Story Archives

Donna Valiente

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

Donna Valiente, 48; activist and poet was a vocal advocate for aid to homeless on L.A.'s skid row.

by Jocelyn Y. Steward/LA Times Staff Writer

In her fight for the dignity of homeless people in downtown Los Angeles, Donna Valiente chose two methods: direct confrontation and prayer.

By day she was a firebrand, speaking out at City Hall, and during demonstrations, making her voice heard to officialdom. At night she made her voice heard to God.

At an office on Main Street, between 4th and 5th streets, she and other skid row residents gathered each Wednesday to pray for their community, for the day when those who are now homeless will be able to stand at an apartment window and say, "I used to sleep on those streets."

"Donna had that vision," said Brother James Upshaw, a friend and downtown resident, and she believed both methods would help her achieve it.

On Feb. 13, Valiente was found dead in a skid row hotel of what is believed to be natural causes. Her death comes at a time when the 48-year-old had increased her presence at City Hall and the Los Angeles Police Commission.

"She would come wheeling up the aisle in her wheelchair, I'm sure they were expecting some very quiet voice," said Pete White, executive director of the Los Angeles Community Action Network, a nonprofit group that works on behalf of the homeless and poor in downtown Los Angeles, of which Valiente was a member. Instead "you have this lioness roaring from her wheelchair."

As an activist she joined an anti-domestic violence campaign for downtown women. She also pushed to keep downtown hotels — such as the one she lived in — as affordable housing.

An artist and a poet, Valiente sometimes used her art to express her concerns about the homeless. Earlier this month at a meeting of the Los Angeles Police Commission she "denounced police abuse and mistreatment of downtown residents," White said. She read her poem "The Shackles Must Come Off":

What if by some odd chance it was all happening to you?

Would you not stand up for what you know is right and true?"

Born July 8, 1958, in Santa Barbara, Valiente grew up in Ventura and graduated from Santa Paula High School. An entrepreneur, she operated several businesses, including T. Liberty Rose Maid Service, said her daughter, Barbra Marquez. In addition to Marquez, Valiente is survived by her mother, Carolynn Klouse, of Bend, Ore.; a son, Christopher Rader; a daughter, Liberty Rader, and five grandchildren, all of Los Angeles.

About 15 years ago she was driving on the freeway when she collided with a jackknifed truck, leaving her seriously injured. A surgery years later didn't alleviate the problem and "finally she had to be put in the wheelchair because she couldn't walk without being in excruciating pain," Marquez said.

Unable to work, Valiente lost her apartment and ended up in a skid row hotel. Faith had always been important in her life, but sometimes she would fall into drug use, her daughter said. While living downtown she gained sobriety and stayed in the community.

"She felt that's where her calling was, she needed to help people downtown," Marquez said.

On the streets she handed out her poetry or handmade crosses. And when people marveled at her work, she would say, "If I can do it, then others can do it also," said Montgomery Garnett, a friend and resident of downtown Los Angeles. "She would have made a great motivational speaker."

Speaking up on behalf of the homeless was not a matter of radicalism but a by-product of Valiente's simple belief that things could be better. The weekly prayer meeting that she organized at the L.A. Community Action Network office on Main Street stemmed from that belief as well.

"There's a lot of blessed people on skid row," Upshaw said. "Where there is darkness, light that much more abides. It was proven in the life of Donna."



He Had Gold Records I had Gold Chains-RIP Micheal Jackson

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

Tribute by RAM/Po Poets Project at POOR Magazine

by Staff Writer

from age six to sixteen

we shared the same styles

we both grew out of it

but he had it a longer while

I bought his jacket

'wit only one working pocket

his was red and mine was black-

and it didn't even zip

he had southern roots

before did the RAM

Both of us are internationally expanded

He sang everywhere

just I in the shower

both performed dancing

but he back-slid his power

he had a long curl

and I had long dreads

we both got bird chests

like we were raised just off of bread

he had gold records

and I wore gold chains

I don't know which one of both

our families is the most crazy insane

he was truly loved

as so am I

we both proved success is possible

if you just try

RIP to Michael Jackson


Tow Away

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

by Husayn Sayfuddiyn

To the poor - a

mobile home

has new meaning

Life’s Blood on Wheels

Fancier than the

shopping carts

of the ne’er do wells

until SFPD stopped me

as unlicensed to live

illegal necessities

unwanted baggage

to Tow Away

and I saw in his steel eyes

that I was next

on the Tow Away list.


