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2009
  • market

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
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  • My Hoods Not My Hood Anymore

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Gentrification of The Fill-No-More Continues!

    by QueenNandi/PNN

    Gang injunction malfunctions and gentricide slowly decimated the fillmore and its� history, paving a pearly white road for the wealthy and privileged. If the Western Addition is genuine in its� definition, then the African and Japanese American communities reared here on this land have been expendable before it was even established.

    Early Fillmore dwellers were not as quick to kill other "slaves" that lived in close by "plantations" such as O.C, TURKWOOD, K.O, J-TOWN etc. Instead it was favorable for all to get together on the "Fillmore Strip" to have some good ol� fashion fun, and intoxicate themselves with the aroma of down home blues, jazz and some tasty soul food.

    Peaceful gentricide was not as common then as it is now, the O.G�s stuck together a little better and did not hesitate to challenge the powers that "bloody be" when the peoples� rights were violated. The oppressors used another war tactic called Tricknology to move out long residing families and the well-to-do black business owners. They tricked those into believing that if the people endured the displacement during reconstruction that the "pie crust promise" would hold up and they would be able to have first pick of the "New Fillmore Order", only to be left literally outside in the cold, holding a piece of paper (certificate) that was distributed by gentrifiers. These people went on to be eventually denied by the same gentrifiers,so I ask you is this equality is this justice? It is a particularly black exodus to homelessness.

    The "tricksters" of the 2000�s are upping the ante on "pie crust promises", again gaining the trust/respect of the people for a certain position or status. Once obtained they continue on with the vicious cycle of misusing and abusing the same people that built the steps to the ladder that was needed to climb up. Next it�s the lack of motivation, or just plain fear of "guvment retaliation" on the part of us peoples� to unify, stand up for ourselves, and exercise our natural intellect and common sense.

    Inconsistencies run rampant, seldom seen and unchecked in my hood�, families in low-income dwellings such as myself are feeling quite expendable due to the mismanagement of files, lack of assistance and respect from the "professionals". It is not that we are looking for a handout, we are looking for common decency and respect that is the right of every human being. That is why I say my hoods� not my hood anymore.

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  • Recreation is Rife with Racism, Classism and lies in Amerikkka

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    by tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/PNN

    “When they faced a work shortage they brought in the Chinese- they proved to be great workers, highly productive and steadfast, and the only difference is they wanted to be paid with food!”

    The deep green pine branches and soft white snow massaged my weary eyelids through the train window. I was on a little tiny vacation, a train ride to Reno, Nevada,. An unbelievable luxury for me who had struggled with poverty all my life and only started traveling last year with the release of my book The trip was on the Califonia zephyr line of the Amtrak and is a truly breathtaking route which travels through and between the snow-covered, river threaded mountains of California and Nevada where Asian, Irish and native American workers did back-breaking underpaid or unpaid labor and had to strike to be paid close to a subsistance wage. It is an amazingly beautiful trip that I would highly recommend to everyone, children and adults alike.

    Just don’t listen too carefully to the volunteer historians from the California state Railroad Museum

    As my eyes rested in the lush scenes, my ears were bombarded with a guided tour through the history of trains, labor and the depths of old school capitalism. The idea was great, an audio tour through the very trains we were on and the routes we were going through by people who actually worked the trains and archived the history. There was only one problem, these elder volunteers were washing the brutality, racism, classism and bloody labor struggles out of US history with each raspy paragraph they tentatively whispered into the PA system.

    After the insanely egregious lies about the railroad workers struggle I challenged the elder historians on the train in a respectful way. Suffice it to say it didn’t go so well.

    This wasn’t the first time this had happened. I was invited to be keynote speaker for the local to global justice conference at University at Arizona. After my talk was completed A friend set up a ride in the famous Sedona train excursion run by a private company that climbs through the native lands in Sedona, Arizona.

    The first frightening part was the ride past migrant workers stuck in the rocky ravines of the mountains. Migrant raza day laborers, indigenous people who were reduced to seeking day labor in the cold, barren mountains. “They like to wave at people” the hyper- excited announcer proclaimed. Like they were some kind of cute animal who lived in the mountains

    “See that land outside the window, that was homesteaded by a settler from Mexico when this was still mexican land. He settled the land and raised a whole family with no electricity or running water Then a couple of years ago, the land was taken from the family by a multi-national corporation. Now the family takes you on a tour of the land by horse. One of the descendents of the family is our porter”

    By the time this horror story was completed I was in tears, how could this story be told as a part of a travel narrative. Why was the destruction of a family reduced to one part of a guided tour.

    The two hour ride through stolen land, exploiting stolen people and using stolen resources logically culminated in a huge rendition of Star Spangled Banner with a huge video of George Bush and a gigantic waving flag

    Local Museums and Archives

    In museums across the US this same cleansing happens to the point where I am always ready to cringe when I walk in to anything called “museum” or archive. Im always surprised when truth is told and silenced voices of herstory and history are truly represented, such as the case of the African-American Library and Archive in Oakland and The Tenement Museum in New York ( where they go out of their way to hire native New Yorkers with a social justice lens on poverty and immigration.

    But since the advent of the internet, more and more public archives are trying to compete for the tourism dollar by launching massive public relations campaigns on-line. These are at once very successful financially for the cash strapped public institution and clear example of the gentrificaiton of recreation. In San Francisco we have the Academy of Sciences, not so many years ago you could get a hot dog , a soda and a visit with an alligator.

    A few years back, The Academy of Sciences in San Francisco underwent a huge remodeling and re-vamping job. Now this massive site boasts attractions such as the live garden and the zoetrope tour, repping large donors’ names like the donors were themselves scientists and scholars, rather than people with a lot of money in need of a tax write-off and an invitation to a phat donor party.

    Ticket price$25.00 – who can afford $25.00? Certainly not poor folks. My family and I have been dying to go for months but couldn’t afford it. I was recently able to buy group tickets for my family because my job offered a discounted rate. When we arrived on an early Sunday morning after Christmas, we stood in line with literally thousands of people for several hours while we watched as the members of the museum were escorted in first, making one wonder if it really was a “member”s only institution. Once we actually got in all of the daily “tours” were filled. My partner also noted that there were two black folks in the line and he was one of the two.

    The alligators were trying to leave

    There was a big “swamp” in the middle of the museum which held alligators and turtles. One of our family members noted that it was the same alligator who was there before – the sad thing is all three of the alligators and all of the turtles looked very eager to leave, their heads buried in the retaining wall while their legs seemed to be reaching in a perpetual state of frozen departure. My partner noted that the albino (read: white) alligator seemed quite happy in his tank being the object of thousands of people gawking while the darker-skinned alligators seemed to want to get the hell outta there.

    As we counted out our meager dollars to pay for food in the over-priced buffet of the Academy of Sciences which one had no choice but to eat in as you were starving from the over four hour wait in the entrance line, I pondered the situation. First they move us (working poor, people of color, folks) out, “clean us out” to be exact with redevelopment, gentrification, sneaky lawyers, speculating realtors, sleazy landlords and removal. Then they turn our neighborhoods, our land, our parks (and our tanks) into over-priced “attractions” that none, least of all us, can afford to be in and then once we are truly extracted, removed and/or destroyed they lie, re-define and/or revise our stories for their archives about when we were there and how we left.

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  • Una Opera Muerta/Dead Opera

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    PNN reviews Imperial Silence: Una Opera Muerta/ A Mariachi Opera in Four Acts

    by tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/PNN- ReViewSFoRtheReVoLutioN

    The colores shimmered from their jackets... the glow of pinks y amarillos, golds and greens filled my mind as my ears and eyes wrapped around the son and the ritmo of the deep , rich sounds of mariachi that filled the stage of the Brava theatre at the opening of Imperial Silence: Una Opera Muerta/ A Mariachi Opera in Four Acts.

    Una Opera Muerta, performed as part of Galeria De La Raza's Day of the Dead celebration and directed by John Jota Leanos in collaboration with Cristobal Martinez, Los Quatros Vientos and Sean Levon Nash is a mixed media, layered art production of radio, song, images, stage and dance. Perhaps all of those elements are the definition of classical opera, Im not sure, but it was one of the most beautiful and seamless pieces of performance art, culture and commentary, I have ever seen.

    My five year old son Tiburcio, mi novio, Tony y yo were at home preparing the altar for my Mama Dee who passed in March of 2006 before we all arrived at the opening night of Imperial Silence at the Brava theatre. We all watched as the opening act began with a mariachi aria in full regalia. As we listened to the live music set to a children's nursery rhyme, Los ABCs QUE, an animated film took us on a tour through global and local poverty, the death of the desparacidos in Juarez, corporate destruction of NAFTA/CAFTA and the maquiladoras, global climate change, border fascism y mas. The animation was at once terrifying and hilarious, the characters resembled a dead version of Kenny and the crew from South Park. We were laughing and shaking our heads in disgusted agreement.

    The next acts were intertwined with live dance pieces that combined Mexican folklorico and indigena symbology representing the duality of the experience of migrant peoples in life and death across the globe.

    The third act, Radio Muerta, is a haunting radio piece heard and seen inside a car, the amazing lowrider car painted for this opera and presented at the Day of the Dead celebration at the Oakland Museum in 2007.

    The fourth and final act includes a satire of corporate media with DNN/ Dead News Network and depicts, among other things, the thousand dead march.

    As the last act closed with more breathtaking dancing and mariachi sounds, I remembered my Mama Dee's words, herself an amazing performance, visual and sound artist, who was honored in the radio scene of the opera, a good production of anything is marked by its ability to move you to not just tears but laughter. My mama dee's spirit was in the Brava theatre that noche de los muertos and she was muy contento.

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  • A Grandfather on the Rollercoaster of CPS

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Another Family Struggles with Criminalizing-(not)-Protecting System (CPS)

    Another Family Struggles with Criminalizing-(not)-Protecting System (CPS)

     
     

    by John Smith and Phil Adams/PNN

    When I first met John Smith he was at our old office at Market street. Another correspondent at POOR told me had a story to tell. John told me that his reason behind telling me his story was that he just wanted people to know that he is being targeted by the court system, and unfortunately he isn�t the only one. So we took a walk down Market street. It was around 8 om but the night was still warm. John was in his work clothes, paint still under his fingernails, but his head still head held high. The sincerity in his voice and the truth in his eyes was a contrast to the department stores, consumers and car headlights we passed. The truth has more in common with the guy pissing on the sidewalk because he can�t use the pay to piss public restroom than the Virgin Mobile store and on foot patrol officers that stare at us. This is John�s story.

    John Smith is honest hard working elder of African descent who loves his granddaughter. He is also an example of how ineffective our legal structure can be. John however still believes in the system even though it is currently letting him down. He loves his granddaughter Teresa and just wants what�s best for her.

    In the past John served time for a felony charge. In 1976 he go caught up on a drug charge served his time and was released. After he served his sentence he was given a year of probation. Right now, he works construction and lives in a house in San Francisco with his sons.

    John�s granddaughter Teresa is nine years old. She lived with John between ages 1 though 6 and now she lives with her mother and step-father. In the past when he was able to see Teresa she would say she didn�t like to stay with her mother because her step father treated her worse than her half sister. So John had Teresa stay with him. He had her enrolled in school, playing in band and was an active participant at the community at the school. This all changed when Teresa�s mother, who was not known by the school at all picked her up from school one day.

    At the same time John�s daughter (Teresa�s mother) filed a restraining order against him claiming that he kidnapped his own granddaughter. This restraining order put John on a roller coaster ride through the San Francisco legal system that he�s still going through today.

    The restraining order went to court but was dropped because Teresa�s mother never appeared at any of the hearings. However, it still went to criminal court because for some reason it was seen as a violation of John�s probation. John was put on probation again recently because his ex-wife was caught with weapons and said they were his. John has been separated from his wife for over four years now and those charges were also dropped because John had never seen or handled those weapons before. What I don�t understand is how a restraining order is a violation of probation for a crime that he was never convicted of? Anyway, he spent the night in jail and was released the next day for no reason.

    John�s status as being once incarcerated is the reason why the court system and the Police treat him this way. As far as the legal system is concerned John is guilty they just need proof. It�s been over 30 years since his drug offense but he still labeled as a criminal.

