2008

by Joanna Letz

"This used to be an amusement park. We´ve nicknamed it Fun Town." Joe said with a smile and pointed over to the old pool. "Martin Luther King Jr. drove past with his daughter when it was still the park. His daughter asked if they could go. But that was when the park was segregated. Now sometimes I sit here and play speeches by MLK Jr."

On the last day of the U.S. Social Forum in Atlanta a crew of POOR Magazine's Poverty Scholars and Digital Resisters climbed into POOR's rented van and escaped from the walls of the Civic Center. Led by Keif one of Mad Housers architects we rode toward Fun Town. We passed parts of Atlanta we wouldn't have otherwise seen. I felt like we had entered a different world. We passed the gates into one of Atlanta's largest Universities and we went quickly off road down a dirt path to Joe Agana´s hut.

Joe Agana welcomed POOR Magazine into his hut and onto the land he has been living on for nine years. Nine other people live on the land, each with their own hut. Mad Housers build huts for houseless folks in Atlanta. Each hut costs Mad Housers four hundred dollars and with a team of people a hut can be constructed in a weekend.

The heat swelled as we all stepped out of the van. The cracked cement ground reflected the sun. Joe´s hut is only a stones throw away from the highway and from the university with its tennis courts and large buildings. Most people probably have no idea he is living there, hidden amidst the trees. Up above us, a billboard loomed, reminding us we were not far from luxury. The billboard read, "Georgia Tech Tickets on Sale." The cement ground, what was left of Fun Town, proved good land for the Mad Housers huts. Joe explained the land also at one point was a land-fill of some sort. The land is privately owned. Joe retold stories of police helicopters circling above their huts.

Mad Houser huts provide a better alternative for shelter and security than big state sponsored shelters. Keif said, "Give me a task force to write grants, instead of building a 1.3 million dollar shelter." The huts provide a level of autonomy that big shelters do not. Each hut has its own lock. Joe said, "This place beats the shelters. You can go and come as you please."

To even just walk in Downtown Atlanta you must have papers, state issued Identification. Keif explained Mad Housers are making their own ID's.

We stood around Joe's hut as he walked us through some of his life. I listened steadily to Joe as I held one kitten in my hand. The cats and kittens were everywhere, "to keep away the snakes and rats," Joe told us. Around the huts mosquitos swarmed. Joe seeing our attempts at swatting the bugs walked away for a moment and came back with a can of bug spray.

Joe pulled his stove out for us to see. "I just finished making lunch," he explained. Joe makes his own charcoal to heat his hut and cook his food. Mad Housers build the huts and provides each person with a stove. Keif described how the stoves are made. Lifting up the stove Keif said, "The stoves are made from paint buckets. The paint is taken off and the buckets screwed together. At the bottom the screws can be taken out to act like a thermostat… Mad Housers gets donations of wood that is used to heat the stoves."

Joe walked us through his garden. A tall tomato plant grew up from between the cement blocks. The soil Joe fertilizes with his own compost pile. Mustard greens, and swiss chard were ready to eat. Chickens and their little ones were scuttling about.

"There is no electricity or running water. Keif explained, "the city cracked the fire hydrant just down the road. We got a friend somewhere." Sanitation services, water, and power are difficult for Mad Housers to obtain. The billboard shines at night where Fun Town remains without power.

Joe Agana left Bolgotanga, Ghana for the U.S. in 1975. Joe said, "I didn´t live like this in Ghana. I had to learn all this… What I don't have I live without." Joe has two huts, one he sleeps in and the other one is his library. On Joe´s porch his battery powered radio sat waiting to be turned on.

Mad Housers is trying to forge relationships. Mad Housers has a relationship with the university where Joe just received his forklift certification. He is OSHA certified and he was the top of his class, but without papers Joe cannot find work. POOR magazine is looking to find Joe a lawyer to help him get legal status.

Before leaving Joe's we made contributions to his library, some POOR Press publications and POOR Magazine’s own poverty scholarship.

We piled back into the van and drove the short distance down the dirt road, past the fire hydrant, past the entrance to the college, and drove onto the highway. We drove back to the Civic Center and the US Social Forum walls. We drove past the McMansions, also known as the infils that have replaced bungalows, past condemned houses, past what POOR Magazine's Poverty scholar Vivian Hain nicknamed "Legoland Condos."

Poverty exists here in the U.S. as it does everywhere, only the U.S. likes to deny that poverty exists. The U.S. calls itself a "developed" country, a "first world" country, and relegates the use of "third world" and "developing" for those other countries south of here. But as Jewnbug, one of POOR's poverty scholars explained, "I come from a third-world economy right here."

The Mad Houser huts are not the end all of end alls. But as Joe said it beats living in a shelter. At community newsroom the issue of the huts is one of contestation. As Laure McElroy related, "We are fighting to keep the projects but no one really wants to live there…It is a thin line."

"As Tiny said, "What isnt talked about is the criminalization of poverty. If you are houseless in Atlanta you go to jail. I was standing outside, a few blocks from the Civic Center two patrol cars came and asked me what I was doing. The other element of the Mad Housers is the huts provide a safe place away from being put in jail."

"As Tiny also recalled, when poor folks get together to create communes and alternative lifestyles, they are criminalized. Such is the case with Madhousers and was the case in Mumia Abu Jamals house, MOVE, in Philadelphia. But when white folks create communes, they are not forced to go underground, the lifestyle is equated with going back to the land, the agrarian dream.

"Poverty Scholar Jewnbug related her experiences growing up in a camp in Castro Valley. "I lived for a few years with my family camping with other homeless families on private land. These places exist, but people don't talk about it. We moved back to San Francisco to a one room apartment, my mom, my brother and I. I heard the police broke up the campsite."

"Poverty is criminalized so as to send it underground, to make it go unseen. Tiny explained, "This country doesnt let us build shantytowns. In the U.S. you sleep on the streets and you get thrown in jail. In other countries they don't have the criminal industrial complex that we have."

"Joe Agana and the Madhouser huts have to remain unseen and hidden so as not to be criminalized and hounded by police. As an ally of Madhousers POOR Magazine is reporting and supporting Joes daily struggle and his continued fight to gain legal status.

Joe Agana is one of POOR Magazine’s Atlanta correspondents check back for his reports. To learn more about Madhousers go to www.madhousers.org. From May through September 2007, a Mad Housers hut is on display at the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum in Manhattan as a part of the "Design for the Other 90%" exhibition.

by Sam Drew, tiny and Tiburcio/PNN

"Stop making a mess," screamed a worker from the Sunset Scavenger Company truck as the lonely hunched figure leaned over the soiled trashcan quickly transferring cans and bottles into his sturdy cart. The old man's face remained impassive as people barked orders at him. You could tell he was used to being belittled for doing his job picking up recyclables from various trash bins and garbage cans in the area. He quickly finished his task and headed for the next can as we watched him from our hidden spot.

