privileged and educated folks mindlessly dance about to music without a care in the world within the confines of those tall security gates as if the USSF was some sort of progressive Disneyland, made my stomach turn.

The USSF is an event that should bring people closer together to form alliances and coalitions and to create solidarity collectively, not individually and certainly not by marginalizing and separating people through class and privilege. It is clearly imperative that the USSF planning committee changes its thought process when planning for the next US Social Forum. It is most important that the USSF provides an event that includes more than just privileged activists, but also the real people struggling with issues of racism, poverty, disability etc., as well as real media created by the people. I feel that human connectivity must be the true foundation of the next USSF if we hope to create ‘a new world.’

by Joeff Davis/Bad Habits

For four days last week, 11 students from Atlanta’s
Paideia private school forsook all the comforts of
Home, including a home itself. They lived in an
outdoor playground in Inman Park, and were permitted
to bring a blanket, a plastic sheet, $5, the clothes
they had on, and a pair of old shoes.

The students were participants in teacher Elizabeth
Hearn’s homeless-immersion class. The goal is to teach
about the challenges of being homeless, to humanize
homeless people and to show students how materialism inundates our culture. According to Atlanta
Children’s Shelter, there are 2,500 homeless children
in the city.

The 11 students who participated were chosen from a
pool of 17 applicants. During the day, they walked
around Atlanta, visiting with real homeless people on
the street and volunteering in homeless shelters.
Maddie Mitchell, 13, says the most difficult part of
the experience was getting [dirty] looks from other
people while she walked down the street.

Lying on a cardboard box and looking up at the sky,
10th-grader Aryelle Cormier described an encounter the
students had with a group of people in a homeless
encampment in southwest Atlanta in almost spiritual
terms.

'They didn_t have anything, she said, but they did.'

by Staff Writer

To me, media justice is about people with privilege giving up some of their power and sharing skills and collaborating with people who don’t have that same access to get the untold stories told. I didn’t feel that most of the organizers of this media justice center, who had more privilege, access and media skills understood this at all. They really didn’t even want to surrender just a little of the control they had over the creation of the Media Justice Center, which lead to the marginalization of poor people once again. This was evident in not only the space that we were given to make our “little” media in, but also in the fact that almost none of the organizers of the MJC, those who claimed over and over again to understand the concept of collaborative news making, attended community newsroom. It seemed like they felt above the whole process. They worked separately the whole time and isolated themselves and never really shared their skills with people unlike them, further perpetuating the digital divide and individualism- rather than breaking down these barriers to media justice. When it actually came down to sharing power to make media justice happen, most of these organizers weren’t willing to give up enough control to make this possible. I believe this is reflective of what’s happening in the world of activism today. To make a new U.S. and a new world it is necessary that we learn how to truly collaborate and work together; that we, the people with privilege and access- share our skills and those with experiences with poverty, racism, disability, etc. share their scholarship .

by Sam Drew/PNN

"They have stirred up a sleeping giant. This issue has awakened the community," said Minister Christopher Muhammad as he looked intently at his audience at the Grace Tabernacle Community Church. He was talking about the continual poisoning of the Bayview Hunters Point district caused by the redevelopment project at the Hunters Point Shipyard headed by the Lennar Corporation. The sleeping giant is the organized and unified community that is confronting negligent city and county officials. The sleeping giant has had his peaceful sleep disturbed and is now seeking retribution from those who committed this dastardly deed.

In previous townhall meetings that I have attended olive branches have been extended to the Mayor, Board of Supervisors, the Health Department and the Redevelopment Agency to come and test the community's land and water to see if the claims are true. But those fair gestures were met with indifference and the community is moving on to the next phase, as Muhammad calls it "the direct action" phase.

"They have ignored the poor.now the poor are coming to their door," he stated defiantly. "Next Tuesday we need to visit Mayor Newsom in his office, Tuesday is our D-day, D stands for decision" Muhammad continued. "We call for the resignation of the Director of Public Health Mitchell Katz and if he doesn't resign the Mayor should fire him." Muhammad firmly stated.

He went on to speak about how Katz never sounded the alarms when known health violations occurred in the Bayview. Minister Muhammad was referring to the four months from April to August that the Lennar Corporations had no monitors on site to check the levels of toxicity being put into the air. Muhammad smiled as he told the engrossed audience how haphazard the monitoring system was. "Half the time they put the monitors out they didn't work," he stated forcefully.

The sleeping giant has a few more doors to knock on, besides just the mayor's office since his rude awakening. "Archeology needs to be terminated, Archeology is a non profit entity that is suppose to inform the community when they have been exposed to health issues. It is funded by the Redevelopment Agency to the tune of $600,000. Why do you need $600,000 to do nothing!" exclaimed Muhammad.

In the audience was support from Supervisor Chris Daly who received special kudos from Muhammad, "Anyone who stands up for this community needs to have the support of this community but anyone who doesn't stand up for this community should be recalled-all it takes is 10%. No one should be comfortable in a seat when the community is dying," he added.

To show the strength and diversity of this giant various clergymen spoke on behalf of this successful effort for environmental justice. Pastor Joe Niumalelega, who has been with the cause from day one spoke of the joy he felt seeing all of Gods people coming together as one. "God, I want us to come together one time. Let all nations know. Let's do this thing for our young for our community," Pastor Niumalelega said.

Reverend Victor Santana told of his problems attempting to explain to the Supervisors the importance of this issue, as he said, "The last time I went to the civic center to explain to the Supervisors the Supervisors didn't understand."

To reiterate the simplicity of what the community is asking for, Minister Muhammad once again explained the reasonable demands the community is demanding. "We're asking for a temporary shut down of the construction at the shipyard, so we can access the levels of exposure from arsenic and lead and we can't trust the Health Department under Mitchell Katz to do it.we want an independent party."

To put a human face to this story of toxic nightmares, I spoke to local resident Pat Thomas who lives close to the shipyard. She told me how her life has changed since Lennar began digging and showering the community with toxic dust.

"For the last six months my eyes are red and itching. I have headaches and I'm short of breath. I've been breaking out in rashes. Where I live at we had green stuff on the carpet. My husband had to wash it off," she said exasperated.

Host Pastor Ernest Jackson compared the movement for environmental justice to another famous and successful movement. "In the sixties I was too young to be involved in the civil rights movement. I've always regretted that [but] this movement has allowed me to be in a cause for humanity, at least I can say I was with them," he said.

The pastor added the final words to the evening's powerful meeting, as a call to all community members and anyone with principals willing to stand up for what's right.

"The doors will remain open at Grace Tabernacle Community Church."

