Story Archives 2003

by Scott Glover and Matt Lait/reprinted from the LA Times

A Los Angeles police officer who fatally shot a mentally ill homeless women armed with a screwdriver in 1999 will not be disci-plined, although the civilian Police Commission had ruled that his tactics and use of deadly flawed that he should be punished.

Repudiating the commission’s finding three years ago, an LAPD disciplinary panel found that Officer Edward Larrigan was justified when he shot 55-year-old Margaret Mitchell, according to transcripts of a May 12 hearing.

Although the Police Commission found that Mitchell had not posed a legitimate threat to Larrigan, the disciplinary panel determined that Mitchell’s conduct had left Larrigan with no choice but to shoot. The officers said she lunged at Larrigan during their confrontation. As a result, the panel concluded, Larrigan will not be disciplined.

“Officer Larrigan’s response was defensive. It was reactive,” said Capt. Richard Wemmer, who headed the three-member discipli- nary panel, which included another LAPD captain and a civilian. “It was his last, indeed his only, resort to prevent serious bodily injury or death to himself. And it was compelled in the end by the actions of the victim.”

The ruling by the LAPD Board of Rights raises issues relating both to the shooting and to civilian oversight of the Police Department. Department leaders have wrestled for years over the confrontation that resulted in Mitchell’s death. Police Chief Bernard C. Park’s concluded that it had conformed with LAPD rules and two police commissioners agreed with him, but a commission majority found that had it violated department rules. Thus, the ruling, which effectively overrules the commission majority, calls into question the Police Commission’s judgement and its ability to be the final voice of such matters.

In the board’s decision, Wemmer praised Larrigan for protecting others from Mitchell’s “frenzied and irrational” behavior. Mitchell was stopped because she was pushing a shopping cart that officers suspected was stolen.

“Sworn to protect and serve, Officer Larrigan did not have the luxury to let her go,” Wemmer said. “Rather, he went in harm’s way and, consistent with policy, acted in defense of life,”

Police Commission President Rick Caruso, who was appointed to the commission after the Mitchell case was reviewed, said he found the disciplinary panel’s findings “troubling.”

“We, as commissioners, should have the last word on this,” Caruso said. He added that the decision, and others like it, also prevent the chief of the LAPD from imposing discipline when warranted.

“You basically get your legs cut out from under you,” Caruso said. “I don’t agree with this process. I never have.”

LAPD Deputy Chief Michael Berkow, who was traveling with Chief William J. Bratton in the Washington. D.C., and spoke to the chief about the case, said Bratton was not sufficiently familiar with the facts of the Mitchell shooting to comment on it specifically.

But Berkow said Bratton has been frustrated with the disciplinary process.

“He has less power here than in any other police department he’s been at,” said Berkow, who heads the department’s professional standards bureau, which used to be internal affairs. “Discipline is not in the hands of the police chief, who is responsible for managing the department.”

Mitchell was shot May 21, 1999, near the intersection of Fourth Street and La Brea Avenue, shortly after Larrigan and his partner, Kathy Clark, both bike patrol officers, stopped her to determine whether the shopping cart had been stolen. As the officers sought to question her, Mitchell ignored them and began walking away.

by Jasmine Syedullah/PNN Media Intern (Facilitated by Dee)

One morning in February I was roused from dreaming, as I am every morning, by the hypnotic drone of NPR. Between reports of Bush’s preparations for war and North Korea’s preparations for the production of nuclear weapons, came an announcement that penetrated my half-asleep dozing and made me bolt right up from my warm sheets and comforter. Mr. Rogers had died. I listened to the report fighting sleepiness to catch every word, “at age seventy four… of stomach cancer…”. I leaned slowly back into bed.

At four and fives years old I was not lacking in positive adult role models or affirmation. My father was the only preacher in our small church in Tulsa, and I was his only child, which put me smack in the middle of a whole congregation full of adorations and watchful eyes. The report on the radio ended with one of the bright piano melodies and smoothing voiceovers that had become like icons to me. At the end of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, he’d reassure me that he liked me “just the way I am”. That there is no one in the whole world like me. I came to expect and perhaps even depend a little bit on these small daily words of appreciation. Mr. Rogers had surpassed the status of mere children’s public television host and became, for that moment in time, my personal hero.

After stirring myself out of this wistful land of memories, drying my eyes and making motions to get ready for my day, I continued to think about heroes. Where had they all gone? A class of middle school students over at King Estates told me last week that a hero is someone who helps you out when you’re in danger, helps to keep you out of danger, flies around town in tights and helps old ladies cross the street. This was cute, but not exactly what I had in mind. When I was little I needed someone who told me to love myself and other people. Who helped me find helpful ways to deal with my anger, confusions and concerns and explained to me some things about the way the world worked that I was not yet aware of. Not much has changed. But now, here I am at 24 and I sense my childhood heroes are dying with no adult ones to stand tall in their place. Are heroes things of comic books and make believe? Where can we find them when we really need them? Without the aid of a weekly show-time and theme song, how am I even supposed to know one when I see one?