Today POOR Magazine was going undercover to do a story on recycling in the Mission district. With me was POOR Magazine editor Tiny and her observant son Mr. T. We were up at 6a.m. to follow Sunset Scavengers on their routes for our groundbreaking, under cover piece on recycling waste.

"Have you got the camera and the video cam," asks Tiny, as she keeps checking her purse for keys. I think to myself " Yeah, But I don't know how to operate them." This is my first 60 minutes-type undercover article. You know, the hard-hitting journalistic piece where they pop out from behind the wall with tape of the crooked politician taking the bribe money. It might be hard for me to hide considering I'm 6'5" and almost 275 pounds with a large Dr. J afro, but I'm tryin' hard to be invisible.

As we follow the huge trash trucks in our blue Volvo I feel about as undercover as O.J. Simpson at a Bronco dealership. Tiny asks me to try to be inconspicuous as we pass by the loud black and white trucks. As soon as we pass by the truck operator spots me. I guess it's the afro. But we run into our lonely recycler again doing his quiet efficient job at a new site. He doesn't even look up as we peer at him with our honed eyes. His round bearded face stares without emotion as he rapidly separates cans from bottles. Little did we know that this unassuming man would be the main player in the story that was going to unfold this early morning.

"In the month of June the company started to import strike breakers and train them on the trucks. They had them follow the drivers on their routes." said Chuck Mack Secretary-Treasurer of the Brotherhood of Teamsters and Auto Truck Drivers, local No. 70. He was telling to what lengths Waste Management of Alameda had gone in preparation to lock out its 500 workers in the ongoing labor dispute covering Alameda County. Mack was quick to inform me that this is not a strike, "we are locked out the company would not let our members work."

Going into the second week of the lockout trash and garbage is pilling up as poorly trained "replacement workers" miss many locations in poorer areas. The missed trash pickups have become a public health issue that various cities have addressed by taking Waste Management to court.

As I'm surveying the sickly mess, I remember the words that were screamed at the lonely recycler the morning of our secret mission," Stop making a mess" What a mess has been made by Waste Management, who had no real plan to pick up trash after the lockout but seemed more intent on delivering a message to the union. I guess the old man who recycled the cans and bottles so efficiently wasn't such a nuisance after all.

Cities the size of San Francisco and Oakland create so much waste no one can handle it, so why are recyclers like the old man being criminalized for removing unwanted stuff? Why are cities being punished by companies that have beef with unions? Could the solution be to give these street corner recyclers, the ones who are so often looked down upon and publicly harassed, real rights like the ones of the big recycling companies?

My editor, myself and Bruce Allison, a poverty and disability scholar are therefore proposing, the Independent Recyclers as Subcontractors, a revolutionary solution to the harassment of these workers and the cities waste management problems.

Independent Recyclers as Subcontractors

All independent recyclers should hold the same rights as all the major recycling companies. Independent recycling should be decriminalized, recognized and appreciated for the meticulous work it is. POOR's proposal for independent contractors should include not only decriminalization but remuneration and benefits for the independent contractors. This could be accomplished in many different ways. One proposal is if the recyclers were able to obtain vendor cards that would allow them to acquire their recyclable products without being harassed. One option is vendor cards could be made available to them for no charge. These cards do not need to be too complex, just a simple card with their name, address and photo should be sufficient. Two cross streets could be used as a valid address if if the recycler is houseless. The cards should also provide free medical care for the holder.

The minimal cost of this program to the cities who enroll would be offset by the millions of carbon footprints saved from the quality of work standards that would practiced by the independent recyclers as well as the drastic increase in recycled products actually being recycled, and the revenue that would come from that increase.

If a proposal such as this would be implemented, then maybe this whole big mess could be cleaned up once and for all.

Editors Note: The Editors and Scholars of POOR Magazine want to make sure that the community understand that in no way was this expose meant to disrespect or dismiss the very hard-working union workers who work for recylcing and waste management companies and belong to unions. Rather, this proposal and expose was written with the goal of achieving long deserved rights for the
micro-business people who do recyling and are not recognized as workers, but rather criminalized for the work that they do. And that perhaps through this licensing/subcontract proposal could be
an adjunct worker to the union laborer through a cooperative agreement in an increasingly waste conscious, globally warmed world

by Diana Spatz/ LIFETIME

(Oakland, CA) Low-income children and parents from Oakland and San Francisco held a press conference at the State Building in Oakland this morning to protest the push by Senate Republicans to cut more than 200,000 poor children off the welfare rolls to balance the state budget. “Children like me are targets in the state budget this year,” says 13-year old Jasmine Hain, POOR Magazine youth scholar and one of the children who will be cut off public assistance if the Republican Senators have their way. “We’re already poor - if they do this to my family, it will be a nightmare.”

Poster-sized photos of a baby, with a black bull-eye’s target on her diaper, drove the protestors’ message home. “They’re targeting my children,” says Jasmine’s mother Vivian Hain, a LIFETIME member , PNN staff writer and CalWORKs student in Oakland, “to balance the state budget.”

The protestors were members of LIFETIME, a statewide organization of low-income families working to educate policymakers on the impact that the proposed changes to CalWORKs will have on poor children and their families. During the press conference, several media covered the event, while CalWORKs children passed out information on the state budget crisis to more than 300 visitors to the State Building. Four-year old Zosia Scilowski gave her frank assessment of the situation: “The oppressors are trying to take our welfare.”

To break the budget stalemate, the approval of two Senate Republicans is needed. However, a full month into the budget deadlock, Republican Senators refuse to approve a state spending plan unless it includes an additional $700 million in tax breaks to corporations and the wealthy. The proposed tax breaks will be funded by changes to CalWORKs, the state welfare program, that will push nearly a quarter of a million poor children off the welfare rolls – and deeper in poverty. “These proposals are economic abuse of poor children,” said Jewnbug Strohlin, a CalWORKs student at City College of San Francisco active with Welfare Queens, a project of POOR Magazine in San Francisco. “It’s not right to balance the budget of the backs of poor children.”

Under current state welfare rules, CalWORKs parents are cut off welfare once they reach their five-year lifetime limit, or if they fail to meet stricter welfare to work rules. However, under the state’s safety net program, their children can still receive aid. Under the proposed changes, if a CalWORKs parent is sanctioned off welfare, their children will be cut off, too. More than 50,000 low-income children will lose benefits under the proposed “full family sanctions.” In addition, the proposed changes will impose retroactive time limits on children whose parents have reached their five-year lifetime limit on welfare, resulting in the immediate termination of nearly 200,000 low-income children from the welfare rolls. Research shows that since 2003, the majority of CalWORKs parents who have reached their time limit on welfare were working and playing by the rules, but in low-wage, dead-end jobs not earning enough to “income off” the welfare rolls.