A Mama's Love..

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

Lula Bell Seymour aka Mama, an African-American houseless elder passes away in the Tenderloin - loved by all who she touched

by Valerie Schwartz/PoorNewsNetwork Community Journalist and Poverty Scholar

I Remember my Mama

In the Bean field, The Potato field

Sending us to school to learn our A B C’s

Keeping the Camp Fire’s Burning

We did not know Much about city livin’

In fact I didn’t know much ;of anythin’

Except a Mother’s Love

If we did without

It was with Style and Grace

No Complaints

Doing without was no disgrace

As I sit here reminissin'- Life goin on by

I have Strength and Courage

Instilled in me!

For times of sorrow

And times of joy

Although I shed tears, I Radiate Joy

When I am Low I remember my Mama....

excerpt from the poem My Mama My Ancestor by A. Faye Hicks/Po' Poets Project

About two-years ago on a somewhat hazy morning in the Tenderloin, the sun was ambivalent about trying to make an appearance on the 200 block of Hyde Street. I was reclining against the fence. I was sick and could barely move and the light that shone on me was from Lula B. Seymore, better known as Mama. "What's wrong, Sugar?" she asked me with that sweet voice that was always maternal and then added, "It's not like you to be laying down out here." I had a staff infection that was attempting a coup d' etat on my right leg, which I have ongoing vascular trouble/ulcers with. Mama went to her van and got out some aspirin, peroxide, ointment, and some clean socks and jeans for me. I managed to get up and go to the store to buy some Band-Aids with money she had given me. We talked for a while and when I felt strong enough, she then sent me packing down the street, care-package in hand, with instructions to, "Go get cleaned up and come back up here." Although I barely had the energy, I followed the instructions given and back to the corner I went. This is only one of many times that Mama helped me.

I can't remember exactly when it was that I met Mama, an African-American elder, who had resided in the Bayview-Hunters Point district of San Francisco for several years working as a housekeeper for Children's Hospital, among other labor intensive jobs, before she became houseless or what we at POOR call, "Vehicularily Housed." It seems as though I had seen her around the Tenderloin and adjoining Market St. area for awhile. I would give a "guesstimate" it was the spring of 1998 when we first actually talked. It was on the corner of Hyde and Turk. This corner was a veritable sidewalk-mall whose proprietors were primarily homeless people. I have lived in the Tenderloin neighborhood for twenty-two years and therefore I know it very well. It has a high rate of crime, addiction, and despair as most areas of poverty do.

On that fateful day, my co-worker was inside the copy shop next to the Midori Hotel at Turk and Hyde streets getting copies made for my boss at the time; we did all the maintenance, painting, and whatever else was needed to be done in a nearby apartment building. As I waited, I sat on a milk crate playing some blues tunes on my guitar when Mama stepped out of the front door of her home, a dark green van. She made eye contact with me and gave a short but hearty little laugh while straightening her wig and said, " Hello, I'm Mama...That's what we need around here... a little music to soothe ourselves, praise the Lord." Mama then started, while humming, to set up her little sidewalk re-creation of a Goodwill store. She set down some blankets and then set the clothes and miscellaneous items she had to sell on top of them. We talked for a few minutes as she swept the sidewalk around her "store" and then it was time for me to get back to work.

