Story Archives 2012

Much of my life has been devoted to being a man, a good man or worthy of being referred to as such.  Growing up, I associated men as those who carried themselves in, what I perceived to be, a fearless manner—ready to take on anybody or anything regardless of size.  My father was about 5 foot 4, 145 pounds in his heyday.  I’d heard stories about him knocking out guys 6 foot 5 on the streets of Fillmore via a straight right cross followed by a left hook –without assistance from a ladder.  To me, this was the definition of a man.

I gave this a shot and enrolled in collegiate boxing at City College of San Francisco.  I remember the coach--he must have been 60 or so.  He could outdo us all.  He could knock out 80 sit ups (not to mention, us).  He was fleet of foot and had excellent pugilistic skills.  To top it off, he was a math (my worst subject, having failed pre-algebra twice) and science teacher who jogged to his classes, running up staircases. At lunch time he’d run to the roof of one of the many school buildings and do a series of calisthenics as an offering to the Gods of PE before settling down and tackling a pastrami sandwich.

I didn’t want to fail at boxing.  I put on the gloves.  I was informed that I was going to “go to the body” with a guy standing across the ring.  The coach introduced me as “The Fighting Mathematician” and the other guy as having learned to box in Europe.  Europe? I thought.  When was the last time that continent (This happened in 1982, sorry Klitchko fans) had a heavyweight champion?  I’ll drop him like a fly, I thought.  The bell sounded: ding ding (or ding to the second power).  We circled.  We crouched close.  Europe dug a straight right into my gut.  I sank reconsidering my notions of European Heavyweight history as the wind slowly returned to my lungs.

I was dropped like that proverbial fly.  I questioned my manhood afterwards.  I thought about my father and uncles.  What would they say if they saw me go down like that?  Then I tried to rationalize it.  Everybody loses, even the best of us.  Didn’t Joe Louis lose?  Ali?  Joe Frazier lost to George Foreman, going down a half a dozen times—up and down like a basketball.  I stuck with boxing for the semester but didn’t re-enroll.  The good news was that I managed to pass pre-algebra on my third try.  My midsection hurts just reminiscing about it.

Kicking around trying to be a man; the question: are you a man or a mouse?  I’d look in the mirror and see two little beady eyes, a twitching nose, whiskers.  Then I’d start craving cheese.  “Oh, hell no…this ain’t me”, I’d say.

These days my definition of being a man has changed.  It is about being positive.  This positivity has come with the help of a mouse.  I volunteer at Senior Action Network in San Francisco teaching basic computer skills to elders, introducing them to the internet, Microsoft word and other applications. 

The elders are a mix—black, Filipino, white, Chinese—who are there to learn something new.  The mouse on a computer is hard to control for those unaccustomed to the tactile nuances of computer gadgetry.  But slowly the elders get through it, able to control the mouse.  Sometimes it takes a while to get comfortable with the mouse.  Some of the elders move it too fast or click too hard on it.  The little pointer flies across the screen in all directions.  I gently place my hand on theirs, and together we move the mouse, the movements like brush strokes, their hands, hard with work stories, their eyes filled with spirit.  In this movement I learn about the movement from within, the movement to keep pushing forward.  These elders move me towards the man I want to be with patience and openness to what is new and alive.

And then it’s time to break for lunch—fried rice, chow mein, broccoli and beef.  We sit around the table and talk and eat.  “Go ahead, eat more…there’s plenty” a voice says, followed by another, echoing the sound of community that this table more than creates. 

I ask one of the elders “Where is the mouse located at your computer?”  The man is a Filipino elder with thick hands and root-like fingers.  I enjoy his presence in class.  He gets the parts of the computer mixed up at times. If you ask him to point to the modem, he points to the mouse.  When you ask him to point to the keyboard, he points to the monitor.  When you ask him to point to the monitor, he points to the coffee pot.  Again i ask him to point out the mouse at his station.   His eyes travel left to right, up and down and underneath the table before meeting mine.  Smiling, he pointed to his plate of chow mein.

We both laugh and I can’t help thinking about that question, “Are you a man or a mouse?

(Editor's note: The Al Robles Living Library project honors Manilatown Activist Asuncion Panlibuton, whose long struggle for housing and community justice helped many in the Filipino community.  Her work helped give rise to the rebuilding of the International Hotel on Kearny Street.  In the words of Poet Al Robles, her heart was the heart of mabuhay.  Tony Robles, Co-editor, POOR Magazine)

Asuncion Baguna Panlibuton, born November 5, 1924, died peacefully on December 13, 2011, in her ancestral hometown of Dao, Antique, Philippines. 

Asun, as she was affectionately called, immigrated to San Francisco, California in 1959.  She was a teacher and became a businesswoman and community activist in San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Los Angeles and Nice, CA.  Guided by her prayers of “Dear Jesus, Help me to help those that need most your help…” she began the fight for decent, affordable senior housing in Manilatown, San Francisco – the International Hotel. As an advocate for quality long-term care, Asun organized the Filipino Residential Care Home Operators for statewide training, as well as owning care homes throughout California for over thirty years. 

Passionate for social, justice and educational issues of immigrant Filipino families, she became co-founder of the Northern and Southern United Antiquenos of California.  Asun was known to have helped countless immigrant families to live economically stable lives while she showed that “wealth is measured by the love, compassion and generosity given to others.” 