“Families like mine can’t afford these cuts,” said Dawn Love, a CalWORKs mother caring for her disabled daughter, while working and attending Chabot College in Hayward. “Don’t punish children because their parents are poor.”

Patricia Arana, an immigrant mother living in Oakland, expressed concern about full family sanctions. Patricia and several other mothers described being illegally sanctioned due to caseworker error, and losing cash assistance, as well as childcare, counseling and other support services that enabled them to escape domestic violence, enroll in education and training programs, and hold down jobs.

The sanction caused Patricia and her disabled son to lose their housing. “If not for my boyfriend taking us in, we would have been homeless.” Under full family sanctions, her son would have been illegally sanctioned, “and my family would have had nothing.” After nearly 18 months without cash assistance, Patricia’s caseworker illegally cut off her son’s MediCal benefits, too. Last week, Patricia won her state appeals and all benefits to her family were restored.

While the proposed changes to CalWORKs will save the state money in the short run, research indicates that such measures may cost the state much more over time. Studies show that after similar measures were adopted in Texas, the impact on low-income families was severe. The number of parents on welfare who were working declined by more than 300%, while 45% of the state’s welfare block grant now goes to Child Protective Services, to remove children from their homes. Says LIFETIME Executive Director Diana Spatz, “when a parent deprives their child of food or shelter, its called child abuse. When the government does it, it’s called balancing the budget.”

The Senate reconvened this evening at 6pm to try to reach an agreement. In the meanwhile, LIFETIME encourages everyone to contact their State Senator to share your concerns about the proposed changes to CalWORKs and urge them to pass a fair budget that values all families – especially supporters in the following counties:

- Alameda County: call Senate President Pro Tem, Don Perata, at his Sacramento office at (916)651-4009 and his district office at (510) 286-1333

- Santa Cruz, Monterey, San Luis Obispo, Santa Clara, or Santa Barbara Counties: please call Senator Abel Maldonado at (916) 651-4015.

- Stanislaus, Merced, Madera, San Benito, or Northeast Monterey Counties (Salinas, Gonzales, Soledad, Greenfield and King City), please call Senator Jeff Denham at (916) 651-4012

- Los Angeles, San Bernardino, Ventura and Kern counties: please call Senator George Runner at 916-651-4017

To find out who the State Senator is that represents your district, please go to: www.sen.ca.gov, go to “Senators” on the sidebar and click on Your Senator.

In the meanwhile, check out tomorrow’s Oakland Tribune and the California Progress Report (californiaprogressreport.com) for coverage of the event.

Yours in justice,

Diana Spatz
LIFETIME

by Ingrid/Voces De Inmigrantes en Resistencia

Para espanol, mira abajo

I am from a farm in the country; the countryside of Guatemala to be exact. My family raised chickens, goats and pigs. We grew corn, tomatoes and fruit, so many kinds of fruit. Without our tiny farm our family would not have been able to eat. Now I live in San Francisco in a tiny one bedroom apartment with my brother in law, sister and nephew. We have no land to grow on and no space for animals to graze

I am a seamstress and domestic worker as well as a reporter for POOR Magazine. I am trying to support my three children back home and my newborn baby boy on very little money. This is hard cause the cost of living is so high in San Francisco.

Recently, I had heard from some friends that there was a real farmers market in San Francisco.

One early Saturday morning, my nephew Jorge and I walked from 22nd and Hampshire in the Mission all the way to the Alemany Farmers Market in search of fresh vegetables. The soles of our feet felt as though they were burning as we walked out in the scorching sun. When we finally arrived it was so crowded that we could barely make our way through the market. The heat was getting stronger, but we managed to make it to the truck where they had live chickens for sale.

There were all sorts of animals for sale at this truck such as small chickens, rabbits, ducks as well as doves. We bought two plump chickens with long, soft, tail feathers and about twenty-five pounds of fruits and vegetables. Since we had bought so many things Jorge and I did not want to walk all the way back home. On top of that I also had my son with me in a stroller. My brother in law had told us to buy all the groceries for the week and that he would meet us half way. That is why we didn�t take the bus.

So we just started our trek back home with the hope that my brother in law would be at the half way point to help us the rest of the way home. On our way back home we saw two bicyclists riding down Potrero Ave. At that point I turned to my nephew and said �that must be your father� and he responded �Thank God! My arms are killing me.�

As the bicyclists got closer we realized that neither one was my bother in law. So, we kept on walking until we got back home. Upon arriving Jorge asked me for a glass of water, the trip had taken quite a toll on him. Without thinking I left the newly bought chickens in the kitchen, on the white and brown linoleum tile floor, to grab my nephew a glass of water. By now the chickens were drenched in sweat because of the heat. Their feathers stuck closely to their bodies making them appear thin.

At that moment my friend, Tiny walked in with her son Tiburcio and all of the sudden the chickens began to shriek as well as flutter and flap their wings at her, which sent her running out the door screaming �My mother is in here.�

She later explained that her mother liked chickens and that is why she thought she was there. She asked me why they shrieked at her and I explained that since their feet were tied up they were unable to walk which is why they were all fussy. Tiny then asked if she could take pictures of the chickens, so I untied them and let them walk. Tiny took a few pictures; her son took a moment to caress the chickens and then they left.

At about 4pm I killed the chickens. I took a broomstick and I placed it on top of the chicken�s head. I then stomped on the broomstick leaving the chickens body in between my leg. I then put pressure on the broomstick and pulled the chicken�s legs at the same time to that its body would detach from its neck. I killed them both like this. I hung them upside down on the doorknob so that all their blood would drain down and out. Once they were drained I placed them in a pot of boiling water, this helps the feathers come off quicker. I then carefully took them out of the boiling water and with my left hand placed one on my thigh; with my right hand I plucked the feathers only using the tips of my fingers. I did this for both of the chickens. After I finished plucking the feathers off of both chickens I took a piece of newspaper, lit it and then used to turn on the stove burner. I then grazed the chickens over the open flame and burned off the little hairs that remained after plucking.

I then opened them up and took out all of its insides. Then I put them into a pot with water and made a delicious caldo de gallina. Freezing the chicken changes the flavor that is why I�d rather walk miles to the farmers market and prepare it fresh.

