Like cracks within the dry, humid, red dirt, scratches cover your hands... callouses are like the rough, dry patches of red dirt... yet when I touch your earthly hands it is like the softest cloud and the silver lining is in our soulful eyes... that brings us overflowing joy as the constant gushing river that is the bloodstream of Mother Earth. It is not everyday I meet a person and feel that I’ve known their soul forever. A person whose spirit and heart is the opposite of what people assume that they are. A person who had everything I did not. A person who has suffered horrendous grief, hurt, and pain but, like Tupac’s rose that grew from the concrete this person is the Ute rose sprung rezcrete. Meet the rose named Louis C. I met Louis in a Ute beardance ceremony, and he was one of the beardance singers. Right when I saw him, I looked at him as if I knew him. When I danced with him it was as if I knew his soul without saying a word. We did not have any conversations, and yet had a deep spiritual connection. While I was stunned with what had just happened, he left. A week later, I met Louis again at a different Ute beardance, and I picked him again to dance. After the beardance, I decided to find out more about Louis. We talked about two-spirited people, energy and how it heals people, and sang traditional songs. We found out we were even both semi deaf in the same ear. That night, I found out about some of the breakdowns in his life. I couldn’t believe that he had those breakdowns in his life and I saw him in his greatness of who he truly is. I have never lost that vision of Louis living out his greatest potential. While growing up, Louis ended up going to different boarding schools, and decided to drop out of high school and went back to his reservation in Utah. There he went through many ups and downs in his life, but one thing always secretly sustained him, his art. As a survivor of rape, abuse, and torture, I knew how important literary art was to me. I would keep a journal that no one else knew existed and write out my hearts desire. There I let out my pain on paper instead of cutting myself again and again. One day, I showed a teacher at the reform school I attended a poem that I wrote. They told me how good it was and so for the first time I let someone keep my poem. The teacher ended putting it in the yearbook. For the first time ever I felt validation as an artist. Just like how I was in high school, I came to find out he is an artist who kept his art to himself. Many people draw what they see but these drawings came from inside his heart and third eye. He would always say this about his artwork, “I just look at the paper and it shows me what to draw and the colors just pop out.” His artwork reminds me of pop art mixed with traditional arts. I am wowed by every time I see his art, it is as if I am looking at his art for the first time and I learn something new about myself. I started to see a transformation in Louis based on experiences and trainings he was going through. I saw a young man who was heartbroken, hurt, and feeling alone turn into a courageous, loving, intimate man who was as vulnerable as a ballerina. He told me his vision was to go heal and help all the people he had hurt in his lifetime. That is the most courageous act a person can do is face themselves and the hurt they have caused and transform into being the source of healing for the same people. Louis’s spirituality speaks through the energy he creates and sends out to nature. I remember one time him sitting outside on a cloudy day and he told me “I just kept thinking for the sun to shine through the that cloud.” Then a hole appeared in the clouds and the sunshine through. That day became sunny and brought happiness to all the creatures in nature. One night I was with Louis and my stomach started to cramp. I was in a great deal of pain and tearing from my eyes. Louis saw me in pain and all of the sudden he put his hands on my stomach and just within a few seconds the pain was gone. Louis’s art was affected and popped off the paper, canvas, or walls even more while he was going through his transformation. He came down to the reservation I live on and supported a youth mural project. This mural project was part of my vision for about 1 year. It is the only youth graffiti tobacco abuse-free mural in this county. He painted the Uintah and Ouray Mountains and animal tracks from his reservation after the kids would leave for the day. It was his first time ever on a public mural project and stated, “I am just so lucky to even have this opportunity to work for the youth to have some of my art on this wall.” Louis taught me the value of silence and being in it. Just to be silent with nature and to listen to what it is saying. He told me, “Too many people are so busy talking and forget to listen to the silence. Why can’t they listen to the silence?” He would take me on road trips where for hours we would sit in silence and he would every now and then point to an eagle, hawk, deer, elk, or another animal. He taught me to be comfortable with the silence that surrounds my life and to let it heal me. While I am writing this article I am evoking Louis’s silent spirit by being surrounded by silence and for the first time in a long time finding pleasure in the silence and not having fear associated with it. So many times we honor people after they died and they never know the impact they make on our lives. We thank them in their death for what they have done for us. I choose to honor a young man named Louis for all the things he taught me about his journey, art, and spirituality. I honor him for the greatest potential he is and his commitment to standing as the source of positive energy. Life is too precious for me not to honor an indigenous scholar such as Louis, and to honor his mother from whom he came from. As my friend Tiny says, “Without her (Mom) there would be no me”, this is true of Louis and his Mama. She raised a loving, spiritual, lucky young man. Thank you Debbie, for raising Louis to teach me lessons as he gives his gift of art to the world.

Ben Ali, Tunisian fascist dictator, is gone!

Egypt’s 30-year fascist dictator (and U.S. puppet) Hosni Mubarak is about to go!

We are seeing with our own eyes – at last – real people’s power in action. We are seeing the working class joining hands, the police and security forces included. It’s so exciting, exhilarating!

Nevertheless, the world’s peoples must register their support and make this a world revolution so that the imperialists won’t be able to fuck it up – i.e., reverse the revolution with their guns and butter.

This could very possibly be the beginning of a global revolution that would free the people of the world from the tyranny of the 1 percent who own 80 percent of the world’s resources – and initiate real democratic self-determination.

We – the children, women, men of the world who comprise the overwhelming majority of the global population – WE must demand our human rights NOW. Our right to live. Our right to land, bread, housing, health care, child care for working parents, education, justice and peace.

As Frederick Douglass noted: “Power concedes nothing without a demand.” We must collectively and globally demand our human rights, human equality.

All power to the people! People of the world, unite!

Long live the Egyptian revolution!

(The above pics are Los Angeles County Sheriff’s investigates men sexually assulting disabled women)

Hate hate hate
It seems like every day
State to state

I was profiled in New York
Fredrick hung in Mississippi
Disabled women assaulted in LA

Hung, Shot & Assaulted
Protect & Serve
Black & Blue shot shot shot

Wheelchair user with a knife
He was a threat to public safety
As a Black man I never feel safe

Getting hot in December
Nothing new in a new year
Brothers & sisters

Hung, Shot & Assaulted
Life halted
Break out your cell phones

Get everything on video
Sell it to ABC, NBC, and CBS
Doesn’t spell justice for the victims

Budget cuts
Lead to hate
So we all bleed

Dig deep to the seed
Pull out the roots
Changing our attitudes

Things don’t change
Until it happens to you
But that is way too late

Politician was shot today
Rich & poor are getting hot
Time for radical change

Hung, Shot & Assaulted
Can’t see the bigger picture
When the media’s frame is crocked

Don’t need a band-aide
Beyond reform
We are all in this storm

Will we reach out for that hand?
After all of this still can’t understand
Why disabled people are still
Hung, Shot & Assaulted

By Leroy Moore Jr.
1/9/11

Note: according to US statistics a person with a disability is 4 to 10 times more likely to be a victim of a crime than a person without a disability. 60% of women with hearing impairments, 59% of women with visual impairments, 57% of women with learning disabilities, and 47% of women with mobility impairments will be physically abused in their lifetimes. 81% of people with psychiatric disabilities have been physically or sexually assaulted. Research consistently finds that people with substantial disabilities suffer from violent and other major crime at rates four to ten times higher than that of the general population. Estimates are that around 5 million disabled people are victims of serious crime annually in the United States. There is no figures of national rate of police brutality against people with disabilities but October 22nd Stolen Lives Project put out a book including people with disabilities.

