2010

  • Krip-Hop Nation in UK Story from PJ of Northeast of England: Discrimination in Hip-Hop

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    My Name is Pj, I have autism and i live in the north east of England. My story is about discrimination in all sectors including that of hip-hop and the general music industry. 

    I have had a discriminative past through my time on earth, i have been excluded from four primary schools, 3 high schools, 2 colleges because i fought those who discriminated against myself or others. I have been sacked from almost 30 jobs and only lasted one week per job, however i write in this section of the abuse particularly within hip hop and the music industry.
      
    My story begins in the year 2000, my dad just bought me a new computer, i have no social outlook or any kind of interaction with the outside world, new to the internet i wanted to reach out to people, the computer, was much like my best friend.
     
    I got in contact with a girl who guided me to express my oppression and exclusion from society by writing poems, she offered that this would heal my internal pain, as i started to develop theses poems she sent me some music, a new kind of music to me, it was entitled "changes" from Tupac yes that's what i needed, change.
     
    She said to me as i listened to this music "why don't you rap?" i thought was this what this guy was doing? Rapping? i liked what i heard i researched hip hop and i saw it stood for social justice, freedom and equality, based on love and not money, based on peace and not war.

    I thought this would be a perfect example to reflect the internal pain out to the world. Sadly, i soon found out this was not the case, actually was the total opposite and seemed a world away from the creation of what hip hop was founded on.

     

    I bought a small production software for my computer and decided to try out some new songs, i put them on a website called soundclick, within my first two week i was number one on the website charts, i never knew what type of reaction i would get next. On the internet numerous of comments came flashing before my eyes "your wack" "you're sh**t" through hundreds of people, some good comments were given but however the sheer hate from these individuals paralyzed me in to distinction, my world on the outside was crippling me, now my own world was killing me.
     
    I wrote to my local paper informing them on being number one on soundclick.com and soon had my photo and story across the whole town, eventually been ridiculed and tormented for expressing my past oppression, i stood silent, frozen wondering what am i doing? i must of been crazy ( more troubling than my own disability), i was saying to myself should i stop this and hide behind a rock? No i thought i shall continue.
     
    After a few more exposures in the paper as a regular feature i was becoming a town star, numerous appearances within three years including the local radio station, eventually i had a call from a woman over the phone who informed me of her book about a disabled boy who had turned to hip hop.  She wrote that book based on me and i had given her the inspiration.   This made me continue. She asked me to come to the local town library where school children were there waiting for me. I was nervous and anxious but i knew i had to do this.  From where i started, in just over 3 years, i was becoming more known by the day.
     
    I eventually wanted to create a hip hop group which at the time was creating a buzz, we was touring, playing at different events and supporting the local big names in our county. Then once again things turned horrid, group conflicts arised and the group disbanded, i was left alone again, with a status that was not as rewarding as i thought, sometimes on the bus minding my own business some strangers asked me are you that rapper in the paper? It wasn't fun or good anymore to be known.
     
    Through the years I developed my lyrics, my rapping and my music and networked with the biggest names in UK hip hop, eventually producing my best track with a big UK hip hop producer.
     
    In 2007 i met my now to be wife, honored a distribution contract and i eventually released my first song, i moved home and as i moved home with my wife to be i was getting hate mail from where i used to live, eventually i had to stop the producing, rapping all together to have a deep breath of fresh air and my wife realizing i needed closure and understanding about helping me understand my persona.  I eventually been diagnosed officially as having asperger's syndrome.
     
    Once I found this out, i knew exactly why i had been ridiculed, i knew why i had wanted to make music and i knew then that nothing can stop me in my ventures, finding about my disability never made me feel weak, it made me or the first time strong, very strong.
     
    This was a gift to me and i was going to use it, me and my wife set up an organization on a social networking site "stop discrimination against special needs" because i felt victimized, it was just a group i made because i was upset, it wasn't meant to be a group were thousands could join.
     
    Over two years other disabled people felt my pain and a movement began, 3,000 people have joined this movement just in the UK, another 5 thousand in South Africa, 1,000 in Romania and two thousand in America which is still growing. As this started i began to think and i thought i need to go to London and voice this out, i need to bring every disabled person together to stop the discrimination which is so wide spread and nothing has been done about it.  my wife and I made a organization and we made a website www.nserd.org which combats all forms of disability discrimination and our aims and goals.
     

    Since moving and being married i have been supported unanimously by my wife and her family and i am for ever grateful from the hardship i received not just in music but in general, i am now a fighter, an activist and advocate for disabled people, i am fiercely passionate about the people that care and the people that are disabled, i am fully focused on that issue.
     
    Since i have become stronger i have met some rather uneducated rappers who have stated lines such as "I will fight disabled people, f**k em" "you need to sort your mental illness out" " disabled people should not rap" "neurotypicals should not be apart of disabled and should have separate groups....."
     
    i was astonished but i thought well you're going to get a backlash of many who believe they know it all and are more powerful, it reminds me of a roman conquest were the Celts push them out of the north and are barracked by the Hadrian's wall indeed this is now where disabled people are at in this century.
     
    We are fighting back and i am full runner to make a point.  I have always been rebellious, confronting, and yet i can sustain vulnerability. I am kind, gentle and i have an innocent almost angelic personality with soul of passionate fire.
     
    People today want justice weather that be with the governments, the banks or the conspiracies of new world order however theses same people who want truth and unity are ignorant to who have suffered since time began: the undesirables.
     
    Since ancient Greece or even before people with disabilities have been used, poked at and ridiculed, from medieval woodcut of witches to circus "freaks", what a lot religious people do not realize is that the majority of all prophets were disabled, any Muslim or Christen who laughs at a disabled person is laughing against gods own prophetical children, these same people are blasphemous against their very own god and prophet, i speak for god because god protects the disabled, disabled are the most valuable to god, not because they are weak or disabled, but because the disabled believe!.
     
    One example of a disabled prophet is Mohammed peace be upon him and Moses peace be upon him, and shall we not forget Jesus loved disabled people like his very own.  Therefore I continue this trend today!  Stay Tune for more of my words right here on Poor Magazine/Krip-Hop Nation

     

    By Pj DoubletheTrouble of Northeast of England

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  • To be free…raise my family…alongside my community…

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

    For me, ‘Homefullness’ is what life is meant to be…

    To be free…raise my family…alongside my community…while thriving nutritionally…

    To be thankful for all that we have while ‘having’ collectively…giving back to pachamama, to
    plant that fruit tree…feeding nature…my baby…us…we.

    No landlord…who can hoard…my money…jus’ wanna’ live by what our ancestors taught…don’t
    need to be bought…sold out, pimped and played…so an oppressor, speculator, investor,
    regulator, invader, infiltrator, hater, manipulator can get paid…

    Jus’ need a safe-warm bed for my family…community…

    All that are simply what represents humanity…

    Not an individualistic existence of loneliness…

    We must find interdependence within one another to become what is truly ‘HOMEFULNESS’.

