2009

by Stefana Serafina/PNN

Homelessness always seems to happen to others: third parties that have nothing to do with the rest of us. Until one is faced with houselessness herself, it is the problem of “those poor people out there” that evoke--depending on the observer-- either pity or disgust. Faced with the tangible possibility of losing my own roof and bed for the first time in my 33 years, this is no longer an issue in the life of others. With unemployment money growing insufficient and unpaid bills invading both my wakeful time and my dream space, homelesness has hit home.

Yet, every Tuesday evening, when I join the circle of POOR Magazine's community newsroom, I am reminded that I have it easy: I am well-educated, with a pretty resume and a by-line, and have access to many privileges that most people in this room could only dream of, including a credit card. The reminder comes as I listen to the poor folks in the newsroom report on their own stories, in their own voices, hoping that by doing that, they can de-construct the media and social stereotypes created about them without them.

One story that sticks with me for weeks after it was told in the POOR newsroom is that of XXXXXX, a single mother of three who was evicted unexpectedly from her “affordable” home and put into the street. As she remembers the chilling reality of eviction night, her voice trembles: the little ones kept asking where they were going, the baby pulled on her shirt ready for a meal, and the world was a vast, hopeless place.

by RWS

Uncle Anthony always said funny things. When he coughed he coughed up words, names, dates and visions, some of which were wrong but somehow always right. Uncle Ant is my father's younger brother. Dad named me after him. Uncle Anthony is fearless, never afraid to say what's on his mind aloud for anybody to hear. I wish I were fearless.

Uncle Ant, tell me that story

He had a thousand stories, some untold. He had a way of getting names wrong but in his unintentional wrongness made the names better, gave the mundane some spice, the murderer a shard of laughter. He once related to me a story about a man responsible for the deaths of millions of people in Southeast Asia. He was the top dog in the country's ruling party. What's his name? I asked my uncle.

"Pot Pie"

"Pot who?"

"Pot Pie. That cat slaughtered millions of folks, a real son of a bitch. They even did a movie about him. I think was called "A killing in the cane fields" or something like that".

I sit as my uncle described the torture, the suffering. His eyes dampened in the dark glow of his living room. He shook his head and poured a drink. I sat near his conga drum near the wall. He'd just gotten it out of the pawnshop. It ached for my uncle's touch. My uncle poured brandy into a glass, making the ice crackle and melt. As he spoke my internal voice started a monologue:

No Uncle Ant, the man's name wasn't Pot Pie, it was Pol Pot. And the movie was called, "The Killing Fields", there wasn't any reference to sugar cane in the title. You always get the names wrong--always. Oh no? Remember Saddam Hussein, when he got captured? You phoned me in the middle of the night, your voice wrought with urgency, as if a relative had just committed suicide. You said, "Man, they just caught Sadat! Found him in a rat hole under the ground. The Americans got his ass now". I thought to myself, there you go again, butchering the names; it's not Sadat, it's Saddam. Sadat was the president of Egypt who was assassinated, shot dead through 14 layers of security. He's been dead almost 30 years, remember?

Uncle Ant sits next to me. He still looks young, like he did in the 70's. The dim light falls upon his skin, the color of sweet coffee. His eyes are small and see the smallest things. He never ran from a fight, or a mirror. I look around the room. Pictures of black and brown people blanket the walls. Everywhere you look there is a face in a picture. There is a picture of Jesus on the wall. He's black too.

"Come on Uncle Ant tell me that story again"

He puts down his glass.
"Ok, this is what happened. I was about 25 or 26. It was 1968 or 69. Anyway, I was in my prime, solid. I had 16-inch arms, narrow waist. I was in shape, weighed 135. I could move too. When I was a kid I used to knock dudes out twice my size. Bing! I'd lay 'em out with either hand, lay 'em flat out. One time I got into a hassle with this motorcycle dude, some kind of Hells Angel. He cuts ahead of me in the line at the liquor store. I was polite. I said, excuse me but I was here before you. The guy just smiled and put his beer on the counter."

"What did you do?"

"I lit him up. It was a beautiful right hand to the jaw. He flew across the counter. That was the way I was back then. I grew up with black and brown warriors--blacks and Filipinos back in the 50's and 60's. Anyway, after I knocked that guy out I went out to the park by the lake. I was never into drugs, you know, not heavily anyway. My friend Dave gave me some LSD, some acid you know. He told me it would give me wisdom if I took it, that it would open up my mind, some kind of bullshit like that. So, I dropped that acid, put it on my tongue. I'm sitting there looking out at the lake and all of is peaceful when things start breathing."

"Breathing?"

"Yeah man, the leaves were breathing. I could see the cells of the leaves and the liquid pulsating like blood. I said, damn what's this all about? I looked at the ground and it was covered in diamonds and gold. It was beautiful like some kind of palace. I was just looking at it all, going with it. Didn't feel like knocking anybody out either. I just felt love, you know, the way you're supposed to feel. The air was nice and cool like I could drink it. I got up and started walking."

"What happened then?"

"I felt like a king walking on golden streets heading home. I walked for a few minutes when I saw a black man and an Asian lady. They looked normal, the way a black man and an Asian lady should look. Then I saw a white man and I almost shit my pants."

"What did the white man look like?"

"He looked like a clown! He had a face that was red, white, yellow, blue. He had a rainbow colored wig on his head. I started laughing. I kept walking and I kept seeing more white people. They all looked like clowns out of the circus, their heads looked like balloons, one of the heads even popped! I'd stop and look at them and laugh. They looked at me like I was crazy. I even saw a cop. His face looked like one of those droopy clowns of the 1950's. I looked at him and I couldn't stop laughing. The cop looked at me hard. It's not a crime to laugh. He wanted to beat me, I could tell. I've survived that in the streets, you know. I keep walking and stop by the liquor store. There's this white dude who works at the register, a chickenshit kind of racist, always looking at me funny but he gives me credit so he ain't all bad. That dude looked like a clown too! I never laughed so hard in my life. The man just looked at me and asked me if I was high on drugs. I was high on life but I didn't bother telling him that."

"What happened after that?"

"I went home. I got to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I wasn't no clown, that's for damn sure. That was a long time ago, I can't believe how long it's been, thirty years? Clowns come in all colors. I've been around them all my life, the bosses especially. All clowns. I never touched LSD since. You don't need no LSD to see clowns all over. That was the last time I ever saw gold in the street."

Uncle Anthony and I sit in silence for a while looking at all the black and brown people on the wall. Finally he breaks his silence.

You know, I found God--I mean, he found me. He talks to me. It was never really about color, man. When you die do you think God's going to ask you what color you were down here on earth?

Uncle Anthony looks at the pictures on the wall then at me. The ice in my glass has melted. My uncle gets up and grabs his conga drum. He takes a sip of brandy. He tells another story. With his hands this time. And again I listen.

by Bruce Allison/PNN

As the crew at POOR Magazine are settling into our new digs, our scholars and techscholars were busy working to get the computers and office ready. This means that the elder, disabled, and poverty scholars have a space to do their work. This elder, disabled scholar has been keeping up my City Hall beat for PNN by attending three meetings a day to figure out the budget.

During one of my recent trips, I attended the Negative Decorations rally, where groups like SEIU 1021, Huckleberry House, The Coalition on the Homelessness, St. James Infirmary, Planning for Elders, and others were present, forming to create a 3,000 foot picket circle surrounding the south-side of San Francisco city hall, a line extending from Grove St. to the east and McAllistor to the west. With voices in unison, we cried, "No Justice, No Peace!" We then marched up the steps of City Hall, heading towards the supervisor's chambers chanting, "No Justice, No Peace!" We marched into the chambers and sat down, waiting until our item was called. They were voting on other things that day, like San Francisco General Hospital receiving a new backup genorator due to it going out every other month. In case of an earthquake the lack of this would be a hardship for the community. They had already spent the money retroactively without the supervisors permission. Due to the age of the genorator, the supervisors voted unanimously to do this.

Then our item came up, the Negative Decorations. A Negative Decoration is to take away the dead-wood that the mayor has kept in his budget, such as choeffers for fire capitains at a set salary of $100,000 annually, a minister that is managing nothing with a salary of $200,000 per year, or the cost of hosing the houseless at $100,000 for four people, along with countless others that total in 90 million dollars. The order by the President of the Board of Supervisors, David Chiu. Chiu said, "All people willing to speak, line up at the center aisle"

Me and three others lined up, including Bruce, the Director of Huckleberry House, and his allies. They talked about the budget, and how it will close a 40- year program for runaway youth. Then Bruce Allison, Elder Scholar, stood up and and projected his article written about the hosing of the houseless, and how the negative decorations would give back $100,000 under this program and be able to save the SRO Collaboratives.

After 300 people spoke in favor of the Negative Decoration, only 3 people spoke against it, one was Rob Black, the Chairman of the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce, claiming the city needs this business. Black was followed by a religious gentleman claiming that the prostitutes and lazy people should be cut off, pointing to senior homeless people, people with mental and emotional problems, women who have no alternative to feed their family other than prostitute, and people who are using illigal medicine to solve their problems. He was asked to leave after he had finished speaking, and I'm sure is still rambling on today. The final person to speak, the only republican left in San Francisco, said "this will raise taxes and businesses will close if you do this". This was after four hours of people speaking in favor of Negative Decorations.

When it was time for the Board of Supervisors to speak, Sean Elsbernd, through the monkey-wrench in the event by sending it back to the committee, delaying it by one month. The next day, I entered the Human Services Commission meeting to talk about a cut of one hundred people and agencies who assist in helping the homeless. This, along with comments from groups like Tenderloin Health, argued that they would no longer be able to serve the community. Tenderloin Health has 100 seats for people, wheras groups like Glide that receive the same amount of money only have 40. Due to these closures of shelters elderly and disabled homeless people will in the end cost more money because they will go the City General with aches and pains, as well as reports of loitering will increase because they will have nowhere to go.

A few days later, this pover scholar went to a private meeting with the Director of Adult Services, Anne Hinton, who used creative techniques, such as combining food services in the richer area to save meals in the poorer neighborhoods of the city. Due to federal law, all seniors in a group meal-site have to pay the same ($1.50), even though lots of them live in affluent areas. Hinton said, "I got bad news", She explained that she has to cancel the Share of Cost program that the city pays, allowing benefits for the homeless. I left the meeting.

The next meeting I went to, a few days later, was at the Department of Public Health. Dr. Marshall H. Katz said to the Health Commissioners, "you guys don't mean anything, all you are is a soundboard to the mayor. He makes the decisions in this city. What testimony these people will say, that don't mean anything either". Public comment began. 30 million dollars is going to buy new furniture for a building that will not be constructed for the next ten years. While doing that, they will have to close the Adult Day Health Center in Laguna-Honda that covers the entire western part of San Francisco. It will cost the city more money in the long run with having to put the Adults in homes and nursing facilities. As this poverty scholar got up and mentioned, "you can take a few less of your La-z Boys and open up this Adult Day Health Center".

If you are interested in seeing these changes through, write or call Sean Elsberned, Carmen Chu, or Michela Alioto-Pierce, the Supervisors of the western part of the city. Or you can email me, bruce@poormagazine.org. I will get back to you.

by Bruce Allison and Thornton Kimes/Facilitator

Now that the Stimulus package (Federal Medical Assistance Percentages) has reached San Francisco, the 50%-on-the-dollar that comes back from the Federal government for Medi-Cal, MediCare and all other gov’t funding was raised to 75%. San Francisco got $100 million extra from that. Only 2 City Departments are using it to cover losses incurred by the budget deficit.

The Department of Public Health is spending the money for Director Mitch Katz’ pet private projects, none that will help low-income people (with or without disabilities) get health care. The San Francisco General steam-powered back-up power generator breaks down once a week--a huge part of the disaster that the “Big One,” the next big earthquake that we keep hearing is going to happen in our lifetimes in the Bay Area.

All records of SF General patients could be lost because the database for the whole city is in a building that hasn’t been retrofitted to survive temblors more powerful the the 1989 shaker that burned down some of the Marina District. Katz and Mayor Gavin Newsom consider the F-MAP money a one-time gift from the government that they can use as they see fit.

The Department of Adult Aging and Disability programs are trying to cover their budget cuts with this money, and improve services were they can. Helping Seniors and/or folks with disabilities receive food, shelter and adult day health care is their job. Director Anne Hinton’s priorities are for the neediest people her department serves, not Newsom’s interests.

