2012

this place is a palace that holds king and queens

brothers and sisters and warriors and not. The palace

was born on ancestors ground and they guide us.

We love and support and give housing and care in

this palace, that's why we call it homefulness

Verdad que duele gacho,

Estar sin trabajo o

No tener comida pa’tu familia

te damos la bienvenidad en este dia

Que sean vuelto indignados, enojados, sin salidas,

`

Nosotros los inmigrantes Indocumentados

No Sabemos si somos parte del 99%

Pero si sabemos que somos el 99% que trabajamos

En los files, de lava platos, jardineros, nineras

Y cocineros

Somos los que te limpiamos la casa…

Que Quee perdiste tu casa? Que el Banco te la embargo?

Chale homes

Nosotros

 ya tenemos rato que perdimos nuestros pueblos,

Barrios, comunidad, hogares y cultura.

Te damos la bienvenidad en este dia…..

Que sean vuelto indignados, enojados, sin salidas,

painful it is to be without a job,

or not be able to provide for your familia

we welcome you in this day that you have become an indignant

piss off, with No  way out

We the undocumented migrants

Don’t  know if we are part of the 99%

But we do know we are the 99%

  working on the fields, dishwashers,

 Baby sitters, day labors

We are the ones,  who just to clean your house

What they foreclose your home?

Chale homes…

We welcome you in this day, that you have  become one of us

Indignant, angry, without no way out

We have already lost , our pueblos, barrios, communities

Homes and cultura….

We welcome you with open arms…but

 You say Occupy we Say decolonize you forgotten the,

More than 500 years and still counting of Occupation, genocide, rape and silence on Indigena people of  the Americas, you say forget about it, like the a priest who baptize the natives of their sins of been Natives,

I  say you give up your white skin,. And your privilege, and for our confuse African Americans brothers and sisters, yeah let’s pretend slavery never existed.

We look the other way, and ignore, but will never change in whose land we stand on, ohlone presente.

No is not just semantics, ask the Palestinians, Afghanis, or Iraqis.

What the true meaning of occupy means.

And No, No one has taken over the word occupy back, until we build a world where we no longer have occupations on foreign lands.

SAN FRANCISCO – Five plaintiffs and representatives of The Save The Peaks Coalition, with their attorney and supporters, optimistically exited the James R. Browning United States Courthouse today following oral arguments in the Ninth Circuit appeal of The Save the Peaks Coalition, et al. v. U.S. Forest Service. 

The San Francisco Peaks is in imminent danger of becoming a toxic recreation area, exposing people to dangerous contaminants as the US Forest Service allows treated sewer water at the ski resort and proposed snow play area. The Save the Peaks Coalition v. US Forest Service is a crucial legal battle to protect the public and the environment from hazardous pharmaceuticals and endocrine disrupting compounds that can negatively impact public health. The case asserted that under the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) and the Administrative Procedure Act, the Forest Service failed to adequately consider the impacts associated with ingestion of snow made from reclaimed sewer water in its federally mandated environmental review process.

“We are concerned citizens with every right to hold our government agencies accountable for our children’s health. I’d simply like to know why the question of how this will effect our future generations has still not been answered. Why do decision-makers continue to dismiss existing scientific evidence that suggests this sewage snow can cause major endocrine disruption? Today this threatens our mountain and drinking water, but the same danger may be faced by your community tomorrow,” explains plaintiff Clayson Benally.

In 2005, the Snowbowl Ski Resort and Coconino Forest Service’s expansion plan was approved, permitting the use of reclaimed sewage water from Flagstaff's Rio de Flag Sewage Plant for snowmaking at the resort. Since May 2011, owners of the Arizona Snowbowl laid seven miles of waste water pipeline and clear-cut over 50 acres of rare alpine forest, while the issue is still being contested in court. The San Francisco Peaks are sacred to 13 Indigenous tribes in Arizona. 

“The decision in today’s three judge panel will determine whether the US Forest Service failed to comply with the National Environmental Policy Act and if the precedent laid out in the Laches case is valid in this instance.” said attorney Howard Shanker. The Laches case is a procedural argument concerning any alleged redundancy of the plantiffs or the case.

“We feel confident in our lawyer. We put our prayers out there so that we can be heard and understood. Our lawyer made a strong argument and with our prayers we are confident in the outcome for the Sacred San Francisco Peaks, “ stated Alberta Nells, part of the Intertribal youth caravan.

For more information please call the Save the Peaks Coalition at 928-380-8014 or write to    savethepeakscaravan@yahoo.com.

Hau Kola.

