2013

  • From Racism To Reparations

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    I wanna talk bout skin

    Mela-nin

    and the race-

    ism

    that takes so much space

    in this Sick-Ass place

    called amerikkka…

    I start this story by stating the obvious and not so obvious. I am the very light-skinned daughter of a strong, beautiful, disabled Black/Indian mama who dealt with racist (and classist) hate her ENTIRE very HARD life- in foster homes, orphanages and on the streets as the unwanted, “illegitimate” daughter of Black/Indian/Roma, Irish immigrants. Because of my mamas teaching-her love, art, anger, consciousness, and our endless poverty, I can tell you in the deepest sense RACISM IS VERY alive in Amerikkka..

    I am the success story of the pure race scientists, and the tears of my many KKKolinized ancestors.

    I don’t make sense to most people because I appear wite but my culture, soul, spirit and heart are Black, Brown and Red. But in reality in this wite-supremacist nation I walk thru the world invisiblized- cloaked in this twisted shade seen as privileged, most of the time un-profiled and no longer criminalized and therefore must speak on that space between wite-ness, blackness and me.

    To be clear, it wasn't always like that-I have spent most of my childhood houseless in Amerikkka with my po mama of color and therefore was incessantly profiled, po’liced, harassed and eventually incarcerated for sleeping in our car, selling/vending unlicensed products on the street and other survival “crimes” in the US. And then after my son was born and my mama became ill, the struggle started again.

     

    When I was 11 my mama got laid off her “welfare to work” job for questioning wite-supremacist psychiatric theories of individuation and the myth of the “bootstraps”, we ended up literally on the street, houseless. We started working really hard in several underground economies to raise enough money for the exhorbitant amount of 1st last and security deposits required to get  another apartment , but now that we were houseless and we had no “credit”, my mama had no more job references to make her look “responsible” and my po’ mixed race looking mama could not get approved for an apartment to save our life. Every time she showed up, they would have an excuse about why we couldn’t qualify.

     

    That’s when my ghetto fabulous survival by any means necessary mama decided to flip the wite-supremacist hateration on its own ugly head and use its weak profiling against itself.My Survival-Queen-Superbabymama hatched a plan. 

     

    We went to K-Mart (in LA) and got me the cheapest suit we could find, a fake ID stating I was actually 25, combed my hair into some kind of wite way and “rent-starter”, my new underground identity was born.

     

    Lo and behold it worked. I filled out applications stating all kinds of stories about my yearly income, my jobs and my lengthy credit references and every landlord, from South-Asian to Wite happily granted me access to their precious (stolen land) apartments.

     

    This is but one example of wite-gurl looking me needing to use my “skin privilege” to get us stuff. From money to favors, to credit to loans to apts to jobs. I have pimped and played my own wite-ness to keep our family of color alive within a deeply racist society throughout my childhood and even now. And only one example of the depth of the wite-lie of safety granted within a wite-supremacist nation which was built on the back of Black, Indigenous and migrante peoples labor, lives and genocide.

     

    And to be VERY clear, I am not boasting about these poverty crimes. They are but one example of my multiple degrees acquired in the skool of hard knocks at way too young of an age, experienced and lived through because there was no other way for us to stay housed for the few times we were able to get inside, and acquired housing because telling the truth for poor, single parent women of color on the streets isn’t always an option.

     

    It wasn’t until me and my mama became conscious through understanding our indigenismo, our POC consciousness, our African consciousness, our mama-daughter consciousness and our collective poverty struggle that we began to speak up on all of this rampant racism, colonization and hate which allowed us eventually to launch the poor people-led, self-determined media, art and education which is POOR Magazine.

     

    As the national conversation gets louder around wite peoples and other peoples of color understanding or being challenged to understand that black Lives matter, I would like to add that all these assertions are powerful in terms of a collective consciousness which needs to be shifted in this racist nation but only a passive beginning.

     

    For peoples with race, class and/or education privilege there should be a drastic change. It is time to stop passively benefiting from wite-supremacy. The lie of integration and affirmative action is played out and done.

     

    Every day folks with these privileges casually rent apartments or rooms, don’t get harassed by po’lice, approved for jobs, access to credit, a home loan, or more covertly a credit card approved before you ask for it, the ability to walk down the street without a second glance or a police tail, the ability to not have your child profiled in the wite-supremacist skool systems we live within.  These are just a few of the seen and un-seen privileges of this wite-supremacist nation.  And if you are truly conscious, you would reverse them now. Begin the conversation about what I call Community Reparations. Begin understanding the concepts of decolonization and de-gentrification.

     

    Recognize first that poor folks, African Peoples, Raza, Indigenous peoples need to self-determine our own futures, and that the role of wite peoples and peoples with privilege is not to save us, or create a non-profit for us, or a study to prove something to us, but rather to support us in our own poor and indigenous-led movements.

     

    Begin the conversation on Afrikan peoples Reparations and/or  what I call Community Reparations. Debunking the myth of independence and co-dependence and all these other wite-psychiatry notions that give all colonized people directions to only be consumed with their own individual happiness, to not burden themselves with the “messiness” of family and elders and care-giving. And that if you continue to benefit in these covert ways from the depth of wite-supremacy you are actually indebted to your fellow community member, to support them, kick down to them or depending on your access to wealth or privilege, support them.

     

    And that other light-skinned peoples who may not have access to wealth, need to stop passively accepting their embedded skin privilege and begin reversing the theft of land, resources and space. Both of these ideas are VERY complicated and I would refer you to enroll a semester in peopleskool  to help activate this process.  But in the mean-time acquaint yourselves with the work and words of POOR Magazine’s Solidarity Board who is practicing Community Reparations

     

    Cause/start conversations in colonizer-controlled spaces like stolen land art museums, “archives” and memorials where lies about indigenous peoples herstory and history are promoted and perpetuated. Stop funneling billions of dollars into academic institutions and academic studies on peoples of color. Stop moving into cities cause you think it would be more “interesting” to live there. Stop starting projects to “help” us and instead support self-determined poor and indigenous people-led movements like Peoples Community Medics, Black Riders Liberation Movement, Manilatown Heritage Foundation, WRAP, street newspaper vendors, HANC, KRIP Hop, Kenny Harding Foundation and POOR Magazine’s HOMEFULNESS project.

     

    In the end I speak as someone who practices these ideas, I took care of my mama til the day she transitioned, no matter how hard it got, while raising my sun alone as a single parent. After my mama transitioned I started two Mamahouses for me and other poor single parents who needed support and care. I live inter-dependently always, worrying and working to activate change, un-packing the lies of the poverty industry, the po’lice, wite-supremacy and the hoarding of wealth for every poor and privileged person alike.  I walk the world every day being very aware of what isn’t happening to me and I work hard to ensure less abuse and more power comes to my fellow melanin-blessed brothers and sisters in Amerikkka.

    If you are a poor people-led, indigenous people-led group or organization- contact us so we can come out and help your group learn how to integrate the model of Community Reparations iinto your project. If you are a person with race, class or education privilege consider attending PEopleSkool's upcoming Fall semester-

    Tags
  • The Black Kripple Puts Out A Thrash Song (Listen & Read HERE)

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    Listen to The new song by the Black Kripple called Kraving! KRAVING (Song) Written & Sang by Leroy F. Moore Jr. Produced by thundertainment and binkiwoi  Lyrics Below

     

    KRAVING (Song)

    Written & Sang by Leroy F. Moore Jr.

    Produced by thundertainment and binkiwoi

     

    I want to tell you a story

     

    Kripple boy reaching adulthood

    Living in the hood no one thought he could

    Busting out of societal box kicking in the mosh pit

    To spit his own Hip-Hop & he shouts

     

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

     

    Spraying mace in your face

    Black & Blue all over you

    Taking out our oppressors one by one

    The state has lose Krip-Hop has won

     

    Limp it roll it march it on down

     

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

     

    Streets burning up

    Occupy get out of our way

    CP MS, MD everyone follow me

    Freak what the politicians have to say

     

    Click click all in your ear

    No bill collector on the phone

    No rent to pay

    Pop pop pop Krip-Hop Krip Rock is here to stay

     

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

     

    Alternative Hip-Hop Punk

    Kounterclockwise

    Mixing up the funk

    Kaya & Deacon eye to eye

     

    Kripple Boy Kripple man

    Living on SSI but he got a plan

    No wings he still can fly

    On concrete banging his head shouting

     

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Krip-Hop Krip Rock

    Tags
  • Youth Skolas' Slam Bios' from Everette Middle School

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Phillip Standing Bear
    Original Body

    Youth Skolas’ Slam Bios from Everette Middle School

     

      

    AJ

     

    God of Writing

     

    In my neighborhood there

     

    Are mostly black people and

     

    Other color people

     

    I like to taste Chinese

     

    Food in my neighborhood

     

    I mostly smell garbage because

     

    There is a big garbage

     

    Can across from my apartment

     

    I mostly touch forks because

     

    I eat.

     

    I hear talking because my

     

    Parents and neighbors talk

     

    My name is AJ

     

    I live on a small street

     

    In San Francisco

     

    I struggle with taking care of my sister

     

     

    Tyler R. Moore

     

    Red strawberry smells like poop

     

    Feels like a cat hears like rustled

     

    Leaves, I’m from San Francisco also from Trinidad and

     

    Tobago, from L.A., Compton, Inglewood

     

    I’m from Arkansas; I’m black, and white, Spanish. I am from James-

     

    Town and Inhalls also from HP.

     

    I struggled with violence.

     

     

    Ezequiel Mendoza

     

    Black and orange.

     

    Juice.

     

    Pizza.

     

    iPhone 5.

     

    Dogs barking.

     

    EzequielMendoza.

     

    I am from Mexico.

     

    San Francisco.

     

    Mexican.

     

    I struggle with math.

     

     

    D-boy

     

    Green

     

    Good food

     

    Nature

     

    Soft \noises

     

    Name: comes from a family with D’s and juniors (but I’m the second one to be both a junior and a D).

     

    Places where

     

    You are born

     

    Mexico

     

    Struggle: getting money

     

     

    Xzavion Jimmons

     

     Green, blue, gold, and black

     

    Pizza

     

    Donuts

     

    Spikes

     

    People yelling

     

    Xzavio Jimmons

     

    San Francisco

     

    Taking care of my little brother

     

    I am black

     

     

    Armando

     

    Anaranjado

     

    Pizzza

     

    Rosas

     

    iPhone5

     

    Pajaros

     

                                                                                                   Armando

     

    Yo soy de Guatemala

     

    Guatemala/San Francisco

     

    Chapin

     

    Me esta costando aprender Ingles

     

     

    Moe Money

     

    Red and gold

     

    Pizza

     

    Roses

     

    iPhone5/Moe Money

     

    Banking

     

    Moe Money

     

    I am from Mexico/San Francisco

     

    I was raised in Mexico and San Francisco

     

    I struggle with language arts

     

     

    Royel Edwards

     

    Gold

     

    Fries Chicken

     

    Chicken

     

    Food

     

    Water

     

    Yorel

     

    I am from San Francisco

     

    I was born in San Francisco

     

    I am black and white

     

    I struggle with reading

     

     

    Gabby

     

    Yellow

     

    Tamales

     

    Flower

     

    Dogs

     

    Guitar

     

    Mexico

     

     

    Remahn Davis AKA Ray

     

     

    Slam Bio

     

    Ravishing red like the

     

    Blood in my veins

     

    Tasting the peppers I’m

     

    I’m so much pain.

     

    Smelling the poo like

     

    My life is in. Touching

     

    My chest trying to fill

     

    In the happiness. My

     

    Life is sometime life a

     

    Monkey because what I

     

    See is what I do.

     

    I’m black and I’m

     

    Proud of And I been

     

    Through so much and

     

    I don’t want to go

     

    Back. I’m from the street

     

    Where things happen

     

    And people pretend they

     

    Don’t see. I struggle

     

    With my life but

     

    All I can do is fight fight. Fight.