The Dept. of Human Services Director, Trent Rhorer, is keeping his lips zipped because he hasn’t figured out how to use the money and may be tempted to continue dealing with his duty to low and no-income citizens Newsome’s way. Stay tuned to the Bruce Channel for more on this and other budget-related news.

by Phil Adams/PNN

Up Against the Wall Motherfucker is the story of how a man made the transformation of privileged Jewish college student attending Columbia University to a civil rights attorney working in South Berkeley and all the birth pangs that go with it. Most of story is concentrated on Osha's days as a "MotherF*cker" living in slums of New York in the 60's fighting for ideals that nobody had a complete grasp of yet. The honesty with which Osha writes about his feelings and beliefs at that time is truly inspiring. It was obviously a confusing time not only for himself but for the country in general, as it seemed the whole nation was trying to figure out which way to go. I think Osha did a good job capturing the feeling and spirit of those days.

This book does have a lot to teach younger activists just stepping into the game. The whole reason people get involved with social justice and activism is because they sense some type of inequality in the social system that we live in. Those emotions that come with that can easily be morphed into anger and rage. What Osha did in Up Against the Wall Motherf**ker was he told his story on how he dealt with those feelings and how he matured and got over them. He also acknowledges how much all of those Motherfuckers who survived "sold out"and settled down. Over all the book is brilliant and how honest Osha is about conveying his emotions at the time is truly inspiring.

However, Osha does acknowledge the immaturity and naivety of the 60's revolutionary thought process. For all the wealth of knowledge and righteousness these young revolutionaries had the immaturity in the way they expressed it isolated them from the society they were trying to liberate, eventually causing the downfall of the Motherfuckers.

The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one
-William Stekel (Austrian Psychoanalyst 1868-1940)

I had problems with this myself. Originally when reading Up Against the Wall Motherfucker I felt like I identified a lot with Osha's younger days. I understand the rage at the injustice of our social system and the need to destroy fallacies that shackle the minds of people, whether physically or through language. In fact, he was about two years older than I am now. I think it's natural that young men who feel inequality want to attack and physically fight those who facilitate the injustice. The thing is the majority of the world is not young men; the world includes our elders, women, and children who don't identify as much with these feelings and who just want to live peacefully. So through acts of physical violence we are in fact exposing those who should be protected to danger. Violence may sometimes be necessary, just because you play fair doesn't mean others do, but trying to prove an intellectual argument through violence makes you a fascist yourself.

However Up Against the Wall Motherfucker was not about a bunch of violent hippies running around the lower east side. The Motherfuckers did a lot of valid revolutionary actions. Such as the take over of the Bill Graham's Fillmore East amphitheatre in response to the gentrification of the community:

Discarded sandwiches, cigarette butts, cans and bottles littered the carpets. Much wine was drunk, much dope was smoked. The program, such as it was, proceeded amidst a chorus of boasts, threats, brags and rambling fantasies shouted out from every corner of the auditorium. Bill Graham's green-shirted ushers stood by, attempting to make themselves inconspicuous, utterly powerless to control the magnificent chaos of the event.
-Osha Neumann "Up Against the Wall Motherfucker"

I don't think activism has changed much through the years. In the long view we are all people and we all have similar emotions and thought processes. Up Against the Wall Motherfucker is basically Osha's autobiography and how he dealt with the inequality he saw in the society we live in. It's the story of how a young hippie matured and became a civil rights attorney and true revolutionary

by Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/poverty scholar and daughter of Dee

"Don't look away, Jamal" From the shadows a tired and spirit-dead
adult lurked with a bowl of acid ready to burn into the eyes of an
unsuspecting orphan in the Mumbai of Slumdog Millionaire. "a Blind
child can make more money singing on the street," someone whispers
into the night sky. In a seamless filmic second Jamal and his older
brother Salim escape, tricking the omnipresent desperation,
destruction and violence of poverty that lurks at every turn
throughout their young lives. Throughout the whole movie, I
alternately cried and murmured my mama Dee's name, an orphan who like
she would say so many times, was like all orphan children across the
globe, unwanted, unseen, unloved and perhaps worst of all,
unprotected.

Iota by iota, I have lost my life, in faith,/ I've passed this night
dancing on coals,/ I blew away the sleep that was in my eyes,/ I
counted the stars till my finger burned.. lyrics from Jai Ho - one of the theme songs from Slumdog Millionaire

My mama, like Salim and Jamal and the small girl they befriend,
Latika, in the Oscar winning movie, Slumdog Millionaire, by Danny
Boyle was viewed as trash, a bother, or at best, something to profit
off of, by any adults who took the time to notice her, feed her or
shelter her. My mama was the illigimate, unwanted daughter of a
Boricua African immigrant and an Irish teenager. My mama was born in
Philadelphia.

"You should see that movie Tiny, homeless people here live in luxury
compared to those kids," a hairdresser acquaintance of mine said
referring to Slumdog Millionaire, making me cringe, Oh god no, I
thought, a movie that further creates the myth of "real" poverty
versus the experience of poor people in the US, who just need to get a
job and "pull themselves up by their bootstraps."

There are many different possible critiques of Slumdog Millionaire,
not the least of which is the increased fetishization of South Asian
peoples in poverty, with barely a U2 like, vague critique of poverty
and globalization. Playing to millions of people, who would rather
look to developing countries who have "real poverty" as it is easier,
cleaner, sexier, color-filled, simpler, rather than look in their own
backyard at the thousands of unseen, unheard , houseless and hungry
children and families in the US. Children like I was, at age 11, when
my poor abused mama was unable to silence the screams that lurked in
her head from her brutal childhood after the loss of her last job and
finally succumbed to those screams into complete disability, leaving
us in deep poverty and ongoing houselessness for the duration of my
childhood.

.... Taste it, taste it, this night is honey,/ Taste it, and keep it,/
It's the heart, the heart is the final limit..

One of PNN's former interns, himself born into wealth in
South Asia, and I discuss this movie constantly, his contention, it
presents a lie about modern day India, That a white man (Danny Boyle) colonized an art form already crafted (Bollywood) and made it from his lens. This is a very serious critique from POOR Magazine's perspective, we actively resist artistic and journalistic transubstantive errors made by default colonizers about cultures not their own. So this leaves me in conflict, because I also believe this movie depicts the reality
of struggling children in deep poverty, the desperation of survival by any means
necessary and the pimping of their poverty, by so-called "saviors" (a murderous "orphanage director" shown preying on the children) better than almost any movie i have ever seen. Then again, maybe I haven't seen enough South-Asian films.

So does this movie about poor folks, poor children, do what almost all
depictions of poor people do and have done since Charles Dickens stories about
poor folks in the ghettos of New York in turn of the century
Amerikkka. Through Dickens' Eurocentric, middle-class lens, he only saw
them as living in "squalor" "being dirty", and living in
"over-crowded" conditions and needing to be at best "cleaned-up" and
worst, "saved". In one stroke of his fountain pen, he stripped them
of their beauty, their power, their heroism, their sprit, language and
culture, resulting in the literary theft of their inherent agency,
and forever setting the narrative tone for other-ness documentations
of communities in poverty as well as the ever-popular to this day,
hygienic metaphors about "cleaning up poor folks".

To insure that more poverty scholars whose voices are intentionally silenced on all issues must less movie critiques get a chance to review this movie and weigh in on the message, POOR Magazine sponsored a movie night for our youth and adult poverty scholars in residence and our students in the Race, Poverty and Media Justice Institute that teaches folks living in poverty revolutionary media and organizing. We do a movie night, both corporate and non-corporate, several times a year as films are just another form of "media" to be read and critiqued by silenced communities. Almost across the board each of them were very impressed and overwhlemed with the movie and its message.

Our post-film discussion led me to conclude, this was a movie about what we at POOR Magazine call poverty
scholars and poverty scholarship, people whose scholarship is rooted
in their lived experience, rather than learned experience. Jamal's
brilliance, his knowledge, was rooted in lived experience. In a series
of flashbacks told to a police officer accusing him of "being a
slum-kid, not capable of that level of intelligence" was at once a
deft story-telling filmic trick but it also acted as a seamless way to
unfold not only Jamal's plight of love lost, his live-based knowledge
but also the undying hope of not only love but youth and humanity
itself.

Unlike Dickensian wrong-ness, Slumdog Millionaire was
truly a depiction of the power , sprit and strength of poor children
and families who continue to try, to work, to hope and to dream. In
fact it showed the subtleties of survival of underground economic
strategists, and ghetto scholars everywhere, who like my poor mama
managed to make it by any means necessary

No, I conclude, this is our movie , and the only problem is, other
folks, rich folks, who don't get the terror of endless struggle, the
unconditional and beautiful hope of very poor children, the work ethic
and desperation of poor workers, and poor families, shouldn't be
allowed to see it, Ever. No, we the very poor, need this movie to
remember who we are, the wealth of knowledge we hold, the deep
reality-based knowledge of Poverty Scholarship we all have, and to
remember that no matter how hard it gets, there is still hope, there
is still love and poetry and silliness, and beauty and above all, to
remember the connection between the struggle of people in poverty
across the globe.

.... Come, come my Life, under the canopy,/ Come under the blue
brocade sky!".. lyrics translated from one of the Oscar winning songs
in Slumdog Millionaire, Jai Ho, by A.R. Rahman

by Marlon Crump/PNN

Wow, I thought to myself, I just purchased some groceries, and I hadn't even gotten past the security monitor checkpoint, and here was a supermarket employee profiling me!

In the aftermath of my near-death police brutality experience surrounding "racial profiling" and even "class profling" by a dozen members of the San Francisco Police Department on October 7th, 2005 at 11:50 p.m, I felt that I wouldn't be "profiled" by any law enforcement official ever again or at least in this lifetime.

Thus far, I have not had any problems with law enforcement officials. It's fair to say that people are profiled by other people 24/7, not just from people of the law enforcement persuasion.

Given my years of unrelenting efforts towards raising vast public awareness of police abuse, racial profiling, unwarranted actions into poor people's housing with my voice/attendance to the S.F Police Commission, writing stories for POOR, filing a civil action (as my own attorney) against the City of San Francisco, and even going to the S.F Police Academy last year to motivate the youth recruits to deter from such actions; I figured that all forms of "profiling" was now dead............at least for me.

Unfortunately, the death of "profiling" was reincarnated. It descended upon me on a fairly warm and nippy-like March 21st, 2009 on a 12:50 p.m. Saturday afternoon from an unlikely source..................... a supermarket employee who was "acting security."

FOODS CO, a supermarket part of a network grocery chain located at 1800 14th/Folsom St (just a ten minute walking distance from where I live) has been a significant food chain for people in poverty to purchase relatively affordable groceries.

Many customers, (including myself) have depended on FOODS CO, for quite some time now, to keep their food prices relatively low to satisfy poor people's budget, at some degree.

Right after the illegal October 7th, 2005 S.F.P.D raid in my Single Room Occupancy Hotel, I went to FOODS CO to operate my food stamp card to get just enough food to satisfy the hunger pains in my stomach, as well as to the shock of my conscience of nearly losing my life to a dozen cops over "mistaken identity."

I walked into FOODS CO to satisfy those same similar hunger urges I had back then. What I did NOT anticipate was for similar shock consciousness (mental elements from my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) to resurface in light of that deep, dark fateful October 2005 night. Only this time, there weren’t going to be any deadly firearms to be pointed at me, by police officers:

Today, the ignorance of an employee was pointed at me, as a possible shoplifter!

I glanced at the construction renovations that were taking place, outside the store as I approached the entrance. Walking inside the store was like passing through a mini tunnel, due to the outside construction. This was somewhat of an inconvenience to the shoppers, because this was both the ENTRANCE and EXIT, temporarily.

The night before, I was told by a cashier that typically works the evening shift that the store would be closed for most of the week. FOODS CO was getting a "face lift" according to the flyer he handed to me.

This supermarket was always packed with customers, sometimes even at night where there weren't alot of cashiers.

I looked around various store aisles to determine what kind of food would make my heart content for the day. "Hi, do you need help with something?" an employee asked. "Oh no, I'm fine, but thank you." I replied, with a warm smile. I knew him from my frequent store visits, and he was always customer courteous.