On May 17th I met George Tirado on assignment at a community organizers meeting in the Tenderloin of San Francisco, “The War on Terror”. Met might be a strong word, witnessed may be more appropriate. George spoke for about twenty minutes about how Bush’s “War on Terror” was affecting him at home. “We live in a police state. Face that… The politicians have politicized homelessness. It doesn’t have a face, its an issue now…”. This man is straight up keeping it real, no pretentious motivations. No sugary song and dance to convince you he’s right. There is no neatly coifed and parted hair or bright green cardigan that are gonna make you trust this guy. He certainly didn’t seem like someone I’d want to intentionally piss off. He’s gotta stand at least a head and shoulders taller than me tipping on my toes and thick and round as an old red wood. My first instinct was skepticism. Who is this guy and why is he so adamant about the limitations of our freedoms? I can do basically whatever I want. Right? Well, there was that time last Summer at JFK when I was asked to unravel my head wrap and explain to security that my grandfather had converted - had converted to Islam and that’s why my name is Arabic. And just the other week one of my youth from the YMCA got arrested during a dance for being too big, black and at the right place at the wrong time. There was nothing I could do. Is this what George meant by police state?

“What we have to do is look where we’re at right now… over in my neighborhood, in the Mission, people are dying in the streets. I see mothers crying, but no protectors, no activists”. As George says, “this is a war of attrition..”. Over the next couple weeks, though I got laid off from both my after school jobs, I wasn’t the only casualty. Twenty or so more displaced youth of color became youth at risk of becoming POWs of a system that doesn't give a fuck, or may be would even prefer if they’d fail. I was definitely going to need a battle plan.

A couple of weeks after the meeting I was fortunate enough to speak with George over the phone. I was tired. The prospect of being forced to deal with the Employment Development Department people was depressing. I had been reading the Autobiography of Malcolm X on the bus ride through the Mission to Bay View to work, getting worked up at eight in the morning about Child “protection” services and the racial exploitation that’s been going on in this country since before my great grandmother’s great granny was branded and whipped until she died. It was Tuesday, executive board meeting day, providing me a whole hour with no one in the office to interrupt my call to George Tirado for an interview and maybe some clarity and direction. I tried to sound gracious and not too nervous when he picked up the phone. “Hi. George? How are you, this is Jasmine. Is this still a good time to talk”?

He said it was a good time and mentioned that he had a stomach ache. He was taking the day off work because he’d been under a lot of stress lately. Mr. Tirado works at Hospitality House in the Tenderloin. He explained that it’s a one stop agency for homeless services, job placement, harm reduction etc. I learned that as of July 1st the 60% of the drop in center’s budget the Department of Public Health is responsible for will not be going to fund the center which was responsible to 10,000 folks last year. George wouldn’t be the only person feeling ill.

I only worked in the TL for nine months, but I know for a fact there are not enough services in that neighborhood for everybody. Before last summer I had only been in this time zone once, when I was four to visit my godparents and Mickey Mouse, the later of whom I ran away from traumatized and in tears. When I lived in New York, full of adolescent cynicism, California still maintained that same image, a place full of larger than life, fake stuff that was supposed to be fun but was really just scary. I interviewed for a job in the Tenderloin YMCA within the first week I was out here. After the interview, I walked out of the Y and turned to walk up Leavenworth towards Ellis. I felt like I had walked through a time portal and ended up in 1986, smack in the middle of the crack epidemic. It was larger than my life. It was scary. But not because it was fake. It was scary because it was please don’t reach out and touch me real.

George moved to the Bay from Huston, Texas via L.A and Flagstaff, Arizona. His education was found on the streets and in the books. He graduated with a BA in English and Philosophy. He toured with a punk rock band, got into drugs, lived in shelters and just “stewed for a long time”. “There’re a lot of cats like that. We’re the most dangerous ones… because we chose to be there… We could stay where we were or chose to get out”.

Everyone has their personal heroes and for George, it was James Tracy who flew in with the tights and cape. Tracy turned George onto his own culture. He led George to re-educate his mind and re-orientate his life through the stories, mythologies and poetry of his ancestors.

“Revolt of the Cockroach People, Chicano writers, Mayan and Aztec myths… friends like James Tracy brought me back to poetry.. I spent a lot of time reading Che Guevara in shelters… I started volunteering at Coalition on Homelessness and Tracy taught me how to organize”.

We continued to talk right up until the end of the board meeting. Our conversation picked up later on that afternoon. I think what impressed me about everything George was saying was that his philosophy, his identity, his poetry and politic are one- the way of the warrior.

“A solider is a paid mercenary. A warrior does what he does because he has to”. Warrior, hero sage. This guy is pretty powerful. He models for me what it means to truly reject this culture of oppression, not just in theory, but in practice.