    Tags
  • Reflect Back (Poem after Krip-Hop Tour of ATL & NY)

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    Reflect Back

    Would u do it the same?
    It’s a lonely path
    But no one is to blame

    Started alone
    1 turned into a few then many
    But who really gets it

    Is it too complicated?
    Should I write more on it?
    I can feel it, it’s right

    Some can’t hold the politics
    Others see I
    Few can put the pieces together
    To view the bigger picture

    Music like any art has become
    A lonely profession
    Art movements long gone

    Am I holding on to the past?
    Internet, home studios & start-ups
    Are double edge swords

    Brought it back to the people
    But now people are inside
    In individual houses
    To come back outside with individual products

    Still getting ripped off by others
    Self-determination is not only selling yourself
    Yes, Ray Charles was a musical genius
    He was also a brilliant businessman

    Can we learn from Blues elders
    Or do we see them as just old & bitter
    Artists/activists get it

    What is it worth
    Preaching to the choir
    But the choir gives strength
    When you feel alone on the road

    Is there social justice in music
    Not just talking about lyrics
    Or will it remain private

    Artists hire to entertain
    Make people clap and dance
    But not to think

    Immortal Technique
    Is a one-man island
    Back to I and getting mines

    Is it a catch 22
    How did they do it back in the day
    Still no one to blame
    Sad to see our art has turned into a game

    Living off art
    It was done
    The question is what is living
    With today’s cost of living

    Forget about MTV Videos
    Big cars big rings all of that bling bling
    Just pay my rent
    Keep me out of nursing homes when I get old

    Spread the wealth
    With good health
    Not just another cooperate franchise
    Pulling down neighborhood’s worth

    Not moving to Beverly Hills
    Taking money out of banks
    And put it into the People’s Union

    Will the ripple turn into a wave
    Not in my life time
    But the time is coming

    Am I ahead of my time
    Or do I want to blend old to new
    Anyway we see it
    One thing is true things will change

    Reflecting back
    Looking forward
    Feeling supported in the present
    To continue this work

    Knowing the fruits will be eaten
    Food for thought for youth
    As they grow into adulthood

    Leroy Moore
    11/12/10

    Tags
  • HOUSING FIRST: IF YOU BUILD IT THEY WILL COME ISN'T JUST A SLOGAN

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    POOR correspondent
    Original Body

    HOUSING FIRST: IF YOU BUILD IT THEY WILL COME ISN'T JUST A SLOGAN


    PNNscholar1 - Posted on 07 September 2010

     




    By Bruce Allison and Thornton Kimes

    San Francisco has a “Housing First” policy. The (very extended) Patel


    family, which owns the vast majority of SRO hotel (Single Room


    Occupancy: a.k.a. Poor People Housing) properties in the city, is


    spitting in our faces by leaving SRO’s vacant for years. There is one


    in the Mission (22nd and Mission, above the Ritmo music store, with 40


    units), and one in SOMA—the already earthquake code-improved 100-200


    unit four-story Chronicle Hotel (across the street from the


    newspaper!) and the retail space under it.

    Housing in the city translates into money spent in the city, including


    jobs for people staffing SRO hotels; of course, getting the empty


    Patel spaces clean and useable as living spaces would also generate


    those oh-so-wonderful short-term (a.k.a. temporary) jobs the “job


    creators” love to talk about (contractor stuff, construction…) too.

    The SRO in the Mission only needs $500,000 (current costs) to be


    returned to service. The electrical wiring is up to code. Sinks and


    bathrooms would need to be installed. The SOMA space, abandoned for 20


    years, used to have a blood plasma donation center on the ground


    floor. Bruce and Thornton remember it well. A lot more money would


    need to be sunk into it to make it liveable.

    City services, funded by local, state, and federal taxes, would not be


    strained by an effort made to maximize housing for poor people, the


    tax base would be improved by it. This modest proposal would take


    approximately 200 people off the streets. More would be better.

    Tags
  • RECLAIM Project/Proyecto de RECLAMMAR

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Carina
    Original Body

    Prensa Pobre/POOR Magazine

    Proyecto de RECLAMMAR

    La campana comunitaria Revolucionaria!

    Reclamar el Acceso de Tierra Comunitaria por la inversion en la madre Tierra

     Your product, service or organization will have a unique reach to an extremely wide net of ages, backgrounds and cultures from very poor folks in struggle to conscious folks with privileged backgrounds. We have thousands of hits a day and we are read, watched and listened to locally and globally.

    /

    La audiencia de prensa Pobre y futuros clientes tendrán un alcance exclusivo a la red extrema variada de todas las edades, razas y de situaciones económicas de las personas que luchan y son muy pobres a personas conscientes con el fondo privilegiado. Tenemos 100,00 visitas al día y nos leen, ven y escuchan a nivel local y global.

    RECLAIM Project

    The revolutionary Community Ad Campaign!

    Reclaiming Community & Land Access (through) Investment In Mother Earth

     

     

    3 months

    6 months

     

     

    Price

    $150.00

    $250.00

     

     

    What does it include.

     

     

     

    1. Publication of your advertisement on our revolutionary web site

    2. A profile of your business, service, organization or product which will appear on our website as a profile on POOR Magazine/PNN-TV & or PNN radio

    3. Community Capital- With your ad you are not only promoting your business to a very conscious media-consuming audience- but you are supporting a micro-business project that supports very poor people resisting with media and organizing on poverty, racism, and indigenismo.

    1. Publication of your advertisement  on our revolutionary web site.

    2. A profile of your business, service, organization or product which will appear on our website as a profile on POOR Magazine/PNN-TV & or PNN radio.

     

    3. Community Capital- With your ad you are not only promoting your business to a very conscious media-consuming audience- but you are supporting a micro-business project that supports very poor people resisting with media and organizing on poverty, racism, and indigenismo.

    4. BONUS! your name Engraved in our community park bench in the HOMEFULNESS project , once we get it built- another indigenous organizing model of self-sustainability, art and resistance.

     

             

     

     

    3 meses

    6 meses

     

     

    Precio

    $150.00

    $250.00

     

     

    Que viene Incluido

    1.  Publicasion de su anuncio en nuestro sitio de web revolusionario.

    2. Un perfil de su negocio, servicio, organización o producto que van a aparecer en nuestro sitio web como un perfil en Prensa POBRE/PNN-TV Y/O PNN Radio.

     

    3. Capital Comunitaria -Con su anuncio no sólo hace promoción de su negocio a un muy consciente de los medios de comunicación-consumo público, pero usted está apoyando un proyecto de micro-empresa que apoya a las personas muy pobres resistir con los medios de comunicación y organización en la pobreza, el racismo y el indigenismo.

    1.  Publicasion de su anuncio en nuestro sitio de web revolusionario.

    2. Un perfil de su negocio, servicio, organización o producto que van a aparecer en nuestro sitio web como un perfil en Prensa POBRE/PNN-TV Y/O PNN Radio.

    .

    3. Capital Comunitaria -Con su anuncio no sólo hace promoción de su negocio a un muy consciente de los medios de comunicación-consumo público, pero usted está apoyando un proyecto de micro-empresa que apoya a las personas muy pobres resistir con los medios de comunicación y organización en la pobreza, el racismo y el indigenismo.

    4. EXTRA! su nombre ingraved en nuestro banco de un parque de la comunidad en el proyecto HOMEFULNESS.

     

     

             
    Tags
  • GENTRIFUKATION TOURS “R” US (Aburgesamiento Gira “Somos” Nosotros)

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

     

    GENTRIFUKATION TOURS

    “R”

    US

     (Aburgesamiento Gira

    “Somos”

    Nosotros)

    “Coming to a Displaced, Dismantled, Redeveloped Neighborhood Near You”

    “Viniendo a  un desplazamiento, Desmantelado, Barrio Rediseñado Cerca de Tí”

     

    Mission Statement

    We the people, communities of color, workers, migrants, grandfathers and grandmothers, mamas, daddies, elders, babies, young folks, indigenous ancestors and aboriginal peoples who have spent time and love and sweat and tears and prayers caring for, working, dreaming and loving this community, this barrio, this street, this tree, this garden, this flower, for generations, centuries and time beyond Gregorian, missionary calendars, have been displaced by the forces of money, power, real estate speculation, corporate theft, corporate government,  philanthro-PIMPING, redevelopment, criminalization, and gentrification and now only exist as a cultural memory, an “art-I-fact”, a reference, a brush stroke, a photo, an exhibit, a dream to be studied, theorized, painted over, documented and/or forgotten and erased completely as though we were never here.