After packing my basket with a pack of hotdogs, a can of chili with beans, a loaf of bread, a gallon of fruit juice and two cans of beer, I headed to the express checkout line. Fortunately for me, the line was very slim, and I only had a five minute wait.

"Your total is $6.35, please." said a FOODS CO cashier--a young Latino man, with short low-cut black hair, wearing square-rimmed glasses. I reached into my wallet, took out six dollars, and gave it to him along with 35 cents. He quickly gave me my receipt and tended to the other customer.

I packed my groceries into one shopping bag, doubling them to ensure strong quality, and began to head out the entrance/exit.

I was just barely a foot away from the store's security checkpoint scanner, when out of nowhere, a short middle-aged Latino woman, wearing a green apron bearing her employee FOODS CO I.D., stopped me literally dead in my tracks. It was as if she was Wonder Woman or Supergirl poised against her prey, though I was hardly the villian.

"I need to see your receipt and check your bag."

My jaw tried to drop to the ground, but it knew I was too shocked to pick it back up, so it stayed where it was. Why did this employee even stop me before I even went through the security monitor checkpoint scanner?

Three years, counting every single hour, minute, second, day, week, daylight savings time, spring, summer, fall, and winter. Counting every single food stamp transaction, cash transaction, A.T.M/Debit card. Three years, counting good days, bad days, depressed days, stressed days, emotional days, sick days, alive and well days.

Three years, I have NEVER had ANY problem at FOODS CO, with its employees, and/or store management. The employees gave me respect, and I gave it back to them in return. Some of the managers delivered warm smiles, and I returned the exact same smiles. Even the store security guards gave me respect, with a friendly nod, and I also returned the same.

Three years, and none of that began to matter! Today on March 21st, 2009 at approximately 12:50 p.m. my humility and reputation were in the danger of being shattered. The uncomfortable feeling that you're being treated as if you did something wrong (even though you had not) grasps your dignity and humility.

"Look at this. I don't see beer on the receipt."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't see it on your receipt."

"That's kind of strange, because everything that I had on the checkout belt should've been rung up," I replied. I showed her on the receipt where it said "Age Verification Bypassed" which indicates that a customer has purchased an alcoholic beverage or a tobacco product, without having to show their I.D.

Unfortunately for me, it was revealed that there was only one beer sale listed on the receipt. Rather than get into a heated argument exchange with her and cause a scene, I suggested that we both go confront the cashier who rung up my items.

I followed her over to the appropriate cashier. He nodded to her that he did ring up all my items, until he studied the receipt further. "Uh, no, I only charged you for one beer and not the other."

Then came the real shocker: "I didn't see you with two beers, only one was on the counter." My eye lids perched upwards like a hawk, as I was surprised by his words.

"What!" I exclaimed. "That's strange, because I placed all of my items from my basket onto this belt. You scanned all of my items. I come through your checkout lines a lot and this never happened before. How could you have missed this one beer, when it was with my other items...........on the counter?!"

The cashier coldly looked away from me, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that he might have errored, irresponsibly. If he would've said, "I'm sorry, I must have forgot to scan it through." Then I would have at least understood, because everyone makes mistakes. He didn't want to appear to have been doing his job improperly, so he shifted the blame towards me.

Even so, what ever happened to the cardinal consumer rule that "customers are always right?" I guess it didn't apply to me, today.

Three f@#%$king years!

After a few brief back and forth exchanges, I ended up paying for the beer, which I had absolutely no problem doing in the first place. Why wouldn't I? I'm not a thief, and I always pay for my items. But from what I was understanding it clearly from the cashier, he was implying that I must have snuck the beer from underneath his "radar." Buy one, steal one free?

I shot them both an angry glare and asked them for the store manager. They referred me to another cashier who called the manager on the store intercom. As I waited, I alerted my comrades on my own phone to what was taking place.

The manager, a short heavy-set Caucasian woman with blond hair and slim dark streaks came from upstairs to talk to me. I politely explained to her what was going on. As heated as my temper was, I refused to lose my composure. I thought that she would've been more understanding to this situation. Something in her pupils told me a different story.

As a spiritual person having been prone to people's various levels of energy, negative and positive, I immediately got the feeling that she did not believe a word that came out of my mouth. When she started talking to me, her voice, eye contact, body language confirmed the vindictive attitude I received from her based on my observation(s) of her.

"He's already told me what happened. I believe his word over yours," she said. "He's worked here for quite a while, and I doubt that he would be making all of this up. Why are you complaining about an unpaid beer? It’s not like it’s free." Tricia then took the "undetected" beer out of my bag, and was getting ready to put it back, until I told her that the cashier had just charged me for it.

"Where's the receipt?" she asked. I searched both of my pockets, and my bag that contained my groceries. I realized that amidst this madness, either the cashier or the woman that stopped me must have kept it. Now I only had the second receipt he gave me, verifying that I had just paid for the second beer. I showed it to her.

There have been many terms that define the term "profiling." One of them in recent years is "Shopping while Black" which gives a definition to African Descent customers when they walk into an average consumer business, such as a shopping mall, a grocery store, a department store, a liquor store and even a restaurant, and are harassed because of their descent.

Yes, it's important to acknowledge the existence of criticisms, "Oh that can happen to anyone, regardless of skin color." (Which is very true) However, statistics, reports, surveys and especially history itself, has proven time and time again that black people are always the most watched than any other race in the world.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been immune to the problems, speaking from SO many experiences, as a young African-Descent man.

This is especially true if there are black shoplifters caught and subsequently, there becomes a red alert on many black shoppers because of that one or two that were caught stealing. Notwithstanding, what a person wears also gives off the wrong signals, judgments and assumptions. These are the attributes that lead up to "profiling" and "racial profiling" via "shopping while black."

You can tell if you're being "profiled" or "singled out" when as soon as you walk into any kind of merchandise store, along comes an employee who decides to follow you around, or asks "If they can help you" barely giving you a minute to even shop for an intended item.

Even singers, celebrities and performer have encountered "profiling" incidents committed by store employees and cop........................that is until the profiling perpetrators recognize who they are.

The manager wanted to see both receipts. While I kept asking her to go ask the cashier to get confirmation, she stared at me for a few seconds, indicating she still didn't believe me. The reasons the manager had for not believing me were evident in her eyes.

The manager finally asked the cashier and he did confirm that I had JUST paid for it, so she then gave it back to me. Then I thought to myself, "Evidently I must have just paid for it, else what do I look like having a bag full of groceries, with only ONE receipt for ONE purchase?"

I argued that their store security cameras could ultimately validate all my claims. I suggested that we both could view the cameras. The manager's eyes flashed, and she sternly refused. "There is no way I am going to have you go upstairs and look at the camera!" I said that was fine by me.

"But I wanted to lodge a complaint against this store. I know you guys have complaint forms, and I want one."

The manager said that they didn't have any complaint forms. She wrote down the number to the corporate office, "Ralph's Food 4 Less" and gave it to me. I took the number from her, rolled my eyes at her then I walked out the entrance/exit past the Latino woman employee that stopped me, who was now wearing a skinny smirk on her face.

I quickly walked past her with a dirty look, shaking my head at her, as I departed from my former favorite supermarket, narrowly missing and dodging the incoming customers pushing their shopping carts.

Total embarrassment and humiliation, I was nearly put in a position where security could’ve sided with the store employees, if they would've been called on me. Even if he would've recognized me as a frequent customer, there is no question in my mind that he would've sided with them for the safety of keeping his job.

There's also no telling what could've taken place. A mere "misunderstanding" could've elevated into an unnecessary chaotic scene, where security personnel and cops could've been called on me, and who knows what could've transpired?

Three f@##king years down the drain, caused by three people's foolishness, resulting in the birth of my disinterest to continue my business at their store, and maybe in any of other FOODS CO stores, for that matter. No r-e-s-p-e-c-t FOR me, no c-h-e-c-k FROM me. Unbelievably unfair!

I'm a living testimony of "misunderstandings" and the effects it can have on someone. They nearly cost me my very own life. It's strikingly ironic that after my October 7th, 2005 S.F.P.D encounter, I went down to this very store before closing time, after being "racial profiled" about thirty minutes before. Here I was years later being profiled at a store, just a few adequate walking distance from my home, by an employee that apparently lacks security experience.

From where I see it, FOODS CO needs more than an outside "face lift" to attract more customers. The real plastic surgery should begin with spiritual surgery, with accountability to the characters of some of its employees and management.

The Ralphs/Food 4 Less Foundation to Donate Over $60,000 to African American Organizations as Part of Black History Month Program.

In recognition of Black History Month, The Ralphs/Food 4 Less Foundation will accept donations from customers throughout the month of February in more than 450 Ralphs, Food 4 Less (Southern California, southern Nevada, Illinois and Indiana), Foods Co, Bell Markets and Cala Foods stores.

All funds collected will be donated directly to African-American organizations with a focus on education, culture and heritage. Customers can support the Black History Month fundraising program by donating their spare change in specially marked collection canisters located at the checkstands in their neighborhood Ralphs, Food 4 Less, Foods Co or Cala/Bell supermarket.

http://www.prnewswire.com/cgi-bin/stories.pl?ACCT=105&STORY=/www/story/02-02-2005/0002944982

by Marlon Crump

"Biggie Biggie Biggie can't you see."

"Sometimes your words just hypnotize me."

"And I just love your flashy ways."

"Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid."

(Lyrics from legendary rapper, Christopher Wallace a.k.a, The Notorious B.I.G in his hit single "Hypnotize" from his 1997 album, "Life After Death."

The mid-1990s, found the entire rap and hip hop world being divided between the fame, rivalry, and media exploitation(s) of two leading legendary rap artists on two different coasts, with two rap names, two death similarities, both with one youth group of proteges, with one goal in mind:

Making it big. (No pun intended.)

They accomplished this goal (even after their untimely deaths.) by using their vibrant verbal ability into the art of rap.

One of those legendary rap artists was Christopher Wallace, a.k.a "Notorious B.I.G" also known as "Biggie Smalls." On Friday January 16th, 2009 found hip hop fans (including myself) storming to movie theaters, nationwide to catch the motion picture film premiere of "Notorious."

Notorious is about the life of Christopher Wallace and his road to becoming the legendary rapper, "Notorious B.I.G" a.k.a "Biggie Smalls."

It briefly narrates his childhood experience, his dis-interest from having any further interests of high school, his open arms to the drug dealing, the life leisures that motivated him, running from the common cop on the block, brief incarcerations, bearing a daughter, marriage, his ultimate rise to the top of rap fame in the rap game (industry), until his fall from grace into unknown gunfire, are all wrapped up into this film.

Violetta Wallace, (mother of Biggie Smalls) and Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs (founder of Bad Boy Records.) helped produced "Notorious" during its October 2007 casting call for the movie production.

"Do or die Bedsty."

Bedford-Stuyvesant is the section of Brooklyn, New York where Christopher Wallace (played by Jamal Woolard, a real life Brooklyn based rapper.) was born and raised. My ears snatched these words, as they boomed into movie audience, alongside of the sound quality of "surround sound" that deafened people's ears, in addition.

The movie begins with Biggie's death, on March 9th, 1997. Biggie, his friends, and other artists of the record company called Bad Boy, are planning to attend an after-party hosted by Vibe Magazine and Qwest Records, in Los Angeles. While the sounds of their happiness could be heard distinctively as they drive along an intersection, the sound of a car pulling up to Biggie's, with a gun, a single shot, then Biggie's head jerking sideways were heard up close.

Woolard narrates throughout the entire film, of his character portrayal's life story, beginning with Wallace's childhood, and the cruel comments made by a couple of girls at him because of his large weight size and unattractive looks. Though saddened by these remarks, Young Christopher Wallace (played by the actual real Christopher Wallace Jr, Biggie Smalls son.) turns his attention toward writing rap lyrics on his notepad, and practices rapping the lyrics, aloud.

"$100, is that all he's worth to you?" scowls Violetta Wallace, in a scene (played by actress, Angela Basset) to the father of their son. After the father leaves, Miss Wallace comforts Christopher and assures him that she would take care of him, no matter what.

The movie accelerates into scenes where Christopher longs for the finer things in life, as he began to view the world around him. Young men like him were wearing expensive clothing, coats, jewelry, shoes, etc, immediately enticed him into wanting to make big dollars, which found him on the neighborhood block selling drugs.