“Mama, will I ever see you again? Whispered by a child in the hills of San Marcos, Guatemala

“Without child care we won’t be able to keep our jobs,” spoken by a mama of three struggling to support her children in Oakland

“We don’t work with Indians,” yelled at an indigenous elder in San Francisco by San Francisco Housing Authority worker

These are the voices of survival radio-keep our media access or we will die radio – keep us on the air or we won’t stay alive radio- Up from the streets, shelters, jails, borders, hip hop beats, youth and elders teach, indigenous-people-led thrival radio. These are the voices of PoorNewsNetwork/PNN radio & PNN- TV – a revolution of media access by any means necessary. Radio, video and stories written, produced and edited by migrante workers in poverty, indigenous elders struggling to keep their land and homes, young folks of color being criminalized for the sole act of being young and of color, African peoples resisting profiling and po’lice murder,  mamas and daddy’s struggling with the myths of the budget cuts and the edges of false borders. Radio, video and written journalism launched by a houseless/landless indigenous disabled single mama of color and her daughter, me.

Taking Back Our Voices

“You and your mother are trash,” Without looking at us, our West Oakland landlord of two years mumbled his opinion of me and my mama, while throwing an eviction notice in our face.. After he dropped the papers he walked down the narrow pathway from our ex-home  to the street. At least he didn’t throw me up against the wall like the two previous landlords had done.

After living through three illegal Oakland evictions in a row, I had written a story about our struggle to get and stay housed in dot-com era Oakland, I sent the story to two east bay media outlets and two “independent radio broadcasts”. All of them said different variations on, “This isn’t news, this happens everyday in the US”

“How long have you and your mother lived in your vehicle,?” A strange amplified voice  seeped into the tape covered rear view window of our car, it was followed by a threatening, glass shattering knock on the remaining glass of our window. It was a knock that always meant police. And yet the voice didn’t fit the knock. I looked up from my crouched frozen position on the frayed vinyl seats of our old Ford Fairmont, only to find a small framed white woman with a large padded microphone in front of her. She was standing next to a tall po’lice officer who glared down at me, while she maintained a seemingly harmless smile. After multiple gentrification and poverty inspired evictions my mama and I ended up living in and out of our broke-down hooptie for the duration of my childhood and teenage years in the Bay Area facing criminalization and profiling and eventual incarceration for the act of being homeless in Amerikkka.

“ Tell them to get the F** out of here,” my mother slapped the back of my head to get me to move, it was barely light on a cold Saturday morning in Oakland. I quickly brushed myself off and came out of the car, still wearing two blankets on top of my clothes.

When I got outside the car  I found out the seemingly nice lady was a reporter doing a story on families  living in their cars. To do this report she felt it necessary to travel with the Oakland Police department. The first thing I  told her was that my mother and I were not ok with being recorded or having our pictures used for a story. After I spoke to her the police officer reminded me that it was illegal to park overnite in the city Of Oakland, but that he was letting me off “this time”.

The following week we were one of five families pictured in an “expose” on  people sleeping in their cars, billed as Crimes of the Underground. 

Since the inception of media production and academic research, people with race, class or economic privilege have received thousands of dollars from places like The Ford Foundation, a philanthropic organization one of many that exist in the US, with roots in the genocide and slavery and stolen wealth of poor and indigenous peoples as well as pure race science like eugenics, to create elaborate filters through which the voices of poor people of color can be “heard”.

From research fellow-ships and ethnographic documentaries to anthropological surveys and studies, our voices are fetishized, deconstructed, studied and discussed; we are spoken to and talked about- and we only “have a voice” if our documentors deem them important to the goals and outcomes of their projects or our voices inclusion is required by the grant guidelines.

We don’t need to be “given a voice”

To be perfectly clear, we don’t need to be “given”, a voice, we have a voice, millions of multi-lingual, multi-generational, beautiful, complex, loud, expressive, angry, intelligent, powerful, amazing, voices, speaking in thousands of unrecognized dialects, unheard poems, un-recorded songs and street-based beats. What we don’t; have is our own radio transmitters, television and radio broadcasts, TV stations, dominant languages, libraries, publishing companies, digital access, and servers. Or like my sister in revolutionary media partnership at the Bay View, Mary Ratcliff so eloquently put it, “ People know of some censored stories through the powerful Project Censored out of Sonoma State university, but PNN is the voices of people that are Never Heard,” Her comment spurred me on to create a new ironic re-mix for the voices of us poor folks: Project Silenced

Media equity sharing

So how are the voices of poor mamas, migrante workers, youth of color in poverty, incarcerated peoples, disabled peoples truly heard, with our own stories, our own author-ship, within a dominant society that actively works to silence us. This is the revolution that is PoorNewsNetwork, The Bay View Newspaper,  the Block Report and other truly revolutionary, community located, poor people-run media and art projects.

It is accomplished at POOR Magazine/Prensa POBRE/PNN through a complex web of poor people-led education, organizing, consciousness growing,  and decolonizing about the myths of linguistic dominance (deconstructing literacy, etc)  in  media, education and art. As well it includes the sharing of media and resource access which are quantifiable forms of equity, by people  with institutional access, such as the web designers who volunteered to help POOR Magazine lost in digital apartheid for 13 years into our new 2.0 digital home at www.poormagazine.org, with skills and tools that are inherent in the lives of people not worrying about when and where their next meal is coming from.

PNN Revolutionary Radio

Since 1999 when my mother and I walked tentatively into the KPFA radio building to begin a broadcast that was originally slated for once a week, forged from the KPFA protests of 1999, with the goal of being inserted into the very clean, very NPR-ish Morning Show at KPFA

From that first day in the station we began pushing the limits of media inclusion and resisting media exclusion with stories written, produced and reported by folks living in shelters, working in low-wage or no-wage day labor, incarcerated and profiled African peoples, peoples with disabilities, poor mothers and fathers on welfare, youth of color in poverty and resistance and on and on. We honored our removed and displaced ancestors and elders, our houseless and poverty scholars and consistenty re-ported and sup-ported on our comrades in struggle. We were constantly told we were including. “too much Spanish” from our Voces de inmigrantes en resistencia reporters. “Your reporters don’t speak right, or were too inexperienced.” Because they struggled with “literacy problems”,  learning disabilities or differently-abled speech patterns.

Me and my Mama Dee, Joseph Bolden, Ingrid Deleon, Ken M, Leroy Moore & the Krip Hop Nation, Silencio Muteado, Queenandi, Bruce Allison, Ruyata Akio McGlothlin, Vivian Hain, Jewnbug, Tony Robles and many more poverty, disability, race and indigenous scholars continued walking into that building remembering it wasn’t about how bad they made us feel, but rather that this one channel of media access must remain open, by any means necessary.

“With the widening gap of the haves and have-nots- digital apartheid is an everyday reality that PNN is struggling against- it is media at its purest- and the closest representation of what media is supposed to be, “ said Tony Robles, Revolutuionary Worker Scholar and co-editor of POOR Magazine

For Mama Radio

In 2006, my African-Boricua indigenous, ghetto fabulous mama passed on her spirit journey. Two hours before she left this plain, she was writing a short commentary about a small homeless puppy who had happily been living with a houseless guy in his shopping cart in Oakland until he was adopted (read: taken) by a “kind” yuppie who took pity on the homeless dog, but then eventually became annoyed by the puppy and gave him up to the SPCA “I know they are going to try to edit this part out,” My mama chuckled with her hilarious sense of irony that got us through all of the bad times we lived through together, was certain that the  revelation of the myths  of the well-intentioned is sometimes to hard to hear by well-intentioned academic researchers and middle-class producers of radio and media, “so let’s get ready for a fight…” she concluded.