Greetings my friends, relatives, relations, supporters.

I wrote a statement the other day sitting here in my cell and I know that no one really cares to read something that is 6 pages long. So this is my effort to shorten it a little bit.

The first subject I want to touch on is being in prison for 36 years is hell. There are some folks who are planning to walk across America starting in California going to Washington D.C. to bring attention to the injustice that faces Indian people in the judicial system of America and of which I am some of the evidence of that. But first of all what I really want to say is I really appreciate and love the people that do things like this for those of us who are imprisoned. And if walking across America sounds like a lot try standing in an 8 by 6 cell for 36 years. But I want you to know as terrible and painful as this is in a strange way I am honored that the most powerful government has considered me a challenge that they would violate all their own laws to keep me imprisoned. In my standing I have stood for what’s right. I have stood for the right of a people invaded by emissaries of the corporations they ultimately represent; the right of a people to defend themselves in whatever way necessary to defend their women and children and elders and life itself when attacked with deadly force by this government.

For some of you who may recently come in contact with my case, my case is one where an Indian community that had been continually terrorized by FBI and a goon squad funded by them on the reservation, had opposed the sale of 1/8th of the tribe’s mineral resources and land. On June the 26th 1975, they attacked the village of Oglala on the Pine Ridge Reservation. It started with two FBI agents in unmarked cars and unmarked clothing, firing into an enclave of dwellings. The two agents numbers soon swelled to 250. In the ensuing battle the two initial agents were killed and one young Indian man, Joe Stuntz, was murdered by the FBI, shot between the eyes. Ultimately some 30 of us escaped. Two men, Bob Robideau and Dino Butler that were captured before I was, were put on trial and all the evidence of that day was allowed to be presented in their defense. And they were acquitted by reason of self-defense; the jury said they had the right to defend themselves with deadly force. I had escaped to Canada and was later apprehended there, the government perjured testimony, and they got someone to lie to bring me back from there. I was put on trial and all the evidence used to convict me was later proven false in court, as well as the lie to extradite me. And the same evidence used by the defense in the first trial was not allowed. They ultimately got a conviction saying I was guilty of murder which was later amended to aiding and abetting.

Then later an individual whom some called Mr. X, on tape admitted he was the shooter. Bob Robideau one of the original two men acquitted by reason of self-defense later told retired FBI Agent Ed Wood he was Mr. X and that he had shot the agents. Bob feared for his life. Bob didn’t make his statement for many years. Bob did all that he could do to help me over the years and later started living in Spain. And then he made a statement to a few people that he was going to come back and speak more about being the shooter and being acquitted of the offense. And within about a month’s time he was found dead in his apartment in Spain. He supposedly fell out of bed and hit his head and died. Having said that, my main point is that where all the evidence was allowed to be presented Indian people were found not guilty rightfully defended themselves by reason of self-defense.

There has not been a violation of human rights by America that wasn’t first practiced on Native Americans. America’s first biological warfare was against Indian people with small pox and measles infected blankets, the first concentration camps were against Indian people where they took their land and rounded them up. And Lincoln known for being against slavery, had 38 Indian men hung in unison in Mankato Minnesota for rebelling in the starving concentration camp they were confined to and there were camps all across this nation for American Indian people. The first atomic bomb was dropped on Indian land polluting it and destroying the water tables. To this day the result of their digging for uranium still pollutes parts of the Navajo reservation. They practiced sterilization of our women up until the late 1950s and even into the 60’s. Up in Alaska they experimented with various forms of hepatitis on the native people there. The list goes on and on. Our people to this day suffer generational trauma as a result of the concentration camps and invasions and starvation and boarding schools that tried to destroy our culture. The death rate in the boarding schools was 50%.

To this day the unemployment rate for American Indians is 35%. What America calls “depression” has become a way of life for us. Bureaucrats scream and jump up and down about the Israelis right to claim their homeland, yet at the same time America still takes our land against our will, our homeland. The black hills of South Dakota was leased for 99 years the lease has been up for some 20 something years, but they will not return it. They have offered to pay some 3 billion dollars for the Black Hills. Why don’t they take that money and relocate the non-Indians from there? There have been people complaining of a mosque in the proximity of the former World Trade Towers yet our sacred hills have Abraham Lincoln’s face carved in the side of our sacred area, and George Washington who practiced a scorched earth campaign against our people in the East is there along with others.