The new Headquarters is located at 4909 3rd street

by Dee Allen, Joseph Bolden, Queennandi Xsheba, Jewnbug, Luis, Vivian Hain, Dharma, Ruyata

ATA Carpool Journal

What a wondrous, strange, annoying, oddly fascinating trip it was. So
much could've gone wrong didn't, others so predictable was laughable
if wasn't so intense at the time. Minor problems began with logistics
of travel I, Joseph of Ask /Tell Joe POOR Magazine columns, KPFA, and
Pirate radio, formally houseless, jobless, minor guess part in welfareQUEENS' play. (no where near famous) was to go alone by bus,
others by plane, and 10 person Van. Because of economic hardships I end up in a 10 seat van.

We were departing San Francisco at 10 am Saturday, June, 23rd I'm infamous at POOR for missing assignments, being late, or getting totally lost
on news assignments. To prevent this the night before my backpack, a
travel bag donated by my mother are filled with clothes, toiletries,
extra shoes, even a can opener plus a water bottle with ice. With
monies from my resent Clerk job by way of S.H.EC. [Supportive
Housing Employment Collaborative] by way of Housing Activist Mr.
James, Tracy donates hundred dollars which helped immensely.

On time,
ready, doors open for fellow and female passengers. A customer using
the van we were to use forgets placing the two seats and our two
driver's Mr. Anulfo, and Laura Yaya, went to Fresno/Colma for
reseating van.
It delays our departure by two hours making us leave at 11am or later.
We stop in Bay Veiw Hunter's Point to pick up Bay View newspapers to
distribute at the U.S. Social Forum in Atlanta, Georgia. They've
thrown down for us with our stories we're return the favor throw
down for them. It’s all good.

We rode out with tunes of Paris and Public Enemy"reality rap CD's
spitting angry, logical, conscious knowledge rap in Dolby surround
sound stereo from front to rear. This is going to be interesting
trip, I thought to myself.
Ms. Laura, Ya ya one of our two intrepid drivers had been driving for
four or 4 or 5 straight hours is tired and needs to rest. Mr. Anulfo
takes over as Ms. Ya ya before sleep had been documenting the early
start of our trip with video-voice, and quickie interviews of the trip
much will be edited out and some of the bloopers saved for posterity.
Micky D's, Carl Jr.'s eateries are the places Yaya, Anulfo, Louis,15,
Marcus,7, Theresa, Dee, Allen, Ruyate, myself(Joseph), Queennandi,
I'm not hungry. In fact from the week before I've been feelin' ill and
queasy on and off constant fighting dehydration by drinking and
pouring water all over me.
Drinking vitamin water don't cut if only cold or ice water works in
the days heat.

We're in Lost Hills? 4:32pm We drove through a town named Boron, a chemical compound on the periodic table.
10:28 pm we are in Arizona. In a motel our van's right side has
green/yellow paint streaks on it from another car's swipe. I didn't
see it until the next morning. I don't know the motel's name but it
has a pool and I before going for a swim I shower, do some swimming in
the pool with Kim, Ruyate, Louis, Marcus, and were others not known to
me. 10 am we're on the highway at 11am breakfasting in Denny's
Restaurant at 12:05 again riding through the Arizona Desert. 1:40 pm
or so Mr. Rayata and Ms. Kim have heated Afro/Euro,
multicultural/parallel socioeconomic argument by 2pm it cools.

We
arrive in New Mexico 4:40 pm. A sign painted red, green, chili
peppers says " Welcome to New Mexico, Land of Enchantment &quot. Across the
street and highway is Navajo Nation with stores, gas stations teepees,
and mountains, trading posts. 7pm stopped in Edgewood a city in New
Mexico for restroom breaks before hitting the road again. 11:31 pm
Texas, then Arkansas 9:45 am Drove through Clinton, stopped in Hillin?

A blue and White patrol car rode by us. 1:44 pm in Tennessee, 4pm
Alabama, " Alabama, The Beautiful " the sign reads as we enter the state
Ms. Laura, Ya ya, video-ing all that can be seen. We're ahead by a
day! Quick, weird weather patterns. Five minutes in heavy rain, heavy
fog in two minutes. Strange riding through Beautiful Alabama.

4:30 pm
rain on our side of highway dry on other side strange and weird
indeed! 6:05 am as usual missed an important recording but I cannot be
everywhere. The historic 7th street Baptist Church, a motorcycle cop
rode by. The Birmingham Museum where I and school children see, hear, through audio and print media Finally a knowledgeable
citizen on a bike schools me on historical aspects in Birmingham. 3

This story is in progress and will be continued…

by Sam Drew/PNN

"Politics as usual ,",I said to myself as I disgustedly glanced at The San Francisco Examiner. The article stated that in a 9-2 vote, the Board of Supervisors approved a resolution allowing the city to proceed with the planning on the massive project at the Hunters Point Shipyard. A project run by Lennar Corporation rife with asbestos poisoning

Asbestos is a disease that is close to me and my family. My father spent 20 years in the Merchant Marines working in the boiler rooms that were filled with asbestos dust. This was during the 50's when medical science wasn't aware of the dangers of asbestosis. I watched him transform from a robust fun loving man on the town to an old man who couldn't walk a city block because of severe breathing problems.

This project includes 6,500 units of housing at Candlestick Point, 2,000 units of housing at the HuntersPoint Shipyard site, retail and office space, park, and a new stadium for the San Francisco 49'ers. Supervisors Chris Daly and Ed Jew voted against the resolution
Supervisor Ed Jew said "This is the most enormous redevelopment project ever undertaken by The City." He also said The City should not" ignore" the 30,000 residents who signed a petition to put this plan on the ballot.

I recently had the privilege to listen to some of the 30,000 residents when I attended the townhall meeting on environmental racism just a strong cool breeze away from the Hunters Point Shipyard at the bustling Grace Tabernacle Community Church

As I strolled into the stately Grace Tabernacle Community Church in the historic BayView district for the town hall meeting . I couldn't help but notice all the beautiful children seated on the back pews. Rows and rows of neatly dressed children doing what little folks do best. Laughing, smiling, giggling, wiggling and bubbling over with life. The joyful noise would be momentarily abated when an adult would quietly but sternly say shhhhh! Silence descended for a few minutes, but merriment would slowly resurface behind stifled snickers as the young ones cut each other sly glances
.

The reason for the townhall meeting was to alert the BayView Hunters Point community that it is being poisoned to death by breathing asbestos laced toxic dust everyday. The cause of this virulent vapor is the redevelopment project going on at the Hunters Point Shipyard. The company in charge of this toxic cleanup and redevelopment is the Lennar Corporation. A Miami based firm that is the third largest home builder in the country, Lennar is throwing its hat into urban redevelopment with the blessing and support of the mayor and The City.