In 2011, our voices are in more struggle than ever, for housing, hellthcare, non-existent jobs, against racism, profiling po’lice terror and criminalization in Amerikkka., for unseen art, unheard music, constant resistance and a poor people revolution created by the poor people who experience it first-hand Tune in to PoorNewsNetwork radio & PNN-TV for the truth voices, the peoples voices- published weekly , experienced daily to stay alive voices-

The Fight continues mama….

1. Madness, Metaphors, and Mud In Yer Eyes, Oh My!

In 2010 we were "treated" to the stunningly obvious and madly maddening, information that there is a failure-to-graduate-from-high-school rate of 40%+ for Black youth in Amerikkka.  We also heard, just as the college/university basketball championship tournament known as March Madness was getting underway, that many prominent colleges and universities have an equally (or worse) record when it comes to graduating Black basketball athletes; some schools of higher larnin' have problems graduating many athletes period.

Black hole.  Padded room.  Pick your metaphoric image.  The news went "thud!" and the response was a muffled silence, or the cheering of crowds that wanted to see their fave team just win, baby!  2011 is upon us and March Madness looms large again in the minds of sports fans.

2.  A Little (Personal) History, part 1

I guess everyone thinks they live in a place where sports seems like the true religion practiced.  I like to joke that Texas, where I grew up, is definitely one of those places.  I didn't become a fanatic, but I did get socialized into enjoying (watching, mostly) sports.  I loved the 1970's Dallas Cowboys, and several other teams.  My baseball addiction developed the same way--I (usually) follow the teams of the cities I've lived in, though that has been tough to do in places like San Francisco and Seattle--places where it has often seemed that good players get trained to go somewhere else (like the New York Yankees...) to get paid ever more outrageous sums of money.

September 11th, 2001, did more than change some of the ways we live in Amerikkka now.  When the interrupted professional baseball season got back in gear, and the playoffs began, it was clear that the national (news) media had decided The New York Yankees were "America's Team", they "deserved" to win because of what happened to New York City. 

The televised playoffs included many tv camera close-ups of Mayor Rudy Giuliani, which was incredibly annoying since many people seemed to want to forget his Po'Lice-friendly policies and his very public hatred of any art that wasn't safely innocuous and easy to love.  The camera close-ups ended, I think, because the network covering the play-offs got complaints.  They certainly got mine.

Results?  I'm a mild-mannered Boston Redsocks fan.  Never thought I'd say that.  I sort of pay attention to the NFL, the end of the Michael Jordan Era led to a deflation in most of my interest in NBA basketball.  It's hard to ignore local (and other) college sports when something big happens--but there's so many more college/university teams I've never been able to wrap my tiny little mind around following THAT mess.  I loved pro tennis and golf for years, but, even though he has been the Mr. Big of golf, the only way I can get excited about golf again is if Mr. Woods returns to being Dr. Doom on the links.

3. A Little History, part 2

"Back in the day" (aka "back in MY day", not entirely true in my case since i'm not a Greatest Generation elder...) professional athletes had to work other jobs in their off seasons.  Their sports paychecks weren't big.  The pipeline for new guys coming up to replace the older stars was both the college/university-track athletes, semi-pro leagues, baseball's minor league network of teams, etc. 

How things have changed.  For Amerikkkan football you've got the Pop Warner young kids football leagues that train the kids that have potential to play well in high school and beyond.  That system has become a major cog in the machine of sports in this country, spitting out kids and spitting out kids that can go all the way to the NFL if they can ignore all the usual distractions, plus the ones that children in poor neighborhoods deal with daily. 

Basketball has the Nike Camps.  I met a teenager going to a Nike Camp when I was a laundromat attendant in Seattle.  My clue was the sheer massiveness of the amount of sports clothing, and socks.  My ghod, the socks.  The Nike Camps, sponsored by your friendly seller of gazillion dollar designer basketball shoes, are where potential NBA stars go to become better basketball players. 

If you're a kid from a middle class or higher family, the pipeline includes your own family's connections.  For poor young athletes, having potential and being good is about the only thing they've got, despite all the ranting and raving going on all around them about the importance of a good education.  Lip service on steroids. 

As has been said by someone, education ain't a Race To The Top, it's more like the steady tortoise beating the flashy wabbit, but what do "they" know?

4.  Why are Haiti and the Dominican Republic In This Article?

Haiti is in this article because The Dominican Republic is right next door on the island.  There wasn't much news from the DR after the earthquake, mostly stuff about how this or that person or organization that wanted to help could only get into Haiti via the DR.  Why relative silence from the DR?

Silence usually means the government is doing a good job of keeping the disgruntled, the dissenters, from being heard.  The Dominican Republic might as well be called The Baseball Republic.  It is where MLB (Major League Baseball) players from the DR, as well as some homegrown Amerikkkan players go to play "Winter Ball" between the end of one MLB season and the start of Spring Training and the next season.

Another pipeline for MLB is the DR, and other Caribbean nations, where children play street ball, get enrolled in the belly of the beast of the national/international obsession for the game (not to forget the intense desire not to be po' no mo'.  Those big paychecks the stars make are...magnetic); some of those children get exposed to fame early, traveling to Amerikkka for the Little League World Series. 

The drive to get out of poverty leads to doing whatever it takes, By Whatever Means Necessary.  Disputes over the age of young players are common.  Scandals over the age of older players happen too.  One of the relief pitchers for a team that got into the 2010 MLB Play-offs was unable to go pro for several years because his visa was suspended in a scandal over a real or imagined plot to get players married to Amerikkkan women, get green carded-up, etc.

5.  Whazzup, Doc? part 1

If there's more "there" there for young poor athletes, how did we get to this 40%+ national non-graduation rate state of affairs for Black Amerikkkan youth?  How do we fix (I have some ideas on that, which require another article.) what's broke? 

When I was a teenager in the 70's I hated hearing talking heads talk about education being about "training young people to be good workers".  I guess the old chestnut about "well-rounded educations" "well-rounded individuals" (or citizens) has been tossed on the bonfire of the buzzwords.  Capitalism needs workers, so all I hear is a-good-education-is-necessary-so-we'll-have-good-workers!  Yay. 

Several of my facebook friends post oldie and new songs on their pages.  I listened to one particular hip-hop/rap song I liked, posted it to my page, then deleted it--I liked the beat, but the lyrics drove me nuts.  Still, one of the other major paths to some sort of success that has been walked by many young Black men and women in Amerikkka is still spitting out new artists and songs, much to the on-again, off-again chagrin of Conservative White Amerikkka.

More of this might slowly, or quickly, fix some of the broke stuff.  At least one POOR Magazine person wants to produce a music CD, and the recent Mercado de Cambio saw the welfareQueens struttin' their stuff and rappin' hard and very conscious.  Vivian Hain is, as always, an amazing, intense performer, but all of the Queens spat some good stuff and I very much hope the welfareQeens make some beautiful music soon. 

Hey, POOR has POOR Press.  Why not a POOR Records label?  The Mercado was also host to various friends, allies, and extended POOR Magazine family rapping, blowing my mind, having fun.  "Charles Pitts and the welfareQueens" (or any reasonable alternate name you want...) anybody?

6. Whazzup Doc? Big money Capitalist sports must shrink!

I once had dreams of being a professional bowler, but quit competing when the competition got more interested in getting part-time jobs so they could afford to date girls.  The competition kept me focused on something I enjoyed.  Somehow, I managed not to think about joining an adult league for, well, competition to keep me rolling.  My bad.

There are many people in this country who play in amateur sports leagues.  Minor league baseball is popular because it's affordable entertainment.  You don't have to get a bank loan to take the family to a game! 

