by Staff Writer

Dear Al and fellow Tule Lake Pilgrim,

Misa Joo told me that you are in hospital. I've read the updates about the GBS. As Misa said in her letter, she and I are roomies when we are on the Tule Lake Pilgrimage. Me--I'm the one who is actually from Santa Cruz, CA, but everyone thinks I'm from Seattle because I always travel with the Seattle group (my brother is from Seattle).

Misa has done her homework that you gave her. Me--well, let's say that the sheet music is still to be found and decided upon ;-) Earlier, "flyin' high in the friendly sky" was going through my head, Marvin Gaye's song from the What's Goin' On album. Will see if I can figure out how to record a favorite song of mine from childhood and send it to you. The Pilgrimage is just not the same if Peter is not there doing Tai Chi, and if you aren't there to play those jazz standards on the piano. Next time, I'll sing if I know the words (except for My Funny Valentine--heard too many bad covers of it!).

Are you flying through the purple golden rose-petaled skies of the shamanic terrain that most of us only see in dream states? I just know that you are one of the few who sees those skies whether asleep or awake. Al, when you return from your journey, please share the stories with all of us. Before I fall asleep, I'll ask my guardian angels to send greetings via your guardian angels. I placed your name in the healing prayer box at my Qabalah class this evening. And Misa and I will be doing reiki for you. I'll be sending you pink and gold. Whoever is reading this might think this sounds silly--but i know you that you know what I mean, neh!

When you are up and about again, I hope to visit and say "hi, Al! what's what?"

Take care,

Shizue Shikuma

by Byron Gafford/PNN Race and Poverty Scholar

God woke me up at three o clock in the morning, a typical
salutation used by Byron Gafford to greet people in the mornings.
Upon my first introduction with Byron a few months ago, I found him to
be an extremely kind-hearted and friendly man, often with a smile on
his face. The first thing I discovered about him was that he was a
passionate and creative writer. He has written over 80,000 poems and
keeps all of them extremely organized by number, day, and title. He
is a spiritual man who practices positive thinking and enjoys living
life.

On Wednesday, March 25, 2009, he was let go from his position as a
contracted security guard at the George Lucas Building B on 1
Letterman Street in San Francisco, California. Byron was culturally,
racially, and religiously discriminated against based on that greeting
to a female Lucas employee that morning.

"Every day, like I've been doing for the past seven months, when the
employees enter into the lobby I would greet them with Good Morning
and God Bless You and no one ever responded back to me in a negative
way", says Byron. "I greeted everyone the same way. I never knew that
I offended anyone and no one ever mentioned to me that I was offensive
in my greetings to any employees. My supervisors have never expressed
to me that my greetings were inappropriate".

We at Poor Magazine are exposing George Lucas in their blatant
discrimination against Byron Gafford. They have made what Dr. Wade
Nobles defines as a "transubstantive error" by interpreting his
comment as inappropriate, yet they are without explanation or notice
of his termination. They have fired him on an illogical and illegal
basis and we need to put a stop to this hypocrisy. We will not allow
Darth Vader to strike.

Transubstantive error is defined as making a wrong and assumptive
conclusion about a meaning and value of peoples by looking at their
surface behaviors. In the sixties the Assistant Secretary of Labor
Daniel Moynihan was assigned to examine the black family as part of a
welfare study ordained by President Johnson. Upon his assignment he
made a transubstantive error by deeming the black family environment
as, "broken home [that] would cause negative things to occur in the
development of children".

Dr. Nobles is a tenured professor in Black Studies at San Francisco
State University and the Executive Director of the Institute for The
Advanced Study of Black Family Life and Culture in Oakland,
California. He says that Daniel Moynihan made the first mistake by
interpreting their values and behaviors from his own European culture.

"He draws the wrong conclusion", says Dr. Nobles. "So the entire
time he is examining them, there was this whole notion of families
with womyn without husbands raising children, which he deemed a broken
home".

Dr. Nobles goes on to conclude that, "The mistake he was making was
that the instillation of values in the development of children is not
tied to mother-father linkage, it is tied to a system of eldership.A system of eldership does not believe in just a nuclear family to
raise children, but it is the responsibility of both the immediate and
extended families to raise them, including aunts, uncles,
grandmothers, grandfathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, and so on.
Almost like a hierarchy of eldership, all of these elements contribute
to, improving the development of children. And so you have African
American people behaving in a certain way that is uncommon and
unfamiliar to someone with a European background, and it becomes
misinterpreted and seen as broken, or wrong and less than, thus
causing a transubstantive error.

In this particular incident, the female employee of George Lucas
found Byron's morning greeting to be offensive. However, by her
placing that negative judgment upon Byron, like Daniel Moynihan, she is
committing a transubstantive error. She, as a white womyn with a
Eurocentric background, is deeming Byron's entire cultural value
system as inappropriate as he is a spiritual man and an African
American man.

The day started out as a typical day. Byron started his shift at
6:30 a.m. as a security guard at the George Lucas Building B childcare
lobby. He was contracted by Advanced-Tech Security Services and has
been there since September 9, 2008. By 6:45 a.m., he was at his post
and by 7 a.m., the building was open.

At 7:35 a.m., Byron was at his desk performing his post duties when a
Lucas female employee came into the lobby. As is customary, he greeted her politely and commented that "God
woke me up at three o' clock in the morning". A reference to his late night work schedule.
The female employee departed while Byron continued with his duties.