Gallinas de Ingrid- Una Historia Verdadera Por Indrid X/ Voces De Inmigrantes en Resistencia

Yo me creci in el campo en mi pais de Guatemala. Ahi yo y mi familia teniamos gallinas, cabras, y chanchos. Nosotros creciamos maiz, tomates y frutas, muchisimas frutas. Si nosotros no hubieramos crecido nuestra propia comida nos vieramos hido sin comer. Ahora vivo en las cuidad de San Francisco, en un apartamento con solamente un cuartito pequeno. Comparto ese apartamento con mi hermana, su esposo, y mi sobrino. Aqui no hay espacio para crecer nada.

Trabajo de cocedora, de limpiar casas y cuidar ninos, y tambien como reportera para la Prensa Pobre (POOR Magazine). Es bien dificil hacerce una vida aquí en este pais. Todo es bien caro y lo que gano ni me alcanza para cuidar a mis tres hijos que estan en Guatemala y mi bebe que vive aqui conmigo.

Ultimamente a oido de mis amigas que ay un Mercado de productos frescos en San Francisco.

Un dia sabado las 9 AM, mi sobrino Jorge y yo caminamos desde la calle 22 y Hampshire en la Mission para la Alemany Farmers Market en busca de pollos vivos y verduras frescas. El sol estava tan caliente que nos quemaba las plantas de los piez. Al llegar habia mucha gente y no se podia caminar. Se sentia mas calor pero logramos asercarnos al camion de los pollos.

Habian pollitos pequenos, conejos, patos y palomas. Tambien tenian huevos fresco que los habian puesto las gallinas. Compramos dos pollas coloradas con cola larga y plumas suaves, se miraban gordas y como 25 libras de verduras y frutas. Jorge y yo no queriamos caminar por que habiamos comprado muchas cosas. Mi cuñado nos dijo que compraramos todo lo necesario para la semana y que el nos hiba a encontrar a medio camino. Fue por eso que no tomamos el autobus, ademas que yo llebaba a mi hijo en su carito.

Jorge y yo empesamos a caminar felizes pensando que mi cu~ado venia a nuestro rescate. Cuando llegamos a la calle Potrero, hiban unos bicicletistas. Yo le dije a Jorge “alli viene tu papa” y el me contesto “ay! Gracias dios mio por que ya no aguanto”. Mientras se acercaba nos dimos cuenta que no era el. A pues seguimos caminando hasta llegar a la casa. Jorge me dijo “tia quiero agua estoy cansado”. Sin pensar en ese momento yo deje las gallinas en la cosina. Pero ya no paresian las mismas gallinas que habia comprado. Ahora las gallinas estaban tan sudadas que las plumas se les pegaban a su cuerpo dando la impresion de que estaban flaquitas. Justo en el momento en que deje las gallinas en el piso de linolio de cuadros café y blanco entro mi amiga Tiny. Las aletearon y gritaron. Tiny salio corriendo de la cosina al pasillo y imploro “Mi madre esta aqui” “Ami mama le gustaban las gallinas por eso pense que estaba aqui” Ella me pregunto que por que gritaban? Yo le conteste que era por que estaban amarradoas de las patas y no podian caminar. Tiny me dijo que queria fotos de las gallinas. Entonces yo desate una gallina para que caminara y Tiny me tomo unas fotos con las gallinas. Su hijo Tibursio acaricio las gallinas y despues se fueron. Yo me quede a limpiar la casa.

Como las 4pm las mate. Primero le quite el palo a la escoba, puse la cabeza de la gallina en el piso y le puse el palo ensima de la cabeza y me pare en el palo dejando a la gallina enmedio de mis piernas. Le puse precion a mis piernas y jale las patas para que el pescueso de la gallina se despegara del resto del cuerpo. Asi mate a las dos igual. Las colge de la chapa de la puerta para que la sangre se escurriera. Las cabezas de las gallinas se fueron inflando con la sangre de sus cuerpos. Antes de matarlas gallinas puse a herbir una holla con agua. Antes de matarlas gallinas puse a herbir una holla con agua. Despues de 15 minutos el agua hirbio y las meti en el agua que bombiaba como si quisiera salirse de la hoya. Esto ayuda a quitarles las plumas. Las saque quidadosamente para que esa agua no me quemara. Tome una gallina con mi mano esquierda y la apolle sobre mi pierna mientras que con mi mano derecha le quitaba las plumas con una facilidad que solo necesitaba usar la punta de mis dedos. Lo mismo hise con la otra gallina. Despues que las pele agarre un periodico y le prendi fuego. Lo meti en una oya y pase las gallinas sobre la llama para quemarles unos pelitos que se les quedan despues de desplumarlas.

Las abri para sacarles lo de adentro y separe el cuerpo. Luego puse una holla con agua para aser un delisioso caldo de gallina. Las gallinas conjeladas cambian el sabor, es por eso que prefiero caminar y comer todo fresco. Pero tambien me gustan las gallinas que benden ya preparadas

by Vivian Hain - POOR Press Political Correspondent and Welfare QUEEN

It is now time to give poor families what they need to thrive in order to survive!

With the recent May Revise of the California State Budget by Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, the Cost-of-Living Adjustments (COLAs) for California´s poor children and their families on welfare (CalWORKs) were frozen for the fourth year in a row by Governor Schwarzenegger again!

Under state law, CalWORKs grants for poor children and their families are supposed to increase each year – but state policymakers want to suspend this Cost-of-Living Adjustment (COLA) again this year, even though CalWORKs grants are currently 50% below the poverty line – the same amount they were in 1989! Think about what the cost of rent/housing was back in 1989 versus what it is now in 2007!

While the state says it doesn´t have money for the CalWORKs COLA, it plans to make debt payments to Wall Street brokers a year before the payments are due. Poor children are being asked to sacrifice, while state legislators got an increase in their salaries – and the Governor has proposed a Cost of Living Adjustment for his staff!

What Does the CalWORKs COLA Mean to Low-Income Children? In 1989, milk only cost $1/gallon – today it costs over $4! Low-income families are already struggling to make ends meet, and a CalWORKs COLA would give a typical family of three about $30 more every month to provide food, shelter and the basics for their children. Even at that, $30 does not even cover the basic cost of bills today.

This week, the budget conference committee is meeting to begin finalizing the state budget, and Assembly Speaker Fabian Nuñez (D-L.A.) and Senate President Don Perata (D-Oakland) have the chance to add the CalWORKs COLA back into the state budget.

Call: Nuñez and Perata and tell them to"Choose Poor Children and Give CalWORKs families COLAs!"