     

     

    Life

     

    Guess what people life

     

    Been hell for me cause

     

    I have no mommy

     

    I have been through

     

    So much pain I’m

     

    Surprised I haven’t

     

    Cracked. Sports is what

     

    I got. No parents

     

    No blood. Losing my

     

    Family was like losing

     

    A leg because I can’t

     

    Walk alone or walk

     

    On my own. I see

     

    So much I barely can

     

    Speak but when I do

     

    Hell breaks loose. I

     

    Can’t stand here and

     

    Be your friend because

     

    What I’m going through I don’t

     

    Think you can go to

     

    The end.

    Tags
  • A CHILD MURDERER GOES FREE… The Travon Martin verdict

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Queennandi
    Original Body

     

     The mood of the neighborhood was quiet, but the anger was loud enough to

     shatter glass. I sat looking at the television, awaiting the confirmation from the verdict

     that young black lives are not worth spit. George Zimmerman has indeed

     gotten away with murder while young Travon lies in a grave that was marked

     way too early, just like a lot of young men of color who die tragically and dishonored.

     The George Zimmerman case was just as biased as any other lynching trial and Zimmerman was never held accountable for accosting a child that was simply returning home from a store run. Zimmerman disobeyed the 911 operator's request to let the child be, and he refused, hell bent on causing trouble with Travon because of the color of his skin and his hoodie. Had this had been a white man with a white hoodie on, the scenario would have been different. He deliberately followed Travon and harassed him because he didn't "belong" there.

    To be followed and harassed would frighten and agitate anyone who has common sense and any defensive actions are just the natural reaction to one's safety being in danger. So if Travon did kick George Zimmerman's ass, it was because Travon himself was the one who was threatened. The "Stand your ground" law should not have the main focus of the case, because George Zimmerman was the one who initiated the altercation by following Travon in the first place. The focus should have been on how our children can't even go to the store by themselves without being killed by cowboys who patrol these gated communities with biased judgement. the focus should have been on why did this grown-ass man go out of his way to bother someone's child in the first place with premeditated intentions of causing trouble? Whether Travon was right or wrong one thing is clear is that young black men don't have any rights and can be hunted down and murdered on any given notice. The kkkourts have made it crystal clear that the "nigger hunting" license is still valid and that no one of color is safe.

     

    Many folks from all over the nation took to the streets to protest the

    unjust verdict of Zimmerman's clearance of murder and the slap in the

    face to Travon Martin's parents. This case is the millionth slap in

    the face to us all as it is an constant reminder that there will never

    be racial equality under white rule. It is a reminder how vital it is

    to protect our children from child murderers like George Zimmerman by

    any means, to educate them and guide them from the ways of this wicked

    world. To leave them with a legacy of life and knowledge of self

    regardless of evil opposition. That is our God-given right and we the

    people are beyond sick and tired of enduring the trauma of the

    lynchings of our people that has been going on for centuries, with

    impunity.

     The case of Marissa Alexander is another example of how racially biased our so-called justice system is. Marissa Alexander, mother of 3 was prosecuted, convicted and sentenced to 20 years in prison for firing a warning shot into the ceiling to fend off her abusive husband. When she should have been protected by Florida’s “stand your ground” law, she wasn’t, even with the testimony from her husband saying that she was defending herself and in fear for her life. The attorney who refused to prosecute George Zimmerman for murdering a black child blatantly prosecuted this black woman for standing her ground. For those who constantly cry about how these murders and convictions of black people and other people of color are not based on race is sadly mistaken and need to check this country’s track record when it comes down to the (mis) treatment, convictions and the unjust bloody lynchings of people of color in amerikkka. To deny the “race” factor fuels the tolerance for these kind of tragedies without really addressing the root of the problem thus sugarcoating it, leaving a nation of angry, restless folks repeatedly going in circles.

     

    The “not guilty” verdict was just another reminder that there is no justice

     for people of color in amerikkka. As long as white supremacy continues it racist rule

     there will be nothing for us other than sin, suffering, slavery and death.

     Amerikkka's colonizers never had the intention of co-existing with the red man, from

     whom white invaders slaughtered and stole land from, nor the black man, who was

     stolen from his OWN land and forced to come to the amerikkkan hells to

     build an amerikkkan paradise for whites, while mother africa is in ruins due to white and "sellout" reign. That is why we are still catching

     hell dealing wit poverty, mis-education and a unjust system created by

     racists who pardons people like George Zimmerman and unfortunately, to slaughter people of color is no crime the in the white eyes of the white law.

     

    For more information on the Travon Martin case and/or how you can support Marissa Alexander go to www.poormagazine.org, www.justiceformarissa.blogspot.com or to sign the online petition supporting Marissa Alexander, go to www.change.org and look for the petition for Marissa Alexander

    Tags
  • Our Crisis - Our Resistance- Our SKola-SHIP!

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    May 20, 2013

    The following stories were written as part of a  POOR Magazine Survivor Skolaz Workshop at the L-Tern project at Mission Neighborhood Resource Center, presented by Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia at POOR Magazine/Prensa POBRE and sponsored by The Sex Workers’ Film Fest. Thanks to Laure McElroy, Cyn, and all poverty skolaz who keep it UP no matta WUT!

     

    Laurie Zamora of Colorado

    My current struggle and resistance is that sixteen years ago I began a physically, mentally, emotionally and verbally abusive relationship for fifteen years. By the grace of God I finally was able to leave him. It was one hell of a struggle letting this man have control of my life, every which way. I lost my Section 8 housing and started using heroin when I left him, so now I have a habit and no place to live. I am homeless with no income and a habit. That’s when I started being a sex worker. It’s not all peaches and cream. I’ve been through it all.

    My crisis experience is being abused for fifteen years. During the first two weeks of our relationship, on Mothers’ Day, he beat me and dragged me out of my girlfriend’s house in front of everyone. Yet I stayed with him all them years, until it got so bad I found myself not wanting to go home to my own place. Then I started fighting back, so I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow: either I was going to kill him or he was going to kill me. So I had to leave him to save my life. I even almost committed suicide.

    This crisis feels ugly, rotten, like an empty hole in my stomach.

    — — — — —

    Tracy Girón of San Mateo county, SF Richmond, and Fremont

    My current struggle is family drama, child visitation rights, being houseless, and new boyfriend drama.

    My latest crisis experience started when I told my boyfriend off. I told him that he can’t have double-standards. He wanted me to rent a room in a house with him, and I said no. He had put this idea in his head that I didn’t want to live with him, that I wanted to just get my own place so I could mess around with other guys or do him dirty somehow in my soon-to-be SRO or studio. He didn’t like the fact that I wanted to be independent and have my own spot where I could have my kids sleep over. He acted as if the reason I really wanted my own place was to cheat on him and/or prostitute myself all behind his back. I told him that my past is my past and that I learned my lessons.

    I told him that he didn’t trust himself. He had some chick that he likes show up at his job. Knowing she likes him, how the f*** is it o.k. for him to have seen and hung out with her in person, and to then get mad at me when he saw me speaking to my ex-boyfriend. My ex and I were only talking about his baby on the way and family, and how he and I didn’t work out. I even bragged about my new boyfriend to my ex-boyfriend and claimed that the new man goes to church with me and looks out for me, not like him (the ex). My boyfriend saw us talking and thought that the ex and I had been messing around, that that must be why he kept showing up to the resource center—to meet me.

    My boyfriend freaked out for nothing. How am I the guilty one, when his current temptation came by his job so he could complain to her about me? I didn’t see what happened, and he had egregiously bragged about her. I told him, “You two texted ‘I love you’s’ to each other and then some. You two could’ve kissed and touched.” He had lied to me before, but often thought I was lying when he was the guilty one. Why can he hang out with a chick he bragged out about, but I can’t even speak to my ex, without him giving me drama?

    To me this crisis is like the colors red, black and blue. It tastes sweet and sour, mostly sour like a lime. It feels like tension, rage, jealousy and frustration.

     

    — — — — —


    Tomika of San Francisco

    My current struggle is to keep my sobriety and stay strong when the s**t gets thick. My health is a challenge, making sure that my unborn child is healthy and strong. Facing life’s struggles and dealing with them one at a time with some help—without medications.

    My major crisis experience is addiction. It’s taken me lots of places through the years , and through any hardships and losses of friends, family, money, time. Addiction took my pride, self-worth, self-esteem, and my dignity. I have allowed addiction to rob me of 20+ years of my life.

    If I had to describe my crisis in terms of the senses, it would be a taste. A vile, stomach-churning taste you can’t get rid of. There is no color for that feeling, the smell is like death. I’ll never forget it.

     

    — — — — —

    Cyn Bivens

    My major crisis is when I left San Francisco in the late 80’s to get closer to family, to feel safe and to feel at home. I wound up losing my family as I knew it and becoming a monster, a stranger, no longer welcomed, surprised that I was never loved the way I thought I was. After I pulled the trigger, after I fought for my life, I still do all the time. I saw I was again that little girl, left alone. Abandoned.

    My crisis was the color of crimson and black with a smell of blood and lead. It left a bittersweet taste of sickness that I can never forget.

    — — — — —

    Raymonetta Blackburn of Beaumont, Texas and the Western Addition

    I never want to forget about the time I’ve been raped at gunpoint by one of my supposedly closest friends. To this day I hate that little boy. It was a disgraceful, degrading feeling. I felt so low.

    The color of this experience is RED, the taste like spicy garbage. The feeling is sick, throwing up. And the touch is hard—a bomb. 

    Tags
  • El Pueblo exige Justicia /The people demand Justice

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Ingrid4
    Original Body

    Scroll Down For English

     

    En  Guatemala,  Efrain Ríos Montt llego a la presidencia

    De la misma manera que Pinochet en chile.  

    Los métodos usados por los empleados que les ayudaron a ser elegidos fueron los mismos.  Cientos de  muertos, torturados, y miles de desaparecidos, Por el  presidente Efrain Ríos Montt.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Yo pienso  que  no debe  quedar impune la muerte de miles de Guatemaltecos.  Tiene que  ser juzgado y condenado el asesino.   El   No debería de estar libre, ya que causo mucho dolor y traumas a muchas familias que  se quedaron sin padres/madres y/ o sin hijos por la guerra civil.  Como dijo el Joven,Víctor Carrillo, “la guerra civil que estuvo en efecto  durante los anos 1982 y 1983, que fue cuando gobernó el ex-presidente,fue cuando mas incidentes/atrocidades se reportaron”.

    Efrain Ríos Montt tiene que ser  juzgado y castigado por lo que hizo.  El acabo/daño con familias inocentes,  Como en el caso de Víctor Carrillo.  El era un niño cuando se fue al exilio a Nicaragua por la guerra.  Su familia estaba siendo perseguida  y  lo que hacían fue tan cruel que asesinaban  a hombres, mujeres, y niños.  Ese fue el caso por  mas de 36 anos en Guatemala.  Los  derechos humanos de todas las personas  fueron violados.         

    Cuando Víctor  regreso a Guatemala  se integro a un   grupo de jóvenes activo de una organizacion  que lucha para que la gente no se olvide del daño/la gente  que fue dañada por la guerra.    Ellos han luchado  por décadas para que  el ex-militar y ex-presidente  sean   juzgados.

     

    Ya se va a llevar acabo el primer juicio contra  Ríos Montt  quien  logro la presidencia por un golpe  de  Estado, dijo Víctor Carillo ,al recordar como su padre desapareció por la guerra. Muchos lugares fueron afectados, uno de los lugares mas afectados  fue el Quiché. Víctor dijo, “ yo me recuerdo que  en mi casa  teníamos que escondernos porque el ejercito llegaba a darle vuelta a todo y hacían  un tiradero para   ver si alguien estaba apollando a la guerrilla.  Era una manera muy traumática de vivir de esa manera.   Los dos se vestían del mismo color y no se distinguía quien era quien."