    What John cares about the most is Teresa. John�s daughter was declared an unfit mother after her third child died as an infant from influenza. So he wants to get custody of Teresa before anything can happen and it�s already obvious she is suffering abuse from her step father. However with the way the courts treat John, it doesn�t seem likely.

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  • Single Room Occupancy (SRO) Hotels- SWEET and SOUR

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    One Poverty Scholars tour of poor people housing aka SRO's and what needs to be done!

    by Thornton Kimes/PNN Poverty Scholar in residence

    From 1995 to 1999 I lived in the Curtis Hotel, a Single Room Occupancy building on Valencia Street between 16th and 17th Streets in San Francisco’s Mission District. A friend, call him Joe the Bummed-Out Tenant (J.BOT? Joe-BOT? Just Joe? I dunno…), lived and worked there as a desk clerk for 14 years before quitting, experiencing houselessness for 9 months and moving into a Tenderloin Housing Clinic (THC) SRO, the Vincent—the same year I moved into the Elk Hotel, a few blocks away, in March of 2004.

    We reconnected recently at the Wednesday weekly free food pantry at the Elk, and remembered those years. Anyone with SRO experience can tell Hollywood-worthy social injustice horror stories, among other tales, and the Curtis surely was one—though it isn’t the main focus here.

    To illustrate, an absurdity: She Who Must Be Obeyed, also known as the manager of the Curtis, often tried to stop our Seinfeldian conversations about nothing (or books), even when Joe-bot didn’t have anything to do other than read. Since I was well past the then-current you-haven’t-been-here-more-than-30-days…GET OUT! SRO regime, I politely resisted her “isolate the employee” campaign.

    The Curtis had toxic management, bad electrical wiring, self-destructing tenants—Joe-bot and I saw one set fire to his own sink one evening, through an office window sharing an air-well during a conversation about nothing—and The Loud Construction Noises Of The Restaurant Appearing Under Our Noses that eventually contributed to my vanishing act from the place.

    Joe-bot and I have been relatively comfortable with the management of our SRO homes, but the only thing that lasts is change. The Elk, like the Curtis and other SRO’s, has been a place where a Patel family from India could get a foothold in the mythology of the American Dream of Success. She Who Must Be Obeyed enjoyed her power over tenants who had none—unless they had done a lot of time in their hotel room—a little too much.

    Harry Patel, now the ex-manager of the Elk, is a good man who made as much lemonade as he could from what harvest was available. That phrase “ex-manager” is important.

    One of Joe-bot’s friends told me, one Wednesday, he wanted to sue THC. Musing on sueing is apparently a long-standing hobby, but after talking with Joe-bot I understood and sympathized. Until January of 2008, the Vincent (the building isn’t named, the sign outside just says “Hotel”) was a somewhat stable place to hang your hat.

    From January through October, Joe said many people, including THC Director of Property Management James Holland, played the roles of Manager, Assistant Manager, or Acting Manager (a modern update on Musical Chairs—Musical Managers…). He named 14 of them, including at least one desk clerk, and one who voluntarily reduced himself in status to same, from the Boyd and Jefferson Hotels—and the assistant manager of the Elk, who hopes to be named Manager Manager there.

    I hope the Elk Hotel does not go through the same chaotic game of Musical Managers the Vincent has enjoyed.

    Joe-bot also said the Vincent, which acts as host to THC administrative staff in its basement, has become a noiser, more chaotic, less safe living environment with almost daily fights between tenants happening. October 2008 was an interesting month.

    The television room in the lobby was stripped—no tv, chairs, or tables, and the common-use microwave was relocated under a fire alarm closer to tenant rooms. The inevitable result of microwaving bags of popcorn: the Fire Department visited the hotel 3 days in a row for microwave popcorn false alarms (my acquaintance at the SRO Collaborative knew about those incidents), plus an unrelated visit the next day for a bonus.

    “The desk clerks don’t know how to deal with fire alarms, accidental or real,” Joe-bot told me, “they don’t know what to do or who to call when the alarm goes off.”

    March 2009 will mark my fifth year living in the Elk Hotel, but THC only counts the years since they started managing the place. I’d really be upset if my tenure at the Elk was 10 years or more—was I living with imaginary friends?

    When THC moved in, the Elk got spiffed up--new carpets, reinforced assault-proof (but not bullet proof) work hut for the desk clerks, and other improvements. They spent some money, but not nearly enough, and they didn’t focus on what I’d like to call my The Way Things Ought To Be List For SRO Hotels.

    I briefly lived in the All-Star Hotel (16th and Folsom Streets), now a THC building (much to my surprise) several times. The All-Star has a community kitchen on each floor. The only other place like that I’ve ever seen is the very very clean SRO hotel The Arlington Residence, on Ellis and Leavenworth, run by The St. Vincent de Paul Society; the Arlington is for substance abusers in recovery; in 1995, my case manager at the shelter now called Next Door Shelter, thought I was a good fit since I don’t abuse substances (except food…).

    SRO tenants can’t cook in their rooms. Too small a space, too easy to start a fire. Coffeemakers, Crock pots and microwaves are cool, but hot plates, toasters, rotisserie thinguses—nope, nah, nada, no way. I use my coffeemaker for coffee, tea, or me—that is, the hot water does the job for turning Top Ramen noodles and other things into a meal.

    Top Ramen is, of course, a rite of passage many Americans most likely recall from their “salad days” (when salad was all they could afford living in their first home away from home—read William Shatner’s autobiography, before he became Captain Kirk he was a starving actor in Canada. If any Trekkers want his autograph, don’t say the word “salad” to him), but it is a staple on my diet now.

    Community kitchens are on the top of my The Way Things Ought To Be List. A Laundry Room is snuggled up close, the second item. I lived next door to the one washer, one dryer laundry room at the Curtis, and paid less rent because the manager thought it was a hardship for me. It wasn’t, and the rent wasn’t either.

    A Curtis Special, one washer/one dryer, would be a step up for many SRO tenants, including those with disabilities that restrict their movements. One of the tenants at the Elk is often unable to leave her room due to chronic pain problems. I know her as “Star”. Community kitchens and laundry rooms would require a sacrifice—the willingness to give up rooms that would house tenants and make money for the SRO’s management.

    The digital television conversion those of us who care about television are all going through, the low-income coupons-to-buy-the-digital-signal-converter-boxes program, are not the only limbo SRO tenants experience daily. Even before the digital television thing started looming larger on the horizon, SRO hotels have been in a grey area for television service, cable and satellite in particular.

    Some THC building are very cable friendly, Elk residents went through a very confusing process leading to the establishment of a community satellite television in the lobby. Satellite tv is cool, as long as the bills are paid. Ahem, cough cough.

    Of course, if you aren’t low-income (you probably don’t live in a SRO—unless even “affordable housing” hoses you), more personal money certainly talks pretty loudly. Still, a television in every room, a chicken in every pot…actually, I am serious about that. This is one of those “I’d rather Opt Out Than Be Made To Seek The Service I Should Automatically Have” situations.

    Another one is telephones. Put the low-income Lifeline phones in every SRO room, put the phone bill on the monthly (or every 2 weeks, the way I paid until achieving downward mobility this past summer to welfare) rent payment so nobody has to think about it unless someone at the phone company does something “unfortunate”. Simple. The Way Things Ought To Be.

    SRO tenants in San Francisco have traveled some ways since The Bad Old Days, but there’s some distance to go to be living in The Promised Land. Organizations like Tenderloin Neighborhood Development Corporation, CoHousing Partners, and THC provide significant steps up the Ladder of Liveability, but SRO hotel managers and owners still have to be pushed and prodded, often by tenants working for the SRO Collaborative, POWER and other groups.

    Next on my The Way Things Ought To Be list: showers and bathrooms. The best showers I’ve ever taken were in the county jail in Great Falls, Montana after cutting the fence around a missile silo outside of town.

    Many SRO tenants use shared bathrooms, showers, and bathtubs. The Elk’s showers are all different in size, equipment, and water pressure. I spent long minutes in the county jail shower. Global warming? Me was bad boy. As I said, THC spent a lot of money on improvements for the Elk, but not much on the showers except for the frequent repairs that are the inevitable consequence of 80+ people living in the building.

    One problem, a leak, required a Sherlock Holmesian effort to trace the path the water took to the mom and pop store under us. It also shut down my floor’s shower for several weeks.

    Another problem, which may have been solved (I’m crossing my fingers…) is the Elk Hotel’s heating system, which turned on full blast during the hottest days of the summer and, after much complaining, didn’t come on much, if at all, as the season turned especially during the recent Bay Area deep freeze. Verbal complaints didn’t get much more than responses like “That’s a maintenance thing”.

    I’ve never experienced anything like this in an SRO hotel before. How many tenants are too used to this? It was nice to learn that the Rent Board would have reduced my rent if I filed a complaint—all I want is an environmental control system that hasn’t lost its mechanical little mind!

    A written request from a number of tenants, organized by the tenant rep, appears to have gotten results. We’ll see. I do like cooler weather, despite growing up in Texas, but I’m not a member of the Polar Bear Club that swims in the cold waters of San Francisco Bay!

    THC and other non-profit-entity-run SRO hotels (including the Arlington) have on-site case managers available for low-income tenants who need help gaining access to social services and other things. Joe The Bummed Out Tenant and others I’ve spoken to at the Wednesday food pantry almost universally say said case managers are rarely available and there isn’t much they can do for them anyway—the assistance available is (well-known to those of us who’ve been around the social services block a few times) a trickled-down limited supply sought by a heapin’ helpin’ of people in need. That limited supply of help is under harsh attack in the Filthy McNasty economic conditions we’re living in now.

    One more thing for the Way Things Ought To Be List: honesty. Tell folks there isn’t anything new available if they already know the ropes, maybe do the same anyway for the new kids on the block.

    How did I find out the All-Star Hotel, which I thought was run by the City of San Francisco, is a THC building? Nate Holmes, shop steward of the union representing THC workers, told me. Nate’s an interesting guy, seems to know everyone, from SRO Collaborative tenant reps to someone from the San Francisco Organizing Project to Tony Robles and Tiny from Poor Magazine to who knows whom else.

    I met him at what used to be Wild Awakenings Café, but is now the…Celtic Coffee Company. I’d love to have the old name back, but never mind. Nate Holmes is the best kind of shop steward (I’ve known one other, a single father of three I used to know in Seattle who worked for the postal service), the kind that gets in trouble with management for doing what a good union dude is supposed to do.

    He is a caring, and very practical, pragmatic man. He told me, among other things, to do whatever it takes to get out of the Elk and into better housing. “I’ve seen too many people die in SRO’s,” he said. He’s happy to see Barack Obama be the next President, but realistic about the fact that there still is and always will be a lot to do to before conditions improve to (in my words) The Way Things Ought To Be.

    Holmes also said “THC can do more to help tenants on GA find work—or create that work; they were trying to do more but they stopped for no apparent reason.” A six-months-long desk clerk training program that kicks the trainee to the curb to find another job elsewhere isn’t enough in his opinion. THC could get more people off of welfare, but only if, Holmes counseled me—tenants combine forces with the SRO Collaborative tenant rep organizaers to fight for more simple, practical mass employment, to push THC and encourage the San Francisco Board of Supervisors to add their voices and influence to such an effort.

    “THC says there’s no money for it,” Holmes continued, “but they had it to start with” and just stopped spending it on that task.

    Okay. Practical solutions versus semi-hemi-demi-pie-in-the-sky something-from-somewhere impractical (maybe) stuff. I have a very hard time disagreeing with Nate Holmes, but for one humongous obstacle in the way: “affordable housing” and its cousins, “low-income” and “very low-income” housing—there ain’t enough and there will be much less of it if San Francisco’s schizoid city planning process, married to the even worse “10 Year Plan To End Homelessness” (a.k.a. Care Not Cash), is allowed to continue making what amounts to fetal alcohol syndrome/crack baby-style urban policy.

    Practical solutions working to end under and unemployment and houselessness will get nowhere if City Hall not only doesn’t know what its right and left hands are doing—it doesn’t act like it wants to know!

    Wendall Davis is the assistant manager of the Elk Hotel, a known product to his employers and still has to go through a multiple interview interview process to get hired as the Manager Manager. Wendall is pretty popular, a nice guy too—you’d think THC would notice how the San Francisco 49ers got a clue and hired Mike Singletary to be Head Coach after proving he’s Da Man and a good leader too.