The packed church had the feeling of an old time revival meeting as three fervent firebrand figures implored the galvanized gathering to rise up and tell the city they're mad as hell and won't take it anymore. Minister Christopher Muhammad, Archbishop King and host Pastor Ernest Jackson each took turns letting the audience know that the community will not place jobs or redevelopment over the health and the well being of its citizens."We need uncompromising leadership that will not watch our babies, mothers and our fathers be destroyed for economic purposes!" declared King.

Next Minister Muhammad explained the root meaning of the word conspiracy,"It's from the Latin word that means to breathe together.We are breathing death as we speak!" The type of death being inhaled was explained in exacting detail."Asbestos dust when it gets in your lungs it never leaves." Stated Muhammad. As the congregation gasped at this revelation they were further shocked by the genesis of this plague.Muhammad said ,"Lennar was supposed to have monitors on site to check the levels of acceptable dust particlues you can breathe.But for four months from April to August there were no monitors.' Muhammad told of children wiping their faces with towels and the towels would be brown from dust. Also of dust clouds so thick children complained of breathing problems.

Muhammad decried those in responsible positions who have been negligent in responding to this health crisis,."The Health Department is supposes to watch out on behalf of the community. And the Redevelopment Agency is to make sure the company is in compliance with the laws. The city has the power to shut it (Lennar) down if they do not follow the rules."

Special concern was given to so-called community leaders who know about the problem but succumb to the safety in silence syndrome,"The day of giving passes is over!!! So called leaders have sold their souls for crumbs off the table .In the name of development they have left the community exposed to toxic waste. Supervisor Sophie Maxwell never said a word. Her silence is deafening. She was elected to represent the people."

Shouts of amen reverberated off the multicolored stained glass windows as the faithful were told of lawsuits against Lennar by three of its highest level Black employees for concealing evidence of toxic elevations of asbestos. Special commendations were given to Chris Carpenter the worker who was fired by Lennar for blowing the whistle on their toxic malfeasance. Carpenter was more concerned about the health hazards to the community was being exposed to than holding on to his good job. Carpenter said,"When we were working on the hill digging on the side of the dirt. We had to use water to suppress the dirt from being airborne. The dust became so thick I couldn't see my fellow workers! I received a call from someone downtown telling me to stay away from the issue because things can get bad!" But that kind of talk didn't scare Carpenter away from the truth. He laughed and said with a smile,"I grew up in the BayView Hunters Point."

No one seemed scared of the truth at this town hall meeting. No one apologized for possible injured feelings that might arise in this crusade for environmental justice. "Feelings can be healed, but lung disease can't be healed. The poisoning of our community continues. Last week a reading was over 21,000 particulates. 16,000 is an acceptable amount of dust you can breathe "spoke Muhammad

The assembled were told that a doctor was flow out to take tests on the asbestos toxicity in the community. But Dr. Katz of the Health Department said'"That's not good science maybe in 100 years I might be proven wrong." Asbestos has a incubation period of 20 years. It can remain in the lungs for long periods of time before you suffer from asbestosis. Asbestosis causes scarring of the lungs. When the lungs become scarred the passage ways begin to close making it difficult to breathe.

Plans of community involvement and empowerment was delineated by Muhammad,"We're going apartment to apartment to let them know what they have been exposed to and who exposed them. We are going door to door to educate our people.' By our people he meant the entire community as represented by the energized and envolved church filled with African Americans, Caucasians, Latinos and Samoans who were standing and cheering. Those who entered this hallowed building were being educated, motivated, organized and mobilized. Also in the works is a class action lawsuit on behalf of every man, woman, boy and girl in the BayView HuntersPoint district

Muhammad lowered his voice as he told of efforts to reach people downtown. All we asked them is to shut it down and come and test.That isn't unreasonable is it? Olive branches were offered to politicians and community leaders to listen with open minds to the citizens. Truth was being told but there is plenty room on the bandwagon for those who want to jump on board

In a question and answer period several locals told of recurring nose bleeds and of sore throats ,colds and coughing that they and their children suffered through during the digging period of the redevelopment program. One excited citizen jumped up to exclaim that people were trying to redo the siding on homes again. Another person told him "you know why, so they can hide the evidence."

As I slowly left the church still reviewing all the important information that had been passed on, one of the young children on the back pews jumped in front of me to go outside with his playmates. He was lovingly reminded that he should say excuse me to one of his elders. I looked at his smiling angelic face as he slowly repeated the words, excuse me. I though how can anyone say excuse me to this young one if they had the chance to protect his health and said or did nothing about the situation. The day of excuses is over. It was overmy father a long time ago -I hope its not overfor this community. A line has been drawn and everyone has to decide what side they're on. Either the side for life or the side for death.

Sam Drew is a poverty and race scholar who graduated with honors from POOR Magazine's Race, Poverty and Media Justice Institute

For more information, contact.

Carole Midgen's office @ 415-557-1300 to register complainants.

Hotline for complaints/issues 1.866.475.6907

Every Thursday a meeting will be held at Grace Tabernacle Community Church. 1121 Oakdale Ave.

by Joseph Bolden

Random Rants

Ok whom ever reads myspace.com in Atlanta,go to it and you’ll my column or blog never know which is which yet another reason I’m visiting Atlanta.

Almost as if I’m visiting Mecca because these are people from the south where times were way harder than in the North.

Though northern Black Yankee’s lost lives hanging from trees,chained up,run over by trains and local authorities called them suicides.

Untold billions of never to be solved murders or as today termed "disappeared" Cannot dwell on that it’’ drive you stark raving loony.

I’m just humbled and glad to go and want to be on my best behavior to represent my folks.

Its strange I’ve never heard of "Northern Hospitality."

Stuff to learn,people to meet,ideas,crossing pollinating,technology which is shared with all is that too much to add,its getting late in the day.

I must grab some old and new poetry some profound, some odd,and a few down right erotic.

Sometimes I did cross the line when speaking on relationships of the sexes same,straight,or whatever its no wonder I had three editors (all women) looking at my work saying to themselves.

"Its Joe, first talking living in space,then immortality,cryonics, and slow,casual sex,giving way to much information got to cut five paragraphs."

I learned to keep the best knowledge for myself and using my job as a date site is sort-a porn like but at least I got one partial visit from a nice woman from it.

But lesson learned. (Have money,pay the site, join and be a member instead of going for free on and place a photo which helps.)

I’ll be too busy in Atlanta it’ll be strictly business until we unwind at the local watering hole (dance bar/clubs).

Man, not good dancer but do have some rhythm.

I dread dancing maybe private lessons from a few lovely ladies will help and

I mean southern all southern bells.

Maybe it’s best to knuckle down,be serious and show what I can do?

