2012

I had just seen a news report telling of a catamaran collapsing and sinking into San Francisco Bay.  The mast, the sum of parts that made up this vessel seemed to tangle in the rise and fall of water which made it appear as unstable and flimsy as a cheap umbrella in a rainstorm.  The reporter indicated that the catamaran was part of Team Oracle, part of the big to-do known as the America’s cup.  The dramatic images make for good TV but I couldn’t get emotionally attached like so many millions over this spectacle--the fate of this symbol of rich man’s watersports—with accompanying privilege and arrogance-was something I couldn’t care less about.  Shortly after the newscast, I spoke to a friend who summed up my feelings about the sinking catamaran and the America’s Cup:  “Please tell me Larry Ellison was on that boat”.  Was he?

While these folks made it to the six o’clock news, flaunting said wealth and privilege, African descended elder and native San Franciscan Kathy Galves tries to maintain a roof over her head.  Ms. Galves lost her home of 40 years to foreclosure.  Ms. Galves, a black woman, a black elder trying to stay in the city of her birth.  A city whose mandate to erase the black community that was conceived and hatched by the agents of redevelopment and business long ago, a city whose black exodus is a mark of its shame, an exodus that is killing the heart and soul of the city.

However, you won’t see Ms. Galves story on the news.  Eviction of black elders in the city doesn’t seem to be newsworthy to those who own and control media, at least, not as newsworthy as Larry Ellison’s boat.  Ms. Galves now stays in a motel and is a step away from houselessness.  The owner of the motel tried to evict her after 30 days residence—the period in which she would establish tenant’s rights in the city of San Francisco.  Ms.Galves walks with a dignity that cannot be sunk, her eyes still holding light, unsinkable in the arid landscape of gentrifiers and corporate unaccountability.

Ms. Galves story is more important than the sinking catamaran with the oracle logo.  It holds more meaning than all those boats on the bay and everything they stand for.  Their lack of dignity and humility—floating on the bay—is a blight on our city, an eye sore to those with eyes who see a city losing its spirit, its heart, its soul.

Ms. Galves moves forward, dignity in place—looking for a place to call home, in a city that is her home, yet filled with exiles and those displaced in a city that was their birthplace, a birthplace of dreams, an escape from Jim Crow terror to become the blueprint model for gentrification.

Kathy Galves—let her name ring out in every corner, every rooftop, every street, every inch of the city.  We are not going to forget.

(Image of Ruyata Akio McGlothlin and Joseph Bolden(seated) at the Poor Peoples District 5 Candidate forum sponsored by POOR Magazine and the San Francisco Bay View Newspaper)

I'm Joe, a po' strugglin' black man and this is my attempt at a voter guide- with a note- Alot of my African -American ancestors died fighting for my right to vote-so i think this is our duty!

This is a run through of most if not all the Propositions on our ballot from 30 to 40.

My Source: Official Voter Information Guide or Book of The
California General Election (and lil ole me!)

Prop. 30 Temporary taxes to find Education Guaranteed local Public Safety Funding
Initiative Constitutional Amendment.

Vote Yes: The state will increase personal taxes on high income tax payers for
seven years. The new tax revenues would be available to fund programs in the
state budget.

Vote No: The state would not increase personal income taxes or state taxes,
state spending reductions primarily to education programs, would take effect in
2012-'13.

Prop. 31 State Budget. State and Local Government. Initiative Constitutional
Amendment and Statutes.

Vote Yes: Certain Fiscal responsibilities of the legislature and Governor, including
state and local budgeting oversite procedures, would change. Local governments
that creates plans to coordinate services would receive funding from the state and
could develope their own procedures for administering state programs.

Vote No: Badly flawed initiative that locks expensive and conflicting provision into the
constitution causing lawsuits, confusion, and cost. 31 threatens public health, the
environment, prevents future increases in funding for schools, and blocks tax cuts.
Teachers, Police, conservationists, tax reformers vote on Prop. 31.

Prop. 32 Political Contributions by Payroll Deduction. Contributions to Candidates,
Initiative Statue.

Vote Yes: Unions and Corporations cannot use money deducted from employees
paychecks for political purpose.

Vote No: Unions and Corporations keep taking from employee paychecks for
political purposes.

Prop. 34 Death Penalty, Initiative Statute.

Yes Vote: No offender could be sentenced to death under the law but re-sentenced
to life without the possibility of payroll.

No Vote: No change to offenders the Death Penalty stands.

Prop. 35 Human Trafficking, Penalties. Initiatives Statute.

Vote Yes: Longer prison sentences, larger finds for committing Human Trafficking
crimes.

Vote No: Existing criminal penalties for human trafficking would stay in effect.

Prop. 36 Three Strikes Law. Repeat felony offenders. Penalties Initiative State.

Yes Vote: Means some criminal offenders with two prior or violent felony convictions
who commit certain non-serious, non-violent felonies would be sentenced to shorter
terms in state prison.

No Vote: Three Strikes Law stays as is with two strikes violent felony criminals
continue to serve longer or life sentences for third non-violent felonies no change in
three strikes law.

Prop. 37 Genetically Modified (Engineered) Foods, Labeling Initiative Statute.

Yes Vote: Means Genetically Engineered Foods sold in California would have to be
 specifically labled as being genetically engineered.

No Vote: Means Genetically Engineered Food would not have specific labeling
requirements.

Prop. 38 Tax to Fund Education and Early Childhood Programs. Initiative Statute.

Vote Yes: Personal income tax rates increase for 12 years. The Additional revenues
would be used for school, childcare, preschool, and state debt payments.

Vote No: Means State personal income tax rates would remain at their current levels.

Prop: 39 Tax Treatment For Multi State Businesse. Clean Energy And Efficiency Funding.
Initiative Statute.

Yes Vote: Means Multi State Businesses would no longer be able to choose the mothod
for determining their state taxable income that is most advantageous for them.

No Vote: Means Multi State Businesses continue choosing which method one or two to
determine their California taxable.

Prop: 40 Redistricting. State Senate Districts. Referendum.

Yes Vote: Means State Senate district boundaries certified by Citizen's Redistricting
Commission would be continued to be used.

No Vote: Means the California Supreme Court would appoint (special masters) to
determine new state senate district boundaries.

Post offices were formed before the constitution was written.  They were made for the average person and were supposed to be run by the government…..not by Walmart or any private entity.

In 2011, though, Steven Greenhouse wrote a bill geared at bankrupting the post office.  This bill requires the government to secure 70 years worth of pension funding for each postal employee immediately.  In other words, in order to comply with the new law, the post office would have to come up with about 5 billion dollars.   This is as ridiculous as it sounds.

In order to do this, the post office says it has to close rural and small town post offices.  The government is planning to close offices in poor areas of major cities as well.  In San Francisco, the home base of this reporter, I heard that three post offices will be closing….2 in poor areas and one in a working class area.  There’s talks of closing other post offices also.  Visitacion Valley’s only post office will be closing if you do not write to the post master general.  Bayview’s post office will be closing, too.  This is an area with over 75% African descended people.  The post office in the Tenderloin, known as the Civic Center post office will be closed too.  This post office is used mostly by low income individuals, families and seniors. 

Don’t think you’re safe working class people!! Glen Park post office is also scheduled to be closed.  They are also selling the Berkeley post office.  Not closing it – selling it.  This is a landmark post office and Feinstein’s husband is looking to sell it.  The details are still being negotiated.  The North Beach office is also going to be sold. This will lead to the privatization of your post office.  Get ready to go to Walmart for your postal needs.

Please explain to me why Diane Feinstein cannot be charged with a conflict of interest?

I recently looked at the events schedule of a local paper and came across an event with the catchy title, “Indian summer:  A Day party on Treasure Island 09.08.12”.  Treasure Island, a place named after the Robert Louis Stevenson Novel, a place with toxic waste left by the navy, a place created from bay landfill; a place that is a stone’s throw away from Alcatraz island where the struggle of native people is carved in every stone, whose breath is felt in the soil--the place where native people launched their occupation to call attention to the genocide perpetrated on native peoples on turtle island, decades before the occupation of Wall Street.

It is through this lens that I looked at the advertisement, hatched by some marketing person no doubt, in need of something to do.  Much of these ideas/concepts are basically air weighed down with branding and marketing to create something supposedly tangible-but are, in reality, empty and, as my grandmother used to say, flatter than piss on a plate.

Marketing people are paid to conceive and mold ideas into reality from mere air, that’s where their alleged genius supposedly lay and is subsequently recognized.  But their job is an illusion.  What do they really do but take long lunches and extended vacations?  Have you ever tried to reach one of these folks on the phone?  You can’t because they’re not there.  They’re too busy, too important, and generally, too unhelpful to be bothered with annoying exchanges of communication outside of an occasional interoffice haiku.  I suspect the reason it is difficult to reach them is because they are busy ordering merchandise online from Banana Republic(an) or some similar outlet.  Of their ilk there is a serious glut—especially in San Francisco.  Let them get real jobs, like scraping pigeon shit off a park bench, I say.

Much of this branding takes place in San Francisco where the marketers brand the landscape in the way a dog marks its territory.  When I saw the advertisement for “Indian summer: A Day Party on Treasure Island”, I was not surprised.  The hipsters were marking their territory again and this time using tipi’s to do it.  There was to be music and “luxury tee pee’s” for folks to congregate in and listen to music.  The interiors of the “tee pee’s” looked to be inspired by the saintly folks at Ikea and Williams Sonoma.  And of course, there was to be “shuttle service” to get to this shindig from SOMA and the Marina(These folks always seem to have shuttle service, don’t they?)  Requisite hipster DJ’s (what’s an event without them?), covered in head to toe black—including adorable black shades to cap off their “coolness”-- were to be on hand to round out this event.

Word got out to the promoters of the event that folks in the community—native folk, people of color, conscious folk and the family at POOR Magazine—were not happy with this newest in a long line of celebrations/festivals—especially one so egregiously disrespectful to the native community.  2 folks came to our community newsroom at POOR Magazine identifying their selves as being connected to the event.  They stayed for the duration of newsroom and listened to our poverty and indigenous scholars voice their concerns about the overall tone of disrespect the event conveyed to our communities; how the use of tee-pees in the context of their event was highly offensive to native communities.  After much discussion, the two women--who identified themselves as representatives of the promoters of the event--then identified themselves as the promoters themselves.  I don’t know if they felt intimidated by divulging this but I felt it a bit disingenuous that they withheld this information to our family at POOR Magazine, who opened its doors in good faith and in hopes of an honest discussion of the concerns surrounding the event.  The promoters apologized for anything offensive that was contained in the marketing of their event.  They assured us that they would omit “Indian Summer” from the marketing materials.  They even confided that they had some “Native American blood” in them as well but didn’t indicate how much.   True to their word, they did likewise, adding the following disclaimer:

                        You may have noticed the we changed name and nature of the event from its' original Indian Summer theme.  We recieved many complaints about the use of Indian Summer, and realize how the term can be disrespectful to the Native American community.  It was never our intention to disrespect anyone or any culture, and we sincerly apologize for any hurt and concern it may have caused.   

On September 8th, let's come together to celebrate warm weather, beautiful surroundings, enchanting friends and musical excellence, and together, we can embrace the words from a wise medicine man:

"Native American isn't blood; it is what is in the heart.  The love for the land.  The respect for it, those who inhabit it; and the respect and acknowledgement of the spirits and the elders.  That is what it is to be an indian."

White Feather, Navajo Medicine Man

I appreciate that the promoters came to newsroom, listened to our concerns and made changes to their advertisements.  But the entire celebration begs the question, what and who is being celebrated?  I did not attend the event, but a friend of mine did and he told me he observed young white intoxicated males walking around in Indian headdress.  Where is the responsibility in all of this?  To many of us in the community, this type of so-called celebration reeks of entitlement and cultural disrespect by the very people who have gentrified our communities to where working class people of color can’t live in the city anymore.  This type of “celebration” is a kick in the teeth.  How is this honoring Indian anything? 

Many of these so-called celebrations are not about honoring our community or our history but of folks who are celebrating one thing—themselves--the so-called hip, the blank faced, the oblivious, the endless consumers and co-opters of culture and yoga mats.  It’s a frat party, alcohol fest whenever someone comes up with some goofball idea and the geniuses keep coming up with more ideas.  The one's that do the celebrating--the one's who act like nothing existed her until they arrived--a bunch of little Christopher Columbuses sipping on beer, sitting in the sun in search of a tan.  What is it you’re celebrating besides what you see in the mirror, whatever that is? If these folk had any clue at all of where they were at, they would have done the right and respectful thing which would be to cancel this trite and useless event that serves absolutely no purpose but to pad the resume of someone wanting to gain a foothold as an event promoter in the city.  Perhaps you should ask, what is it that we see when we see you.

At almost 75 years of age, there are very few things in life that surprise me anymore. However, I can say I was not only surprised by the allegations made against my comrade Richard Aoki, I was sickened. I should not have been surprised because I know that this government still has unfinished business with us, we Panthers, and being dead doesn’t free us from their need to persecute us and create chaos and mistrust among those of us who remain.

The San Francisco Chronicle, like most mainstream press, loves this shit. It was not so long ago when this administration found a way to try to destroy my comrades, the San Francisco 8, decades after several of them had been tortured and the case had been thrown out. The brothers were amazingly strong and eventually most of them have been able to go on with their lives, but at a great cost to all of them.