     

    GENTRIFUKATION TOURS “R” US exists to document the theft, reclaim & take back the stolen spaces,  memories, images, pictures, lives and dreams. To tour and document the default colonizers and 21st Century Missionaries, the erased and colonized culture and cultural stealers, to re-insert ourselves in the stolen landmark and to reclaim what little of us might still be left 

     

    Declaración de Misión

    Nosotros la Gente, comunidades de color, trabajadores, migrantes, abuelos y abuelas, mamas, papas, ancianos, babes, jovenes, ancestros indigenas y los pueblos aborígenes que han pasado tiempo, amor y sudor y lágrimas y oraciones para  cuidar, trabajar, soñar y amar en esta comunidad, este barrio, esta calle, este árbol, este jardín, esta flor, para las generaciones, siglos y el tiempo más allá de los Gregorianos, calendarios misioneros, han sido desplazados por las fuerzas del dinero, el poder, la especulación inmobiliaria, el robo corporativo, gobierno corporativo, los chantaje filantrópico-, la reconstrucsion, la criminalización y el aburguesamiento y ahora sólo existe como una memoria cultural, un "arte-teologico" , una referencia, un trazo de pincel, una foto, una exposición, un sueño para ser estudiado, teorizado, pintado, documentado y / e olvidado y borrado por completo, como si nunca estuvimos aquí.

     

    GENTRIFUKATION TOURS “R” US existe para documentar el robo, retomar y recuperar los espacios robados, recuerdos, imágenes, fotos, vidas y sueños.

    Para visitar y documentar los colonizadores por defecto y  misioneros del siglo 21, la cultura borrada y colonizada y ladrones culturales, para volver a insertar a nosotros mismos en el punto de referencia robados y para recuperar lo poco de nosotros  que todavía puede ser recuperado.

     

    TOUR #1 Sites: Gentrifyers on Stolen Land

     

    1.The Redstone building- Sacred Ohlone shell mound site and home of revolutionary labor and community organizations in SF- Facing Con-DO removal

    2. Grub 758 Valencia- post-gentrified site: hipsters grazing site on stolen land

    3. The Summit SF- post gentrified site: - hipsters grazing and lap-top site

    4. Spork 1058 Valencia post-gentrified site; hipster grazing site on stolen land

    5.Herbivore 983 Valencia hipster grazing site on stolen land

    6. Flour & Water 2401 Harrison hipster grazing site on stolen land

    7. Farina 3560 18th street – Hipster grazing site on stolen land

    8. Gracias Madre 2211 Mission street – Hipster Grazing site with cultural theft on stolen land

    9. Mamahouse: 1156 Florida st Home of poor mothers gentrified and evicted by real estate speculation.

     

    ©A Community Resistance PeopleAtion..

    Serving silenced peoples and removed indigenous folks since 1493

    Tags
  • Homefulness is an Act of Resistance

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

    What Homefulness Means to Me

     


    Homefulness is a form of resistance to Capitalism's horrifying harmful effects on housing on Turtle Island under Amerikkka government control.  Homefulness is a real interdependent solution to houselessness, an opportunity for families to rebuild the indigenous village model insuring the well-being and success of the whole family.

    The Homefulness Project joins the new currency meme of such things as Time Banks and the bartering world, with its sweat equity model, the exchange of volunteer labor for housing, changing the relationship between owner and renter, transforming the transaction of obtaining and maintaining the basic human right to shelter.

    It isn't a band-aid on a bleeding wound, it's a cure to houselessness, landlessness.  It means security and stability, it means abolishing isolation from neighbors, it is love in action--destroying the fear of being on the streets.

    Tags
  • Deaf Hip-Hop Scene in London

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    Although Krip-Hop Nation is back home, the work, news and music keeps on going.  DJ TBC of London, England tells us about the Deaf Hip-Hop scene in Lodon England.

     

    Deaf Hip-Hop Scene in London

     

     

    Being Deaf it is hard to experience music properly DJ TBC writes…

     

    Deaf people want to be able to enjoy music but it has to be loud, so loud the vibrations of the bass line can be felt. Hip-hop does well with its bass lines as Deaf people can understand the rhythm and therefore can dance to it.

     

    DJ TBC, I produce music and have a heavy emphasis on the bass so my Deaf peers can feel it literally! I love to see people dancing to the work I have devoted much time and energy into and knowing I’m doing something positive for the community makes me smile.”

     

    Deaf people for years have been often left out of the music industry and it is only now with the likes of Signmark whom hails from Finland that the industry is starting to realize that there is hidden talent within the Deaf community. Signmark is a sign language based rapper who translates lyrics that are spoken which he has himself created in order to bring important messages/wordplay into the mainstream such as “It ain't no rocket science, don't need a microphone to rock it” which creates empowerment for Deaf people at large.

     

    DJ TBC is involved with a Deaf/hearing group who are organizing a party in London called Sencity aimed at bring Deaf and hearing people together for a night of music but it focuses on all the senses rather than just sound for example there will be Aroma Jockey’s who mix smells to match the mood of the music, Video Jockey’s to mix video’s as If they were music tracks and one of the highlights of the night will be the vibrating dance floor where people can actually feel the beats and bass lines! Signmark will also be headlining the gig along with some other prominent names in the business. Sencity has been running for the last 7 years and started in Holland to make the impossible possible by putting on a music event for Deaf and hearing people to come together and since those days it has grown with events taking place in Australia, Mexico, Brazil, Finland and many other countries. See www.your-sencity.com for more information.

     

    Hip-hop has its place within the mainstream but needs to reach out further to Deaf people who love to watch music videos such as Drake’s “Over”, Public Enemy’s “Fight the power” and Birdy Nam Nam’s “Abbesses. Hopefully one day we can see more artists like Signmark emerging and breaking through the ranks in to the mainstream.

     

    DJ TBC “We all need a form of escape and we need for everyone to enjoy Hip-Hop whether they be Deaf or disabled after all we live in a society that is very much about inclusion. If you put your mind to it anything is possible!”

     

    For a free download of TBC’s track “Facing the barrier” go to http://www.mediafire.com/?hajsxcgkb1dqg2f

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  • I have never owned a bicycle, a car, a computer, a motorcycle, or a house.

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

    What Homefulness Means to Me

     

    1.  A Minute Of Your Time

    A minute is an eternity for a computer.  A "minute" means something else on the streets.  I was Middle Class "for a minute", then my parents divorced, my mother sold the house, and most of what was left of the family left Texas and is separated by 3,000 (or, usually, more) miles.

    I have never owned a bicycle, a car, a computer, a motorcycle, or a house.  I have never owned gourmet stereo systems or televisions, nor had cable or satellite service.  I have been a renter of rooms most of my adult life.  I have wandered across state borders (not national ones like some of my poormagazine brothers and sisters), trying to find a spot to call my own.  Texas; Oklahoma; Minnesota; Washington, DC; Iowa; Colorado; California; Oregon; Washington State; California.

    I've written about being in my SRO hotel (the Elk), written other "Welfare Blues" articles--the second one about trying to get (poor people) housing in Seattle, a stand-in for Anywhere, Amerikkka.  There are more "Welfare Blues" articles to come, there's a lot of that going around!

    2.  The Welfare System Is An Organized Crime Against Humans

    As far as I can tell only my skin privlege has stopped me from free-falling through the widening cracks in the safety net people like California Governor-wannabe Meg "The Whiteman" Whitman want to vaporize altogether.  Poormagazine Elderskolah "Bad News" Bruce Allison likes to joke about being "whiter than a snowman".  We're both purty pale males.

    I'm thinking of making my poormag "slam bio" semi-permanently "I'm Thornton Kimes, wandering through San Francisco's Welfare Wilderness for the fourth time, hoping it doesn't take 40 years to get what I want!"  I'm walking some kind of fine, sharp edge with the State of California Dept. of Rehabilitation (CA-DOR), 86'd and re-instated, but not at all certain what I want will be honored.

    3.  What DOES Thornton Want?

    Thornton wants to be a (massage) healer of people, in Amerikkka, who work their asses off much too hard, or a healer of computers working for people who work their asses off much too hard...or a "slave" to a very busy writer who isn't poor!  There aren't very many other things I'm interested in doing.