Whatever transpires it will be an adventure worth having.

by Dee Allen, Joseph Bolden, Queennandi Xsheba, Jewnbug, Luis, Vivian Hain, Dharma, Ruyata

6/25 Birmingham, Alabama

We stopped at the 16th Street Baptist Church where the four young girls lost their lives in the church bombing. I took pictures—Dynamite Bob was convicted eventually at the courthouse about four blocks away from where the bombing took place.
Juan, a homeless, self-appointed tour guide, gave us a spirited tour of the first “Nigger Park” that is across the street from the Church (still under construction). This park, currently known as The Kelly Ingram Park, is where the 3000 children came to march and were attacked by vicious dogs. About 1800 kids as young as nine, were arrested until there was no more room in the jails. Firefighters turned the hose on the brave children with 600 pound water pressure (that does a lot of damage, indeed). Monuments of the children ducking and covering themselves from the water hoses can be seen. Statues of the big vicious dogs, that were trained to recognize black skin by using black dummies can also be seen.

I took a picture standing in the place where Martin Luther King Junior did one of his first speeches. The radio station down the street was also bombed several times. And if you make a right past the park, you could find the building for the Black Masons (Prince Hall).
This is the first time I have seen this struggle with my own eyes. You can see the children; you can hear the dogs barking, ready to attack. You can hear the bomb detonate, killing the four little girls. The essence is painful, and I wept.

2007—it has only gotten worse. Coming into the South, I still got the stares from racist folks who didn’t know a damn thing about me, however hate me, or rather my skin color.
Mr./Ms. Superior say that I am inferior, but it is their ignorance that feeds the deep-rooted cancer that will eventually spread and kill their wicked ways of thought.
I am Queennandi Xsheba, descendant of slaves in these American Hells. I know who I am. What is Mr. KKK’s reason to hate? Did I Queennandi, rob Mr. KKK of his birthright? Did I rob Mr. KKK of his name? Religion? His language? Culture? His land?
Did one of, or all of the precious four little girls burn Mr. KKK’s little girls on the stake alive? These facts of atrocity still haven’t planted a seed of hate within me. I am better than that. The proof is in &quot his story&quot books of a regal lineage that flows through my veins—I will never forget.

by Sam Drew/PNN

“Security officers protect million dollar buildings, yet they can’t afford to live in the city they work in,” Teresita Cruz, the energetic vice president of Service Employees International Union (SEIU) 24/7, said loudly to the gathering crowd of security officers and janitors. I am one of those security workers protesting, but this time I was also reporting and sup-porting for POOR. We were marching late Thursday afternoon to loudly protest low wages and the rising cost of health care for workers.

I have done security work for 15 years. I’ve protected million dollar properties for multi- millionaire owners and been shorted on my checks time and time again because they have gone with the lowest bidder for security services. I’ve complained with other guards because we get write-ups for calling off for illnesses while security companies slash health benefits. I’ve seen owners spend $20,000 on lobby doors then forget to pay officers. This is why I’m pissed off and protesting with a large group of my fellow officers for justice, respect and fair wages.

The boisterous protest took place smack dab in the middle of the financial district in San Francisco underneath the huge skyscrapers racing each other to touch the late evening clouds. The crowd represented the diversity that the Bay Area is famous for. All colors, hues, shapes, sizes, ages and attitudes were represented in a purple ocean of agitated humanity. The large crowd clad in purple shirts started to hand out pots, pans, drums, whistles and anything else that could be used to make loud noise.

Protesters started marching and chanting: “What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!” as women in business attire stepped aside. Men hugging their expensive leather briefcases gave quizzical stares as the rambunctious crowd made its way to the first destination, ABM Security. Teresita informed the energized throng, “Health care is what this is about. This is about taking care of our families.” Screams of approval mixed in with whistles and drumbeats greeted her statement.

Suddenly, a short wiry man wearing law enforcement like sunglasses jumped into the middle of the multitude. “Would you mind not doing this in front of my building,” he sternly lectured the crowd. His teeth were clenched tight while veins bulged in his neck as he slowly surveyed the situation. The way he folded his arms around his chest reminded me of an Old West cowboy protecting a homestead from bloodthirsty marauders.

The show of unity and empowerment must have rubbed him the wrong way. But peacekeepers quickly interceded, explaining that their purpose was to deliver a letter to ABM Security and leave, not to steal his cattle.

As the selected delegation descended down into the belly of the massive building, the crowd began chanting and clapping without stop until their representatives returned. “ABM, shame on you,” we repeated, to remind all that security officers are ready to fight for higher wages and access to affordable health care.

The purple brigade began to roll towards its next destination, Allied Barton, which is one of the largest security companies around and has just cut its Kaiser healthcare plan. “Do security officers and janitors in the Bay Area deserve quality health care?” the organizers asked loudly as we approached the building. “Yes!” was the crowd’s unanimous reply. A new delegation of security workers and janitors delivered our demands for fair treatment to the recalcitrant security company.

While waiting for their comrades to return, leaflets were handed out to workers dashing by to catch the BART or MUNI. The leaflet details the plight of William, a security officer who protects prestigious properties and the lives of hundreds, but goes home to his impoverished neighborhood because his wages and benefits aren’t similar to other service workers. He looks like he could fit in with any Fortune 500 company. His suit is immaculate, his tie impeccable. But because of unaffordable health care, if William ever gets sick, it’ll cost him a fortune. Cheers greeted the return of the vice president and the other diplomats.

“We received very nice smiles. They were very company-like.” But the response to the demands wasn’t what the masses wanted. Everybody wanted to hear the companies agree to change for the better. According to SEIU: “Experts estimate the turnover among security officers to be up to 400 percent. That is far higher than even the fast food industry.” This high turnover rate has a negative impact on public safety. Keeping qualified security officers on the job is essential for protection of lives and property.

The final stop for the purple bus is Securitas, the largest company in the world. Organizer Eric Lerner shouts to the assembly, “Securitas is the biggest security company in the whole world and the first to slash health benefits.” The last delegation goes in to confront the security giant with three undaunted representatives.

As I watch security officers and janitors fighting side by side for justice, equality and respect, I’m reminded of the sad saga of Frank Wills, the Watergate building guard who discovered the office break-in that helped kick President Nixon out of the White House. Soon after the furor of Watergate had died down, Wills had trouble finding work and was soon penniless. Wills died a broke and disillusioned man while many of the Watergate crooks got book deals, radio shows, TV appearances and speaking engagements. But the real hero was beat down by an uncaring system and left to suffer alone.

“We’ll be back,” I chanted with the crowd when the passionate purple posse returns. We will keep fighting for better benefits, wages and health care. As the protest dwindles down, I remember a quote I read in an SEIU pamphlet about why unions fight: “Unions are not officers, offices or grievances. Unions are workers that agitate for a better life.” I’m sure Frank Wills would endorse that goal. I know I do.