    During a December 29th tenant meeting at the Elk, in response to conversation about kitchens, laundry rooms, etc., Wendall commented: “THC put in new carpets and other stuff before taking over officially, but washers, dryers and kitchens are major improvements that would increase the value of the building and if THC did that where would we be at the end of the 10 year contract with Mr. Patel, the owner? Ass out!”

    The Catch-22-ish rock and hard place here is absotutely amazing, fascinating, frustrating, insert-your-own word for it (but don’t say it in front of the kids unless they’re used to it…). The economy is part of this madness too, I totally understand, though everyone hopes things improve.

    THC’s contract with SRO owners is slightly long-viewish, but where’s the beef? Wendall was answering a comment/question from me about THC being a non-profit in good standing (I hope) with other non-profits like St. Anthony Foundation, Catholic Charities, St. Vincent de Paul and others that help tenants move from shelters to SRO’s or apartments, securing appliances and furniture.

    I would have thought that the non-profit attitude would be more it’s-the-right-thing-to-do, so-why-not-do-it-no-matter-what-happens-at-the-end-of-the-contract. THC and other non-profits are a buffer zone between low-income citizens and the streets, near-total destitution and worse. Should I be impressed?

    Another addition to The Way Things Ought To Be List: An “SRO Project”. Is there anyone out there who could or would accept the challenge of doing what ATHC and others apparently won’t do? Find and/or spend money, organize volunteers and tenant sweat equity—á la Habitat For Humanity—turning them into improvements to SRO hotels just becuz this Do The Right Thing is the rightest thing to do? (This is one of the main goals of POOR Magazine’s HOMEFULNESS project –still un-funded)

    Every few years I do on-line searches of Habitat, Americorps and Vista. What stops me from seriously going after positions in those organizations—and others that they support—is a combinatikon of feeling personally inadequate to the tasks at hand and being unwilling to be philosophically crammed between some very hard rocks ‘n hard places of built-in hostile Care Not Cash attitudes of some of those efforts.

    One position I examined on December 30th, 2008, is located in Sacramento. It’s a “10 Year Plan To End Homelessness” schtick, like the thing Gavin Newsome allowed to follow him home one day and has been trying to sell San Franciscans on its cuteness ever since.

    HELP WANTED! I’ll beat down my self-doubts if there’s a Fairy Godmother/father out there. I need a job. I also want to do something that makes sense, that means something, even if a little head-banging on stone walls is the order of the day. I’ve always wanted to find out how good San Francisco Renaissance (the non-profit that teaches folks small business basics and incubates many that have become, or will become, players in the small business universe in this city) is, or whatever training regimen makes sense to actually be capable of doing what I’d like to do.

    Practical versus impractical, that is the question. When it comes to SRO hotels, I think the answer should be—make those places as good as they can be for folks who need them. They, and others like them, will need them for a good long while to come.

    It is personally rather frightening how easy it would be for me to become one of those people Nate Holmes spoke of (the dead ones)—an SRO hotel hermit. Despite what I said about in-house SRO case managers, I’ve watched at least one good one in action: Beth Sadler, the Elk Hotel’s c.m., spent some serious time talking through a crack in the door of one hotel hermit one day (I was in the bathroom across the hall—fly on the, uh, wall…).

    Practical versus impractical, that is the question. Is there an answer?

    Tags
  • Earth, Wind and Obama

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    An open letter to Barack Obama from PNN

    by RWS

    Dear Barack,

    I didn't watch the election coverage of November 4th. I was not in front of the television watching the announcers project which states you won and which states went to senator McCain. I was sitting in a circle. What circle, you might ask? I was in the indigenous circle at POOR Magazine in San Francisco. Election night fell on the same night as Community Newsroom in which Poverty, Race, Disability, Migrant, Youth and Elder scholars from the community come together and create media--revolutionary media that tells their stories--stories of houselessness, disability, incarceration, immigration, gentrification and issues of poverty that go unnoticed or misrepresented by mainstream media. Our circle is important and we don't break it, even for the U.S. Presidential election.

    Don't get me wrong, the people in our circle were most interested in the election. We glanced at the computer terminal from time to time and each time we looked, you were in the lead. Each report indicated what state went to you and what state went to senator McCain.

    We were happy to see that you were pulling away from Senator McCain. The report came in that you had picked up Ohio and Pennsylvania, I said to myself, it's over.

    But we had work to do. The criminalization of poor folks globally and locally is something that we are fighting. I am sure you are familiar with the UN Declaration on indigenous peoples; it is our hope that your administration will recognize this declaration and take the necessary steps to cease the criminalization of migrant peoples--to recognize that migrant peoples have families and cultures and histories that run deep in this hemisphere. Will this be part of your agenda? I believe the future of the U.S. as a country hinges on undoing the wrongs committed upon the indigenous peoples of this hemisphere. You have a helluva job in front of you. I wouldn't want the job you now have.

    As you were winning in the Electoral College, our circle was talking about the civil rights movement and the fight for the vote. One of our scholars at POOR Magazine is a founding member who is Black and has dealt with homelessness and poverty for much of his life. He said that voting is important but that politics must be part of everything you do, from the places you shop to the media you access for information. It must be part of day to day living. It is the vital work that must be done that goes unnoticed.

    A young woman in our circle from Tonga spoke from her heart about her family situation. She spoke of the medical system and emptiness she felt navigating through a system of providers who provide nothing that resembles spirit or compassion or empathy. Her tears brought us back to who we are as indigenous people. Our circle is stronger now. This happened as you gave your victory speech.

    When community newsroom ended, I got on my bike and headed home. An African descendant kid shouted your name from an open window: OBAMA! OBAMA! Young black men walked in the street chanting your name. White so-called hipsters congregated at cafes and bars celebrating your victory. I rode past navigating the San Francisco hills.

    As I rode I thought of the other Obamas of the past, the talented and brilliant black men and women who never got the opportunity to achieve their dreams or show their brilliance as you have. I am hopeful that you will not forget them. I hope you remember the young kid in the window chanting your name. Our indigenous circle is not broken.

    Tags
  • Death By Capitalismas

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    an Ode to temporary walmart employee Jdimytai Damour

    by tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/PNN

    The pounding kept coming, the pounding of hundreds of thousands of feet, boots, heels, and bodies on the chest, heart, lungs and skull of 34 year old temporary Walmart worker Jdimytai Damour. The relentless pounding was coming from the feet of over 2000 humans in pursuit of an Xbox, a plasma screen TV, a $2.00 dvd. In pursuit of that deal they walked, ran, stomped, and charged over the body of Jdimytal until he was suffocated.

    The notion of Black Friday began in the 1960�s and related to the fact that retailers were making a huge volume of pre-christmas sales and subsequently going from the red (deficit column) to the �black� (surplus column) in their accounting.

    As a person who barely survived on underground economic strategies (vending t-shirts and art on the street without a license) I know first-hand the strange mindlessness of holiday sales. Me and my mama would pray every year to sell as many shirts as we possibly could. Depending on how close to the precipice of houselessness and hunger we were that year, would determine how desperate we were and how early I would set up our �stand� outside the giant department stores in downtown San Francisco.

    As the mindless minions would line up for the so-called deals, we always dreaded the strangely named black Friday � because no matter how hard we display our art no-one would notice- they were only interested in �the cheapest � deals. People would buy things without even thinking about it � just to �get it done�. Even then I wondered how we as a society were all so collectively engaged in a frenzy to buy things. And how this frenzy became associated loosely with the birth of Christ who worked his whole life in service to poor people. How in christ�s name we were all engaged in a consumer-driven mania that kills. Which is why I recently re-named it Capitalismas.

    Poor, isolated single parent families like me and my mixed race, orphan mama were always faced with different forms of sad options as not only did we never have any money to take part in the consumer �based consumption we also had no �family� to share the �family� holiday with. Every year I would dread the choice of rescue mission that we would have to choose to eat in or worse, just her and me alone in our tiny Single Room Occupancy Hotel room or back-seat of car.

    There are so many terrifying things about the sorrow of empty, consumer-driven holidays and events birthed by corporate media in tandem with US capitalism, dangerous, hyper-levels substance use, depression, shame, loneliness and sorrow collectively felt by thousands of people struggling with the silenced experience of poverty , loneliness, and depression fueled and worsened by the media messages of BUY BUY BUY.

    Jdimytai Damour�s was only a temporary worker, a day laborer from �labor ready� out on the front-line of the war of consumerism, who along with a pregnant mama and three other people were seriously injured by the truly mindless frenzy of Walmart inspired capitalism.

    There is a particularily sad irony of the death of a Walmart worker by a corporation who metaphorially and actually kills its workers with horrible benefits and soul-killing working conditions, kills the towns and small businesses of the areas that it exists in and destroys poor folks across the globe with its mandate of unrealistically cheap prices.

    His family has filed a wrongful death suit against Walmart and will hopefully win everything they are asking for. But I am left with the terror in my gut of Jdimytai, how long was he conscious, how long was he aware, in terror for his survival?

    And how far have we fallen into the deadly pit of consumption that we haven�t collectively mourned his death nationally and consequently stopped all of our mindless consumption if only for a moment to participate in a moment of silence for our fallen brother.

    Tags
  • Heaven and Earth-

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Growing Roots and Farmers

    by Joanna Letz/ PNN

    Heaven and Earth Farm

    dive into soil, look around and admire.

    I dive into the clouds. Take a look.

    I press the sun into my forehead and rain collects in my palms.

    Smoke is my tail, and wind is my eyes.

    I am the moon, I gather up my shinning dress

    And slowly walk out again to greet myself.

    And I continue.

    Frogs jump out of my throat

    And call to the directions.

    Open arms- dance- twisting and pulling.

    And winding back out again.

    Stretching out our arms and running head first

    As the earth turns

    Chasing the sun

    The earth swallowing me up and spitting me back out.

    Questions fly as I re-write the sky on my arms

    In freckle constellations

    Staring down the throat of okra flowers- hearing their whispers

    Sweet mulberry juice sticking to my face

    Re-learning what it means to be alive

    My first experience in a garden was in my grandpa's yard. Zucchini and cucumber vines going wild, yellow flowers everywhere. Honey bees and tree houses. This mysterious, magical garden my grandpa kept. Big compost pile I heard once caught fire. My grandpa kept growing tomatoes on his porch until he passed away at 94. It was to my grandpa I thought of as I journeyed to working on an organic vegetable farm in the Sierra foothills.

    As a grand daughter of Eastern-European Jews, and a grand daughter of holocaust survivors, my connection to a cultural identity has mostly been based on a history of victim-hood. Many of the healing traditions of my grandmothers and great-grandmothers have been lost. I feel now is the time for me to reconnect with these lost traditions as well as other rich cultural knowledge and herstories about agriculture, wild foods and herbs, and how to take care of myself and those around me. The time I got to spend with my grandpa in his garden was transformative; peaceful and magical. The time I spent seeing my grandma knead her dough for cookies and cakes, and chop onions for soups, I was at ease. Now, with my grandpa passed and my grandma no longer able to make her sweets and barley soups, I must turn, look back and try to re-member what has been lost, but not totally forgotten.

    Food has always been about bringing people together. Food is our health, nutrition, connection, and love. The kitchen, the farm, and the plants and trees around us, our environment, and our bodies, need to come back into the forefront of our movement building, and our lives. A world we can sustain- with our hands in the soil and fresh greens and carrots on our tongues and in our bellies. With the continuing growth in cities, and growth in agri-business and massive mono-cropped farms people are more and more disconnected from nourishing traditions and foods. The constant assault and harassment by police and corporate culture of poor communities and communities of color who are struggling to keep traditional healing and ways of being alive is a crime against humanity. Now is a time to create another vision and look to those struggling to keep other ways of knowing alive and be the alternative to a culture of commodification, of grocery stores, shopping malls, and highways. We have strayed far from our intuitive selves and we need to come back home to our bodies and traditions.

    Every person, child, mother, father, sister should have the opportunity to experience life on a farm. The daily routine; getting up with the sun, feeding the chickens, watering the plants, playing in the dirt, weeding, and weeding, the repetition, and meditation. Shoveling compost, preparing beds, transplanting and fertilizing. Watching as seeds germinate and take root. Contemplating food, nourishment, seasons, and our health and well-being. Sitting between beds of beets and carrots, beet greens courageously reaching for the sun, and carrot roots just below the surface. Winters nearness in fall greens- blanket of cabbage, broccoli, fennel, collards, and kale.