Making sports more community oriented, more indigenous to neighborhoods, smaller rather than larger, makes sense.  Especially when you have Tea Baggers and others ranting and raving about red ink, among other things. 

I'd much rather see more people playing baseball in the Summer--at the field (in San Francisco) on Turk Street between Gough and Laguna, near where I live--see more money spent on that sort of activity than what gets spent on the Bay-To-Breakers foot-race marathon and other "Bigger Is Better" entertainment events.

Maybe that should be part of the debate over what money should or shouldn't be spent in the coming "here we go again" Budget Brawl In City Hall.

I never realized how bad it was until now.  I grew up here and have seen this place transform over the years.  My best friend used to live behind me.  We would tap on the wall to communicate with each other.  I have seen the good bad and the ugly in this neighborhood.  Freedom West Homes sits in the Western Addition, a very expensive piece of property as it sits firmly near City Hall , the Opera House, a school , fire department, transportation, Japantown.  Three hundred units holding people of different religions, ethnicities, economic, and educational backgrounds. 

Every Family has a history.  I can tell you the history of almost every hardworking family that has lived on my block and outside my block.  Europeans, Africans, African Americans, Asians, Latinos all live in this co –op; some feeling victimized and hopeless with limited English skills and a lack of housing advocacy and resources.

Hundreds of shareholders of Freedom West Homes Homes (Bethel Housing Corporation) are going to have their homes taken away from them.  Freedom West Homes is a 300 unit shareholder complex, likely one of the biggest housing projects that still exists.  The piggy bank is up for grabs and this cooperation has been purposely mismanaged by Alton Management. 

About a month ago all shareholders were sent an “Amendment to Occupancy Agreement Carrying Charge  Increase”  The rate increase was not the main issue, however, the amendment itself used wording that suggested that we were residents and not shareholders.  The Amendment also suggested that we paid rent and not a rate.  As a result a meeting amongst only 20 – 30 residents out of the 300 units attended.  So we all crossed out the amendment  and made minor adjustments. We went to the office to turn them in with our checks and discovered that the offices decided to close down early.  We left our payment and “Re Amendment” inside the payment box and  a couple of days later our amendments and checks were returned to us.  The amendments were VOIDED and we were given ten days eviction notice by Alton Management of Oakland to pay the rent  without re-amending the amendment.  David Tse , who spearheaded the movement to save Freedom West Homes helped arrange a meeting with  San Francisco Board of Supervisors Ross Mirikarimi, as well as Supervisor Board President David Chiu. Ross Mirikarimi and David Chu.

David Tse (470 board director of freedom west
you are hereby required, on or before January 20, 2011, to pay said rent in full, or to deliver up possession of said premises to the undersigned or legal proceedings will be commenced against you to recover possession of said premises, to declare said agreement for possession forfeited, and to recover court costs and attorneys’ fees for the unlawful detention of said premises.  The undersigned elects to and does declare a forfeiture of the lease, rental agreement or tenancy under which you occupy the above premises if the rent is not paid in full on or before the above specified date.  You have ten (10) days within which to meet and discuss with the Administrator this Notice and the proposed termination of your tenancy.  Please be advised that you may only be evicted as a result of a judicial proceeding and if a judicial preceding for eviction is instituted you may present a defense at the trial.

As for those who were intimidated and excepted the amendment we don’t know what the legal ramifications will hold for them in terms of their shareholder status. Signed without  proper legal counsel and fear of eviction and  kept it.  Then Billy Hutton from Alton Management tried to charge everyone a  $20 late fee.  The same guy that held up all the checks. 

In addition to this, word is out that by 2012 this federal funded coop is supposed to be fully paid or the the co – op will shut down it s doors to its residence.  Alta management is going to be audited to see if they have been compliant with the federal funding of Freedom West Homes.  There has been so much mismanagement who knows what is going to happen after the audit? who are coming from Washington D.C.?  The Federal Funds we are trying to pay back  This is why the federal government is involved. 

Over the past years Freedomwest Homes has been unstructured and unmanaged and has failed HUD inspections.  Several units are falling apart--plumbing, mold, worn down cabinets, bad carpets, etc.  Everything is coming to a termination point where the federal bond is ending meaning HUD pulls the plug on us allowing a developer to come through and buy up the property.  We don’t even know if we will be compensated as shareholders.  If Freedom West is bankrupt who will pay us?  People are going to be homeless or the developer  will have to pay us for our share.  We are one of the biggest federal funded complexes in San Francisco, if not the biggest.  So by putting pressure both on federal and local levels. The biggest issue is to get Alta management out due to mis-management.
 
So far San Francisco Board of Supervisors David Chu and Ross Mirikarimi have been approached by residents of Freedom West and have agreed to look at the situation.  Nancy Pelosi’s office has also been advised.

For updated information please see David Tse's blog at freedomwestdave@blogspot.com

Another excellent Freedom West story in the Bay View
 

Will George Gascone, the new District Attorney of San Francisco, increase the number of arrests for 647E (the Illegal Lodging statute)?  This law goes back to Gold-Rush times, originally intended to stop people from claim-jumping someone elses gold mine.   

The law, as written, can hurt people--especially poor or completely destitute people.  They can be charged and serve up to three months in jail for a first offense, for the crime of sleeping in public.  A sleeping bag (with cardboard beneath for insulation from the cold) is being considered "lodging".   

Taxpayers get to give $600 a day, per person, to house anyone found guilty of 647E--or any other infraction that gets them "three hots and a cot" in the city/county jail.  When cities and states talk bankruptcy, they must be more creative options for housing.  Single Room Occupancy (SRO) hotel rooms are $60 a night--doing the math, that's $600 in one month instead of $18,000 a month per person!

This also cycles the money back into the community that is coughing it up. 

Dear District Attorney Gascone:  This poverty scholar doesn't like wasting money any more than you do.  It's about time you got out of the fascist mentality that has been bankrupting San Francisco.  This idea isn't new, Dianne Feinstein did it when she was Mayor (1980)--giving vouchers to people to get into SRO's.  I hope you like this idea instead of believing 647E will magically solve all your problems. 

This is the Loyal Opposition, a.k.a. Bad News Bruce Allison.  You could have more allies than you would believe if you did this.  Hospitals and psychiatric units are being overwhelmed, realtors are leaving 30,000 units vacant.  Where do you expect people to sleep?   

If you want to respond, this poverty scholar is willing to talk--at the poormagazine office.

RIP to my uncle Eddy
he always kept it steady
and nobody s ever ready
he had a woman named Betty
she was never ever shady
he was a boss who paid the cost
even when he was homeless he'd floss
he was a man with kids across the land
from his homeland Mississippi
to out here's bay of San Fran
another man in my life who helped me know I can
he left behind my cousins Edward and Evany
they running businesses and selling things
in colleges graduating
everyone loved him at his office on Fillmore n Haight st
my fathers best friend, they both had Ford Granada's matching
he was loved and had alot to give
Nobody wants to die but he taught us how to live
RAM 

Press Release Berkeley, CA. SF Bay View Newspaper & Poor Magazine in conjunction with Krip-Hop Nation Presents: Black Disabled Artists, Authors, Activists & Friends for Black History Month 2011. San Francisco, CA February/2011 Krip-Hop Nation celebrates Black Disabled Artists/Authors/Activists & Friends for a weekend (February 18-20) of readings, music, discussions and panels all highlighting the artistic contributions of Black disabled artists/authors/activists and those who support them of yesterday and today focusing on music and literary.