I’m sorry if I’m getting carried away, I want America to be a great nation, but I want it to be fair to all people. We don’t ask for anything that wasn’t agreed to by this government,. There’s three hundred and seventy something treaties that cover most of our concerns. I apologize if in reading this in some way it hurts your celebration of the holidays. Its very difficult to not be negative when you are unjustly imprisoned for this long and every day you look through an iron door when the true enemies and terrorists are free to terrorize the poor and the oppressed of America. When the resources of America and the labor of its people is used to enhance the lavish lifestyle of some 2 to 3 % of the population that owns 96% of America’s wealth or I should say owns and controls 96% of America’s wealth then people like you and the people occupying Wall Street and walking across America are needed more than you would ever know.

I said I wouldn’t make this too long and it seems I have gone back on my work. However in closing I would like to thank the National Congress of American Indians for passing a resolution supporting me in my bid for freedom. And I would especially like to thank Lenny Foster who has served as a spiritual leader in prisons throughout America who presented the resolution to the National Congress of American Indians. I would also like to thank all the others, too numerous to mention, who has supported me for so many years. I guess in some off handed way I have learned to live and exist by my contact with them over the years. This struggle has been long and difficult and I know at times I have offended people and hurt their feelings and for that I am deeply regretful. But rest assured I appreciate all of you in the deepest sense of the word. And I pray that this Holiday season brings joy to you and your families. And there is no greater gift that we can give our children and our children’s children than freedom and a healthy earth.

I will close for now but unless they shut me up like they did Bob, you will hear from me again rest assured.

In the Spirit of Crazy Horse and all the others that have died for their people,

Sincerely,

Leonard Peltier 

 (Image of Leonard Peltier from bermudaradical.wordpress.com)

Film Where Is Hope A National Documentary and CD Mixtape Project on Police Brutality Against People With Disabilities.

We are enter Phase two of the project which involves traveling from NY to Berkley California to do interviews with Activists , Victims and Musicians with disabilities working on the CD mixtape by disabled artists Nationally.

We will film also a Forum around the issue lead by Krip Hop Nation Founder with a physical disability Leroy Moore. We have already Filmed Forum at Syracuse University as well as interviews there and in Boston and Virginia with victims of profiling and Police brutality in those states. Police Brutality in general has been on the rise Nationally and less documented has been the increase in the incidents involving people with disabilities nationwide.

We are currently trying to raise money to cover the cost of Travel, Food and Lodging for 3-5 days in San Fransisco to do filming and interviews.

This project is extremely important to the many people with disabilities who are victims of Police Brutality and Profiling but because of inadequate documentation by record reporters they have become invisible victims. Bringing more awarness to this national problem can help to bring some solutions and involvement to stem the rising incidents involving people with disabilities. Better methods employed by law enforcement along with more community involvement can help to save lives and bring about better relations with local law enforcement and the community of people with disabilities. As a retired NYC Police Officer and artist with a disability i am passionate about helping bring fairness and resolve to this ever growing problem.

If We can fuel this project over the 100 percent level we will be able to travel to other cities to document more cases of this outrage. "1. RocketHub is not an investment or charity. It is an exchange: funds from fans for rewards from me. 2. It's an All & More funding mechanism: if I don't reach my financial goal I get to keep what I raise. But if I do reach my goal, I get access to exciting opportunities."

Much of my life has been devoted to being a man, a good man or worthy of being referred to as such.  Growing up, I associated men as those who carried themselves in, what I perceived to be, a fearless manner—ready to take on anybody or anything regardless of size.  My father was about 5 foot 4, 145 pounds in his heyday.  I’d heard stories about him knocking out guys 6 foot 5 on the streets of Fillmore via a straight right cross followed by a left hook –without assistance from a ladder.  To me, this was the definition of a man.

I gave this a shot and enrolled in collegiate boxing at City College of San Francisco.  I remember the coach--he must have been 60 or so.  He could outdo us all.  He could knock out 80 sit ups (not to mention, us).  He was fleet of foot and had excellent pugilistic skills.  To top it off, he was a math (my worst subject, having failed pre-algebra twice) and science teacher who jogged to his classes, running up staircases. At lunch time he’d run to the roof of one of the many school buildings and do a series of calisthenics as an offering to the Gods of PE before settling down and tackling a pastrami sandwich.

I didn’t want to fail at boxing.  I put on the gloves.  I was informed that I was going to “go to the body” with a guy standing across the ring.  The coach introduced me as “The Fighting Mathematician” and the other guy as having learned to box in Europe.  Europe? I thought.  When was the last time that continent (This happened in 1982, sorry Klitchko fans) had a heavyweight champion?  I’ll drop him like a fly, I thought.  The bell sounded: ding ding (or ding to the second power).  We circled.  We crouched close.  Europe dug a straight right into my gut.  I sank reconsidering my notions of European Heavyweight history as the wind slowly returned to my lungs.