After our first discussion, most every time I was on the corner, Mama and I would talk or exchange our "hellos" in passing. We forged a friendship on that corner. I started taking all the things that the former tenants had left behind or threw out and gave them to her so she could sell them, rather than take it to the dump. Eventually my boss became ill, was hospitalized, and I was back on the street again. Mama helped me through those times when I needed it and when I didn't.

Mama dealt with being poor everyday. When you are poor there are no days off. She fed and gave clothing to many of us who were, and still, are out there living on the streets. I remember how she used to pull out her little barbecue grill and make everything she could with what she had: soups, a pot of beans, sometimes chicken. She always shared with someone. Mama would not allow people to get high or sell dope next to her van. I remember her frustration with people sometimes; she also would never curse, but prayed instead. Mama always prayed, she prayed for everyone, myself included, and pray she did. Her faith was unyielding. There were days when she was hurt and angered with me for I was such a slave to my addiction. She wouldn't speak to me, or would tell me to come back later, and that was enough to shame me in ways that many could not. I'd walk away and she would tell me, "You got to fight those demons go." And as I walked I could hear her praying...

Rarely would anyone talk crazy to Mama, for most of us out there respected her and helped her in return. We wasn't havin' no-one "dis" Mama! I had seen the police give her tickets for selling her wares on the sidewalk without a permit. Some of them left her alone but when she would see them coming she got busy and put everything away quickly, and then they might still give her a parking ticket. I also know that some of the police used to "hassle" her for living in her van. Mama did not want to live in a "care-facility" and unfortunately I am afraid that she, as many elders do, felt it was not a choice.

As a person who is disabled, has been homeless, and is poor I have to stop and think about choices. Choices for elders, for the poor, and disabled are not always what I would consider to be choices. They mean having to choose between two-or-more evils. These "choices" are offered by systems that perpetuate poverty. Is it a choice for a person to live in a care facility where they are subject to many different kinds of neglect or suffer a houseless poverty? Is there a choice for elders who are forced into conservatorship by the county, such as Beatrice Sloan of Oakland (another African-American elder confined to a care facility and robbed of her assets by Government programs set up to "care for" elders which POOR Magazine has been advocating for)? Writes my colleague Ashley of POOR, " The nursing home industry is another form of big business disguised as hellthcare." Thus our elders are losing what they have worked earnestly and hard to keep and maintain: A family, a good home and integrity.

When I had the pleasure of attending Mama's memorial service last week, presented by the Faithful Fools Street Ministry where several family and friends spoke and presented words of grace in Mama's memory, more questions arose: Why did Mama have to leave after residing in her Bayview-Hunter's Point home for so long and what made her "choose" to live in her van? Some reports say that she was evicted due to an Owner-Move-In- Eviction. Some say it was her choice because she didn't want to live in a care facility. Was Mama facing a possible case management or conservatorship issue? Being told that she was a "very independent person", for me, does not answer the question, because of course, for poor folks, there is always the issue of shame. This society tells us it is bad to be poor - that something is wrong with you - not the people evicting you - not the system taking your assets - redlining your districts, employing you at nothing wages, and then criminalizing your poverty.

Being that I was in the dregs of my addiction I used to find myself in awe of Mama sometimes, that she had good boundaries and kept her faith intact. It just blew my mind that a homeless senior woman, alone, could deal with life out there knowing how harsh and just plain miserable it can often be and maintain a sort of grace, you might say. Yet, she never gave up. And on many days she inspired me to make it through another day in hell with just one of her beautiful grins, her intense, smiling brown eyes, and herself saying, "You stay outta trouble." There have been times since I have been in treatment that I wanted to go talk to Mama and let her know that I was okay. Today I want her to know that some of her prayers most assuredly have been answered, that I have been clean and drug-free for a year, and how very grateful I am for her friendship, love, and boundaries that I now understand. Mama's presence and spirit was always a beacon of light in the tempest of the Tenderloin and she will be missed and remembered by many.