On February 18th at Modern Times Bookstore 7pm Krip-Hop Nation will have an Author panel of new books by Black disabled writers & friends including - Toni Hickman of TX Adarro Minton of New York, Allen Jones of San Francisco and friends of Krip-Hop Nation, DC Curtis & Bones Kendall of LA. All of the above authors have recently published their books from poetry, fiction, to non-fiction.

Hip-Hop artist, Toni Hickman publish her own book, Chemical Suicide, Death by Association , professor, poet/fiction writer, Adarro Minton of New York no b.s. book, Gay, Black, Crippled will leave your mouth wide open; author Allen Jones of CASE GAME, is philosophical, bringing people into the 21st century in the areas of race, sexuality and ability with true stories on how he believes God has assisted him in challenging out dated thinking. Friends of Krip-Hop Nation DC Curtis & Bones Kendal of LA has wrote a dream of all Krip-Hop youth and that is to be on stage, on MTV with a record deal but in their fiction book, Truth & Pain starring the Gangsters & Retards in... The Mystique-cal Person-a of MC Cripple Crip that follows a group of disabled youth has a twist that will make you laugh, think, cry and sing. This group of authors coming from Texas, New York, LA and San Francisco will krip your mind and limp your stride as they spread their words and love.

Where: Modern Times Bookstore 888 Valencia St. San Francisco

When February 18th

Time: 7pm but get there early and buy books and look around

Sponsors: Modern Times Bookstore, Krip-Hop Nation, San Francisco Bay View Newspaper, Poor Magazine & I.D.E.A.L. Magazine

Ted Williams

A voice, sometimes it’s a prayer without words, sometimes a whisper. Other times its words written on the walls of your mind without the luxury of pen and paper—words that sometimes bleed onto the skin of a piece of cardboard. I saw you on youtube, holding a cardboard sign that read: I have a God given gift of voice. I’m an ex-radio announcer who has fallen on hard times. Please! Any help will be greatly appreciated. You spoke in a radio announcer’s voice, you smiled. The gift was still there, still flowing in your veins—the fire still there. The video, shot by a local newspaper reporter, has been seen by millions of people in this country and around the world. Your voice is beautiful. You have been called the homeless man with the golden voice. Your face is being shown all over. Your voice is written in the brown black skin of your face.

I too worked in corporate/commercial radio. You had the voice I always wanted to have. You spoke about having worked as a morning drive announcer. That was my dream. I wanted that rich voice, a voice that flowed like water over rocks. I studied broadcasting in school, practicing my enunciation and vocal delivery for hours in a room the size of a walk-in closet. But when I finally got to the microphone, I would stumble over my words with a bowlegged tongue. I wanted so badly to have that announcer’s voice--that polish with all its resonance. But when I listened to the playback, it wasn’t there. I was no Ted Williams. I was a guy with a bowlegged tongue and a voice that was given to him by the creator. I worked as an announcer in small towns like Stockton, Napa and Vallejo, California—stumbling my way through the overnight shift and the farm report. You worked morning drive at a station in Columbus, Ohio before drugs and alcohol became "a part of your life". That’s what you told that reporter on youtube. But you didn’t have to. It was written in your face.

You once spoke to thousands on their way to work, in their cars and in the everyday sequence of events known as life by way of that miracle called radio. They never saw your face. When you left the microphone to battle addiction on the streets, how many of those people you spoke to in their cars passed you by? If they only knew it was you. They didn’t know you…didn’t know your face. What was it that was written in the skin of your memory? What of your mother and children? How long had it been since you saw them? Things happen to deep in the past, words are said that are broadcast over and over in the heart and mind. You disappeared from the microphone and in the white noise silence of your absence, your calloused hands and feet walked the streets of cities abandoned by corporate machines whose voices perpetuate lies about communities of color, migrant communities and communities in struggle. You were out there surviving and thinking of your mother. The shame you carried could not be covered by a golden voice. It is in your face.

Your face is being shown on national TV, in newspapers and on blogs across the country. The homeless man with the golden voice is getting job offers from radio stations—including an offer to do voice work for the Cleveland Cavaliers and NFL films. You recently appeared on the Today Show. You had a haircut and new clothes. Your story was seen by millions. You awed the hosts with your vocal prowess. One of the hosts asked you to speak in deep tones. "How low can you go?" she asked. Then you were reunited with your mother after 20 years. She said she had prayed that you would find God and turn your life around. There you were, together. Then came the commercial break.

You’ve been given a place to live and your voice was recently heard on a commercial for Kraft Macaroni and cheese during the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl game. So much attention overnight but not really overnight; the cold nights, the moments when the only voice you heard was in the deep moans in your belly—your mother, your children--their voices. What happens when the commercials end, when the cameras are off—when the only thing you hear is your voice—your true voice, the one that is written in your face?

There are people that will surely ask why a man whose been living on the streets has 9 children. I think of the words of Boriqua poet Piri Thomas who wrote:

Our children are beauty with a right to be born/ born anew at each A.M./ like a child out of twilight flying towards sunlight/ born anew at each A.M./ At each A.M./ punto

You have survived with your voice intact, trying to keep your mind, heart and soul together. You know the fleeting nature of corporate media. Just as soon as you’re in the door, you could be tossed out without a day’s notice. Your years of media and poverty scholarship give you deep knowledge of this.

Your voice, your gift is now being heard by millions of people and the opportunities are presenting themselves. You credit God for this. You appear to have a good spirit and humble soul. There are millions whose voices are not heard—migrant peoples and homeless/landless elders and children whose lands and cultures are stripped by corporations who perpetuate lies about poor people in struggle.

POOR Magazine produces revolutionary media based on our indigenous newsmaking circle—creating and providing access to communities and people whose voices are intentionally silenced by corporate media.

We honor your struggle and your voice gives strength to our struggle of making our voices heard. We want you to know that there is a place for you—your poverty and media scholarship—at POOR Magazine in our indigenous media circle as a teacher/mentor and announcer with POOR News Network revolutionary radio (www.poormagazine.org)--where all voices are heard and honored. We hear your voice here in San Francisco rising up like fire. Punto.

© 2011

Homefullness El Sueño

     En Prensa Pobre no solo somos una organizacion de raices dirigido por gente pobre, gente de bajos recursos, gente trabajando por boronas, Matrialcales, indigena, cuales luchamos dia a dia con el capitalismo, criminilizacion, faltas de oportunidad, falta de vivienda en los Estados Desunidos de Amerikkka.

“Somos gente pobre, que vivimos en paizes ricos” Eduardo Galeano, Fidel Castro

   De una manera o otra gente pobre, gente en la lucha han sido forzados a estas condiciones por la bestia que es el capitalismo , robos durante la colonizacion, desplazamiento de nuestros pueblos, nuestra cultura, nuestra manera de existir   a base de Reservaciones, Facismo fronterizo, la falta de trabajos, (NAFTA) Tratado de libre comercio de Norte America, (CAFTA)  Tratado de libre comercio de Centro America , Asistencia General,  ICE immigration Customs Enforcement, sistema juvenil, goviernos corruptos, el complejo de la industria de las carceles, inmigracion forzada, ect.

“Gente sin Tierra”

   Mucha de nuestra gente sabios de la pobreza hacido desplazada de nuestras  tierras, comunidades, y separado de nuestra raza, y no tenemos un lugar que podamos llamar un hogar, un hogar es mas que una casa, un pedazo de techo, un hogar es una comunidad, es familia un lugar donde estemos orgullosos de quien somos como gente, una comunidad comunal, autonoma, sostenida por si misma, conciente del ambiente y no solo me refiero a comida organica si puedes pagar por ella , pero  hablo mas de tener una conciencia de la madre tierra, pachamama, el  mundo y sus cambios ambientales.