He continued his day and took his first fifteen-minute break at 8
a.m., lunch at 10:30 a.m., and his third break at 1 p.m. However, at
approximately 1:38 a.m., another ATS guard came and told him that Mike
Mitchell, his employer, wanted to see him. Byron went to Mike's
office upstairs, and his other supervisor Jim was also in the office.
Jim then proceeded to get out of his seat and close the door. When
they were all seated, Mike said that a Lucas employee went to the
people higher up and complained about Byron. She said he told her
that "God woke me up at three ˜o clock this morning". Byron told them
yes, he did say that. Yet without any further explanation, Mike and
Jim responded, "We have to let you go". They took his badge, told him
to leave, and told him that would no longer be an employee there,
leaving Byron unclear about the situation.

This incident is an example of cultural digression and it is illegal.
As stated under Federal Law, Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of
1964 (Title VII), it "prohibits employment discrimination based on
race, color, religion, sex, or national origin". Byron is an African
American man and is a spiritual man, and George Lucas is
discriminating against Byron based on his culture, his race, and his
religion, resulting in the loss of his position. They issued him no
write up or any warning, and prior to this incident Byron had no
complaints on his record.

"George Lucas is a media corporation", says Tiny, editor of Poor
Magazine. "They supposedly produce diverse media, but have judged
and decided on someone else's value system and fired him. Byron is a
writer, he is hard working, he is supporting a family".

Byron Gafford was an innocent bystander caught in a transubstantive
error and was wrongly let go of his position under federal
discrimination and without any legal justification. We need to
combine our forces against George Lucas and expose this hypocrisy
before they strike again in our community.

by Mission Resistors

An Oakland mourning, grayish clouds like the courthouse building.

Looked like a skyscaper to me… As the people walked down the street, they looked scary to me like the building. As I went into the building with my parents to see the judge for his judgment, he sent me to another foster home.

I must have stayed there about 3 weeks before I ran away again. They found me on the streets in the Fillmore with the prostitutes, the pimps and the players of the street life. Everybody used to hang out at Chicken A-Go-Go on Fillmore Street. It was a restaurant for the prostitutes. The prostitutes would give me a dollar to go to school—-for lunch money. They would say, “You make sure you go to school, cuz if you don’t, I’m gonna whip your ass just like your mama. I’m not givin’ away my money for nothing."

They were wearing short mini skirts with high heels. They swayed from side-to-side. I used to sneak into the Fillmore theater all the time, like when James Brown came to town. I’d seen him for free—-and Otis Redding and Sam Cooke. I liked the song, “Please Please Please.” I liked the way he sang it and the way he danced. Sam Cooke would make the women jump up, holler and scream. Back in those days, it was a big dance floor—-everybody would be dancing.

Then I got arrested by a truant officer. I went to Juvenile Hall, then back to court. I then went to a boarding school named Frego Ranch School in San Andreas, California. I tried to run away from there, but instead, got lost and scared. I stayed 6 months at the ranch and later, went back home. I was about 13 years old. I was going to a Jr. High School named Benjamin Franklin for a minute. I would never go to my class and ended up running away from home again. This time, they sent me to Los Angeles to a foster family’s house. I didn’t know anything about LA.

The first day, I arrived at their house, they took us to Disneyland and I was gone again. I ran away... I met a white man going back to S.F. He gave me a ride and dropped me off at the old Greyhound bus station on 7th and Market Street, but the police found me sleeping in the doorway there.

I ended up going back to Juvenile Hall and back to court, when the judge asked me, “What should I do with you?” I answered, “Why don’t you let me live with my real parents?”

He granted it.

by Staff Writer

The eyes are the window. The light talks first in little beams that grow into constellations. So much beauty in the gleam.

Last Wednesday Alfred opened his right eye. That evening Russell asked, "Do you want to go to Chinatown to get some tomato beef chow mein? No words, just one eye, reaching for the sound of his younger brother. Al closed his eyes. Russell asked, Do you want to leave the hospital and go home? He opened his one eye again. Clarity in the look.

The next day two eyes open.

says, Russell. What can I say?

Utopia, Alfred's loving niece says, Al is moving more muscles in his face, including his mouth. Words are never far away with Al. Never have been. Thoughts have already been spoken for, before the tongue becomes familiar.

Muscles move the body and draw the bone. A tingle becomes a twitch, becomes and little motion from here to there in centimeters. The fight against atrophy calls those who know the way. Cliff Young shows how to properly massage Al's hands and arms to increase blood flow to the limbs. Phyllis Wong is doing Reiki, bringing energy to Alfred's body. Atrophy does not stand a chance!

Family and friends stand firm.

The hospital staff say, He is improving... which is very encouraging, but the sweetness of the words comes with an after taste. The elephant is in the room with Al. The cost of healthcare is beginning to communicate, the way it does when it is hungry.

Al's sister, Theresa, has begun talks with the social worker and those in charge of patient care for the hospital. The question is when to move Alfred out of ICU? Already the money! Already the costs, but we all know this is the price of living in the world the way it is. The other side of recovery comes with accountants, as blood pressure becomes a line item and the journey back sees the landscape of our common dilemma: how much does it cost to heal?

Al will be moved from ICU in a couple of weeks. That is the plan and the tubes will not follow.

These are the days of recovery now, the days we have been waiting for.

People, community, friends, have been the strength for Al and family: help when needed, responding to the call, giving room, and sending love with words and prayers. Amazing. It is all so amazing.

Nancy Hom says, Al brings out the best in all of us, even when he sleeps.

by Byron Gafford

A Lucas Art employee

That God woke

Me up at 3 o'clock

In the morning

That day.

With any warning

From anybody I

Didn't know that

What I had

Said to her that

She hated God

That much.