    Working outside in the soil something magical is happening all the time. Watching bees and flowers, hearing birds cry, listening to our heart-beats, and seeing seeds sprout. In the first few months I was at Heaven and Earth farm I felt like the little kid again in my grandpa's garden. I never imagined that what I planted in the ground would actually grow. Taking a moment to stare at a corn stalk, the silk pollinated and dry, the cob, the female ovary beginning to take shape. Nature is abundant. Watching the life-cycles of plants.

    Flowers opening and closing. Learning the relationships between plants; Cucurbitaceae- winter squash and melons. The brassica family- the mustards, cabbage, kale, collard greens, broccoli. The Aster family- complex flowers. The mallow family, Malvaceae- cotton, tobacco, and okra. Learning about the soil, and compost. The evening sky at the farm filled with stars, planets, galaxies, questions, patterns, and imaginative creatures. Standing tall, the morning sun, stars and dreams in my eyes. Looking out over mountains, questioning and balancing time and space. Rising up like a wild fire, growing, sustained and cooled by the constant flow of blood, water, oxygen, nutrients, love. Goddess corn stalks. California grasses.

    Back in the earth, the rhythms, the cycles, the sun and moon, stars and clouds. Back in my body, my home. The joy, and the hard work, the dance around the blueberry patch, the taste of just picked vegetables, smells of cooking oil and garlic and fresh greens. The sheer delight you just want to jump and kick and scream, and dance.

    In a time of much instability what matters most? At the end of the day all we have is ourselves and those around us, our family, the trees, the living, breathing soil, and sky. The seasons change and we change.

    In the Bay Area, with so much talk about local foods and green products we have to actually start living in a radically different way. As Frank Cook says, it's not about food miles, but food feet. We have to eat from our backyards. Let's celebrate the seasons, the harvests and moon cycles. Demand that all communities have farmer's markets- farm stands, and gardens. What's the point in elitist style clubs that only talk about organics for the people who can afford it. Every home needs a space to grow herbs and roots, tomatoes, and lettuce. The sidewalks could be turned into a farm. Manufactured lawns could be rows of greens and berries. Every home needs a compost pile. Every block a chicken coop and milking goats. Every block, a community farm and garden space. Kids and grandparents, mothers and fathers could be inspired by the bees, by the zucchini flowers. Who knew plant sex could be so exciting? Instead of putting money for more walls and bars, lets demand money for gardens and education. Dismantle the concrete separating us from the soil and the food we eat. We need to support more people to work on farms like Heaven and Earth and share in the knowledge and lifestyle of growing our own food.

    Just as the saying goes, "it takes a village to raise a child," I believe it takes a village to raise a farm. Farmers work a lot and get paid a little. Many farms, especially the ones run by large corporations are employing "guest-workers" or undocumented workers who are working extremely hard jobs and getting paid nothing, and not even being recognized for the work they are doing. The "farm" - the food we eat, needs to come back into the hands of everyone. We can supplement what we eat from the farms with wild foods like acorns, mushrooms, fruits, and whatever is around us.

    Lets demand more produce stands and grocery stores in neighborhoods cut off from the talk of green and local, like West Oakland. We need to bridge the gaps between Berkeley residents who daily have access to fresh, local produce, and residents of West Oakland for whom the world of organics is worlds away, caught somewhere between liquor stores, freeway's, elitist slow food movements, and a culture hooked on discussing the newest food fad without making it accessible. Let's not just talk about the best carrot of the year, or the newest heirloom bean, but about how to bring this goodness to everyone. Let's boycott the big grocery stores and challenge them to bring the produce and stores to low-income communities. Support organizations that are trying to bridge the gaps, like People's Grocery, City Slickers Farm, and the Free Farm Stand in the Mission.

    As I journey back to the city, the rows of cabbage and broccoli, turn into rows of cars, and freeways, rows of lights, and telephone wires, billboards, and TV screens and screams. What are we growing here in the city? What are we growing inside ourselves and in the ground? The chatter drowning out our intuitive selves our knowledge we were handed down to us- from our mamaz, the mitochondria in our cells. Lets drown the chatter, the noise, with our heart-beats, our dances, our roots, as groups gather to re-member our traditions. As POOR magazine and others creates space for elders to tell their stories and teach their traditions.

    Well-being. Taking care of each other and ourselves and realizing the abundance around us of all we need to live, love, nourishment, fruit, vegetables, music, song, building materials, water. Redefining the world we find ourselves in. Refusing to accept the culture of fear and of scarcity. Taking care of each other and ourselves, learning about the plants around us, about how to build, how to sing, how to heal, how to cook nourishing meals. This is culture. This is well-being, life, living.

    Organizations like POOR magazine are creating new ways, and building upon old ways of being in the world. POOR through community newsroom and the vision of homefulness project is working to bring people together to share knowledge, stories, healing medicine, and food. POOR is speaking, and reporting on another way of living that is constantly under pressure from corporate media, gentrification, and the prison industrial complex. From the streets of Oakland to Gaza, we are demanding justice and demanding a right to live in peace- and in harmony with our intuitive selves and ancestral and cultural knowledge.

    Take the time, and money if you have it, to support the farms and gardens in your area, make one in your backyard or on your sidewalk.

    Please consider making a donation to POOR Magazine’s HOMEFULNESS project which is a sweat-equity co-housing project, multi-generational, multi-lingual school and small sustainable farm for houseless families . Checks can be sent to: 2940 16th Street, #301, San Francisco, 94103. Or call: (415) 863-6306

    Check out Tiny's article- Is it true that a healthy body is a wealthy body?
    http://www.poormagazine.org/index.cfm?L1=news&category=40&story=1955

    Resources and Links:

    East Bay:
    -
    *West Oakland - People's grocery: www.peoplesgrocery.org
    -
    *City Slicker Farms: www.cityslickerfarms.org
    -
    Bay Area Farmer's Markets: www.sfgate.com/food/farmersmarkets
    -
    Oakland green map info: http://www.greenmap.org/howto/isee.html
    -
    Berkeley green map: http://www.greenmap.org/greenhouse/es/node/47
    -
    www.alledibles.com: all edibles offers the collaborative design and installation of custom edible landscapes and gardens.
    -
    Oakland based urban gardens: www.obugs.org
    -
    www.ecologycenter.org
    -
    www.greywaterguerrillas.com
    -
    Edible Schoolyards: www.edibleschoolyard.org
    -
    What can you harvest in your backyard/street/Neighborhood, check out: www.forageoakland.blogspot.com
    -
    East Bay Food Not Bombs: www.ebfnb.org

    San Francisco/u>
    -
    Alemany Farms: http://www.alemanyfarm.org/
    -
    www.freefarmstand.org: The Free Farm Stand: Sundays 1-3pm in Treat Commons Community Garden-Parque Niños Unidos-corner of 23rd St. and Treat Ave. For more information/to volunteer/ or know of a fruit tree that needs picking- call Tree (415) 824-5193
    -
    Free eats chart: www.freeprintshop.org
    -
    San Francisco Food Not Bombs: sffnb.org
    -
    San Francisco green map: www.sfgreenmap.org
    -
    Learn more about mushrooms: Mycological Society of San Francisco: www.mssf.org

    Other Educational Farming/Outdoor programs for kids:
    -
    Slide Ranch: www.slideranch.org
    -
    Hidden Villa: www.hiddenvilla.org
    -
    Pie Ranch: www.pieranch.org

    Farming apprenticeship websites:
    -
    attrainternships.ncat.org/
    -
    www.organicvolunteers.com
    -
    www.wwoof.org

    Other Resources:
    -
    www.localharvest.org
    -
    www.eco-farm.org
    -
    Community Alliance with Family Farmers: www.caff.org
    -
    Community Food Security Coalition: www.foodsecurity.org
    -
    Check out Common Vision's fruit tree tour in California: www.commonvision.org
    -
    Organic Seed Alliance: www.seedalliance.org
    -
    Equity Trust: www.equitytrust.org- helps communities to gain ownership interests in their food, land, and housing
    -
    Regenerative Design: Wild Crafting Series: www.regenerativedesign.org/courses-events/wild-crafting-series

    Books
    -
    Healing With Whole Foods: Asian Traditions and Modern Nutrition, Paul Pitchford
    -
    Nourishing Traditions: The Cookbook that Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition and the Diet Dictocrats, Sally Fallon
    -
    Wild Fermentation: The Flavor, Nutrition, and Craft of Live-Culture Foods, Sandor Ellix Katz
    -
    Botany in a Day, Thomas J Elpel
    -
    Mycelium Running, Paul Stamets
    -
    Mushrooms Demystified, David Arora

    Tags
  • Night And DaY Transformed

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    OH MY JESUS,GOD WOW!

    An Occasion for The Ages.

    Ancestors are weeping this night.

    Could America regain it stature.

    The world gasped,WE FREAKIN' DID IT


    AGAIN!

    STUNNED THE WORLD Giving People and adding


    WINGS to Hope

    by Joseph Bolden

    Night And DaY Transformed

    Just when I think this world and people cannot get any better something affirms
    "Keep Your Head Up,
    Hold On,Keep The Faith Baby.

    I have not eaten since mid Monday, ignoring radio/tv pundants purposely until the next President is chosen.

    Rent paid using my E.B.T. card (always forget what the initials mean, its my food card and not General Assistance check combined).

    I don’t like it but you deal with change or change deal with you.

    While paying rent, saving what I can, and preparing to see my worker in a day or two this Presidential race drifted in and out of focus until Tuesday, Nov. 2, 2008.

    Early up to vote and not hear or see talking heads back to looking for stuff to take to my G.A. worker.

    I almost fell asleep before tuning in the radio hearing who is the next President!
    “Barack Obama is our 44th President OF The United States.”
    WHAT, WHAT, OH MY GOD, THE PEOPLE YOUNG, OLD, RAINBOW HEWED HAD ELECTED NOT SELECTED A NEW PRESIDENT!

    I’ve been floating since President Elect Obama’s victory and acceptance speech.

    Yes, I didn’t expect to see this in my lifetime but it’s not about me now its young folks and children born and yet to be born who’ll grow up knowing
    without a doubt have a Black President hopefully one of many.

    Further more it will be not even debated but a given that anyone Fem, Male, whichever religion or sexual orientation will have an equal opportunity to become leader of this land.
    There are still hurtles, trials, and problems abound.

    It will take all of us as a nation and global humanity to solve them, everyone is
    needed to keep striving to find the best in all of us to improve the lives of past, present, and future generations.

    If any you listened to my voice on San Francisco Liberation Radio. Net you know there is a lot more I personally want than an election to be won and dreams in to reality flurrish but that’s a quirk uniquely mine and a few other imaginative and brave souls to shad light where ever darkness reins and set ark lights keeping shadow, mist, and dark bleakness forever away.

    Now must get back to a pigsty single room occupant apartment and look for important documents needed.

    Take care everyone, let us all be...

    (I'm borrowing a phrase from an old-young
    traveler) some of you may know of his recent return.

    Brilliant, open eyes to a new day.

    The dawn of many great days to come.

    Any comments please send to www.telljoe.com or www.poormagazine.org

    Tags
  • What NAFTA did to the Campesinos...

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    The Pemex theft proposal and other lies of NAFTA and CAFTA

    The Pemex theft proposal and other lies of NAFTA and CAFTA

     
     

    by Teresa Molina/Voces de Inmigrantes en resistencia

    Scroll Down For English

    Alguna gente piensa que yo estoy aqui en este pais porque quiero enriquezerme… Alguna gente piensa que yo estoy aqui sin necesidad… Alguna gente no se da cuenta de que por los acuerdos que tiene los Estados Unidos y Mejico, millones de personas son dezplazadas, marginadas, viviendo en pobreza, y forzadas a dejar su pais. El problema que causa que emigremos es la falta de oportunidad, empleo, comida, estudios, necesidades basicas. Mejico ya esta muy pobre por lo que nos hizo NAFTA a los campesinos Mejicanos, ahorra, si venden PEMEX, vamos a quedar mas pobre el pueblo de Mejico. Yo pienso que el gobierno Norte Americano siempre esta pensando en sus propios beneficios, que es el billete, y no piensa en que los fregados va hacer la gente pobre.