   Una comunidad un hogar, donde no nos miremos como empleados, base, camaradas de negocios, clientes, vecinos, un caso, una campaña  , estudiantes, profesores, facultad, trabajo, servir y protejer, empleados, vernos y tratarnos como familia como humanos eso es Homefullness.

   MOVE Africa de Filadelfia un grupo de afroamericanos en los años  1970 al presente, han estado en el proceso de crear algo similar en su propia manera,como Homefullness, donde estaban tratando de dar cuidado a su gente, que el sistema se habia olvidado.

“Cultivando semillas de Resistencia”

   En los tiempos que vivimos, no es dificil de imaginar el tener un granja sostenidad por si misma, conservando el agua de la lluvia, hacienda hoyos de agua, cultivando frutas, vegetables y granos, tener gallinas para comer guevitos, y de vez en cuando un caldito de pollo.

   Un lugar que no se trate de cuanto dinero tengas en tu bolsillos, pero si no lo que puedas ofrecer, ayudar, apoyar, ser parte de, contribuir. En Prensa Pobre nosotros practicamos de lo que hablamos, muchos de nosotros venimos de diferentes culturas y opreciones, y diferentes caminos del mundo.

   En Prensa Pobre no creemos en llamar la Policia por la mala historia de oprecion con la gente pobre y de color, tambien practicamos nuestro circulo indigena donde confrontamos algunas de las luchas que como todas la familias llegan a tener, como el abuso de sustancia, desacuerdos, decisions, planear, y producer medios de comunicacion.

   Donde L@ Histori@, la historia de la gente pobre se pone en practica, donde la conciencia del Europea del Oeste y sus instituciones y manera de ensenanza se hancen mas correcta y definidas, donde celebramos la multi-cultura, multi-origen-etnico, multi-generacional.

  Cultivabando semillas de Resistencia en lo que hacemos en Prensa Pobre con amor, sudor, y lagrimas y levantamos el arma mas fuerte que es el amor a nuestra gente.

English

Homefullness a Dream

   Poor magazine is not only a Grassroots organization led by poor people, low income, no income, working for crumbs  people, matriarchy led, indigena, Who struggle day by day with capitalism, criminalization, lack of opportunity, lack of housing in the united snakes of Amerikkka.

“ We are poor people who live in a rich country” Eduardo Galeano,Fidel Castro

   One way or the other, poor people, and people in struggle have been put there by the beast of capitalism, colonial theft, in way of displacement of their country, land of origin, culture, way of being, reservations, Border fascism, by the lack of employment,(NAFTA) North American Free Trade Agreement, (CAFTA) Central American Free Trade Agreement ”General Assistance”, ICE, Juvenile system, corrupt governments , Prison industrial complex, Force Migration ect.

“LandLess People”

  Many us poverty skolarz  have been displaced from our land,people,communites and no longer have a place we can call home, a home is more than a house and piece of roof, a home is community, family, and to feel proud of who we are as people. A communal community, autonomous, self-sustainable, Eco friendly and don’t mean buying organic food, unless you can afford it or is accessible, but for us to have conscience of the Earth, Tierra Madre,Pacha Mama, a family where we see each other as family, not as co-workers, Base, business partners, Clients, comrades, neighbor, a case, a file, campaign, Students, professors, faculty, work to be done, to protect and sever, employee, instead to treat each other as family as humans, to care for each other that’s the meaning of Homefullness.

   MOVE Africa was in the process of creating homefullness in their own way in Philadelphia, where they were creating a place to take care of their people who the system had forgotten.

“Cultivating seeds of ressistance”

   In the times we live upon, is not hard to imagine having your own sustainable garden, use rain water, or water dwells to cultivate fruits, grains and  vegetables, Have chickens for eggs, and now a than a nice chicken soup.

    A place that is not about how much money you have in your pocket, but instead of what you can offer to help out with, support, be of part of, contribute.     In Poor magazine we practice what we preach, a lot us come from different oppressions, walks of life and backgrounds.

   In Poor Magazine we don’t believe in Po-lice calls for what history has taught us of the Po-lice, we also practice our indigena circle where we deal and confront some the struggles that some of our family struggle with, from substance abuse, disagreement amongst us, decision making, planning, media production.

   Where Herstory is put into practice, where Western European way of thinking gets challenge and their institutionilized of way learning, where we celebrate multi-cultures, multi-ecthnicity, multi-generational in real time.

   Cultivating seeds of resistance is what we do at Poor Magazine with love, sweat and tears and we pick the biggest weapon which the love of our gente, our people.

Lady T
By Tony Robles

I’m for the real…and for you I’m true blue
--Lover Girl by Teena Marie

I was saddened to learn of the death of soul singer Teena Marie at age 54 on December 26, 2010. It almost seems odd using the term soul singer. In a world that seems to be losing its soul, with the soulless voices and faces you encounter on busses and in the media, the term seems almost archaic.

I want soul; I crave soul, taste soul on my tongue--lingering in the corners of my mind that are hidden in shadows. When I thought that soul had disappeared, I’d hear the voice of Teena Marie on the radio or on my record player or on, dare I say it, my cassette player, and at that moment I knew that soul was alive, and so was I..

Some of the best moments in my life were spent in beat up old cars. I would buy them for a couple hundred dollars and take out insurance—which amounted to jumper cables and air freshener—and if I had a few extra dollars left, I’d get a couple of fuzzy dice to hang on the rear view. I would drive far away from my job, far away from people, far away from other cars, far away from myself. I’d come to the edge of a lake or a cliff or some place with a nice view.

I would put my feet up on the dash and turn on the black radio station. That was the only kind of radio that spoke to me, black voices with black feeling and black anger and black love and the voices I heard often said what I wanted to say but couldn’t. Then the voice would say something like…here’s the latest from lady T…Teena Marie…on the Boss of the Bay…KDIA

And Teena Marie’s voice would come over the speakers of my cheap ass, broke down, Pontiac Astre. Teena Marie, whitegirl with the black heart and the black voice and the black tongue who sang about black love and black heartache. Her voice grabbed me and shook me and told me that my soul was soul too…black brown, black Pilipino soul—adobo, cornbread, gumbo and chow mein and bbq ribs all mixed together on a white paper plate. Teena Marie--with a heart that was black--sometimes blacker than black-- because it was mixed with blue.

I’d sit in my broke down car and Teena Marie would suddenly appear in the passenger seat. I’d look around and I wasn’t in no Pontiac Astre, no Toyota Corolla, no Yugo but in a coffee colored Cadillac Brougham with seats that were very close to leather. And I’d look over at Teena in her silk dress, skin the color of coffee and cream, and she’d look at me and say, “You gotta get your shit together, sugar”.

"I’m talkin’ square biz to you baby"

I’d start that car up again and go back to my house, job and life. But hearing Teena Marie singing was an event, a space in time that I could call my own and connect with what was real, what was going on inside of myself—allowing me a moment to be honest with where I was at in my life. Teena was always able to bring me to closer to that place.

Teena, you are on another part of your spirit journey. You experienced many highs and lows here in this physical realm that we find ourselves in. You brought joy to many people. When I craved soul, needed soul, you were always there, right on time. I still hear your voice, am still moved by the spirit and feeling and essence of soul that was you, that is you. Thank you Teena for saying what was in my heart and mind when I didn’t have the words. As you once sang, “If I were a bell…baby I would ring each day for you”.