That at 1:38pm

I had to lose

My job over

Me thanking God

For waking me

Up this morning

3-25-09 like I

did every morning.

by Mission Resistors

When the judge granted the department of human services their request that I take a psych evaluation, my heart dropped. I felt betrayed by people in authority. I felt like my world was ending. I felt numb all day. I felt there was a conspiracy to take my children from me and my life was in their hands. I had to obey every thing that they said. As a mother I felt the need to protect my children like an animal that protects their children, but I was human trying to protect my children from the very system that tried to take them away from me. Should I take the psych eval? And let them take my children? Or should I go and get my own psych eval and compete with them? I didn’t want to jeopardize anything. I was afraid like prey that’s been caught in a trap, and knowing nothing but to protect my children. When I looked at the judge, Judge Gargano, I knew in my heart that he was going to grant the request. I looked at him looking at me with his piercing eyes like he was cutting me in two, section by section, saying “You little black nigger, you better shut up or else I will ruin your whole life. You have no rights and you cannot fight us.” I felt nervous I felt like I was by myself even though there were people around me. There was no one I could turn to.

I looked a the judge with his old, pale white face and he reminded me of Scrooge. He was wearing a black cape like the grim reaper. They had no reason, no explanation. Just because I was a mother I went to the right people to ask for help, yet they turned on me. I started talking to some people I thought that I could trust. The very people I thought that would help me: the dept of human services, the judges, the city attorney turned against me. I had to go get help from the Center for Exploited Children. I brought every piece of paeprwork, every doctor’s note, every school papoer from my children, I went to my church talked to my pastor. I went to go see my faimly doctor to ask her to write a note about my character. I asked anyone that knew me or loved me or cared about me to write a note about my character as a parent, as an advocate and I also took my foster child’s paperwork from when I got her even before she was born—-I had them all. I took it to the National Center of Exploited Children, finally someone to listen to me I thought. He put all of that together, read every paper, every doctor’s note, every teacher’s letter, my doctor’s letters, he put it all together in a document. I had another court date to go to finalize the psych eval and I took that paper to my next court hearing. I was told that if I didn’t take a psych eval and went against court orders, I would be placed in jail. I thought that was another tactic to take my children.

They say the squeaky wheel gets oil--I needed to keep talking. So I took that document frm the National Center of Exploited Children to my court hearing and filed it for the judge to see. And to my surprise, it was pandamonium. They said, “Where did you get this from?” I said there is a name there and I said, “I am not taking a psych eval.” There my story started getting worse. I was not afraid as I was before. I didn’t go to jail. They didn’t take my children. They were bluffing me all along to take a psych eval to use their own people, not allowing me to use my own.

But with that, I went through all kinds of horrible things with the system. During that time I hired an attorney named Craig Martin.

He was the only person that I could talk to that I knew could rattle the judge’s mind and authority more than I could. So all I could think was put myself in survival mode for my children because my children are my life and no one could love them like I could. With that, I decided to let him touch me in places I didn’t want to be touched. But as time went on, it got worse. He did what he was supposed to do and do the paperwork and go to court but he used it against me for the simple fact that I was a poor mother with no money. But I thought I was paying him enough with my rent money, grocery money, anything to keep his hand off of me. But that didn’t help. But then I would think about my children and I let him do these things to me. During that time he grew angrier and angrier at me. I tried to tell anoher judge that my own attorney was raping me because I was scared that if I let him go I would lose my children.

by Staff Writer

Paying Respect

(For Al Robles)

Shhhhhh listen with your heart

Brown Yellow, Red

voices of color

Rising us up from boxes

people put us in

Yes, I'm Black

feeling activist elders from all ethnic cultures

Combining communities

Through the arts

Black, Chicano, Asian, Native, Women Gay Arts Movements

From Manilatown to Motown

Homo-Hop to Krip-Hop

Koreatown, Chinatown to Chocolate City

Walking Down These Mean Streets

With Piri Tomas, Gil Scott Heron & Al Robles

Spoke political poetry

Real artists\activists

California Hotel residents learning from I Hotel legacy

Black elders strateg izing with Asian elders

Robles left a foundation

Of self-reliance

planting seeds that left POOR with homefullness

collective ownership

_______________________________

Peoples culture versus American medical system

Breaking up families

Kids in foster care

elders in nursing homes

Lost of kinship no wonder we die early

...........................................................

Folk lyrics of justice by Chris Lijima

Mixing with 2009 Hip-Hop by Blue Scholars

A Song For Ourselves

Burn Hollywood burn

As we write and film our stories

In post production for more than thirty years

No more ties to foundations that had ties to the economy of plantations

Untie the knots that keep our art and stories like

Manilatown Is In The Heart..

In endless production

Passing It On wrote Yuri Kochiyama

"Gave up dancing to become a revolutionary" said Bill Sorro

When Will The Time Come? Sang Bambu

Rapping with Ten Thousand Carabaos in the Dark with Uncle Al Robles

Ted Nakamura, Trinh Minh-ha, Raeshem Nijhon

Pointing their lenses on his/herstories for the big screen

Noemi Sohn, Mia Mingus mixing identity & politics of race, sex & disability

on paper in lecture halls and on protest lines

Grace Padaca serving her people and country in the Governor's Mansion

Aiming to be the first disabled woman president of the Philippines

The smells of San Francisco

Black-eye Peas, Burritos, Lumpia MMMMMMMM

Forms a cloud of aroma around the Bay

Dissolving boundaries following your nose

Into different neighborhoods

Meeting the real policy makers cultural workers

Uncle AL's' spirit will always be around Maniltown

Like the sounds of great jazz musicians

Echoing through the Fillmore at 2am

With Sakeone on the cheek cheek- turntables

Remember Richard Aoki, A field marshal for The Black Panther Party

Not your average Asian, donated first defend weapons for police patrols to the BPP

Afro-Asian, Latino-Cuban, Puerto-Rican Tribes, Afro-Haitians

Jessie Jackson didn't create the concept of the Rainbow coalition more like Fred Hampton

So I stand here in the oral tradition

Continue to learn from my elders

Beyond institutional walls

Paying respect to Al, Bill, Chris, Yuri ...