     

    Victor conto que  cuando la guerilla encontraba algo que era del ejercito matavan a las familias.

    Su padre fue soldado y Paracaidista.  El  tenia recuerdos y fotos de cuando estuvo en el ejercito ,pero todo el tiempo esas cosas estaban enterradas por miedo que los mataran.

    En la noche se escuchaban los disparos y el  lloraba pensando que  los hiban a matar.  Se  recuerda que pusieron a patrullaran a la comunidad  por que había toque de queda.   Mucha gente murió en las manos de los soldados.  También habían casos en que los miembros de la comunidad  eran obligados a matar miembros de su  propia comunidad.  Víctor dijo, “pero yo se que no hay mal que dure sien años.  Es histórica la condena de 80 años de prisión al dictador de guatemala, José Efraín Ríos Montt, quien ahora tiene 82 años de edad.  Me parece justo que lo condenen por tantas muertes durante su gobierno."

     

    De acuerdo a Virtor Carillo, El gobierno de facto de Ríos Montt fue uno de los más sangrientos de la guerra civil que sufrió el país durante los años 1960 a 1996.  La guerra  dejó 200 mil muertos, números basados en estadísticas de la Organización de Naciones Unidas y el cree  que  Guatemala va  hacer historia al convertirse en el primer país en condenar a un dictador por genocidio en una corte nacional.  Victor dijo, “ Aunque esto no revive a los muertos."

    Ingles Sigue

     

    In Guatemala, Efrain Rios montt got to the presidency, the same way that Pinochet got to the presidency in Chile.  The methods/ways the staff/employees used to get them elected were the same.  As a result, hundreds of people were killed,  tortured, and thousands of people  disappeared by President  Efrain Rios Montt.

    I think that the deaths of millions of people from Guatemala should not go unpunished.  This murderer/assassin must be tried and condemned.  He should not be free. He caused/perpetrated a lot of pain and trauma to a lot of families. As a result of the civil war during 1982-198,  Many families  were left without  children and/or with out parents,  which is the time when Efrain Rios Montt was the president.  Rios Montt, must be tried and punished for what he did.  He is responsible for the loss of innocent families and/or separated.  Like in the case of Victor Carrillo, He was exile to   Nicaragua since he was a child.  He was on exile because his family was persecuted and the war was so cruel that many families, women, men, and children were killed.  This war in Guatemala lasted more than 36 years.  

    Victor stated that During this time,  the human rights of all people were violated.  When he returned to Guatemala, he joined a youth group that  organizes so people don’t forget  the the war and the  damage it caused because it hurt a lot of people.  Many people have been organizing/fighting/ working hard  to have the military and the former president tried and convicted/punish.

    The first court hearing/beginning of the trial  against Rios Montt will be happening soon.  Victor  said Rios Montt   got to the presidency via a military coup.  He remembers his Father disappeared during the war.  The war affected everyone and every  area and el Quiche is one of the areas most affected. Victor remembers that everyone  at his home hide from the military because the military was constantly patrolling the communities and will make a mess.  They will make a mess to see if anyone was supporting the guerilla and it was very traumatic to live that way.  

    Both, the guerrilla and the military wore the same colors.  It was difficult to distinguish who was who.  If the guerilla noticed/found something that was from/related to the military they will kill the families. My father was a soldier. He was a parachutist and he had memories/souvenirs (recuerdos) and photos  of the time when he was in the military/army.  All of those things were hidden/burried due to the fear of getting killed.  

    At night time, one could hear the shots.  I used to cry thinking they were going to kill us.  I remember they were patrolling the community because they had implemented a curfew(golpe de queda) and many people die in the hands of the soldiers. And even in the hands of the people, as they were forced to kill others. Victor said ‘ yo se que no  hay mal que dure cien anos ( I know there is no evil that lasts a hundred years/nothing last forever)”I think it is  historic to condemn the Guatemalan dictator ,Jose  Efrain Rios Montt,  to  80 years in prison.  He is now 82 years old. 
     

    I think is just/fair  that he was condemned to 80 years in prison for all the deaths during his governance.  The de Facto government of Rios Montt was one of the bloodiest periods/times during the civil war that was in effect from 1960-1996.  It is estimated and reported by the United Nations that the war was responsible for 200 thousand deaths.  I think Guatemala made history in becoming the first country to condemn a dictator for genocide in a national court.  although, it does not bring all the death/people loss back. 

    Tags
  • Homefulness, Hot Dogs, and Care

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Lex
    Original Body

    from May 2013:

    As we crossed the bridge on the way to Homefulness in East Oakland, I sat curled in the backseat, watching the San Francisco Bay flash past us. Dancing in my chest was some combination of eagerness, longing, and nervousness about the honor of visiting this corner of reclaimed land, this place that has a big piece of my heart. I’m a member of POOR’s Solidarity Family—a crew of people with race, class, and/or educational privilege who use those privileges to support the Homefulness Project. I’d been invited to come out to Homefulness for the afternoon, to be a part of the work that POOR does there every Thursday.

    In the front seat, the conversation was about hot dogs. Hot dogs had been a hot topic for more than a month now. For hot dogs, family at POOR tweaked the budget, put out new fundraising calls, did market research—all because POOR refuses to feed poison-filled food to the folks at Homefulness. Healthy hot dogs are expensive. This week Tiny, Muteado, and Leo are excited: the best quality hot dogs were on sale, and so the trunk is stocked with organic meat to grill.

    In East Oakland, we maneuver into the driveway and unload armfuls of food and supplies into the cool, dim kitchen. Outside, everyone snaps into action and I try to keep up. Muteado unravels a hose and starts to water the raised-bed gardens near the front of the property, showering thirsty red kale and mustard greens. Joe, Tiny, and I wrestle with a big white tent to shelter our food and our people from the sun. Before five minutes have gone by, Queennandi is deep in conversation with neighbors. Joe uses a lemon and an onion to meticulously clean the grill. I pick greens from the garden, yanking a few weeds along the way, and put together a salad. When I stop for a minute, I see this small POOR family, tight-knit, moving with precision and purpose.

    Folks from the neighborhood start to gather around the card table. We all serve ourselves hot dogs striped with grill marks, bowls bursting with green salad, slices of tomato and onion. We circle informally, someone flips out a camcorder and filming starts for this week’s Deep East TV.

    **

    Homefulness stayed with me into the next week, most often surfacing when POOR’s insistent, gentle ethics about dignity and care clashed with the overwhelmingly normal violence of capitalism and racism. A few days after my van ride to East Oakland, my computer screen filled with the earnest face of a young white guy behind a steering wheel. Los Angeles surface streets zipped past as his voiceover stated firmly: “It was time to do some charity.” His name was Greg Karber, and he was responsible for the media stunt trainwreck called “Fitch the Homeless.” Karber wanted to ruin Abercrombie & Fitch’s name, and he could think of no better way to do it than by giving away Abercrombie clothes to people in poverty.

    Karber’s feet hit the pavement of LA and he tossed clothes to houseless folks as he tornadoed through their neighborhood. He didn’t need to explain himself when he said that his aim was to make Abercrombie & Fitch the “Number One Brand of Homeless Apparel.” What he meant is that there could be no greater shame for a fashionable company than to be associated with folks in poverty. The people themselves—dozens of faces who are shuffled through the three-minute video, hands outstretched to confusedly take the “gifts” that Karber is offering—were props, just like the v-neck sweaters and khaki pants.

    Fitch the Homeless caught its own moment of frenzied internet excitement, with a lot of people eager about the dig Karber took at a disgusting clothing company, and a lot of others infuriated by his dehumanizing treatment of poor people. The attention has mostly wandered away now. Karber was impolite enough to cross an imaginary line of decency that provoked some internet anger, but there was nothing particularly new about his project. It is so normal for people with privilege to build their projects and their lives off of poor people, on top of poor people. The notion that poor people have visions and power of their own usually doesn’t even make it into the conversation.

    **

    Driving up Macarthur Avenue, it’s like this backdrop of hatred of poor people is set in the skyline behind the sloping roof and high-reaching trees at Homefulness. Sometimes it’s hard to explain Homefulness, I think because it’s not so complicated: because the care that is at the foundation of Homefulness is so simple and also so rare and revolutionary. I think about Greb Karber, and every other media-maker and policymaker who has never managed to muster any kind of care for poor people, in spite of making whole careers off of policing, housing, un-housing, shuffling, and exploiting them.

    At Homefulness, care means that people in a resource-drained, heavily-policed Black neighborhood in deep East Oakland deserve the best food we can find. That housing and food shouldn’t come at the cost of anyone’s dignity or self-determination, like it does in so many social service organizations. That scholarship generated on street corners in East Oakland deserves a camera held steady, careful attention from an editor, and airtime. That poor people do not need charity, but the breathing room and resources to bring their own solutions to life. That the soil that has slept pressed under the asphalt for decades still holds the memory of an ecosystem, the memory that will reteach us interdependence.

    How many of us are hungering for the kinds of care that are happening at Homefulness? It’s not only the poverty scholars who will live at Homefulness who need it to succeed. Every careful, humble step that Homefulness takes chips away at the lies of independence, hoarding, and supremacy that my white, owning-class world have taught me. The steps themselves are living, vibrant teachers, the lessons that all of us need to get free.

    Tags
  • PNN-TV-BLACK RIDERS LIBERATION PARTY

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Phillip Standing Bear
    Original Body

    The Black Riders Liberation Party (BRLP) started in 1996 in a YTS gang prison in Los Angeles when the bloods, crips and other members of street tribes who were incarcerated began to take college courses and forming their spiritual bond of unity. While locked up, those who took part of this revolutionary transition made a vow to work hard towards correcting the destruction that the men have inflicted upon their communities.

    We at poor magazine embraced and welcomed our revolutionary brother who stopped by to enlighten fellow comrades on the origin of the Black Riders Liberation Party. At poor we believe in the ideal of collaborating with other souljahz in the struggle because it brings us all together, connecting the dots and ridding ourselves of the “crabs in a barrel” and the “my organization is better than yours” stigma that keeps many of us separated and defeated before we even progress. Bay Area native Shango is the founder of the Black Riders Liberation Party of northern California.

    Having learned that the blood and crip gangs spawned from the infiltration of cointelpro to destroy community souljahs such as the Black Panther Party for self-defense, Shango  resided in Los Angeles for a year to learn more about the BRLP and it’s ideaology and principles. Shango also was a student at Humboldt State, and went on to be a representative of the commemoration committee for the Black Panther Party for self-defense in Berkeley, Ca and covered the Oscar Grant trial. While in LA, Shango met up with folks who knew members of the BRLP, and eventually connected with T.A.C.O, the general of the Black Riders (LA), and began building with the organization. He also began working with the Chico justice center and other advocacy groups while living in Watts and in South Central. Shango then took the skolarship he had learned in LA and collaborated with a group of activists involved in the movement and started a BRLP chapter here in the bay area here in 2010 in West Oakland.

    It was here that Shango, along with other comrades began to follow in the footsteps of the foremothers and forefathers of the Black Panther Party by having consistent programs such as “feed the people” and the “watch a pig” program where the conduct of the police were being monitored. These programs even began to capture the imaginations of those who participated in  “illegitimate capitalism” and other activities that contributed to the destruction of our communities. The Black Riders Liberation Party also have a awesome newspaper circulating that talks about what is going on in the community and enlightens readers on issues such as po’lice brutality, forums on education and health, feed the people programs and the black commune program. For more information on how you can support the BRLP you can send a email to blackriderslp@yahoo.com.