I was dropped like that proverbial fly.  I questioned my manhood afterwards.  I thought about my father and uncles.  What would they say if they saw me go down like that?  Then I tried to rationalize it.  Everybody loses, even the best of us.  Didn’t Joe Louis lose?  Ali?  Joe Frazier lost to George Foreman, going down a half a dozen times—up and down like a basketball.  I stuck with boxing for the semester but didn’t re-enroll.  The good news was that I managed to pass pre-algebra on my third try.  My midsection hurts just reminiscing about it.

Kicking around trying to be a man; the question: are you a man or a mouse?  I’d look in the mirror and see two little beady eyes, a twitching nose, whiskers.  Then I’d start craving cheese.  “Oh, hell no…this ain’t me”, I’d say.

These days my definition of being a man has changed.  It is about being positive.  This positivity has come with the help of a mouse.  I volunteer at Senior Action Network in San Francisco teaching basic computer skills to elders, introducing them to the internet, Microsoft word and other applications. 

The elders are a mix—black, Filipino, white, Chinese—who are there to learn something new.  The mouse on a computer is hard to control for those unaccustomed to the tactile nuances of computer gadgetry.  But slowly the elders get through it, able to control the mouse.  Sometimes it takes a while to get comfortable with the mouse.  Some of the elders move it too fast or click too hard on it.  The little pointer flies across the screen in all directions.  I gently place my hand on theirs, and together we move the mouse, the movements like brush strokes, their hands, hard with work stories, their eyes filled with spirit.  In this movement I learn about the movement from within, the movement to keep pushing forward.  These elders move me towards the man I want to be with patience and openness to what is new and alive.

And then it’s time to break for lunch—fried rice, chow mein, broccoli and beef.  We sit around the table and talk and eat.  “Go ahead, eat more…there’s plenty” a voice says, followed by another, echoing the sound of community that this table more than creates. 

I ask one of the elders “Where is the mouse located at your computer?”  The man is a Filipino elder with thick hands and root-like fingers.  I enjoy his presence in class.  He gets the parts of the computer mixed up at times. If you ask him to point to the modem, he points to the mouse.  When you ask him to point to the keyboard, he points to the monitor.  When you ask him to point to the monitor, he points to the coffee pot.  Again i ask him to point out the mouse at his station.   His eyes travel left to right, up and down and underneath the table before meeting mine.  Smiling, he pointed to his plate of chow mein.

We both laugh and I can’t help thinking about that question, “Are you a man or a mouse?

Grant Brydon

Grant Brydon is a freelance writer and blogger and all-around hip hop advocate hailing from the UK. He runs his own hip hop blog at HipHopFiend.org.

Hip-Hop artists with disabilities have been displaying these four elements since day one but lately it’s coming to the surface in greater numbers:

We have our own music, Krip-Hop

We have our own dances check out dancers on crutches, wheelchair users and more

We have our own art, check out Rynita Short-e McGuire

"Hey all I, Rynita Short-e McGuire, mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman""> was just commissioned by Leroy Moore to do a Painting for Krip-Hop Nation.  This piece will show disabled women hip-hop artists (DJ, B-Girl, and MC) in the style of street art. I'll post pics when it's done around March."

We got books like MF Grimm's Sentences, Leroy's upcoming book, Krip-Hop Nation and so much more.

We are Hip-Hop!!!

We are Music!

We are in your face!

(Editor's note: The Al Robles Living Library project honors Manilatown Activist Asuncion Panlibuton, whose long struggle for housing and community justice helped many in the Filipino community.  Her work helped give rise to the rebuilding of the International Hotel on Kearny Street.  In the words of Poet Al Robles, her heart was the heart of mabuhay.  Tony Robles, Co-editor, POOR Magazine)

Asuncion Baguna Panlibuton, born November 5, 1924, died peacefully on December 13, 2011, in her ancestral hometown of Dao, Antique, Philippines. 

Asun, as she was affectionately called, immigrated to San Francisco, California in 1959.  She was a teacher and became a businesswoman and community activist in San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Los Angeles and Nice, CA.  Guided by her prayers of “Dear Jesus, Help me to help those that need most your help…” she began the fight for decent, affordable senior housing in Manilatown, San Francisco – the International Hotel. As an advocate for quality long-term care, Asun organized the Filipino Residential Care Home Operators for statewide training, as well as owning care homes throughout California for over thirty years. 