Sam is a poverty scholar and reporter for POOR. He just graduated with honors from POOR Magazine’s Race, Poverty and Media Justice Institute.

by Joseph Bolden

Journey To U. S. Forum In Atlanta, Georgia

On the way to the U.S. Social Forum in Atlanta, Georgia minor problems begin. First a customer using the same 10 person van Poor Magazine folks would be using was returned by the last customer without reinstalling the two extra seats.
It means going back to Colma? City for an hour or more. We stop in Hunter's Point to pick up The Bayview Newspaper to distribute in Atlanta. We rode the highway. They've printed our news, columns, poems, and stories now we rep. It's all good.
In the background Paris and Public Enemy spit reality street knowledge.
By 4pm Ms. Laura Yaya has been driven for four or more hours straight and now is relived by second driver Mr. Arnulfo. Ms. Yaya and Arnulfo also consulted the map double checking for errors. Starting late we didn't know how we'd make up for lost time. Me, like the others mostly napped Ms. Yaya videoed what she can with a minicam. Mickey D's, Carl Jr's are eateries most of the group chose, I, Joe
wasn't hungry, couldn't keep any thing down since the turkey sandwich I had eaten Friday morning. My cold had broken earlier but I stiff feel sick.
Ever since I was young a bloody nose signals the break or end of my flu though
after effects linger for days. and everyone were warned to stay “Hydrated,
because once you feel thirsty its too late your brain is all ready cooking!
Drinking and pouring writer on my head and face keeps my body from over heating cooling me off. We're in Lost Hills? 4:32pm Mr. Dee, Allen's travel reads. By 7am we drive through a town named Boron.(to be continued)

by Dee Allen, Joseph Bolden, Queennandi Xsheba, Jewnbug, Luis, Vivian Hain, Dharma, Ruyata

My reflection on this trip was some what strange because I saw some things in the south that I didn't even know still existed.

On the way to Atlanta Yaya, one of the drivers, said she saw a very homophobic sign, it said, Wine like California but with out the fruits. " I was shocked because I've never really seen anything so harsh. When the trip first began I was like Atlanta here we come! But the closer we got to the south the more I started feeling a bit scared. They started telling me that people get killed here by white people. At first I didn't believe it but it seemed that every where we went people stared at us like we had a visible disease or something.

There was this white woman in front of us in line at the store and the cashier woman was a smiling and real nice but as soon as she saw me and my mom her voice changed so deep and when she told us have a good day she rolled her eyes. I have never felt so scared and so unwelcome in my life. Before this trip I didn't believe that white people were racist. I thought it was just people making up stories to scare other people.

The worst part was the when we were about 1 hour from Atlanta and we wear staying at the Comfort Inn; me and my brother and Kim decided to go swimming. When we got to the pool some people wear already there. A mom and a little boy about 3 or 4 and a 14 year old girl. When my brother got in the pool he went towards the kid to play with him and as soon as the mom saw him she told her soon to get away because she didn't want him to get splashed. It didn't make a whole lot of sense because my brother wasn't splashing, but I thought maybe my brother is just too big to be playing with him so it didn't bother me.

Then I started to talk to the girl and the first thing she said to me was &quot Hey boy,&quot which later I found out was a bad thing. She kept talking about herself saying she was smart and i said i was too. She said her IQ was 96 then she asked me what mine was but I've never taken the test. When i told her she made a sound and rolled her eyes like she knew i was gonna say that she sort of started to make me feel dumb for a moment. But then i thought to my self I'm not dumb and i snapped out of it.

She told me her name was Forest and I told her mine was Luis. And then she said that she had been to Mexico and that the houses there were rundown and that the people there were poor because they were ignorant. She said people in Mexico married their cousins.

I was thinking in my mind that is so not true, so I told her that people in Mexico are lawyers and hard working people and that just because they don't get everything given to them on a silver plate doesn't mean they are ignorant. Thats when i started to think she was a bit racist but then she told me she thought all the people in Africa are ignorant and she didn't even have a reason she just said because they don't have resources and go out on the street running around naked and having sex and babies with aids.

I was mad but I didn't want to loose my cool. I felt not anger but pity; I felt sad for her because she is gonna miss out on so much because of the way she thinks. I didn't blame her. She told me she was home schooled all her life so i guess that's all she learned. I know that when you have some one telling you something at a young age thats what you usually end up believing, even if it's wrong.

After that Joe came in the pool and the mother went crazy. You could see her face it looked like it was gonna explode because she was so uncomfortable around us. After that I went back into the hotel and started to feel so sad and horrible. That was the first time ever in my life that I met a racist person and I hope it's the last.

by Angel Garcia/PNN Race, Poverty and Immigrant Scholar

Para espanol mire hacia bajo

As a gang member and a teenager growing up in the Mission, drugs were rampant. I, myself, have had many experiences in the barrio and calles dealing with my own addiction. I have been addicted to drugs and lived on the streets, sleeping under the freeway, cold and hungry. I have been clean for over a year now but many times drugs helped me to survive homelessness and poverty.

Like all businesses functioning in the underground economy there is more risk than money. The money you make is barely enough to survive on.

Yo creci (I grew up) in a rough barrio and saw many cosas going on all the time. When I started selling drugs in my neighborhood I began mixing with junkies, drug dealers, and working people. En mi barrio everything was brown, la gente and las drogas.

When we talk about the criminalization of drogas in our barrios we have to remember prohibition. From 1920 to 1933 the sale and consumption of alcohol in the U.S. was illegal and it was sold on the black market. Many people do not consider alcohol a droga, but alcohol does the same damage as other drugs. It breaks our communidades apart. Alcohol was my first droga, soon after I became addicted to drugs, the ones I would be criminalized for.

In the 1990’s when I was just a teenager, only 14, many of the vatos and the regular gente raza got addicted to coca. I was a patojito (a little kid) with the junkies all around me smoking coca and Cristina (crystal meth). I saw this everyday and then it became my life.

I used to see some vatos in the hood doing crazy things when they were locos (high) like talking to Satan. When I saw someone itching and scratching I knew they were high on some good heroine.

La gente que estaban addictas (for people who are addicted) your purpose is always the same, to find where you are going to get your next high. The question in my mind when I was addicted was how am I going to survive another day and not feel sick with the malias (the cravings). No one wants to wake up feeling sick with the cravings for your drugs.

I started smoking marijuana when I was 14. When I started selling drugs I had never tried any harder drugs. I did not know how it was to be addicted to heroine, cocaine, or crystal. When I was selling I used to have women offer sex in exchange for drogas, it killed me to see the power that the drugs had over these women and how the criminalization of the drugs forced them to use their bodies this way. I used to give many of my women friends on the streets free drugs because I hated seeing them use their bodies in this way. At that time I did not understand the effects of addiction.