    What CA-DOR wants is for me to shut up, behave, do what I'm told and get a job that fits into a neat little box they can check off as a successfully employed statistic.  I'm a troublemaker, I like to dream big...or at least bigger than I've allowed myself to in years.

    The Welfare system isn't designed to accomodate dreams.  It would work better than it does, and be better funded, if it did.  It would not be a dirty word (thank you Daniel Patrick Moynihan and Ronald Raygun!) or phrase if it worked well.

    4.  Homefulness?  Homefulness!

    Thus and thus and thus we come to this idea of Homefulness.  Just before Tiny a.k.a. Lisa Gray-Garcia and POOR Magazine got drop-kicked into the Non-Profit Industrial Complex Twilight Zone of Weirdness And You Have To Have Money And More Staff (At Least) To Get Grant Proposals Stamped YESSSSSSS--there was a POOR Magazine-style class on grant writing.

    I jumped on the tiger spelled H-O-M-E-F-U-L-N-E-S-S.  It was oddly easy, and hard, to write in "Non-Profit-ese", or perhaps an alternate universe Spanglishi combo of Non-Profit and POOR Magazine.  Something strange happened on the way to the forum...erm...homefulness?

    The class generated the play, based on the 'zine, HOTEL VOICES.  Bad News Bruce and others started talking about some property in San Francisco's Sunset District.  We hosted some Non-Profit Industrial Complex workers for a weekend of "This Is How WE Do It" at POOR Magazine...and, slowly, this thing called Homefulness, a vision of stepping off the rat race that just makes you another rat in the race to the top of the bridge to nowhere, started looking realer and realer.

    Scary.  Scary?

    We've been talking a lot about "isms" at POOR Magazine lately.  One "ism" that's an "omy" is "autonomy", a less complicate version of "Anarch-ism".  The freedom to do what you want to do without needing the permission of an authority figure or an institution.  Something I've been struggling to find for a long time.

    Scary?  What do you do when autonomy comes sniffing around?  Whatever you want to do?  I'm still a D.I.Y. (Do It Yourself) virgin.  I won't be one in a minute.

    Tags
  • I had a home, now I have a counseling appointment

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Lola Bean
    Original Body

    As I'm walking down the street it's easy to get distracted in my mind.

    The smell of fifty other guys mixed in with some kind of industrial cleaner is something I want to forget. I'm sleeping on the docks. I stopped staying in the missions. I don't like them.  People pass by and think I must be a drunk fisherman. The cops woke me up a few times. Since I don't have any warrants, they told me to just go back to sleep.

    I start thinking about my disability claim I have pending. I had to stop doing day labor. I get muscle spasms if I do labor type jobs more than two or three days in a row. I get some money from the state and some food stamps while I'm waiting for my disability claim paper work to go through. It's not much but I've learned not to take anything for granted.

    I think about the time before the recession.

    I was at the Marriott Hotel working as a dishwasher. There were two other guys who worked with me. They had moved to the United States from China.  I didn’t speak any Chinese.  They were learning English, though and we worked well together. Sometimes I would prep food for special events.

    Then the recession hits.

    I get a job with a temp agency. Someone is on vacation visiting their family in India. They’ll be gone two or three months.

    I’m not making enough money to pay my bills. My wife’s job has a big contract with Washington Mutual Bank that ends. Besides this, no one is hiring.

    There’s a lot of talk on the news about the recession and the Washington Mutual meltdown. They say banks made loans that were too risky. They lent money for mortgages that should have never been approved. There wasn’t enough regulation the last five years. It’s also said that Washington Mutual took on the riskiest debt. Besides that, the stock market crashes.

    The next two months are okay. I’m getting a lot of hours between my regular job and the temp agency. Everyone at the Marriott is worried. The people they cater to make five and six figure incomes, and they have stopped spending money. The first thing most people cut out of their budget is going out to eat and staying in hotels. My job’s customer base is gone.

    The dishwasher I’m taking the place of comes back from India. The restaurant tells me they can’t hire me because business is bad, but they will keep me on until the end of the week. I start looking for work. The story is same all around Seattle and the Puget Sound. People are getting their hours cut and are losing their jobs. No one is hiring.

     I realize I have to back to work in Alaska. It’s time to start calling the fishing companies.

     I break the lease to my apartment. I’ve been there five years and was going to buy a house or condo when the lease was up in a few more months.  There’s a boat that is leaving a week after I have to move out. I'll have to stay at one of the missions while I'm waiting. We’ve got to put everything in storage.

     Me and my wife get a storage unit and rent a U-Haul van.

    We use up just about every square inch of the storage unit. Everything gets packed in and stacked up to the ceiling. The storage unit looks like a big jigsaw puzzle. What we can't put into storage gets donated. We give a neighbor lady a bunch of food in our fridge so we don't have to throw it out. I think her name is Lisa. She says she'll take in our cat. I'm glad I won't have to take Chico to an animal shelter.

    My wife will be going to live with her family in San Jose, CA While I'm in Alaska. I take her to the airport a couple days later.

    There's a lot of new security at SeaTac. She has to get there early to make sure she can pass through security and have time to board the plane. We stop at a coffee shop down stairs and walk to the boarding area. I can only go so far with her without a ticket.

    We kiss and say goodbye.

    I take a bus back home. It's home for two more days any ways. I do some last minute cleaning. I don't want to leave the place a mess. There's some stuff nobody wanted and the Salvation Army wouldn't take in their truck. I guess they can't re-sell it. So I start throwing it in the dumpster. I start to think why did we need all this stuff'?

    I get most of my old stuff thrown out and decide that's it for the day. The rest can wait for tomorrow. I do have one more day there. I go to Safeway and get some beer. I stop off at Papa Murphy's and get a pizza. I decide it’s time to eat and drink even if things aren't so merry.

    I stay at a local homeless mission while the boat gears off for Salmon Season.

    Then it's a ten day trip to Bristol Bay. The season starts off slow at first, then things get busy. We're all working sixteen hours a day and making our quota for a bonus most days. It looks like I'm going to be able to pay all my bills.

    Then my back gets hurt. I try to work through the pain a few days. I have to leave early, can't afford to slip a disc. That would mess me up for life.

    I see the Starbucks at Westlake Mall. I just walked there from the Urban Rest Stop, a place to take a shower and do laundry. I order my coffee and think, was that really a year ago? I look out the window and see teenage kids with dogs pan handling. People call them gutter punks and plaza rats. It’s said most of them are runaways. I’ve bought some food for some of them. I didn’t ask if they ran away from home because of abuse, didn’t want them to say I was getting too personal with them. It’s hard to see kids out here.

    I've also filed for a divorce, but that’s a different story.

    The state sent me a letter that said I have to go to counseling. I’ve got to make an appointment. That's where I'm headed to. I’m going to drink another cup of coffee first. 

    Check out these articles and more on our sister sites at Real Change and the International Network of Street Newspapers: INSP Vendor Blog: http://www.insp-blog.org/ INSP Main Website: http://www.street-papers.org/ Real Change Blog: http://www.insp-blog.org/realchange/ Real Change Main Website: http://www.realchangenews.org/ 

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  • Voices for Climate Justice

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

     

                In the wake of endless corporate media reports on whether or not climate change is real and how many polar ice caps are melting, a 48-page classified report created by Homeland Security was released last year at a special house subcommittee hearing chaired by Representative Anna Eschu on the "security impact of global climate change."

    This briefing confirmed what many of us poor people already suspected: climate change is likely to result in the ratcheting up of a police state to “control” us, the crowded masses, as we riot for food, water, and land.

    It’s no mystery, what will happen to our poor in a future crisis. Look at what’s already happened to low-income communities in the past. From Haiti to New Orleans—in extreme cold, we have frozen to death; in extreme heat and drought, we’ve died of thirst, hunger, and exposure—with no more crops, livestock, or land.

