Resisting Poverty-pimpitis

by R.W.S.

I am in my second month of unemployment since my discharge from the non-profit industrial complex. Two months is nothing. I know people who have been out longer--much longer. I have been busy at POOR Magazine doing very worthwhile work. The non-profit that used to employ me occupies an office in the same building as POOR Magazine- - a building whose owners are evicting us. Fortunately for the non-profit, they have a 5-year lease. That's good - for them.

I am not working, but I work. As new co-editor at POOR Magazine, I work the phones contacting our community support members to join us in our Homefulness campaign - a sweat-equity-housing model that gives true housing equity to poor families. It's not based on how much $$ you have but what you can contribute--your art, your skills, your songs, poems, rituals, etc. We are looking to buy a building. Unlike the non-profit industrial organization, POOR Magazine is being evicted.

The non-profits I've become acquainted with seem to operate on the same premise - heavy emphasis on numbers, color coordinated spreadsheets and imposed boundaries. But their structures are corporate with the few at the top reaping benefits at the expense of the many. They seemingly eat themselves from within, becoming mini-fascist fiefdoms with little or no accountability.

As co-editor at POOR, I don't get a paycheck. I don't want one. POOR struggles, thrives, survives because our ancestors - who we honor and respect - will not let it die. POOR's co-founder Lisa Gray-Garcia AKA Tiny, shoulders many of the day to day operating costs, reaching into her own pocket most of the time. Working at POOR to keep it going is more rewarding than a case of povertypimpitis at a non-profit who's bought into the cult of independence and separation. POOR is an organization worthy of my time and efforts because it's real - made up of real folks who are not out for themselves but for the elder, youth, disability and migrant scholars of the community. Our doors are open.

I am collecting unemployment - it's not much but its something - while looking for a regular full-time job with a regular paycheck. But what I am doing right now at POOR Magazine is work - writing articles, making phone calls to our community supporters, facilitating classes, etc.

Yesterday I left POOR to go home. I pushed the button for the elevator. The door opened and inside stood my ex-boss. I stepped inside and we both went down in silence so sharp that it cut through the still air. What was there to say? What if the elevator was to break down? Would she ask me to join her in a rousing version of Kumbaya until help arrived? Luckily the elevator opened. I walked out of the building onto Market Street having put in a day's work and the poverty pimps behind me.

2008 RWS