“I’m anti-US, anti-colonialization… for 515 years they have been doing this in the name of democracy and freedom while the CIA and FBI have total access to all our health files, therapist visits, clinics everything”. The statement he’d made earlier about this being a police state no longer sounded like the rantings of a far fetched fanatic. It sounded like an emergency. I was beginning to feel like every moment that we don’t protest this progression is a moment of consent. The boat is sinking and eventually everyone’s going to get wet. I asked George what resistance looked like to him.

It came as no surprise to me that George Tirado rejects passivism. “I will not allow myself to just get beat by the cops. Cops come with real tear gas, real clubs and real rubber bullets – they come to hurt you. If you want to just stand there, be my guest. But if they hit me, I’ve gotta hit back. You’re not hitting a man, you’re hitting the state”.

I told George not many folks would be down to take a risk like that. “You have to know the right time to take that kind of action… that’s why I don’t agree with all direct action”, he responded.

He went on to recall the actions of some of the more radical protestors during the anti-war protests in late March, just after the US started dropping bombs on Iraq. While the Black Block was provoking the riot ready and armed cops, “thirty feet away you have a big group of pregnant women. Now that makes no sense…”

I asked George what he does when he feels the way I did at the time, that things are too big and that hope is hard to cling to. “I look to my elders” he said, “to Luis Rodrigez, James Tracy. I look at myself. If I don’t have hope I don’t believe in my cause.”

And there it was; the nihilism that constantly keeps me in the land of but what ifs. What if, like Tupac said, things will never change. What if nothing I do really matters? I had thought that George was going to say, If I don’t have hope I don’t have anything or something cliché like that, but if loosing hope means that you have no more faith in the cause you’re fighting for then that’s spiritual suicide. Maybe, what feels like loosing hope is really just feeling afraid to act on the hope you do have. Maybe.

“If we didn’t have politicians, we’d have a free society”, George’s voice took on that sense of urgency I remembered from the community meeting.

“You mean we could govern ourselves?”

“Tribal life in the third world was self-sufficient”, he responded. Its amazing how quickly we forget lessons they failed to teach us in school. George blames a lot of the anxiety we experience as a culture today on colonialization’s necessary break down of community. Without the support of our peers elders and collective stories, hope faith direction and purpose have to come to us by other means. In his neighborhood, the Mission District, this break down results in gang violence.

“All these guys are dying for land, if they were smart, they’d turn their guns n the landlords…” The concept of ownership is another mental disorder of colonial takeover. George explained that before land was a commodity it was a gift.

Truth is like cod liver oil. Tough to swallow, but sure to keep you regular, just like your daddy said. As I sailed home on my bike through the Mission, George’s words echoed around in my head. I was still freaking out about finding another job and battling the folks at EDD for a check before the 1st of the month. But I was 600 years of oppression filled cells waiting to explode. I felt reinvigorated. “It’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive/ such a hap-py feeling you’re growing inside…” I have to laugh when I find myself singing good old Mr. Rogers tunes, like some people find themselves reciting prayers.

This search for heroes is really just boiling down to a search for faith. So some of my faith comes from a TV show. So what! These are desperate times. Faith is faith, wherever it comes from is sacred. George said that it one of the wholly personal things we take with us to the grave. And you just can’t touch that.

The Narrative Essays on PNN are created by Interns in The Poverty Studies/Media Activism Institute at POOR. The class is co-facilitated by Dee and strives to attain journalistic excellence on issues of poverty and racism by combining literary art with journalism.

by Tricia Ward/PNN Media Intern (Facilitated by Dee)

I leaned against the wall outside of City Lights Bookstore in North Beach. It was a gray, misty day in San Francisco, but mood of the crowd that surrounded me was one of celebration.
I had come to join a group of several hundred at the 50th anniversary celebration for one of the few remaining independent bookstores in the city, if not the nation, City Lights. As the celebration began with an introduction of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the former Navy Skipper, turned poet, turned literary crusader, I glanced through the window into the bookstore and noticed something that took me back to my own childhood. Inside the store, oblivious to the hubbub outside was young girl probably about age nine or ten who reminded of myself back when I was that age.

She was in a chair with her head bent down over the book in her lap, her long brown hair hiding her face. She was in deep concentration over whatever she reading, and neither the celebration taking place outside nor the customers inside brushing past her took her eyes away from the novel. As Lawrence began telling the tale of the bookstore that has spent 50 years resisting mainstream culture and censorship, I watched the girl inside reading and was reminded of the way books framed, shaped, and developed my world.

Books! I can’t remember a time when I didn’t devour them. I come from long line of great readers. My entire family mom, dad, sister and brother were all certified bookworms. I wasn’t allowed to watch much television growing up, the exception being any show that appeared on Channel 9, the local public television station. “TV makes your brains mushy” my mother always said. So while my friends’ brains were turning into Jell-o Pudding from too much Scooby Doo and The Bionic Man, I was immersed in my own world between the pages of books.