He ignores the pleas/warnings/face slaps from his mother to stop his criminal activity in the streets. In school, Christopher solves a seemingly-difficult algebra math problem, at the surprise of his teacher, then clowns him when he does a math problem of his own, on the blackboard.

After Christopher does a comparison between the difference between what he, a professional worker and than the other would make on their salary; Christopher subtracts the problem and gave his sarcastic thought to the answer: "I'd be making $4,000 more than his dumbass!" The classroom erupts in laughter, while the teacher erupted with anger telling Christopher to leave.

When Christopher gets busted, his mother refuses to bail him out of jail. Along with administering "tough love" she asks him to recite the Bible verse, "Yay though I walk through the shadow of death......" Those words seemed to echo at Christopher, causing him to read more verses to the Bible, as well as commit to improvements towards writing down his lyric skills as he lay in his jail cell.

Christopher finds himself in a rap confrontation competition with a well-known neighborhood rapper. Proving that he was worthy of being the future "Greatest Rapper of all time" Christopher's words swiftly spit out like rapid ammo from an AK-47, resulting in his opponent's rap beat defeat much to the delight of the onlookers on the street.

After a second arrest occurrence for illegal possession of a firearm, Christopher is arrested along with his friend, D-Roc. D-Roc takes the blame for Christopher because he sees his ability to one day become successful. "If you make it, we ALL make it!"

Notorious shows the women in Biggie's life. Jan, mother of Christopher's first child, T'yanna his sexual relationship and verbal assaults to rapper and female vocal artist of Bad Boy Records, Lil Kim (played by Naturi Naughton), and his marriage to R&B singer Faith Evans.

"Don't chase the paper, chase the dream!"
(Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs to Biggie."

Notorious mildly shows the intimate relationship between Christopher Wallace and Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs (played by Derek Luke). Their first encounter begins with a bit of uncertainty because Combs is concerned about Christopher's "steady income", and how he gets it.

Despite the barriers that gets thrown in their face, such as Combs getting fired from Uptown Records A&R, Christopher's mom diagnosed with breast cancer, and his depression; they both finally make the big time after Combs establishes his own record label, which came to be Bad Boy Records, along with the big success of Biggie's "Ready to Die" album, where he quickly shot to the top of the music charts, and appeared on many big named magazines publications.

It is here where Christopher Wallace truly becomes the Notorious B.I.G, a.k.a Biggie Smalls to the world.

As I continued watching the film, the most anticipated scene I awaited in Notorious arrived: Biggie Smalls and his friendship-turned-rivalry with another legendary rapper, Tupac Shakur!

I think that it was here when I believe people's excitement began to rise onto movie theaters everywhere, and not just in the movie theater that I was in, in anticipation of this film's depiction of the feud between these legendary rap artists that fueled the"East Coast vs West Coast" rap war phenomenon.

Those that might have been sleeping, going back and forth to the bathroom, or making out with their girlfriend became immediately attentive in this scene and the ones that followed, throughout the film.

Even just from the film's depiction of Biggie and Pac's relationship and rivalries on the big screen, raised some emotions for survivors, members, and observers of the "East Coast vs West Coast" rap war, which died (or at least died) down down when its rap lyric leaders died.

Tupac Shakur a.k.a 2Pac (played by Anthony Mackie) is already well-known in the rap and movie industry. For a few short scenes, and occasions, Shakur and Biggie talk about how much admirations they have for each others success. It was almost hard to believe how these two rap titans would become mortal enemies.

Although Tupac believed and contended even to his death that Biggie and Puff Daddy had prior knowledge as to the information of the man that robbed and shot him, as he entered the lobby of Quad Recording Studios, in Manhattan, New York; Biggie and Puffy always denied Pac's accusations.

From the "Notorious" version of that event, Biggie questions Tupac of how well he knew of the man that was hanging around him, who wore army fatigue. Tupac said he was cool, but Biggie felt otherwise.

I felt the surround sound in the movie grow louder indicating something intense was getting ready to happen in the next scene, where Pac was shot in the 1994 New York robbery shooting.

Lil Cease, Biggie's cousin (member of Bad Boy's Junior M.A.F.I.A and Biggie's protege rap youth group.) happily greets Pac from the rooftops, and Pac returns the same love.

The scenes of Lil Cease going back downstairs via elevator, hearing shots ring out, having a gun and and an angry voice instructing him to get back on the elevator, Biggie being informed of the commotion by Lil Cease, Biggie grabbing his gun to investigate, N.Y.P.D Police members appear brandishing their own firearms, became the emotional embodiment for everyone worldwide that loved Tupac in what took place next.

"Which one of ya'll motherf@#%% shot me?! Ya'll motherf!@# set me up!!" Tupac screams, as he struggled from his bullet-wounds to get to his feet, and as he struggled to light his cigarette in front of a crowd of onlookers. Puffy comes to his aid, but Pac screams at him to get away from him.

It was at this moment where the rap war of "East Coast vs West Coast"is born. One thing that I noticed from this entire situation was that corporate mainstream media IMMEDIATELY seized the advantage to perpetuate the so-called "Black on Black." (A derogatory term by media in defining the homicidal deaths between young African Descent men.)

Rather than give exposure to the onetime friendship of these two talented rap artists and performers; corporate media hyped, elevated, and exploited the rivalry to further encourage even more violence in communities of color, by a way of competition.

Media furthermore blatantly refused to view and acknowledge them as two multi-talented artists with a feud, to justify its negative definition of rap/hip hop as being nothing more than "gangsta rap" in their campaign to destroy a cultural art.

From that time on, from the 1994 Tupac shooting, his release from jail on a sexual assault conviction after being bailed out by Death Row Records co-founder, Marian "Suge" Knight (played by Sean Ringgold), Pac and Biggie were verbally vicious at each other throats, by ways of hit song singles, music events, and even television onstage appearances. (One of those was the 1995 Source Awards.)

"So I f@#$$ your bitch
You fat mutha-@@#$ {Take Money}

West Side

Bad Boy Killers {Take Money}

You know who the realist is
Ni@@# we bring it to {Take Money}

[ha ha, that's alright]"

?

Lyrics from 2Pac's hit single, "Hit Em Up!" This song attacks Biggie, and Bad Boy. Pac boasts that he had a sexual intimate encounter with Biggie's wife, Faith Evans.

"Who shot ya?"

West coast mother@#$s...

West coast mother@#$%s... hah!

As we proceed, to give you what you need

As we proceed
to give you what you need

Get live mother@#$%s

9 to 5 mother!@#$#$s

Get money mother@#$%s"

Lyrics from hit single by Biggie Smalls, "Who shot ya?" from his 1994 album, "Ready to Die." 2Pac, Suge Knight, and many fans believe this was a subliminal diss (attack) by Biggie following the 1994 New York shooting, but Biggie and Puffy deny these allegations.

Notorious began to come to a close with the shooting deaths of 2Pac on September 7th, 1996 and the death of Biggie Smalls, six months later on March 9th, 1997. Biggie finds hardship in dealing with the shocking death of 2Pac, his dying relationship with his friend, Lil Kim and wife Faith Evans.

"I'm going, going.

Back, back

to Cali, Cali."

Lyrics From the Biggie Smalls hit single, "Going back to Cali" off of his 1997 album, "Life After Death."

Just the way "Notorious" started, is the way it ended. Though Biggie found himself in a car accident, life flashbacks, telling his daughter to never let a man disrespect her by calling her a "bitch" or his ignoring the constant death threats he received, or the pleas from his own mother to not to go to Los Angeles; Biggie was determined to move forward with his rap career.

Biggie says "We're in L.A, I want to give it all back, and "I felt that on this night, God was giving me a clean slate."All I could hear was that same surround sound level quality in the movie that alerted you when something bad was going to happened.

In the remarkable similar scenario as his hip hop rival 2Pac had encountered just six months before, Biggie is tragically felled by bullets, unknown, probably never even hearing the first shot.

All could be heard next, is the distinct yells, pleas, and cries for help as his friends of Bad Boy rush him to a nearby hospital, and the sound of his signature dark brimmed top hat hitting that dark deserted intersection of L.A.

After Puff Daddy asks Violetta Wallace if there was anything he could ever do for her during Biggie's funeral, her eyes met his, still clouded with her tears.

"I just want to take my son home."

In that, she returned his body to his birthplace where she and her son were quickly greeted with a hero's welcome. The sounds of "Hypnotize" could be heard among the deafening cheers of the massive fans that suffocated her and her son, Biggie Smalls.

Notorious is not only just a film about a legendary rapper, but it is also a film that exposes struggles for every young man of color everywhere to climb out of poverty, and many wanting to be rich.

It reveals their struggles to be seen and heard while trying to earn a shot in the hip hop spotlight, the extra-barriers and hurdles thrown their way, their combat against the coverages perpetuated by media's racist stereotypes, their engaging or resisting temptations that will corrupt their careers, and their prayer to Almighty God that they live to continue on with their work.

by Thornton Kimes/PNN

“The city! The city belongs to us!
We don’t need more budget cuts!”
--Dee Allen protest chant

The GA/PAES (San Francisco welfare) worker said, “We can talk to
everyone about you except the Unemployment people. That’s your
responsibility.” I felt like a tennis ball, bounced from a desk in
one building to one in another with a phone on it—and the Unemployment
voice on the other end of the line asked questions from I don’t know
how far away.

How did I get into this mess? Short answer: come close to that “You
can’t fire me, I quit!” knife-edged cliff, decide my last job lost
whatever charm was left even if HR wanted to do more than issue me a
pink slip. I resigned from Goodwill.

The long answer goes back to 1989, just before, during, and after the
earthquake in San Francisco—-though, in truth, it goes much farther
back. But TODAY is, among other things, my 4th time to be enrolled in
the city’s “Hellfare” fun-house hall of mirrors
more-than-3-ring-Catch-22 circus.

Today, we’re eyeballs deep in the economic crisis (Calgon, um, Obama
Take Me Awayyyyy...) that the high stakes capitalists of Wall Street
created and could no longer hide (sort of like those guys you see on
street corners playing that game with the pebble or the coin hidden
under one of three cups, the game that usually empties some of your
wallet—-THOSE guys are good at deception...).

The national and world economy is a ghost of itself, the California
economy was in trouble before the sub-prime mortgage filthy
mcnastiness raised its ugly head to the light of day-—and, yes,
yup-yup, San Francisco is in deep waters too.

The Board of Supervisors and the Mayor are faced with a $500
million-plus budget deficit, though it does seem like Gavin Newsom is
acting like a damsel in distress tied to the railroad tracks, wailing
about how there isn’t anything to be done but what must be done—-that
train is gonna shred some flesh from the bones no matter what!

Millions of dollars in cuts have already been made to health care and
other services to very low-income and no-income, barely-housed and
homeless citizens of San Francisco, some of them so stunning in the
scope of what they do to everyone like me that I’m fer sure havin’
that deer in the SUV-blinding-halogen-headlights feeling.

I’ve spent time in the homeless shelter now called Next Door (Geary
and Polk Streets) twice, both times for about 6 months. Next Door and
its country cousin MSC (Multi-Service Center) South, at 5th and Bryant
Streets, are, as you read this, no longer providing 6-month-long case
management beds to stabilize the transition from homeless to housed
for men and women who are healthy, have jobs or want to work. If the
next round of proposed cuts happen, there will be no shelter in San
Francisco providing anything you could call a “stabilizing influence”
for anyone in need.

So much for the “10 Year Plan To End Homelessness”. Feh! to “Care Not
Cash”! Newsome and the Supes say the budget is effed and you and you
and you are too. They don’t have the will, unless many San
Franciscans pressure them to cut other things from the budget—items
like the Opera, Symphony, Ballet, that have deep-pocketed patrons well
capable of covering whatever the city can’t, plus the true
administrative fat--some of it bulging from Newsome’s administrative
waist.

I’ve been to two meetings of the Human Services Commission and given
short public comments. The second one was attended by Newsome, who
told the Commission he hates cutting social service safety net
budgets-—but ya gotta do what ya gotta do! Badda bing.

Newsom almost had a shoe thrown at him, but the man behind me trying
to take off the symbolic missile he was wearing was stopped by someone
else demanding that he “show
some respect”.I started wondering if I will regret not shoeing Gavin
Newsom myself, since the man who did it to Bush has considerable
popular support in Iraq.