    A forecast of the what’s to come can be seen in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s infamous jail for immigrants. “Poor people have been dying of thirst with no access to water or air conditioning in the heat,” reports Michael Woodard, poverty scholar and Poor News Network correspondent.

    In essence, that’s the risk that climate change poses. Poor people can’t just move to higher ground, purchase imported foods, or upgrade their roofing, windows, and foundation to keep from being displaced by the next hurricane.

    “We are forced to live in poor neighborhoods near poisonous industries that already are killing us. If you add increased heat and decrease of land to the sick soup—we wont last long in a global warming reality,” says Ingrid De Leon, with Voces de Immigrantes en Resistencia.

    The surprising thing is, we already know a lot about how to reorganize our economies for moving from “surviving” to “thriving.” Indigenous and poor people have long known that sharing resources with each other, practicing interdependence, and building real community are the best route to independence.

    POOR is an indigenous and poor people-led organization of revolutionary poets, artmakers, multimedia producers, educators, and poverty scholars (as we call ourselves) who see the urgent need to be producing and educating so we can stop being talked about, researched, reported on, criminalized, and legislated against.

    We have launched an equity campaign for a project we call “homefulness,” a sweat-equity cohousing model for landless families, which includes a community garden for localizing and producing our own healthy food, and several micro-business projects to build sustainable economic support for all of us. So far we have established a social justice and arts café, a family-friendly project-based school, and a community media teaching and production center.

    My mother, Mama Dee as she was called, died from complications of her smog-related asthma and heart condition. As I was growing up she and I talked constantly about how to get away from the poisonous environments where we were forced to live—near power plants, freeways, and factories. In the end, Mama Dee succumbed to the illnesses our poverty caused. But her spirit of resistance lives on in our community and in the mobilizations to work for climate justice across the planet.

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  • A home is where you’re respected. Nickelsville is a home!

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Lola Bean
    Original Body

    A home is where you’re respected. Nickelsville is a home!

    We enter the camp through the back alley. Immediately a sense of organization and protection is felt from all whom we come in contact with. We check in and are guided back to the community space where there will be others to talk to. As we walk to the other end of the campsite I pass several tents, faces peep out. Young face with innocent eyes peeping out at me. I know there are families in these tents. I am keenly aware of myself; everything I do, where my eyes fall, where my feet hit the concrete. I know this land is special and priceless for those who live here and look at me with curious glances, yet with a distinct air of distrust residing over the camp. I am an outsider, a status with a history of potentially bringing great harm onto the Nickelsville community. There is this undeniable sense, as though at any moment it could all end and anyone could be the cause.

    As we approach the community living room area of the camp a fresh faced and bright eyed young woman is sitting in a chair along with a couple of others. We explain why we are there and that we are looking for anyone that wants to be interviewed about their experiences at Nickelsville. Erin Miller is her name and her words describe a place very unlike the images and ideas I have heard in the mainstream media. She challenges everything I have learned about Nickelsville in her first sentence. I know by the genuine look on her face and the very deliberate tone in her voice that she is the truth.

    She explains to us how this is a family, a home, unlike any she has lived in before. Not only does everyone look out for each other, but the neighborhood around Nickelsville greatly benefits from their watchful eyes and concerned actions. It struck me how incredibly organized the camp was. Everything from food distribution to security duty to tent functionality is given a process and structure for implementation. There is a point person within the camp for anything that might come up or any camper who might need help or assistance with a camp related or life issue. Beyond the remarkable way the camp is planned and prepared and the inspiring ways the campers take accountability for their neighborhood’s safety and well being what hit me hardest was the strong sense of community and belonging they had cultivated at Nickelsville.

    When Erin Miller describes the folks living at Nickelsville she explains to us with great pride how many skilled minds live there and have come from feeling like outsiders most of their lives, trying to find somewhere they belong. I immediately knew why Nichelsville existed. Memories of me sitting in my room alone, being yelled at for not being part of the family flooded my mind. “Why don’t I want to be with the family, why was I always locked in my room,” my father would demand to know. I couldn’t tell him that I hated his family; I hated his wife and all her children whom I consistently felt alienated and hurt by. It wasn’t their actions it was their thoughts, the way they saw the world and themselves in it. I would treasure the moments I got to escape and go back to my mom’s house for the week. A well needed rest from the harsh realities of my father’s family, one that mirrors the society we live in and not the community feel that Nickelsville offers its residents. Alone and isolated is what living in America has to offer the majority of its citizens. Seeing yourself as separate from others and in direct competition for resources and love. Not in Nickelsville though, a place that represented a location of safety and protection from the daily pressures of a Capitalistic society. A society where every man is for themselves; where any native culture and community is stripped in favor of hoarding and attaining as many resources as possible.

    I knew that distinction well and when Erin said, “Cause this is our house, it’s our house and it’s different from any situation I’ve ever been in except when I was a kid at home,” it became even more clear. A home is where you are looked after and respected, not necessarily the place where wealth is accumulated. Although, my father’s house was warm and had four walls and a roof it never really felt like home. I knew I had to find my own home and what home meant to me, luckily I had my mother’s house to help figure that out, but everyone isn’t so lucky. Some people have never had a home until they find Nickelsville. Being an outsider is a lonely and segregated place that cuts people off from one of the most essential parts of being human, showing others your humanity and receiving theirs. I hadn’t seen so much humanity, so much caring and so much concern for fellow people in a very long time. Knowing Nickelsville and the amazing community they had created was in constant threat of losing its’ land was a rude awakening from the amazing words that fell from Erin Millers lips. How could anyone not see this was a place this large family needed and any others looking for a little support in a time when true community and a sense of belonging is a rarity.

    Nickelsville has been made to move every two to six months for over two years, each time the mini-society they have created is devastatingly torn apart with no respect for the time and effort it took to create. Seattle has a long history of atrocities against the homeless communities of the city. Starting as far back as the mid 1930’s Seattle twice burnt down the wood and tin shacks of what was referred to in those years as “shanty towns” or “Hoovervilles”. It is estimated that those arsons burned down over 639 people’s homes living in the pop up town near where the sports stadiums are now located. Modern day arsons now consist of “sweeps” as the city calls them. Accompanied by arrests or detainment of Nickelsville residents and confiscation of the little possessions Nickelsville residents have managed to accrue. The despair of losing your belongings is no secret to anyone who has been robbed or had something lost or stolen, but to Nickelsville it is time, energy, and goods that they may never, ever be able to get back. Moving families is also a destructive force. Children are pulled away from their schools and friends over and over, being traumatized repeatedly. Stability for anyone is a necessity, but for young ones it is even more of a priority.

    Nickelsville has been able to bounce back and recreate their community, which goes to show how incredibly important and necessary it is for the people who are part of it. I can’t help, but wonder where these families, these young eyes with entire lives ahead of them will end up if Nickelsville does not find a permanent location. What Nickelsville provides for its residents reaches well beyond the normal functioning of an average shelter or mission and many folks would lose an amazing community without it. Feeling alone and lost in the world is a horrible place to be, finding a family is not an easy task. It took me many years to find a community that allowed me to believe and see that it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t fit in or see things the way my father and his family did. I am lucky to have that support and confidence now. Without it I don’t know if I could face the world everyday with a brave face and an open heart.

    I’ve got walls comin down
    I've got noise all around
    I'm hearin so much, so much sound
    And I'm drownin, drownin now
    And I can't see it clear
    But I still have stear
    And it feels like it's too much
    And evils comin up the rear

    And I'm drownin, drownin
    Too much to fear
    And I'm drownin, drownin
    My make-up's smeared
    Down hollow cheeks and snotty nose
    All around, the noise, it grows
    And help only feels like show
    Cause no one really, really knows
    or gets
    or hears
    unaware

    Still I try
    Nice to have someone on your side
    Even if the noise they ride
    I write,
    They ride
    I write,
    They ride

    Stormy seas of acidy insides
    Billowing breeze
    Blocking my mind's eye

    Pressure headache
    Pressure can't take
    Falling all around me
    So fake
    I am to them
    Hope I can swim to them
    Cause I'm drownin, drownin                                                                                                                                                                                                                   In all of them

    I don't even want to win
    Giving up begins a trend
    Filling up on others sins
    Starting the descent begins
    Harsh Winds
    Dig In
    Your heals
    Try and stop the spinnin
    Spin-in, Spin-in
    Inside I spend when
    The outside's too cold
    Behind the door I fold

    Cheery demeanor melts away
    Tired and weary ends my day.