As Lawrence and the other speakers at the celebration talked about the legacy of City Lights as a “Literary landmark, where people from across the country come to browse, read and just soak in the ambience”, I could relate to exactly what they felt. Books were my outlet while growing up. Books took me away from what a considered to be a painfully normal existence and created a whole new world for me. Through books, I could visit a mysterious and wonderful chocolate factory run by impish and seemingly mad man, I could travel to the Emerald City to see the wizard, I could hang out with Raymond as he hung out after bedtime in the land “Where the Wild Things Are”. While turning their pages I could become a princess, a warrior, a sassy little French girl named Madeline cavorting through Paris with her sassy group of friends.

Near my house was an independent bookstore, not unlike City Lights, called Little Professor. It was close enough for me to walk to it on my own, something I did quite frequently growing up. I could spend an entire afternoon tucked away in that musty-smelling nook, in the corner between the massive shelves stacked from floor to ceiling with pages and pages of prose. This was before the days of the mega-bookstores with built-in Starbucks. Hanging out in bookstores was not yet considered mainstream cool, but those who were really in the know, like the so-called beatniks that frequented City Lights in the early days, knew it was cool to hang in the bookstore. I indeed, felt very cool perusing novels amongst the grown-ups.

As I passed through my childhood I left the land of fairy tales and began to read all the teenage staples such as Judy Blume and V.C. Andrews. I also read anything else that looked even remotely interesting regardless of its ‘suitability’ (another mother-ism) for my age. I read “Helter Skelter” about the vicious murders committed by Charles Manson and his followers, and spent an entire month sleeping with my light on. I couldn’t even tell me parents why I suddenly developed a fear of the dark, for my greater fear was them censoring what I read.

Censure was the topic up on the speakers’ platform outside of City Lights, as the infamous court case regarding Allen Ginsberg’s supposedly obscene poem “Howl” was being told. Throughout the trial in 1957, City Lights continued to sell the book that the court wanted banned, and even had it prominently displayed in the front window of the store. Lawrence’s victory at the trial blazed the trail for many great works of literature that might otherwise have been labeled obscene and been censured or banned outright.

“That trial marked a literary revolution” a man standing near me commented. Revolution indeed. My own literary revolution of sorts happened one day in the bookstore sometime in my pre-teens. For some reason, my otherwise strict parents gave me free reign to roam around the bookstore. I would explore, wandering unsupervised through the aisles outside of the Childrens and Young Adults section. On this particular day I got the perfect opportunity to educate myself in a way that I felt my parents or my Catholic-school teachers never would. There it was - the large white book with the bright red title letters that had been making headlines and talk shows throughout the nation. Here it was right in front of me, my opportunity to gain insight to all the mysteries of the world! After making several trips up and down that aisle, pretending to look be interested in any other book but THAT one, and making sure at least ten times that the coast was clear, I quickly snatched it off the shelf and hurried to a corner, held the it flat on my lap, with my legs up hiding the cover of the forbidden volume; “The Joy of Sex”. I took a deep breath, opened the cover and began. …

I numbly left the store two hours later surely with more knowledge than I had when I entered but most certainly more confused than ever. Perhaps my mother was right that certain things were ‘unsuitable’ for me at that age.

In college when the boy, the only boy I was convinced I would ever love broke my heart, books overflowing with poetry and mournful tales of love lost forever became my bible, these authors understood, they knew my pain! I read and re-read these melodramatic tomes until the pages where worn thin or at least until the next only-boy-I-would-ever-love came along.

Bookstores like City Lights allowed me to continue to read into adulthood without censure. Back in 1989 when the ‘Satanic Verses’ was published and promptly earned it’s author Salman Rushdie a death sentence, the chain bookstores rushed to pull the book from their shelves. City Lights, however, like my own local independent bookstore, refused to remove the condemned novel. Thanks to bookstores like City Lights I was able to read it and form my own opinions without corporate America attempting to form them for me.

Books have taught me to think, to analyze, to criticize. Recently a friend of mine raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw that leftist, liberal me had a copy of “Bias,” a decidedly right-wing criticism of how liberals are ruining the media, on my nightstand. I shrugged. “You have to keep your enemies close” I explained.

In front of City Lights, prizes were being given to children who had read a book and written an essay about the meaning of the book to them. The children walked up one by one to claim their prizes. Many of the books they had read were the same ones I devoured page by page over 20 years ago. Probably the same books that the little girl, with the long dark hair inside the store poured over now.