    Camino en mi tierra y solo veo lo que queda despues de la venta de nuestros recursos…Casas con techos hecho de carton y lamina que se mojan cuando llueve, casas sin necesidades basicas como tener un bano adentro… ya no estaria el empleo que nos da el dinero que nos compra la comida que alimenta a nuestras familias… Regresariamos a un tiempo de antes… Un tiempo de pura pobreza, la gente sin empleo, los ninos sin tener que comer, ancianos viviendo sin dignidad en las calles de sus pueblos… Estoy enfermo, pero a cual clinica voy? La que cerraron en mi pueblo o, la que cerraron en el sigiente pueblo… Todo esto pasaria, y al otro lado de la frontera, Se enriquezarian los duenos de impresas y corporaciones Americanas, y la pobreza de Mejico seguiria peor. Todo lo que nosotros hemos ganado con luchas largas, se perderia otra vez. Las petroleras PEMEX deberian quedar como petroleras Mejicanas. Pertenecen a Mejico y sus ganancias deben quedar para la gente Mejicana… en tierra Mejicana.

    Acuerdo a David Bacon, “El impacto de la venta de PEMEX seria como el impacto que tuvo NAFTA a la gente Mejicana.” David Bacon a escrito libros sobre las causas de la inmigracion, y nos hizo el favor de contestar nuestras preguntas. Sr. Bacon sigio, “Las causas porque vienen la gente de Latino America son consequencias directas de las decisiones de el gobierno Estado Unidense.” Este commentario de David Bacon me asegura la idea de yo tengo al pensar que si se venden las petroleras PEMEX habria mas pobreza en Mejico ademas de causar mas gente inmigrando a este, con una justa causa… una causa de inmigracion provocada por los Estados Unidos… Otra vez repitiendo la historia, y siempre al beneficio de los Estados Unidos.

    Alguna gente en este pais piensa que la gente emigra a los Estados Unidos porque se quieren hacer ricos, pero la realidad es otra, nosotros solamente queremos sobrevivir y sacar aledante a nuestros hijos. Para llegar a este pais, yo deje mi familia, yo deje lo que mas queria, yo deje mis pocas pertenencias, yo deje mi tierra que tanto extrano… Esto es el resultado de los acuerdos que hacen los gobiernos sin consultar al pueblo.

    English Sigue:

    Some people think that I'm here in this country because I want to get rich ... Some people tell me that I'm here without necessity and by choice... Some people do not realize that because the agreements made by the governments of United States and Mexico, millions of people are displaced, marginalized , living in poverty, and forced to leave their country. The problem that causes us to migrate is the lack of opportunity, lack of employment, no food, no education, basic needs not being met. Mejicanos are already very poor because of what NAFTA did to the campesinos, if they sell PEMEX, Mejicanos are going to be even worst off. I think that the American government is always out for their own profits, which is money and power of resources, and does not acknowledge how much damage their deciscions will have on poor people.

    I walk through my land and I see only what remains after the sale of our national resources... houses with roofs made of cardboard and foil that get flooded when it rains, houses without basic needs like having a bathroom inside... no longer would we have the employment that gives us the money to purchase the food that feeds our families... We’d be going back to time we already had to struggle through, and almost died doing so... a time of sheer poverty, people without jobs, children without having anything to eat, elders living without dignity on the streets of their villages ... I am sick, but which clinic do I go to? The clinic that shut down in my town or, the clinic which closed in the next town... All this happening, while on the other side of the border, CEOs, lobbyists, and investors of American corporations, and the poverty of Mexico still worstens. Everything that we have fought for, would be lost again. PEMEX oil companies should stay as Mexican oil. They belong to Mexico and its profits should be for the Mexican people ... in Mexican soil.

    According to David Bacon, "The impact of the sale of PEMEX would be as detrimental as the impact of NAFTA to the Mexican people." David Bacon has written books on the causes of immigration, and did us the favor of answering our questions during an interview. Mr. Bacon continued, "The causes that force people to immigrate from Latin America are direct consequences of the decisions made by the U.S. government." This commentary from David Bacon assured me on what I thought all along, I think that if they sell the oil refineries of PEMEX, we would have more poverty in Mexico and cause more people to immigrate to this country, with a just cause ... a consequence of immigration caused by the U.S. ... Again repeating history, and always to the benefit of the United States.

    Some people in this country think that we immigrate to the United States because we want to get rich by stealing the natural resources, but the reality is, that the U.S. are the ones that steal our natural resources and agriculture, forcing us to leave our land and come work for less than the minimum wage. All we want is to survive and offer a better life to our children. To get to this country, I left my family, I left that which I most love, I left my few belongings, I left my homeland that I miss so much... This is the result of agreements made by governments without consulting or considering the needs of the people.

    Tags
  • Es pura basura/Its Pure rubbish!

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Propocision 8- Es para negarles derechos a la comunidad LGBT
    Proposition 8 – Is to deny rights to the LGBT community.

    Propocision 8- Es para negarles derechos a la comunidad LGBT
    Proposition 8 – Is to deny rights to the LGBT community.

     
     

    by Teresa Molina/PNN Voce de inmigrantes en resistencia

    Scroll Down For English

    Estos gobiernos siempre an tratado de decirnos como tenemos que vivir, que debemos hacer, y como lo tenemos gue hacer. Dividiendonos, por ejemplo, los latinos, los negros, y los pobres, todos tenemos el vescindario a donde se nos a dicho que debemos vivir; designandonos escuelas, designando clinicas, observando nuestras vidas, todo esto por que les da miedo de que nos salgamos de nuestro lugar. Leyes que los protegen a ellos, y nos criminalizan a nosotros, siempre van a estar en poder, todos sabemos eso. Sin embargo estas son las leyes a donde no le hace bien a nadie, y les quitan derechos a un grupo de personas innocentes…

    Propocision 8- Es para negarles derechos a la comunidad LGBT. Parejas deven de tomar el poder de la decision de lo que deven hacer y como deven vivir y el derecho a ser libre; de casarse hombres con hombres y mujer con mujer si ellos quieren. Yo creo que la gente tiene derecho de casarse con quien sea feliz sin que le niegen sus derechos, a tener los mismos beneficios, como todo ser humano sin importar como aman.

    La mayoria de la gente esta muy disgustada y con justa razon; ya estamos cansados de que nos traten como si fueramos ninos, yo pienso que todos tenemos uso de rason y podemos pensar por nosotros mismos. Siempre estan tratando de decirnos que es bueno para nosotros y que identidad debemos tener. Yo creo que todos devemos vivir como queramos y identificarnos como nosotros queramos, cada quien puede tomar sus propias decisiones y vivir como mejor le convenga. Si las parejas del mismo sexo son felices, pues, que vivan juntos y se casen y formen una familia. No nesesariamente tiene que ser hombre y mujer para ser feliz que tengan los mismos derechos como culguier pareja. Yo pienso que todos somos iguales y todos tenemos derechos naturales de compartir nuestras vidas con quien queramos sin importar que sexo eres y como te identificas. Las vidas privadas de las personas no se tiene que mesclar con la politica, son cosas muy diferentes. Se debe de respetar al ser humano, sea como sea. Yo puedo ver como la gente esta muy enojada, se puede ver sus caras tristes indignadas por tanto abuso y despresio contra ellos, como si fuera ese su negosio, de estar calificando las personas. Yo admiro mucho a estas personas porque hasta la fecha la lucha sigue, y no deven cansarse de luchar; hasta lograr su proposito y puedan sentirse vien como seres humanos y no como algo extrano. Son personas buenas con buenos sentimientos, nadamas que son discriminados por la sociedad y aveses por sus propias familias. Esa gente es omofovicas hacia las personas del mismo sexo, ya basta de tanta discriminacion y desprecio hacia los homoxexuales y lesvianas, tienen que ser reconocidos y aseptados por esta sociedad descriminadora.

    Tuve la oportunidad de entrevistar a Jill Seynker, y le pregunte Que piensas de la propocicion 8? “Es pura basura. Yo creo que nada tiene que ver las propuestas con vidas privadas. No nos pueden negar derechos que nos coresponden.” Despues, le pregunte, Que cres que es la solucion y porque cres que lo hacen? Ella me contesto, “Es por discriminacion a personas lesbianas y gay. Yo pienso que tiene que ver con la homofobia que sienten asia nosotros y eso no es justo”

    Justicia- Obrar en razón o tratar a alguien según su mérito, sin atender a otro motivo, especialmente cuando hay competencia y disputa. Cada dia uno trabaja y trata de sobrevivir en este mundo injusto. Sin embargo, estos problemas, como los mensiona el govierno y los fanaticos de meterse en la vida de nosotros, nos inclina a creer que una persona que ama el mismo sexo no es capas de governar, ser maestro o de simplemente tener su propia familia. Una mente que no puede haceptar cambio y las ideas que nos transforman en una sociedad sin fronteras, es una mente que nos quiere bajo sus piez y no quiere que nadie que no piense como ellos tenga derechos iguales a ellos. Yo creo que lo mejor es luchar y no uir, porque encuanto te dejes aguitar, pierde la gente que busca justicia y libertad.

    Engles Sigue

    This government always tries to tell us how we have to live, what we need to do, and who we need to make war with. For example, dividing Latinos, blacks and poor folks into our separate ghettos. We all have a section of the slums where we are told that we need to live; they designate schools for us, designate clinics, watching our entire lives, constantly surveilling us; all this because they are fearful that we get out of line. Laws protect them, and criminalize us, will always be in power, we all know that. But there are laws that don’t benefit anyone, and they take away rights to a group of innocent people...

    Proposition 8 – Is to deny rights to the LGBT community. Any couple should have the right to make their own decisions that don’t affect anyone else but themselves; they should be free to marry men with men and women with women if they like. I think that people should have the right to wed with whom they are happy with. The state should not deny their rights to have the same benefits as all human beings regardless of the way they love.

    Most people are very upset and rightfully so. We are tired of being treated as if we were kids. I think we all have logic and reason and we can think for ourselves. The state is always trying to tell us what is good for us and how we should identify. I believe we all should have the right to live as we like and identify ourselves as we want, everyone should make their own decisions and live as you see fit. If same-sex couples know that they would be happier because they could legally live together and marry and form a family, than why not grant them that. A man and woman don’t necessarily live happily ever after when they get married, why not give the LGBT community a chance? Is the state afraid that they’d do it better? I think that we are all equal and we all have natural rights to live our lives with whom we want no matter what sex you are and how you identify. The private lives of people do not have to blend with politics, things are very different. It should be to respect the human being, come what may. I can see why people are very angry, their faces saddened and outraged by the inequality against them. I greatly admire the LGBT community because so far the struggle continues. They are strong and they will not get tired of fighting to achieve their purpose until they can openly feel as equal human beings and not as something strange. They are good people with good feelings, who are discriminated against by society and sometimes, their own families. Discrimination against the LGBT community should be widely knowned and called what it really is, state-sponsored inequality based off of fear and hate.

    I had the opportunity to interview Jill Shenker, and I asked her what she thought of Prop 8? "It's pure rubbish. I think the state should have nothing to do with the private lives of anybody. It is unfair to deny us equal rights." Then, I asked, What is the solution and why do you think that they are doing this ? She replied, "It is discrimination towards LGBT. I think that has to do with homophobia and the fear they feel from us and that is not fair "

    Justice- To treat someone according to their merit, without regard to another matter, especially when there is competition and dispute. Every day we work and try to survive in this unfair world. However, these strategies, such as the government getting involved in our personal lives, are designed to influence the public to believe that a person can not love the same sex, or marry the same sex, or even be capable of governing their own lives. A mind that can not accept change and the ideas that transform us into a society without borders, is a mind that wants us to always remain under them and does not want anyone who doesn’t think like them to be equal to them. I think it is best to for us to fight and not conform because they can never silence our voice shouting for justice and freedom.

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  • Singed Tongue

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Israel. Enough. Not in my name

    by Joanna Letz/ PNN

    Held tight. My throat singed with the colonizers language. But it's what I grew up on. Suckled on English letters as my grandma sang Yiddish lullabies in my mother's ear. And argued with grandpa over little things I could never understand.