Passionate for social, justice and educational issues of immigrant Filipino families, she became co-founder of the Northern and Southern United Antiquenos of California.  Asun was known to have helped countless immigrant families to live economically stable lives while she showed that “wealth is measured by the love, compassion and generosity given to others.” 

Asun was preceded in death by her father Higino Baguna, husband Gregorio Panlibuton and son Gregory Panlibuton.  She is survived by her children Annie Panlibuton-Barnes and Henry (Cynthia) Panlibuton, grandchildren Matthew (Lilli), Joseph and Sarah Barnes, Nicholas and Oliver Panlibuton and great-granddaughter Isabella Barnes.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the:

Asuncion Panlibuton Memorial Scholarship Fund

C/O Annie Panlibuton Barnes

P.O. Box 479

Upper Lake, CA 95485

Panlibuton by Al Robles

The I-Hotel remembers you, Manilatown

Remembers you, in the eyes of

the Manongs & Manangs, in the

Heart of I-Hotel tenants, in

Heart of the community

in the heart of Mabuhay

In the heart of carabaos

 in tribal memories & dreams

of long ago & far away

Manang, you are still here

You circled the I-Hotel

with your love, with

Your spirit, rising up

Like the manongs -

Protecting the Manilatown life

Guarding the

old ways, the songs,

Palii - We’re coming

Back home to Manilatown

After all these years

we’re coming back home.

Together- & we’ll

see your face & heart

& love holding up

embracing the Hotel again

Filling Manilatown

with your presence

with your spirit

with your love

The children will

Read Poems & Sing

& dance & bring down

All the stars in your hands

We come, now today

 to celebrate your

birthday, your life, your

love, your struggle,

your spirit-

Al Robles

11/5/2004, San Francisco

Given to Asuncion Panlibuton on her 80^th Birthday

Note: Written on an 8x10 white envelope

Pushed & Punched

Verse 1
Smack down on the ground
All around the world
Seoul Korea, Africa, Canada & America
Not a drum, bones snapping POW POW

Chorus
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
By who? P.O.L.I.C.E

Verse 2
Dwight pushed out of his wheelchair
Sandy pushed to the sidewalk
Mentally disabled woman punched
What’s going on here?

Chorus
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
By who? P.O.L.I.C.E

Bridge
Got a camera
But they don’t care
Investigating themselves
On video still justice is nowhere

“Get out of my way!”

No taser no gun still no respect
Tackled from the back
Teenager, Joey Wilson, out numbered out weighed
Just liked Donovan Jackson pushed & punched

Verse 3
Giving us the Blues, all over we’re black & blue
Black robes playing pocket pool
Jerking off the popo
No jail pass to go

Chorus
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
By who? P.O.L.I.C.E

Outer Verse
We are already disabled
Now trying to make us crippled
Their cards are never on the table
Who is able to stop this corrupt cycle?

Chorus
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched
Pushed & Punched

By Leroy F Moore Jr.
1/15/12

In 1982 I was a kid working at a fast food restaurant on Market Street earning 3.35 an hour—minimum wage.  I quit that job to pursue my fortune in the world of dishwashing in a trendy SOMA restaurant.  On my last day my supervisor assigned me to restock the walk-in freezer.  Like a fool, I did it.  I have permanent goose bumps from the experience.  That restaurant is no longer on Market Street, but I am, as well as many low wage workers who subsidize the affluent on a daily basis.  I think of that walk in freezer.  I should have tossed my supervisor in there and locked the door.  I still have chills thinking about it.

San Francisco’s minimum wage, as of Jan 1^stis $10.24 an hour, up from $9.92.  The city’s minimum wage is among the highest in the country thanks to the work of the Living Wage Coalition (http://www.livingwage-sf.org/) which began fighting for a Living Wage Law in 1998.  The coalition joined with eight other organizations to form the Minimum Wage Coalition which successfully campaigned to pass a ballot initiative in November 2003 that established San Francisco’s Minimum Wage Ordinance. Karl Kramer of the coalition said it was important that the ordinance didn’t contain a “tip credit”, in which workers receiving tips would be paid sub-minimum wage. 

The San Francisco minimum wage applies to all who work a minimum of 2 hours a week within the boundaries of San Francisco or at the San Francisco Airport.  The minimum wage increases every January to keep up with the rate of inflation—as measured by the consumer price index, aka CPI —for the greater Bay Area. 