The Narrative Essays are created by Interns in The Poverty Studies/Media Activism Institute at POOR. The class is co-facilitated by Dee and strives to attain journalistic excellence on issues of poverty and racism by combining literary art with journalism.

by Mariluna/PNN Youth in the Media report

Wow, so it has been a month already! time flies fast. This week I finally got sick. It was not a pretty sight. I
knew I was going to get sick sooner or later. I’m glad I did bring tons of medicine with me. This week was the
anniversary of the NGO (non-governmental organization) I volunteer for. It was also the President of the NGO’s
Birthday. There was so much to do this week. The President had a Birthday Party in his house. There was a ton of food,
dancing, music, and people. (No karaoke this time) It was a blast. On Friday night, I went out with the other two
Fil-Am in my delegation and we went to a disco (this means nightclub). It was definitely an experience. The disco was
called Bedrock, and reminded me of The Flintstones. When you go in they first sit you down at a table, and then you
order food/drinks. The music is provided by a Cover Band. A cover band is a band that sings mainstream songs. The
closest I can explain to this is it is like professional karaoke but without the TV. Imagine you are dancing to the
song “Independent Women” sung by a cover band. The name of the cover band was “Colored People.” There is also
breaks to go sit back down eat, talk, drink, or whatever. The energy inside the club was great; the cover band really
involved the crowd. The band lets the crowd take the mic to sing the song. One of the singers even invited me to dance
on stage! The next day was the day of the anniversary. There was mass, games, basketball, a play, and dance
performances. At night time, there was a party just for the staff and volunteers. Each volunteer group had to do some
type of performance, and it was supposed to represent where we are from. So the Fil-Am delegation danced to “In the
Club” by 50 Cent. We came up with this idea an hour before the performance. The Korean delegation did a Korean
dance that is called the “Poor Children’s dance” they wore different Korean Costumes. The French Delegation did
a dance to a French song. It looked like country-western dancing. Then there was awards passed out, and there was
dancing till 12 am or 1am. The next day my home gave a despidida party for our sponsor. Our sponsor also brang along
30-40 high school seniors from Belgium. We had dance performances, singing, dancing and lots of food. The fun part was
seeing the Belgians dance the “Spaghetti Song” by SexBomb. Many could not do the dance called the “ocho-ocho.”
This dance is popularized by the group SexBomb. This is a dance where you put your hands on your tuhod (knees) and pop
your back and your arms up and down. Don’t worry if this sounds difficult I’ll teach you the dance when I get
back.| C-ya later!

by Mariluna/PNN Youth in the Media report

A. The youth court system

B. Manila’s Juvenile Hall

C. Youth Representation in Manila City Hall

D. This past weekend

A. So, the typhoon passed up the Philippines (thank you to all the emails I received from people making sure I was fine),
and it did flood here a little bit. There was also a Brownout (we say blackout), so there was no electricity or water for
a day. In other news, I have moved. I now live in what is known as Metro Manila. I live in La Paz Barrio of Makati City.
This is known as the “squatter’s area.” This is a very poor area. I live in a house full of other volunteers. But
on to other news, I visited Manila’s City Hall. In fact I have been here three times already. My first time I visited,
I attended a juvenile court hearing. The courtroom was tiny. I only got to see one hearing actually though, all of the
other hearings had to be reset because the Public Attorney (public defender) was not present. In the end the hearing was
reset. The Public prosecutor was one hour and 5 minutes late. My friend, who is a social worker for the youth cases, told
me it is very common for the Public Prosecutor, and the Public Attorney to show up late after the judge. Also many of the
youth or their parents didn’t show up either. There also was no Guard. The court hearing was in English, and Filipino
was only spoken when it was spoken to the judge first. I also got to talk to the judge after the hearings. She seemed
very understanding of the youth and the parents. She spoke to everyone in a tone that made a person feel relaxed. She
told me later on that:We need to be patient, and adjust to their circumstances. She was speaking in reference to
the youth. That blew me away. She reminded me of a trusting mother. I was told later that she was one of the most
understanding and fair judges in City Hall.

B. Next, I went to Manila’s Juvenile Hall. Here it is called MYRC, this stands for Manila Youth Reception Center. It is
for ages 12-18. In Metro Manila, there are only two detention centers. Many times the youth are locked up in adult jails.
The language they used blew me away. A Jail cell is called a dormitory. The youth were not called “juveniles” but
“Children in conflict with the Law.” The every dormitory has house parents. They called MYRC a Shelter not a juvenile
hall. They also have many volunteers from various higher education institutions. One of their services was called “Home
Life Services” which deals with the youth’s dorm life. They also have seminars. Some that were scheduled was a
Parents Effectiveness Seminar, which was for the parents of the children. There was peer group counselling for the youth.
They also have prayer meetings, and had a huge statue of Jesus Christ. I also got to visit the youth inside the dorms.
They had one dorm for girls, which had about 10-15 girls inside the room. There were four dorms for boys, which had about
30 plus youth inside each dorm. The staff person told me that most of the girls locked up have been sexually abused, that
is why they have the Center for the Protection of Women. The youth in every dorm all greeted us (the staff people I was
with and I) like a chorus line. “Good Afternoon, Visitors!”