    I can't blame my family. By losing the shtetl language- the language of resistance- my family could pass- could become white. And all the privileges that came with this.

    Yiddish words my mom scolded me with.. what's that shmutzin on your shirt. You are totally crazy- meshugga. My grandma's terms of endearment- my little bubele.

    Bits and pieces strung together without any order. A way of connecting to a Jewish identity and at the same time rejecting it.. Yiddish- the "shtetl" language. Rejecting a rich past. What of the lives before the war - I know little- my grandparents from Eastern Europe, Poland- the towns of Zlochev and Sokol.

    Clinging to a Jewish identity on the one hand and rejecting a rich past on the other. Clinging to an identity- based on victimhood- the holocaust- a sense of outsiderness- "the chosen people"- the only ones who know suffering. Upholding an image of the victim to support the false need for a state. And at the same time also assimilating to Amerikkkan life and the privileges of white skin, but denying the existence of these privileges.

    I am left with a singed tongue. Grasping, struggling to cough up words to describe my lived experience. Straddling worlds. Left uprooted. Searching. My family became white when they crossed over- landed in New York City on Ellis Island. Shed names and language.

    My mom only 6 months old. A new life in the U.S--anywhere but Europe. How could my family stay? Why would they want to? All my family and their friends were dead. No Jews left in Sokol or Zlochev. Anywhere but Europe. As the plane flew over the water. my mom didn't know, but apart of her was lost in Europe. My family killed and buried in Europe- our struggle not lost- but little of how they lived- before the war- remains. A whole way of being- forgotten. My grandma carries what is left of my roots. Her words sung in Yiddish accent.

    My mom was baptized in Amerikan waters. White.
    Why not accept privilege if it can be had. New Jewish immigrants with white skin entering the U.S. of Amerikkka.

    History of slavery. Blood seeping out of every orifice. Piece of paper- statue- piece of soil. Jewish immigrants with white skin entering Amerikkka. Granted privilege. All you had to do was play along.

    Cut your tongue. Cut your tongue. And throw it away. Close the door on a long history of resistance. Lock it up and throw the key in the ocean. Along with a greater sense of knowing- a deeper connection to family. But then pretend your privileges don't exist.

    Europe and Judaism - the Holocaust, victimhood, suffering, Period. Throwing away and turning our backs on our Polish Jewish identity. Instead claiming a Jewish identity of suffering, and separateness, a falsely unified, single Jewish identity. What of Jews who resisted, who never wanted to leave Europe? What of Jews who did not experience the holocaust? What of Moroccan Jews and Ethiopian Jews?

    Most of what I know about Europe- is the stories I hear about how my family survived. And the guilt of survival. My closeness with these stories with the fight. I am a granddaughter of survivors.

    Then again…

    Aren't we all in some form.

    I want to know about the Europe before all the killing. I want to know about the Judaism before my family came to the U.S. I want to know about the people who never wanted to leave their homes and move to Israel.

    I want to know what its like to feel Yiddish vibrations on my tongue.

    I am left straddling worlds of contradictions. A renunciation of the "shtetl language" a shedding of European clothes, sounds, ways of being..

    At the same time packing Judaism, Jewish identity into a neat little bag, victim..

    A claim to Israel- to a Jewish homeland.

    I am left feeling space- air between my feet and the ground. I cannot comprehend an identity based on victimhood.. used as a means to mask white privilege .. and colonization.
    I am left wanting Yiddish words to say enough. But all I have is English and another colonizers language.. Spanish. Basta.

    Enough. I must speak to the skin privilege I have as well as understanding the loss that came with becoming white. And this loss has scarred my body. It scarred my mother without her knowing. Took away her blankets. Her love and left her standing in a doorway. Her head continually looking backwards.. to see whose coming. A frightened body. But stern, set face. Life said- here. Amerikkka said here- eat me- have me- but in the process the ability to heal- mend wounds will be lost.

    This loss, this severance leaves scars. Leaves scars we cannot see and don't know exist. For the loss is not seen as loss, the severance not seen as violence.

    Israel ripping Palestine to pieces and calling it a homeland for the Jews.

    Israel, not in my name.

    Israel- another colonist trick- to divide and conquer. Israel stifling the screams, the grief. Israel, military outpost.

    Israel- A way to bury the complicity, to bury the story of Amerikkan support of the Nazi's.

    Israel. Enough. Not in my name.

    Israel- dividing and conquering, separating all our stories of struggle, and survival. My family did not heal. No, stifled screams, and dreams, drowned by Amerikkan and Israeli lies. So much to unearth, bring to the surface, unbury, what a world of shadows. Amerikkka said- If you become like all the other people with white skin- who have assimilated -than maybe you have a chance at making it. And keep your mouth shut. Amerikkka- continuous process of divide and conquer

    How do we begin to heal? And all I hear- is English words ringing in my head. As I ask for something more.

    I pray for-

    Realizations of the heart

    And to see each other as one

    In our many prayers. In our many universes of love songs, and dances, and nutritional healing.

    Prayers into the night sky- abundant sky.

    Arms linked heads leaning on the sun, barefeet on the earth.

    And recognize- what I have lost- in benefiting from a system of white supremacy, a system of institutionalized racism.

    We cannot be free

    Until everyone is free

    Our freedom is tied to the freedom of all peoples.

    I breathe into these scarred spaces and begin to heal.

    Begin to connect the missing pieces.

    I wish to open my heart.

    Reconcile the disparate part of my life.

    Try to create bridges, with the words I am left

    With what I can find forgotten underneath old clothes

    A kind of desperate search

    I am calmed by our collective voices rising up

    Varied tones, timbers, words.

    Stories of resistance and persistence

    Accepting and giving love

    Realizing we all deserve love and happiness

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  • POOR Press Art and Book Release Party for Conscious Consumers

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    A New Way to Read the Revolution

    by Staff Writer

    Practice conscious consumption by purchasing POOR Press publications and art created by youth, adults and elder poverty scholars in residence at POOR Magazine for the holidaze!

    POOR Press is a revolutionary art and access project of POOR MAGAZINE aimed at creating access for silenced voices on issues of poverty, racism, disability, child abuse, welfare reform, the Prison Industrial Complex, houselessness, border fascism, gender oppression and media Injustice.

    POOR Press is also an economic development project beginning with digital arts, creative writing and design education through POOR's Digital Resistance Program and then aimed at providing a micro-business opportunity for all the very low and no-income youth, adults and elder writers and artists of POOR Magazine.

    WHEN: November 11, 7pm

    WHERE: MODERN TIMES BOOKSTORE

    888 VALENICA STREET, SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94110

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  • Ahora todo lo que tenemos es nuestra/Now all we have is his memory...

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Oda para Nelson Aguilon/Ode to Nelson Aguilon

    Oda para Nelson Aguilon/Ode to Nelson Aguilon

     
     

    by Ingrid De Leon/Migrant Scholar - Voces de Inmigrantes en Resistencia

    El vino a los Estados Unidos de Guatemala en Diciembre 18 del ano pasado. Devido a la profunda pobresa que el y su familia sufria, tuvo que dejar sus padres y hermanos, la tierra de su orijen, su pais.

    El vino a los Estados Unidos con la ilusion de hacer algo con su vida para el futuro y despues de un tiempo regresaria a su familia, pero inevitablemente su fortuna no occurio asi.

    Scroll Down for English

    El Jueves Octubre 6, por las 2 de la manana, el salio de su trabajo y cuando iba crusando la calle con unos amigos, un carro lo atropello.

    La ambulancia lo llevo a el hospital. Los doct ores lo operaron para salvarle la vida, pero fue imposible, porque sus piernas, estomago y columna estaban rotas y no sobrevivio el golpe, murio por las cinco de la manana.

    Su primo tambien fue lastimado, pero gracias a dios todavia esta vivo. Ahora su familia y amigos aqui y en Guatemala no tienen paz.

    Nelson fue un buen joven, humilde, trabajador, responsible y muy carinoso. Pero ahora todo lo que tenemos es nuestra memoria de el. El ya no esta aqui, pero su espiritu vivira con nosotros para siempre.

    Apreciamos a toda la gente que nos quiere ayudar, que Dios los bendiga por su assistencia y colaboracion, gracias. Que Dios los bendiga.

    Donaciones para la familia pueden ser enviadas a POOR Magazine in c/o Nelson Aguilo....

    Engles Sigue:

    He came to the US from Guatemala on December 18 of last year. Due to the deep poverty he and his family were struggling with, he had to leave his parents and siblings, his land of origin, his country. He came to the US with the illusion of making something for his future and after sometime he would be able to return to his family, but unfortunately fortune did not turn out that way. On Thursday October 6th, at around 2 in the morning, he came out of work and when he was crossing the street, he and his friends, a car ran him over. The ambulance took him to the hospital. The doctors operated on him to save his life but it was impossible, because he had broken legs and his stomach and spine did not survive the impact and he died at around 5 in the morning. His cousin was also badly hurt but thank God he is still alive. Now his family and friends here and in Guatemala have no peace. Nelson was a good young man, humble, a very hardworker, responsible and very caring. But now all we have is his memory. He is no longer here, but his spirit will live on forever. We appreciate the people who want to help us, God bless you for your assistance and collaboration thank you. God bless you.

    Donations to the Family can be sent to POOR Magazine in c/o Nelson Aguilon; 1095 Market street #307 SF, Ca 94103

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  • MUERTE LIMITE PARA TRASCENDER/DEATH To Transcend

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Dia de Los Muertos de PNN/Day of The Dead by PNN

    Dia de Los Muertos de PNN/Day of The Dead by PNN

     
     

    by Gloria Esteva/PNN Voces de inmigrantes en resistenica

    Scroll Down For English

    2 de noviembre festejemos LA MUERTE. Esto es lo que hace cada ano la comunidad de San Francisco desde hace 30 anos. La gente se reune en la calle 24 y Brayan para hacer una caminata que llega al parque Garfield hubicado en la calle brayan y 26st. Algunos de los participantes reciben la caminata con althares, musica.y videos. La celebracion del Dia de los Muertos en el Area de la Bahia, empezo con la ayuda de artistas como Rene Yanez. Yañez fue uno de los primeros artistas que introducio el concepto del Día de los Muertos como lo celebran en Mexico a los Estados Unidos en el Centro Yerba Buena para los Artes. Desde el comienzos en 1970, René Yañez ha sido instrumental en el establecimiento del Día de los Muertos como una celebración cultural importante. Es una oportunidad de Honrrar a nuestros muertos.

    Cuando empezo la caminata los reflejos de las luces de las velas se proyectaban como estrellitas que relampagueaban proyectando su belleza con un marco de noche oscura . Los multiples atuendos y disfraces daban a esta procession un ambiente fantasmagorico acompanado de musica que inducia al movimiento lograndose que el conjunto de personas en ves de caminar avanzaran bailando al ritmo de zamba en partes y al son del la danza Azteca. Fue maravilloso contemplar tanta alegria y asi mismo ver que el contingente era compuesto por ninos, adultos, ancianos, y jovenes.

    Fue una noche para recibir y dar. Algunos con la inspiracion de la hechura de los althares, otros con la musica y los mas atrevidos inspirados por el amor con sus inventos. Por ejemplo: un joven hizo caminar la figura de una mujer en forma de esqueleto, con alas de alambre cubiertas de maya blanca. Y lo mas importante es que la misma daba la impresion de estar subiendo al cielo, Esto fue en honor a las mujeres luchadoras que han sido acesinadas y violadas en nuestro mundo. Ya que estas mujeres mostraron su fuerza oponiendose a las injusticias que visualizaban a su alrededor, y sobre todo forjando la organizacion para romper los ataques a la humanidad y tambien a la naturaleza siendo ellas dignas de todo amor de el recuerdo por siempre, aun sabiendo a lo que se estaban exponiendo ofrecieron su vida. Por eso este 2 de Noviembre las recordamos fuertemente los que aun vivimos y yo se que las recordaran nuestras futuras generaciones. Cuantas mujeres mas se necesitan sacrificar para entender que unidos podemos derribar tanta injusticia. Vamos a esperar que acaben los ambisiosos conla naturaleza?