A rainbow of Revolutionary spirits in the sky going back home

By Leroy F. Moore Jr.

by Wendy M. Fong

I was born in Santa Clara, California and my first language was Cantonese. I think my first word was “nay,” or milk, because I used to drink a bottle of milk everyday for breakfast. I remember at four years old telling my mom I wanted to "sake phan," or "eat food," while running around the kitchen squeaking and stomping on the emerald tiles in my yellow mouse slippers. Thirteen years later, everyday conversations of "jo san, ney ho?", "sai woon," and "ho liang" became “good morning, how are you,” “wash the dishes” and “very pretty” overnight. We only spoke English. I did not realize what exactly had happened. When did we stop speaking Cantonese? I could barely even remember how to say “sock.” What happened to our language? How did Cantonese slowly disengage itself without any of us realizing that English had conquered our home?

Lori Phanachone was born in California, moved to upstate New York, and a few years ago ended up in Storm Lake, Iowa at Storm Lake High School. She is daughter to migrant parents from Laos and an honors student. Upon enrollment in the beginning of her sophomore year, she received straight A’s, including an A in English. However also upon enrollment and without her knowledge, she was classified as an English Language Learner (ELL) based solely on the fact that she listed “Laotian” as her first language instead of English.

Later that school year, Lori was given an English Language Learner test, which is used to access a student’s progress in English every year. She took the test and answered everything correctly. However, she was still never aware that she was classified as an ELL.

During the following eleventh grade year, she was tested again. In protest, Lori completed the test by filling in all C’s. When she turned in the exam early, she was forced to wait on solitary confinement for more than three hours before being excused. Under Iowa law, if a student is classified as an ELL, they are allowed to monitor him or her for a few years to track their progress. Yet the process was not clear on how a student is considered an ELL in the first place. Also under Iowa provision, students who are bound to be proficient in English are supposed to be technically accessed, but again this process was not clear on whom or not requires this provision. Although Lori did well on the test her sophomore year, Storm Lake misapplied Iowa law by classifying her as ELL because she listed Lao as her home language.

This year is Lori’s senior year, and they asked her to take the test for a third time regardless of her 3.98 GPA and high marks in all her classes— all of which are taught in English. She refused to take the test and was suspended from school for three days. They also did not give a formal written notice of the suspension. When someone is suspended, Storm Lake High School is required to give a written notice before it occurs. They have also threatened to take away her eligibility for scholarships, and participation in school activities including track team, prom and other extracurricular activities; then proceeded to revoke her National Honor Society Membership.

“The school did not access Lori's actual abilities and needs. They made no effort to test her English proficiency formally through a test or informally through an interview,” said Khin Mai Aung, Lori’s the staff attorney at the Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund (AALDEF). They merely based it on the fact that English was not listed as her native language on her enrollment application.

Presently the story is ongoing. “Storm Lake labeled me an English Language Learner when I enrolled without even bothering to test me. All I want is to continue my education without the school labeling me unfairly,” said Lori. AALDEF demands that Storm Lake High School remove all disciplinary action from her school records, assure in writing statements of further discipline also be removed, written clarification of Storm Lakes’ procedure for classifying a student as an ELL, clarification on how the school assessed Lori as ELL, and Lori’s status to be adjusted as a student proficient in English. “School districts need to have assessments that make sense and are based on students' actual abilities rather than broadly categorize based on blunt criteria,” said Khin.

As of Friday, April 8, 2009, Storm Lake School District reclassified Lori as English proficient and restored her National Honor Society membership. However, the other requests are still pending.

by Mission Resistors

It came without warning!

I was going to be homeless with nowhere to sleep but the unpreditible streets of San Francisco, filled with drug addicts, mentally ill patients turned away from treatment centers, and roving bands of gangsters vying for turf space.

There had been a full-blown shoot out in front of Ella Hill the previous Fall, and a murder inside the shelter itself a couple months earlier, a man shot during an afterschool basketball game in front of his young daughter.

Ella Hill Hutch, the shelter I had stayed at for the last 1,000 days
was being shut down, the staff member at the front door informed me
as I entered that cool night last Spring.

“Can you believe that?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

I could hear the fear in his voice and realized that it not only meant that we would be losing our place to sleep, but he would be losing his job as well.

“We have a petition over there on the table you can sign if you want to try to keep the place open,” he said.

by Staff Writer

Dear Uncle Al

I remember when

you was telling me stories

about the many manongs

and the carabaos

and fish soups

and singing

and the blondies

all traveling in the mish mash

memories

somewhere

like radio waves

invisible

at manilatown

and beyond.

they carry traces

of their history

and the tears

were the burden

of the futures

they were building

like the many seeds across

the American west

and floating across the

Pacific ocean.

Dear Uncle Al

thanks for the stories

you tell

to make sense of

the criss cross

mish mash lives of

young pinay plant

growing from roots

tangled

across different land masses

in the Pacific.

Ellen-Rae

by Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia, co-teacher, poverty scholar and daughter of Dee

My name is Vinnie and I make a living with this," his hands were small and Columbian--coffee brown, each finger rippled with the struggle of homelessness, racism and poverty as he carefully unfolded a 12-inch cardboard sign upon which was meticulously printed black letters stating Starvin Like Marvin. (A reference to one of the famous sayings of middleweight boxing champion Marvin Hagler.)