    Tags
  • Black Poets Night/Black Poets of Change (Listen to Yahcanon the Poetical Preacher's poem, BLACK GOLD)

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    I started Black Poets of Change in 2012, as a result of putting together a creative way to do my Documentary-The 16th Strike. Poetry is, and has always been a way to express our innermost feelings. It is poetry that starts the beginning of a music passion. This is why it was so important to have poetry as a part of The 16th Strike documentary. When trying to figure out a title, a young lady by the name of Nikala Asante’s poem titled- The 16th Strike would not leave my mind. I eventually got her permission to use her title. (Breaking news I'll be in the SF Bay Area in Black August 2013 to show the documentary.  Stay tune for more details)

    Every time we hold a Black Poets Night event, we keep it clean, and only speak of those things that can encourage our communities. Poetry is a language of the heart. And I am happy that this featured poet- “Yahcanon the Poetical Preacher,” is also in the documentary. He is a strong representation of what we do at each Black Poets Night. Check out my website for the next  for our next one at http://www.tonihickman.com/ or our facebook page  https://www.facebook.com/Givebackbuyblack .

     

    By T.Alika Hickman

    4/16/13

    Tags
  • A Women's Resource at City College that we ALL NEED!

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Lex
    Original Body

    As a woman of color I Leontyne Smith am a part of the Women’s Resource Center in San Francisco and it helped me gain a knowledge of myself and the history of other women. I as a human believe feeding into the positive energy this program offers has tremendously impacted my life. Now im not ashamed of being disabled and a woman of color that has difficulties in school because of the lack of academics from high school. From this resource center comes a lot of good people, a library of all women’s books, free food and coffee, free access to Internet, support groups, and movies. This program was basically my backbone in college because of the opportunities and the initiatives that took place. The woman’s resource center is the best thing on campus but as we know City College is being attacked. I and a lot of other people will be distraught if this program gets cut off. City College of San Francisco is one of the largest community and junior colleges in the United States and an extremely important resource for poor women of color like myself. The Women’s Resource Center is known to be the most effective organization for black women. It is an initiated and student run organization and their funding comes from the Women's Studies Program. The Woman of Color Gathering was one of the annual events coming from the Women’s Resource Center. Its purpose is to bridge the gap between Black History Month and Women’s Herstory Month. This year the Women’s Resource Center is focusing the gathering on education, with guest speakers Shanell Williams, Associated Student Council President at CCSF, and Sekani Moyenda, teacher and co-author of TAKING IT PERSONALLY: Racism in the classroom from kindergarten to College. The first speaker, Shanell Williams, who is the president of student council and the student chair for the Black Student Union, is fighting for City College students and she is an example of excellence from the background she has. As education was the focus Shanelle talked about how from the first experience as an African American woman being in school disinterested her because she wasn’t gaining a knowledge of self. Shanelle got kicked out of three high schools prior to her graduation. She excelled in school after attending Wallenberg and finally graduated. Though she received her high school diploma she didn’t want to go to College. She expressed the anger she had from living in Hunters Point and because all she saw was violence and self destruction. Coming against all odds to fight for the community she attended City College of San Francisco, because she wanted a positive outlet. Other than doing drugs, black on black crime, and the misconduct of women in the neighborhood. As she spoke about her entry into school at the age of twenty five, people in the audience literally cried when they heard her story of being that at risk youth in the black community yet now she is graduating this semester of 2013 and continuing in an Ivy League College. Women in the audience talked about cancer, asthma, dust, and health care in Bay View as well. One woman had lung cancer from living in hunters Point all her life. There are so many stories out there that people do not know about but as Shanelle expressed her relief of living in the black community became a gift to her dreams. This is to go back into the community and help others go to college and start a non profit organization working for the black community. She left a key note on asking people are they in College to get money or fulfill a purpose? She said if you do what you love and work at it the money will always come. The beauty of the program was destined to be because the other keynote speaker for the event works at the elementary school Shanelle went to when she was a kid. When Sekani Moyenda, an African American elementary school teacher, accepted an invitation to speak at a graduate education class, neither the students nor Ann Berlak, their professor, could guess that her presentation would spark an outpouring of emotion and a reexamination of race from everyone involved. The "encounter” as it was called was an expression of Moyenda's anger at the institutionalized racism of our educational system, a system whose foundations are reinforced and whose assumptions about race are reproduced in the graduate school classroom. Forcing everyone involved to rethink their own race consciousness, Taking it Personally is a chronicle of two teachers and their own educational progress. In processing their own responses to the encounter, along with their students', Berlak and Moyenda meditate not only on their own ideas on teaching and learning, but also redefine the obligation a teacher has to his or her students. Personal in its approach, yet grounded in significant currents of educational thought, Taking it Personally will be a must-read for any educator or educator-to-be who is committed to teaching in our diverse classrooms. I sat down with her after the presentation of this scenario she put together and talked about, and she expressed that everyone has racism in their lives. Her approach to me was so warming, because not only was she a good teacher she is a good person who wants to help the community. As an outcome everybody wants to purchase this book, because it is not just black and white anymore she deals with diversity and the environment she works in is of all different nationalities. At the end of her presentation her main point was to come to the students who are black and fighting for their education so they can help themselves. They are cutting so many things with education that teachers are being laid off left and right. She said she keeps on fighting and when people knock her down she stands up even stronger. She said if people aren’t talking about you something is wrong. The whole audience loved both speakers and there was an announcement for people of color to do a walk out and march. This will help our education and the future’s education. I am proud to be a black woman especially after analyzing these strong women in the community and the stories they shared.

    Tags
  • Calpulli Coatlicue- Danza AZTECA MEXIHCA

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

     

    Scroll down for English

     

        Los tambores tienen una manera hermosa de hablar y cantar; nos pueden llevar a un punto ecstático con mucha energía e inmediatamente después, arrullarnos a tal punto de tranquilidad, que se podría dormir en el mismo momento. Yo creo que los tambores nos pueden conectar y reconectar con la Tierra, sincronizarnos a los ritmos de su corazón latiente, y guiarnos de regreso a las maneras de vivir naturales y tradicionales. Yo estaba pasando por muchos cambios, internos y externos. Había estado lejos de mi hogar, México, alrededor de 6 meses y extrañaba mi casa,mi país. Me sentía desconectada de la Tierra, alejada de mi familia y me hacía falta una comunidad con la que me pudiera sentir como en casa. En mi búsqueda por un nuevo hogar, me topé con el área de Fruitvale, una pequeña versión de América Latina en Oakland. Tomé repentinamente la decisión de mudarme allí y en menos de un mes, me estaba mudando a un pequeño estudio en el corazón del área. Era mi segunda noche en mi nueva casa y había pasado casi todo el tiempo desempacando y acomodando mis cosas, así que decidí salir y respirar un poco de aire fresco, mirar la Luna y las estrellas y darme una vuelta. Caminaba en parte sin buscar nada en específico, parcialmente admirando mis alrededores y parcial e incondicionalmente, buscandome a misma.

    Repentinamente, el sonido de tambores se comenzó a escuchar. Me encantan los tambores, siempre lo han hecho, desde que era pequeñita... pero éstos tambores eran distintos; su vibracióñ se sentía más fuerte, me sentí fuertemente atraída hacia ellos, sentí que algo me llamaba desde el fondo de mi alma. Persiguiendo el sonido, simplemente dejé que mis pies se movieran hacia un destino incierto. El aroma de Copal ardiendo y humeando comenzó a acompañar el retumbar de los tambores y simultáneamente, mientras uno se tornaba más intenso, también lo hacía el otro. El sonido parecía venir de la Hacienda Peralta; un parque, un museo y un centro comunitario a media cuadra de mi casa. Me acerqué más y más, hasta que me encontré frente a un círculo de personas danzando alrededor de unos tambores, con plumas en sus cabezas y con semillas que hacían hermosos sonidos al moverse, abrazándoles los tobillos. Sentí la necesidad de conocer más, de unirme a su círculo y danzar, pero al mismo tiempo me sentía nerviosa y un poco confundida, así que simplemente me quedé donde estaba, congelada. Un hombre se me acercó portando una sonrisa enorme y se presentó como Ernesto, e inmediatamente después exclamó de manera firme y sincera: “!Bienvenida!” Un jovencito que no podría haber tenido más de 13 años se dió cuenta de nuestra plática y también se acercó. Extendió su brazo hacia y firmemente me dió la mano; su nombre era Frank, aunque se aseguró de que yo supiera que su nombre espiritual era Chicome Malinalli. “Chicome significa 7 y Malinalli significa hierba medicinal,” me dijo. Supongo que el dicho de que las mejores cosas vienen en 3 es real, porque mientras él terminaba de hablar, una mujer se le acercó y se presentó conmigo como Tere, su madre. Frank la interrumpió y me dijo que los nombres de Ernesto y de Tere eran Yei Cipactli ( 3 cocodrilo) y Coaltyotl Olllin (mujer en movimiento). Con un poco de prisa, como quien quiere evitar detalles minúsculos e innecesarios,  me invitaron a que me uniera al círculo, pues la ceremonia estaba a punto de comenzar. Me prestaron una maraca, una cinta para amarrarme en la cabeza y una bifanda para amarrarme en el estómago; para la protección, dijeron.

    Sin clase previa o instrucción alguna, comenzó todo. Sonaron los caracoles y llamaron a las cuatro direcciones; sin pausa, comenzaron a danzar. Yo intenté frenéticamente seguir sus pasos, traté de seguir los pasos de los permisos y de comprender un poquito de lo que estaba sucediendo. Aunque me sentia perdida la mayoría del tiempo, tuve la sensación repentina de haberme encontrado a misma. Tuve la visión de que con cada paso, cada vez que marcábamos uno de nuestros pies en el suelo, estábamos practicando acupuntura o mandándole mensajes telegráficos a nuestra Madre Tierra. Me sentí en paz, bienvenida... como si estuviera en el lugar y momento adecuado, en todo sentido de la palabra. Me sentí nutrida, alimentada, entera.

    Después de dos cansadas pero muy satisfactorias horas de danza, honramos a las cuatro direcciones una vez más al unísono de los caracoles, nos acercamos más en un círculo y la “palabra” fue otorgada a todos y cada uno de los que estaban presentes para que compartieran sus sentimientos, sus necesidades, su agradecimiento o sus pedidos. Nos abrazamos cálidamente, nos saludamos los unos a los otros y nos presentamos; muchos comenzaron a acomodar mesas y sillas, mientras Tere colocaba comida con aromas de amor y de hogar en ellas. Mientras Tere acomodaba la comida, se aseguraba de decirle a todos (casi obligarlos) a que se sentaran a comer y a que probaran todo. Tere me recordó mucho al arquetipo de madre mexicana, la que nutre, la que cuida, la que protege, la que siempre está tratando de alimentar a los niños, asegurándose de que todos estén bien nutridos, fuertes y saludables. Tere me recordó tanto a mi propia madre... me sentí nostálgica y comencé a extrañar a mi propia familia, aunque estrañamente, por la primera vez desde que había llegado a Oakland, por alguna razón me sentí como en casa.

    Comimos y nos contamos historias mientras cenábamos; historias acerca de dónde soy, de cómo de manera casi mágica llegué a la danza ésa noche y finalmente, acerca de ése Calli, de ése hogar, de la familia de danzantes frente a la que me encontraba. Tere y Ernesto señalaron a Frank, indicándole que contara la historia. Así que ahí me encontraba, junto con la familia. Escuchábamos atentos a un niño a quien muchos probablemente ignorarían. El nos contó una historia que, aunque simple en esencia, llevaba con ella sabiduría infinita, así como él. Resulta que él mismo es el jefe y fundador del grupo, Calpulli Coatlicue, un grupo de danza mexica. Todo comenzó hace un par de años, cuando -siendo aún más joven de lo que es ahora-, Frank sintió repentinamente la necesidad de comenzar un grupo propio, un nuevo grupo. Un día durante uno de los muchos eventos comunitaros a los que él y su familia frecuentemente asisten, se acercó a la directora de la Hacienda Peralta en Oakland. Se presentó frente a ella con la integridad y confianza de un hombre sabio, manteniendo la inocencia de un niño, y le preguntó si les permitiría usar el espacio para practicar con su grupo de danza. La directora quedó cautivada con la propuesta de éste niño y quería más información, así que él corrió y le contó rápidamente a su mamá. “Frank, cómo vamos a comenzar un grupo si no tenemos a nadie para un grupo?” -dijo Tere. “Ay mamá, que no ves? Yo llevo el huehuetl (tambor), papá lleva el atecocolli (caracol) y tú llevas el popoxcomitl (el fuego, el humo); ésos son tres de los elementos sagrados. Es como un tripié: Si sólo tuviéramos dos elementos, perdería el balance y se caería, pero con los tres, tenemos igualdad, balance y somos sólidos.” El sonrió y dijo: “Mamá, sí tenemos un grupo!”