$10.24 is above the $7.25 hr federal minimum wage and $8 hr. California wage.  Critics of the ordinance say that it amounts to a job tax—using phrases such as “job killer” to stress the burden the minimum wage mandate would bring.  Kramer cites a 2011 study by The Center for Economic and Policy Research (http://www.cepr.net/index.php/publications/reports/wage-employment-impact-of-min-wage-three-cities) that analyzed the effects of citywide minimum wage increases in Washington, DC, Santa Fe and San Francisco—the first cities to pass minimum wage laws.  The Study found no significant downsizing or business closings/relocations.

Another important ordinance is the “Minimum Compensation Ordinance” passed in 2000 in San Francisco.  The ordinance requires city contractors and SF Airport tenants to pay their employees $12.06 and hour, up from $11.69 from last year.  People enrolled in Calworks fall under this ordinance.  However, the Human Services Agency is circumventing the intent of the ordinance by exploiting a loophole that allows non-profit organizations that receive city funds to defer the wage increase until the city pays for it. To date, Calworks participants make $11.03 an hour.  According to Kramer, the ordinance helped security guards who were contracted to work San Francisco city buildings and the airport.  Prior to the ordinance, guards earned $6.75 an hour with no health benefits.  With the ordinance, guards earn more, get health benefits and 12 paid days off per year.

Thank you Living Wage Coalition for your hard work.  Thank you for your fire and heart and persistence and for recognizing the important work of low-wage workers.

(For information on the San Francisco Living Wage Coalition, go to: www.livingwage-sf.org)

roll the dice

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

- Charles Bukowski

I never thought much about it when I was eating it.  My uncle would take me to the movies and buy me a box of red vines.   I always ate red, he liked black.  They made the movies better—those black and red licorice vines.  We’d chew very hard, lodging bits of licorice in our teeth—nearly yanking our teeth out at times.  We’d sit and chew while watching some of the greatest cinematic offerings of the century which included: Kung Fu Mama, Blacula, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Frankenstein vs. Billy the Kid, Godzilla vs. King Kong, and a host of others.

I never thought about the folks in the factory who made the red vines.  They are the hard workers at American Licorice in Union City.  They are women and men, many who have worked for the company for over 2 decades, some nearly 40 years.  The company’s 178 workers have been on strike since December 5^thwhen negotiations with management broke down over health benefits and wages.  Workers and management began negotiations in August.  The two sides have been away from the table after the company’s final offer. 

The average employee at American Licorice earns 16.00 per hour.  However, the last decade has seen a drastic decrease in the number of workers due to advances in technology.

Many workers have families and the strike came during the holidays.  At the moment, management has walked away from the table. 

The main point of contention is the health plan which includes increased health coverage fees for workers.  Workers went on strike at midnight on December 5^thafter the company’s final contract offer.  Rene Castillo, Vice President of Bakery Workers Union 125 says that the proposed health care plan would require employees to pay deductibles and a percentage of their premiums.

Workers blocked the entrance to the company in an attempt to disrupt production and draw attention to their struggle.  According to Union City Police, there have been noise complaints and various safety issues—such as a makeshift outdoor kitchen—that violated safety codes.  Funny how the police can find any number of things to disrupt a union protest but when they have some kind of labor issue, they all of a sudden become a union that requires our respect.  But when do you ever recall the cops ever respecting unions outside of their own?

As poor and working people denied health care, we support the strikers in their fight to get the healthcare benefits they deserve. 

I came home, got a letter from my cousin. The letter said that he opened his second million dollar restaurant.
I looked around at my small studio apartment, dirty due to my hoarding/cluttering disease, figuring that I am just as
smart as my cousin. So I figured out a way to commit suicide by laying on my back in the bathtub, let the water cover
my eyes, nose, and mouth, and keep the water running. As I was slowly going into slumber... My neighbor downstairs
pounded on my door. I immediately got out of the tub and asked myself "Why the fuck am I trying to kill myself?"

Got up, dried off, got dressed, checked my keys and my wallet and walked up to City General at 3:00 in the morning.
When I got at San Francisco General Hospital, stood in line, said to the triage nurse "I tried to kill myself!"
She dragged me over to psychiatrics and rang the doorbell, she said "Wait here and somebody will help you."

Then a doctor came out and says "Can I help you?"
 I said "I tried to kill myself doctor." He said "If I help you, I have to 51-50 you and observe you for 48 hours."
I replied, "I don't care, I need Help." He handed me a form to fill out and says "Sign at the bottom that you voluntarily
will be put under obverv for 48 hours." The the  nurse told me to take off my shoes, belt, and ID-Wallet and all my
stuff in my pockets. I did as I was told. And I was taken to a room with people screaming, talking about invisible armies
that were coming to attack him, placed on the bed that was designed by the Marquie De Sade.