My comrade John Bowman’s death was most definitely hastened by the persecution (not prosecution, persecution). The SF Chronicle, at a very sensitive time in the case, produced a huge front page spread by a writer who tried to link the murder of a young woman, a totally unrelated occurrence, to this case. So the fact that the SF Chronicle was so eager to publish and sensationalize the garbage put out by this so-called author, Rosenfeld, with his “30 years of research,” is not a surprise to me.

Black Panthers John Bowman and Minister of Culture Emory Douglas talk outside the Party’s San Francisco office.

Because I have been around for a long time, I have seen that a number of people with books to peddle are capable of resorting to the most heinous acts of sensationalism in order to promote themselves and will do so with total shamelessness and disregard for others. The sickening part is that these scandalous accusations are targeting my dead comrade, Richard Aoki – Richard, who is no longer around to defend himself, Richard, a revolutionary to the end of his days, the littlest man with the largest stature I ever knew. Not one of his comrades, not one, mind you, has ever had anything but the highest respect and love for Richard Aoki.

My wife and I have read and emailed back and forth anything and everything we can get our hands on about the sources involved and listened as learned people shared their knowledge with us and have investigated, as much as we can, these scandalous, unsubstantiated charges leveled at our dead comrade, Richard.

Persecuted by the SF Chronicle the way the paper is now crucifying the character of Richard Aoki are the San Francisco 8, former Black Panthers charged with killing a cop more than 40 years after he died using evidence obtained by torture: Harold Taylor, Francisco Torres, Richard Brown, attorney Soffiyah Elijah, Richard O'Neal, Hank Jones, Supervisor Eric Mar and Ray Boudreaux. Here, they are celebrating the dropping of the charges against most of them, a victory won by the power of the people. The other two SF 8 defendants, Jalil Muntaqim and Herman Bell, remain political prisoners. – Photo: Scott Braley

Being nearly 75 years of age, and having been in the Black Panther Party from 1966 to 1974, I know a lot about this government. I know that the mission to spread disorder and mistrust amongst those of us who remain is alive and well and that now, as in the past, fools can be used as tools and pawns by them to foment chaos.

Why do you think there are political prisoners still locked up decades later? Elderly men and women now, still threats to the power structure. The best of us, so many, still locked away in dungeons or in exile, thousands of miles away from their people.

We may now be lawyers, businessmen, physicians, state representatives or businessmen. We may be old and ravaged by the sands of time; it matters not. We may be living relatively innocuous lives, or we may be community activists, or we may be dead. It does not matter – they must make examples of us. They must show the people we were under their thumbs and not serving the people, as we claimed.

Big Man and Terry Cotton display a banner honoring Richard Aoki at Richard’s funeral in March 2009. – Photo: Carole Hyams

It was only this past Monday and yet it seems like such a long time ago that Seth Rosenfeld’s “exposé” appeared in the SF Chronicle. My wife and I have been so busy since then that the days are gone before we know it!

The events now occurring around the feeble, incredible fiction Rosenfeld has put out there to promote his book (yeah, we know, 30 years in the making) at the expense of Richard Aoki’s name bring me back to years ago when I was one of several young Party members and we started publishing our newspaper. We found a way to do this because we realized that with the mainstream newspapers and media lying to the people, we needed to create an instrument of our own to tell our own stories in our own way – to tell the truth about ourselves and our communities and about the lying, racist, corporate criminals who controlled the media and were oppressing the people. To create a revolutionary tool which would wake up and shake up the world. And we did that.

Two close friends of Richard Aoki at his funeral in March 2009 are Yuri Kochiyama and Big Man. Like Richard, Yuri, a lifelong freedom fighter, built Black-Asian solidarity. Decades earlier, she had worked closely in Harlem with Malcolm X. On the stage with him when he was assassinated, she rushed to his side and comforted him as he breathed his last. – Photo: Carole Hyams

The Black Panther Party Newspaper became a paper with worldwide circulation and I was the editor for a while. We published articles which were based on our struggles and the day to day struggles of our comrades and the people we served in our communities. Stories where we talked about our fallen comrades and their killers. Where we talked about the war-mongering, racist, oppressive government of this US of A. Where we talked about ways in which we served our communities, educating people and each other. Young lives were ripped from us.

But we had a great newspaper; I have always thought so. We used that paper to communicate with each other and people all over the world. Now there’s email and Facebook. But nothing comes close to that beautiful, revolutionary paper. I still miss that paper to this very day.

But I digress. Being almost 75 years of age, I allow myself that privilege. And so, … Richard.

I have spoken of how I got to know Richard in the early years of the Party, how I learned of his internment, a young victim of America’s concentration camps for the Japanese, how he and his family were stripped of everything they had, but how he survived that and how he grew up on the mean streets of Oakland, how he learned to defend himself and how the Black Panther Party seemed to him the logical place for him to be.

Like me, he had been in the service. He knew about weapons, sure. He also saw that through education he could fight for equal rights, educate and organize his community. He never, ever stopped doing that. Never stopped fiercely loving the people. Never stopped speaking his mind. Never compromised his views. Never cared about saving his own skin. He was always out there, a fierce warrior for human rights, to the day he died.

Richard Aoki knew about weapons, sure. He also saw that through education he could fight for equal rights, educate and organize his community. He never, ever stopped doing that. Never stopped fiercely loving the people. Never stopped speaking his mind. Never compromised his views. Never cared about saving his own skin. He was always out there, a fierce warrior for human rights, to the day he died.

In early 2006, we were reunited at the West Oakland Library at the L’il Bobby Hutton event put on by Its About Time. We had not seen or heard from each other for decades. We were both pretty weak, him frail and walking with a cane after several strokes and kidney problems, and me just recovering from cancer surgery and several other chronic health conditions. It was so good to see him again.

At the last gathering of the Panthers before Richard Aoki’s death – the San Francisco premiere of the film “Merritt College: Home of the Black Panthers” in January 2009 – are Panthers Big Man, Billy X Jennings, Richard Aoki and Ericka Huggins along with Congresswoman Barbara Lee, who narrates the film. – Photo: Carole Hyams

In later years, no matter how sick he was, Richard would find a way to come to almost every event. We never ceased to find joy in seeing each other, and we would laugh at the fact that, amazingly enough, we were still around.

There are many people now fighting along with all of Richard’s comrades to educate people and repair any damage that this irresponsible assault on his character may have done. You can bet that Richard is somewhere cracking up at all of this and especially at how much work this has created for his many comrades, his students, his professional peers and members of his community – all of whom remain devoted to his memory.

Richard never had us guessing as to where he personally stood politically. He never stopped condemning the real criminals in America, not ever. And he kept us entertained with his wit and intellect until his death – suicide, some call it, but he was barely alive and very tired and did not want to be kept around by means out of his control. Richard, who we loved, admired and who made it clear how much he loved us and, in particular, all disenfranchised, oppressed people.

We will continue to fight these atrocious lies, lies without evidence, lies designed to sell a book and to create disturbances, anxiety and suspicion amongst us all.

Because I am almost 75 years of age, I can say with the certainty of one who has seen many things: I know that Richard walked the walk, not just talked the talk, and he continued to fight for human rights until his death.

That’s Big Man on the right at a July 1968 demonstration in Oakland. – Photo: Pirkle Jones

So we will continue to fight these atrocious lies, lies without evidence, lies designed to sell a book and to create disturbances, anxiety and suspicion amongst us all. Richard no longer is here to fight these ridiculous allegations himself, so we must do so. After all, we owe him, big time.

Elbert “Big Man” Howard is one of the original six founding members of the Black Panther Party; he served as the first editor of the Black Panther newspaper and as party spokesperson. He is also, more recently, a founding member of the Police Accountability Clinic and Helpline (PACH). An activist, author and lecturer, he resides in Sonoma County and can be reached at bigman0138@aol.com.

I am the .000 25- the smallest number  u can think of in yer mind-

Didn’t even make it to the 99-

love to all of yer awakeninig consciousnessness –

but try to walk in mine… excerpt from I am 000.25 by tiny/Po Poets 2011

Occupy Was Never 4 Me

Occupy was never for me. I’m Pour’, I’m a mother, I’m disabled, I’m homeless, I’m indigenous, I am on welfare, I never graduated from a formal institution of learning, I have never had a house to be foreclosed on, I am a recycler, panhandler, I am broken, I am humble, I have been po’lice profiled and my mind is occupied with broken teeth, and a broken me. And I am a revolutionary who has fought everyday to decolonize this already occupied indigenous land of Turtle Island in Amerikkka.

I’m not hating. I am glad, like I said when it all first got started, that thousands more people got conscious. I am glad that folks woke up and began to get active. What I am not glad about is that in that waking up there was a weird tunnel vision by so many “occupiers” of the multiple struggles, revolutions, pain and deep struggle of so many who came before you, upon whose shoulders and already "occupied" native lands you are standing on.  This is what I have now come to realize is a strange form of political gentrification.

Like any form of gentrification there is a belief by the gentrifyers/colonizers, that their movement is different, new form, that it has little or no historical contextual connection to the ones before it. And that it owes little or nothing to the movements and/or communities already there, creating, struggling, barely making it.

And yes, race, class and educational access matter. I have heard from elders that a similar thing happened in the 60’s with the poor people of color movements raging on like Black panthers and Young Lords then suddenly the “anti-war movement” sprung up, driven by white middle-class college students and the political climate suddenly got large.

This ironic disconnect was never clearer than the way that houseless people, people with psychological disabilities existing outside, were treated, spoken about, problematized, and “dealt with” in the occupations across the United Snakkkes this last year

“We are very excited because the police agreed to come every night and patrol our “camp” because we have been having so many problems with the ‘homeless people’ coming into our camp”, said an occupier from Atlanta, Georgia.

 “It took us awhile to forge a relationship with the police, but now that we did we feel “safe” from all the homeless people who are a problem in our camp,” said an occupier in Oklahoma

“We have been able to do so much with occupy in this town, but we are having a real problem with “security”, its because of the large contingent of homeless people near our camp,” Occupier from Wisconsin.

City after city, occupation to occupation, in these so-called conscious and political spaces which were allegedly challenging the use of public space and land use and bank control over our resources and naming the struggle of the 99% versus the %1, were playing out  the same dynamics of the increasingly po’liced urban and suburban neighborhoods across the US.

The lie of “security” who it is for, the notion of “illegal” people and how some people are supposed to be here and some are not. Our reliance on police as the only way to ensure our community security and the overt and covert veneer of racism and classism alive and well in every part of this United Snakkkes reared its ugly head in all of these Occupations. In many cases the “occupiers” gentrified the outside locations of the houseless people in these cities. Taking away the “sort of” safe places where houseless people were dwelling outside. And yet no accountability to that was ever even considered by the “occupiers”

Perhaps its because the majority of the “occupiers” were from the police using neighborhoods, and/or currently or recently had those homes and student debt and credit and cars and mortgages and stocks and bonds and jobs. Perhaps its because Occupy was never for me or people like me.

In Oakland and San Francisco, the alleged “bastions” of consciousness there was a slightly different perspective. Many of the houseless people were in fact part of the organizing and then eventually, due to deep class and race differences, were intentionally left out or self-segregated themselves from the main “occupy” groups and began their own revolutions or groups or cliques, or just defeated huddles around the camp.

Several of the large and well-funded non-profit organizations in the Bay Area re-harnessed Occupy into their own agendas and helped to launch some of the huge general strikes and marches to support labor movements, migrant/immigrant struggles, prison abolitionist movements and economic justice.

In the case of the poor, indigenous, im/migrant and indigenous skolaz at POOR Magazine we felt we could perhaps insert some education, herstory and information  into this very homogenous, very white, and very ahistorical narrative and to the empirical notion of occupation itself, so we created the Decolonizers Guide to a Humble Revolution book and curriculum. With this book and study guide and our poverty scholarship and cultural art we supported other indigenous and conscious peoples of color in Oakland who began to frame this entire movement as Decolonize Oakland, challenging the political gentrifying aspects of Occupy itself.

POOR Magazine in an attempt to harness some of the energy and minds of this time towards the very real issues of poverty and criminalization and racism in the US, created The Poor Peoples Decolonization (Occupation) traveling from both sides of the Bay (Oakland to SF) to the welfare offices where so many of us po’ folks get criminalized for the meager crums we sometimes get, public housing where we are on 8-9 year long wait-lists for so-called affordable housing, the po’lice dept where all of us black, brown and po folks get incarcerated, profled and harassed every day not just when we “occupy” and Immigration, Customs Enforcement where any of us who had to cross these false borders, get increasingly criminalized, hated and incarercated for just trying to work and support our families.

But in the end a small turn-out showed up for our march, I guess our poor people-led occupations weren’t as “sexy” as other 99% issues.

Finally, in Oakland there was a powerful push to re-think the arrogant notion of Occupy” itself on already stolen and occupied native lands and became one of the clearest examples of the hypocritical irony of occupy.

After at least a five hour testimony from indigenous leaders and people of color supporters at a herstoric Oakland General Assembly, to officially change the name of Occupy Oakland to Decolonize Oakland, with first nations warriors like Corrina Gould and Morning Star, Krea Gomez, artists Jesus Barraza and Melanie Cervantez and so many more powerful peoples of color supporters presenting testifying and reading a beautiful statement on decolonization and occupation, it was still voted on that Oakland, the stolen and occupied territory of Ohlone peoples would remain Occupy Oakland.

So as the “Occupy” people celebrate 1 year of existence, I feel nothing. I am glad that elders are being helped to not lose their homes through foreclosure, but truthfully, that work was already being done by so many of us already on the front line of eviction, tenants rights, and elders advocacy.