PNN editors note; Mama was a contributor to POOR Magazine vol#4 MOTHERS, and will be included in the Poverty Heroes Anthology which will be released by POOR Press in December -as well, she was a powerful inspiration and friend to POOR mother and daughter editors, Dee and Tiny. If you would like to submit any words or art to POOR about Mama - please call us at (415) 863-6306 - if you would like to visit the Memorial Green Van - you can reach the Faithful Fools at (415) 474-0508 or go to the corner of Hyde and Turk street


bare minimum necessities

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

The ACLU lodges lawsuit against The State
of California for unjust distribution of
wealth in California school districts.

by Kaponda

The zephyr bored through the thin layer of protective
shelter and pelted the young lad as his eyes opened to
the dawn of another school day. It carried the noxious
elements of the naval shipyard to woo the uncorrupt
lungs of the middle school senior. Yet, Jimmy has
known for quite awhile that his generation has had to
endure the brunt of unfulfilled commitments by
virtually every institution of America.

The sparse surroundings of Jimmy's bedroom
bounced off his eyes through the mirror, as he
prepared to encounter another struggle at Luther
Burbank Middle School. In an effort not to frustrate
his schoolmaster, Jimmy had begun his journey at the
customary time. Looking at the abutting structures
from the window, Jimmy watched as his house
drowned in the distance, as the bus accelerated past
the density of drab houses. He mused over whether
anyone within that enclave of southern migrants --
from which he, too, is a proud product ñ- has ever
enjoyed anything other than substandard living
conditions since their arrival to the Bayview-Hunters
Point District at the height of World War II.

As he expectorated the noxious residuals from the
wind that had earlier swirled around his residential
community, Jimmy peered at a rodent, which bolted
off into a separate entrance of the Luther Burbank
Middle School. His eyes made a futile search of the
halls for anything that had not been riddled by decay.
The first battle for Jimmy will be to find a seat after
he enters his classroom, as there are not enough to
accommodate each student. There will not be a need
for him to check his coat because it will help insulate
him from the extremely cold classroom due to the
broken heating system. Jimmy has always focused on
completing his studies and passing his advanced
placement examination to continue his education at a
competitive university.

The substandard learning and living conditions to
which Jimmy is exposed may pose a threat to his
plans to further his education. For example, the
curricula offered at schools such as Luther Burbank
do not adequately prepare Jimmy for advanced
placement examinations. In addition, his problems are
compounded by a sense of inferiority, which affects
the motivation of a child to learn. These wretched
conditions were not hatched over night. Rather, they
are the result of years of Federal and State neglect.
Furthermore, these substandard learning conditions --
in which Jimmy must struggle to realize his hopes ñ
violate the laws of California, which require the State
to ensure the delivery of basic educational
opportunities for every child in California and vest the
State with ultimate responsibility for the Stateís public
elementary and secondary school system.

Neglect by the State of California to improve substandard
learning conditions in schools for people of color can be
traced as far back as the early 1950ís, when the majority of
schools for people of color were far inferior to the schools
of their white counterparts. The neglect of the State of
California to provide equal access to public education
regardless of race, color or national origin is rooted in the
May 17, 1954, Brown v. Board of Education, unanimous
decision, read by Chief Justice Earl Warren of the Supreme

In California, schools in economically disadvantaged
communities were underserved so severely that on May
17, 2000, the 46th anniversary of Brown vs. Board of
Education, civil rights groups and attorneys in California,
coordinated by the American Civil Liberties Union, lodged
a historic class-action lawsuit on behalf of students in 18
schools. The lawsuit charges that California has failed to
provide the "bare minimum necessities" required for an
education. According to the Complaint, the state of
California has allegedly "...reneged on its constitutional
guarantee to provide all students with at least the bare
essentials necessary for an education...."

The indictment of gross negligence underscores the reason
that supports the probability that Jimmy will never achieve
an education comparable to that of his white counterpart.
Furthermore, people of color in schools throughout
California have been subjected to the following conditions
as part of their everyday educational experience, according
to the Complaint:

  • Lack of Materials and Basic Resources;
  • Inadequate Instruction; and
  • Massive Overcrowding.