The indigenous circle of multi-lingual, multi-generational and multi-racial, youth, adults and elders in poverty who produce news rooted in community struggle, art and resistance known as Community Newsroom at POOR Magazine busted into laughter of joy and appreciation at the sight of his sign. Vinnie stayed quiet as his sharp, chocolate eyes scanned the room. Then slowly, tentatively, the corners of his mouth seemingly frozen in a serious stillness lifted to reveal a broad and beautiful smile. He shook his head in tandem with the laughter, and just for a miraculous second, almost unseen, barely caught, Vinnie seemed carefree.

In a powerful collaboration between The Race, Poverty Media Justice Institute (RPMJ) at POOR Magazine, Intersection for the Arts and the Mission Community Council, I and other poverty scholars in residence at POOR Magazine were blessed to meet Vinnie H, Carmen C, Jennalyn S, Rhonda C, Jon T, Carlos L, Raymundo S and many more folks that we at POOR consider poverty, race, migrant, gender, elder and/or youth scholars engaged in different forms of unrecognized micro-business (panhandling, recycling, day laborers, sex work, mothering) and survival.

Through this collaboration, entitled Mission Resistance as it focused specifically on mission based organizations and communities, folks like Vinnie were exposed to the revolutionary concept of poverty scholarship itself, launched by POOR's RPMJ, which honors and recognizes the scholarship of youth, adults and elders in poverty for the knowledge they hold, have earned and continually learn from lives of struggle.

Starting with the first magical day in March, POOR's RPMJ led over 35 scholars from several non-profit organizations such as Mission Neighborhood Resource Center, Delores Street Community Services, La Raza Centro Legal, the Iris Center and St Joseph's Center through an intensive bi-lingual media, arts and organizing workshop in creative writing basics, media literacy, media justice, journalism and poverty scholarship called The Revolution Begins with I.

Your 'I' stories of struggle and survival, to stay housed, to stay employed, to feed your children, to fight systems that are in place to support you and often do the opposite, to find shelter, to keep your families safe and your children educated are valid and significant stories, important community media, and what we at POOR/PoorNewsNetwork consider revolutionary truth media, RPMJ co-teacher and co-editor, Tony Robles explained to the Mission Resistance class on the first day.

I have struggled to be housed with no help from most of the services supposedly in place to help homeless people,Jon T, began his RPMJ I am exercise tentatively, wondering out loud if his story of struggle was valid, or was in fact even media...By the graduation ceremony of Mission Resistance 8 weeks later, he presented his story to get housed, fight eviction and eventually become permanently housed as a story of resistance and triumph.

Your stories of struggle can cause change, can be tools of change, my experience of struggle with the welfare system has helped to change legislation that works against poor parents like me,� co-teacher, poverty scholar and welfareQUEEN Vivien Hain inspired the class with her own poverty scholarship and media resistance.

�I was profiled, stopped and questioned just for being a brown man on my way to get a job,� David M, a soft-spoken young man spoke at the third class of Mission Resistance, barely looking up from his small cup of hot tea. Working three jobs just to save money for housing, David was silently dealing with homelessness and racism while receiving services from Dolores Street Community Services. In addition to the actual struggle related to poverty, David was dealing with a silent and more brutal conflict, the shame associated with poverty, a shame that inhibits dreams, destroys hope and kills spirit. By the last class, a confident and focused David addressed the Newsroom with the subject of his investigative journalism project: �I want to write about the impact of budget cuts on mental health services for poor people of color in the Bay Area,� he concluded without looking down.

Los Viajes/The Journeys - the Mission media of migration

�La revolucion comienza con migo!� (The revolution Begins with �I�) called out Guillermo Gonzalez, co-teacher of the Voces de inmigrantes en resistencia program at POOR Magazine and coordinator of the Los Viajes project at POOR Magazine, a literary and audio anthology of peoples migration/immigration across borders all over the world.

Los Viajes was the concurrent project of Mission Resistance led by POOR Magazine migrant scholars. Taught in Spanish to migrant & poverty scholars from El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico, Laos, the Carribean and beyond, this project incorporated the revolutionary �I� curriculum as well as beautiful stories of peoples' journeys across borders and lands to help support their families and folks. Through literary and visual art, this project also introduces the UN declaration on Indigenous Peoples � a new lens on migration to migrant communities in the Bay Area and will continue with several workshops and performances until a formal release in September in tandem with the anniversary of the signing of the UN declaration on Indigenous Peoples.

�Yo soy madre inmigrante de tres hijos,� (I am an immigrant mother of three children) Carmen, one of the members of Colectiva de Mujer of La Raza Centro Legal read an excerpt of her journey to the audience at the Mission Resistance graduation ceremony on April 8th. Carmen, who is struggling to feed her children as a working poor migrant mama, added with pride after reading her work of literary art and media resistance. �And, I, am a Poverty Scholar.�

Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia, poet, revolutionary journalist, poverty scholar, welfareQUEEN, co-founder and executive Director of POOR Magazine/PoorNewsNetwork and daughter of Dee, is the author of Criminal of Poverty: Growing Up Homeless in America published by City Lights. She is also the Communications Director for Justice Matters.

POOR Magazine is a non-profit grassroots, arts, organization that provides media access, art and advocacy to youth, adults and elders in poverty in the Bay Area as well as on-site child care and arts education for children through the Family Project For more information about POOR Magazine�s ongoing media, arts and organizing project go on-line to www.poormagazine.org and for more information about our education program for educators, professionals and community members at the Race, Poverty Media Justice Institute go on-line to www.racepovertymediajustice.org.

by Mission Resistors

It didn't occur to me that the young, black, self-proclaimed thug whose girlfriend I owe three dollars was about to cowardly strike me from behind with a wooden baseball bat. The back of my head and throughout my body was almost without life.