So one year after Occupy was launched, while lots of exciting media was generated, massive resources were spent, a great number of people were supposedly politicized and the world started to listen to the concept of the %99, the same number of black, brown, poor, disabled and migrant folks are being incarcerated, policed, and deported in the US. The racist and classist Sit-lie laws, gang injunctions and Stop and Frisk ordinances still rage on and we are still being pushed out of our communities of color by the forces of gentriFUKation and poverty. So, I wonder, how have these political gentrifyers changed things for black and brown and poor people? Not at all, actually, but then again, Occupy was never really for us.

(To read the whole poem I am the 000.25 click here )

I have been in tha "Moe" since 1974, and with the exceptions of being displaced a couple of times, Tha "Moe" has always been home to me.

Back in the days, the sight of the 12 story concrete jungle may have been an eyesore to some, but when it came down to community, it was one of the best ones we ever had. It was the time of Matriarchs like CarolX, Ms. Brown, Clo b., Deborah Jean, Ms. Lee, Granny flannigan and Babs Dow. These Mamas played important roles in the hood- like community presidents, vice presidents, child care directors, housing assistants, regulators and in some cases, troublemakers. They held it down and made sure we stuck together no matter what the shortcomings may have been. But when the near-earthquake proof towers fell, little did we know that the history and traditions of "community" would crumble and fall along wit the stones.

Now, in the 2000's, the memories of the old days are long gone and replaced with nice looking townhomes, flats and private investors (McCormack, Barron, Reagan). SFHA gave "OC" a makeover (Hope iv). Although it wasn't exactly as the original tenants had mapped out, nonetheless most folks were ok with the overall outcome.

I moved back to "OC" after a temporary displacement in 2001. I was unemployed, single mama, and raising a family. Times were tough and a few other families along with mine would often band together, to scrape up "two's and fews" to make sure we made it from month to month. Early on we began to encounter these problems that were suspect when a few other families and I began to see bills for unpaid rent for months that were certainly paid. Granted, there were times when families fell back on bills due to loss of income, battling personal demons, or the slow process of the system, but every time one bill (who is bill?) was taken care of, here comes another mysterious "YOU OWE" bill pertaining to rent, a late fee or for minor house repairs that was done six months prior. As soon as the tenants brought this issue up to "ATTENTION" level, the employees at the property office had either moved or got transferred to a different plantation where the drama continued, and without retribution. Once again, myself and other tenants here are catching hell from those who run the property office.

From December 2010 I had struggled with my employment of 7 and a half years due to painful injuries and depression. In the year of 2011, I didn't work a total of 4 months. Per protocol, I communicated with the office, letting them know my situation and submitting documentation. The nice woman whom I first kept a strong line of communication with suddenly disappeared (word from other tenants is that she was fired under strange circumstances), and all my submitted paperwork was gone, except for the form my former employer faxed to them verifying I was terminated while out on disability leave. But let the manager tell it, I didn't go through these troubled times, I've been working and just stopped paying rent. That is not the case with me I am catching this hell because not only was my file mismanaged, but important documents vanished.

On several occasions I attempted to communicate with these folks at the office with some difficulty. To ask a single question required a appointment, and when I was successful in reaching staff, the only response I received was a notice to vacate, which was taped on my door by a strange lady who sped away on her bike before I could even open the door. After the bike lady's visit the folks at the property office refused to speak with me at all, other than advising me to speak with an attorney. Now I am dealing with the constant battle of rude, cocky lawyers who get away with not presenting proper paperwork, stalling the case for god knows what and perjury. This whole experience feels like an upgraded version of "Good Times" as they insult me with their smirks. I ponder on how messed up the world is that people like this who rule over our jobs and housing are able to treat peoples' lives with such contempt and with impunity. Now there is a wave of tension, anger, stress and mistrust when it comes to dealing with the "office". Tenants slowly ban together, unsure of who's who because there are eyes and ears living among us that are not on our side. The tenant meetings are small and the community spirit is damped, with the exception of the few that have faith in our struggle....

To be continued
 

In this

Jazz Ballad Chorus

Headed for CUNY with dreams and hope

'Til gettin' swept up in Rope-and-Grope

Tuggin' down his testes on the street

Body-slammed, cursed and browbeat 

Meeting N-Y's finest's fists and feets

Given blurred vision of hoods and sheets

Bruised, bloodied victim of violent scam--

The Hudson banks on Birmingham

The Hudson banks on Birmingham.... 

Hip Hop Feel

Bull Kelly cut fire hoses and cattle prods

For Glockmiesters runnin' in death squads

Protecting and serving corporate masters

The privilege and supremacy of alabasters

Guarding Merrill-Lynch and Killer Coke

Fighting crime's mirrors and smoke

Drivin' out the poor from dusk to dark

Like smashing Spring in Zucotti Park

After the Schultzes seized Native Land

Manhattan real estate rose in demand

They cashed the stolen land into rent

Maintained violently by the 1%

In this Age Of Metastasized Cash-ism

Wall Street's Kleptocratic Stash-ism

Mayor Bilbo's businesses blooming brisk

His real estate-driven Stop-and-Frisk

American-styled apartheid pass law

Bilbo's Gestapo's a blue cat's-paw

After the Schultzes seized Native Land

Manhattan real estate rose in demand

They cashed the stolen land into rent

Maintained violently by the 1%

Another generation of Gordon Gekkos

Parasitic, psycho, thug CEOs

Funny money men, where anything goes

Republi-crats and Demo-con echoes

Putting our lives and health at risk

Run these cons through Stop-and-Frisk

Provocateurs and pundits in cahoots

Will look hip in orange jumpsuits!

Raymond Nat Turner (c) 2012 All Rights Reserved

Co-editors note:

Phoenix Kat created this first piece for PNN Toronto, in a POOR Magazine revolutionary journalism workshop held  at Maggies Sex Worker Organizing Project in Toronto

(Image of some of the rampamt gentriFUKation hitting Toronto)

Tap tap..... I didn't hear the door as my mind was swimming some deep stinky muck that made my thoughts stick to the walls. Quickly trying to peel them off and shove them back into my head, all I could think of was: where I was gunna go, what was going to happen to me and the events that had transpired a week before. I was a stone statue eating a BLT sandwich sitting on my friend Derick's couch while his mom vacuumed around me.

Tap tap... Derick must have answered the door because he was calling me to the front hall way. As I turned the corner I saw two stuck up bananas standing in the hall outside of Derick's apartment. Both tall one female and they were both wearing ugly grey suits. As naive as it sounds, especially knowing all of my friends had already been arrested, I couldn't for the life of me figure out who they could be.

That is, until they identified them selves as detectives from 23 devision. My heart fell into my stomach, the room began to spin and my head floated away from my body as if it were full of air or something. I thought really? After all that.... After all the hiding, all the running, after everything, this is how it was going to end - and I wasn't even gunna to get to finish my BLT sandwich. I felt like running, but where? Derick lived on the 14^th floor and it was a long way to the ground.

“Can you come outside so we can arrest you?” the female banana said.” I felt like saying why, why would I allow you to arrest me, but being 14, and never having a police woman ask me if they could arrest me before, I didn't know that I could refuse and demand they bring a warrant, so I complied. Yes, I stepped outside. Outside of the last place I had to hide, outside of the the refuge I sought for myself after franticly running and hiding in parks for 7 days, and outside away from my freedom so that two over dressed bananas could cuff me and drag me away to the next year and a half cycle of bullshit that I was about to face....

Everyday young people are harassed, profiled, arrested and thrown in jail. Specifically young black and indigenous youth, youth who trade sex for money, panhandlers, ones that ran away from bullshit homes or foster care, and youth just trying to survive. Many of which are young parents and when there is no other family to care for their children, or the courts decide their family is unfit, their children are placed in the care of the Children's Aids Society.

It is clear how being poor , indigenous, a person of color and criminalized means that you and anyone that comes after you will continue to be sucked into the prison system where it is almost impossible to get out and get a head. Many of the young women I met in Juvie where charged and held in custody for what they called an “A wall charge”. What this means is that they had run away - “A walled” - from their foster care home or group home. So to be clear, first your parent(s) are thrown in jail, then you are taken from the only family/community you know and forced into a bullshit home (if you can call it that), then you are criminalized and thrown in jail your self for choosing to leave and live independently, however that may look for you at the current moment.

Moved around from foster home to foster home, left in group homes for months, often facing sexual and physical violence from the people or workers who are supposed to be caring for them until they are forced to run away and face criminal charges themselves. Criminalized, labeled and thrown in cold cells that would make anyones skin crawl for wanting to be free and define your own life. For wanting to leave an abusive and oppressive place. For wanting to go off into the world and figure out who you really are, create your own home, and choose your own family. This is not a crime its a right. Why does society, our government, and the court want to continue this cycle or institutionalization and criminalization of young people instead of providing the supports young people need to live independently and care for their children.

Right now in Canada, the Federal Government is putting billions of dollars into building more prisons at the same time that the Provincial Government is deciding to cut needed supports such as the community start up which helps young people, women fleeing violence or people getting out of jail get set up in the community with a place to live. In addition, legislation has passed that will create stricter conditions for youth entering the legal system. This new legislation will keep youth in custody longer while waiting for trial and force Judges to sentence more youth to adult facilities. So, again, to be clear, we will be locking up more young people for longer times in shittier conditions and then not even affording them the financial support then need to get a place to live when they get out.

As I look back and remember my experiences with jail and at the same time knowing how things are changing for youth who face the same bullshit I fuckin worry. I worry about the youth that I am close to and I worry about the all the young people who will have to deal with increased surveillance and profiling from police, longer time in custody and being sentenced as adults to serve their time in adult facilities. I worry when I hear that there are more indigenous children in Children's Aid then there was decades ago and I worry when I hear of young black males and people seen as having mental health issues being beaten and killed by police. But most of all, I worry because while it has always been clear how the system sucks us in its getting worse and most of the mainstream think these changes are good thing.

Phoenix Kat's Slam Bio:

am red, sweet roses – hard and loud - White skin and long histories sitting under a tree wearing sunglasses laughing. Hair tied back, no change in my pockets and i’m angry. Sitting under a tree thinking, thinking, thinking and also feeling a bit bitchy…  Stuck in this place, in this body letting my mind do the walking. While I try to talk less and listen more my eyes tell the inevitably story of a sex working ho mother struggling and surviving.

(Click here to read Tiny's piece on Toronto)

Pictured from Left: Maggies SKolaz; Monica Sehovic Bowen Forrester, Kyisha ka Ackees, Chanelle LeLovely, Phoenix Katt,  Mandii Nanticoke and Tiny

...i took a trip to a place -
 not so defined by this violent hate-
yes it was a colony started by more wite men stealing aboriginal land
with settler dreams and brutal plans
yes racism is still alive n well -
but there is a difference seen and unseen in the people-
its a difference u cant taste or smell -
but in the shadows it dwells...
excerpt of Not so defined by this Hate (see below for complete poem)
 

Each day I walked slowly, almost painfully, down a street called St. Clair in Toronto. It was a slow-motion journey through the almost Global Warming-esque heat to get a cup of plain, non-yuppie, still-not-starbucks- coffee at a staple Canada-based chain business called Tim Hortons. And although it was just a benign walk in pursuit of caffiene, it felt to be so much more. 

My ancestors running over fields.... Brixia 2012

Unclear to me at first, I began to realize why my typically strong body, labored so, I was carrying something. In fact, I was carrying somebody, somebodies I was carrying my African-Taino abuelito Roberto in diaspora in the 1940's cause of poverty to the US from Puerto Rico, who dealt with so many racist abuses of his beautiful dark-skinned body, I was carrying my Roma(Gyosy) grandmother who dealt with so much anti-poor people hate that she couldnt raise my mama, and at the forefront of the pile, my po' indigenous mixed race mama, hated so much for being po and of color and a wombyn, all who sufferred a deep kind of anti-immigrant, anti-poor people of color hate, so specific to the United Snakkkes of Amerikkka. And so with each laborious step I took, they wrapped their legs tighter around me, smiling, free for once, unafraid, tasting a subtle decolonization that was almost intangible, but not,  and i along with them.

And they and I weren't without critique, they knew we were walking on a colony started by settler/killers who stole aboriginal land  with wite privilege still ruling the roost, but yet they and i knew there were differences.  "yeah it is different here," said Sadina Fiati, artist from R3 collective, which describes itself as" recovering indigenous roots and resisting colonial oppression through music, dance, visual art and theatre.

I had the blessing of meeting, hearing, speaking and healing from so many of the artists sharing their work at an event Called Riddems of Resistance - a benefit for the Toronto Rape Crisis Center/Multi-Cultural Women Against Rape held in Toronto the night before i had to leave. From the story-filled lyrics and billie-holidaymeets 21st century sounds of Brixia to the opening drum and song of native sisters from Cherish Blood including the amazing Rosary Spence, not to mention the best form of decolonized dance this danzante has ever seen known as, Ill Na Na.

Riddems of Resistance was the decolonized cherry on top of the revolutionary cake. This poverty/indigenous skola had been "sent", called or perhaps directed in this journey by the powerful poverty skolaz, sex worker skolaz and aboriginal skolaz of Maggies Sex Worker Organizing Project, to teach with, share with, and learn with from the poor people-led liberation curriculum me and my mama created for POOR Magazine's PeopleSkool (Escuela de la gente) which begins by teaching on why we as poor, indigenous, disabled, im/migrant, incarcerated and/or unrecognized workers are in fact skolaz. And that our skolarship is just as valid, legitimate, important and powerful as any knowledge you could get from an institution. That we as folks in struggle must lead with our own voices, tell our own stories and direct our own self-determined revolutions.