I went to the March 2nd, 2009 Town Hall Meeting at the Unitarian
Universalist Church at 1187 Franklin Street, just a few blocks from my
SRO hotel, to find out what some Supes in attendance had to say. The
public was going to have its say too and I wanted to deliver some of
my increasing displeasure, fear, and well, regrets about shoes.

There’s an old saying: not enough room to swing a dead cat. Even the
welfare social workers are getting to know what that means. My PAES
case manager recently said her department had been “decimated”.

Decimation, an old word and a nasty punishment—-the Roman Empire used
it, executing 1 in 10 people, be they ordinary citizens, slaves or
soldiers, for mutinies, riots, and other uprisings. City Hall workers
and welfare social workers were hacked and slashed with pink slips
before the Town Hall meeting, and I have a new case manager. Probably
no need to guess what happened to the “old” one.

There were other people there to speak as well, members of the staffs
of organizations helping those of us most in need of assistance.
Colleen Rivecca of the St. Anthony Foundation gave an overview of the
city budget process. She would have had more fun with the “monopoly
money” version that was recently enacted for the education of
interested folks at the Coalition On Homelessness. There were
certainly more than enough people sitting in the pews who would have
volunteered to be chunks of the budget.

Several other people spoke eloquently about what is happening now and
what fresh disasters may be soon transpire; Cindy Gyomi of the Hyde
Street Clinic provided a truly mind-bending example of the
merry-go-round Catch-22’s a low-income mental health system user will
experience, ultimately ending up homeless if nothing is done to at
least hold the line.

Of all the speakers, Melvina Hill, Recreation Director of Kezar
Stadium, got the most enthusiastic, loudest applause. She is well
loved by everyone who uses the stadium, including Special Olympics
community members who later spoke in her defense: the San Francisco
recreation and parks system is also being decidmated, the department
losing half its staff by Summer 2009 due to decisions made February
27th. I wondered if all this frustration and pain might contribute to
the rise of a new local political star on the horizon listening to Ms.
Hill and her supporters.

As for me, the Unemployment folks said no. Not enough room to swing a
dead cat, unless we remember and enforce what the Mistress of
Ceremonies, Tiny (Lisa Gray-Garcia) of Poor Magazine asked the
audience repeatedly: “Who’s budget is it?”

The answer: “Our budget!”

by tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/PNN

Clap , snap, clap �the sound of batons clicking against skin � they surrounded us. three rows in back of us, three in front � one on either side. As far as the eyes could see, they were there, with swinging batons, thick boots on asphalt and helmuts down. They had no eyes, only weapons. Moving in formation, over 500 uniformed military po-lice entrapping mamaz, daddy�s, brothers and sons marching in honor of stolen lives, of their sons, brothers, fathers, mothers, lost to the guns and weapons of these very po�lice.

Hundreds of us walked, to their thousands. Signs held up to the sky, eyes trained in front of us, in peace. Voices of pain and resistance, reached out in tandem with our lost ancestors to join the chants filling the Oakland streets, �Enough is Enough, The whole System is guilty, we are all Oscar Grant!� No more stolen lives�!�

� Our son was shot in the back 8 times,� Sony Wahnee, mother of Andrew Moody, testified to the crowd, �We are proud Native people��

It was a chilling afternoon in February. The edges of night lurked at each corner. The sound of our voices, our music, our drums, our spirits, threaded through the Frank Ogawa Plaza in Downtown Oakland. The stolen lives, our family, our ancestors, stood with us as the voices of Rashidah Grinage, whose son and husband was taken down by Oakland PD, Danny Garcia, whose brother Mark was stolen and the fierce Mesha Irizarry, mama of Idriss, also shot down 28 times by San Francisco Po�Lice Department, were just some of the voices that filled the air and gave us strength to remember the lives lost to Po�Lice terror. Gave us the strength to resist the foreboding sound of impending violence and omnipresent fear of the po�lice that surrounded us.

POOR Magazine�s multi-generational family of race and poverty scholars, most of us victims of po�lice brutality, po-lice profiling, and/or other forms of po-lice terror, were there to re-port and sup-port on the March for Stolen Lives in downtown Oakland. We joined hundreds of dedicated justice fighters, survivors, family members and advocates to walk in honor of Oscar Grant, Mark Garcia, Andrew Moppin, Annette Garcia, Idriss Stelly, Amadou DIallo and countless other fallen victims of po�lice terror. We were peaceful. We were tired, we were angry. We were surrounded.

�Our son was a father of three children that now we have to raise,� Sony Wahnee continued.

As our group started to march, the plaza filled up with literally thousands of armed guards, militia, army, agents of pain, at POOR Magazine we call them the Po� Lice, but whatever you do, don�t call them when you need help, feel danger, feel unsafe, because they are trained to kill .

Right before we marched we were informed that the po'lice perpetrator, Mehserle was released on 300,000 bail.Our collective hearts fell at the ongoing just-Us.Seemingly in response, thousands more po'lice filled the streets. They tried to block our path, we did not back down.

�Mama, why are there so many police? My five year old son walked along side me silently, refusing to stop, never scared.

� Because we live in a police state, because there is no justice, only Just-Us, which is why we march.� Clap, snap, clap.

�No more stolen lives!�

by Marlon Crump/PNN

"Are there any other parents that are in a similar situation like you are?" Paulette Brown was asked during a recent radio broadcast interview.

"Yes there are." Paulette replied. "But too many of them are too scared to fight the system because it is such a big entity. We are just one person, or a group of mothers and fathers who are out here saying that our children are being abused."

Unfortunately, the system is a mammoth with divisions, subdivisions, and counterparts aimed specifically towards "certain issues." No matter what injustice one may experience as a result of the system’s action, fear is immediately imminent when they fight back, by simply speaking out.

"Fostercare" is defined as "a system by which a certified, "stand-in parent(s)" cares for minor children or young people who have been "removed" (or displaced) from their birth parents or other custodial adults by state authority."

Throughout U.S history (and most likely in other countries) the foster care system, homes and agency affiliates have presented a destructive ticket for children, physically and psychologically. No matter the overwhelming number of complaints that discover the desks of an administrative supervisor, an oversight agency, and a public official for fostercare reform.............the destination for the complaints seems to arrive into wastebaskets at the side of their desks.

Former U.S President Bill Clinton signed a fostercare law, the Adoption and Safe Families Act (ASFA) in 1997, written by Dr. Cassie Statuto Bevan, which reduced the time children are allowed to remain in fostercare before being available for adoption. This law required state child welfare agencies to identify cases where "aggravated circumstances" make permanent separation of a child from the birth family the "best option" for the safety and well-being of the child.

One of the main components of ASFA is the imposition of stricter time limits on "reunification efforts."

Proponents of ASFA claimed that before the law was passed, the lack of this legislation was the reason it was common for children to be weakened in care for years with no permanent living situation identified. The children were often moved from placement to placement with no real plan for a permanent home.

Opponents of ASFA argued that the real reason children were weakened in foster care was that too many were "taken needlessly from their parents in the first place." Since ASFA did not address this, opponents said, it would not accomplish its goals, and would only delay a decline in the foster care population that should have occurred anyway "because of no reports on child abuse."

Ten years after ASFA became law, the reported number of children in foster care on any given day is ONLY about 7,000 fewer than when ASFA was passed. Children continue to be vulnerable and weakend in care, and to be moved from place to place.

Paulette Brown, an in home care provider a single mom of two daughters, (lost a son to violence in 2006) is desperately seeking justice against the inhumane treatments that the foster care system has/is subjecting towards children who are taken away, particularly one of its primary affiliates being the Child Protective Services agency.(C.P.S)

Paulette appeared at POOR Magazine’s very first POOR Community Newsroom, on February 3rd since its forced relocation/gentrified move from the S.F Grant Building, in December of 2008. Unfortunately, inhumane treatments, tortures, rapes, abuses, etc, etc are not uncommon to us.

Paulette's niece, while she was still an infant, has been tortured, tormented, and traumatized into the fostercare system until her release into her aunt's custody, at three years old. Paulette's half-sister's drug use was the motivation for her niece to be taken by the fostercare system. However, their job was not to traumatize her.......... by failing to protect her.

More and more children aren't treated much differently than the children forced into illegal sex slave operations that law enforcements soundly swears to shut down, and the "terrorist detainees" held in the prisons of U.S Guatanomo Bay. Like so, President Obama has recently ordered the closing of Guatanomo Bay, but not before these detainess will have extreme difficulty adjusting to life, as a result of "interrogation techniques" given to them during their imprisonments.

Such stories of the fostercare system and C.P.S have motivated "Tiny" Lisa Gray-Garcia, and her mom, co-founder, the late great "Mama" Dee Gray to establish the CourtWatch division of POOR from the very beginning of POOR. The late great "Mama" Dee Gray, herself, was tortured for many years in the fostercare system.

On February 9th, 2009 there were several issues that were raised on the radio broadcast, 89.1 KPOO before Miss Brown was interviewed, such as the D.T.V transition (Digital Television transition was delayed until June 12th, by the urging of new U.S President Barack Obama to Congress.) and the ongoing "budget crisis" that continues to infest the lives of poor working families, and people in poverty, today.

Paulette’s purpose was to inform the world of the treatments that her niece had experienced (from the time she was an infant until three), and the hassles from San Francisco city agencies of the fostercare system she's been corruptively channeled through, for every action she took to prevent these acts from continuing.

It was reported on 89.1 KPOO that more hassles will increase with the San Francisco Department of Social Services, and other S.F city agencies due to the" budget crisis" here in the State of California. When I listened, I asked my own self, "Does it really take more or less money and/or an economic stimulus package for an overseer and or a governmental authority official to take these ongoing complaints more seriously?"

Exactly who is going to provide a "Bailout Plan" to innocent children who are faultlessly funneled into the fostercare system, into a world existing of disgusting, sickening, and inhumane treatments from foster parents, resulting in children growing up having difficulty adjusting to life? Are children going to continue being subjected to the fostercare sytem as political prostitutes?

"They never wrote a report, they just gave her back to me with all the issues she has had to deal with. I’m supposed to be the mother, the father, the police officer, the therapist, lawyer, and I can’t do it all." Paulette explained.

"They need to go ahead and report this child abuse, but they are passing the buck onto me and telling ME to report it when she’s a ward of court. She’s still under the foster care system. THEY are supposed to protect her, THEY are supposed to report this, not me."

Paulette has presented numerous reports and complaints to her niece’s therapist, her social worker, and her attorney regarding the wicked treatments her niece was receiving, while she was in the fostercare system. Her niece has given them letters telling them what happened to her, but no action has been taken.

Paulette presented her concerns of the aftermath mental well-being of her niece. "Here I am dealing with all these issues that she is having. She's doing more things now, than when she left me, like fighting with people, depression, and self-medication. I need help and the fostercare system is not helping."

Though Paulette presented, and voiced her concerns, only one can ponder the thought of how can the fostercare system help when they're practically contributing to the problem from its inability of intervention(s) from prevention(s) by not even reporting it?

Paulette's niece has been in three fostercare homes, one where she was molested, the other where she was raped, and the other where she was physically and verbally abused. In 1996 when her niece was three, she stayed with her foster mother who's son stayed there as well..............while he was on parole for rape! Upon learning this, Paulette acted quickly to have her niece removed from that household.

(Placing children into fostercare homes where the parents have a criminal history is, or the parent is not given a background check, is not uncommon. It as if they are thrown into a jail cell with a dangerous inmate.)

After an estimated wait time of one year, her niece was finally given to her. She then took her niece to San Francisco General Hospital to be examined. When her niece was examined, it was revealed that her niece's vaginal area was severely penetrated.

When Paulette asked the doctors what was wrong with her vaginal area, she was told by by two doctors that her niece was raped. Her area was bleeding alot.

Paulette confronted the foster mother regarding this, and the foster mother responded "Oh that's just a rash." Paulette knew this was a lie, given the fact that she has two children of her own, and knows what a real rash lookes like. A second incident occurred when Paulette visited her niece and changed her diaper, only to discover that her vaginal area was bleeding out of control.

After Paulette expressed her outrage of this horrible act being done to her niece, the foster mother stopped Paulette from having any more visits.

In 2001, Paulette's niece was violently attacked by her own therapist when she was at the Edgewood Center for Families and Children. A civil action was filed by Paulette, where she prevailed on the action with a settlement. Then-San Francisco City Attorney Robert Evans informed a San Francisco judge that the S.F Department of Social Services neglected Paulette's niece's needs.