    Así que, muchas veces siendo sólamente un tripié los que veníán a danzar, comenzaron el grupo Coatlicue cuando la Hacienda les dió permiso para utilizar el espacio y ahí se han seguido reuniendo cada Lunes a las 6 de la tarde.

    Es increíble pensar que cuando Coatlicue comenzó, era muchas veces sólamente madre, padre y Frank y que ahora, hay veces que llega tanta gente, que no hay ni espacio suficiente para danzar. Aunque la manera en que el grupo ha crecido desde que se formó ha sido rápida, no es difícil de creer; si todas las personas que llegan a la danza se sienten tan bienvenidas, aceptadas, cómodas y como en casa como yo me sentí, sería difícil creer que alguien no querría regresar. El calpulli Coatlicue es un ejemplo perfecto  del concepto de comunidad llevado a la práctica. Coatlicue comenzó como una familia y sigue creciendo como una. El calpulli nos brinda un hermoso espacio con muy buena energía para que muchos podamos venir y hacer nuestro rezo, conectar con nosotros mismos, con la madre Tierra y con nuestros ancestros; ellos sacrifican mucho de su trabajo y de su energía para que todos podamos generar más energía y sanarnos a nosotros mismos y a todas nuestras relaciones. Todos en el calpulli comparten el conocimiento que tienen, con la única intención de que regresemos a nuestras maneras originales y tradicionales, así como ayudarnos a reconectar con la Tierra y con nuestras raíces, ayudándonos a recordar el conocimiento que no sabíamos que llevábamos dentro.

    Así como ha pasado el tiempo he visto a muchas personas que, así  como yo, se han sentido atraídas hacia el grupo por los tambores; sin ninguna explicación real, más que el hecho de que algo les dijo que caminaran en ésa dirección. Yo he sentido a mi corazón sincronizarse al retumbar de los tambores, he sentido mi energía convertirse en una sola con la energía de las personas dentro del círculo y he sentido la sanación, poco a poco tocándo cada rinconcito de mi cuerpo y alma. Ernesto dice que a través de la danza, estamos plantando y cultivando cambio, tanto interno como externo en el mundo y en nuestros alrededores. Muchas de las personas que forman parte de la familia de Coatlicue están profundamente involucrados en la restauración y el crecimiento de nuestra comunidad, en hacer éste mundo un lugar mejor y en conseguir igualdad, justicia y un aumento de conciencia. Tere cree que ésta manera de vida en la que compartimos el conocimiento es la única manera en la que conseguiremos los cambios y mejoras que queremos ver en nuestras comunidades.

    El calpulli Coatlicue no es sólamente un bello grupo de personas donde uno puede aprender danza e historia, pero también un lugar donde podemos aprender e inspirarnos al estar rodeados por todos los guerreros dedicados e incansables, conscientes, que viven en pie de lucha y en resistencia, de los artistas, activistas, sanadores, maestros, poetas, cocineros, abuelas, abuelos, madres, padres, niños y amigos que forman ésta familia de danzantes tan diversa, colorida y llena de amor; al final de cuentas, todo es un mismo rezo, una misma nación, un mismo corazón y un mismo pueblo y todos deberíamos compartirlo. Coatlicue, de la mano de nuestro abuelo el huehuetl, nos ayuda a encontrar todas ésas piezas que nos hacen falta de nosotros mismos, coatlicue está constuyendo y aumentando la comunidad, formando y manteniendo a la familia fuerte y estable, unida, como el tripié, como el cantar,  frenéticamente tranquilo de la vibración de los tambores que nos ayuda a encontrarnos y unirnos como úno sólo.

                                                         English Version

                                                                 Coatlicue

               Drums have a beautiful way of talking and singing, they can drive us to an ecstatic point of high energy and almost right after that, lull you to such a state of calmness, that you could sleep on the spot. I believe drums can ground us back to Earth, synchronize us to the rhythms of her beating heart, bring us back to the old, natural ways. I was going through many changes, both internal and external. I had been away from home, Mexico for about 6 months and was feeling very home sick; quite ungrounded, detached from my family, I lacked a community to feel at home with. In my search for a place I could call home, I stumbled upon Fruitvale, the “little Latin America” section of Oakland. I made the decision to move there and within a month, I moved into a little studio in the heart of Fruitvale.   It was my second night at my new place; I had spent pretty much all my time unpacking and arranging things around, so I decided to step outside and take a breath, gaze at the moon and the stars and just wonder around... I was partially looking for nothing, partially looking at my surroundings and  partially and unknowingly looking for my self.

                Suddenly, the sound of drums became noticeable. I love drums, I have since I was a child... but these drums were different; their vibration felt stronger, I felt deeply drawn to them, I felt called from the bottom of my soul. Chasing the sound, I let my inner guide get me there. I simply allowed my feet to move toward an unknown destination. The smell of burning Copal incense began to accompany the beating of the drums and as one became more intense, so did the other. The sounds seemed to be coming from the Peralta Hacienda, a park, museum and community center half a block away from my house. I got closer and found myself in front of a circle of people dancing around drums, wearing feathers on their heads and sets of beautiful sounding seeds hugging their ankles. I felt the need to know more, I felt the urge to join them and dance but I also felt nervous and slightly confused, so I just stood there, sort of frozen. A man approached me with a giant smile and introduced himself as Ernesto, immediately followed by a strong and honest Welcome! A young little man who couldn't have been older than 13 noticed we were talking and approached me as well. He extended his arm towards me and firmly shook my hand; his name was Frank, although he made it a point for me to know that his spiritual name was Chicome Malinalli. “Chicome means seven and Malinalli means medicinal herb” -he said. I guess the saying that great things come in 3's must be true, because as he was saying that, a woman came near him and introduced herself as Tere, his mother. They immediately asked me to join them, as the ceremony was about to start. They let me borrow a maraca, a scarf to tie around my belly and a scarf to tie around my forehead; protection, they said.

                Without a previous lesson or instructions whatsoever, they called the 4 directions and right after that, they began to dance. I kept frantically attempting to follow their steps, to do the permission dances and to get some sort of clue of what was going on; although I felt lost for the most part, I had the simultaneous feeling of finding myself. I had the vision that with every step, with every foot we marked on the ground, we were performing acupuncture or sending telegraphic messages to the core of mother Earth. I felt at peace, welcome and like I was meant to be there in every sense of the word. I felt nourished, whole.

                After an exhausting but fulfilling two hours of dancing, the 4 directions were honored again and the “word” or palabra was given to every single one who was there, so they could share their feelings, needs, gratitude or requests. We hugged, greeted each other and introduced ourselves; people started setting up tables and chairs, as Tere sat deliciously smelling dishes on them encouraged (almost pushing) people to start eating and try it all. She reminded me so much of the archetypal mexican mother, the nurturer, the one that is always trying to feed the children, making sure they are all well nourished, healthy and strong. She reminded me so much of my mother, it made me feel nostalgic and miss my family, even though, for the first time since I  had moved to Oakland, I somehow felt at home.

                We ate and told stories over dinner; where I was from, how I magically stumbled upon danza that night and finally, stories about the Calli, the home, the family of danzantes before my eyes. Tere and Ernesto pointed at Frank, signaling him to tell the story. There I was, along with the family. We were listening attentively to a child who many would possibly ignore. He told us a story that although simple in its essence, carried infinite wisdom, just as himself.  Turns out that he is the head and founder of the group, Calpulli Coatlicue, a Mexica danza group. It all started a couple of years ago, when being even younger than he is now, Frank had the urge to start a group of his own. One day at one of the many community events that him and his family frequently attends, he approached the director for the Peralta Hacienda in Oakland. He presented himself with the integrity and confidence of a wise man and with the innocence of a child, and asked her if they could use their space  to practice with the group. The director was captivated by this child's proposition and wanted to know more, so he ran and called his mom. “Frank, how are we gonna start a group, if we have no people?!” -she said, surprised and almost scared. “But mom, we do! Don't you see? I carry the huehuetl (drum), dad the atecocolli (conch shell) and you the popoxcomitl (copal, incense burner); that's the three basic sacred elements. We are like a tripod: If we only had 2 elements, we would be out of balance and fall, but with 3 we have equality and are solid.” He smiled and said: “We have a group!” The other legs of what he calls the tripod are his mother, known by her spiritual name of Coaltyotl ollin- and his uncle (who he calls dad) , Yei Cipactli. So, with manytimes only a tripod showing up, they began the group when the Hacienda gave them permission to use their space and they have been meeting since then every Monday at 6 pm.

                It's amazing to think that when Coatlicue first started, it was a lot of times jut mom, dad and Frank and now there are times when there isn't even enough room for all the people who show up. Although the way the family has grown since it's formation has been fast, it isn't that hard to understand; if everyone who ever shows up feels as welcome and at home as myself, it would be hard to believe that anybody would not want to keep coming back. Calpulli Coatlicue is a true example of community. It began as a family and it has continued to grow as one. They provide the beautiful, welcoming space for many of us to come and pray, to connect with ourselves, with the Earth and our ancestors; they sacrifice so much work and energy so that we can all generate energy and heal ourselves and all our relations. Everybody in the calpulli shares the knowledge that they carry, with the intention of bringing back our traditional ways and helping us ground down back to our roots, helping us remember knowledge that we hadn't realized we had in us.

                As time has gone by, I have seen multiple people who, like myself, were drawn to the group by the drums; no real explanation behind it, other than something telling them to walk in that direction. I have felt my heart synchronize to the beat of the drums, felt my feet move to the beat of Pachamama's heart, felt my energy become one with the energy of all the people within the circle and I have felt the healing, little by little touching every corner of my body and soul. Ernesto says that through danza, we are planting and cultivating change; both inner change and change in the world and our surroundings. Many of the people who form Coatlicue's family are deeply involved in restoring and growing our community, in making this world a better place and in achieving fairness and increased consciousness. Tere believes that this way of living and sharing of knowledge  is the only way in which we will get the changes and improvements we want to see in our communities.

                Calpulli Coatlicue isn't only a beautiful group of people to learn danza and history from, but it is a place where we learn and inspire ourselves surrounded by all the conscious, dedicated fighters, people in struggle and in resistance, artists, activists, healers, teachers, poets, cooks, grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers, fathers, children and friends that make up this diverse, colorful, loving and open to all family of mexica danzantes; in the end, it is all one prayer, one nation, one heart and one people and we should all share it. Coatlicue, along our grandfather the huehuetl, is facilitating for so many of us to find the little pieces of ourselves that we were missing, it is building and growing the community, making and keeping the familia strong and stable, like the tripod, like the humming, excitingly calming vibration of the drums that helps us come together as one.

    Tags
  • Una invasion silenciosa / A silent invasion

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Lex
    Original Body

    [English follows below]

    El problema de la vivienda

    El apartamento donde vivo me gusta porque es barato, pero está ubicado en primer nivel y escucho el drenaje de los vecinos de arriba, el suitch del vano, cuando toman la ducha y además cuando mis vecinos hacen el amor con el ritmo del rik rik de su colchon. Pero todo estos ruidos e incomodidades son ahora parte del medio ambiente.