Then I got addicted to the drogas and knew the feelings of addiction that the vatos (guys) and jainas (girls) from the barrio went through when they used to ask me for drogas. Then everything changed because I lost my friends and I had to keep on selling drogas para mantener my own addiction. Yo sabia (I knew) that I was matando (killing) my own gente (people) in the barrio of la mission by selling and using drugs and I wanted to stop. So sometimes instead of drogas I would buy them food or even ropa (clothes). But I was still on my own, fighting against the drogas.

I became homeless sleeping at the bottom of the freeway; it was my casa pobre. I was sleeping in a space muy pequeno. It was like a jail cell, solamente (only) 2 feet by 4 feet and filled with the smell of dirty socks. Mi unico amigo was the grey hard slab that covered my head. For a long time the nights were lonely. Fria and dark, se sentia like a refrigerator full of hielo.

Selling and using drogas was just another way to survive the long winters. Drogas helped me keep warm and to ward off hunger. My drug use and addiction was another way to survive the system in the U.S.

After much struggle I got myself into a rehabilitation program in Oakland. I have been clean now for a year and a half. I am currently writing a book about my life in the barrio de la Mission called, “Gangs, Drugs, and Denial.”

Angel Garcia is a student in POOR Magazine’s Race, Poverty and Media Justice Institute and will be releasing his memoir, Gangs, Drugs and Denial in the summer of 2007.

Como un miembro de pandillas y adolecente creciendo en la mission las drogas estaban ala orden del dia yo tube muchas experiencias en el barrio con mi addiccion yo estube durmiendo en los puentes con frio y hambre tengo limpio un ano pero por mucho tiempo las drogas me ayudaron a sobrevivir el no tener casa y la pobresa

Como muchos negocios bajo la economia hay mas riesgo que dinero el dinero que haces solo te ayuda para medio vivir

Yo creci en un barrio dificil muchas cosas pasaban ala vez cuando yo enpese a vender drogas en el barrio me juntaba con los drogadictos y vendedores y personas normales en el barrio todo era cafe la gente y las drogas cuando nosotros hablamos de la criminalizacion de las drogas en nuestra comunidad tenemos que recordar la prohibicion del ano 1920 al 1933 la venta y consumo de alcohol en los estados unidos era ilegal y se vendia en el mercado negro muchas personas no consideran el alcohol una droga pero el alcohol hace el mismo dano que las otras drogas

Quiebra a nuestras comunidades aparte el alcohol fue mi primera droga despues
me hice addicto a las drogas por las cual yo iba ser criminalizado

En los 90's cuando yo era un adolecente de solo 14 anos muchos vatos y Raza regular se addictaron ala coca yo era un patojito con los drogadictos ala par mia fumando coca y cristal yo miraba esto todos los dias se volvio mi vida

Yo miraba los vatos en el barrio haciendo cosas a normales cuando estaban bajo la influencia como que hablaban con el diablo cuando yo miraba alguien rascandose yo sabia que estaban locos en una buena heroina

Para la gente que es addicta el proposito es el mismo encontrar una manera para ponerse locos al siguiente dia

La pregunta en mi cabeza cuando yo era addicto como iba a sobrevivir otro dia y no estar enfermo con las malias a nadie le gusta sentirse malia por mas drogas

Yo enpese fumando marijuana 14 y cuando vendia drogas nunca trate otras
drogas yo no sabia lo que era estar addicto a heroina o coca y cristal cuando yo vendia muchachas me ofrecian sexo por drogas me mataba ver el poder que la droga tenia sobre ellas y como la criminalizacion de drogas las forzaba a vender su cuerpo yo les daba droga gratis porque no me gustaba lo que hacian en ese tiempo yo no sabia lo que era ser addicto

Despues yo era addicto y supe el problema que los vatos y jainas del barrio tenian cuando ellos me pedian drogas despues todo cambio perdi mis amigos tube que vender mas droga para mantener mi addiccion yo sabia que estaba matando en la mission yo queria parar en vez de drogas les compraba comida pero yo todavia estaba peleando con mi addiccion

Yo dormia bajo puentes eran mi casa pobre el espacio era muy pequeno como una celda 2x4 pies el olor a sucio como un calcetin mi unico amigo la pred gris que cubria mi cabeza por mucho tiempo las noches eran muy solas y frias como una refrigeradora con hielo vendiendo y usando drogas solo era
otra manera de sobre vivir los largos inviernos me quitaban el hambre y frio tambien me ayudaban a sobrevivir el systema de este paiz

Despues de tanto sufrir fue a un programa de reavilitacion en oakland tengo limpio un ano estoy escribiendo mi libro sobre mi historia en la mission que se llama pandillas drogas y negacion ano

by POOR MAgazine's Race, Poverty, Disability and Youth Scholars

Don't Forget the Four Little Girls and the Struggle

Queennandi Xsheba,

6/25 Birmingham, Alabama

We stopped at the 16th Street Baptist Church where the four young girls lost their lives in the church bombing. I took pictures—Dynamite Bob was convicted eventually at the courthouse about four blocks away from where the bombing took place.
Juan, a homeless, self-appointed tour guide, gave us a spirited tour of the first “Nigger Park” that is across the street from the Church (still under construction). This park, currently known as The Kelly Ingram Park, is where the 3000 children came to march and were attacked by vicious dogs. About 1800 kids as young as nine, were arrested until there was no more room in the jails. Firefighters turned the hose on the brave children with 600 pound water pressure (that does a lot of damage, indeed). Monuments of the children ducking and covering themselves from the water hoses can be seen. Statues of the big vicious dogs, that were trained to recognize black skin by using black dummies can also be seen.

I took a picture standing in the place where Martin Luther King Junior did one of his first speeches. The radio station down the street was also bombed several times. And if you make a right past the park, you could find the building for the Black Masons (Prince Hall).
This is the first time I have seen this struggle with my own eyes. You can see the children; you can hear the dogs barking, ready to attack. You can hear the bomb detonate, killing the four little girls. The essence is painful, and I wept.

2007—it has only gotten worse. Coming into the South, I still got the stares from racist folks who didn’t know a damn thing about me, however hate me, or rather my skin color.
Mr./Ms. Superior say that I am inferior, but it is their ignorance that feeds the deep-rooted cancer that will eventually spread and kill their wicked ways of thought.
I am Queennandi Xsheba, descendant of slaves in these American Hells. I know who I am. What is Mr. KKK’s reason to hate? Did I Queennandi, rob Mr. KKK of his birthright? Did I rob Mr. KKK of his name? Religion? His language? Culture? His land?
Did one of, or all of the precious four little girls burn Mr. KKK’s little girls on the stake alive? These facts of atrocity still haven’t planted a seed of hate within me. I am better than that. The proof is in “his story” books of a regal lineage that flows through my veins—I will never forget.