Over three dollars.

I lay there, trying to protect my face. The Barry Bonds of Mission St. continued to reach the all-time record. As the blood and beating continued, the fans accumulated and just stood in awe.

That's all they did.

He finally walked off with a silent standing ovation. He had the nerve to return moments later to say I was making the block hot.

I couldn't move. Warm blood poured over the back of my head, neck, back. I thought my arms and legs were broken. A prostitute helped by putting pressure on my wounds to stop the bleeding from my head. Paramedics soon arrived and asked me to get up on the gurney. They spoke to each other as if around an office cooler.

They released me that night.

I returned and gingerly, but purposely, walked the same block where the incident occurred. As the fans accumulated, I signed no autographs except for one, the prostitute who possibly saved my life.

by Staff Writer

Waking Up in Hopi

In the physical world, we saw each other only twice.

Once when I was not awake.

Once when I woke up.

Now I never see you in the physical world.

But you are always there.

Do you remember when I woke up, there on the Mesa at Hopi?

How funny that I was to find the fish and the rice right there, on that Mesa in
Arizona

But why not,

You were by my side, you and Jayo, Lou and Eddie.

All of you Manongs were right there by me.

It was no wonder I woke up.

Now you are asleep, resting, taking a break,

But, you are awake even when you are asleep.

You are still laughing, I hear you laughing and being so funny


I hear you asking me if I am writing.

I tell you I am, but I don’t have a lot of time.

You ask me, “You go to the bathroom, don’t you? Just write on the toilet paper.”

You laugh.

I write.

It scares me Al, where you might go.

Then I remember, you are no going anywhere.

The fish and the rice are inside me,

The mandolin is inside me

My father is inside me

You are inside me.

That’s just how it is

I love you Manong, I love you.

Pinay Kay

by From the Belfast Telegraph

The agricultural state of Chattisgarh was hit by falling water levels.

"The water level has gone down below 250 feet here. It used to be at 40 feet a few years ago," Shatrughan Sahu, a villager in one of the districts, told Down To Earth magazine.

"Most of the farmers here are indebted and only God can save the ones who do not have a bore well."

Mr. Sahu lives in a district that recorded 206 farmer suicides last year. Police records for the district add that many deaths occur due to debt and economic distress.

In another village nearby, Beturam Sahu, who owned two acres of land was among those who committed suicide. His crop is yet to be harvested, but his son Lakhnu left to take up a job as a manual labourer.

His family must repay a debt of £400 and the crop this year is poor.

"The crop is so bad this year that we will not even be able to save any seeds," said Lakhnu's friend Santosh. "There were no rains at all."

"That's why Lakhnu left even before harvesting the crop. There is nothing left to harvest in his land this time. He is worried how he will repay these loans."

Bharatendu Prakash, from the Organic Farming Association of India, told the Press Association: "Farmers' suicides are increasing due to a vicious circle created by money lenders. They lure farmers to take money but when the crops fail, they are left with no option other than death."

Mr. Prakash added that the government ought to take up the cause of the poor farmers just as they fight for a strong economy.

"Development should be for all. The government blames us for being against development. Forest area is depleting and dams are constructed without proper planning.

All this contributes to dipping water levels. Farmers should be taken into consideration when planning policies," he said.

This article is from The Belfast Telegraph.

http://digg.com/d1om3A

by Jennalynn Jazzmyn Stevens/PNN Gender, Poverty and Disability Scholar

I am a Gender, Poverty and Disability Scholar who has dealt with houselessness, discrimination, family rejection, and system abuse. I am a MtF Transgender Lesbian that has never been sexually active, but knows that I am attracted to women. In this column I will be talking about other misconceptions and discrimination that the Gender Variant Community faces. The issues I will be talking about are magnified even more by the fact that many of our community are low-income and in other situations of discrimination. I want to address well-thought out questions and concerns that you might have. You can e-mail them to removing.the.glasses@gmail.com.

What defines a man as a man and a woman as a woman? Is it that women like men and men like women? It is like saying that it is mandatory that cats eat mice. This is one of many misconceptions that a transgender has to deal with.

I come to you out of a desire to inform and educate you on this widely misunderstood concept. It is said, The truth will set you free. I think we need to examine this phrase a little better. When we look at the truth we are often guilty of looking at it through tinted glasses. Most of the time we don't realize it. When we want the truth to set us free, we first need to take off the glasses. This Column is about removing the glasses about transgenders. Now I will talk about misperceptions about the trans community.

First, I will talk to you about the confusion between sex and gender. Gender has nothing to do with sex or sexual orientation. Many people define gender as male and female. They make this determination by physical attributes. There are many problems with this; the biggest one is that there are individuals born with anatomy that is not one or the other. Another complication is that our social structure puts expectations on females and males. Many people have thought processes that do not fit within these limits. These people are Transgender or Gender Variant. Gender Variant people fit into many different groups. The important thing to know right now is that they identify as something other than what they were assigned at birth by society. It is also important to know that there are various different types of Gender. There are Genetic Male, Genetic Female, Cross Dressers, Drag Queens/Kings, FtM's (Female to Male) and MtF's (Male to Female) Transgender {Transsexual} (someone who wishes to completely become a gender other than what they were born), Inter-Gendered {Inter-Sexed} (someone who has natural physical attributes of both), Gender Queer (someone who identifies as no specific gender), and even others I do not know about.