In the workshop we covered poor people mythologies perpetuated in corporate and even some "independent" media, POOR's redefinition of media and journalism as poetry and spoken word and grafitti and hip hop and visual art, poetry journalism, poverty journalism, the Slam Bio and so much more. And finally began to construct each one of the participants "revolutionary blogs" with the dream of launching PNN Toronto.

From Sex Worker and Mama Skola Phoenix Kat who writes for her bio; Stuck in this place, in this body letting my mind do the walking. While I try to talk less and listen more my eyes tell the inevitably story of a sex working ho mother struggling and surviving. to Monica who did a  PNN-TV re-port on trans-feminism, bringing her perspective of trans-skolaship to new revolutionary levels and finally an interview with Aborginal Skola Mandi Nanticoke on the beautiful mural from in the park near Maggies.

I got a hint that something was different about the decolonized minds of Toronto after being introduced in the Bay by POOR Magazine's indigenous Peoples Media Project co-founder Mariposa to Krysta and Erin from another people-led organization, Native Youth Sexual Health Network(NYSHN) who were so clear in their analysis of colonization and liberation of native peoples

The Sex worker, poverty and aboriginal skolaz at Maggies made my year, they were embued with the clarity of mind and power that only poor people-led organizations can feel and present. Knowledge rooted in their own liberation and clearly aware what they needed to work on, " I hate social workers," said chanelle, sex worker advocate with, Maggies, my host and one of the coolest skolaz i have encountered in a minute. All of these powerful leaders at Maggies were working on rights of trans-feminists, the criminal In-justice system, the criminalized work of sex workers and the ways they need to keep safe to practice their profession

"Yes, it is different here," Maggies director Keisha Scott, shared a ride to and from the airport and discussed the kind of very raced and classed poverty of the US. She continued, "I had been to New Orleans before Katrina and had noticed that the people living in the very poor, black neighborhoods were gone somehow," As Keisha spoke, I nodded my head, I knew that kind of blank-ness- so often found in the eyes of people in the US lost to the violence of poverty and racism and hate, like the eyes of so many of the young people in the high schools POOR Magazine teaches at - like the eyes of the young people of the families that POOR Magazine works with who have been long ago gentriFUKed out of the Bay Area to poor people suburbs and trailer parks of Sacramento and Vellejo, like my own aunties and in the end, even my mama, suffering as she would poetically name, to many little murders of the soul.

So how is it different?- well for one thing even though, Amerikkkan-style devil-opment forces are moving in at a clip and million dollar prisons are being built as we e-speak, thanks to the new conservative government,  one of the crucial pegs of the gentriFUKation process, i.e, the release and perpetration of liquor store licenses in neighborhoods "designed/slated" (cuz its a plan, not an accident) for blight and eventual "re-devil-opment" aren't there, The Government controls the sale of liquor, which as weird connotations herstorically for me as an indigenous person ring through, its still makes sure that "corner stores" actually have food in them- fresh milk, veggies and fruit and then in almost every neighborhood, poor or rich, there is a real food supermarket, which like all of us living in all the food desserts around the bay know, is pretty revolutionary.

Also, they also have killings of people with mental illnesses by Po' Lice - the po;lice just aren't as present, lurking around every corner of poor peoples hoods like they are here.

And before the conservative government took over, they had a standard program in place, that if you needed help with your move-in fees, (1st , last n deposit) all you had to do was make a phone call. One phone call,

And although they have a class based immigration policy similar to the US, it is in NO way like it is here. I was passed by a bus with a side poster on it saying, "We Love Our Immigrants". What??, I screamed internally. You have got to be kidding me. There was no "illegal aliens" concepts splattered all over the corporate media and in fact the "diversity" of the small businesses which lined St Clair street were markedly different.

But the final straw, the one that only fellow poverty skolaz will feel me deeply on, was the bathrooms. As I was sitting in the Tim Horton's place and two other cafes in other neighborhoods, one after the other, people of all colors, ages and skolarship walked in and used the bathroom. They didnt necessarily buy anything, or even stay for any period of time, but they used the bathroom with impunity. Without asking. Without getting a key and most importantly without getting a "no" cause we only "serve" customers. The city was very clean, the bathrooms were very clean and this cleanliness was kept in place by everyone. Perhaps because everyone felt somehow less under attack

On my last morning there I walked up to St Clair av, one last time. I think this time the ancestors decided to give my back a break, cuz my step was lighter, or maybe its just that i had spent four days and three nights in a place where the bodies of poor peoples of color weren't under attack, so my body felt lighter. Hopefully, with the words and work of the powerful skolaz of PNN Toronto, the journey to the continued decolonization of our youth, adults, elders and ancestors in poverty and struggle will continue....

(read the 1st submission of PNNToronto by clicking here

Not So Defined by Hate-

(Dedicated to Toronto sist@z Phoenix, Chanelle, Keisha, Kyisha, Monica, Mandi, Krysta, my mama and all the poverty & aboriginal skolaz across Pachamama)

by Tiny

I walk in shadows-
I walk in sorrow of shadows
 of so many hearts eaten hollow

and minds -
 skin and life treated like im
any better than anyone-

what r u complaining about - you who live in your wite skin-
why shout?
half colonizer-but heart n soul black, brown and filled with struggle of kin
all hated, criminalized, removed, displaced and incarcerated
outside and within

my struggle pales to their pain-
 to the pain of my mama
left out, kept out
and hated
until she permanently was stopped by the trauma

I walk down every street in the United Snakkkes
 seeing lies and hate,
almost too much to take
in the shadows of glances away-

U see i am the houseless african man on the corner asking for change
 i am the migrante mama who had to leave her children behind false borders, rape and no pay 
- that was me and my Black indian mama-
mi taino abuelito and gypsy grandmother
 
But U see i took a trip to a place -
 not so defined by this hate-
yes it was a colony started by more wite men stealing aboriginal land
with settler dreams and brutal plans
yes racism is alive n well -
but there is a difference seen and unseen in the people-
its a difference u cant taste or smell -
but in the shadows it dwells

a vibe of so much -less internalized drama-
lives not defined by herstorical trauma

Herstories of Chattel Slavery - words like "illegal" and aliens when we talk about familes and their babies
Endless constructs of racist hate and fear
which fill the hearts and minds of the wite- supremacy always near

The Veneer of sorrow that lurks in the shadows of all the indigenous peoples, African Peoples and All peoples of color
always somehow under attack,
in defense,
in remission,
in trauma,
in diaspora
cuz of imperialistic moves across pachamama

This place isnt perfect but my very poor body havnt really been many places out of United Snakkes of AMerikkka
and so when i went to this place called toronto which is trying to import US stye gentriFUKation drama - i went thru it

This place isnt the same - there is a difference and when i came back  - i wantd to scream- help me and all of us from these hate- from this violence rooted in this capitalistic state

Let me go back- and yet,
 i can't
 this is my fate,
to struggle -
 to feel the hate -
to work as a soldier for the people every day in this colonized place
to tel the truth bout columbus-
false borders, prisons and all us poor folks in struggle and all the other setller killers-
in this giant Po'Lice plantation defined by pillage

to remember that that in my wite skin
 i must suffer the hate of my brothers and sisters  -
i must carry the struggle of my mamas and sons of color dying within

 
I must believe that we will bring decolonization-
 even if only within-
 i must believe that we will manifest decolonized realities for my ancestors,
 for Creator and for all the children  coming-
 still coming, not here yet -
 but on their way in
to unearth the shadows
to heal the sorrows
to manifest liberation
into the tomorrows

I am unable to find enough praise words that come from the deepest parts of my heart and soul in the one colonizer language i have been taught to express the gratitude i feel for the 2 day, cross-bay Healing the Hood weekend that happened this weekend, July 7th and 8th.So i will try to show u pieces of it.

"Our medicine is in us, it is with us in our minds and souls and barrios," said author and community healer Luis J, Rodriguez, to a crowd of at least 45 people who attended his morning healing circle on Day 1 in San Francisco. He told the group about his own experiences as a son, a father and a man of color, an indigenous man who is son of another indigenous man who seemed, as he put it, "to never show any emotion because it was so buried under so many layers of loss and struggle and codes of what men are supposed to be like". Luis sat with us, healed with us and spoke to us on both sides of the bay about his experience not only healing himself, but helping to bring the medicine of healing to other youth, adults and elders in struggle, in prisons, community centers, skools and organizations like POOR Magazine. He shared poetry, his writing and his soul with so many of us still living in plantation housing known as Single Room Occupancy Hotels (SRO's) projects and the cardboard motels, and then on Day 2 after a beautiful healing in our 2nd half of the day - he even showed us his belly, "I have several tattoes, he said, this is just one of the most important ones." After telling us that he rarely if ever has done this, he explained that this was an image of Coatlicue an indigenous image of great mother, Pachamama, called many different names in many different indigenous communties but that it always means our mother earth.

In addition to Luis there were cooking demonstrations by indigenous warrior wombyn, Ingrid DeLeon, Needa Bee, Luz Calvo,  Catriona Esquibel, and myself. On both sides of the bay trying to show indigenous peoples in diaspora across these false borders, and lands and struggle how to go back to our own knowledge, our own foods, our own mothers, off of Monsanto colonization of our food and as Luz and Catrona teaches on - how to decolonize our diets.

We went from food to a new teaching we are developing at PeopleSkool/Escuela de la gente @ POOR Magazine called Medicine from Our Mama- This weekend brought with love and scholarship and prayer and intention by Estrella Divina and Tanya Henderson and Earth Mother Iyalode  who skooled us on so many ways to heal ourselves that cannot be bought at Walgreens- but can be found in our environments, in our hoods and growable in our communities

We were blessed with the power, stories and work of youth warriors 67 Suenos who fight these false borders on Pachamama and brought their stories and helped bring so many others  Qi Qong and meditation by one of POOR Magazine's brothers - Aldo Della Maggiorra, a healer and poverty skolar, poet and drummer

Our opening prayer ceremony on Day 2 was a moment in herstory with dreams and songs and spirit brought by so many cultures, traditions and cultures, holding and embracing them all to honor where all peoples walk from and to, beginning with medicine from Ohlone warriors Corrina Gould and Luta Candelaria, followed by Pacific Island scholar, Fuifuilupe Niumeitolu, to power and words of  Yoruba Chief Luisah Teish, with words and spirit for all African peoples in diaspora and all peoples, to the beautiful flute of Jose Cuellar and then more medicine from our brother Luis J Rodriguez culminating in the beautiful danzantes;Kalpulli Coatlicue

All of this magic, this spirit, this love and this medicine was shared with poverty skolaz, youth, elder and indigenous skolaz from both sides of the bay and before each day was finished we closed with the first video shoot of Gheto Rider, a community ryme i started to help us heal our physical bodies from the many serious illnesses that are caused by our lives of not enough movement, too much stress, poverty, racism, violence and colonization. Poor bodies of color like my mama dee who never really moved her body because as  a poor wombyn of color who was never properly loved and always racialized and oppressed and only had access to cheap and colonized food and more stress and depression that any one body could handle.

There was also poetry and art and beats shared by Dregs1, Tony Robles, welfareQUEEN's, Po' Poets, Pamela Arrieola, Muteadoo Silencio, Mari Reprado, and so many more..
 
This weekend was for everyone, and this weekend was for my Mama Dee, my strong Black indian mama - for without whom there would be no me- who transitioned wayyy too young because in her very hard lyfe she was never healed.  this weekend was for her and all us poor peoples, indigenous and poor peoples of color who are struggling to stay alive-in this capitalist system controlled by corporations, perpetrators and plantations.

This Healing the Hood Weekend was brought to you by your poverty skolaz in residence at POOR Magazine, and co-sponsored by 67 Suenos, because we have been trying to heal our poor bodies of color in struggle for awhile and we knew it was essential to manifest our visions of a poor peoples-led,indigenous peoples led revolution. This is not the first and wont' be the last and we don't own healing just like we dont own land or dreams or voices or spirits or plants or medicine or love.. Healing happens everyday, just like pain and struggle and positivity and possibilities. But we launched this weekend  mostly to bring the beginning of spirit and medicine to the Pachamama community garden at  Homefulness.

 Join us East Oakland neighbors as we begin the next step in bringing Healing to this Hood @ the Pachamama Community Garden with planting days starting Thursdays in September- for more information email: deeandtiny@poormagazine.org

I can look back on my early years in and out of shelters and public housing complexes and admit..... I am alive today, not because my parents reared me for society, but because they Raised Me.

      The packed-dirt glass-covered  empty lots that became our football field and the alleys behind the strip clubs in downtown Washington, D.C.  was one of our many make-shift playgrounds. Yet in the middle of the necessities for peer-acceptance and survival was an ethereal line that my mother's strength magically drew between the things that me and my brothers did, and didn’t do.

      Growing up I would hear some of the grown-ups speak about the kids I ran with. How they would be “a disgrace to his/her family” or “too bad for their own good”, etc..  In most cases something inside me agreed, and I listed, because I was attuned to the expectations of my Elders. Even when it came to the old-folks comments that were made, like “that ones been here before”... I rode the lines between survival, cool, and cultured with a sore ass, and a heart not afraid to love or hurt.

       Today most of the youth in general will tell you they don’t give a crap what someone else think of them (even family members). All across America children are treated like adults in the court systems because of the crimes committed by youth in today’s society.       