    Según los especialistas  la renta de los apartamentos  y cuartos aumenta de precio en el area de San Francisco debido a su proximidad al VALLE DEL CILICON. La demanda de personas y familias que necesitan donde vivir está aumentando. Tambien por ser una area con visitas continúas de turistas de diferentes países la está convirtiendo en una ciudad destina para el turismo, lo que hace que inversionistas de negocios tengan interés en investir en San Francisco y este tambien está afectando el incremento de los precios de otras areas de la Bahía.

    La renta de San Francisco esta entre las mas caras de Los Estados Unidos despues de New York.

    Los duenos de casa o apartmentos agravan la situación, sintiéndose como pequenos reyes y su reino es el lugar que rentan  y presionan a las personas que viven o comparten la casa con ellos.  Menciono esto porque los trabajadores inmigrantes por su vaja escolaridad tienen un salario muy pequeno con grandes jornadas de trabajo, especialmente las personas que trabajan en restaurantes, esto los no les permite rentar un apartamento pues el dinero no alcanza por lo que se ven en la necesidad de rentar un cuarto en la casa de alguna familia y compartir areas comunes como sanitario y cocina.

    Los duenos de la casa imponen su ley no la razon y  las reglas de buena convivencia y respeto, la idea es si yo soy dueno de esta casa yo mando aqui y ordeno lo que quiera y al que no le guste que se baya a otro lado.

    Ademas se dan el lujo de poner caras de piedra y gobernar la casa como los presidentes dictadores y militares de Centroamérica.

    La renta cada vez es mas cara empuja a vivir en lugares alejados de los centros de trabajo, Esto hace la vida mas dificil y como dice mi abuela, lo que no se va en lagrimas se va en suspiros. Esto es debido que en un lugar barato se debe soportar muchas incomodidades y estupideces del pequeno rey o dictador. Además se gasta mas en gasolina o en gastos de trasporte por bus y lo que no gastas renta lo gastas en tiempo.

    Esto tambies es parte del aburguesamiento que es una invasión silenciosa y sin valas en donde el que tiene dinero toma poseción de mejores lugares comerciales con vocación de negocios.

    Aburguesamiento incrementa la renta y tambien la comida en una carrera donde el se saca del camino a la gene poco dinero y vajos ingresos econonomicos, al pobres se le hace mas pobre y al rico mas rico

    Esta guerra económica se hace cada momento mas grande como  un monstruo. Y considero que el tiene dinero puede vivir donde quiera y el pobre donde pueda, o salvese el que pueda.

    The problem with housing

    I like the apartment where I currently live because is affordable, but it is located on the first floor so I can hear the drainage from my neighbors upstairs.   I can hear the lever of the bath and I can hear when they take a bath.  I can also hear the sounds/noise of their mattress when they make love.  But all of this sounds, inconveniences, and way of living are part of the environment. 

    According to experts, rent fees/prices of apartments and rooms in San Francisco continue to increase due to the area's proximity to Silicon Valley, while the demand of people that need housing continues to increase. There is also the fact that the area has a constant flow of tourists. The tourists are constantly coming to visit from all over the world and that makes this area a tourist destination. This in turn increases the interest of business investors in the area and this increases the prices of housing in the bay area. 

    Rent prices in San Francisco are the most expensive in the United States, only after New York

    The house or apartment owners make the situation worse. They feel like kings of kingdoms and act as though the space they are renting is their kingdom and behave like kings. Just like kings, they like to pressure/oppress the people that are in need of housing or in need of a place to live.  And I bring this up because migrant workers who have low wage paying jobs due to their low levels of education have intense physical labor jobs and are not able to afford to rent their own apartment, especially folks that work at restaurants. Since they are paid so little money, they have no options but to rent a room in a family house and share the bathroom and kitchen.

    The owners of the house impose their own law and not reason, the rules for sharing, living together, and respect. The purpose is to let folks know that they are the owners and as such, they rule.  They can impose whatever they want and if folks don’t like it they can leave. 

    In addition, they have the luxury to put their hard faces and govern the house like the dictators and the military in Central America. 

    The rent prices continue to increase and push people to live in areas far from job placement centers and from central locations.  This makes life more difficult.  On the one hand, if someone lives in an affordable housing situation, it comes with many inconveniences and stupidity, In particular from the king or dictator.  On the other hand, if one lives in a cheaper and/or more affordable place one has to spend money in gas or expenses for public transportation.  Whatever one saves in rent is spent in with time.

    This is also in part of gentrification, which is a silent invasion with out bullets, in which whoever has money can afford to take possession of the   best commercial places/spaces with business potential/vocation.

    Gentrification increases rent and food prices.  In a race in which the most unfortunate are taken out of the way.  The poor continue to get poorer and the rich continue to get richer.

    This economic war continues to grow every moment, just like a big monster.  I think that people that have money can live wherever they want and the poor live where they can or one has to save themselves as they can/or survive as best as one can.

    Tags
  • Starter Gentrifyers & the Roots of GentriFUKation

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    Mama used to say, “when us po’ folks get evicted, we don’t leave, we just go live in the “sidewalk motels”. GentriFUKation Tours “R” US wasn’t started as an “edgy” piece of performance art, or a protest, or an installation at a gallery, but rather as a non-violent act of art-in-desperation to the violence of removal, colonization and displacement.

     

    My poor body, daughter of another poor woman-body of color has been evicted over 28 times throughout my childhood as a houseless, chyle in Amerikkka. Most of the time we were committing poverty crimes, evicted because we didn’t have the money for rent in a capitalist society that values money over all things, even the housing security of a disabled single parent woman and her children. But so often when we had raised enough money in our mother-daughter led street-based business to pay the rent on a tiny place like the one we had in West Oakland, we were evicted, due the forces of gentrification, rampant re-development and real estate snakkking or what we at POOR Magazine called in another Art-Action circa 1999: Gerrification -so named after Jerry Brown who came to Oakland with the plan to “clean-up” aka evict poor folks out of Oakland and get rid of any trace of rent control being promoted at the time.

     

    GentriFUkation didn’t stop there for me and my mama, as a poor family, we were always at-risk of removal, from scamlords to speculators, eviction, substandard housing, and lack of stability were a constant. Fast forward another 13 years, this time I was facing houselessness again, but this time as the single parent of an infant son taking care of my mother who was now very ill, and as an act of resistance, I had started a small collective house for low-income single parent women like myself,  we called it Mamahouse. It was located in the already gentrified streets of the “Mission” and we were lucky enough to find a severely substandard 3 bedroom available at a mere $1800 a month. Never mind that there were subtenants with wings & whiskers, (roaches, pigeons and mice), never mind that almost nothing worked, ever. We had each other, single parents and children, together, helping and working together, inter-dependently.

     

    We stayed there throughout all the wrong-ness until that landlord from hell burned us out, literally, setting a fire instead of fixing any of the glaring habitability issues.

     

    We found a second home for Mamahouse in the “Mission”, and while it was very nice, it was too nice, and after 2 beautiful years, the 2nd Mamahouse ended up gentriFUKed again, by a whopping $700 rent increase imposed on us. None of us mamaz could afford that. We tried to re-group, but it was the final blow. I and my fellow poor mamaz were houseless, again.

     

    This last eviction was the final little murder of the soul as my mama used to call it, and this was when GentriFUKation Tours R US was born. Not meant to act as ambassadors, politricksters or non-profiteers with agendas and grant-guidelines, the gentriFUKation Tours R US tour-guides, are displaced, evicted, indigenous and/or houseless peoples who move through the post-gentriFUKed streets with maps of where we used to be, what hipster bar, over-priced restaurant, Tenants In Common takeover of rental housing or condominium was put in our place and the multitude of stories about our forced diasporas, out-migrations and where we are now.

     

    We are instigators and art-in-action uncomfortable-makers. We speak on wite-supremacy, real estate snakkking and the endless attack on our poor bodies of color still trying to stay in our communities of origin.

     

    The Roots of GentriFUKation

    At the root of gentriFUKation is colonization. The original act of removal was the lie of discovery by Christopher Columbus, etc, the illegal migration of pilgrims and missionaries and the subsequent theft of land, resources and people of all indigenous nations across Pachamama. The first gentriFUKed peoples in this part of Turtle Island were the Ohlone Nation, still unrecognized by the colonizer government as a tribe. The other root of gentriFUKation is capitalism itself. How it encourages, promotes and arguably mandates the lie of separation and individualism, all rooted in Western, Euro-centric therapeutic crafted norms of sanity and normalcy. How droves of middle-class and working –class white peoples (and Western taught peoples of color) are taught through the multitude of societal messages, corporate media and factory school education to leave their family homes, their cities of origin and their elders so they can live alone and be good, productive consumers, purchasing an endless amount of Ikea furniture, brooms, silverware, towels, blankets, apartments, and so much more. Paying for Euro-centric therapy so they can “get over” their loss of their families and mamaz and cultures and spirits. And in the end, trying to build “community” in places where their sheer act of communing means that the existent community is forced to leave to make space for them.

     

    These are the things that no one wants to say, or maybe don’t even think of. These are some of the issues brought up by the Tour Guides on the GentriFUKation Tours.

     

    The tragic thing is the confusion and shock of what I call the starter gentrifyers or gentrifyer-enablers, when they too get gentrified. Their belief that somehow they are inherently different, that they had nothing to do with gentrification, that it’s the policy-makers and the politricksters, the corporate interests and the Twitter executives that are “the cause of all this gentrification”.

     

    But what they don’t realize is although the hearts and souls of the starter-gentrifyers is in no way like the self-centered hearts of the Face-Book, Google and Twitter hearts or the evil-alien hearts of the Lennar, John Stuart, Chase Bank and Wells Fargo executives, they too are here, caught up in the away-nation, ghetto-izing their elders, forgetting their ancestors and believing, above all, in the lie of independence from their families of origin. And how their presence, if even by default, adds to the sheer numbers of people census-ed in this City,  enables the rampant re-devil-opment of neighborhood after neighborhood, fuels the greed of the landlords and lays the ground-work for the insane level of evictions attacking literally thousands of poor and working-class elders who have lived here for decades if not their whole lives.

     

    To be extremely clear, when I say all these people leaving their families I am not including peoples who leave their families of origin due to the fact that their lives were in danger if they stayed at home, or peoples like my mama who was an orphan and a foster home survivor who literally had no-one, no family to go to, and was all alone raising me, which is why we ended up on the street and living in our car when we couldn’t afford the rent in LA, Oakland and Frisco. No, I am talking about the billions of people who have perfectly good rooms and homes and elders and families who love them and will always love them, whose presence is always welcome and who themselves have bought into that same lie of independence and are now alone in their homes, with no more children and lots of rooms with no-one in them, waiting to no longer be seen as productive in a capitalist, ageist society.

    In this way the non-profiteers, volunteers, social workers and activists graduating from endless institutions teaching them how to “help” us poor folks, are in fact the 21st century missionaries, coming to our communities with “good intentions” to save us, help us, revolutionze us, heal us, without realizing that in this process, they are displacing us. Perhaps, they could take that learning, helping, activating and revolutionizing home, to their own families and homes, communities and neighborhoods and help un-pack the lie of wite-supremacy, capitalist separation and the hoarding of stolen wealth and resources and the endless cycle of displacement.

     

    So yes, the starter gentrifyers will end up being gentrified as well. And then where will they go? Maybe if they listen to the tour guides, on the next GentriFUKation Tours R US tour, humbly teaching, as us poverty and indigenous skolaz always do, they could consider, while they work on legislations, walk in marches and continue to fight gentriFUKation, leaving this city entirely, like many of our conscious “mentees” who graduate from POOR Magazine’s PEopleSkool do, giving their apartment or room to a houseless or evicted elder or family, and then going home to begin re-communing with their own families, their own mamaz, daddys, uncles and aunties, and in so doing, work on their own decolonization, their own embedded capitalist values, their own “inconvenience”.

    This would be the ultimate act of revolution as then they would in fact be un-gentriFUKing this stolen Ohlone territory, one person at a time.