I realize that one definition of sex is synonymous with gender. For the sake of this column sex is about what we do in bed besides sleeping. Sexual orientation describes whom we can see ourselves having sex with. Many people think that because we were born one gender and identify as the other we therefore are attracted to our birth gender. This is not true. The Gender Variant Community has sexual orientations as variant as they are, just like the Gender Normative Community. In both communities there are a whole bunch of options when it comes to sexual orientation. Some of these orientations are heterosexual, homosexual (gay male and lesbian), bi-sexual and asexual (a person that is simply not into sex). There is another sexual orientation that needs some explaining, that would be pansexual. A pansexual is someone that realizes that there are many genders and is open to a sexual relationship with any of them. A person does not need to be sexually active to know what kind of person they are attracted to, in other words their sexual orientation. If you accept that anyone has the right to be attracted to whom they are attracted to, then should that not include everyone? And remember everyone knows what is right and wrong from childhood, and you cannot help what mental gender you are or who you are attracted to.

I hope that this column has helped remove the glasses and clear your perception on the definition of Gender and Sexual Orientation.

by Staff Writer

SuperUncleAL - Super Tio Al-

By tiny aka Lisa gray-garcia

" we told them whatever they wanted to hear, Yknow right," his hands are branches - branches of bark and sand, and poder, his arms reach into skies and pull down moons and clouds from manilatown, frisco, to cebu...

"and then the suits from HUD came in, they wanted numbers and real estate and more numbers, yknow right?"

his mouth weaves stories of love and music and ritmo and indigenismo,

waves of blue

and clouds of light,

through his mind, his eyes, his sight,

silenced elders are heard when he speaks,

heard, loved and seen,

dreams are dreamed

drips of sweat from brows of workers become oceans of resistance

when he writes.

The People get might!

"manilatown had to happen, the ihotel had to be rebuilt , by any means necessary, yknow right?" uncle al's soft voice trailed off in the back of my hooptie landing next to the broke down toys, papers and tools forever stuck between the seats...

I never had an uncle - my African-irish-boriken-colonized unwanted mama dee
and me always wanted a family -

This just a dream til I was blessed to meet nephew tony -

And through him SuperAl-

superuncle - tio Super !

A revolutionary - a fighter - an elder to save all elders, - a poet to all Poets -

An organic intellectual

A branch of a tree -

Rooted - saving- holding -

embodies all that people just say

but never know

embodies all that is...

Community

Now temporary felled by corporate medical industrial complex - a flu shot perhaps -

A corporate fix that has harmed so many elders in our

Community

But he is supertio-Superuncle

for me and mi hijo tiburcio

family, poetry, strength ,

everything possible,

So waiting for him to heal

everything is slightly less important

everyones voice is slightly quieted

every fight is humming -

every lover is waiting-

every voice is whispering -

cuz frico's fight is on the 3rd floor of Kaiser hooked up to a ventilator

and so we wait

we dream of when we will hear your words of change - of love -

feel your hands holding up the skies

the moon beams from your eyes-

we all wait -

for Kaiser

to open the metaphorical gate -

release the backbone of maniltown -

superuncle al the Great!

by By Thornton Kimes/PNN

Part 1: Moi?

I started seriously wanting to conquer my 3-to-5-year cycle of employment-to-crash-landing-and-start-over-from-scratch (from the proverbial grassy roots, the streets) Summer 2008, after the end of the Goodwill job mentioned in “Who’s Budget? Our Budget!”

How does “success” in life, by anyone’s standard, happen when you don’t have a coherent “this is how we do it” handbook in your head—-primarily put there by parents? I was born a middle class white guy. The white’s still there but the middle class status got squeezed out like lemon juice into ice tea over 30 years.

I was allowed to quit and not succeed at many efforts after turning 8 years old and being a Christmas season Nutcracker recital clown. A terrified clown. Boy #3 of what began as 4 boys in a ballet class I wanted to be in for all of 5 seconds of jealousy over my sister being a ballerina. We mutinied at least once. Didn’t work. We lived.

My parents quit too--divorce. College was a family thing and it became my thing too, except that I didn’t understand how much work any success requires at the adult level of the game of life. Didn’t work.

I lived. The silver lining is that like many people I’m stubborn about surviving and finding ways to rescue myself—-with a little help—-from both self-inflicted and Capitalism-inflicted failure and doom and gloom.

The San Francisco version of Economic Doom And Gloom 101 and the Budget Ballet of Horror (you know what I mean—-ballet is at least as mysterious as opera without a guide who speaketh the language), the Gavin Newsom Show—-with or without Stimulating Stimulus Stuff to Stymie Sticker Shock and Giant Sucking Sounds—-makes bouncing back from demolition, disruption, despair, doom and gloom, so much tougher than it has to be.

I’m reminded of what it was like to be homeless in San Francisco in 1989 and 1994. Gavin Newsom has re-set the computer clock back to the Bad Old Days that got us the Gospel of Social Services According to Frank Jordan, Art Agnos and other Patron Saints of Not Allowing The Dirty Horrible Aggressive Panhandlers And Other Bad Poor People To Spend Our Tax Money The Same Old Same Old Way blah blah blah alakazam alakazotz Care Not Cash not lots of care and cash not lots.

The only difference is now all the shelters that exist (which, of course, aren’t enough) are linked by computer, and all the shelters that exist are under the thumb of you-know-who and the staffs of all the shelters that exist are so demoralized and overworked (remember that word “decimation” from “Who’s Budget? Our Budget!”?) they don’t have much reason to accurately count empty vs. full beds—-so we have a constant low-intensity-conflict war of words over beds and people wanting to fill them often don’t.

Part 2: Us!

In 1989 and 1994 I wandered the streets with crews of homeless friends met by happy accident until I respectively left town and decided I’d had enough “vacation time” the hard way and it was time to do what I had to do to get employed, housed, etc. Several times in ’94 it seemed like my bed for the night would be cold concrete except for 10 or 11p.m. late night luckiness for me and other folks leading to floor space at what is now Next Door Shelter.