       The following statement, taken from an article on obstacles for children of color (web-link below), puts it all into words  ........“It is difficult, if not impossible, for an African child to acquire a good western education with a blend of African cultural and traditional values in Diaspora. Because the system lacks the tools to teach African culture and tradition and virtues such as obedience and respect for the elders”. . . . . .

        I can attest to the dangers a child in poverty faces. I can even recall hunting cat-sized rats in the alley. But I was raised hearing my Moma(Grandmom) singing/humming hymnals. I was raise being able to tell you all the names of the faces on the Black History Month Calendar. I wasn’t reared like a horse for the track.

I was raised. And so..... “Still I Rise”

Leroy Moore:  As a Black disabled activist and researcher of disabled and Black cultural, art, film, music in history to the present, I haven’t had many experiences finding Black non-disabled who have done film on topics focusing on people with disabilities.  So I was excited to hear about your documentary, Not Home.  What is your involvement in disability community?

Narcel Reedus:  I first got involved with the disability community in 1996 when I was commissioned to direct and produce the short documentary Waddie Welcome. Waddie Welcome was a Black man born on the 4^th of July in 1917 in Savannah, GA with Cerebral Palsy. He predated the diagnosis and ended up outliving everyone in his family: mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles… This documentary is about a community coming together to help Waddie Welcome move out of nursing home and back to the community where he was raised.  I also worked as a mental health advocated for two years at the Georgia Advocacy Office in Atlanta. Right in the midst of working at GAO the Olmstead Supreme Court decision came down and I traveled with Lois Curtis, Elaine Wilson and Sue Jamieson to DC.  So that is my foundation in the disability community.

Leroy Moore:  As a Black man do you see the difference on how Black families with disabled children are treated compare to their White counterparts?  If you have explain.

Narcel Reedus:  Well, I worked on Not Home: A documentary about kids living in nursing facilities for about three years. We travelled to seven states and interviewed about 80 people for the documentary. So I can honestly say that I’ve seen poor Black folks struggling and poor White folks struggling for help. I’ve also seen the middle class struggle and in some respects even folks with access to more wealth struggle with the system.  I’ve seen first hand a Black woman in rural Georgia trying to navigate the system for support for her son. Her story is featured in the documentary. So in terms of the obstacles and hardship trying to raise a child with a disability we chose to show the struggle of a Black woman in rural Georgia. In a strange way I think that the disability community has an opportunity to bring folks together across racial and social economic lines.

Leroy Moore:  What is the reaction toward your documentary from the Black community and Black media?

Narcel Reedus:  The community response to Not Home has been great. We had good turnouts in Chicago, Virginia Beach and Norfolk. And really great panel discussions with the community. I’ve had a lot parents and activists come up to me after seeing the film and thank me for showing an aspect of the issue of institutionalizing kids with a developmental disability in a way that has not been shown before.  In terms of the media, we are at the very beginning of this phase of distributing the film. So we have very little press to speak of. But our strategic plan is to make the issue of institutionalizing kids with a developmental disability a national issue that should be address on a national level. We certainly need more press coverage on the film but more importantly on the issue.

Leroy Moore:  As a film maker what do you think the film/media industry need to learn about working with people with disabilities or having a disability theme in their movies/journalist pieces?

Narcel Reedus:  I think their needs to be a massive people first language initiative in journalism. I cringe every time I hear a journalist put a person’s disability ahead of the person. I also think that as media makers we are slowly moving to a place where a person with a disability can be in a film or TV show as a person, a character and not really explain or make an issue of their disability. We are only one or two breakout films away from turning the corner on mainstreaming representation.

Leroy Moore:  Many people, parents, media experts and others only see disability as social services and laws and don’t see the rich history and cultural side of it.  In your work have you looked through the angle of disability cultural, art and history?

 Narcel Reedus:  Honestly, this is where I need more work. I think we’ve all been indoctrinated to see a person’s disability first and then adjusting our perspective to that of pity and compassion. The future of the disability community educates the world on the contributions of the past and present in terms of art and politics. I think you are certainly a part of that future, Leroy, and that’s why we need, more than ever, to see and hear your work and your perspective as a representative of your community.

Leroy Moore:  In the trailer of Not Home, I noticed that there are a lot of mothers speaking their stories.  Have you interview fathers especially Black fathers?

Narcel Reedus:  We did spend some time with a father who is a single parent raising two children, one having a developmental disability. He talks about divorce and that is a bit uncommon: the father staying and the mother leaving. That’s why we have him in the film. We did interview one or two Black fathers but unfortunately they did not make it into the final cut of the film. I think there is more than enough room out here for a documentary about Black fathers and the disability community.

Leroy Moore:  How many disabled activists have you interviewed for your documentary and how many are Black or people of color?

Narcel Reedus:  We interviewed about 80 people for the Not Home documentary. We amassed about 250 hours worth of footage over three years. The challenge of course was wading through all of that footage to find the right sound bite and the right b-roll to effectively tell a story (not the story) but a story. Our goal was to tell one single story but I saw four amazing stories in our footage. Two of these stories involve Black families and two are from the perspective of White families. My goal was not to meet a benchmark of White vs. Black disability activist but to try to tell a compelling, poetic and truthful story. I feel confident that we did just that.

Leroy Moore:  My parents in the early 70’s with many other Black parents fought so hard to get services from disability organizations and now being involved with National Black Disability Coalition, NBDC we see the same story.  NBDC and I are so excited to now about your film but we also see that there needs to be more disability education from Black cultural viewpoint.  What do you think about that?  NBDC & I hope we can stay in contact to work together to make this a reality.

Narcel Reedus: I would love the support of the National Black Disability Coalition. I think just as the Not Home documentary will bring awareness to the issue of the institutionalization of kids with a developmental disability I think there needs to be more market specific media around the issue of Black folks in the disability community. Not everything has to be a documentary, mind you; I’m talking books, plays, TV shows, poetry, dance, novels, films, and music... I think the notion of reaching a target market has changed and is changing. In some respects it is a bit easier to surgically select a portion of the long tail and create a product specifically designed for that market segment. This is the future of communication and marketing. I’m trying to understand it and use it.

Leroy Moore:  How did you do your outreach for the film?  Black disabled people have a high rate of unemployment and living in poverty.  I also write for Poor Magazine and started one of the fist columns on race, poverty and disability.  I also know that there are a lot of homeless families with disabled sons and daughters.  What can families who are living in poverty take away from this documentary?

Narcel Reedus:  Our outreach campaign is designed to reach out to disability rights organizations such as ADAPT, CILs, DD Councils, P&As, the Arcs… and from there connect to parents, activists and elected officials. I think the message of this film is that there is hope and that it takes faith. No doubt kids living in nursing facilities is not a happy subject. That being said, we are not expecting your average Joe to go run out and see Not Home or but the DVD. Most people are unaware of the subject matter. But we designed this film to educate and inspire. We tried to make our third act very emotional and impactful. (Spoiler Alert).

At the end of the Not Home we introduce Qualeigh's: a little boy with a developmental disability who lived the first six years of his life in a long-term pediatric care facility in Norfolk, VA. He had never been outside, never felt a breeze on his face, never rode in a car, or played on a playground. Then one day Michelle Martin was hired as the teacher for his second floor ward. She said she fell in love with him immediately - the "nasty little boy" with mucous all over his face. She spent extra time with Qualeigh, washed his clothes, bought him toys and visited him on her off days along with her husband and two children. The administration reprimanded her. They told her to stop paying extra care and attention to Qualeigh. Michelle Martins quit her job. She told them "In a year's time Qualeigh will be living with me and nobody can tell me what I can and can not do with Qualeigh." She wanted to move Qualeigh out of the facility but didn't know how to do it. So she put her dilemma on the prayer list at her church.

Attorney Sheila Drucker was in the process of removing the parental rights of Qualeigh's siblings from his biological mother.  Almost by accident she discovered Qualeigh living in a long-term pediatric care facility.  What happened next was a series of anonymous phone calls and cryptic emails that eventually connected the woman who genuinely loved Qualeigh and wanted to get him out of the facility with an attorney who would become his Guardian ad Litem and could recommend to the court where he should live.

Today, Qualeigh lives with Michelle Martins and her family. He attends church, goes to school, swims in the pool and enjoys a life once deemed impossible for a child with a severe developmental disability.  This is an incredible story with a happy ending. It was important for us to end Not Home with hope, faith and inspiration.

Leroy Moore:  I do what is known as Krip-Hop Nation, an international network of disabled musicians for social justice and regaining our history in music.  Is there a soundtrack for Not Home?

Narcel Reedus:  We have some really nice music from Atlanta writer, composer and musician Ryan Almario. We talked about a sound track but with so many other aspects of the film to deal with we did not move forward with that idea. I still think it’s possible to make the music from the film available on our website.

Leroy Moore:  It seems to me that you films have a social justice slant to them.  How do you pick out subjects for your film projects?

Narcel Reedus:  I made a decision a long time ago to go down this path of filmmaking; not so much to make disability rights films or only films with a social justice slant to them, but to make films that represent my community. I figured there were plenty of people making gangsta and sexually exploitative films. I certainly could have made more money in Hollywood as that kind of filmmaker but making films that speak to a more realistic and diverse aspect of the Black community and not just the worst or the most violent aspect of the Black community feels more honest; it doesn’t pay as well but it is certainly more honest.

 Leroy Moore: I just saw your, Race Juice, film very powerful. Please explain this film for us.

Narcel Reedus:  Race Juice: An Elixir for the Soul is a short film about a little White girl who accuses her parents of being racist. She lists all her observations that support this accusation. Her parents listen, nod and then force her to drink Race Juice, a concoction that helps her deal with White privilege comfortably; at least with out the annoying side effects of guilt. I actually wrote a feature script for Race Juice and it’s on my todo list of films to make.

Leroy Moore:  When is Not Home going to be in the San Francisco Bay Area and other places?

Narcel Reedus:  The Not Home DVD and companion book is currently available for sale on our website: NotHomeDocumentary.com.  We sold an exhibition copy of Not Home to the Center for Independent Living in Berkeley. We are working out some audio descriptor details but we hope to arrange a screening of Not Home in the SF Bay Area before the end of the year. We are very excited about the screening Not Home in the Bay Area. You all have a very strong disability rights community. We see the Not Home documentary as a way to galvanize a community around an issue.

Leroy Moore:  What are your next projects?

Narcel Reedus:  I am currently developing a feature script about a Black father and his relationship with his children. I need to find the room in my creative space to develop the next project while still moving my current project along its path.

Leroy Moore:  How can people reach you and read more about Not Home?

Narcel Reedus:    You can find out more about Not Home: A documentary about kids living in nursing facilities by visiting our website:

NotHomeDocumentary.com

NotHomeDocumentary.com/blog

Leroy Moore:  Any last words?

Narcel Reedus:  I truly thank you for reaching out to me and giving me this opportunity to talk about my film Not Home. Thank you so much and I look forward to staying connected to you in the future.

Scroll Down For English

Mi nombre es Maria Machetes , llegue a la ciudad de San Francisco en Junio del 2001 solo unos pocos meses antes de la farza del 911. En San Francisco me toco vivir en el Fillmore, después me gentrificaron hasta Litle Saigon/Tenderloin  hasta que finalmente me pude refugiar en el corazon de la Mission. He tenido que mudare de aquí a alla porque la renta nos rascaba las patas , siempre corriendo detrás de la renta, sin embargo en el anio del 2008 me tube que mudar  2 cuadras de la estacion de Policia, me encontraba casi a diario con los policias que me atacaron en el Verano del 2008, fue por eso que mi exesposa y yo nos mudarnos a Berkeley.

A mi me encanta caminar , me gusta mucho mi barrio, el olor de las calles, el café barato chino y las donas de chocolate!, el olor a taco, escuchar como la campana de la iglesia llama a la misa los domingos, la campanita de los paleteros!, las senoras hablando desde las 8am llevando ninios de la mano y recien bañiados directitos a la escuela,  el caminar me sana, yo camino y camino , jamas me canso!

Desde el 2008 que vengo observando algunos cambios en las calles de este barrio, la Misson, he notado una presencia muy repentina de la policia, se metieron de un dia pal otro asi con todo el poder,  policias a caballo, a pie y en bicicletas comenzaron a vigilar la seguridad del barrio desde la 24 y potreo hasta la 16 y Mission.
3)
Recuerdo que desde mi Ventana se vehia el mural del lado donde Yemaya habre sus manos y deja correr el agua! , todas las mananas me despertaba y miraba la ventana sorprendida de poder vivir en frente del Edificio de Mujeres y agradecia mi trabajo, respiraba ondo y me hiba a trabajar caminando de la 19 st a la 24. Mientras caminaba las calles por esos dias recuerdo notar como las calles cambiaron de un momento a otro, todo cambio al mismo tiempo que los pequenios negocios calleron, un monton de restaurantes cerraron, muchisimas familias perdieron sus edificios negocios y casas , la calle 24 de repente se vio como pueblo del viejo oeste, desolado y en manos de compradores, que venia en esas motitos de solo 2 llantas que se manejan parados, subian y bajan los escalones trepados en esas motos escalones, llegaban los hombres y mujeres del futuro en nombre de las bienes y raices a quitarnos de nuestra raiz y sembrar  otras  nuevas y agenas; llegaban en sus trajes y corbatas, hacian notas y llamdas y trahian consigo computadores portatiles, jamas se bajaban de su moto como pa no ensuciar los zapatos y el traje .