California has recently adopted a system of statewide
educational standards. It entails a criterion that must be
satisfied by each student before being promoted to the next
rung of learning. However, ìofficials of the state of
California charged with carrying out educational
obligations have failed to develop or implement appropriate
procedures to identify and correct the substandard
conditions at the schools attended by Plaintiffs,î according
to the Complaint.

Furthermore, according to the class-action lawsuit lodged
by the ACLU, ìAlthough the State has established
academic standards that students must meet, the State has
failed to meet its responsibility to ensure that schools
provide teachers who are adequately trained to prepare
students to satisfy those standards, has failed to provide
sufficient materials to enable students to have a reasonable
chance to pass tests that measure their performance, and
has failed to provide facilities in which students can safely
learn the materials they need to meet the State-mandated
standards. In other words, the State has established a
system for education but has abdicated its responsibility to
oversee and superintend that system to ensure it functions.

Jimmy was not born during the decision of Brown v.
Board of Education by the Supreme Court. However, the
Board of Education of California continues to preclude him
from any hope of attaining to the same educational level of
equality and justice as his white counterpart. Through
sheer determination, Jimmy may be one of the few among
people of color who succeed in passing the Advanced
Placement examination by rising beyond the seemingly
insurmountable obstacles of inadequate instructions,
massive school overcrowding, too few textbooks, no
access to libraries, as few as 13 percent of teachers with
full teaching credentials, chronically unfilled teacher
vacancies, and substandard living conditions.


A Truth-Taking by Illin N Chillin

09/24/2021 - 11:45 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

by Leroy Moore/PNN & Krip Hop

The first official Thanksgiving in this country between the wealthy White settlers and Native Americans followed the same pattern of my 2001 Thanksgiving, looking back at it now. In both situations people of color were evicted from their homes and land by new wealthy White landlords. Everybody knows what happened between Native Americans and the White settlers at that time. Let me tell you it didn't match the description of the Last Supper that the Bible talked about, although it was the last supper for the Native Americans on their land that they respected and cultivated. The same was true for my sister and me on Thanksgiving in 2000, the Last Supper, together in San Francisco. In place of grocery bags stuffed with food were boxes stuffed with our belongings. No relatives, no friends, just a wealthy White landlord breathing down our backs making sure his place was clean that he recently bought with his inheritance and the fortune he made during the dot-com boom. Yes, another eviction!

Just like Native Americans in the US, who were forced to split up and travel to far away locations, thus breaking up families and tradition, my sister and I were forced apart. Because of this eviction, breaking up the tradition of my sister's famous stuffin' and our tight bond. She traveled across the country and I across the Bay in search for an affordable home. It's funny how history repeats itself! Like the days of the Underground Railroad, the ones that helped my sister and I out were also White, working class poor who sympathized and felt the injustice of gentrification by opening their homes to us once in Burlington, VT, and another in Berkeley, CA.

The year was 2002. Another Thanksgiving, too broke to buy a ticket to see my family on the East Coast so I decided to take my last thirty dollars from my Uncle Sam's disability benefits to get some food for the Thanksgiving weekend and to last me till the first of the month. You see like many of my disabled brothers and sisters, I too had to and still do decide between transportation and food, clothing etc. And because most of us are on a strict budget, I chose food at that point. Now how can I cook a turkey in a microwave! I thought to myself in the grocery store. After leaving with my food for my Turkey Day and for the rest of the month, I noticed a poor, working class Black man beside me asking me would I like help with my bags. I politely said no but he continued to grab my bag. To make a long story short, he learned what the wealthy White settlers did to the Native Americans, he discovered my Thanksgiving dinner and food that I just bought with my last dollar.

In 2004 the White settlers, our State government, had their hands out again to Native Americans in California with Proposition 70, asking them to pay taxes from their own casinos almost three weeks before we celebrate another Thanksgiving. However, like the saying goes, you can't keep a good person down. Now the federal government is asking for donations!! Isn't that a flip!