The only time I’ve actually slept out was one night in some bushes in a park in Denver, CO, after a friend of a homeless friend went Mini-Me Incredible Hulk on us for some reason probably having to do with alcohol, and destroyed the door of his apartment we’d been hoping to crash in for the night.

by Bruce Allison and Thorton Kimes/PNN

Readers know I go to many meetings. There are buildings being planned, 2 of them on 7th Street near Mission; one of them will be on the Eastern side in the middle of the block next to the Izabel Hotel, which houses people with chemical and mental illness challenges. Two years of construction would not help any of them with recovery and might make anger management difficult as well as generating the unintended consequence of increased police presence and surveillance.

The main problem with these 2 units is the violation of height restrictions and the percentage of required "affordable housing" units included in the construction. Poor families live in the neighborhood and not only will they not be able to avail themselves of this new housing but also the mainstream tourist trade will experience a loss of housing for the population of folks that drop millions of dollars (and hotel tax monies) into San Francisco's economy every year.

Mission and 7th Street's Western side is at risk too. By tearing down another 50-unit tourist hotel (which also happens to be where locals regularly catch buses to out-of-town casinos--T.K.) and a local pizza parlour, local tax receipts will continue to shrink. This will hurt even more because of property taxes assessed by the city and sent to the state return to the community,but there will be less of that for the 2 years this project will take to be completed.

This project is not deep enough in the pipeline for public comment and outrage to be ignored the A/Z-SF Hotels, LLC has only gotten to the EIS (Environmental Impact Statement study of the impact of their project on the neighborhood) level of activity. If you are a resident of San Francisco and want to stop this project from going forward, write to the staff contact person (Irene Nishimura) of the San Francisco Planning Department at her e-mail address (irene.nishimura@sfgov.org) or by mail mail to 1650 Mission Street, Suite 400, SF CA 94103-2479. The phone number is 415-575-9041.

One more reason for concern/outrage: no resident of the affected block of Mission Street has yet been informed that change is coming to the neighborhood. It would be very helpful if this was mentioned in inquiries or comments by mail, e-mail, or phone calls.

If you want to contact A/Z-SF Hotels, LLC, call Andrew Junius at Reuben and Junius, LLP at 415-567-9000 to ask that Ò114-7th Street construction not happen at all. We donÕt need more housing for the gentry.

This building contractor would be wise to retrieve its investment by making the housing units affordable to 50% of AMI (Area Median Income), with proper tax assistance A/Z-SF Hotels could make a profit and help the blue collar community that really could use more housing. A few units for people making 0-30% of AMI wouldn't hurt! This would also help the city by lowering taxes and getting more folks out of the shelters and off the streets.

The tax money saved by not pursuing this project could be used more creatively to help people get the education and services they need. For more information on this and other housing issues e-mail me at bruce94103@gmail.com.

by Bruce Allison/PNN

May 16th at 5:25pm, members of SCIU 1021 were taking names as people from SCIU, Senior Action Network, Planning for Elders, Gray Panthers, Tenderloin Housing Clinic, and a community of others, including Access of Love Youth Program, were about to march against the mayor's 70% budget cuts that will cripple public health for the future. The banner was set out, "The Bad A$$! March." As I stood by, I watched the banner go up, and the token politicians stand in the front of the line when they should have been in the back for causing the problem. The politicians were Supervisors Ross Mckeriny (?), and Chris Daly, carrying his young child on his shoulders, as well as others.

The March started, the line kept going and going. There seemed to be about 1,000 people, taking up one lane of traffic, stretching for three blocks, blocking the rush hour traffic as commuters were trying to get home. The March was trying to point out the average amount of chaos that will happen when the poor are affected by the drastic cuts in public health. As I counted to see how many were there, it went on for three blocks. Then, as the only reporter who reports the truth, I ran towards the front to keep track of what was happening: I saw families pushing babies in carriages, and medical personnel in uniforms, just fired two months ago for no apparent reason. I saw SRO residents, and the entire poor community of San Francisco, immigrants, day laborers, and homecare workers. As they marched, I ran past them, up about four blocks. As they marched, I saw the beginning again. They marched into UN plaza, all the way up to the steps at City Hall. The steps looked like the Bastille, surrounded by riot gates, so we held the demonstration at the park across the street. Suddenly, one member of the march jumped on stage and exclaimed, “no justice, no peace!” We shouted that for fifteen minutes, until the last marcher stepped on the green facing city halls. The grass was replaced with people. When you turned around, all you could see was an ocean of people.

Fred, one of the organizers, got up to the stage, and said, "We have been keeping you this long because we wanted to show how many people are involved to the members of the march," she followed by asking, "How many people here are homeless?" Over 300 people raised their hands. "How many people live in the Tenderloin?," she asked again. Another 1/3 raised their hands. Then suddenly, a woman got on stage and said she worked for Tenderloin Health Clinic, she said, "We are now only allowed to be open 2 hours a day, and we take care of over 500 people a day." Another person from Curry Senior Center got on stage and said that their ability to feed seniors will be restricted to the weekdays, that seniors will not get nutrition on the weekends.

As a senior, hot meals are very handy when it comes to living in this expensive city on an income of $900 a month with a rent of $600 a month. Average readers do not realize that this poverty scholar needs to use food pantries. With those resources cut, I need to find another way to get food. There are other things that could have been cut, like overtime for policeman and the cost of drivers for fire captains. I know, as a worker, that social security is expensive, but please, pay the amount you owe, the city will pay the other amount. That will give the city 100 million this year that could go to public health.