Después los negocios que cerraban eran reemplazados por otros que rapidamente nos hacian olvidar a los personajes que algun dia nos vendieron discos que solo en “Discolandia” se podian conseguir. Con el desplazo vino la policia y por consecuencia la criminalización de los jóvenes que caminaran vestidos de cholos o pertencecieran a un racial profile, las familias latinas que de ninguna manera eran parte de algun perfil asociado con grupos criminales, ni politicos, el unico asociamiento es el de ser latinos que trabajan bajo el margen de ser pobres.

Muchas familias fuimos golpeadas y como mi ex-pareja jamas se le sanara su brazo por ser victima de la practima de este programa, jamas se me podra olvidar como  8 policias hombres en 2 patrullas la atacaron solo por ir camiando a la 1 am en la calle 18 y Lexinton donde viviamos, la golpearon pero ella lucho contra su vida y no se dejo subir al carro de la policia:

- mientras yo vehia desde la esquina de la 18 y exinton ellos la golpeaban contra un garage en la 18 st y casi San Carlos , yo como obra del universo habia tomando un entrenamiento de “Que hacer si la Policia te Para en la calle” segui todo el procediemiento que se me ensenio, llame al 911 y en el poco ingles que hablaba comence a decirle a la operadora que es un policia que 8 policias estaban atacando a una mujer latina, sabiendo que esto quedaria grabado en la opredora!, los acuse por telefono de crimen de odio, y fui de uno por uno pidiendo su numero de placa y apellido, eran 8 muy grandes y todos de distintas personalidades rasgos fisicos de distintas culturas, pero muy enojados  con una energia irrompible, demaciado frios y dispuestos a matar sin ninguna conteplacion, olian a azufre, al diablo sin duda.

Ahora nos dicen que el stop & frisk esta en la mesa de las posibles leyes, yo les digo que lo tenemos que parar y no dejar que lo pasen en secreto.
Todos tenemos que aprender lo que se debe hacer en caso de que la policia nos pare caminando por la calle,  la energia positiva no sacara a la policia de las calles, la gentrificacion esta aquí y es real, los que estamos vivos desde aquí en la mission, los que quedamos, porfavor aprendamos que se debe de hacer, MIEDO NUNCA MAS, aprender a no tener nervios ni miedo y saber que contestar en caso de ser detenidos para evitar el “Stop & Frisk” hay que aprender a respirar y estar relajados porque la policia viola los derechos humanos cualquiera que tenga nervios sera victima de el sobre uso del poder de la policia hay que evitarlo.

Yo me encomiendo a mis Santos , a mis abuelos y a mi Pachamama todas las mananas, salgo alerta y bien sonriente , pero atenta a la presencia constante de la Policia en el Barrio, desde el 2008 llegaron y ya no se fueron su presencia es constante y todo cambio para mal de nosotr@s la gente bajo el racial profile, aquellos policias que dejaron herido el brazo de mi expareja jamas fueron responsavilizados de su delito.
 

English Follows

The positive energy will not remove the cops from the street.

My name is Maria Machetes, I came to the city of San Francsico in June of 2001 just a couple of months beafore 911. In San Fracisco I lived in the fillmore,  later to be gentrified to Little Saigon / Tenderloin until finally I took refuge in the heart of the mission.  I have had to move from here to there because the rent kept scratching my feet, always running after rent, but in 2008 I had to move two blocks from the police station, I would find myself almost everyday face to face with a cop that one day finally attacked me in the summer of 2008, this is why me and my ex- wife moved to Berkeley.

I used to love to walk, I love my streets, the scent of them, the cheap coffee and chocolate donouts! The smell of tacos, listening to the church bells calling the mass on Sundays, the ring of the paleteros! the woman talking at 8 in the morning taking their children to school newly showered to go directly to school, walking heals me, I walk and walk and I never tire!

Since 2008 I have observed changes in the streets of the Mission, I have noticed an immidiate present of the police, they arrived from one day to the next  with all their power, police on horse, on foot and on bycicles started monitoring the security of the Mission from 24 th and Potrero to 16th and Mission.

I remember that from my window I could see the Mural of Yemaya opening her arms letting the water run through! Every morning I wook wake up look and the window surprised to be able to live next to the Womans building and I would apreciate having a job, I breathed in deeply and I would walk to my work from 19th to 24th. While walking the streets those days I remember taking note of the drastic change from one day to the other, it all changed at once. The small buisnesses fell, a bunch of restaurants closed , to many families lost their buildings, buisnesess and homes. 24th Street suddenly resembled that of a desolent run down town, alone and now in the hands of the buyers, who came on their two wheeled scooters , up and down they went on their scooters, men and woman of the future came with their non-profits to take our roots and plant their new unknown cultures; they came in their suits and ties , made notes and calls and brought portable computers, never getting of their scooter perhaps to not dirty their shoes or suits.

After the buisnesses that closed were replaced by others that quickly made us forget the personalities that one day sold us CD's that only "Discolandia" would sell. With all the displacement the cops showed up and in result to that the crminalization of youngsters that walked looking like cholos or that fit into a racial profile, the latin families that in no way were part or asociated with criminal groups, or politicians, the only assosiation was to be latinand to work under the frame of being poor.

Many of us families were abused  and like my ex- partner, whom her sholder will never heal was victim of this police abuse, I will never forget how 8 male police and two cop cars attacked  her simply for walking on the streets at one in the morning around were I lived, they attacked her but she fought for her life and did not let them drag her in their cop vehicle.

While I saw this from the corner as they beat her against the garage  on 18th street and San Carlos, I had by the universes bidding taken classes " What to do if the Police stops you on the street" I followed protacol that they tought me, call 911 and with the little english that I spoke I told the operator that 8 cops were attaking a latin woman, knowing that it would be recorded on the call! I accused them on the  phone of a hate crime, and went to each individual asking for their badge number and last name, they were 8 very big each with their own personalities and different cultures, but all of them very angry with an unbrakeable energy, to cold and willing to kill without thinking twice, the smelt of sulfur, no dought the smell of the devil.

Now they say that "Stop and frisk" is on the table of possible laws, I say that we have to stop this and not let them pass it in secret. We all have to learn what to do if the cops decide to stop us while walking, positive energy will not rid us of cops on the streets, getrification is real and is here, the ones who are still alive and living in the mission, the ones who are left, please learn what you should do, FEAR NO MORE, lear to not be afraid and know what to answer in the case of being detained to avis "Stop and Frisk" lets learn to breatheand to be calm because the police violates the rights of humans who ever is nervous will be his victim of the power that the cops seek, lets avoid it.

I am thankfull to my saints, my grandparents and my pachamama every morning, I walk out alert but smiling, but alert to the constant precense of the police in my community, since 2008 they came and they have not left everything has changed for the worst we are under constant racial profiling, and those cops that skared my ex-wifes shoulders they were never held accountable for their crimes.
 
 

I miss the soul of my city.  I miss the soul people of my city.  I miss the heart of my city.  I miss the soul faces, the soul places, the soul music, soul poetry, soul memory, soul skin of my city.  I miss the soul shadows that shaded us with the scent of sisters who stood tall and watched over our community.  I miss you. I miss your soul eyes, your soul voice, your soul lips that whispered prayers that asked the creator to bless us, to keep us together.  I miss the soul cupboards, the soul pots and pans slick with soul grease.  I miss the soul music of your mind.  I miss soul laughter, the most beautiful sound in the world.  I miss your soul sweat and soul passion that can make something out of nothing.  I miss your soul tears that created a soul soup of life.  I miss the black heart black tongue black mind black pulse in the alleyways, corners, small rooms, parks, buses—talk that made the grass grow under our feet for a thousand lifetimes.  My city is empty without your soul heart, your soul face.  Give us back our soul mama’s, our soul daughters, soul sons, soul elders, soul children—our soul life.  Your soul face has been used for far too long.  Your soul face in black and white pictures glued to the walls in coffee shops in neighborhoods that betrayed you, desecrated you, showing the faces of dead blues singers and jazz musicians as if that makes everything ok.  I miss your soul life, true laughter, true life.  Without you the city isn’t the city, it is snow thawing into nothing. The soul has thawed and what remains is an army of nasal voiced mickey mouse clones whose pedicures can’t hide the dirt of their minds, the callowness of their presence, the emptiness of their canned laughter, the obliviousness of their arrogance.  The killing of the soul of the city was conceived long ago through charts, graphs, paper trails and lies that trace their line of blood with the first swindle of native peoples on Turtle Island.  I miss my city.  I miss the soul of the city.  I miss your soul face, soul life, soul everything.

Scroll Down for English

CUESTA SALIR DEL CLOSET.

Siempre lo habian sentido, sabia que algo dentro era, “diferente”, ya habia pasado tiempo en la iglesia pensando que ello me ayudaria, pero al salir, ese “sentimiento” seguia igual. Al ver ello trate de convencerme a mi misma que lo podria manejar, que lo podria cambiar: empece a besar varios labios pensando, “con este chico, estare comoda, porque yo, no soy lesbiana”. Tendria quizas, 13 anos, todas las jovensitas de la escuela hablaban de lo mismo, chicos, noviazgo, sexo.
Yo alli no tenia espacio, inevitablemente mis ojos no miraban a los chicos, pero la negacion no me dejaba sentirme bien.

Nadie a mi alrededor parecia tener el mismo “problema”, hubiera amado tener a mi lado
alguien que me guiara. Pero a mi mente venia la imagen de mis tios viendome con asombro y
desconcierto, halar con felicidad un gato azul de juguete que tenia ruedas, (lo mas parecido a
un carro). Y la reaccion de mi madre cuando teniendo yo 9 anos, le hablaron de las cartas que intercambiaba con una amiga diciendonos cuanto nos queriamos. Nisiquiera yo misma sabia en ese momento que “era malo”, fue su reaccion, lo que me lo dejo ver.

Fueron varios anos en el colegio, sin saber que hacer y como manejarlo de manera diferente a tener novios momentaneos a los cuales nunca les permiti tocarme mas alla de la mano porque en el momento en que lo intentaban disfrasaba el temor de decencia y les decia que ello era imprudente; ahora que lo pienso, debio ser gracioso! Pensaba en la reaccion que podrian tener mis amigas si les decia lo que pasaba. Me preguntaba cuantas jovensitas pasaban por lo mismo, pues en el colegio todos decidimos conservarnos en el closet y entre mas cerrado major, pues evitabamos comentarios, vurlas y rechazo.

Salir de alli no fue facil, me costo mucho. Me costo lagrimas, crecer, tener independencia, una
familia, amigos incondicionales, tomar un avion y decir “adios”. Ahora, viviendo aca en San
Francisco, CA., me cuesta ver con asombro las estadisticas nacionales. Los estudiantes LGBT tienen una probabilidad de sentirse inseguros en la escuela tres veces mayor (un 22% frente a un 7%), y el 90% de los estudiantes LGBT (frente a un 62% en los adolescentes no LGBT) son
acosados o agredidos físicamente1.

Amigos en Colombia siguen soportando el apretado closet, mientras otros que han salido sobre llevan todo tipo de acoso. Mi corta estadia aca en el pais americano me ha llevado a escuchar acerca de todo tipo de acoso dentro de los colegios, aparte de que se puede ver y oler en los buses, entre los jovenes.

Me encantaria que se implementaran clarlas, pero no de aquellas aburridas en las que un
estudiado donctor habla, sino charlas reales, donde sean los protagonistas, los conocedores del tema no por estudiarlo sino por vivirlo, quienes hablen. Se de clases y talleres que se dictan enalgunas escuales con el fin de cocientizar a los jovenes a cerca de la diversidad, lo cual preferiria que fuera en todas porque estoy segura que alla se encuentran muchas chicas de 13 anos que estan pasando por la misma cituacion que yo un dia pase. Jovenes que lo unico que anhelan es tener una mano amiga que les guie sin que el proceso les cueste tanto.

English Follows

The price of coming out.

I always felt it, i knew that something inside was “differnt”. When i would be in church thinking that He would help me, but coming out that “different feeling” was still the same. looking at Him i tried to covince myself that i could control this. I could change it, I started to kiss many lips, thinking to myself “ With this boy I will become fixed because I am not a lesbian.” Perhaps i was 11 years old. All the young girls from school talked about the same things; boys, boyfriends, and sex. Thats where I knew there was no space for me. My eyes did not look at the boys.

None around me looked to have the same “problem”. i lobged to have someone next to me who loved me. but in my head the image that would come up was my uncles selling me a blue toy cat that had wheels. And the relation with my mother when I was younger and was called about these letters i was sending out this friend who was a girl. In the letters we would say how much we loved each other. I didnt realize in that moment that this was “evil”. My mom’s reaction was what made me realize this.

It was many years in school not knowing what to do and hot to control it in a manner differnt than having many spontaneous boyfriends, which i never allowed to touch me more than just my hands because the moment ther tried it I would hide it under my fear of indecency and would tell them that it was imprudent;now that I think back, I must have been funny! I thought through their reaction of what my girlfriends would think if I told them what was happening.I would wonder how many other girls felt the way I did, throught college we all decided to stay in the closet and the more closed we were the better, we were avoiding comments, jokes and rejection.

Coming out was nothing easy, it cost me dearly, it cost me tears, growth, being independent, my family, unconditional friends, take a plane and say “goodbye”. Today, living here in San Francisco, CA I am amazed to see the national statistics.

The LGBT students have three times more probability (22% compared to 7%) of feeling insecure, and 90% of LGBT students(compared to 62% not LGBT youth) are harassed or violently attacked physically.

Friends in Colombia keep stuck in their tight closet, meanwhile those that have come out deal with all types of abuse. My short education here in the US has let me hear all tyes of insults inside of the colleges a side from this also you can smell and see it on the bus and around youth.