After the unsteady years of the dot-com and the fall of it, my sister, her sons and I will be eating her famous stuffing and continue to strengthen our family ties here in Berkeley, CA. Our ancestors, family ties, hearts and our sense of what is right are stronger than the systematic oppression that pours onto our shoulders daily like gravy. Happy Thanksgiving to our Native brothers and sisters and your family! Eat today for the revolution tomorrow!


"I Am" Jennalyn

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

by Mission Resistors

They say the universe was created by the destruction of another in a Big Bang. I know mine was destroyed and created by 2 Big Bangs. When I was 26, I was in and out of situations where I was getting free housing. My parents were going to my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary so I stayed at their place in Alsea, Oregon for the weekend. This place was a typical doublewide mobile home with medium brown false wood walls and burnt orange carpets. I invited my friend Jon Smyth over to watch a movie. We watched “Tomb Raider” all the way through and started “Fire Birds.” We wandered around, in and out watching the movie and doing other stuff. He went to the bathroom and wandered into my parent’s bedroom and came out with the “Hand Rifle”--my father’s .44 magnum revolver. He said, “’J’ sit down.” I looked and saw him with the gun. He repeated, “’J’ sit down.” It took me a moment to process what was going on and in the mean time the First Big Bang occurred to destroy my old universe and send things speeding in millions of directions. He had fired a warning shot across my bow. My hands went up in surprise. The shot went through my left pointer finger, the tip of my right pointer finger, opened my right middle finger at the first knuckle, and continued through my right thumb and hit the lamp on the other side of the wall. I had to look down to know all this. Again he said, “’J’ sit down.” I sat down. He walked over to the phone. I asked him, “Why are you doing this?” He answered, “Because life sucks.” In response I said, “That doesn’t mean you have to hurt me.”

“I do not intend to hurt you," he retorted.

I concluded, “You already have.”

He did not answer. I said, “I need to go to the bathroom.” He nodded as he picked up the phone to make a call. I went to the restroom and washed off my hands to see how bad they were damaged. They looked like hamburger. During the same instant I was doing this my friend was asking for a girl by name. When she answered he said, “This will teach you to mess with men’s hearts.” And then he fired one last shot. I knew this was his final act. This was the second Big Bang. As tragic as this was it was the action that started my new universe. From this point forward, things started to slow down and recoil less. I went into the front room and saw my friend laying face down on the floor in the exact position he used to sleep, in a face down fetal position. It was still so obvious that he was dead that I did not need to check for vital signs. The next thought that went through my mind was whether or not I should see if the girl was still on the phone and help her. I decided it was more important that I get help for myself. I hung up the phone and called 911. I waited for the local E.M.T. when they got there I was very grateful that I was in a small community and knew all the E.M.T.s. When they wanted to keep me talking I told them I needed to talk as little as possible so I could concentrate on keeping conscious the pain was so great. They transferred me to the main ambulance and they took me to the hospital to start my road to healing. Later when I was asked how I got though it all I could say was, “It happened, nothing I could do about it.” And that is how my new universe started.

Things like this in my life and the lives of others start hidden disabilities. These disabilities are the kind that other people that don’t have them can’t see. This is a major problem because it is these kinds of disabilities that are hardest to overcome. So it is nearly impossible to get help because nobody will admit that we are in need of help.


National Day of Protest to Stop Po'lice Brutality

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

QUEENNANDI, October 22 2009

by Queennandi XSheba & RAM

This was the 14th annual national day of protest against a plague of legal lynchings that if the Sssystem was true to its’ citizens, would never exist - po’lice terror.
This was the national day that fallen comerades & leaders such as Idriss Stelley, Cameron Boyd, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Bobby Hutton and Chairman Fred Hampton were remembered. For some of us at the march, it was an almost-new experience, but for those such as myself, It was a wound re-opener and a slap-in-the face fact that regardless of our heroes and sheroes waterfalls of bloodshed, The struggle continues. Painfully, I listened to the mother of our SBP (Slain By Pig) brother, choked up with emotions speak on her child. “He was a father, a brother-my son!” The pictures of Asa Sullivan, Idriss Stelley, Anita Gay, and many, many more shone away on this beautiful day as if the sun was their spirits, sending their warm blessings to inspire us to keep on fighting, and not to forget them.