Paulette called the ombudsman of San Francisco to fire the therapist, the social worker, and the attorney of her niece, James Donnelly, due to the fact that they wasn't doing their jobs. However, Paulette explained during her radio broadcast interview that NO action was really taken by the ombudsman.

At one point, there was a critical service called Family Mosaic, that was threatened to be cut. Paulette relentlessly fought to prevent this service from being cut, especially since she was already having the world on her shoulders, and cutting a vital service for her niece was just doing WAY too much. Fortunately, this service remained intact.

There was some discussion during the radio broadcast that current S.F Mayor Gavin Newsom hires people at the S.F Department of Social Services, which means that complaints of these abuses fall directly under his jurisdiction.

On numerous occassions, Paulette has appealed and urged Newsom to launch an investigation into these incidents. Unfortunately, she has received the same hassles, runarounds, and disconcerns his aides have given her, just like the fostercare system.

Paulette was saddened by this attitude and inaction by Newsom, given the fact that she supported him during his first 2003 mayoral run against his opponent, Matt Gonzalez, whom he successfully defeated. She even has a huge picture portrait of him featured with her and her children after his victory, as the new S.F Mayor.

Before Newsom, Paulette appealed to former S.F Mayor, Willie Brown and his aides for help, but recieved the same treatments.

"I supported him and I just wanted him (Newsom) to look into these incidents of children being abused in the fostercare system." Paulette said, softly and sadly. She's also appealed to the S.F Board of Supervisors, and other prominent city officals to put an end to the violence in the communities of color, following the death of her son who was killed on August 14th, 2006. His killers are yet to be caught, or even sought.

Just three years ago, Paulette's niece was sexually molested by staff members of the Boys and Girl's Club.

Despite the disregard of documents that validate all of Paulette's complaints, the lack of interventions by oversight agenicies, refusals of representations from disconcerned lawyers due to intimidations, the overwhelming fear of retaliation from parents (especially ones previously involved with the penal system),and the financial security jeapordization of their jobs; Paulette continues to organize her efforts to bring awareness and a movement against the savagery of the fostercare system.

"You're doing too much" are the discouraging remarks Paulette's received. She's been asked why is she fighting so hard. "She's my niece, I love her and we have the same blood, so don't ASK me why I am fighting so hard!" Paulette's fiery response to such a foolish question.

Paulette is currently her niece's relative care giver, where she only has partial custody, since her niece is still a ward of court. Paulette has been denied adoption of her niece due to her niece needing "more therapy" which is alleged by the Department of Human Services. Paulette contends that it is a lame excuse to conceal the possibilty of their retaliation towards her for exposing their corruption.

Paulette swears that her niece has never even gotten effective therapy services for her niece's needs. Every time Paulette tried to place her niece in a therapy service that could've effectively treated her niece's needs, she was always removed from that service by the S.F Department of Human Services.

Nine months before Paulette received partial custody of her niece, she was informed by her niece that her foster parents were physicallly and verbally abusing her. Her niece was choked, beaten, and had her glasses broken. Paulette reported these incidents to the social worker, the therapist, and the lawyer, but just like the other times, these three did nothing to stop it.

Her niece was so frightend that she slept at night with a razor blade her side.

On December 21st, 2008, her niece was violently choked, and dragged down the stairs. The mother did the dragging, while the father watched. This was the absolute final straw for Paulette. On December 22nd, 2008, Paulette's niece was partially placed back into her custody by the court.

Unfortunately, her niece was not out of the woods. Her niece's social worker of approximately seven years, Aunca Bujes, breached confidentiality by revealing to the foster parents that Paulette had reported the abuse. Both Paulette and her niece immediately started receiving threats as a result. Her niece received so many of them on her cell phone, that Paulette had to change her number.

"They put her in the same room WITH THE ABUSERS, asking her what happend. You don't put a CHILD in the SAME room with the abusers and try to get information out of that child. She is not going to tell you any and everything!" What they told Paulette was that her niece only said that "they grabbed just her arm." There was more to it than that, but they have not made a report."

Before the murder of her seventeen year old son on August 14th, 2006, Paulette was even been threatend by C.P.S regarding her OWN two children, in addition with her niece; should she continue with her fight against the fostercare system.

"It'll be a cold day in HELL before I let that happen!" Paulette responded, furiously.

Paulette Brown is seeking the help of other parents who've had similar experiences like she's had with the fostercare system to organize a massive movement to hold it accountable for its lack of interventions and its failures to protect children. She can be reached by her email: serina1994@aol.com

Like Paulette, every parent and sympathizer must organize to hold the entire fostercare system accountable for its lack of prevention to protect the lives of children.

To C.P.S (Child Profit Service) your kids will soon become their kids and somebody else's kids too.

And once they get your kids in their hands and out of yours

They meaning C.P.S and the court system will make it hard for you to get them back anytime soon.

When C.P.S (Child Profit Service) need money they have their own therapist at the family service agency 1010 gough.

That they use to help kidnap the children through lies that they coach the child to tell on their parents. ...
Excerpt from the poem, "When Child Profit Service come to your house" written by POOR Press author, poverty scholar, and poet, Byron Gafford.

by Chloe Auletta-Young/PNN

On February 5th, 2009, I approached the State Capital in Sacramento for the first time in my life. I find it fitting that my reason was to witness a protest at its doorstep, California Native Americans uniting to charge certain tribal leaders with corruption, and to urge congress for more oversight and regulation. As the crowd trickled onto the north-side grounds of the building, those associated with the press started to make themselves known. As this was my first time working under this designation, I momentarily stepped into voyeurism to see how the others operated. At one point, a man obviously affiliated with some variation of corporate media stepped onto the scene with his large camera equipment and loudly asserted, “I need to get a statement from someone here, I don’t really care who,” only to get his brief interview and then promptly leave without gaining perspective on any of the happenings. I decided this was not the approach I wanted to take, so I went about my own way of piecing together the context for the event.

The crime is the unjustified disenrollment of Native Americans from their traditional tribe, not only stripping them of their ancestral right to belong, but also the educational, medical, and financial support provided by their governments. The root cause is an alarmingly inequitable distribution of casino earnings, triggering immense poverty on certain reservations, while others reap the benefits of an industry with annual revenue in the billions. “Reservations are essentially third-world countries here in the US, some operating with no running water, electricity, or stable education system,” said Quanah Brightman, Vice President of United Native Americans Inc., the hosts of the protest. He asks a very fair question, “Where is all the money going?”

The contention is that it is going to small clusters of families in league with these corrupt officials, a mob-like favoritism that is robbing the majority of their basic human rights. When tribe members speak out, they, and often their entire family, are disenrolled, denied their home, their lineage, and their voice. Coming from a culturally white family, with little to no connection with my heritage, I tried to imagine what this must feel like. All I could think of was my mom. My mother is my safety, my comfort; she is weaved into my structure, threaded through every nucleus of every cell. She an integral component of who I am as a woman, a being. If someone somehow denied that, told me that it was not true, that it has all been a lie, that my core, my community had been ripped away from me, I would deflate. I would implode. I would fight. I would challenge the notion with all the power I could muster from the tips of my toes to the top of my head to the head of the state.

Certain governments are operating under zero accountability for these rights infringements imposed upon constituents residing under their “jurisdiction”, while the US government claims a hands-off policy given the sovereignty terms dictated by the formation of the collective American Indian Tribes. However, congress can limit Native American Sovereignty with good reason; they can enforce civil rights upon violation. As one speaker so aptly put it, “we were born on American soil. We are citizens; we deserve all of the same protection under the law.” It is this protection and regulation that was called for during the protest, and the hope is that the State Government will wake up and take a more active role in attempting to understand the situation. “California is the guinea pig [for this battle],” said Albert Alto, a disenrolled San Pasqual member from the reservation near Riverside, “how this goes is going to effect the movement throughout the nation. All eyes are on California right now.”

However, it was the personal stories resounding throughout the State Capital that made this protest so powerful. Teary-eyed Carla Foreman Maslin spoke about her father, Bob Foreman, and how he fought for his tribe’s right to healthcare, only to be disenrolled before his death without ever seeing justice. Consuela Vargas told her story about her own disenrollment, and how after speaking out during trial the file department claimed that her records had been lost for good. Wounded Knee, a revered elder, spoke about participating in the historical longest walk and the gaming movement as it developed, ending his speech with the proclamation that you only lose when you give up, that he has never given up.

I walked away from the State Capital much differently than I had approached it. The excitement had turned into a distant admiration but as I slowly allowed myself to be taken with the sentiment I had begun to feel closer. I internalized the voices until I could match them with my own emotions. I called my mom. I felt the stamina, the action. Speakers urged the audience to remain vocal and visible, not to become disillusioned. So yeah corporate media man, I guess it didn’t matter who you interviewed, because everyone present on February 5th had a story to tell, has a story to tell, an amalgamation of narratives combining to create a single statement, we will keep fighting, fighting the battle to win back their birthright of living peacefully with their sacred heritage, without fear of losing their liberties or being denied their basic civil rights.

Further information on this complex issue can be found on the following websites and blogs:

Orginal Pechanga Blogspot
United Native Americans, Inc.
EldoradoIndian.org
ShingleSpringsReservation.org
Airro.org

by JewnBug, Media facilitator: Wendy Fong

Today is a new day. Poor skies lead to rainy days, but poor skies say goodbye lead to better days sometime. better days sometime in the neighborhood welfareQueen in tha house! PoMama, poverty scholar gonna break it down how indigenous families mutated to inter-dependency in this blood stained land of America how the childcare system needed funding instead built prisons destroying our families but with thumbs up votes to Obama's economic plan there will be increased money for 2009 no more rainy days for now…

I had the privilege to facilitate this column interview with Jewnbug, co-founder of the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Project, founder and executive director of A.R.T. (Artistikal Revolutionary Teaching), Parent Voices (grassroots, state-wide with 18 chapters in California), a Po'Poet, poverty scholar, welfareQueen, POOR Press author, and PoMama columnist, about child care in California. Her voice was vibrant and fierce, a womyn beating to a thousand of her own drums. I was eager to hear about the good news and future plans in childcare.

When President Obama signed the Economic Recovery and Investment Act for 2009, it granted $2 billion for federal childcare funding. For the past 7-8 years the federal government has not increased funding for the Child Care and Development Block Grant (CCDBG), a program designed to support families by increasing quality, availability, and affordability for childcare. This has been the largest increase in federal aid since Washington began to spend money on education after World War II. California is populated with the most children compared to all fifty states. From this act, the state will get approximately 12 percent of the $2 billion funding. When broken down, about 75% will go towards certificates or vouchers, allowing more availability for children and parents to selectively access childcare, 4% towards improving quality care such as teacher training, and 21% towards licensing. The plan will also increase funding for the Headstart Program over the next two years, which is the largest federal source for childcare funding for children under five years old.

Today over 200,000 children are waiting for childcare on the Centralized Eligibility List with no guarantee of childcare. Yet, what are parents and children expected to do in the meantime? “Basically parents are getting penalized by not fulfilling their welfare requirements of finding a job and fulfilling a certain income bracket,” says Jewnbug. However, when the additional funding arrives, part of it will help alleviate waiting, helping families find jobs, and create new childcare jobs.

However, although this is good news, Jewnbug says she is also challenging the system from its foundation, asking how did childcare get so neglected in the first place? How did America suffer from such a deficit for infants, toddlers, and children? First, we have to re-examine the idea of family, the idea of childcare, and how the indigenous childcare model has changed to a corporate, interdependent model in America. Indigenous childcare was where everyone used to take care of their own children, everyone learned together “for the people by the people.” All ages learn together, playing together in a community of family and eldership across multiple generations.

In the United State, when a child reaches 6 months, or even 3 months old, the mother is expected to go back to work. “This is corporate child abuse,” says Jewnbug, “it promotes a separation of mother and child. Being a parent as a job is considered by Calworks as being below the poverty line. Why are parents not paid for taking care of their own children?” She references Dr. Wade Nobles, a tenured professor in Black Studies at San Francisco State University, who talks about how Western or Euro-centric ideology is centered on individuality, which promotes this separation by of parent and child. He states individuation argues that “you’ve got to break free from your family... that you have no independent agency because in their minds you are submitting to the thinking of or the feelings of or the ideas of these other individuals.” It is a political idea that is reinforced by capitalism, where it thrives on the exploitation of people to maximize profits.