    En este lugar tambien se podria ver un altar dedicado a todos los luchadores que fueron asesinados en Mexico y en los estados de Oaxaca, San Miguel Atenco y Chiapas. Que son tres movimientos fuertes que luchan por los derechos de la gente pobre para vivienda, tierras, educacion y reconocimiento de los pueblos indigenas en los cuales existe una pobresa extrema. Movimientos que han sido reprimidos por la policia y el ejercito, provocan muchas muertes tanto de habitantes de estos lugares como de periodistas. Como una periodista con Voces de Inmigrantes en Resistencia, creo que debemos honrar y recordar las vidas y la resistencia de estos luchadores contra la injusticia.

    Engles Sigue

    Nov. 2 We celebrate death. This is what the Latino community in the San Francisco community has done each year for over 30 years. People met on Bryant Street to march to Garfield park located on Bryant and 26th Street. Some of the participants were marching with althares, live music and videos. This tradition started thirty years ago with the contributions of art curators like Rene Yanez. Yañez was one of the first curators to introduce the concept of Mexico's Day of the Dead to the United States at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. Since the early 1970s, René Yañez has been instrumental in establishing the Day of the Dead as an important cultural celebration. It is an opportunity to honor our dead.

    When the march started, the glare of candlelight projected like little stars to lighten the dark night with its beauty. The different outfits and costumes gave this a ghostly procession accompanied by music that led to the movement by ensuring that all people that were walking were also dancing, moving to the rhythm of zamba and the hypnotic art of the Aztec dance. It was wonderful to contemplate so much joy and to see that the crowd was made up of adults, elders and youth.

    It was a night to receive and give. With some inspiration from the shape of althares, others celebrated with the music inspired by love and the most daring rejoiced in the spirit of the night with their inventions. For example: a young man was walking a figure of a woman in the form of a skeleton, with wings of wire covered with white Maya. It gave the impression of going up to heaven, I believe this was in honor of women fighters who have been raped and killed in our world. Since these women showed their strength to oppose the injustices that go on around them, especially forging organizations to break the attacks on humanity. The nature of them being worthy of all love and recognition of the memories forever, even knowing that the work that they did put their life in danger. That's why this November 2 remember those who still live strong and I will remember that our future generations. How many more women need to be sacrificed to understand that united we can break down so much injustice. Are we going to wait for nature to wipe us out?

    In this place I could also see an altar dedicated to all the fighters who were killed in Mexico and in the states of Oaxaca, San Miguel Atenco and Chiapas. Three movements of heavy fighting for the rights of poor people for housing, land, education and recognition of indigenous peoples in rural lands where there is extreme poverty. Movements that have been repressed by police and the army, causing many deaths

    As a journalist with Voices of Immigrants in Resistencia, we must honor and remember the lives and resistance of these fighters against injustice.

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  • Curiosity Didn’t Kill This Cat: Remembering Studs Terkel (1912-2008)

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    by Thornton X/PNN Poverty Scholar in residence

    I want to write like Studs Terkel did for over 40 years. He more-or-less practiced Poor Magazine’s "I"-focused journalism, and knew how to get out of the way and let the experience of the people he interviewed speak to readers of books like: Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day And How They Feel About What They Do, and Race: How Blacks and Whites Think and Feel About the American Obsession.

    No one knows Terkel’s interview style for his books, but he made editing and writing look easy; the mark of a great writer it looks like any idiot can do it! I know better. Writing is a discipline demanding daily dues paid up front. It is all too easy to Not Write, while the pen and keyboard are there, always ready to put my thoughts where someone else might read them.

    Terkel was also a television pioneer and a survivor of the McCarthy-dominated 50’s television and radio blacklists, running a variety/interview show called Stud’s Place from 1950-1952, canceled after NBC tried to get him to sign a paper stating he was duped into signing petitions for progressive causes. Late in 1952 Terkel heard Woodie Guthrie singing on WFMT radio station in Chicago, he called and began a 45-year career there, essentially inventing the radio talk show and honing the "invisible interviewer" mode of editing found in his books.

    There are many practitioners of that style, including my favorite, the Oakland, CA-based science fiction/fantasy/horror/mystery author interview/book review magazine called Locus.

    Terkel’s tombstone epitaph is Curiosity Didn’t Kill This Cat. True, it drove him to live 96 good years, listening to everyone who would talk to him.

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  • Incarcerated Elders

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Incarcerated Elders working in prison 10 hours a day - 7 days a week

    by Bruce Allison\Poverty Scholar

    It all started about a year ago when I went into a senior conference, they interviewed seniors in jail. Most of these people at their age and time in life, 80s and 90s are still working while incarcerated. Not an eight-hour job, but a ten-hour job seven days a week. A statistic says their residity rate of them going back to jail is 1% to 0%. That means there is almost no chance of them returning to prison. Besides, most of them cannot do their full sentence and are there because of the three strikes law. There are some bills in the assembly that want to give them a reprieve from labor after the age of seventy, but there are opposing forces that do not want that to happen. These people are representing the prison industrial complex, so that they can make 2500 dollars a day from taxpayers. Instead, if they are put into a nursing facility or senior housing they will cost taxpayers 250 dollars a day and that is with social security if they never worked a day in their life. There is no way they can go back to their criminal occupation. Robbing a bank takes more than a walker or wheelchair can handle. This should be noted on the pardon board, or whoever gives them pardons. They are no threat to society anymore. Most seniors that I have met that have left jail have done remarkable things.

    For example a former incarcerated person by the name of Bobby Bogan is director of a non-profit organization known as Seniors Organizing Seniors. In that position he is well known, articulate, and with that gift he has been able to facilitate a childhood dream. Presently he is planning to set up a senior national convention in the city of San Francisco for especially poor seniors will be that will be held in three years. Others have been through the same situation and are intelligent and will be assets to society. They will help the community with their knowledge and wisdom as elders.

    If you are interested in getting elders out of incarceration write to your assemblyman or state senator if you are in California. For national elders in jail and national laws write to your federal senator or congressional representative. I also encourage you to write to the president about the three strikes law and seniors should not be in jail because it is a burden to society. This will not bring a huge crime wave to society this is bogus policy that is based on the old myth that once a criminal always a criminal.

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  • Fue la noche, una noche muy oscura/It was night, a very dark night

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Propaganda racista/Racist propaganda

    Propaganda racista/Racist propaganda

     
     

    by Patricia Morales/Voces de inmigrantes en resistencia

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    Los periodicos, las noticias, y en general, todos los medios de comunicacion tratan de criminalizar a los adoloscentes Latinos indocumentados. Por ejemplo, los medios de comunicaciones nos hechan la culpa de la crisis economica que hay en los Estados Unidos, especialmente a los jovenes que estan en la carcel juvenil, que los periodicos se enfocan en los jovenes que salen de juvenil y siguen haciendo crimen para generalizar que todos nosotros somos asi. Esto es propaganda racista lo que los periodicos como es SF Chronicle estan diciendo. Al contrario, por cada adulto que este en la carcel, el estado hace dinero del trabajo de los presos y solo les paga 35 centavos a la hora, es una forma de esclavitud que la mayoria del publico no conoce.

    Fue la noche, una noche muy oscura, una noche fria, fria como la primera lluvia del invierno; pero no estaba lloviendo esta noche, no mas una noche fria y nublada como siempre en Daly City. Yo caminaba con mis amigos difrutando nuestra adolescencia, y ni me di cuenta de que hora era. No andabamos haciendo dano a nadie, no mas platicando y diviertiendonos en el vescindario adonde vivimos. No sabia que es un crimen salir con tus amigos en la noche. Dos de la manana, y tratando de llegar a la casa, sin coche y sin ningun bus que pase a esa hora. Despidiendome de mis amigos estaba cuando me di cuenta de una patrulla que se nos asercaba. Aprendieron sus luces y la sirena y nos asustamos todos. Corrimos del temor. Ya sabiamos que solo eran dos policias y tres de nosotros. Al que tenga mala suerta que lo agaren. Fui yo. De repente se vinieron hacia mi y yo no supe que hacer y me agarraron y me preguntaron donde vivia y que andaba aciendo ahi a esas horas y yo no savia que contestar. Me senti como un pajarito que le cortaron sus alas y no pude volar, solo sentia miedo porque nunca me habian agarrado la policia. Se me vino a la mente mi mama, como se iba sentir cuando se enterara. Me llevaron a la estacion y le llamaron a mi mama. Los policias le hablaron con poco respeto. Mi mama no habla ingles, me pasaron el telefono y estaba llorando. Su voz llena de temor por que le habian dicho que me iban a pasar a el control de Inmigracion.

    Esta es la historia de un adolesente que handa como cualquiera caminando en la calle. Casi lo deportaron por que era menor, estaba en la calle en la noche, y no tenia papeles. Por algo tan sencillo como estar afuera en la calle sin documentos migratorios y ser menor de edad la policia y las cortes sienten que es justo asustar a una familia con desplazamiento. Este es solo uno de los casos de abusos policiacos contra menores de edad Latinos que pasan todos los dias. Ahorra, si la policia y las cortes dicen que no son racistas, les pregunto si esto hubiera pasado si el menor de edad hubiera sido un guero de pelo rubio y ojos azules. Apuesto que si era un nino rico lo hubieran regresado a su casa sin problema.

    Otro caso que me enoja mucho por que es obio la injusticia es el caso de los trabajadores de El Balazo. Esta gente fue arrestada solo por trabajar, y entonces fueron encarcelados y les pusieron grilletas en sus tobillos y la corte demandaron que ellos se reportaran al centro de inmigracion tres veces a la semana cuitandoles la oportunidad de trabajar para apoyar a sus familias. Estos trabajadores nunca le hicieron ninguna maldad a nadie y ahorra ellos estan voluntariamente regresando a sus paises y el la pinche migra ni les esta pagando el vuelo de regreso, ellos tienen que pagar con su propio dinero para ser separados de su familia. Que injusticia!

    Asi que aqui esta el otra lado de el discurso sobre inmigrantes. Esta lado y estas historias nunca son representadas en los medios de comunicacion como el SF Chronicle. Por eso es importantisimo y verdaderamente revolucionario el trabajo que hace POOR Magazine. Si no fuera por POOR y organizaciones tratando de contar la verdad en los medios de comunicacion, como supiera la gente de que nos esta pasando a nuestra comunidad? Los ignorantes racistas de Norte America, que solo so un porcentaje pequeno pero controlan a los medios de comunicacion, solo ven que nosotros no tenemos documentos migratorios como ellos, pero nunca recuerdan que ellos mismos son inmigrantes tambien.

    Engles Sigue

    The newspapers, news, and in all the media general are trying to criminalize young undocumented Latinos. For example, the media blames us for the economic crisis that exists in the United States, especially the young people who are undocumented and are in juvenile jail, the newspaper focus on Latino teenagers that evade the law and try to generalize for an entire race. This is straight up racist propaganda that major media outlets like the SF Chronicle are perpetuating. On the contrary, for every adult who is in jail, the state makes money from the work of prisoners and the prisoners themselves only get paid 35 cents an hour, this a form of slavery that most of the public does not know about.

    …It was night, a very dark night, a cold night, as cold as the first rains of winter, but it was not raining that night, just another cold and cloudy night as always in Daly City. I walked with my friends, enjoying our adolescence, and I hadn’t realized what time it was. We were doing no harm to anyone, just talking and having fun in the neighborhood where we live. I did not know that it is a crime to go out with friends at night. Two in the morning and trying to get to home, no car and no bus passing at that time. Saying farewell to my friends I was when I realized that a squad car approached. They turned their lights and siren on…we are all afraid. We ran out of fear. Already we knew that there were only two policemen and three of us. The one of us with bad luck would get caught… It was me. Suddenly they cornered me in and I could not figure out what to do. They grabbed me and asked me where I lived and what was I doing out at those hours, that I must be up to no good. I felt like bird who got his wings cut off and could not fly. I just never had felt this scared because I had never been arrested. My mom came into my mind, how she would feel when she found out. I was taken to the station and they called her. The police spoke to her with very little respect. My mom does not speak English. They passed the phone to me and she was crying. Her voice full of fear because she had been told that I would be handed over to the control of immigration to await my deportation…

    This is the story of a young Latino arrested for a curfew ticket and threatened to be deported because of a misdemeanor that should only be punished with a ticket. This young man was almost deported because he was a minor, he was on the streets at night, and he had no documentation. For something as simple as being in the street after curfew without immigration documents and the police and the courts felt it was fair to scare a family with displacement. This is just one of the cases of police abuse against young Latinos that happens every day. If the police and courts say they are not racist, I wonder if this would have happened if the minor had been a Guero, blond hair and blue eyes, and from the right side of the tracks. I bet that if it was a rich boy the police would’ve gladly returned him to his home without problem.