C. On my last day as a Commissioner, I decided I would visit Manila City Hall and find out what kind youth
representation they had. I found out there was a Youth Bureau. So I walked in the office, and there was many youth in the
office (This reminded me of Room 345 in City Hall.) I was directed to one of the head staff people. He was 21 years
old. In the Philippines they define youth between the ages of 15-35. He told me the way they have youth representation
in Manila. First during the adult elections there is also the SK elections on the ballot (SK stands for two really long
Filipino words I couldn’t spell). If a youth is between the ages of 15-17 they have the right to vote provided they
live in Manila. They register with their department of elections so they can vote in the SK elections. In these
elections, a youth votes for their SK Chairman (or chairwoman) to represent their district of Manila. The votes are
tallied, and then there is a SK Chairman. Then all the SK Chairmen elect a President. This President is their
representative to the City Council, and can introduce legislation, and is also paid. The President is also called the
Youth Sector Representative. There is also a youth picked to represent to the National Youth Commission. They sit on this
Commission and are called Commissioner. There are also Youth Councils for every Barangay (this is a small community.)
There are hundreds of Barangays in Manila. There is also a Child Welfare Code being created, so the Youth Bureau held
many Public Forums for youth to see what they would what in this code. They run a summer youth job program, which is like
Youth Works in San Francisco. A youth is placed in a department of the Manila City Government and is paid. They also have
internship in their office. They run the Manila Youth Games, which had over 10,000 youth participate last time. They do
many events. I was told that the Mayor believes that the youth must be involved in public service. They also took a
contingent of 7,000 youth to a pro-peace rally during the time Bush was deciding to go to war or not. I also found out
that no one in the Youth Bureau was over the age of 35, even the director of the Youth Bureau was 35 years old. I also
found out that the Mayor’s son, who is 32, is involved in the Youth Bureau. The staff jokingly told me that he is their
consultant to the Mayor for their Budget.

D. This past weekend I spent with family and I went to Tagatay. This area is famous for their pineapples and Buko Pie
(this is coconut). I ate so much food; I swear I ate like seven times a day. It was great. My relative also showed me
where the People’s Power Revolution happened. This was the revolution that kicked out Marcos. Marcos was more of like
dictator than a President. He was in charge for over 20 years. There was martial law while he was in charge. I also found
out that a good friend of Marcos was President Regan. This past Sunday there was also about 200-300 military members who
stood opposed to the government. The stand-off was here in Makati. They were given till 5pm to submit to the government
or the government backed military would go in and declare fire. Then they were given a two-hour extension. Then I guess
settles and talks happened because it ended. In the end, no one was hurtâ€| This happened the day before the President
gave the State of the Nation Address.

Wow, so as you can see I have done so much stuff, and next week I will discuss my experience about RAC (Reception Action
Center), a place where houseless people are forced by cops to stay atâ€| Stay tunedâ€|.

And as for a Flag for the Philippine Province, it is easily managed. We can have a special one “ our states do it:
We can have our usual flag, with the white stripes painted black and stars replaced by the skull and cross bones.“
Mark Twain talking in reference to the United States colonizing the Philippines.

by ADRIEL HAMPTON AND EVELYN RUSLI/San Francisco Examiner

To deliver on campaign promises, Care Not Cash will cost millions more
than The City currently spends on homeless welfare recipients,
supervisors heard Monday.

According to Board of Supervisors Budget Analyst Harvey Rose,
providing housing, food, health care and mental health treatment for
homeless welfare recipients will cost far more than the $13.9 million
budget for cash welfare grants.

Supervisors used Rose's findings to batter absent mayoral candidate
Supervisor Gavin Newsom, who authored the measure.

Supervisors Tony Hall, Chris Daly and Matt Gonzalez were particularly
wary of the Department of Human Services' estimate that in the initial
12 months of the program's implementation, 50 percent of participants
will drop out.

"We either add more money or we have to accept the claim that 50
percent of the people will walk away," said Hall. "I'm having a rough
time believing that 50 percent of the people will walk away. Neither
option is what the voters voted on. No new tax dollars will be spent
... I just fail to see how that's possible," Hall said.

Trent Rohrer, executive director of the DHS, supported the 50 percent
figure by explaining that it is based on compelling data and reflects
a slow, steady dropout over 12 months. In response, some supervisors
voiced concern that even this figure was financially troubling because
the DHS further estimated that half of the dropouts would still be
dependent on The City if they move off the homeless rolls but still
draw welfare checks. They can do so by claiming a residence that a DHS
caseworker will then confirm.

"Half of the dropoff is not exactly dropped off. They are still
getting cash disbursements," Gonzalez said.

Supervisor Chris Daly estimated that the cost would be at least $3
million greater than what The City now pays in welfare grants to the
homeless, just for housing and food.

"The details were not thought out. It's almost embarrassing," Daly
said. "We need to get back to the basics and get some things done but
this model right here is not getting things done and the math doesn't
add up."

Gonzalez said it seems that a working Proposition N -- with new
housing and treatment programs -- would look more like Proposition O,
a Care Not Cash rival measure that mandated a specific number of new
housing and treatment slots before cutting cash to homeless people. It
failed at the ballot last year.