How does our childcare system relate to the prison industrial complex? “It was a set up,” says Jewnbug, “Did you know that they project how many beds to build in prison based on the 3rd grade literacy?”

Jewnbug is also working on a few key things she hopes to see occur during the allocation of these funds. One key thing is that the governor doesn’t steal the money from the childcare funds. If the funds are not spent over the next two years, it will automatically roll over into the next fiscal year making it susceptible for the governor to grab it. Thus in order to prevent rollover funds, they are attempting to create child care vouchers or a Rainy Day Account, also known as reserve accounts to save funds during economic recession. Also that the state requires child care facilities to get inspected annually, compared to every five years as they do presently. Federal money will be increasing the CCDBG, which was funded for 8 years. That money needs to trickle down to 12%. That funding combined with the other funding can use childcare vouchers for private child cares-- anything of their choice.

by Tony Robles/PNN

Ain't nothin' I can
say, nothin' I can do,

I feel so bad, yeah,
I feel so blue.

I got to make it right

for everyone concerned

Even if it's me, if it
means it's me what's
gettin' burned.

"So Very Hard to go"

Tower of Power

The faces glide across the pane glass window. They come into focus and just as quickly fade. I stand inside a department store on Market Street of which I am a security guard. It is 1990 and I am a man. I remember walking down this street with my Grandma. I remember Market Street bearing scars and pockmarks created by bulldozers and jackhammers. I didn’t know what was going on. I imagined riding the Muni bus and getting swallowed up by the ground. I’d ride the bus with my eyes closed until Market Street was in the distance. I was just a kid. I didn’t know that San Francisco was making way for the Bart system. I only knew that I didn’t want to be swallowed up.

I’m dressed in my polyester security guard uniform. I look out the window at the new shopping center that has risen out of the ground. It’s the new San Francisco Shopping Center and people flock to it as if it was a religious shrine. I look out the window. Shoppers come in and out and are being watched by the cameras on the ceiling—especially the black shoppers. I was in the loss prevention department. The plainclothes officers in the department carry badges and handcuffs. I carry the polyester on my back.

I was mad at the new shopping center across the street. I was mad at the engineers, the architects, the cement masons—all of them. I was mad at the entire structure and what it represented. I saw the big cars and the tourists and the business people and the young. I saw them walk through the swinging doors. I watched the houseless people watching the shoppers carrying bags as they left. I watched.

I remembered what was there before the mall. The Emporium Department Store stood there alongside smaller businesses. I used to go to the Emporium when I was a kid to sit on Santa Claus’ lap. On the roof were carnival rides. It was a magic place.

Even more magical was a place a few doors down. It was a Chinese cafeteria called Joe Jung’s. My grandmother used to eat there. We’d walk inside and grab a tray. I’d slide the orange tray across the rail, gliding past all kinds of delicious food; chow mein, fried rice, pork noodle soup, roast beef, turkey and my favorite, lime jello with fruit cocktail. Grandma wore colorful scarves and big sunglasses. She would pay for the food and we’d sit with other Filipino elders. Grandma would talk and laugh in Tagalog. I would listen and not listen at the same time. I was busy with my lime jello. The elders would laugh while I sat slurping at it.

I didn’t know it at the time but my grandmother’s friends were survivors. They were the manongs and manangs (Filipino word of respect for elders) who came to America in the early days. I watched them eat their rice. They would look at me and smile. I wondered what they were thinking. I imagined what they looked like when they were young. It would be years later that I would see their faces in black and white pictures in a book called Liwanag—a collection of Filipino-American writing whose pages talked about our resistance as Filipinos against those who would colonize our lands and our minds. The words were written by such writers as Al Robles, Oscar Penaranda, Serafin Syquia and Lou Syquia. I remember the laughter of my elders at Joe Jung’s.

I stood looking at the San Francisco Center. I refused to go there. People told me of the massive floors and the circular escalator but I couldn’t have cared less. I still heard the laughter of my elders and the smell of chow mein and the sound my plastic tray made as it slid along the rail. I wondered what became of the elders. I wondered if the shoppers knew what had once stood in its place. I wondered what the shoppers stood for. I wondered if they would care.

© 2008 Tony Robles

by Marlon Crump/PNN

"Mama, why is no one doing anything about these killings?" asked 16 year old Takeyah Chandlier to her mom, Asale (Sala)-Haquekyah Chandlier.

Asale (Sala)-Haquekyah Chandlier looked up at her daughter as if she was witnessing the earth unfold, and vowed to her, "Baby, you will NEVER have to EVER ask me that question again. From this day forward, I will do something about these killings!"

Back in June of this year, a 15 year old kid was murdered in front of the Philip and Sala Burton High School in San Francisco, CA in broad daylight. Devastated and distraught that the killings have failed to come to a screeching halt here in San Francisco (especially in S.F neighborhoods with young men of color), Takeyah came home to her mom in tears, and cried on her chest.

The body count surrounding young men of color, as well as all young men in general in this country and (worldwide) is a plague that has become even more fatal than the AIDS virus, itself. Asale (Sala)-Haquekyah Chandlier decided to implement a vaccine to the violence that forever infects the youth, using them as its host.

Sala decided to formulate the ONE LIFE WALK.

One Life Walk is a marathon movement of communities of color to unify, and eliminate the rapid violence and homicides San Francisco, CA. It is anticipated to grow into a mass non-violent movement, and inspired by the works from the likes of Ghandi’s lead in India, King lead in the Civil Rights Movement, and many people, everywhere continue to do every year on the AIDS Walk.

"One Life Walk" is featured on Sala's radio talk show "The Real Life Mermaed."

"We have only ONE life to live." Sala would later exclaim to me during an interview." It is our responsibility to live this "One Life Walk" healthy, sane, calm, cool, and collective without embracing the violent thoughts of hurting someone else to a point of death!"

Asale (Sala)-Haquekyah Chandlier attended POOR’s monthly Community Newsroom, on December 2nd, 2008. This particular meeting was unlike any other in POOR's history, due to the significant transition that was going to be a tearful reality. All of us, staff/family of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network was being forced to move from its headquarters of the Grant Building, and all of us were going to be reminiscent of what the office space meant for them in the past.

As we all traded moments of sorrows, war stories, and solace of the office space's memories; the spirit of the late great poverty hero, "Mama" Dee Gray-Garcia (co-founder of POOR) blanketed our soul with her eternal eldership in easing the pain that plagued our reluctant hearts from having to depart from what was now the past. Her spirit silently carried our own into re-porting and su-pporting for others in another space in the future.

Sala expressed her feelings and her memories of what the space meant to her in the past, as well.

Over a week later, I conducted an interview of Sala regarding the "One Life Walk" at the San Francisco Main Public Library, in the lower level which had a cafe. Despite her encountering numerous difficulties of long traffic delays, battery death in her cell phone, and keeping track of her car's parking meter during the interview; Sala still managed to arrive and meet me. She was determined in getting "One Life Walk" out into the world.

After we both managed to drown out the sounds around us, of high heels, distinct conversations by nearby patrons, and the slight windy brushes by passer bys, the interview got underway.

I looked into the dark ocean-like eyes of Sala and concluded that this, alongside of her caramel-complexioned features, and easy smile could've easily convinced someone that she did have qualities of a mermaid 20,000 leagues under the sea, or a "Real Life Mermaed" fighting to end the endless deaths on the streets.

”Two Amazon women bad to the bone!" Sala said excitedly to me and in reference to Yolanda Banks Reed, a friend of Sala and comrade of hers in the movement. "We're talking about two justice fighters representing and fighting for equality for all, meaning giving justice where justice is due!"

"The One Life Walk is an expression of the 50s and 60s where people came together for anything that had to do with injustice." Yolanda Banks would later state to me. She also explained that there was a lack of unities in the communities of color towards combating the issues that were negatively impacting them, daily.

Sala told me that she considered herself as a "character." She referenced her qualities similarities to some of her favorite fictional characters, such as, Batgirl, Wonder Woman, Cleopatra Jones, and real life people that were her inspiration, Christie Love, Angela Davis, and Johnnie Mae Gibson who was the first African-American F.B.I Agent, Ghandi, Nelson Mandela, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Elizabeth (Embeth) Chambers Ranch, and her very own mother, Dorothy Davis were her life's inspiration.

Asale (Sala)-Haquekyah Chandlier was born in Chicago, IL. At age 4, she was taught by the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense on how to read. After she became grown, Asale moved to the southside of Los Angeles, CA to start her activism against the degradation of women.

The typical derogatory slurs of "bitches, sluts, tramps, and whores" yelled by young men have often fueled Sala's anger towards their damaging degradation to the reputation of young women, on a daily basis.

"I began becoming concerned about humanity issues." Sala said. "I began my work by feeding the homeless in Downtown L.A (Los Angeles) "Skid Row." I found myself concerned about what each individual had to offer within themselves from their own mother's wombs."

In 2006, Sala (and other community members) of the Bayview Hunter's Point District unsuccessfully ran for the Board of Supervisors seat of District 10 against the current incumbent, Sophie Maxwell.

"Creativity has the ability to fill our children's lives with possibilities." Sala said, in her motivational address of youth empowerment, while she and other candidates were collectively interviewed by every at POOR.

"One Life Walk" is ABOUT and COMMITTING to life." Sala explained. "It is about putting a 9-1-1 urgency on the ongoing massacres, commonly called "homicides" of our minority children, especially African-American children here in San Francisco."

"We are here to tear down the violent death thought by wearing the thought pattern of committing to life. The commonly called "African-American" people and the fabric of their foundation are built on a lie. They're not spiritually fed, but only given religion."

Sala presented a detailed explanation of what her whole definitive analogy of what religion meant to her. "Religion is only an outside deity. For example, God he, Allah he, Jesus he, the Father he, the Son he, the Devil he, and the Angel he. None of these outside gods are from within giving all credit to the patriarchal thought pattern which is based on the fatherhood doctrine which has nothing to do with the inner life."

She also is a firm believer that men are not the superior being over the women. "The Creator Eloheem (“Eloheem” is defined as “God” in Hebrew.) has given the women the divine position to be the carrier of life." Sala explained. "If these truths are not told, women will continue to give up their divine birthright. By these common sayings that the man is head of the household and the only connection to God (Eloheem) is the greatest lie ever told on Planet Earth. It is the downfall of the whole wide world.”

"If men and women don't rise to teach their children of who they really are, as boys and girls, as women and men, as husbands and wives; we will never be able to rise in humanity giving justice where justice is due and giving equality where equality is due."

I continued to listen to Sala interesting analysis of religion and thought about this more thoroughly after the interview. The question as it seemed was intended to raise awareness of how much time is spent by a human being towards studying themselves, as opposed to studying the above said gods she stated above?

The interview became even more emotional for Sala, as she further discussed for the urgent need for more community involvement to silence the violence, and the massacres (homicides as defined by corporate media) of the youths in communities of color among themselves.

Sala expressed her disgust towards the City of San Francisco's failure to end the violence and homicides (massacres) among the youth. "The children are not seeing what is really happening, tangibly."

After the unfortunate death of the young man at Philip and Sala High School, and the emotional breakdown by her daughter Takeyah; Sala felt that a higher power was calling her to do something about the violence.

"One day I awoke at 10:a.m. I woke up my daughter and said, "Get up and let's go for a walk. Takeyah got up, got dressed, and we started to walk up Latona St. While walking up Latona, we made a left turn on Bayview St. (in the Bayview Hunter's Point)."

Sala then asked her daughter, "Would you walk for your friends that have died?"

Takeyah was silent.

" I said would you walk for your friends that have died, Takeyah?" Sala asked her, with a bit of an edge in her tone of voice, and bearing a fiery blaze in her pupils. Takeyah looked upwards at her mother.

"Yes mama!" was her daughter's response.