    This story is an excerpt from Tiny’s upcoming book: Poverty Skolaship 101: A PEoplesTeXt.  For more decolonizing education, art and consciousness led by poverty and indigenous skolaz in resistance consider enrolling in a semester of PeopleSkool/Escuela de la gente at POOR Magazine. To find out about upcoming semesters or on-line classes go to click here To read more POOR Magazine narratives on gentriFUKation click here

     

    Tags
  • Krip-Hop Nation @ University of Washington May 10th & 11th 2013

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body
    The ASUW Student Disability Commission and the D Center at the University of Washington presents "Broken Bodies, Brainwash Ph.Ds. PBP: Police Brutality Profiling".

    The event is FREE and open to the community. No identification of any kind is needed to attend.

    This workshop will focus on how we learn about police brutality against people with disabilities from the streets to organizations to the media to higher education and what it looks like from these avenues and who is speaking and who is not speaking. Activist and recent graduate student Gioioa von Disterlo and disabled activist/cultural worker, Leroy Moore team up to present their work on the issue of police brutality against people with disabilities and how we learn about it in and outside of academic walls, in the community and in non-profit organizations. They will be looking through these multi lenses to get back to the individual and the perception of disability in our community all the way up to higher education including media and in non-profit industrial complex. The workshop will be a mixture of multi-media, critical thinking, poetry, song and exercises.

    Friday May 10th from 5:00 to 7:30.
    Location: The Ethnic Cultural Center, the Black room (located at 3931 Brooklyn Ave NE across the street from the pink building)

    DIRECTIONS

    The Ethnic Cultural center is located at 3931 Brooklyn Ave NE, on Brooklyn Ave NE and NE 40th St.

    The front entrance is ADA wheelchair accessible and is located on Brooklyn AVE NE and NE 40th Street. The event space is located on the second floor, which can be accessed by chair accessible elevators located on the left side, near the entrance lobby area.

    The event will be American Sign Language interpreted.

    There are three bathrooms near the event space, one of which is a non-gendered single lock stall with a changing station. Both of the gendered bathrooms also have chair accessible stalls and changing stations.

    There will be no soft seating in the event space itself.

    The space itself has natural lighting and uses non-fluorescent lights.

    Photos will be taken at the event by a community member, no flash will be used.

    Contact asuwswdc@uw.edu if you are interested in Skyping into the event or have questions and/or concerns about any part of this event.

     
     
    PERFORMANCE MAY 11TH 3-5:30PM
     
    The ASUW Student Disability Commission and the D Center at the University of Washington present "Krip-Hop Nation/5th Battalion Presents Police Brutality Profiling, Krip Kultural Activism Through Hip-Hop/Spoken Word"

    Leroy F. Moore Founder of Krip-Hop Nation & DJ Quad, Founder of 5th Battalion will not only perform their political, personal and powerful songs/poems but will also talk about their CD on police Brutality Profiling Mixtape, that came out last year, what is Krip-Hop Nation, 5th Battalion, why they see their cultural activism on a local and international level and how their work and art goes in the face of mainstream even left liberal media, music industry and yes some times in our communities of color. The performance will be a mixture of multi media with audio, PowerPoint, Skype presentation with live performances.

    Saturday May 11th from 3:00 to 5:30.
    Location TBD

    ACCESSIBILITY

    We are asking people to refrain from wearing fragrances or essential oils the day of the event. We ask that everyone do this so that folks with MCS and chemical injury are able to attend the event. Smokers should wash their hands and mouths with baking soda before the event. We will provide baking soda and scent free soap on site.

    Folks who arrive heavily scented and cannot wash off the scent with baking soda will be asked to leave.

    To learn more about MCS and being fragrance free check out the following resources:

    http://www.peggymunson.com/mcs/fragrancefree.html
    http://www.brownstargirl.org/1/post/2012/03/fragrance-free-femme-of-colour-realness-draft-15.html
    http://billierain.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/MCS-ACCESSIBILITY-BASICS.pdf

    The event will be American Sign Language interpreted.

    More accessibility information to follow, after venue has been determined.

    Tags
  • DJ in New Zealand, Mahz Mokz, Reaching Out (Listen to his song, Chairmen,)

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    Krip-Hop Nation, (KHN) – We just met over Facebook and you are from Auckland City, New Zealand. Tell us why did you reach out to Krip-Hop Nation and what do you do in your home town?

    Mahz: Firstly I want to thank you and the KHN for this opportunity I didn’t expect this at all and pretty humbled to be interviewed by you and think what you and others do for KHN and disability community Worldwide is awesome.

    There are people like us with disabilities all over the world who love music and hip hop and It’s great to see there’s a movement such as KHN to show that we still have an avenue for expression whether it’s through music, singing, dance, djing, graffiti, art, poetry, rapping, beat making etc.

    So mad love to the whole KHN Worldwide!!!

    My name is Mahia Mokaraka aka Mahz (pronounced like the planet mars) I am Maori who are the indigenous people of New Zealand (NZ) and a T8-T9 paraplegic resulting from a breakdancing injury in 2006.

    As you said we met on Facebook. Last night I was reading through a few posts featured on the KHN Facebook page to keep up to play with what’s happening in the KHN community worldwide.

    I saw the name Leroy Moore pop up a lot then realized you were the founder of KHN so thought “Why not message him to say hello and give props for what he’s doing”…not knowing that I would be interviewed as a result.

    I’m currently in my final year of a counseling degree, when finished I plan to work with people and families living with disabilities especially S.C.I’s. I’m a student counselor at a local high school in south Auckland, a Dj; writer and a beat maker when that “flash of genius” moment hits me and been a hip hop head since a youngin.

    KHN: You are a DJ and write rhymes. How is the music underground there in Auckland, New Zealand as an artist with a disability?

    Mahz: I find “disability” quite a broad term which includes both the seen and unseen. I think it’s a hard to gauge especially if we start talking about artist’s who may have unseen disabilities. There may actually be a whole lot of artists in NZ that have an unseen disability that I don’t know about.

    However I have a handful of mates, who are uses wheelchairs that rap, sing, play instruments, and beat makers, played in bands or learning to dj other than that it’s a quite scene. Maybe there are more around the country that I haven’t heard of, or up and coming artists keeping a low profile but I can say it’s definitely a quiet scene here in NZ.

    KHN: Do you think mainstream and underground Hip-Hop is ready for artists with disabilities?

    Mahz: I’d like to say yes that both would be ready to embrace artists with disabilities but I’m kind of swinging between both yes and no. I think the underground scene would embrace it more especially if the music and its content produced by artists with disabilities is relevant, real and people can identify with their message.

    On the flipside I think if projects produced are marketable or tick all the boxes for mainstream, then I don’t see why mainstream won’t embrace it. I think mainstream is probably more ready now than it ever will be compared to 10-20yrs ago as I think the idea of gifted talented people with disabilities is continuing to be accepted and awe inspiring nowadays…well that’s how I see it.

    KHN: Give us your best lyrics dealing with justice

    Mahz: Haha! you put me on the spot here i haven’t written anything specifically on the topic in the past so I’ll just throw something together. Here we go:

    Justice

    Justice, why must it be, we always gotta fight? Just…
    To persuade mind frames, they lines need slight adjusting…
    Unjust ways of mankind, plenty I don’t trust in
    If my mind was a sign? Mad cuss’n sure describes em
    Sometimes, something’s cloud man’s enlightenment
    Darkness clouds the soul, price paid for injustice!
    Imagine one day life lived without injustice?
    See the world through gods eyes, imagine? Just, if?...
    Justice prevailed, in God we all trusted
    Lives lived righteous, God like intelligence
    Gender, color, race, acquired no relevance
    Blessedness replaced all disabled judgments
    Our opinions, always filtered through positive lenses
    “What’s the expense on life without injustice?
    Priceless…"
    Yet, we lay our lives down to get a taste of justice. I think it’s more a poetic piece ☺

    KHN: How does the media report on disability issues there in New Zealand?

    Mahz: Besides the normal media outlets such as general TV, newspapers, internet and even Facebook etc. we have a TV program called “Attitude” which screens once a week across NZ solely run by people with disabilities for people with disabilities and they are very active in raising awareness. I think they do a great job it’s balanced in its approach, celebrating successes and raising awareness of issues faced by people with disabilities in our country.

    KHN: As you know Krip-Hop Nation is international what do you see the future of Krip-Hop in your country?

    Mahz: Right now I see a whole pool of potential for Krip-hop in NZ, by nature we are a country that loves music and naturally gifted musically & in the performing arts. So there is huge potential for growth, development and exposure for artists with disabilities here.

    During the process of doing this interview I’ve realized that maybe it’s time that something needs to be done here in NZ to search, gather and develop the talent that lies dormant. I know there’s talent out there somewhere who are likely more talented than I am, it’s a matter of finding them and getting them exposed to NZ and the world.

    KHN: How can people hear your music?

    Mahz: To be honest I’m very critical of what I put out regarding music I have done. I don’t have anything online as such right now I have a few projects: tracks and beats stored away but i get shy putting them out coz I’m so critical. However I will be working on something shortly for KHN that I’ll post up on soundcloud or facebook

    From time to time I upload my mixes on to soundcloud/facebook

    https://soundcloud.com/conart
    https://www.facebook.com/mokaraka

    KHN: Any last words?

    Mahz- As I said earlier it’s been a privilege to be interviewed by you, I was blown away that you wanted to interview me. It’s been great this has inspired me to seek other talent in my city/country to encourage them to develop themselves in the areas of music and performing arts.

    I’m glad to know there are people across the world such as KHN, who shares the same views and passion about music. Although we may live with conditions that can be limiting physically and/or mentally…that doesn’t hinder the love we have for music and hip-hop!

    I hope that this movement grows and that it reaches to all the four corners of the globe and who knows one day, there might be opportunity to work with other artists with disabilities across the globe…that’ll be dope

    Finally props to KHN, keep up the good work and all that you do! Somewhere, somehow, someone with a disability will find out about you that will spark a passion within and cause them to pursue whatever they are passionate about, because I know that’s what it’s done for me!

    Mahz signing off all the way from Auckland City, New Zealand

    One Love!

    Tags
  • South African Poet, Mak Manaka, Speaks Politically & Poetically

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

    Krip-Hop Nation (KHN) color:black"> I’ve been trying  to get to you for years.  Lets start your family’s political and artistic roots in South Africa and your poetic roots. And also tell us/me your full name.

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">My full name is Maakomele, its Pedi and it means ‘to represent’. I come from a family of artists; my late father was a playwright, poet and a painter. And my mother is a dancer, actress and choreographer. My political roots stem from home, because my father was and still is a major influence on younger brother and me. My parents were activists during apartheid, they fought racism through art, and believed “art for social transformation”, and that is where I was born. 

     

    KHN:  I’m really interested in the birth of poetry after Apartheid years.  Can you tell us a short history of the explosion of spoken word after Apartheid?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Coming from a very terrible past, black people’s art reflected the shame, the pain and the pride they were exposed to on a day-to-day basis. So, because of racism in South Africa, like in the US, there were a lot of divisions in our societies propelled by white agents to make us fight against each other. During that time, poetry was one of the mediums that could make sense of everything to our people. Poetry is the articulation of the human condition, it articulates our deepest fears, our deepest secrets and it also shows the gap in our humanity. There was a different style of doing poetry during the 70’s and the 80’s, and in the 90’s that style was fading because of the emergence of hip-hop, and in the 21st century, our style of poetry really changed to the new age wave of a hip-hop delivery, like ‘Slam’. Though, what remains more important apart from the styles is the content, and the South African content has always been that of recognition, mental freedom, politics, racism and tribalism. 

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  Online there are so many stories about how your disability.  Can you give us this history?