For more than three hours, supervisors hammered away at the
legislation without the presence of Newsom or a DHS representative,
and committee chair Hall repeatedly criticized their lack of
attendance. The meeting agenda, however, clearly stated that there
would be no action on the item, and that Newsom and Rhorer would be
unavailable. Both came to the hearing after 1 p.m.

At issue for Hall were "thousands" of e-mails demanding that he stop
slowing down implementation of Care Not Cash. After Newsom arrived,
Hall called for a Tuesday hearing to take action on Prop. N.

Newsom stridently objected.

"To throw this on tomorrow without any notification to thousands of
San Franciscans is to me wholly inappropriate and absolutely unfair on
the basis of process and the basis of principle," Newsom said. "This
is absolutely wrong."

Pointing a finger back at Newsom, Hall replied, "Your office was
notified about the hearing, how long do you want to delay this?"

After more heated words, Hall recessed the meeting. Reconvening
without Newsom, Hall explained they had agreed to schedule action on
Care Not Cash for next Monday. That could put the legislation before
the full board for action as early as July 8.

The issue of time and the program's stalled implementation was a
constant topic of debate throughout the hearing. As the July 1
deadline looms overhead, there has been building pressure to turn out
results. However, Rose concluded that Care not Cash will not even be
fully implemented by the spring 2004 deadline promised to voters in
November.

The courts have thrown out key provisions of the measure, but Newsom
has pushed the board to pass those provisions. Newsom says the reform
will take a good deal of time to run smoothly.

by Dee/PNN

In the Sunday, June 15th edition of the SF Chronicle, Representative Ellen Tauscher, "one of only two California democrats", is quoted as saying (regarding the war in Iraq) "I was certainly misled about Iraq being an imminent threat."

Why don't we believe this? Perhaps because Congresswoman Barbara Lee was not "misled". Why is that? Is it because she is so much smarter than Ellen Tauscher and the other North California democrat Diane Feinstein?

We don't think so - we think it is because Ellen is a stenographer; a Republicrat; a stenographer for the Bush the administration - As is that other Northern California democrat Diane Feinstein.

And now after the war, after these two gave a Blank Check to George Bush to destroy Iraq (in order to protect Israel and get control of the middle east, etc.) the only two Northern California democrats step back and say, "the devil made me do it."

Isn't this a similar scenario to WWII - didn't the germans say "we didn't know there were death camps, we were misled by the government."

Do you really believe we are fooled by your protestations of innocence - of being "misled"?

It's obvious that "the only two Northern California democrats" want to be re-elected and they want the votes of the voters who were against the war in Iraq. They want those votes so that they can return to Washington and spend more of our time and money supporting the policies of the George Bush administration.

by Joe B.

Mama’s 21+ birthday over and it is always restful to be in her home and because she’s a good cook its only that I really get away from City politicking and view swirling about all the time.

Before leaving I check one of many intimate cyber date sites finding five listed and judging by the first cute, petite, cuddly little sassafras frame leaning upon a tree.

Rose_ Pedal is a the name given.

I may have made errors in emailing back along with five other person’s also but here is a sample of how I tried to quickly answer emails to me.

For Rose_ Pedal, Thank you for a sensuous view (I would never peek, stare, or ogle but a long careful, eyeful would be appropriate.

I'll be with my Mother in Fairfield Ca.

Because its her birthday so if this does not find you I'm having it copied to send again.

I just made a few inches past five feet.

May we both find one another or if not the one we both seek.

Yes, I wrote that way with a little tongue-in-cheek poetic, romantic imagery.

All six I uniquely tailored to them individually.

Then the postmaster site informs me none of it went through so I publicly apologize to each person beginning with the lovely Rose_Pedal.

Sometimes I think the web is another frustration waiting to swamp me.

I’d like to cut out the middle man/ woman date site and email directly to them or they to me then it goes beyond cyberspace and into real time, place, and seeing each other physically after people.

I guess its because I’m still not use to all this stuff.

At some chat sites I find so much chatter except for the over 50 or order ones they help neophytes online but the other way under 50 to 40’s folks chatter on sometimes ignoring or blocking new people on the site as if it’s a private club.

I don’t chat in other sexual orientations due to dialog differences, syntax, lingo, and slang for example "Cool doesn’t only mean in-with it, but dislike; as in "I’m cool on her/him/them now."

Also there’s historical context of heterosexual discrimination, now seemingly the discrimination is on the other foot because if straight folks do stray into the cite one of three things are likely to happen either they are called to get out or talked about in slang not easily understood.

Told to get out, or ignored until they leave c-room.

That’s why I go to the adult site because I’d like to date and romance but ultimately to just cut all the bush beating around and get to wall-to-floor, wet and dry, body rock.

Good or bad both people can meet others or stay together maybe have swing parties.

Personally, I’m strictly one on one with the opposite sex.

If that’s being dull, old fashioned that’s fine with me because when I look at
"The History Channel’s" History Of Sex.