POOR TRAIL/ No More Tears

Ruyata A. McGlothin

Anticipation, venturing into the unknown yet sharing one goal for racial, economic, social, gender and class justice. These past three days already feel well worth it. Nine freedom fighters in a small van from San Francisco, CA to Atlanta, GA stepped into our roles to pay our parts in the formation of a new her/history.

Coming to the United States Social Forum in Atlanta from such a poor environment, a poor life and a poor history, in this short period it appears to be a much more all-around depressing state than that of my own. Last night as I explored downtown Atlanta, which reminded me of the San Francisco Tenderloin, I was very happy to be in a new place and see new faces. I waved hello to everyone, but most people driving turned away immediately and everyone on foot, EVERYONE except three people in the 18 hours that I have been here, asked for money. I’m POOR also, just from another area.

The few I was able to give change or a dollar to, let me know that it wasn’t enough. For example, there was a guy yesterday who asked for more donations after simply pointing out the direction of the homeless shelter that I was looking for. I found the shelter two block away.

And it hurts my heart deeply but to make change (of all kinds) is the reason we’re here.

Luis Esparza

Inmigrante and Youth Scholar

My reflection on this trip was some what strange because I saw some things in the south that I didn't even know still existed.

On the way to Atlanta Yaya, one of the drivers, said she saw a very homophobic sign, it said, Wine like California but with out the fruits. " I was shocked because I've never really seen anything so harsh. When the trip first began I was like Atlanta here we come! But the closer we got to the south the more I started feeling a bit scared. They started telling me that people get killed here by white people. At first I didn't believe it but it seemed that every where we went people stared at us like we had a visible disease or something.

There was this white woman in front of us in line at the store and the cashier woman was a smiling and real nice but as soon as she saw me and my mom her voice changed so deep and when she told us have a good day she rolled her eyes. I have never felt so scared and so unwelcome in my life. Before this trip I didn't believe that white people were racist. I thought it was just people making up stories to scare other people.

The worst part was the when we were about 1 hour from Atlanta and we wear staying at the Comfort Inn; me and my brother and Kim decided to go swimming. When we got to the pool some people wear already there. A mom and a little boy about 3 or 4 and a 14 year old girl. When my brother got in the pool he went towards the kid to play with him and as soon as the mom saw him she told her soon to get away because she didn't want him to get splashed. It didn't make a whole lot of sense because my brother wasn't splashing, but I thought maybe my brother is just too big to be playing with him so it didn't bother me.

Then I started to talk to the girl and the first thing she said to me was “Hey boy,” which later I found out was a bad thing. She kept talking about herself saying she was smart and i said i was too. She said her IQ was 96 then she asked me what mine was but I've never taken the test. When i told her she made a sound and rolled her eyes like she knew i was gonna say that she sort of started to make me feel dumb for a moment. But then i thought to my self I'm not dumb and i snapped out of it.

She told me her name was Forest and I told her mine was Luis. And then she said that she had been to Mexico and that the houses there were rundown and that the people there were poor because they were ignorant. She said people in Mexico married their cousins.

I was thinking in my mind that is so not true, so I told her that people in Mexico are lawyers and hard working people and that just because they don't get everything given to them on a silver plate doesn't mean they are ignorant. Thats when i started to think she was a bit racist but then she told me she thought all the people in Africa are ignorant and she didn't even have a reason she just said because they don't have resources and go out on the street running around naked and having sex and babies with aids.

I was mad but I didn't want to loose my cool. I felt not anger but pity; I felt sad for her because she is gonna miss out on so much because of the way she thinks. I didn't blame her. She told me she was home schooled all her life so i guess that's all she learned. I know that when you have some one telling you something at a young age thats what you usually end up believing, even if it's wrong.

After that Joe came in the pool and the mother went crazy. You could see her face it looked like it was gonna explode because she was so uncomfortable around us. After that I went back into the hotel and started to feel so sad and horrible. That was the first time ever in my life that I met a racist person and I hope it's the last.

The Greyhound- San Francisco to Atlanta

By Dharma, POOR Magazine, Poverty Scholar and Digital Resister

I am here at the first U.S. Social Forum, a long journey away from home seeking out a justice among all.

I am glad to be here among my peers at a time of much social change in the world. Unlike many people who are here in Atlanta for the forum, I traveled by bus for 2 and a half days straight. I got on the greyhound bus in San Francisco and traveled through the nights till the bus reached Atlanta. The trip was non-stop for sixty three hours to what feels like the other side of the world.

I felt like I was traveling through time. I traveled by bus to get a feeling for what my ancestors went through during the great Black exodus to the West. I thought back to a time when my ancestors, African descendants traveled the underground railroads out of the South to escape slavery. My mind drifted to what it must have been like to find paths through the trees and land beyond the highways to escape the south. I imagined what early black Americans went through to find a better life.

I traveled by myself. The trip was long and drawn out. I kept my mind off of the long hours by reading and starring out the window. I read about the conditions of prisons in California. I was reading letters from women in prison. from mothers who are locked up while their children live without a family.

I stared out the window for many hours. The land was desolate with dark rainy skies. Thunder and rain pounded us in all five states. At the border of each state we hit thunder storms. I felt like I was traveling on another universe. The lightning struck and reminded me of our country's bloody history. We passed through hot, muggy dust storms. We passed ghost towns, abandoned buildings, empty, boarded up and burned. Nothing but cactus plants, desert flowers, barbed wire, and heat for miles. Single oil pumps dotted the landscape in Texas. The moons I saw are like none I have ever seen before with light shining out all around us. The skies, the land everything was new and frightening. Big skies I thought would never end. But I knew eventually we would make it here to Atlanta.

I leaned my face against the cool window and stared out at the long stretch of dry barren land. I was surprised by the ghost towns between New Mexico and Dallas. I could see the broken down houses in the light of the storms. A dust bowl of memories of leftover life. You can rename poverty but all across America it looks and smells the same. Small houses, trailers, shacks and old towns. One town in Texas the sign read Population 3. We stopped in towns and all the major cities on our route. Some historical and everywhere I went the American flag was flying. I can't imagine living in these small towns with nothing around.

We passed hundreds of McDonald's, Burger King's and Wendy's. They cater to Greyhound. Fast food joints sit waiting for buses and hungry drivers trying to get back on their way. I will not eat a burger again for a long time. The only good thing about eating fast food was I knew I would not get left. I never walked far from the station. The bus would leave without you. In some places there was only restaurants. Some people on my bus were left in the rain in Alabama. Every seat was taken on the bus. Extra buses were ordered.