The next day they gave me oatmeal, bacon and eggs, and two hours later the doctor talked to me and says "We'll look at
you for one more hour and you can leave the next day, and we will contact any person you tell me to call in the morning
after a good nights sleep. Woke up the next morning after breakfast, The doctor said "Who would you like to call?" 

I picked Lisa Gray-Garcia, a good friend and comrade of Poor Magazine.They dialed her and a nurse explained what had
happened to me. In an excited voice she said "Why are you doing something stupid! You got friends and children, kids who
look up to you!" Then I got released, went to the event that Poor Magazine puts on "San Francisco Streets" and the next day
I went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed that I had an organic condition. To any reader that feels like ending their life - Do Not.
You will find out that life is precious and not trivial, and you a lot of people worse off that you are.

Call immediately if you have an emergency that you want to kill yourself.

Our mother, Ramona Dolores Gra’Ves, was born Ramona Dolores French on June 17, 1936, to the union of Rosaline English of San Francisco and Robert French, originally from Louisiana.  A descendent from a very colorful and historically significant ancestry, she is one of seven consecutive generations of her family to establish roots in San Francisco.  Her lineage traces back to such varied origins as Victoria British Columbia, Grand Turk Island in the Caribbean, and the Quaker communities of Pennsylvania—and includes such figures as the civil rights activist & historian W.E.B. Du Bois.

Our mother, the oldest of five siblings (Charlene, Tyrone, Dennis and Florence), spent her childhood in the Fillmore District.  She attended Emerson Elementary Girl’s School and graduated from Mission High School.  A high achiever academically, her winning personality made her very popular with fellow students.  During her school years, she won the title “Miss Legs of San Francisco”.

Our mother had six children: Lowana, Yvette, Craig, Gina, Dana, and “Little Ramona”.  (Sadly Craig and Ramona preceded her in death, along with her parents, her brothers Tyrone and Dennis, and her husband William.)  Even in the midst of raising her family, she decided to further her education and enrolled in City College of San Francisco.  It was no easy task raising six children, being a full time student and holding a part-time job, but she was blessed with the constant support of her mother, Rose.  She graduated from City College with a 4.0 average and received the Ford Scholarship Award, but her commitment to her family to precedence over going away to a four-year college.  She received an A.A. in early childhood education and, at the time of her passing, was in her 35^ther husband William.)  Even in the midst of raising her family, she decided to further her education and enrolled in City College of San Francisco.  It was no easy task raising six children, being a full time student and holding a part-time job, but she was blessed with the constant support of her mother, Rose.  She graduated from City College with a 4.0 average and received the Ford Scholarship Award, but her commitment to her family to precedence over going away to a four-year college.  She received an A.A. in early childhood education and, at the time of her passing, was in her 35^thyear working at Sojourner Truth Childcare Center.  Totally committed to her work, she had finally planned to retire in 2012.

Our mother’s nurturing instincts were unceasing.  Having raised six children to adulthood, she promptly decided to become a foster mother and welcomed into her family Avery Collins Jr. and Shaneca and Jimondre Redman.

Our mother now has a dynasty of her own, with 15 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren.  She never missed a birthday party, graduation, or any other celebration involving her family.  She was the definitive example of a family-oriented person.  Words can’t express the love we have for our mother.

(Photo taken by "Sidewalks are for people")

I remember when I first met Christina Olague.  I had just lost my downtown job.  After 5 years of selfless service to a large insurance brokerage, I was dispatched out the door, ass-first in less than 5 minutes.  I walked down Mission Street waiting for the next thing.  I thought about that downtown job and how it was killing me.  I was wilting under florescent lights while my co-workers mistook it for sunlight.    I walked along 6^thstreet and smelled the smell of the Filipino restaurant, the smell of books from the Filipino bookstore; I looked at the elders and youth and disabled living in a city picked apart by developers.  I saw the things that I missed being cooped up at that insurance brokerage, that big office building—the big tomb in the sky.

At that time, Christina was a tenant advocate and member of the San Francisco Planning Commission.  A local non-profit was looking for a tenant organizer.  I applied for the position and Christina asked me about my organizing experience.  Truth be told, I had none.  I couldn’t organize my house, my clothes, check book—anything really.  But what I did have was empathy—thanks to the eldership provided to me by my Uncle Al, who dedicated his life to serving Filipino elders and fighting for the I-Hotel—and I sensed that Christina did too.  I later learned she too had worked that downtown job, florescent lights and all.  After a few days I was hired.  I was going to start living.  I soon began working at the Mission SRO Collaborative with Christina and a young white organizer who spoke Spanish.