All of us in the crowd jeered and booed when learned that the change of venue in SBP brother Oscar Grant’s Case was granted, for we all believe that if the crime was committed in Oakland, it should very well stay there. How is it that a pig like Johannes Mehserle can murder a man in cold blood, and his so-called right to be tried by a jury of his peers be handed to him on a gold platter? The foundation of the venue change is made of racism, cover-ups, political bootlickin’, back room shady deals, and of course, the pig’s right to a jury of his peers, so definitely the trial will be held on copland territory.
Fellow comerade, and “Man on the cross”, Brother JR spoke with fire:

“Wherever the trial goes, we will go! We will organize and educate the people ( in the area that the trial will be taking place) and enlighten them on the seriousness of po’lice brutality and murder!” Brother JR himself has been nailed to the cross for his souljah role in seeking justice for Oscar Grant. (JR’s court date is set for Oct 30th in Oakland) His unbroken spirit opened eyes and restored faith in the fact that the only way to justice is in the hands of Just Us.

I held back tears as I spoke on the assault I endured when I was seven months pregnant by SFPD’s “finest” officers Miller (ret) and shea. I was slammed viciously on my huge belly, and when witnesses began to gather around to protest, I was punished even more. One officer actually had the “beastly” nerve to put his knee on my back, using all of his weight and I thought for sure that my unborn cub wouldn’t survive. Po’lice brutality has become a generational experience in my family. My mother and younger brother did not survive this hateful wicked Sssystem, and it is up to me, and the rest of us to take a stand to demand of this murderous Sssystem that there will be NO MORE STOLEN LIVES!!!

With that said, I’d like to share a piece I wrote entitled “I AM TIRED OF BEING A SLAVE!”



Welcome To Flux World, Where Up In The Air Is The Norm.

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

I'm not writing anything
that may misconstrue me
as Un or Anti-American.

But If that's already
happened, I know America
has a hard shell
and thick skin.

by Joe. B.

Thursday, Sept. 28, 2001 10:54 am.

Personally dazed and confused wondering how this could happen I could not write "Mess on Market Street" series for a while until I let sink in what happened on Tuesday, September, 11th 2001.

Went to bed, have a restless sleep.

Tuesday, Oct. 2, 2001 7:30 am seven people including myself walking on Market Street. Gray skies meet me with a whiff of a cool wind.

Usually a taperecorder, an aide to voice and memory, is in my hand.

A week or two ago it is lent to someone who need was greater than mine hopefully today or in days to come it will safe in its owner's possession soon.

Please send donations to Poor Magazine
C/0 Ask Joe at 255 9th St. Street,
San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:
PO Box 1230 #645
Market St. San Francisco, CA 94102


One Stop Radio.

09/24/2021 - 11:44 by Anonymous (not verified)
Original Author
Original Body

Micheal Powel, head of F.C.C.
says "Mergers makes media profitable." is
half right profitable yes but its no longer
media just a pale imitation.

One Voice, One, Music, and
no choices. Welcome to Merge Radio.

by Joe B.

Welcome to One-Stop-Radio.

Had a call from a fem friend I haven't seen or heard from in months she called both my job-message and home phone.

Its an excellent night in 'Berk. I'm 'feelin an energized high another date planned Friday night.

Then the FCC Media is set for Saturday 10 pm.

Don't want to go, I know its important for free airwaves for everyone or there only be one concglom national mega corp spewing out its one message.

I get that. I go.
(I'm a apolitical worker in a political organization).
[its like 2 identical twin brother’s separated from birth. 1 is a sultry rhythm & blues singer the other a ‘gansta rapper who’s friends mistakes him as their buddy.