© 2011

“I kissed the sky”, my friend, and fellow long-time street vendor, Mohammed K., from Tunisia spoke softly as he stood in front of his table of watches for sale, looking side to side nervously for any approaching cops. After the herstorical revolution unfolded in Egypt, my heart was sparked to dream of poor people-led revolutions, re-ported and sup-ported on by poor people media, all across Pachamama, yet the only people who were quoted in the media seemed to be culled from Academia and political establishment., so I walked downtown to speak with fellow poverty and worker scholars from Tunis, Algeria, Egypt and Yemen who operate micro-businesses on the streets all across Amerikkka.

“Don’t forget Jordan,”  our mutual friend, an Egyptian named Tayeb joined in the discussion while he opened his small card table to reveal an array of multi-colored ties, concluding, “Its all wonderful, maybe we will have true liberation for all peoples in the world.”

As a person who has lived in deep and unending poverty, struggled with landlessness/houselessness and witnessed my disabled single mama of color deal with racism, joblessness, violence and depression for the majority of my life in this so-called first world, I watched the last weeks revolutions in North Africa, with a deep feeling of joy and elation.  It had been four years since I had been downtown selling art and products made by my mama and me, in our underground, criminalized (read: illegal) micro-business, which I had been working in since I was eleven when  my mama became to ill to work. Our never-licensed, always criminalized business was the only way we paid for nightly motel rooms, gas, food and the occasional apartments, if we sold enough that day or week or month. 

Day after month, month after year, I stood along-side mothers and sons and daughters and uncles and fathers stuck in Amerikkka, lost in the criminalized diaspora of false borders across the globe. From indigenous nations in Mexico, Peru, Puerto Rico and Bolivia, to deserts in North, West and East Africa, to the streets of Oklahoma, St Louis and New Jersey, we stood together,  Christians, Muslims Zapotecas, Tainos, Rastafarias, Mayans, Protestants, Catholics, selling watches, ties, sunglasses, our misery, our bodies and/or our lives, watching, always watching for po’lice officers/immigration, rain or customers, whichever came first.

“But what will change, the same people who hold property, run businesses, will retain the power to be heard?,” Tayeb began, “ My family was always poor in Egypt, we live on the roof of a building alongside 5 other families, the conditions for the very poor there will never change,” he concluded as he looked down and re-arranged his floral print ties.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, we had to start somewhere,” Ma’moud from Algeria, another vendor of watches joined the conversation.

“Tayeb is right, that’s why many of us are here, so will these revolutions make real change for very poor people so we can go home?”, Mohammed added.

Our conversation continued into the afternoon, the sorrow of our collective loss of  family, land, culture, dreams and spirit and most of all hope, circled around us like a thick cloud of poisonous smoke.

And then it hit me, the Egypt and Tunis revolutions weren’t  everything, but they were something, and they were done by the people of many parts of society, not all, but many.

So as us po folks in the US face the genocide of trillion dollar budget cuts proposed this week by the federal government to thousands of poor people programs like section 8, public  housing and healthcare, like so many of us protested yesterday about in San Francisco and across the US, perhaps we should not only take inspiration from the North Africa revolutions, but lessons. Lessons in revolutions not guided by non-profit industrial complexes agendas and philanthro-pimp dictated guidelines but a revolution guided by angry mamaz, hungry babies, housless elders, jobless fathers, profiled and criminalized migrants and gang injuncted youth of color. A revolution in Oakland, Philadelphia, Minnesota, New York, Mexico, El Salvador, The Philipines, Puerto Rico, Los Angeles, a revolution guided by our spirits, our dreams, our hope and our hunger.

--

(Author's note: Yes KRS One used to live in a group home and in this song he mention it but he put himself there.  Its a different story when your parents put u there and you're Black, poor & disabled.)

Drive up

Like a drive thru

Car pack from door to door

It’s not college

It’s not Summer camp

No returning home

Fake presence

For your parents

Click clock door slam & lock

Welcome to group home living

Everything on a tight schedule

Some workers r repeated criminals

Paid below minimum wage

Straps & slaps to beat out clients’ rage

T.V. blasting all day

The smell of bleach & ammonia

Turns the walls yellow

Lungs full of flem

No he is not KRS One who once lived in a group home

Dreaming of being a rap star

If KRS one can do it then I ca ca ca

Time for your medicine

Determination gets foggy

Like the San Francisco’s sky

Traveling in packs

Can’t be alone for a minute

Second by second is recorded for your file

Evaluation day is here

Parents out of the blue appears

You  are in fear

Surrounded by adults

Who put you in here

Cards are stack nobody has your back

Years slip by

Passing down the tricks of the trade

No transitional stage

Kicked out because of your age

All those years and all of that money

One suitcase and no family

He is no Ted Williams

Story won’t be on youtube or radio

His hard times started at birth

Parents locked him up

Group home kicked him out

Police reported him for force treatment

No Hollywood ending

Got to put this in writing

Part 1 of group home living

By Leroy Moore

1/16/11

i have this picture someone took of me, back in 2003 while i was in egypt.  the six months i spent at american university in cairo happened to be at the time the war on iraq was starting.  on march 20, 2003, i took to the streets along with friends and thousands of other egyptians, who protested in tahrir square that day.  the energy was powerful, palpable.  we all needed release.  i'm not sure if we thought our protest would do any good - the US seemed hell bent on going to war regardless of public opinion.  but what i do remember that day was catharsis - the releasing of energy we had collectively pent up for so long.  the next day, mubarak's government promptly banned further protests.  i remember this day vividly.  police officers forming a barricade around protesters to contain us.  i remember that many of them wished they could be protesting with us.  they were just doing their jobs, but were also opposed to amerikkka's war on iraq.  at one point the police tried to clear the street, but i kept my butt on the asphalt, smoking a cigarette.  nice women didn't smoke cigarettes in public.  i felt like a gender outlaw anyway, regardless of where i was.  in egypt, it meant not conforming to how women were supposed to dress (whether for fashion or religion), wearing my hair curly, not lightening my caramel skin with fair & lovely, and challenging people to recognize and reconcile the fact that i was egyptian too.  my body was marked african and egyptian and woman and diasporic.

i am a daughter of the egyptian middle class diaspora.  my family immigrated to canada in the 60s and 70s.  i had the privilege to be part of a "study abroad" program at an american university on egyptian land.  i had the privilege to participate unharmed in the 2003 protest.

i am also christian, part of the coptic minority in egypt.  our community has survived at the margins of empire for two thousand years.  i believe violent acts against our community have been part of the mubarak regime's divide-and-conquer tactics.  my church community's islamophobia only aggravates this problem, especially in diaspora.

so here we are in 2011, watching the egyptian people's revolution unfold.  i must admit, i feel pretty numb at the moment.  i've gone through a range of emotions from joy and elation to deep sorrow.

i feel sad about not being there for this exciting time.  part of this is rooted in not feeling "egyptian enough," "connected enough," etc.  most of my family has migrated to other places.  the family i do still have there are doing well, but haven't been actively engaged in the protests.  i recognize that there are many ways to serve the community (e.g. participating in neighborhood watches or cooking for protesters).  my uncle and cousin did help secure their apartment building.  but i'm mostly aware that my family had the privilege not to participate in the protests. 

though the egyptian middle class has been visible in this revolution, the labor movement really tipped the scales of justice in favor of the people.  labor organizers (known as the april 6 youth movement) started this revolution.  the massive strikes organized by a variety of labor unions brought tons of people to the streets during mubarak's last days.   

i feel joy at seeing muslims and christians united for a common purpose.  i feel nervous about whether this unity will continue as everyone works to build a new egypt.  i hope my church community will be allowed greater freedom to build churches and monasteries under the new constitution.  that christians and muslims continue to protect each other during times of worship.  i hope this will be the beginning of true interfaith dialogue and action.