Senate President Don Perata: 1-866-920-9457
Assembly Speaker Fabian Nuñez: 1-866-920-9458

Contributing Correspondent for this article:
Anita M. Rees, Associate Director
LIFETIME (Low-Income Families' Empowerment Through Education)
www.geds-to-phds.org

by Marlon Crump/PNN

"We are all living in an imperialistic country, an imperialistic government, in an imperialistic world."

These words came from the rumbling voice of Munyiga Lumamba, a member of the All Afrikan People’s Revolutionary Party. His words had the power on this Indigenous People’s Day to reach all of us, especially those of us subjected to the ever-oppressive elements that plague people living in poverty locally and globally; racism, classism, fascism, capitalism, war, gentrification, famine, mis-education, displacement, Jim-Crowism, etc, etc. All of these hideous divisions that's plagued every non-white culture and indigenous people, motivated lifelong movements towards ultimate annihilation of the above KKKolinizing categories.

The sweltering sun beamed down on my back and forehead, as I sat on the steps of the United Nation Plaza at the Civic Center, on 8th and Market St. It was near-noon and people were already gathering for this very important day. I began my surveillance of everyone in attendance, and spotted my POOR family, just a few feet away from me, as they stood in the center to hear the speakers.

Tony Gonzalez arrived from Argentina and expressed the importance of what International Indigenous People's Day is all about. "I'm speaking on behalf of the American Indian Community,” he said. “One of the goals for this very special day is for everyone to join together," he added. This year celebrated thirteen years from it's origin, August 9th, 1994.

A female speaker/facilitator for the event introduced a Native American named Gilbert, who dawned the traditional headdress and garbs for what was called fancy dancing. All of us watched in awe and enjoyment, as Gilbert performed for nearly a half hour.

As I watched his beautiful dancing, my mind drifted off to my early days of elementary, middle, and high school in what "I learned" through my many years of reading countless books.

As a child, I often came across toys that pitted cowboys and Indians against each other. I even watched a few western movies, here and there, most of which, portrayed Indians as the "villains" and the cowboys as the "heroes." It wasn't, until my teen years when I started to see things in a more broader light, than what corporately enfranchised into a child's mind, from TV shows, movies, coloring books, toys, cartoons, maybe even video games for that matter. What a scary, disgusting inhumane brainwash from European KKKoliners and KKKorporations, polluting young minds, even today.

One of the few classic movies I enjoyed, as a teen, was "The legend of Billy Jack"(1971) a story of a man of Indian Descent, that possessed a military background, and deadly martial art skills, who protected his sister's "Freedom School" from a racist sheriff and bigots.

My native town, Cleveland, Ohio, the” Buckeye State," is well known for the Cleveland Indians Baseball team. Its mascot is a red-skinned, buck-toothed feather-dawned image of an Indian. In 1915, Chief Wahoo was chosen to honor it's first American Indian baseball player, Louis Francis Sockalexis. In 1998, members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) protested the Chief Wahoo image, because it was a racially symbolic stereotype of real Native Americans, and they denounced it. Five were arrested and have since filed suit.

No matter how much we fight, denounce, and protest, one can NEVER underestimate the evil powers of racism, and all of it's imperialistic KKKapitalism. The U.S.A has a holiday, a monumental statue, books, maybe even an anticipated currency at the U.S Mint, honoring Christopher Columbus who led the slaughter of many Indian Tribes, and theft of treasuries, throughout his voyages to please kings and queens.

This day also reminded me of how global governments have capitalized off of Columbus's holocaustic irreparable damages, of Indian tribes: THE NEW WORLD. Over five centuries later, I think NEW WORLD= ORDER would sound more sufficient.

The fancy dance as defined by the speaker/facilitator, is geared towards "healing and balance." Every single race, creed, gender, and religion was enslaved at one time, or another, so for those in struggle dancing isn’t just a means of expression, but also a release of the negative energy that plagues a person's mind, body, and soul.

"In the early 1970s, we (American Indians Movement) advocated for African Descendents, in retaining their rights. We kept at it, with the Human Rights Commission, until 1982. It's not just a struggle for Indigenous People, but for everyone all around the world. If we don't get that much needed vote, it will shut down all our rights,” the dancer said to the crowd.

Martin Sanchez, General Counsel/Representative of the Venezuelan Government read a letter, which honored the importance of the International Indigenous People's Day and various articles that were decreed in the General Assembly of the United Nations. He read through Articles 119-125, which were an equivalency to the United States Constitution, The biggest question and concern came to my mind was how strictly enforced these laws would be towards indigenous people, and would every global government honor these Articles, when people seek to retain their rights, in the face of oppression?

Milo of the Ma Pucha People, from South America, gave a historic account dating thirty years back to 1977 when they confronted and demanded their rights to be retained from the control of the colonists.

"We are celebrating thirty days from that very day, and still fighting displacement, from an insane government (U.S) that's profiting from mining corporations," Milo exclaimed.

At the end of the event, Bob Kelly recited a poem by Leonard Peltier, a revolutionary/ political prisoner and member of the American Indians Movement who was involved in a protest, at a small town called Wounded Knee, in 1973 South Dakota. Their protest on a variety of issues erupted into violence, where two AIM members were killed, and a U.S Marshal was paralyzed from gunshot wounds. Peltier was arrested and is now serving a life sentence. A youth group called Rainbow Warriors began rapping to the crowd, urging peace and solidarity towards everyone, worldwide, regardless of race.

As they began to rap their song called "United Snakes of America,” I walked over to Munyiga and thanked him for his inspiring speech and Bob Kelly, in his recital of the poem by Leonard Peltier.

He gave me a flyer that showed pics of people in the AIM struggle, Leonard, himself, in the center, with a bald eagle, a spear, a bison, and the flag of Great Britain.

The words under FREE LEONARD PELTIER, were: "It died in blood on Buffalo Plains, and starved by moons of rain, it's heart was buried in Wounded Knee, but it will come to rise again." (Bobby Sands, The Rhythm of Time, 1981.

by Sam Drew/PNN

By now, you know about the Board of Supervisor razor thin vote to allow the Lennar Corporation to continue it’s controversial work at the Hunter’s Point Shipyard. What you may not know is that the movement to force Lennar to temporarily stop work to access the communities health continues to grow in size and scope. On Thursday at the Grace Tabernacle Community Church a packed audience listened to various speakers whose tones were both motivational and informative.

Minister Christopher Muhammad notified the energetic throng, “We have decided we are going to start a recall of Supervisor Maxwell. We have to send a message…for Bay View Hunters Point, we need someone new.” This declaration was met with thunderous applause, as many remembered how Supervisor Maxwell said nothing during the lengthy Board of Supervisor meeting.