You can meet the "Real Life Mermaed" live at "Metaphormous" on Sunday January 11th, 2009 at 5:30 p.m on 111 Minna St South of Market. (SoMa) This is also a fundraiser for youth and families. This event is aimed at raising $5,000 for the family of Elizabeth Chambers Ranch. The fee is $10.00 at the door and the contact phone# is (415) 756-5378. One Life Walk phone# is (415) 287-7481.

by Phil Adams/PNN

I’m a 25 year old mixed Latino/black male USMC veteran who lives in the East Bay. Racial profiling and police abuse of power is very real to me and in fact plays a part in my life every time I’m in a public place. I have been arrested for jay-walking and put in handcuffs without explanation and repeatedly pulled over for no reason. Police abuse is very real but for once it has gained some attention.

On January 7, Several reporters and poverty scholars from POOR Magazine/PNN re-ported and sup-ported with several thousands other organizations and folks at the demonstration at Fruitvale BART the day before Oscar Grant III's funeral. There was a large shrine taped off for the memory of Oscar Grant III. There were many lit candles and personal statements from people who knew him such as “You will be missed”.

“This has to Stop, as a black mother I can’t stand by and see our children murdered,” Queennandi, member of the welfareQUEENs of POOR Magazine and fellow staff writer spoke an impassioned scream into the mike for all young men of color.

“Let’s call them the Po’Lice,” Tiny, co-editor, and formerly incarcerated founder of POOR came up to speak ending by talking about the connection between the case of young black mother Nadra Foster’s own po-lice terror because of a call by other so-called media-justice makers at KPFA and the police terror of Oscar Grant.

The general theme for all the speakers was that we will no longer accept another missing generation of men and this injustice will not stand. Numerous chants filled the air:

"Organize or die"

"No justice, No Peace"

One thing I think all the demonstrators knew is that it’s time for change and that we as a community working in solidarity will be the only way that change can occur.

New Year’s eve 2009 a BART police officer Johannes Mehserle shot and killed Oscar Grant III in an attempt to restrain him on the Fruitvale BART platform in front of a crowded train car. BART will not release the security footage of the event and the officer has resigned so BART claims no action can be taken. Numerous videos of the slaying were taken by the cell phones and cameras of onlookers and released to various media outlets. Those are the facts.

The city of Oakland has been plagued with police brutality and mistrust of the police for decades. What do you expect from the city where the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense was founded? Being a 25 year old male of mixed racial background I have to ask people, how much things can change in a little over 40 years. This country was built on hundreds of years of slavery with vast economic gain due to free labor making it one of the most powerful nations in the world you think an addiction to free labor and money like that can just change overnight? Economic gain from free labor is the whole reason we have the most incarcerated people of any nation and we have to deal with this Orwellian police state. And that is the reason why Oscar Grant III was shot in the back in front of a crowd by a BART police officer.

Oscar Grant III was hard-working young man holding down two jobs. Oscar Grant was a father. Oscar Grant was a son.. At the protest I had the chance to interview Sharon Raffety whose son had grown up with Oscar in Hayward, CA. She reminisced on when they were younger how they used to play little league and what he was like in the second grade. Oscar grew up in a religious household, his mother was a reverend and growing up his life was steeped in the church. Sharon told me like all young men he had his share of troubles but "kids make mistakes" and like most men do he matured and went on with his life. Before Oscar was killed he worked at Farmer John’s market and a Kentucky Fried Chicken to provide for his four year old daughter who is now missing a father.

As far as I am concerned if, you shoot an unarmed person in the back you should go to jail I don’t care if its a mistake or you were angry or drunk or its a warzone, you shoot an unarmed person who isn't resisting in the back you should go to jail. But that would be equal justice. Not Just-US!

Editors Note: DUE
TO THE TERRIFYING REALITY OF GLOBAL AND LOCAL Po'LIce TERROR FROM EAST
OAKLAND TO PALESTINE TO KPFA - ONE OF THE POOR MAGAZINE MURALS CREATED
AT SATURDAY's PAY TO PAINT OPENING PARTY WILL HONOR OSCAR GRANT, IDRISS
STELLY AND ALL THE SPIRITS OF MURDERED YOUTH, ELDER AND DISABLED
SCHOLARS VICTIMIZED BY Po'LICE TERROR IN AMERIKKKA AND ACROSS THE
GLOBE!- PLEASE COME AND HELP US CREATE THIS.. BRING YOUR IMAGES OF
ANCESTORS AND FOLKS- AS WELL, HELP US CREATE THE FIRST DRAFT OF
THE DECLARATION OF INTERDEPENDENCE WHICH CALLS FOR NO ENGAGEMENT WITH
THE -Po'LICE - EVER!!!

by RWS

Time Warp

He wears a white

T shirt with a

Gold chain dangling

From his neck

Calls everybody

Homey, even the

White guys

Carries a mini

Boom box

Radio

He’s 44 years old

And has never

Held a job

He had a bad

Car accident that

Left him disabled

He now works in a

Warehouse heat sealing

Cellophane packages
courtesy

Of a job training
program

It’s his first

Gig

but his real job

Is recording cassette

Tapes

He calls them

“mix tapes”

He has all

The slow jams

From 30 years ago

He sell ‘em for

2 dollars a pop,

sometimes 3 for

5 dollars

He talked me into

Buying 2 tapes

The other day

I didn’t have the

Heart to tell him that

I don’t listen to
cassettes

Anymore

I gave it up

About 10

Years ago

All my music

Is on CD’s now

But I keep it

To myself

Guys like him

Are just like

Good music

They never go

Out of

Style

© 2008 RWS

by Joseph Bolden

New Digs. Evolution’s Goo

Folks from every walk of life it has been a harsh F_ _ _ _ d up year indeed with corporate bailouts from the nearly extinct middle class, po’ folk, struggling working people near then in the grips of being houseless.

Don’t forget hanging-by-a-thread small businesses.

A new President has a depression and war as a parting gift from a lame departing President.

What a way to begin leading the country.

Like many I’ve been struggling with mental issues and so far…

I won’t know for sure until next year what to do.

As for Poor Magazine everything is in free fall though we have new digs in the heroic, his/her storic Mission District it will be far from a walk down and across the street from my residence.

Steel, iron, girders, wood, PC’s to re-plug, food tossed away as the fridge is set to off and defrost. Book shelves and books, boxes, plates, dishes, plastic and stainless steel flatware, printers and so much of the wiring and printing of online and hard copy books.

As for a defrosting refrigerator most of the food is in the garbage.

While using the restroom before washing items in the fridge I thought there was a sound dismissing it as part of the bathroom finished, cleaned up, flush the toilet before returning to wash my hands and various sized plastic bowls in the sink.

Before depressing liquid pink soap on my hands a voice startles me.

“Um, hi, please no hot water it stings.”
“Ok?” I said looking around then down to see an eye with wings a flutter.

It looks like a perfectly good eye!

“Whoa, who?”

“We’re from the icebox different vegetating foods caused up to live continued the eye with one mouth now at eye sight.

“Sorry, my eyes has no mouth we… um evolved differs from yours slightly.

A leg and other separated pieces of anatomy spoke.

“Folks, I have to clean up here, don’t me.”
Most of the fleshy things had wings for flight.
“I’ll give you evolution’s goo (sorry) but that’s what you like to me.”

“No harm done.”

“Anyway, don’t be seen because people will try to kill you out of fear.”

“That’s what the wings are for we’ll keep evolving for sometime now
Then we’ll visit you later.”

“But”? Before I could explain all of these odd things flew swiftly away to whatever fate awaited them.

It may have been an illusion brought on by yesterdays Winter Wonderland feast at the Essex Hotel or Poor Magazine’s moving to another place whatever its time to go back and help with the move.

One thing I know five solid months in gym mode is my Personal New Years Resolution.

How about yours.
Many Memorable Happy Holidays to all and blessed New Year’s.

Send Comments to DeeandTiny@poormagazine.org or

Telljoe@poormagazine.org

by Staff Writer

Valentines Day Poetry Luchadores/Wrestling Battle of ALL of the Sexes!

Your favorite revolutionary poets, media-makers, poverty scholars and cultural workers at POOR Magazine Mash-up Poetry, Gender and Wrestling for The 2nd Annual Poetry (Luchadores!) Battle of ALL of the Sexes.

The 2009 Poetry Luchadores Battle will feature famoso undefeated poet luchador/wrestlers, (also Former and Current San Francisco Poet Laureates) Devorah Major and Jack Hirschman and battles such as The Poverty Pimp vs. the welfareQUEEN, The Black Cripple vs The Govenator and The Poverty Skolah vs The Akademik!

Emcee/Referree: Javier Reyes from Colored Ink aka The Ref

Featuring undefeated champ and co-founder of POOR Magazine, Tiny Gray-Garcia aka The welfareQUEEN (author of Criminal of Poverty: Growing Up Homeless in America, one of the SF Chronicles picks for Top Memoirs of 2007), Tony Robles, aka the Revolutionary Worker Scholar, co-editor of POOR Magazine and author of Lakas and the Makibaka Hotel,(Childrens Book Press). Also Featuring 1st prize winner of 2009: Queennandi aka SuperbabyMama (author of Life, Struggle and Reflection on POOR Press) 2nd prize winner of 2008: Leroy Moore aka The BLack Kripple, founder of KRIP HOP and columnist of Illn n Chillin on POOR Magazine, James Tracy from Civil Defense Poetry, Poet, Mama Scholar and welfareQUEEN, Jewnbug, and other members of The Po'Poets Projekt and many more..

Judges: AL Robles, Genny LIm, Ananda Esteva and POOR Press author of Through the Eyes of a Child: Byron Gafford

On a day normally equated with cutesy hallmark cards, flowers and candy, challenge your partner (or future partner) to a Wrestling battle of spoken word, hip hop, poetry and/or flowetry in the ring! Singles welcome. If you dont have a partner, we will hook you up. Come with a Luchador/Wrestling Persona ( and mask) or we will create one for you!

The first, second, and third place poems will be published in The San Francisco Bay Guardian, THe SF Bayview and POOR/PNN Magazine online. Entrance fee to fight in the ring is$20; spectator fee is $10 (no one turned away for lack of funds).

All proceeds go to support POOR Magazine, a non-profit, grassroots, arts organization dedicated to providing revolutionary media access, arts education and advocacy to communities struggling with poverty and racism locally and globally.

by Tony Robles

I was a kid when my father threatened to “ship my ass off to military school”--a threat that has been used by so many parents for so long that it is now cliché; even comical. But to my 10 year old mind, the idea of getting shipped to military school scared me. My father thought that scaring me with military school would make me disciplined. He wanted me to wake up early and eat all the food on my plate and get good grades. My grades were average and I had trouble getting out of bed. As for eating all the food on my plate, I did because—if I didn’t—he’d “knock me upside my head”. The military school threat was merely part of his disciplinary arsenal.

A few days before the election I saw you on the corner of Fulton and Funston Streets holding signs in favor of Prop V—which called for the reinstatement of JROTC to San Francisco high schools. I was riding my bike home from work. I saw your faces—all Asian, all young. I had seen your faces before in the faces that I had seen in JROTC when I was a student at George Washington High School nearly 30 years ago. We were full of energy and we wore our JROTC uniforms for various reasons—my reason was to get out of PE—I didn’t want to “mess up my hair”. Others were involved for various reasons—patriotism, to explore what the military might be like, etc. I too wore that uniform.

You probably thought I was yelling and I was. In these times it’s difficult to be heard—to get your point across when there’s so much misinformation out there. I looked at your faces knowing that you were doing what you thought was right. Your parents probably think that JROTC is a good thing—something that instills discipline and builds character. Perhaps your parents are immigrants, which make it even harder.

I stopped to talk (and yell) at you because you are our young people, not the military’s. When I told you that we need you, I truly meant it. We need you much more than the military. In this American culture of independence, we are taught to be separate from our elders, from our community. This is something we need to fight. I had said that you should have been standing on the corner with signs urging the passage of Prop B—which would have given millions of dollars to build affordable housing in San Francisco; housing that is needed for our elders, the disabled and low income people—many of whom are immigrants who work two and three jobs to just to survive. I told you we needed you—we still do.

We need your energy to fight for affordable housing for San Franciscans. We need you to walk with our elders and hear their stories. We need you to help our elders carry the rice and the fish to their rooms and guide them across the street in the blind madness of traffic that says that we must be concerned for only ourselves and not our elders and our commmunity. We need you to sit and laugh with our elders over a plate of rice that you’ve helped carry over that myth called the American dream. We need you to sit and listen to their dreams and see your dreams in their faces and stories. We need you to stand with us—on our side.

Prop V won and prop B lost. We need you.