I would love it if they would impliment talks, not those borring kind of talks where a person studied it but a real discussion, where the protagonists, the ones who have experienced the topic would speak on this. Clases and workshops that dictate in some schools whith the goal of enlightening the youth about diversity, I would actually prefer that it be tought everywhere because I am sure that in my home town there are plenty of young girls around the 13^th that are experiencing the same things I did. Youth that are simply looking for a friendly hand to guide them with the process costing them so much. 

(Author's note: My father, James Robles on the left, my brother Asian Robles on the right--with my sister Jade and step mother Tai)

I recently spent an afternoon with my father and brother. My father had just arrived from Hawaii. He called me and told me he’d be picking me up in a small red rental car with shiny rims. I walked out of the steel gate of my house (or more appropriately, my landlord’s house) and looked around. No red car. I looked some more and saw him. He had missed my house, overshot it by half a block. Hey dad, I called out. He waved. I started towards the car but he motioned for me to wait. He got into the car and drove in reverse for a half block, stopping a few feet from me. He leaned over, sprung the lock.
“What’s happening man?”
“Hey dad, what’s going on?”
He looked good. He wore black pants, a black coat and a pair of bright jogging shoes. We drove for a while. I looked out the window. The fog and salty air from Ocean Beach lit the sky.
“I got you something”
My father pointed to the rear with his thumb.
“What? I asked.
I reached over and took it. I opened it. It was a fruit tart, with custard.
“Thanks”

Dad put it in drive. I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He looked good, a little older but he WAS older. I had read somewhere that a thousand people a day this year were going to turn 60 years of age. I thought about the fact that he was 62 years old. Had it been that long or had I failed to pay attention? I took the wrapper from the fruit tart and lifted it to my mouth. My concentration shifted to the strawberries and kiwi fruit. Suddenly my father slammed the brakes. I became kiwi and strawberry. My father laughed.
“Hey, sorry man…let me help you”
He took a napkin and began wiping. Each wipe tended to smear more custard. The horn from the car behind us began to sound. I took the napkin and wiped myself.
“I left my glasses at your auntie’s house” said dad
“You wear glasses?”
“Yeah…mostly for reading”

I never associated my father with glasses. He only wore shades when I was growing up. I remember him as a young man. He’d switched jobs and women and one day he came home with something new. It was a board with black and white plastic pieces. We’re gonna play chess, he said. He showed me how to move the pawns, rooks, bishops, etc. He explained the objective as capturing the king. We played for hours. I lost every game but I started to get the hang of it. After each game, he’d explain what I’d done wrong. I was impatient and somewhat of a little prick. I wouldn’t listen. I almost beat him but he saw every move, always looking 2 or 3 moves ahead. I was in tears after, having victory in the bag, he, with sleight of hand, pulled that very victory out of my ass.

We continued driving. We stopped in front of a Victorian flat. At the bottom was a fish and chip restaurant. Dad got on the cell phone.
“We’re outside”
He put the phone back in his pocket.
“Your brother is still sleeping”
We sat. A woman walked by with a group of children. Each child was attached to the other by a plastic cord.
“I used to run up and down this street when I was a kid” dad said. “We used to get into trouble. We’d…”
The door opened. A young man came out wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the hood covering most of his face. He opened the rear car door.
“Hey what’s up?”
Dad looked at my brother through the rear view.
“I’m ok”
My brother touched my shoulder. We drove. I looked back at his face. It had my father’s shape, much more than mine. He was taller. We drove for a while, taking in the city, the city that all 3 of us were born in. Dad rolled the window down. The wind ran freely, kicking up a few wisps of his hair. I hadn’t noticed a small pony tail at his neck. Not enough for a fully pony tail but a good beginning. Dad began razzing my brother.
“So tell me…”
“What?”
“Who is she?”
“Who’s who?”
“Come on man…there’s got to be a girl involved somewhere. Look at you, your clothes are wrinkled…you look like you just came out of a clothes dryer”
I laughed under my breath. My brother looked out the window as if nothing was said. We drove for a time. We didn’t say much. I look out at the old buildings and the trees bobbing in the wind. I began to wonder what color the wind was.
“Hey dad, can you pull over?” my brother asked. “I want to stop at the liquor store”
Dad pulled over, my brother opened the door.
“You want anything?”
“Yeah, get me some licorice” dad said.
“Nothing for me” I said
I remembered the first time I met my brother. I didn’t know he existed. He had a mother, I didn’t know her. He was in a restaurant in his mother’s arms. My dad said, “This is your brother”
So it was…

He came back with a small paper bag. He took out a canned beverage and handed the bag to dad. Dad pulled out a black licorice vine, handed one to me. He bit into it and broke a piece off with a tug of the mouth. He chewed with much vigor.
“I’m gonna take you guys somewhere” he said. He turned the radio on and searched for a station. He landed on the Beach Boy’s—not his music, but his era. We drove up a few hills and around several blocks with apartments and liquor stores with flickering neon beer signs. Dad began pointing in different directions. We were in the Western Addition of San Francisco.
“See this liquor store…that wasn’t here when I was a kid. This whole block had nothing but jazz clubs. I used to sneak in when I was a kid”
“How did you get in?” my brother asked.
“I’d climb in through the window in the back. All the heavies played in this area, Miles, Coltrane…
I looked at the rows of old apartments and flats. I tried to hear the music, the jazz that my father spoke of. We drove past a parked bulldozer near a police blockade. It appeared to be on its haunches, ready to leap and pounce.
“Here it is”
It was a park, mostly grass with a few benches and very tall, very old trees.
“This used to be a hill. It was covered with dirt. We used to run down this h ill. We’d make carts and race them. Used to be a cemetery before I was born.
“Where’d they take all the bodies?” my brother asked.
“Hell if I know”
We sat down on a bench. A dog was running off its leash. An Akita. It ran over to us.
“Hey partner” dad said
The dog licked my dad’s hand, placing its front paws on his lap. The owner called out its name and it ran off.
“Later fella”

We sat for a while and dad began to speak.
“You know, you guys turned out good. You were smart kids when you were growing up. You know, I would have done things different had I…”
Dad stopped talking. My brother looked at the trees. My brother and I knew what he was trying to say.
“How’s things in Hawaii?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Dad straightened up. His eyes widened.
“Everything’s cool. You know, I gave up the janitorial business. Too much stress. I’m working at a condo now doing routine repairs…changing light bulbs…then knocking out a few sit ups and push-ups”.
“You like it?” my brother asked.
“It’s alright. I meet a lot of people. I met that guy who used to be on that TV show, the guy with the baseball cap”
“Oh yeah” I said. “I know who you mean”
“But my main thing now is carving. I go out to the tropical rainforest and get wood, different types of wood. I carve masks, walking sticks, all kinds of stuff”.

I thought about the van he had when he first started the janitorial service 20 or so years ago. It was before he’d moved us to Hawaii. He took some wooden panels and covered them with shellac. He screwed them into the interior of the can, giving it a very comfortable look. I’d almost forgotten about it. It was the first and only time I’d seen him work with wood. But I thought more about it and remembered his collection of African and Malaysian masks, and some from the Philippines too. It all came back to me. I wanted to share it with my brother; he was too young to remember some of it. I stayed quiet.
“You know a lot of guys I grew up with have died” dad began.
He looked at my brother and I then stopped.
“Let me show you something”
Dad walked, my brother and I followed. We came to a big tree in the middle of the park. It had a huge trunk and limbs that appeared to wave.
“I think this is the one” dad said. “Help me up”
I was about to cup my hands together so my dad could place his foot into it but my brother stepped forward.
“Let me do it”
Dad stepped into my brother’s hands.
“What are you looking for?” I asked
“My name” dad replied. “I carved it in this tree when I was a kid”
And we watched as our dad hoisted himself onto a thick limb. He looked at the sky and then down at his sons.
“Come on up” he said, offering his hand.
My brother and I looked up at our father. He climbs higher and higher. The tree is him.

His music was his heart but as a Black disabled young man growing up dealing with peer pressure, bullying and being profiled in school and on the streets by adults and his peers, like any youth he tried to protect himself not only physically but mentally. However, his music kept on getting softer and softer and drastically was shut off by a South San Francisco police officer when Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines was shot in the back trying to seek safety when police approached him while he was walking home from McDonalds. 

Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines, like any youth also searched within himself to find his talents and to build strength that many youth especially Black youth with disabilities need to do at an early age with help from their parents just to deal with societal attitudes that are leveled towards him/them constantly.  While searching within, Derrick found a love of writing Hip-Hop & R&B song lyrics and putting his own songs together with his own beats.  Like I know all so well as a Black disabled man who always liked writing, many people will try to put you down, discourage you and place their discriminatory ways on you like handcuffs.  This happened to Derrick over and over again from adults to peers but nobody would have thought that one day in Derrick’s youth that his music would be shut off forever.

Many would have considered Derrick a statistic as a Black disabled young man but there were other statistics that his family didn’t want Derrick to become like another Black disabled youth in nowhere special education classes or another Black young man in a gang or another Black disabled young man caught up in violence or shot by police.  After the hard work that Derrick’s family and Derrick himself have put in to keep his music on and not become a dreadful statistic of another Black disabled young man shot by police, Derrick’s music was turned off for the last time and became that statistic, a innocent victim of a shooting on June 5th 2012 by a South San Francisco police officer.

Derrick’s pen & keyboard that he used to write and type his lyrics on turned into tools for mainstream media to rewrite the last story telling song that filled newspapers and blogs. However, the only people who have the right to be the authors of this story describing Derrick are Derrick’s parents and any witnesses at the scene on June 5^th, 2012.  This is why Poor Magazine invited Derrick’s family to come by and talk about Derrick. 

As Rachel Guido, the mother of Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines, told Poor Magazine what happened to her son on June 5^th 2012, I realized that Derrick could have been a member of Krip-Hop Nation because he was a songwriter and inspiring musician with a disability and a critical thinker.  Krip-Hop Nation is a network of musician/artists with disabilities from around the world to educate the music, media industries and general public about the talents, history, rights and marketability of Hip-Hop artists and other musicians with disabilities and Krip-Hop Nation is more than music, it is cultural activism.

Krip-Hop Nation earlier this year released a mixtape CD on the issue of police brutality and profiling against people with disabilities.  Krip-Hop Nation, unfortunately realized that Derrick’s lyrics must be heard and his tragic death on June 5^th could have been ,hard to say, but another of the heartbreaking lyrical story songs on our latest CD, Police Brutality Profiling Mixttape against people with  disabilities to help educate our communities on the high rate of police shootings/killings of people with disabilities.  Krip-Hop is more than music so we will carry Derrick’s soul and spirit with us as we continue with our cultural activism.

I imagined Derrick running with his club feet as he got shot in the back by a South San Francisco police officer when his mother, Rachel Guido, finished her story and tears ran down her cheeks in the Poor Magazine newsroom on Aug 7^th/2012.  Now as I reread  articles on the shooting of Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines, things don’t add up but as a veteran activist against police involved shootings of people with disabilities I have read these stories in mainstream media over and over again painting Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines and others as gang members, dangerous and out of control youth.  These stories continue to be the opposite of what their parents, friends and many times witnesses at the scene have told but don’t have the big mic or pen that mainstream media and or police have.

Stories like Derrick was running very fast I questioned knowing many people with clubfeet and knowing how just walking is painful and slow and listening to the mother of Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines talk about his disability and the pain he experienced if he ran makes me wonder about the stories in mainstream media that I have read thus far.  As I know by now, there will be many different stories with different elements by so many different people, but mothers always know best when it comes to their children and many times it is the mother who has advocated at birth till the last days of their sons and daughters so when Rachel told Poor Magazine that she saw and cleaned up her son’s dead body with bullet holes in his back, we must stop, listen and take note.  

Days following the police shooting of Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines and even today, his mother continue to go through her son’s songs and are still amazed at how talented he was.  I never met Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines but I know he would have loved Krip-Hop Nation.  It is sad that the lyrical stories that make up Krip-Hop Nation/5^th Battalion Police Brutality Profiling Mixttape are still a reality today.  You hear that?  It is Derrick Louis-Lamar Gaines rapping, "NO JUSTICE NO PEACE, TURN UP MY SONG…"

Leroy F Moore Jr.

Founder of Krip-Hop Nation

8/13/12

--An interview with Tina Reynolds and Vikki Law

With Governor Brown’s decision expected anytime, local activists are urgently mobilizing to stop him from vetoing this important bill once again. AB 2530 supporters have created a webpage for the public (not just California residents) to contact the Governor. Take action here.

The action page states that “AB 2530 addresses Governor Brown’s veto by clarifying language and prohibiting the most dangerous forms of shackling. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) opposes the use of shackles on pregnant women in all but the most extreme circumstances. Pregnant women in correctional facilities are more likely to experience miscarriage, preterm birth, low birth weight infants, and potentially fatal conditions like preeclampsia. Excessive shackling could not only increase stress and lead to further complications, but also render doctors unable to treat women in emergency situations. AB 2530 provides medical professionals the authority to have restraints removed in order to treat pregnant inmates.”

As this bill sits on Governor Brown’s desk, we take a closer look at AB 2530, similar bills in other states, and the broader experiences of pregnant prisoners throughout the US by speaking with Tina Reynolds and Vikki Law fromWORTH's Birthing Behind Bars campaign. Tina Reynolds, who herself gave birth while incarcerated, is co-founder and co-chair of Women on the Rise Telling HerStory (WORTH) and an adjunct lecturer at York College/CUNY. She is a co-editor of Interrupted Life: Experiences of Incarcerated Womenin the United States (UC Press 2010).