In Jacksonville we stopped for a moment. I stepped out into the shade. I saw a disabled man ordered off Greyhound property they said for loitering. It was the heat of the day. He was looking for bit of shade, but he was on greyhound property. He told me he lost his legs in the Vietnam war. He said he can barely get by on his veteran benefits. H told me he has nowhere to live he cannot afford a house. I met one young man who was returning to Oklahoma to his father's house. He left about two months ago to escape the beatings from his father. He was forced to return because the landlord threatened to raise the rent because of him. I met one woman traveling with her ninety year old mother. They were coming from Vegas returning home to Atlanta. They befriended me.

After we crossed the border from New Mexico into Texas the driver pulled over. I thought maybe it was a weigh station. I heard the men's boots before I saw them. They wore green suits, I immediately knew they were border patrol. They walked up and down the aisles, asking each person, "are you an American citizen. If not get out your papers." Fortunately we were allowed to keep driving without further problems.

This trip has taught me humility. This trip has taught me to be ever more understanding of the hard work and dedication of the early Black Americans who traveled to California in an effort to escape the unjust and brutal treatment of the South.

Reflection: Of my travel to ATL from SF

Vivian Hain/Digital Resistor/welfareQUEEN

Yesterday the POOR Magazine crew embarked on a our journey to the US Social Forum, traveling from San Francisco, California to Atlanta, Georgia. Though half of the POOR crew traveled via van and even on bus, a group of POOR Magazine folks, including myself, traveled by air. For me, this would be my first time traveling with POOR Magazine. The journey would be quite a harrowing and learning experience for me.

The night before my journey, I was up all night, packing and cleaning the house. I was feeling a lot of anxiety and anticipation, especially since it is the end of the month and for me, it is always a tough time financially. I am on welfare, so my food stamps and money usually runs out, so I was a little nervous about leaving my kids. I wanted to make sure that they had everything that they needed while I was away. By the middle of the night, I was still frantically packing my things and feeling very restless. I didn't get any sleep at all. I went into my children's bedroom and kissed each one of them on their little foreheads and quietly whispered goodbye, as their little bodies lay asleep in their peaceful bliss.

By 6:00 in the morning, I was feeling even more anxious and a little delirious, yet I continued to get myself ready for the travel. By 8:00 a.m., I was out of the door to meet Leroy Moore, POOR Magazine board member. Seeing Leroy made me feel better and more relaxed, as we made our way to the BART train station three blocks from where we both live. We took the BART train to S.F. from Berkeley, riding on a hot, packed and overcrowded train full of dull-faced 9-5 commuters. We arrived at the POOR office, met others and got on our way to SFO, where things went quite smooth. Even the security check was not so bad, but I didn't like the way they treated Leroy. The airport staff were pushy and rude toward him, rushing him through and not taking in consideration of his disability. This made me angry inside. I made sure that Leroy had whatever help he needed.

We got on to the plane and were packed in tightly in the mid rear seating area. The airline crew didn't seem too friendly. We managed ourselves well and got ourselves settled in on the plane. Though the plane ride started out smoothly, it got very rough during mid flight with turbulence. This put a lot of us on edge, feeling as if we would not make it! The plane bounced around in the big thick clouds. We were scared, yet I knew that we would get through it, just as we always manage to do in our lives of daily struggle. We had no food offered on the plane and were very thirsty. We had crappy snacks. We landed safely in Atlanta. The minute we got off of the plane, I felt the hot air hit me like a big punch, knocking the breath out of me. The air was hot and humid. I felt as if I was breathing inside of a hot metal drum that was left out in the middle of the desert.

Yet, for me, being here in Atlanta for what and why we are here is most important, as the issues that we deal with in CA are endemic throughout the US. As we drove through downtown Atlanta, I could see many lone silhouettes moving about the dark streets. I knew that no matter where I go in America, the same issues effect many like myself. Also on this trip, I am filming a lot of video footage. I want to catch the raw essence of our experience at the USSF and beyond it. I hope that we can bring forward and share the 'truth' to why this whole forum is what it is meant to be, not just a gathering for social justice groups. It is important to keep it real and get the message out of this reality.

I know that the same issues affect communities here in Atlanta just as they do in the S.F. Bay Area. As we drove in the hot van through the city center of Atlanta, I saw the same images despair that I see back home; the vacant streets of closed business as many roam the streets looking for a place to rest their bodies upon. I can only imagine how difficult this must be with this suffocatingly hot weather. I wonder where they go to get out of the heat, out from under the scorching sun, where can they go when all I can see is nothingness for them out there..

We drove in the hot van for another couple of hours, dropping people off, picking people up. I was sitting in the back of the van. Every time we stopped, it was very hot outside. It was still very hot after midnight. By the time we reached the hotel, my asthma had kicked up, making me feel very listless and exhausted. My chest felt like it was going to burst, my heart racing like a horse. I needed water. I felt very suffocated, but remained calm and quiet. When I got into the hotel, I immediately went to sleep. My body was beyond its capacity.

As I drifted off into a much needed deep sleep, I thought of all of those lone silhouettes I saw walking through downtown Atlanta in the night heat and how I was very privileged to be able to lay my head on this pillow in an air conditioned room. This is why I am here in Atlanta to give voice and send a message to the world that this type of social dynamic must change, for everyone should have a pillow to lay their head on in an air conditioned room here in Atlanta and everywhere throughout the US and the entire world. This is where eminent change must happen and we are here to be part of that.

Reflection on my journey to the US Social Forum in ATL

By Jewnbug

Hustling funds just to have access to a conversation where often times I am the subject and not the story teller required a lot of work.

Foundations and organizations provided limited money, and there are so many of us in economic limbo

Traveling to tell my story in hopes that I will make effective impact to stabilize equality.

The process at the airport felt like I had just entered Hitler's concentration camp

My shoes off and my bags wide open, the commotion over the lotion for hands and body almost taken away, but never will my mind and soul be taken away
riding in the third class economy on the plane I ate crackerjack snake boxes as if these crumbs would actually provide nourishment on a 5 hour flight.

In ATL, and the cost of living high, many people asking for fifty cents, I didn't feel I had left Frisco, still in the concrete jungle with bright lights, big buildings and still house-less.

We are staying 10 miles from the US Social Forum, where we are facilitating a process in which our message IS MEDIA.

We are working, and yet we are still marginalized.

Just to get here to the Social forum is a struggle and a story in its self, a story that speaks to PO' folks having accessibility to framing main stream media, to digital equipment, to policy making, to legislation and most importantly, making laws.

I feel like everyday we have to cross borders, and challenge criminalizing and dehumanizing mannerism.

We are running the Ida B. Wells Media Justice Center in a hallway. Everyone has to travel a hallway to get to a room, but when your room is the hallway, its sends a clear message , &quot There is no room for you &quot
However, I am blessed to be here to utilize this opportunity to move towards justice and freedom through various mediums. But the real question is, Are we all moving towards the same vision?