    Another case that upsets me very much because it is obvious injustice is the case of employees of the El Balazo Taquerias. These innocent people were arrested just for working, and then they were imprisoned and branded with tracking devices on their ankles and the court demanded that they report to the immigration center three times a week, thus denying them the opportunity to work to support their families. These workers never did anyone any harm and some of them are voluntarily returning to their countries. Since this is a deportation you would think that the state would pay to have them deported, guess again, the voluntary deportees will have to fund their own deportation, yes you read it right, they have to pay with their own money to be displaced from their families. What injustice!

    So here's the other side of the argument on immigrants. This side and these stories are never represented in the media. This is why the work that POOR Magazine does is so important and truly revolutionary. Without POOR Magazine and organizations like POOR trying to spread truth through media, how would the public find out about what is happening to our community? The ignorant, racist “Born Americans’, who are a very small percentage of the population but control big corporate media, look at us migrant workers and can only see that we do not have immigration documents, like they do, but they never remember that they themselves are immigrants too.

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  • Derretiendo el ICE /Melt the ICE

    09/24/2021 - 09:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    root
    Original Body

    Migrant youth scholars from across the Bay organize a Halloween protest to the brutality of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and the criminalization of migrant peoples

    Migrantes jóvenes estudiosos de toda la Bahía de organizaron una protesta el dia de Halloween contra la brutalidad de ICE (Agencia de Inmigracion y Aduana) y la criminalización de los pueblos migrantes

    Migrant youth scholars from across the Bay organize a Halloween protest to the brutality of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and the criminalization of migrant peoples

    Migrantes jóvenes estudiosos de toda la Bahía de organizaron una protesta el dia de Halloween contra la brutalidad de ICE (Agencia de Inmigracion y Aduana) y la criminalización de los pueblos migrantes

     
     

    by Adrienne Aguirre/PNN Race, Poverty Media Justice Intern

    Mire al fondo para español

    one of the first things we learn to do
    is move
    its what we do

    movement is embedded in our existence
    strung on the chords of our DNA songs of resilience

    SO AS WE EXIST
    WE MOVE
    SO WE CAN EXIST...

    an excerpt from Migrant Movement a poem by freddy gutierrez

    There’s something exhilarating about Halloween. The air is different, charged with an electric current, and this breathable voltage makes anything seem possible. Taking a deep breath, I’m filled with the feeling an all-or-nothing gambler gets when victory is imminent, despite all the odds. It is a day of transformation, where the janitor strolls the Embarcadero in Super Mario overalls, a restaurant worker struts by in checkerboard mod, and where victimized youth don the skeletal, war-painted faces of their ancestors to fight for the safety and wholeness of their families.

    For these youth, Halloween doesn’t mean candy and frivolous costume parties; today, dressed head-to-toe in black, they simultaneously mourn and fight against the abuse inflicted by ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the agency that has been terrorizing their mothers and fathers and destroying their families.

    Two brown, white, and black faces meet mine.

    "Excuse me, do you know where the ICE protest is?" "Yeah, two blocks down that way, to your left," one of the skeletons tells me, her brown hand pointing me in the right direction. Thanking her, I move briskly towards Ferry Park.

    ICE, formally known as the INS, is the government titan responsible for the devastation of brown families, arrest of immigrant mothers and fathers, and unspeakable brutality against impoverished labor under the guise of "gang control." Approaching Ferry Park, a shifting black mass overtakes the green. An army of black bodied skeletons, an ocean of black, brown, and white, slapping palms and patting backs, hums in rhythmic solidarity.

    We form a circle on the green, a symbol of unity and wholeness. The emcee takes the mic, inviting stragglers to join the ranks of the resistance.

    I hear a girl on the phone near me, "Yo, where my Frisco peeps at? They’re stuck on BART, they won’t let them through!"

    Though outraged at the impediment of their youth allies, those present hardly seem surprised. Time freezes for a moment, faces searching other faces for a solution to this obstacle. The girl moves away from the circle, phone still perched on her ear.

    The circle focuses.

    "We didn’t cross the borders. The borders crossed us!"

    "Abajo con ICE!"

    "Que queremos? JUSTICIA! Cuando? AHORA!"

    Five young men take center circle, carrying a large drum with them. A hundred fists thrust upward. The steady drumbeat lifts their voices into the autumn air. Listening, my mind drifts back, remembering the story of my father.

    My father, a Political Science and Law professor in the Philippines, was stripped of his education upon arrival to the United States. Years of education and experience meant nothing in comparison to his brown skin, landing him a low-paying job as a paint carrier at a local mechanic shop. Recounting his experiences, he recalls not only his inadequate wages but also being the subject of psychological abuse.

    "He pointed a loaded gun at you?!" I exclaimed.

    The wealthy owner of the mechanic shop apparently felt the need to prove his manhood from time to time and, threatened by my father’s 6’1 presence, his dad became the target.

    "My father’s brown skin proved a barrier throughout his search for employment, denying him access to the teaching jobs he loved; my dad was forced to adjust his resume, essentially dumbing himself down in order to obtain employment. He was always either overqualified or underqualified. His educational attainment and experience could not outweigh his immigrant status and brownness."

    A cheer goes up from the crowd, bringing me out of my reverie.

    "Who’s got the power? The youth have the power!"

    "Who’s got the power? WE got the power!"

    The youth have arrived, despite the efforts of law enforcement to detain them on BART. A new wave of energy washes over the resistance. The small park is overflowing now, generations strong against the injustices of ICE. The circle expands, welcoming the new additions to the movement. The mic travels from youth to youth, a common thread of justified anger and passionate dissent linking the beautiful words the youth offer their ancestors, mothers, and fathers. The mic listens intently, amplifying these sentiments for the rest of us to hear.

    These words of power send us on our way, the march is beginning.

    Faces press against the glass eyes of the concrete and steel giants looming over us on either side. Office workers point and whisper to each other as we wind down the streets of downtown San Francisco, a river of bodies rushing towards our final destination: the ICE building. This river teems with life, signs reading "MELT THE ICE!" held high, bobbing to the beat of the liberation.

    "Ain’t no power like the power of the people ‘cause the power of the people don’t stop!"

    Espanol Sigue:

    una de las primeras cosas que aprendemos a hacer
    es mover
    es lo que hacemos

    movimiento está incrustado en nuestra existencia
    ensartado en los acordes de nuestra DNA

    Canciones de la Resistencia

    Existimos
    Realizando movimientos
    Para poder existir ...

    ……un extracto de Movimiento de Migrantes un poema por Freddy Gutiérrez

    Hay algo emocionante acerca de Halloween. El aire es diferente, cargado con una corriente eléctrica, transpirable y esta tensión hace cualquier cosa parecer posible. Tomando una profunda respiración, estoy llena de la sensación que obtiene un jugador cuando la victoria es inminente, a pesar de todas las probabilidades. Es un día de transformación, donde se ven trabajadores caminando por Embarcadero en overoles Super Mario, mesera de restaurante vestida de tablero mod, y donde los jóvenes víctimas se visten en trajes esqueléticas, la pintura de guerra en sus rostros honrando sus antepasados para luchar por la seguridad y la integridad de sus familias.

    Para estos jóvenes, Halloween no significa dulces y fiestas frívolas de disfrazes; hoy, vestidos de cabeza a los pies de negro, honran sus ancestros y luchan contra los malos tratos infligidos por ICE, la agencia que ha estado aterrorizando a las madres y los padres para la destrucción de familias migrantes.

    Dos caras cafes, una blanca y una negra se enfrentan a mí.

    "Perdone, ¿sabe usted dónde es la protesta de ICE?"

    "Sí, dos cuadras abajo esa direccion, a su izquierda," uno de los esqueletos me dice, su mano de color cafe me apunta en la dirección correcta. Agradeciendo a ella, paso rápidamente hacia Ferry Park.

    ICE, formalmente conocido como el INS, es el titan del gobierno responsable de la devastación de las familias migrantes, la detención de inmigrantes de las madres y los padres, y de inenarrable brutalidad contra la pobreza laboral con el pretexto de justificacion de "control de pandillas". Acerco a Ferry Park, una masa de negro supera el parque verde. Un ejército de esqueletos de cuerpos negros, un océano de negro, marrón y blanco, protestando en una forma rítmica en la solidaridad.

    Formamos un círculo en el campo, símbolo de la unidad y la solaridad. El emcee toma el micrófono, invitando a los rezagados a unirse a las filas de la resistencia.

    Oigo a una chica en el teléfono cerca de mí, "Yo, adonde estan mi gente de Frisco? Están atrapados en BART, no les permiten pasar"

    A pesar de su indignación por el impedimento de la joven y sus aliados, los presentes apenas parecieron sorprendidos. Tiempo se congela durante un momento, se enfrenta a otro y se enfrenta a la búsqueda de una solución a este obstáculo. La niña se aleja del círculo, teléfono encaramado en su oreja.

    El círculo se centra.

    "Nosotros no cruzamos la frontera. Las frontera nos cruzo a nosotros!"

    "Abajo con ICE!"

    "Que queremos? JUSTICIA! Cuando? AHORA!"

    Cinco hombres jóvenes tomaron el círculo central con un gran tambor. Un centenar de puños empujaron hacia arriba. El constante ritmo ascenso sus voces en el otoño de aire. Escucho, mi mente se deriva atrás, recordando la historia de mi padre.

    Mi padre, un profesor de Ciencias Políticas y Leyes en las Filipinas, fue despojado de su educación a su llegada a los Estados Unidos. Años de educación y la experiencia significaba nada en comparación con su piel morena, dando le un trabajo de bajo pago como transportista de pintura en un taller mecánico local. Recuento de sus experiencias, el recuerda no sólo su insuficiencia de los salarios, sino también ser objeto de malos tratos psicológicos.

    "Señaló una arma cargada a usted?" Yo exclame.

    El rico propietario de la tienda mecánica aparentemente sintio la necesidad de probar su hombría de vez en cuando por que se sentia amenazado por la presencia mi padre que media 6'1, mi padre se convirtió en el objetivo.

    "La piel morena de mi padre hizo una barrera a lo largo de su búsqueda de empleo, negándole el acceso a la enseñanza de puestos de trabajo que amaba, mi padre se vio obligado a ajustar su resume, esencialmente olvidando sí mismo en el fin de obtener un empleo. Fue siempre demasiado calificado o no calificado . Su nivel de estudios y la experiencia no puede pesar más que su condición de inmigrante y su piel".

    Una alegría sube de la multitud, con lo que me forzo fuera de mi ensoñación.

    "¿Quién tiene el poder? Nosotros tenemos el poder!"

    "¿Quién tiene el poder? Nosotros tenemos el poder!"

    Los jóvenes han llegado, a pesar de los esfuerzos de la policia para detenerlos en BART. Una nueva ola de energía se lava más en la resistencia. El pequeño parque es desbordante ahora, las generaciones fuerte contra las injusticias de la ICE. El círculo se expande, acoge con satisfacción las nuevas incorporaciones a la circulación. El micrófono de jóvenes viaja a la juventud. Un hilo común de la justificada ira y la pasión que une el disenso y las bellas palabras de los jóvenes que ofrecen a sus antepasados, sus madres y padres. El micrófono escucha intensamente, amplificando estos sentimientos para que el resto de nosotros escuchemos.

    Estas palabras de poder nos envio en nuestro camino, la marcha á comenzado.

    Rostros de prensa contra el vidrio, los ojos gigantes del hormigón y del acero se ciernan sobre nosotros. trabajadores de oficina susurran el uno al otro como el viento por las calles del centro de la ciudad de San Francisco, un río de cuerpos creados en virtud de prisa hacia nuestro destino final: el edificio de ICE. Este río lleno de vida, los signos de lectura "Derritimos el ICE!" en alto, al ritmo de la liberación.

    "No es ningún poder como el poder del pueblo porque el poder de la gente no se detiene!"

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