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">On the 31st of October 1995, a wall collapsed on my friends and I. I was only 12 years old. There were six of us and one passed away, I almost kicked the bucket but it was not yet time for me to ‘Voda Go’. It took an idiot doctor to fire up my mother to defy science, when she told her that, ’I will never walk again’, and how wrong he was. So, I spent 6 to 7 months in hospital, and two years as a wheelchair user, and when I went to these two physiotherapist dudes, everything changed. The first time I saw them, without even taking me through the ‘bring me your medical records’ routine crap, they just said, ‘ok my boy, tomorrow come with a pair of crutches’, ever since I’ve never looked back.

     

    KHN:  Your CD, Word Sound Power, is very political and shows your love of your country.  Where did you get your political views and have you been involved in activism around issues you talk about in your poems?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> I believe in art for social transformation, and like I said earlier, my family is my major influence. The workshops I hold in and around the townships are not only about poetry rather instilling self belief through art, creating a reading, a self loving and self pride in young people. I was born to tell people when and where the fire will be on the mountain, and I do that everyday, to me that is activism.

    KHN:  bold">Here in the US Hip-Hop honor, appreciated and build on the styles from poets like Gil Scott-Heron, The Last Poets and more was it the same in South Africa?  And give me your thoughts on South African activist poet, Mzwakhe "Times New Roman";color:black;font-weight:normal;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Mbuli.

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Well, to be honest, my thoughts are limited on Mzwakhe Mbuli, but I can tell about South African poets that he draws his inspiration from and I hope you too can look them up, here is a few to mention, Oscar Mtshali, Mafika Gwala, Matsemela Manaka, Bessie Head, Inguapele Mdingoane and the great, Don Mattera. These are a few voices that have articulated our pains and hopes to the world.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  I read online that your father could not deal with your disability.  Tell us more and has it changed lately?


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> My father passed away, before him and I could really sit down and seriously deal with disability. I was 15 when he went to the glory, before I could be a man. So, in spirit, I believe it have changed.

     

    KHN:  I also read that you are doing a play about your father’s art and activism, please explain.


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Some people can really take things out of context, I am not yet ready or strong enough to do one of my father’s play. But, what I was saying was, that his plays influence my thinking and have an impact in my writing.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  You have poems about your love for African women please explain.

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Afrikan woman, just the mention of that, makes me go crazy, because it doesn’t get realer than that.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  Have you worked with other poets with disabilities and what are you doing know to help other disabled poets in South Africa?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> not yet, but I have done shows for disability programs. To me its not about disability, its about who you are as a person. And this I put in my poems, if I can do it, then anyone can do it.

    color:black"> 

     

    KHN:  What are your thoughts about mainstream media in South Africa?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> media is media, they show the good and the bad. There is no difference between our media and your media, the only slight difference is that, ours is not saturated as yet like your like yours, but its going there.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  I also read that you perform with "Times New Roman";color:black">Benjamin Zephaniah who is also a Black disabled activist poet in the UK.  Tell us about that experience.

    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> The last time I was with Benjamin, I was only about 16 years or 15 years old, he didn’t have a disability. May be it was in his head, because the brother produces some really great works and make seem like mere mortals. Though it was a great experience to work with such a mind.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  What is in your future?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Art love supreme is the future, seen? Art love supreme is the future….

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  What are your experiences in poetry scene outside of South Africa and what is the scene today in open mic/poetry scene in South Africa today?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> the scene changes all the time, but as a legend of the open-mic, I will tell you this, there is a lot raw talent out in these streets. I am one of the few that can call poetry a career, and because of that, it has taken me to places I couldn’t have imagined as a young cat chilling with my boys in Soweto. People seem to love what I do, not only at home but also abroad, so there must be something I am doing right, and the poetry spirit is positive!!!

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  Give us a poem you write about your disability.

    color:black"> 

    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka:

    color:black">(HERE)

    color:black">it’s a poem from my second anthology, “In Time”

    color:black">When I walk…

    color:black"> 

    color:black">The sun will scotch the earth

    color:black">Unwanted infants will cry before birth

    color:black">Believers in humanity

    color:black">Will live after death

    color:black">And taste their spiritual wealth.

    color:black">When feelings on my toes

    color:black">Can tell the difference

    color:black">Between solid grounds and carpets

    color:black">The moon will commit adultery

    color:black">With the beautiful evening star

    color:black">And father my daughter.

    color:black">On that day

    color:black">Rain will pour heavily

    color:black">Yet children will play

    color:black">And those who are unable to speak

    color:black">Will have a say

    color:black"> 

    color:black">When I walk

    color:black">The deaf will talk

    color:black">The blind will stare

    color:black">And hope to live another day and share

    color:black">The images they saw the past year.

    color:black">Hatred will seize

    color:black">Violence will be an illusive breeze

    color:black">And all this abuse will have to freeze,

    color:black">Eternally

    color:black">Coz respect for one’s self

    color:black">Must manifest even towards the elderly

    color:black"> 

    color:black">Without my two boys

    color:black">I wonder if I will still make noise

    color:black">When life’s liquid begins to ooze

    color:black">A fresh breath of air through my bones

    color:black">There will be an end

    color:black">To bloodshed.

    color:black"> 

    color:black">The world has seen and will continue to see

    color:black">A million me’s

    color:black">Planting nations

    color:black">As strong as Samson’s DNA

    color:black">Coz when I walk

    color:black">Unborn prophets will listen

    color:black">To poets spit lines to the sun

    color:black">Even after dawn

    color:black"> 

    color:black">Babies will speak before they teeth

    color:black">This is not deep

    color:black">But understand before YOU believe

    color:black">That when I walk

    color:black">My mother’s eyes will spark

    color:black">In the dark

    color:black">And give life to feelings

    color:black">Murdered by the past

    color:black">So until that day comes

    color:black">Let’s hold on to our dreams

    color:black"> 

    color:black">     

    KHN:  I read online about your views of South African government and their lack of action toward the rights of people with disabilities.  Please explain and tell us has things change today?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> Well, you know what, disability is something that people don’t really want to talk about, and because of that, brush it under the carpet by increasing grants every year, I for one, refuse to take that grant even when times can really be tough, but I refuse take it because it feels like the government is saying, ‘take the money and shut up’, especially when you starting talking about accessibility. So, politics are there and they stink, the only time I am really honest and articulate is when I am on stage performing because through me, may be they will change certain things. I mean, I voice out certain issues regarding the government and their treatment of disability on big badass shows and on their show when they invite me to come perform but disability is one of the problems that need to be fixed in South Africa.

    color:black"> 

    KHN:  Krip-Hop Nation is working with gospel choir, Zululand in South Africa to do a song got Krip-Hop and working to get us there for a conference/concert.  We would love to have you in our crew.  What do you think?

    color:black"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> To tell you the truth I would love to though poetry is my career, my bread and butter, so I don’t want to say yes lets do it and then it turns out that I have to leave the country or I have a show somewhere els, but yo, you got my mail, lets work it out.


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">KHN:  color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">How can we stay in contact with you and your work?


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> I am on Facebook, my name is easy to remember and pronounce, Mak Manaka, its like saying Coca-Cola.


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">KHN: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">  Any last words:




    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Mak Manaka: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"> ART LOVE SUPREME!!!!!


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:
    bold"> 


    mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">KHN: "Times New Roman";color:black;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">  THANKS SO MUCH AND PLEASE STAY IN CONTACT!

    Tags
  • Joy Elan Artist Profile

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

       Joy, a bay area native and fierce warrior crushes all odds and trampled over the “dumb disabled’ myths. Her “disability” was she was born with the umbilical cord around her neck, which affected her ability to hear. Joy attended the Oakland Deaf  Program in the late 80’s – early  90’s and even though she had been wearing a hearing aid since she was 15 months old, she didn’t learn sign language until she was 5 years old. When she was born, her doctor, who practices medicine had told her mother that sign language wasn’t necessary- Joy was able to hear and her mother was told to just rely on her hearing to develop on its own. Joy’s family didn’t buy into the dis-ability stigma and her mother supported her by doing a lot of one on one revolutionary teaching with her. When Joy did attend school, she was more advanced than the rest of her class. Due to limited resources, Joy was unable to reap all of the benefits far as participating in classroom activities because she didn’t have an interpreter, thus allowing Joy to slide through the cracks. After many years of fighting the Oakland school district for accommodations for her child, Joy’s mother had given up, and decided to move to Berkeley.

     

    For Joy, attending school in Berkeley was a blessing. Everyone was treated equally regardless if the child had a “disability” or not. Even students who were not hearing impaired learned sign language. Joy credits her family for being in her corner since the beginning of her journey and giving her the confidence of being able to do whatever she puts her mind to.  Every since Joy was 5 years old she dreamt of attending U.C Berkeley and she put her mind into accomplishing this goal. Not only did she graduate U.C Berkeley in 3 years, she went on to topple Stanford University and obtained her master’s degree in education.

    AIN’T NO DISABILITIES HERE, HONEY!

    But as Joy’s grandfather wisely stated, “there are always going to be obstacles.” Today, Joy works for the city of Oakland and due to budget cuts, Joy had decided to make her degrees work for her, instead of vice-versa. She published her first poetry book called “The Signs of Life, Past, Present Future” It is a story of Joy’s journey and how she accomplished her goals by not allowing for anyone to “dis-able” her. “I am a survivor of the trans-alantic and trans-amerikkka slave trade. I am a slave, learning to read and write-at night my work is never done. I teach others how to read and write, I teach them to hide it so we won’t lose the battle of freedom.”

    To purchase a copy of Joy Elan’s book, visit www.joyelan.webs.com AND for more info on Poor Magazine’s curriculum on disability skolarship, such as “Crip-Hop” go to www.poormagazine.org

    Tags
  • A Blue Butterfly

    09/24/2021 - 08:54 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

     

    A blue butterfly had alit upon the hallowed ground, its wings moving up and down as if a tiny engine idled within. It was unusual to see one in that part of San Francisco during the winter, and her friend remarked on it. Pausing in the task of stuffing lunch bags, the Mom turned to appreciate the beauty of her tiny visitor. Abruptly her eyes welled up with tears as a familiar scent entered her nostrils, her lips trembled as she felt the presence of a beloved taken from her.

    He strolls thru a lush field, exchanging pleasantries with those who had been there before, or who would be there at some point in the future. A musical mosaic of human history lies within each passing soul, and he draws it from them, blending ancestral memory into a melody, trapping the harmonics coursing through the astral plane and casting a symphony back to those voyagers sharing this realm of existence. It is his gift, music, increased to an infinite level.

     

    He uses this gift when visiting, weaving a concerto into her dreams, hoping to pass his message but with little success. She still suffers. Contemplating a gentle breeze ruffling a patch of wildflowers, he harkened back to his childhood, and thought to pass the message...in beauty.

     

    Its sensitive wings detect vibrations which register as sound. A familiar voice. Her voice! The colors were overwhelming, an entire spectrum invisible to the human eye. He saw her as no mortal was capable of seeing her.

    Nerve endings in its legs transmit emotional residue of his final moments to the brain he temporarily shares. A flash of psychic pain, tempered by her voice and proximity. Tiny antennae detects her familiar scent, it brings him security still, as it did when he was a baby. There is another scent, that of tears. Colors of love enfold him, and the tiny wings relay soft sounds. She is praying.

     

    The Mom studied the butterfly tattoo. She had taught him how to ride a bike. He’d ride around the block, passing the house with that big grin, waving to let her know he was ok. Soon the block wasn’t big enough and he rode across town with the other boys. It was part of the journey, part of growing up. She had understood the message. The tattoo would always be there to remind her of this new stage of his journey. He was telling her he was ok. She would be too.

     

    The friend noticed the blue butterfly first, seeing it alight upon the hallowed ground. Catching the Mom’s eye, she inclined her head towards it. The Mom finished filling the lunch bag and placed it with the others, smiling warmly. She gazed with love, and longing. The Mom knew it would be the butterfly’s final visitShe whispered her son’s name.

    Tags

Latest

test