I may look the part but it ain't who I really am.]

I get a seat first where elders and persons in wheelchairs sit bad choice eventually they come and I have to find another spot to sit with room 253 rapidly filling up.

Another assignment is to get people-of-color from The Young Democrats. (My 3rd. editor is part of that group)

Something will go awry because I cannot be in two places at once if time overlaps between The FCC meeting and Young Democrats outside or in another room.

Moderator:Heather Hudson,Dir. of the Telecommunications Mgr.
Teresa Moore, Media Studies Instructor at the University of San Francisco. spoke also Supervisor Matt Gonzales,
Jonathan S. Adelstein,
Member of the Federal Communications Commission. F.C.C. (An unassuming hero but a he is one).
Ben Bagdikian, Former Dean of Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California at Berkeley.
Dino Dinovitz, Pres. and Gen. Mgr. of KRON-TV and member of the Board of the National Association of Broadcasters.

KRON-TV (The only news outlet covering this important session) ABC, CBS, NBC are noticeably absent which is as telling as if they were trying to argue their case for Consolidating the airwaves.

There's another name which I've forgotten.
Brenda Payton, Columnist for the Oakland Tribune.
Aimee Suzara, Youth Media Council activist and writer.

There was also Peter Coyote, Actor/Activist and Songstress Sarah Jones
Patti Miller’, Dir. of Children & the Media Program at Children Now.

Gail Silva, Executive Dir. of Film Arts Foundation.
Brother J, Hip-hop artist.

There are many more people to long to mention.

An overlap in time did happen before 12 noon arrived Sarah Jones, an intoxicating songbird spoke eloquently about Clear Channel's power to determine an artists career to help or hinder their them in what they write and or sing.

I quickly asked her for a picture gladly she said it would be alright.

Outside is another problem.

Youth with bloody wounds and scars (fake) are eating lunch standing in line as the Salvation Army fed them and later me with ham sandwiches, pink lemonade, soda, potato chips and regular or fluoridated water.

I had forgotten something (it happens when there is too much to do I tend to dump something like PC's dumping excess info.

Seeing for four Asian youths all young girls.

I tell them my name, who I'm with and asked them can I take a photo of them quickly adding "If you say no I won't do it.

Some giggling, chatting, looking about and they say yes.

One shot of the four length wise.

"Thanks, My job's done" I announced.

It sounds idiotic but got me back into City Hall.

It bores, excites, and is tiring but I stay.

Ashley Adams or Addams spoke more eloquently with more passion than I could muster.

All I could’ve said is "I like going to Malls and Mega Super Markets they’ve got almost everything in them you’d want to buy or need but it there’s an item I want they don’t have they tend to say "If we don’t stock it then its not needed."

I also so like small stores that have things mega stores don’t have and given the choice I chose small Mom & Pop stores.

I don’t want to hear one-voice, view, or side of many sided stories.

Mr. Michael Powel, son of Gulf War General Colin Powel says "Mergers make media profitable."

He’s alright with consolidation its all gravy to him.

To me will all this Con-Solid-deviation will end up scraping the bottom of and everyone else will be starved for information that will be harder and less able to find.

Choice and free market controls is what is needed not a return to the late 1800’s infamous robber baron’s of railroad owner fame.

Time to link up, find whom owns what, their connections, and not buy, listen, dis-investment there and reinvestment of independent voices.

What does this all boil down too? Money.

Switch dials, turn radio’s off, you can by dvd’s, video’s from independent makers dis-linking from corporations.

They lose or hemorrhage money spending ad time, giving freebies, to regain a customer base no longer listen, looking, or buying their adds.

Folks the money they make to use against us is our own money!

Lets spend it in our best interest not theirs.

If any readers have other suggestions please hurry up and spread the word before June 2, 2003,

Because its 37 days and we don’t have a secret government "Back-Step" to ward off stealth theft of the publics airwave’s. Bye.

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