I’m glad my taking too long to finish isn't as abnormal as a few women have said its give and take.

Some take it, some don’t, and a few do outlast me.

Now that’s the kind of battle-of-the-sexes-I’m talking about.

Anyway, I have to figure out these intimate web sites, making money online, cheap air fare’s, and free gifts also.

Next week I'll write about the so called perfect man/wymyn
as mortal and immortal also in this brave new world of the genome how possibly a both may indeed be lucky enough to transition from mortal to extended life or Immortal and how such a change could free him/her of many of the anxieties, complexes they now have.
[Yes, I may have to spend time in Poly/Sci, women’s herstory, literature and psychology after the irate letters, mash notes, video, dvd’s or color photo’s of women alternately saying

"You A-hole, A genius, An oddball, or I know where you live, Your Screwed."

The last statement is problematic; I just hope she’s a nymphomaniac with short term memory and to her its always the first time she’s hunted me down.

Donations C/0 Poor Magazine

1448 Pine Street #205

San Francisco, CA 94103

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Ace Tafoya/PoorNewsNetwork Community Journalist

“…beating on a tin drum marching to a sound, what is it I think? Am I beating on a tin drum marching to a cause when I don’t know what it is…” from Tin Drum by Toni Childs/David Rickets.

On Friday, July 25 whilewalking to the St. Boniface Church in the Tenderloin to listen to two freedom fighters from Palestine endorsed by POWER (People Organized to Win Employment Rights), St. Peters Housing Committee, The SF Day Labor Program and the Coalition on Homelessness, I asked myself why I chose to do an assignment that I had no knowledge of! I browsed the web, talked to friends, looked through periodicals and even searched through Golden Gate Park for an answer or solution to the Middle East. Why is there no peace? Why do people kill? Is it for piece of land? Piece of freedom? Piece of mind? Peace?

“Palestinian’s don’t have a right to move inside our own country,” proclaimed Maha Nassar, a national heroine of the Union of Palestinian Women Committees, an organization that’s a leading role on the Palestinian freedom struggle. “Our basic rights, our schools are being destroyed by the occupation!”

The Union of Palestian Women Committees works actively towards building a Palestine civil, progressive and democratic society regarding all kinds of discrimination and able to raise the situation of women and empower them to assure the real quality between man and woman and all the sectors of society, according to the press release. Some of the activities produced by the committee are Intro duce refugee women to rights they were deprived of, Supporting women political prisoners in their struggle against jail’s administration, Establishing Kindergartens and Nurseries to reduce women family worries and reinforce the principles of democracy in decision making.

“For 53 years people are still living in refugee camps in oppression,” voiced Ala Al Azzeh, a Palestinian refugee and co-founder of Beit Jibrin Cultural Center-Handal. (A progressive educational youth and community center). His dark eyes searched the room, he continued. “Racism is here, Racism in Palestine is the same. Israel is a white European country in the Middle East!”

Both Maha Nassar and Ala Al Azzeh had just completed a 6 city grassroots tour across the nation. San Francisco was their final destination. Still I had no answer to why can’t we all live in peace. Maybe if we follow their ideas we can come up with an answer. Love and acceptance of a god is something we’re looking for. Why can’t more love go out to the Middle East? And here as well.

by Leroy Moore/Illin and Chillin’

I’ve some bad news! The state of New Jersey could be
smack with a federal lawsuit if federal investigators
find that the allegations of inadequate care,
dangerous conditions, abuse and deaths of
developmental disabled and mentally ill residents in
New Lisbon and Woodbridge Developmental Centers are
true.

According to a federal report involving New Lisbon
Developmental Center, sited that there have been 4,400
incidents, 242 classified as major including broken
limbs and overmedicating etc.. For example, on
February 9, 2002 a staff member intentionally smeared
glue on Wilson’s face, and then rip it off when it
dried. And on January 25, 2002 another staff member
slapped Paula in the face, and pinched her “because
she is a dark-skinned Black person’ and bruises don’t
show up on her.”

Many advocacy groups say that the New Jersey
Developmental Disability Centers has a long history of
being run down, overcrowded, understaffed and having
creaky and dirty equipment i.e. wheelchairs. Governor
James E. McGreevey has inherited this eye swore when
he took office. Under federal law, individuals in
public run nursing homes, jails and
developmental-disability centers have the right to
live in reasonable safety, receive adequate health
care and be free from unreasonable restraint.
These rights were violated at New Lisbon and
Woodbridge Developmental Center, federal investigators
concluded. There have been many plans on the table
from hiring new staff to closing the centers down. If
the negotiations between the state and federal
government fail to produce a satisfactory remedial
plan, the federal government could sue New Jersey.
For more on New Jersey and California DEVELOPMENTAL
Disability system click on Budget Crisis &
Prosperity: SAME STORY and then Call Governor James E.
McGreevey of New Jersey to advocate for our disabled
brothers and sisters.

By DAMO & New Jersey Minorities with Disabilities
Coalition taken from a federal report.