At the Board of Supervisors meeting Supervisor Chris Daly’s resolution to temporary halt Lennar’s work on Parcel A was put to a vote. Supervisor Maxwell voted NO on Supervisor Daly’s resolution. The resolution lost by one vote.

Since Lennar began serious grading on Parcel A in early 2006, the Bay View Hunters Point community has had to endure toxic plumes of asbestos and arsenic laced dust. The health of the communities’ children has been the focal point of the movement for environmental justice.

“No one has the right to poison children-there has got to be another way to make money,” exclaimed Dr. Ali Muhammad, The Nation of Islam’s Minister of Health, Dr Muhammad relayed his tragic findings during his recent testing at the University. I was testing a little girl and some things just weren’t making sense, “why does she have arsenic and antimony…I’m not use to seeing this in a 7year old girl…that’s why the Minister(Christopher Muhammad) got me out here, it’s not about him it’s about this little girl…they just want to go to school and to have a future.”

The San Francisco Health Department has turned a deaf ear to the communities’ request for testing but Dr. Muhammad is accessing the people, “We’ve been testing all day” declared Dr. Muhammad. “We want to test 100% of the staff and children at the University and as many as we can of the community,” he added.

The majority of those tested have been positive for arsenic and antimony. Tireless warrior Francisco Da Costa explained to us and to the folks downtown why the community shouldn’t have to trade health for money when he said, “I see in the children of the Bay View the potential to do great things…there is a lot of talent in this community…[these children] give me a renewed hope in the family.”

In the aftermath of the Board of Supervisors vote. The San Francisco Chronicle attempted to pit the community against each other. In the article on the vote they said there was a “holy war” going on between the Muslims and the Christians of the community.. I’ve attended four meetings at Grace Tabernacle Church. I’ve only viewed unity, love and respect between Christians and Muslims at these meetings. I haven’t sensed a holy war but only holy warriors who are fighting for the health and the wealth of the entire community. Reverend Ernest Jackson, pastor of Grace Tabernacle Church spoke to the things all the assembled shared, ”We are linked as brothers because we all have the same father” Do those words sound like the brewing of some denominational flare up?

The issue is the Lennar Corporation and it’s toxic business practices. The reason for the charge of environmental racism is Lennar’s mishandling of the missing monitors that lost three months of crucial data about asbestos levels during the most active grading period. Lennar is the one who ignored citizen’s demands for accountability. The Lennar Corporation may have got a free ride in the Chronicle article ,but they didn’t get one at this meeting.

Joe Cassidy(Residential Builders) revealed that Lennar Corp. got an exemption from being licensed to handle asbestos. A deal was cut by Lennar with the contractors state licensing board to get them exempted. Now how did the Chronicle miss that one?

A few months ago at the Progressive Convention, I asked Mayoral candidate Dr Ahimsa Porter Sumchai ,why the mainstream media had ignored the issue of environmental racism in the Bayview. She thoughtfully responded, "Because the main stream media addresses the message in a pro development manner, there was no sustained focus on Lennar’s record nationwide. Around the nation it has constructed homes on toxic grounds.”

As Dr. Porter Sumchai addressed the church to let us know her platform includes halting the construction activities at the Hunters Point Shipyard then she lowered her voice to share a very personal loss with all of us, “My dad died due to his exposure to asbestos at that Shipyard.”

This community has suffered too many losses. It’s time for the entire Bay View Hunters Point area to start enjoying some wins.

by Calvin E. Peterson & Leroy Moore

by Calvin E. Peterson

Every day millions of U.S. dollars are being spent in support of the nonsensical war on Iraq; a war that is causing the population of disabled people to increase by astronomical numbers. Soldiers are losing their limbs and their minds and are coming home totally transformed.

In addition to this tragic reality, large numbers of black men and women, both young and old are being incarcerated for multiple lifetimes, convicted over economic disparities that are rooted in the perpetuation of poverty. Reports show that housing an inmate costs up to $66,000.00 per year, while the costs of educating a college student costs less than $20,000.00.

I am baffled to think that today being an African descendent, living in poverty with a disability, in this great big world with no parents or any support system that the fact that I am forced to live on the streets as a houseless educated man is by design.

As I think back on my life, the question that Marvin Gaye asked 20 years ago “ Who really cares “ is still prevalent and significant today.

Actually I have been homeless three times in my life. The first time was when I was a student at Long Island University (LIU) in New York. I was always an activist rallying and mobilizing against injustice, and fighting for my human rights.

At LIU, their focus was on strictly enforcing their administrative policies that curtailed the free will of the students. We were expected to go to class, go to the cafeteria, and go back to the dormitory. This was our only regiment. I broke out of that confined regiment and was punished for my actions. LIU changed the lock on my door and put me out of the dormitory. For weeks into (8) months, I was forced to live at a public hospital. Consequently, I wrote a letter to Congressman Charles Rangel who helped me by pulling whatever punches he could to get me reinstated and back in LIU.

The second time homelessness occurred in my life was after successfully completing my degree and returning home again forced to apply for public housing. The Atlanta Housing Authority ( AHA) at that time was not yet handicap assessable. AHA also told me that according to their policy , someone was required to live with me. They told that people with disabilities were not allowed to live in an apartment alone. When AHA rejected my application, again I was forced to live inside of a holistic restaurant called the “Here & Now”. The Black Nationalist brothers and sisters took care of me for 3 months.

The third time was not a charm. I received a positive response from the AHA to move into an apartment, which was not handicap assessable, yet. I mention not yet because AHA kept promising to renovate, then it took maintenance or the administration up to 13 years before the job was completed. I finally found someone to live in with me to get the personal care that I needed. She however did not want to sign onto the lease. So that put me again in jeopardy of eviction. For the record, normally I paid the rent on time. To survive, I paid my attendant instead of paying rent, therefore, I was evicted.

I stood firm on my position to withhold the rent in my own ‘rent strike’. I landed on the street once again, evicted! My day in court proved me right and wrong. However, AHA took issue with my stance of non-payment and that decision prevailed. Many of my DIA supporters stood with me protesting all the way to the Atlanta’s Mayor, Maynard Jackson . When the Mayor dropped the ball on my case, I was put on the streets, which resulted in my returning to live at Grady Hospital., for several weeks.

Right now, I want to encourage the disabled to stay focused on your personal goals. My book “Nothing Is Impossible” chronicles my challenges and my victories. As African descendents, we need empowerment tools to help us to combat these societal ills that are designed to eliminate us all. “Nothing is Impossible” gives you the opportunity to overcome obstacles that have already been conquered.
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My impression of the US Social Forum was the same as that of so-called mainstream society in that the makeup was exclusive. There was a diverse cross section of people in attendance, each going their own way, not always connecting. It was still a good showing of people who reject the unjust practices of the status quo, however as a disabled activist, I still had to struggle to be included and heard.