Funny thing was that I am Filipino-American but look Latino.  I speak no Spanish so I had to defer to the young white organizer when a Spanish speaking person came in to enlist our help with a problem with a landlord or other issue.  The young white organizer would speak rapid Spanish while the man or woman would look at me as if to say “Why ain’t you speaking Spanish?”  I would play it off, sitting back, nodding at the white guy approvingly, as if to say, “Yeah…all that Spanish he’s talking…I taught him that…he works for me, theH.L.I.C (i.e.: Head Latino in charge)”.  Christina was our supervisor and Latina.  I think she spoke less Spanish than the young white organizer, who had spent time in Costa Rica.  We’d look at each other, knowing and laughing silently.  Then I told her of the time the white guy and I went to an SRO Hotel where the majority of tenants spoke Mayan.  It turned out the white guy spoke a bit of Mayan too.  I just looked at him and tried to nod in Mayan.

What I liked about working with Christina was that she let me be myself.  Non-profits can sometimes be as structured as a corporation, just as insidious, punitive and impersonal.  There I was, disorganized with papers piling up on the desk.  She very seldom told me to clean the desk because she saw a method in the madness.  We helped tenants—that was priority.  Christina was just as at home writing a letter to a landlord as she was making tea for our tenant meditation group, sitting in meditation, all the while listening to the phone ring with calls from activists, developers, politicians, those on the left, the right, in between or in the neither.  Sitting in meditation with tenants who were living with very real poverty and disabilities was just as important as those calls.  Listening to the stories from tenants, their fears and struggles, and sharing her own—at that moment--was the thing that mattered. 

At the time, my uncle, the poet Al Robles, worked at Self Help for the Elderly at the International Hotel on Kearny Street.  I would sometimes visit my uncle and help him carry pots of rice and trays of food up flights of stairs to be served at lunch.  I’d call Christina and tell her I’d be a little late because of this.  She never reprimanded me about this because she saw the connection of our work to the greater community—the work we did and the work of a senior meal program being connected, their work being our work too.  I’d then arrive at work with a belly full of stories about the elders at the I-Hotel singing karaoke in Chinese or Filipino or about how my uncle nearly dropped a pot of rice down a staircase or how the Tai Chi class allowed me to carry the rice and myself more steadily.   To Christina, we were connected to that, it too was our work. 

When I learned that Christina Olague was appointed Supervisor in District 5, I just had to laugh because, to me, laughter is the best part of Christina.  Dostoyevsky wrote that one could read a person’s character in the way they laugh.  And laughter is also fire.  I remember her fire and laughter when she organized tenants in meetings and around issues that affect them.  I remember the way she treated the mother of a disabled son living in a cramped SRO hotel with no accommodations and unresponsive landlord.  She treated the mother like her own, the son like her own, helping them get into new housing.  I also remember the way she helped a formerly homeless activist who’d moved into a newly opened apartment.  She loaded dishes, utensils, a dining table and other things into her car and helped make that new apartment into a home.  She followed that up shortly after, on Thanksgiving by dropping off a small ham and some company—laughter, conversation.  What more is there?

Recently I began volunteering at Senior Action Network, which allowed me to work with Christina again.  I have been teaching beginning computer skills and creative writing to elders.  Again, she was advocating for seniors and people with disabilities, taking on quality of life issues in SRO hotels and aging in place.

Word around the office and in the media was that Christina was being considered for the Supervisor 5 post, vacated by newly elected Sheriff Ross Mirkarimi.  Those of us in the office waited.  Any word, we’d ask.

Last week Senior Action Network launched its first general meeting of 2012.  The discussion centered on “Aging in place”, an issue close to Christina’s heart.  As the panel spoke, those in attendance were also anticipating the arrival of the new supervisor who was to appear during the program.  When she arrived she was introduced by Gabriel Halland, who said that consensus building and listening to all sides of an issue was one of the new supervisor’s biggest strengths.  She was then presented with a floral bouquet.  Christina then spoke of her own mother, who became quadriplegic following a car accident.  She said that her mother’s experience gave her empathy and determination to advocate on behalf of seniors and people with disabilities.  Saying that she still has a lot to learn, she urged the audience to “Keep me accountable”.  A member of the audience asked, “What do we call you now that you are supervisor?”  Just call me Christina, replied the new supervisor.