    Check out these articles and more on our sister sites at Real Change and the International Network of Street Newspapers: INSP Vendor Blog: http://www.insp-blog.org/ INSP Main Website: http://www.street-papers.org/ Real Change Blog: http://www.insp-blog.org/realchange/ Real Change Main Website: http://www.realchangenews.org/

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  • Intellectual Masturbation (Sex is not only physical) ( Poem)

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

     

     

    Bring it on baby stimulate me

    Not only physically

    4play with the mind leads to the body

     

    Intellectual masturbation

    Can keep up with a conversation

    Twisting concepts & politics

     

    With one lick

    From the brain to the tongue

    Whip me up

     

    Having sex with our clothes on

    Got me in your palm

    Jerking me off with word play in your songs

     

    Intellectual masturbation

    Can keep up with a conversation

    Twisting concepts & politics

     

    Like a chess game

    It’s all about concentration

    Next move could be pleasure or pain

     

    Got me mentally wet

    Intellectual orgasm

    Now that is the real sex

     

    Gives us spasms

    Shaking off racism & ablism

    So the world can get off from our intellect

     

    Salt-N-Pepa

    Want more than to talk about sex

    Intellectual masturbation got all the spices

     

    Salty & peppery sweet & sour

     Intellectual masturbation ejaculates brain power

    Make u do strange things without lifting a finger

     

    Intellectual masturbation

    Can keep up with a conversation

    Twisting concepts & politics

     

    Intellectual masturbation

    Like this mind f-ck

    She’s no tease baby got me unstuck

     

    Use to want only eye candy

    Hypnotized by MTV hoochie mamas

    Baby got back but no brains

     

    Now music videos just bore me to tears

    I got no fear

    So bring it on baby

     

    My mind is waiting

    For your intellectual masturbation

    Head to toe full body satisfaction

     

     

    By Leroy Moore

    12/14/10

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  • REDSTONE RUNAROUND: WE DON'T NEED ANOTHER CON-D'OH! PART 2

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Redbeardedguy
    Original Body

    1. San Francisco and the Redstone Building, a Micro-History

    Poormagazine's Elderscholar Bad News Bruce Allison first walked into the Redstone Building in 2000 when Chris Daley, and Mission Resistance, had an office there.  A very small office, but Daley used it as his headquarters to run for Supervisor.  The Redstone has a long history of involvement in the affairs of San Francisco's labor unions and other organizations.

    The building is registered as San Francisco Historic Landmark Building Number 238.  The block (its official name is "Block 34") and the building are zoned commercial, and the Planning Commission promised that this zoning would remain in place through the implementation of the Mission Plan of the Eastern Neighborhoods Plan.  One would think that "Historic Landmark Building" status would make a structure immune to the games that Planning Commissions and building contractors play, but this is not so!

    One of the reasons the building has Historic status is that it was around the 1906 earthquake.  It was destroyed and burned to the ground by the ensuing firestorms, and rebuilt a few years later.  Today, the building has solar panels on the roof that would be shrouded in the shadow of the proposed new structure.

    The Redstone's tenants are in considerable danger of being evicted because of a re-classification to Mixed-Use Zoning status.  San Francisco has a lot of history, like the Redstone, some of it dark and vicious:  struggles over the I-Hotel, redevelopment that destroyed the Western Addition neighborhood community and left it in limbo until the power-players-that-be deemed it time to gentrify the Fillmore with Yoshi's jazz club and much more; Lennar Corp owns the Bayview-Hunter's Point area and is content to have its way or the highway with the Navy Yard whitewash...I mean "environmental clean-up"...with the cooperation of Mayor Gavin Newsom and other folks who should know better.

    Thus and thus and thus, the San Francisco Planning Commission has been working at Warp Speed to morph the 16th Street end of the Mission District (and the Mission Plan of the Eastern Neighborhoods Plan) into something unrecognizeable to anyone paying attention at the official (Sunshiny-like?) beginning of the process of planning...whatever.

    The parking-lot make-over, it turns out, isn't the last word in this episode of The San Francisco Twilight Zone.  Another Con-D'oh! slated to be built as part of this project will replace a gas station and car wash across the street.  Anyone remember the song "They Paved Paradise, Put Up A Parking Lot"?  Ironic, perfectly nice pavement (and buildings) being abused, replaced with con-d'ohs.

    2.  What's Wrong With This Picture?

    The Redstone Building is like many houses that have been built and sold by developers who wanted to make quick bucks from flood-prone areas and didn't bother to tell the hordes of home-hungry folk seeking to become part of the property-owning class.  The area is flood-prone.  The manager of the building, deals with a virtual daily invasion of water in the basement, which would fill it to the ceiling were it left alone.

    Division Street (one of many Bermuda Triangle-like streets in some large cities that create pedestrian-unfriendly micro-environments where two neighborhoods meet), at the beginning of Potrero Street--sort of part of the base of the Potrero Hill 'hood--which is within a few blocks of 16th Street, is another flood-prone area.  Residents there have endured several rain-related floods in recent years that have caused a lot of damage and traffic nightmares. 

    The combined area once included Mission Creek and Dolores Lagoon, which were covered over and forgotten.  "Gone", but, actually, not forgotten.  Like the ghosts of the "Poltergeist" movies, they keep coming back to wreak havoc. 

    Across the street from the Redstone is an underground electrical vault hosting pumps to get rid of more of you-know-what.  Like many other aging and long-unimproved electrical-power-channeling underground vaults in the city, which have exploded and sent human-hole covers flying into the air (sometimes severely injuring people), the pump vault is prone to catastrophic "accidents" every 3 to 5 years, leaving parts of the neighborhood in the dark.

    Will the people who want to sell the condominiums they want to build next to the Redstone tell potential buyers of the risks and the frustrations (like a perpetually flooded parking garage!) they will inherit?

    The Redstone also sits on top of the ancient neighborhood of the Chutchui village of the Ramaytush-speaking Ohlone people, which came to the light of day during the re-construction of the Redstone (1912-1915) when artifacts were discovered. Back in the day, often, nobody cared and artifacts were either carted off to a museum or ignored.  Today, after many Native struggles for sovereign nationhood, respect, and the honoring of burial grounds and other manifestations of historic Native presence (battles which have to be re-fought too often), one wonders if the Planning Commission knows any of this history...and if they give a damn.

    Again, readers seeking to save the Redstone, preserve what little is left of the Mission District, should contact Jeanie Poling, an Environmental Planner in San Francisco’s Planning Department.  The address is 1650 Mission Street, Suite 400, SF, CA  94103.  Contact by phone is:  415-575-9072 (fax # 415-558-6409).  Poling’s email address is:  jeanie.poling@sfgov.org.

    Readers should also contact Corey Teague, the case planner on the project approval (not the environmental review), at corey.teague@sfgov.org  Bill Wycko, her boss, can be contacted at bill.wycko@sfgov.org  Last, but never least, anyone concerned about this should contact San Francisco Supervisors Chris Daly and David Campos, at chris.daly@sfgov.org and david.campos@sfgov.org

    In 2011 concerned people will also need to contact Jane Kim, one of several down-town un-friends of poor people candidates for District 6 who won election to that seat on the Board Of Supervisors, to let her know this is important to you.

    The address of the condo project is 490 So. Van Ness Avenue, the case number of it is #2010.0043E.

     

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  • A place of safety, refuge, sanity, and quiet contemplation.