I witnessed the lack of workshops that addressed the continuing issues of racism and poverty in the disability rights arena. Although I had been asked to participate as a speaker and a disability rights panelist in February at the annual Poor Peoples Day by the national planning committee coordinator, no one contacted me further, and a workshop was not included.. So I was hyped up in the expectation of the social forum, but I was disappointed in its delivery. I am hopeful in the establishment of the Peoples Movement Assembly as the outgrowth.

About the Author:

Calvin E. Peterson was born in Atlanta, Georgia and grew up in the civil rights era. Born with cerebral palsy, he recognized early his calling to organize around the disparities in education and the human rights of the disabled when he founded the Advanced Association of the Physically Handicap in high school and Disabled In Action, Inc (DIA) after graduating from college. He is an educator, advocate, lecturer, program director, and resource to individuals and organizations that focus on issues of equity and inclusion for the disabled.

To contact DIA: disabledinactionatl.org / disabledinaction009@comcast.net/ 678-358-1180

by Leroy Moore

I want to thank Mr. Peterson for sharing his story about his life, his organization and his dedication to people with disabilities in poverty and how he was treated at the US Social Forum that took place in his hometown of Atlanta, GA. POOR Magazine invites Peterson and other disabled advocates living in poverty to become a regular contributor of Illin-N-Chillin.

The best thing that came from the US Social Forum was meeting people and hearing voices that were muffled at the Forum. I had a chance to meet one of Peterson’s associates, at the US Social Forum during the closing ceremony. I was excited to get to know about another Black disabled advocate but when I found out that Peterson had the same vision as POOR Magazine to advocate and talk about poverty, houselessnes and discrimination toward people especially Black disabled residents of Atlanta and elsewhere I knew this was the reason why I attended the USSF.

POOR Magazine was looking for stories like Peterson. This is the reason that POOR came up with the whole notion of the Ida B Wells Media Justice Center at the USSF where the media would be made by collaborating and co-producing with poverty, race youth and disability scholars with workshops led by these scholars and our own newsroom in an accessible, large space. Just like Peterson, POOR Magazine had been apart of a committee of the USSF but we were on the media committee of the USSF for almost four months before the Forum. POOR Magazine stuck to our guns with our mission and certain people on the calls agreed with our mission. We tried our best to push our mission by contacting local disabled advocates in ATL to make sure that the space for the Idea B Wells Media Justice Center was accessible. We were told it was accessible with a freight elevator.

My friend in Atlanta tried to find me at the Idea B Wells Media Justice Center and was told to go up, down and up stairs. She found me and took me to see the real Atlanta. After visiting one of the MAD HOUSERS Inc’ camps where houseless people live in small hunts in wooded areas, my friend took me around downtown Atlanta next to The Homeless Task Force where she pointed out lines of people sleeping in parking lots, on churches front steps and on sidewalks that led to the metro\subway stations with no benches.

She also told me the reality of fullfiling POOR Magazine’s goal of getting stories and having people in poverty pen their news along with media “experts” would be very hard because the city has arrested houseless people if they get close to the civic center where the USSF was taking place. Although POOR Magazine fought to get an accessible place for our newsroom at the USSF our workshops were still in a place that was mildewed, not accessible and very hard to get to. Because of all of this many of our reporters got deadly sick due to the smell of the Ida B Well Media Justice Center. The above could be one reason why Peterson and over forty disabled advocates that POOR Magazine outreached to during the opening March of the USS Forum could not find my workshop on Race, Disability and Poverty in the Media.

I was excited to see advocates with disabilities in front leading the March that opened up the USSF but my excitement didn’t last when I read in the Progressive newspaper that the city changed the route of the March to avoid two other local protests for affordable housing on a street that had abandon buildings and to help keep Grady Hospital open.

Mr. Peterson has experienced both, housing discrimination and working on accessibility plan of Grady Hospital plus he was born and lived there, but like he said his voice and workshop were not included in the USSF although the National committee coordinator of the USSF had contacted him. After all the struggles that Peterson and POOR Magazine went through at the USSF, we realized that we were still able to make relationships, networks and news that reached far beyond the walls and security guards of the USSF and that our new writers like Calvin E. Peterson and poverty, race, youth and disability scholars from down South, on the East and West Coast and in Canada have now joined forces with POOR Magazine in the struggle to be heard.

by Lola Bean/PNN

“Our circle is always blessed with our ancestors.”

The words danced out of Gilbert Blacksmith’s lips, swirled with the warm sweet smoke being passed from brother to sister, carrying our struggles through the air and filling the UN Plaza.

It was the International Day of the World's Indigenous People. This day is celebrated every year during the International Decade of the World's Indigenous People. This first Decade was celebrated from 1994-2004 to promote international solutions to indigenous struggles and in 2004 the Assembly proclaimed a Second International Decade.

On August 9, 2007, I was at the UN Plaza in San Francisco to represent for my indigenous ancestors and to sup-port and re-port with POOR Magazine.

During the ceremony, I had completely separated from my body. Not an uncommon ability of abuse survivors.

My mother would physically and psychologically beat me daily for lengths of time that seemed endless. During these periods, my spirit would often find itself up in the corner of the room trying to figure out what was going on. More often than not, my ancestors were there waiting for me. More and more, I came looking for them. And in the tribal circle, we were together.

I looked around the circle. I saw my brothers and sisters in struggle.

And I saw my family members from POOR Magazine. On one side of me was Tiny, co-founder of POOR Magazine and on the other was Anna, our Office Manager and mama duck. I looked across the circle and saw my brothers Marlon and Ruyata. And soon Rommie, Bruce and Vivian were all there together in the circle.

We at POOR Magazine are familiar and comfortable with the tribal circle.

We hold Community Newsroom in a circle, we have our classes in a circle, we hold our meetings in a circle, at the US Social Forum, we even had to fight for our right to speak to each other in our tribal circle and most recently we come together to address internal struggles in a circle.

Circles are the most natural shapes in our universe. They connect us to the roundness of the earth mother. They allow us to look in each other’s eyes when we speak. A circle represents balance and shared position. It represents endlessness.

It is the endless connection that holds us together during times of crisis and struggle.

As a family, POOR Magazine is taking a revolutionary approach to addressing internal issues by resisting the kolinizers model of accountability and punitive structure. We believe that we must look to non-colonized models of care giving, art, advocacy, housing, equity, organizing and self-accountability. Models that are inside our non-colonized selves, our own indigenismo.

I feel privileged to participate in this revolutionary form of resistance. This circle.