seeing women actively engaged in the revolution reminds me that we've always been part of movement-building.  i feel grateful to be part of a legacy of egyptian women's movements, and hope we will continue to have a voice, particularly in drafting new constitutional rights for women.  for example, if i ever have children, i'd like to pass on egyptian citizenship to them.  under the old constitution, my children wouldn't be able to claim citizenship through me, only through their dad. 

my emotional range about this whole thing reminds me that when people power takes to the streets for political change, it changes things inside you too.  finding collective voice is a powerful reminder to reach deep inside and find your own voice to add to the collective.  decolonizing governments is a hell of a reminder to decolonize your own mind.  the collective energy of prayer in this revolution has been a good reminder to pray.  things i forget sometimes. my people humble me and teach me new lessons each day.

this revolution happening in egypt isn't the sexy-cause-of-the-month.  it has real implications for christians, women, nubians, sudanese refugees, factory workers, rural farmers, queers, and everyone else.  yes, even the despised police officers and thugs, who are real people whose choices have been shaped more by economic need than loyalty to mubarak.  while i am excited that egyptians have found a unified collective voice, i am also poised, breathlessly waiting for what changes will come for those of us on the margins of egyptian society.

may the energy of this revolution continue and ripple out and free us all.

The North Beach Eviction of low-income elders must be stopped

“No justice, No peace….” Their voices trembled slightly as they chanted. “Eviction is Death,” They stood together, chiseled hands, over-worked arms, weary legs, shoulders tired from holding up thousands of skies. They stood together,  tailors, house-cleaners, plumbers, waiters, dishwashers, grandmothers, uncles, handymen, poets, artists, aunties, cooks, laundry workers, sanitation workers, child-care workers, craft-workers, refusing to accept the eviction of four elders by Peter Iskander, a landlord who had plans to replace their homes for a condominium, a profit margin, a floor-plan.

On Wednesday, December 29, four low-income elders ranging in age from 65 to 90 who have been tenants in the same building in North Beach for decades stood outside their homes with scores of other elders in resistance from Chinese Progressive Association and the Tenants Union to protest the latest of many Ellis Act evictions across The City. Their homes are located in North Beach at 525-531 Greenwich, a 4 unit building bought by a real estate speculation company called Master Builders Real Estate. The company has been buying up apartment buildings in North Beach, the Marina and the Mission and then evicting the tenants and selling the units as Tenants In Common(TIC) s—for huge profits.

Sandi Bishop, one of the elder tenants said: “I can't find a place to live because I don't have money and I am low income which means up to 4 years to have your name on a list for senior housing. I can't leave my apt. where do I go?” From Carlo, who is over 70, disabled and has lived in his apartment for 40 years, to Sandi who is 70 and has fought cancer for the last year, the elder long-time tenants have nowhere else to go and no health, money or physical recourses to go with.

POOR Magazine came to re-port and sup-port on this gentrification genocide, as we have been doing since our inception, creating survival media, do or die media, so elders won’t die media. What we didn’t expect to find is a direct connection to the plight of these elders in North Beach. POOR’s revolutionary classrooms located in the historic Redstone building are currently under threat of displacement because of the proposed development of two 7 story condominiums on our street by a related developer.

 “We remember you Lola McKay,” as the elders stood on the street outside their at-risk homes, Long-time economic justice organizer and advocate with Housing Rights Committee, Tommi Avicoli Mecca,  sang a song in honor of Lola Mckay, elder tenant of an Ellis Act eviction who was murdered by the genocide of gentrification in this same City over ten years ago. The Ellis actis a state law which says that landlords have the unconditional right to evict tenants to "go out of business." For an Ellis eviction, the landlord must remove all of the units in the building from the rental market,

Don’t let eviction kill more elders. Resist gentrification and displacement by joining the resistance at 525 Greenwich on January 19, 2011 @ 6pm. Peter Iskander will be at the property, Tell the developer what you think of this plan. For more information or to get involved in the struggle go on-line to www.sftu.org

The 4th annual Poetry (MMA) Battle of ALL of the Sexes for Valentines Day- was hosted by Alexandra Byerly!

The Battle was hosted by your favorite revolutionary poets, media-makers, poverty scholars and cultural workers at POOR Magazine - Each year there is a "fighting" theme - this year it was "Mixed Martial Arts/MMA and was held in an 8 foots "cage" built by artist Will Steel,  in the Submission Gallery in San Francisco's Mission District. The Battle, a concept created by co-editors of POOR Tony Robles and Tiny Lisa Gray-Garcia was hosted this year by Trans-Latina beauty Alexandra Byerly who works with revolutionary group EL La and as in other battles Mashed-up Poetry, Gender and Mixed Martial Arts - judges were La Mesha Irizarry, Devorah Major and Laure McElroy.

The was a FUN-Raiser for the poor people-led/indigenous people-led, grassroots, arts & media organization POOR Magazine/Prensa POBRE

1st, 2nd and 3rd place winners were:

1st) Jewnbug (from the battle Educated Ghetto Gurl Vs The Society)

2nd) Vivian Thorp (From Po In-Debt Student Mama Vs Creditor Predator)

3rd) Dee Allen (from Black Brother Vs MamaSistaDaughterQueen)

4th) Queenandi  (from PachaMama Vs James Tracy)

(see links on this column to read the winning poems)

BORN IN A PLACE

CONDITIONED FOR DEATH

RAISED ON GOVERNMENT CHEESE

PARENTS TARGETED TO BE DOPE FEENS

HOUSELESS N HUNGRY

SOCIETY WANTS ME TO BE IGNORANT

BUT AIN’T NO DUMMY

GOT WIZE TO THA MIZEDUCATION

OF YO SURVEILENCE

PROJECTS

PUBLIC SKOOLS

PRIZIONS

US MILITARY ENLISTINGS

NEVER ASSIMILATING OR LISTENING

STAY THUG LIFE

RESISTING

RISING TO THA TOP

SINGING GHETTO SUPASTAR!

CONCIOUSNESS

CULTIVATED UNDERGROUND

CAN’T AFFORD YO BRAND NAME LABELS

MAKING MY FASHION TALK OF THA TOWN

REBEL WITH A CAUSE

SPEAKING OUT AGAINST

YO POLICIES, PROTOCALLS, LAWS

PROHIBITED MY NATIVE TOUNGUE

PIGEON

SLANG

EBONICS

U AINT MY GOD

N I AINT YO SON

SPEAKING TOO LOUD TOO FAST

CAUSING LYRICAL WHIPLASH

I SMASH ON U

U THINKING U MORE DIGNIFIED

CUZ I ROCK A SHOELACE FO A BELT ON SUM JEANS

PLEASE!

U PUT ME DOWN

THEN CAPITILIZE ON MY SWAGGER

LIKE,”THAT’S HELLA GHETTO”

I DON’T PLAY THO

NO DIPLOMATIC TACTFUL RAGE

STRAIGHT UP IN YO FACE

U LABEL ME

TROUBLE MAKER

THAT’S CODE FOR

TRUTH TELLER

FO REAL FOR REAL

NO FAKER

I KNOW TRU ESSENCE OF SUCCESS

DESPITE THE MESS

OF YO CIVILIZED VEST

MY INTEREST TO DO MORE THEN SURVIVE

MANIFEST

CAME WHEN I HELD MY HEAD HIGH

WITH NO SHAME

YEA IM FROM THE GHETTO

N IM DOING  BIG THANGS

EDUCATED GHETTO GURRL

SHE WAS KUNG FU FIGHTING

SHE WAS ALWAYS WRITING

EDUCATED GHETTO GURRL

PUTTIN WHOLE SOCIETY ON TRIAL

N BRINGING THEM TO THEIR KNEES