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

    What Homefulness means to me

    ....A place of safety, refuge, sanity, and quiet contemplation.

    Not Always fear-near the-1st of the month a place where I can invite

    guests to stay as long as I choose.

    No Housing Authority visits, Exterminator visits.
    When Ill or away unable to clean up, missing appointments
    causing automatic possible loss of housing.

    No worries of danger to my guest(s) when visiting because
    other home dwellers have no bounderies, filters if they chose
    to engage or accost new comers to my one room apartment.

     Free of rent hikes, faulty plumbing, electrical systems or
    flooding from leaking roofs.

     

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  • Visioning Homefulness, alongside the scholars at POOR, has made me take spiritual leaps.

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    cayley
    Original Body

         Visioning Homefulness alongside the scholars at POOR has made me take spiritual leaps.  It’s pushed me to think and feel more deeply about so many things—and recently safety nets have been on my mind. Class privilege looks like a million different things, but one of the aspects that has stood out most in my life is how much easier it is to move through the world knowing that I have a safety net ready to catch me. It’s at the other end of the telephone line, home:  the same phone number it’s always been, always in service, with family picking up when I call, asking what I need.

         There are different kinds of safety nets, and for me “home” offers more than one kind. It’s the incalculable kind of unconditional love, knowing that I’m not ever really going to be totally on my own because there are people who have always loved me. My home has always been free from abuse: when we hurt each other it’s always been the accidental injuries of not knowing how to love each other right. I don’t pretend that this is true of all homes, and I don’t take it for granted about mine. And then there’s the material part, the part about class, which is very real: home as a roof, home as a place where I can go and be fed, home as a car I can borrow. Home as people I can call if I need money, home as there’s-only-so-bad-it-can-get. Stability, safety, shelter.

         I read a story recently about a mother buying her child a pair of real diamond earrings, not because she cared about diamonds but because she wanted her kid to have something he could carry with him and pawn for enough money to buy a one-way ticket home, wherever he was, because then he’d always be okay. I feel like that kid sometimes.

         I have those material safety nets because my parents—my mom especially—do labor that is valued more than the labor that almost anyone else in the world does. They work really hard. Everyone works really hard. They offer me a safety net of home—of unconditional love, of material support—with a really profound generosity that I learn from every day. Everyone should be able to help build those kinds of safety nets for the people they love. I watch the hours my mom puts into her job, a job she likes sometimes, a job that asks too much of her—as most people’s jobs do—because she’s trying to make the safety nets foolproof. Or, maybe put another way, so that we don’t ever have to ask for help.

          But what Homefulness and POOR have asked me to understand is that real safety nets, the safety nets that are going to help us all survive, are different from the bank-account last-resorts that I have access to because of class privilege, because of the lopsided economic pyramid that’s harming all of us, killing us. Those kinds of safety nets can’t really save us, not from the spiritual bleakness and isolation that capitalism wedges between us. The real safety net is interdependence. Homefulness is a radical vision of a different kind of safety net: one piece of land in Oakland where a crew of poverty scholars, artists, revolutionaries, mamas, and kids will be able to catch each other, fingers locked together building something strong that’s a little less vulnerable to rent hikes, foreclosure, eviction, displacement. The land that POOR will take back is the raw material for a safety net of interdependence.

         My class privilege, and white privilege too, means my struggle to understand interdependence is going to be a particularly long and deep one. Class privilege does an incredible job of hiding all the labor that other people do so that rich people feel like we’re independent, like we’re doing it on our own. I have a hard time asking for help. I come from a family where people often walk out of the room before they start to cry. Often we don’t know how to ask for things that can’t be calculated, or paid for, or that leave us spiritually or emotionally indebted to each other. What I’m trying to learn every day is that those debts we owe each other are the fabric of real safety nets, those messy cords that enmesh us together too tight to pull away. Those are the kinds of safety nets I’ve learned about through Homefulness.

         I’m living at home right now, my toes curled tight around the fibers of the safety nets I grew up in, that have never left me. I’m deep in the struggle of building healthy relationships with my family, feeling the strain in my muscles as we try to figure each other out, try to ask loving and respectful things of each other. It’s really hard, sometimes harder than I thought it would be. But we are doing all of this on the stable footing of a home, a home we’ve always had and often shared. Our tender spots, our vulnerabilities, our anger, our distance, our laughter is playing out on a steady landscape of home. To me the Homefulness project is about chiseling out a hard-won piece of land from the predatory world of real estate and gentrification so that a family of POOR compas can have a home like that. Home is hard for me sometimes, it’s full of history and patterns and moments where I see the worst parts of myself rising to the surface too quickly. Homes are complicated, sometimes violent, sometimes brilliant. But at their best they can mean some stable footing where we have the time and space to figure each other out, for us to build together. I can only start to imagine how powerful a home will be for POOR, how the revolution of interdependence will keep expanding outward from a plot of un-stolen land. For me, as someone grown at the complicated collision-site of deep, deep love and isolating, ugly capitalism, it’s an indescribable honor to get to work with POOR to keep exploding and re-grounding our ideas about what home can be.

     

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  • Somebody Else's Slave: Use of the "N" Word.

    09/24/2021 - 09:21 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Mad Man Marlon
    Original Body

    Picture credited from the book "Capitalist Nigger" by Chika Onyeani. It is featured online www.proverbmusic.net/.../

    Note: The following story I’ve written is not aimed as a direct attack on ANY specific race, whatsoever. It is people’s (including my own) experience, reflection, and especially survival from a word/weapon. Historically, it has destroyed human beings.

    Presently, it is still used as such in displacing human beings………….. from themselves. Bringing forth community consciousness, locally and globally. “There was a discussion about how people say that word. No matter how you say that word………....its like saying that you’re someone’s slave.”

    An explanation of the use of the “N” word by my comrade and co-founder of POOR Magazine’s Family Project, Jewnbug.

    We’ve all heard this word, this slur……………at least most people here in the U.S.A, and in other countries have. A slur spat from the mouths of European colonizers onto one race of people, while savagely stolen from their land: African Descendants into African-Americans.

    A word/weapon leading to generations of enslavement, dehumanization, segregation, criminalization, incarceration, and death of communities by European KKKolonizers. Used for “mass destruction” in present day. A word so ugly, evil, and inhumane that its very usage would even one day become a partial transformation. A reclamation effort from its enslavement to the soul.

    Metaphorically, a kiss to an ugly duckling to see it blossom into a beautiful swan. Immoral infection to their mind to re-invent, reclaim and reproduce it for themselves. A cultural form greeting of brotherhood, or despise. Soap into syrup, one or the other in the mouths of many. One race to displace their humility with one word.

    Arguably and/or accurately, it is the mother of all racial slurs:

    NIGGER

    Ugly as it seen, ugly as it is heard. According to “His-story” (among others) the word “Nigger” began as a term used in a neutral context to refer to black people, as a variation of the Spanish/Portuguese noun, negro; a descendant of the Latin adjective “Niger” meaning the color "black."

    Many conflicting stories stem from “His-story” about the origination of this word, and its original target, but who can doubt its destination? “

    When I was growing up, I didn’t know too much about that word, until I went to an all white school in Upstate, New York.” Raaddrr Van, Race, Media, and Poverty Scholar said to me regarding his experience. Van recalls the moment he boarded the “cheese (yellow) bus” the other kids began to chant “KKK, KKK, KKK!” at him. (acronym for the notorious white supremacist terrorist group) “Today, as a black man in America, that word does hurt me, and my black people.” Van says. “But at the end of the day, I’m still black.”

    I can only imagine the inner torment, and terror someone like Malcolm X endured from the sound of this word, in his childhood. In school, he was taught the reality of discouragement from his eight grade (white) teacher. Malcolm’s dream from ever becoming a lawyer were shattered from his teacher’s words, "No realistic goal for a nigger.” Hearing this hurt Malcolm’s humility enough to engage into a life of crime, until he was incarcerated.