I have never seen accountability like this – especially in a family setting. Growing up, account ability meant that everything was my fault. There was nor discussion or reflection. There was no shared understanding or mutual respect. No will to learn and grow and strengthen bonds. There was only the violent will of my broken mother.

She was a wild child with wide Cherokee cheekbones, Peruvian skin the color of brown sugar, and thick ropes of blackest brown hair that defied her European bisabuelos. The middle child in an unstable family that was suffocating under the weight of generations of physical, sexual, psychological and economic torture, they called her “Monkey” and “Whore.” My mother was scarred from fights with her parents, her siblings, and everyone else around her. My mother was violently gasping for air when a parasite began absorbing the little nourishment her body had left to give.

I was born while my mother was still in her teens. She had me well before experience might have dulled the glint in her eye that made her look always like a beast ready to pounce. I was a living embarrassment even more humiliating when my blood forced her to reveal that she didn’t know who my father was. Half my identity lost in a 15-minute court proceeding. My mother’s shotgun marriage - an instant failure. And only me to blame.

Families in struggle will often turn that struggle in on each other.

Sometimes struggle occurs at the natural intersection of two healthy boundaries. Most often it is an intentional byproduct of a destructive, violent, greedy, and dominating people and the systems that create them.

And as most communities of struggle know, one of the greatest tools of those we struggle against is separation.

“We lived on this earth 50,000 years before the Europeans came across on their little boats,” an indigenous elder reminds the crowd. When the conquerors came, they separated the people of Turtle Island, and every other island they landed on, from our land. They separated us from our water. They separated us from our cultures. They separated us from our communities and our families. They separated us from everything we needed to sustain physical and spiritual life. But separation was not enough. The end goal was eradication.

Eradication came in many forms. It came in trails of tears. It came on paper. It came in shotguns. It came in liquor bottles. It came through diseased blankets. It came in the food. It’s been here. It’s here now. And it’s still coming. For us. For our children. It has many faces and may names, but it is all the same process of separation and eradication. It has morphed with time and place and peoples, but it is the same at its core.

Sometimes it was a sock on the floor. Sometimes it was an open cereal box. Sometimes it was how I looked or the way I talked. Sometimes it was for just being there. Sometimes it was because I “talked back.” There were endless reasons my mother would beat me.

I spent years trying to do everything just right. Maybe if I was thinner. Maybe if I cleaned my room perfectly. Maybe if I wasn’t so ugly. Maybe if I wasn’t so stupid. Maybe if I didn’t talk so much. Maybe if I didn’t space out so much. Maybe if I just stayed out of her way. Maybe if I did everything she said just right. I spent years fighting all the faces of my mother’s abuse. Those struggles never set me free. In fact, they only twisted my mind and my understanding of reality more and more.

It was not enough. It would never be enough.

I was another obstacle. Just another fight. Just another thing holding her back from whatever life she thought she could have if I wasn’t there. I was an obstacle that needed to be isolated and erased. I was an unwanted child. A bastard. A stupid, fat bitch. An ugly monster no one would love. I deserved to be beaten. I deserved to be hated. I should not have eve been born.

When the conquerors, governors and settlers first landed on Turtle Island, they decided that the land was not inhabited by people, but by subhuman entities that needed to be subdued and exterminated.

In 1830, through the Indian Removal Act these enemies told the indigenous inhabitants of Turtle Island that if they all moved West of the Mississippi, they would be left alone. This “voluntary” relocation plan killing half of the Cherokee population alone. It still wasn’t enough.

In 1864, Black Kettle was told that “as long as he flew the American flag, he and his people would be safe from U.S. soldiers.” Colonel Chivington of the U.S. forces killed an upwards of 200 Cheyenne and Arapaho peace-seekers while the flag waved over the chief’s lodge. Most of the massacred were women and children. Chivington and his men decorated their hats and weapons with the body parts of the dead. Playing by the rules wasn’t enough.

In 2007, Indigenous people’s are still being asked to fight to have their basic human rights recognized. How long will we have to wait until they are actually achieved?

It’ll never be enough. There is no treaty, no agreement, no compromise, no logic, no effort that will ever make it enough.

Their goal is to isolate and destroy. We must reconnect and fight.

I looked around the circle again. Through the smoke I saw warriors standing hand in hand. Warriors from tribes all over the world. The beating drums and chants connecting our vibrations. I found myself once again outside of myself, but deeply connected.

Here in this circle were people that were supposed to be separated. Separated by gender, class, race, identity, sexual orientation, age, mental health, disability, etc. Separated by paperwork and county lines and skin tone and job description. Separated by family history, wage, location, and access.

Separated by lies and illusions.

Just hang an American flag over your door....

We are collectively forced into believing that each problem is a separate and isolated. That our brothers and sisters are the reason for our pain. That our outrage should be directed at each other. That we are our own worst enemies. And because this message is so repetitive and violent and strong and unyielding – it is very difficult to fight.

But in the circle, in that moment, with our ancestors and with each other – those illusions were torn down.

I saw felt the heat of four different energies at play. The need to destroy, the need to connect, the need to fight, and the need to turn away. I sensed these energies moving through us and around us and over us and coming up and through us and connecting us and fighting to pull us apart.

I remember my mind desperately trying to connect its neurons together. I remember the devastation and tears and blood and vomit each time logic failed to hold them together and I was under the unbearable pressure of another loss, another trauma.

She said if I cleaned my room, than I wouldn’t deserve a beating...

I remember learning to search through her meaning below her words...

But if you don’t lose 20 lbs. by this evening, I’m going to beat you anyways...

I remember turning to people that said they were there to help...

Look, just cover up your arms and let’s pretend like it never happened, OK?

I remember longing for someone to connect to....

You have pain like me. And pressure, too. I can feel it in you. Maybe we can help each other. Please don’t be scared of me. Please don’t think I’m a freak.

I remember learning to fight...

This is not our fault. We can fight this.

“There is no distinction between our fights. Our enemy is the same.”

Our only distinction is who we become when we are presented time and time again with the universal challenge to show the courage to own who we are. We can choose to destroy or choose to liberate. We can choose to turn a blind eye or choose to fight.

At POOR Magazine, it comes down to “Show Not Tell!” As I write these words I received a text message from Mari, my indigenous mixed race revolutionary sister and mentor. It reads, “Like one struggle says, i got your back, u got my back, we got SOLIDARITY!”

In that circle at the UN Plaza, we were all showing our solidarity. When our brothers and sisters called, we had their backs.

Antonio Gonzales of the American Indian Movement said, “Aug.9 is a day all the world should be celebrating together.” In that circle at the UN Plaza, we were all showing our solidarity. When our brothers and sisters called, we had their backs.

Our struggle is the same.