Victoria Law is a writer, photographer and mother. She is the author of Resistance Behind Bars: The Struggles of Incarcerated Women (first published by PM Press in 2009, with a new updated version released this month), the editor of the zine Tenacious: Art and Writings from Women in Prison and a co-founder of Books Through Bars - NYC. Her latest book, just released this month, Don't Leave Your Friends Behind (PM Press, 2012) addresses how social justice movements and communities can support the families in their midst. Learn more about upcoming book-release events here.

There will be a special performance of MUNCH in New York City on September 9, as a benefit for WORTH. Learn more here. 

Angola 3 News:     What does shackling during pregnancy entail?

Tina Reynolds and Victoria Law of Birthing Behind Bars:     Imagine a woman who is actively in labor. She is handcuffed. Attached to those handcuffs is a chain that links the handcuffs to a chain that goes around her belly. Attached to that belly chain is a chain connected to shackles around her feet. This hampers her movement tremendously.

If you've ever seen old movies depicting chain gangs or prisons, you've seen some version of shackling. When people who have their legs shackled attempt to move, they hobble slowly since the leg shackles keep their feet and legs together. You can imagine how dangerous this is for a woman who is actively in labor and is going to need to both move around and eventually be able to push a baby out of her body.

A3N:     What arguments do you make in opposition to this?

BBB:     First, shackling or otherwise restraining a person who is in labor and delivery is inhumane, if not torture. International organizations have recognized this as a human rights abuse. In 2006, the UN Committee Against Torture alerted the US government that shackling during childbirth is a violation of the UN Convention Against Torture, which the US is a signatory of. It should also be noted that Rule 33 of the UN’s Standard Minimum Rules on the Treatment of Prisoners states clearly that chains and/or irons should never be used as restraints.

Secondly, shackling or otherwise restraining a person in labor and delivery is dangerous both to the woman and to the baby. Medical professionals have recognized and spoken out against these practices: The American Medical Association adopted a resolution opposing shackling as a medically hazardous practice. The American College of Obstetrician and Gynecologists, the American College of Nurse Midwives, and the American Public Health Association have also condemned this practice.

A3N:     How often are pregnant women prisoners forced to wear shackles during birth? Is there documentation of how many pregnant prisoners are forced to do this?

BBB:    As far as we know, there is no documented percentage (that is publicly available) of how many women prisoners are shackled during birth. What we do know is that 34 states currently have no protection against shackling pregnant prisoners while they are in labor or delivery. That means that it is up to the jail or prison staff as to how and if the mother will be restrained while she is in labor, while she is being transported from the jail or prison to the hospital, and how she will be restrained once at the hospital.

In addition, mothers undergoing delivery via c-section are often restrained both during and after the surgery. These decisions are not made by the medical staff. As of 2011, in many of the states that have no protections against shackling and restraining women during childbirth, the input of medical staff does not need to be considered.

We also know that five to six percent of women entering jails and prisons each year are pregnant. Many will spend the duration of their pregnancies behind bars, which means that even if they do not give birth while incarcerated, they must rely on the prison’s prenatal care, which is often inadequate and sometimes can jeopardize their pregnancies.

A3N:     Compared to shackling the legs, how much safer is shackling of the hands, or any other method used? Do you know often these are used instead?

BBB:     We’re not sure how often other methods are used instead of leg shackles during childbirth, but part of the campaign is recognizing that using restraints on a woman who is pregnant and/or actively in labor and childbirth is dangerous.

For example, in Massachusetts, the Massachusetts Department of Corrections has stated that they do not shackle women who are in labor (thus anti-shackling legislation is unnecessary). Their current policy is that the restraints used on women who are in labor and delivery should be the “least restrictive” and should not be waist or leg restraints. But this doesn’t mean that there aren’t dangers to restricting a pregnant women’s movement. When walking, pregnant women, especially in their third trimester may have balance issues, and if they trip and fall while handcuffed, they will be unable to catch themselves. When transported in a van while handcuffed, if jostled, they will be unable to catch themselves from falling or bumping into something.

It’s also important to note that Massachusetts’s “less restrictive” policies came about because of a 1992 consent decree, McDonald v. Fair (CivilAction No. 80352), not because the Department of Corrections realized the hazards and immorality of shackling pregnant women. It’s important to remember that we cannot wait for prison administrators and legislators to see the light; we have to constantly remind them that shackling pregnant prisoners is not only a medical issue, but also a human rights abuse that will not be tolerated.

A3N:     Who are the primary advocates of shackling pregnant prisoners?

BBB:     The primary advocates of shackling are prison and jail staff (and their unions). Because prison and jail staff have very strong trade unions, whereas prisoners are not a voting constituency, politicians sometimes jump on pro-shackling as a way to court those votes.

Last year, pressure from the California State Sheriffs' Association and both Alameda and Sonoma County Sheriffs' departments pushed Governor Brown to veto the anti-shackling bill that had already passed the State Senate and Assembly. Similarly, in Massachusetts and Georgia, the state Department of Corrections has opposed the efforts of advocates and formerly incarcerated women trying to pass legislation to ban the shackling and other restraints of incarcerated women during labor, delivery and recovery.

A3N:     What arguments do shackling advocates make?

BBB:     The most commonly-used argument is that, if not shackled or restrained, women who are actively in labor and delivery will use the opportunity to overpower the guards and escape. As I mentioned earlier, legislators have jumped on that bandwagon, sometimes to court the votes of prison and jail staff, sometimes simply playing on law-and-order rhetoric. In Rhode Island, when the state legislature was considering its anti-shackling legislation in 2011, House Minority Leader Brain Newberry was quoted as saying, “You could have a murderer who is pregnant. The easiest time to escape is during transport.”

Of course, this is fear-mongering and not at all based in reality, as anyone who has ever experienced labor and delivery (whether incarcerated or not) will tell you. We have publicly countered this argument both from Tina’s own experience as a pregnant prisoner and from listening to countless stories of others who have given birth in prison. We have never heard a woman tell a story of wanting to run during labor. It's just not on their mind.

Vikki has gone through childbirth (but not in prison), and can tell you that when she was actively in labor, she couldn’t even walk down the hallway without lots of physical support from her partner (and even then it seemed like a herculean challenge). We seriously doubt that a woman in labor is going to summon up the strength to overpower the accompanying guards and medical staff and then run. All of the mothers that we know will tell you the same.

There's also the perception that, when a person has violated the law and is sent to prison, she deserves all other punishments that come along with her prison sentence. Women prisoners have historically been viewed as not redeemable and this notion still comes into play when we think about women in prison today.

In addition, shackling during transportation outside of prison is practiced regardless of gender. There is no consideration of circumstances and so the health and safety of pregnant women are ignored by this blanket policy.

A3N:     California’s AB 2530 opposes shackling “unless deemed necessary for the safety and security of the inmate, the staff, or the public.” How serious of a loophole is this qualification? How significant of a step forward do you think this bill is?

BBB:     The bill is significant because it prevents the CDCR from shackling and restraining women during anystage of their pregnancy, not just during labor, delivery and recovery. It also forces the CDCR to inform women that they have a right not to be shackled or cuffed behind the back during the entirety of their pregnancies.

The "unless deemed necessary for the safety and security" clause addresses the fears that prison and jail staff (and their unions) whip up around not being able to restrain women in labor. Of course, it would be nice if it weren't there, but that clause may also mean that jail and prison staff actually have to record the (hopefully few to no) instances in which they do use restraints on pregnant women and actually justify their actions. It's not perfect, but it is a start.

A3N:     How far have other states’ anti-shackling bills gone with their restrictions on shackling?

BBB:     In 1999, Illinois was the first state to pass anti-shackling legislation--banning restraints of any kind, including handcuffs and leg irons, from being used on women who were either in labor or being taken to the hospital to give birth. However, prison and jail officials often interpreted labor to mean only the actual delivery, not the hours and sometimes days in labor leading up to childbirth. This meant that pregnant women were still shackled for unnecessarily long periods of time.

This past January, following a $4.1 million settlement (thanks to the efforts of Chicago Legal Aid to Incarcerated Mothers, who filed a federal lawsuit on behalf of several women that had been shackled up until the moment of delivery), Illinois passed another bill that clarified its definitions of labor and delivery. It also extended the ban on shackling and restraining pregnant women incarcerated at Chicago's Cook County Jail during all stages of their pregnancy.

Several other states have anti-shackling legislation that extends beyond the immediate time period of labor, delivery and postpartum recovery. Vermont’s 2005 anti-shackling legislation states that prison staff "shall not routinely restrain pregnant inmates who are beyond their first trimester of pregnancy in the same manner as other inmates, recognizing that to do so might pose undue health risks for the mother and unborn child."  Like legislation in other states, Vermont also prohibits shackling of women during labor and delivery EXCEPT when the prison or jail staff feel that "the inmate presents a substantial flight risk or other extraordinary circumstances dictate otherwise."

Similarly, New Mexico's 2009 legislation states that a "correctional facility, detention center or local jail shall use the least restrictive restraints necessary when the facility has actual or constructive knowledge that an inmate is in the second or third trimester of pregnancy." Again, the legislation allows for exceptions if the prison or jail staff determine that the woman poses some sort of security risk.

When Rhode Island passed its anti-shackling legislation in 2011, it included a prohibition against restraints starting in the second trimester, a requirement that pregnant prisoners be notified of their rights, and a provision allowing women to file a lawsuit if they are shackled in violation of the law. This last rule is not in any other legislation limiting or prohibiting shackling.

However, all of these bills have exceptions that justify shackling for "safety reasons." As far as we know, the "for safety reasons" exceptions have not been addressed by people inside women's prisons or by outside advocates who have been pushing anti-shackling legislation.

A3N:     Anything else to add regarding the significance of AB 2530 in California?

BBB:     The California bill is significant because it would extend the prohibition on using leg irons, waist chains or handcuffs behind the body on pregnant women throughout their pregnancy (and recovery from childbirth), not just in the hours during labor and delivery. It recognizes that restraining pregnant women, no matter what trimester of pregnancy that they are in, is both medically dangerous and a human rights abuse.

Because there's been more national media attention paid to efforts to pass it, the legislation would also be a model for advocates in other states seeking similar protections for pregnant people in jails, prisons and immigrant detention centers in their areas. As we said earlier, 34 states currently have no legislative protection against shackling or restraining pregnant women during labor and delivery. Of the states that do have legislative protection against shackling or otherwise restraining people during labor, only a few protect women during earlier stages of pregnancy.

A3N:     What ways can our readers help support the Birthing Behind Bars website/activist campaign, and otherwise take action against the practice of shackling during birth?

BBB:     First off, if they haven’t already, they can go to our website, www.birthingbehindbars.org, and sign the pledge to help end shackling and other reproductive injustices behind bars when the fight comes to their area. We’re working with the media group Thousand Kites to build a system to contact supporters in certain areas when we know that campaigns addressing reproductive justice in prisons are happening in their home towns or states.

We recognize that campaigns to end shackling and other reproductive injustices in prison can’t happen without the women who have been most directly impacted. In 2009, New York State passed legislation to end the shackling of incarcerated women during labor, delivery and recovery. Crucial to the passing of that bill were the voices, insights and analyses of women who had experienced birth behind bars. Members of WORTH, an organization of currently and formerly incarcerated women in New York, spoke about being pregnant while in jail and prison, being handcuffed and shackled while in labor, and being separated from their newborn babies almost immediately. Their stories drew public attention to the issue and put human faces on the pending legislation.

From this victory, WORTH members gained a deeper sense of their own power to affect social change. Birthing Behind Bars comes out of this recognition that those most directly impacted must be at the center of the fight for reproductive justice in prisons.

The Birthing Behind Bars site provides a forum for women's stories and a way to amplify them to support campaigns for reproductive justice. If you are a formerly incarcerated woman who has experienced pregnancy while behind bars, or if you know a sister who has, get in touch! We want to hear your stories! We want to know: What was medical care like? Did you birth your baby while incarcerated? What was it like to hold your baby for the first time? What happened in the moments after?

Women can also call in their story anytime on our toll-free hotline: 877-518-0606 (Don't worry if you make a mistake, we edit all the calls). They can also upload their stories for our site, here.

Regardless of whether readers have first-hand experience of pregnancy in prison, we all need to get involved! Currently, formerly incarcerated women and outside advocates in both Georgia and Massachusetts are fighting to gain legislative protection for people who are incarcerated while pregnant. Readers in those states can get involved in the fight and start the process of ensuring a safer pregnancy for women behind bars.

We also need to recognize that reproductive justice is not simply the absence of chains and irons during labor and delivery, but that everyone, regardless of what stage of pregnancy they’re in, deserves to have a safe and healthy pregnancy. We recognize that prisons are never going to provide a place for safe and healthy pregnancies; we recognize that we need alternatives to incarceration for pregnant women. At the same time, we also recognize that the city, state and federal systems continue to incarcerate women at all stages of pregnancy. While they are behind bars, they should be protected against the human rights abuses and reproductive injustices currently inflicted upon them.

--Angola 3 News is an official project of the International Coalition to Free the Angola 3. Our website iswww.angola3news.com, where we provide the latest news about the Angola 3. Additionally we are also creating our own media projects, which spotlight the issues central to the story of the Angola 3, like racism, repression, prisons, human rights, solitary confinement as torture, and more. Our articles and videos have been published by Alternet, Truthout, Black Commentator, SF Bay View Newspaper, Counterpunch, Monthly Review, Z Magazine, Indymedia, and many others.