    From incarceration, to education however, Malcolm X later became one of the most influential speakers and leaders the world would ever see.

    A word to the black man Do not point your nose too high Do not swell your chest too much Do not boast too loudly Do not be puffed up Let not your ambition be inordinate Or take a wrong direction Remember you have done nothing at all You are just the same member of society you were last week……….. Partial excerpt from an editorial from The Los Angeles Times titled “A Word to the Black Man” published on July 5th, 1910 following the July 4th historical victory of Jack Johnson over James Jeffries, in Reno, Nevada.

    The headline was the “Fight of the Century.” Johnson’s victory over Jeffries enraged whites who rioted against blacks via his victory. “Nigg-er” became a widespread into a pandemic of psychological impairment. The result went into a reclaim. Re-formed and re-introduced as “Nigg-a.”

    It became a self-proclamation, of self-expressiveness among many young black men and women, actors in certain films; such as 1970s “Blax-ploitation Era” rap artists in music, comedians in their standup performances, etc, etc. Nearly everywhere, it hits my ears fluently, in friendly or furious fashion.

    A cultural collective attempt to empowerment: “Yo my nigga! How you doing?” “Hey, you punkass nigga!” “We should no longer accept this negative, anti-BLACK image of ourselves that was forced on us by the former slavemaster!” Sister Yeye Akilimali Funua Olade, April, 2007 My lifelong best friend from Cleveland, Ohio, Ryan Jones said to me, in a brief recent interview regarding his feelings and experience with it.

    Jones briefly explained its purpose to me. “That word has been misused for the past 100 years. It was used to invoke racial hatred towards an ethnic group of people to intimidate, and make them feel inferior. Personally, I do not like the word, for I was called that word numerous times growing up, and it holds a personal disgust within me.” Growing up with Ryan Jones and his brother, Bryan Jones (both identical twins) I can not only concur his feelings of the word and experience, but from my own.

    The three of us were subjected to it, and attacked because of it. As a child born and raised in Cleveland, myself and my family were often savagely subjected to “Nigger” many times. Our white neighbors were quite friendly towards us for awhile, until slight disagreements led to cursing and hissing. The cursing became a chorus of inner terror and fear for me.

    Like a bomb detonation, it damaged my dignity. (repeatedly and daily even) “Nigger!” “Nigger!” “Nigger!” The Use of “Nigger” spans much deeper. Verbally, every single African Descent person here in United States of AmeriKKKa, (and abroad) can see and hear all categories of one ugly word within a sentence from a set of lips. The awful energy, hatred, anger, fury, and the deepest downcast. Like a barrage of bullets and/or daggers striking into one’s mind, heart, and soul.

    Physical, like a po-lice officer’s “Use of Force.” Southern trees bear strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood at the root Black body swinging in the Southern breeze Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees Pastoral scene of the gallant South, The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh! Here is fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop. Poem by Abel Meeropol, performed by Billie Holiday.

    A pregnant woman is hung upside down by her ankles. Her unborn baby slashed from her belly by a white hate-filled mob. They set her on fire. As her life is taken before her eyes, she lives long enough to see them crush the life she produced. Burning upside down, she cries out for her child as a hail of bullets tear through her burning body. Mary Turner, May of 1918 in Valdosta, Georgia.

    A fourteen years old boy’s eyes are gouged out, shot in his head, his body weighed down with a 70 lb cotton gin fan, then barb wire tied is around his neck. Emmet Till, August 28th, 1955. Abducted at night, taken to an undisclosed location, castrated, then dumped on a roadside left to bleed to death. Edward Aaron, September 2nd, 1957.

    Chained to a pickup truck in the darkest of night, then dragged along the road until his body was severed apart as he begged for his life. James Byrd Jr, June 7th, 1998.

    Shot in the back, spread eagled on the ground, even in compliance to a po-lice officer’s orders. His dying words of shock as he looks up at his killer: “You shot me?!! Oscar Grant, January 1st, 2009. Spread eagled, imprisoned on my bed, looking at the barrel of a gun, and a dozen other guns from po-lice officers. Innocence and detailed description of their “suspect” irrelevant to a crime I did not commit.

    Skin was all they saw.

    October 7th, 2005, a day that my life saw death through their eyes. Being a “Nigger” in their eyes, ready to open fire with it on their mind. “Who’s skin care you? Who’s voice care you?” (In reference to my poem) http://www.poormagazine.org/node/2728 I feel that for every reclaim of “Nigg-a” is a reminder of pain behind “Nigg-er.” Tran substantive error in terms of “Black on Black” violence in poor communities perpetrated by corporate mainstream media, and its proponents. Blind consciousness of capitalism in journalism, “If it bleeds it leads.” “

    They (young men of color) are murdered twice, by the cops and……....... by the media!” Explosive words from D’andre, who was lead speaker to everyone in attendance and support (including POOR) of October 22nd National Day of Protest to Stop Police Brutality, Repression, and Criminalization of a Generation. Another tran substantive error is a very sensitive subject and heated debate.

    The false empowerment and notion of “skin privilege” imposed upon the minds of African Descendants (and other non-white ethnicities) that the lighter their skin, the better their chances to survival and success. “Passing for White” was the term used in the old days.

    My mentor, POOR co-founder “Tiny” Lisa Gray-Garcia soundly resents, and resists this psychological pandemic of Eurocentric form of “self.” “Additionally, I as a mixed race daughter of a "half-breed" mixed race, unwanted orphan of color, my mama. My phrase is I'm Black, I’m just melanin challenged.” I am the success story of the pure race scientists, and the tears of my KKKolinized ancestors.”

    Tiny poetically-presents, in detailed description of the horrors that her mom, “Mama” Dee Gray faced in foster homes as a little girl: “Welfare Queens.” A revolutionary play produced and co-directed by the “Super Baby Mamas” of POOR Magazine/PNN Hey little girl, are you the new orphan? Are you the new orphan?! Hey little girl?! Cat’s got your tongue?! Can’t you talk?! I think she’s deaf ! She sure is funny lookin like a little nigger! Nigger lips! Nigger lips! Can’t you talk? Can you fight?! Cmon, stand up! Poor little deaf and dumb orphan girl! Can’t talk, can’t move! “

    Mama”Dee-Gray would later be tossed in a trash can by her tormenters. Trapped in darkness, paralyzed with too much fear to move a muscle, else someone might hear her.

    “Tiny” Lisa Gray-Garcia’s consciousness of her own culture, and deterrent from another. “I live within this white skin as a Mestizo person in conflict, and therefore I don’t believe it is respectful to appropriate a word (Nigger) used to harm so many of my ancestors……….anymore than I would use the word Spic, or Mojado (two slurs) used for my raze gente.” Tiny’s meaning of reclaim: “

    What I do claim is my indigenity, my blood line to colonized peoples across Pacha Mama - Boricua, Taino, Roma, African, and Irish; as a way to re-claim the stolen and destroyed cultures that live within my heart.” Behind every sound of “Nigger” into Nigg-a (or vice versa) is the sound of slavery, torture, rape, oppression, displacement incarceration, and death.

    Past, Present, and God forbid, the Future. In another reality realm, every single race has a slur placed upon them, literally from A-Z. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_ethnic_slurs For me as a young African Descent man with multiple ethnicities in my bloodline; my own skin should be irrelevant to society once and for all!

    My family of POOR's ultimate goal for all of us poor communities, locally and globally: Moving off these grids of separations and control of our land from “The Man” and his linguistic domination. “Nigger” being one of them. Taking back our land, with our own lens, our own lives, with every single story of struggle at a time.

    In the end, the real reclaim is ourselves starting with the “I” voice ending with “we” as a community. Not a displacement from our communities, and ourselves from "Nigg-er" or "Nigg-a." "

    The black man is a kind of man that never holds his fists down so that is why I like the Black Man kind." Poem by 7 year old Tiburcio Garcia, son of tiny and Revolutionary Youth Scholar titled "Black Man Knows True."

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