Asun was preceded in death by her father Higino Baguna, husband Gregorio Panlibuton and son Gregory Panlibuton.  She is survived by her children Annie Panlibuton-Barnes and Henry (Cynthia) Panlibuton, grandchildren Matthew (Lilli), Joseph and Sarah Barnes, Nicholas and Oliver Panlibuton and great-granddaughter Isabella Barnes.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the:

Asuncion Panlibuton Memorial Scholarship Fund

C/O Annie Panlibuton Barnes

P.O. Box 479

Upper Lake, CA 95485

Panlibuton by Al Robles

The I-Hotel remembers you, Manilatown

Remembers you, in the eyes of

the Manongs & Manangs, in the

Heart of I-Hotel tenants, in

Heart of the community

in the heart of Mabuhay

In the heart of carabaos

 in tribal memories & dreams

of long ago & far away

Manang, you are still here

You circled the I-Hotel

with your love, with

Your spirit, rising up

Like the manongs -

Protecting the Manilatown life

Guarding the

old ways, the songs,

Palii - We’re coming

Back home to Manilatown

After all these years

we’re coming back home.

Together- & we’ll

see your face & heart

& love holding up

embracing the Hotel again

Filling Manilatown

with your presence

with your spirit

with your love

The children will

Read Poems & Sing

& dance & bring down

All the stars in your hands

We come, now today

 to celebrate your

birthday, your life, your

love, your struggle,

your spirit-

Al Robles

11/5/2004, San Francisco

Given to Asuncion Panlibuton on her 80^th Birthday

Note: Written on an 8x10 white envelope

Hau Kola.

Greetings my friends, relatives, relations, supporters.

I wrote a statement the other day sitting here in my cell and I know that no one really cares to read something that is 6 pages long. So this is my effort to shorten it a little bit.

The first subject I want to touch on is being in prison for 36 years is hell. There are some folks who are planning to walk across America starting in California going to Washington D.C. to bring attention to the injustice that faces Indian people in the judicial system of America and of which I am some of the evidence of that. But first of all what I really want to say is I really appreciate and love the people that do things like this for those of us who are imprisoned. And if walking across America sounds like a lot try standing in an 8 by 6 cell for 36 years. But I want you to know as terrible and painful as this is in a strange way I am honored that the most powerful government has considered me a challenge that they would violate all their own laws to keep me imprisoned. In my standing I have stood for what’s right. I have stood for the right of a people invaded by emissaries of the corporations they ultimately represent; the right of a people to defend themselves in whatever way necessary to defend their women and children and elders and life itself when attacked with deadly force by this government.

For some of you who may recently come in contact with my case, my case is one where an Indian community that had been continually terrorized by FBI and a goon squad funded by them on the reservation, had opposed the sale of 1/8th of the tribe’s mineral resources and land. On June the 26th 1975, they attacked the village of Oglala on the Pine Ridge Reservation. It started with two FBI agents in unmarked cars and unmarked clothing, firing into an enclave of dwellings. The two agents numbers soon swelled to 250. In the ensuing battle the two initial agents were killed and one young Indian man, Joe Stuntz, was murdered by the FBI, shot between the eyes. Ultimately some 30 of us escaped. Two men, Bob Robideau and Dino Butler that were captured before I was, were put on trial and all the evidence of that day was allowed to be presented in their defense. And they were acquitted by reason of self-defense; the jury said they had the right to defend themselves with deadly force. I had escaped to Canada and was later apprehended there, the government perjured testimony, and they got someone to lie to bring me back from there. I was put on trial and all the evidence used to convict me was later proven false in court, as well as the lie to extradite me. And the same evidence used by the defense in the first trial was not allowed. They ultimately got a conviction saying I was guilty of murder which was later amended to aiding and abetting.

Then later an individual whom some called Mr. X, on tape admitted he was the shooter. Bob Robideau one of the original two men acquitted by reason of self-defense later told retired FBI Agent Ed Wood he was Mr. X and that he had shot the agents. Bob feared for his life. Bob didn’t make his statement for many years. Bob did all that he could do to help me over the years and later started living in Spain. And then he made a statement to a few people that he was going to come back and speak more about being the shooter and being acquitted of the offense. And within about a month’s time he was found dead in his apartment in Spain. He supposedly fell out of bed and hit his head and died. Having said that, my main point is that where all the evidence was allowed to be presented Indian people were found not guilty rightfully defended themselves by reason of self-defense.

There has not been a violation of human rights by America that wasn’t first practiced on Native Americans. America’s first biological warfare was against Indian people with small pox and measles infected blankets, the first concentration camps were against Indian people where they took their land and rounded them up. And Lincoln known for being against slavery, had 38 Indian men hung in unison in Mankato Minnesota for rebelling in the starving concentration camp they were confined to and there were camps all across this nation for American Indian people. The first atomic bomb was dropped on Indian land polluting it and destroying the water tables. To this day the result of their digging for uranium still pollutes parts of the Navajo reservation. They practiced sterilization of our women up until the late 1950s and even into the 60’s. Up in Alaska they experimented with various forms of hepatitis on the native people there. The list goes on and on. Our people to this day suffer generational trauma as a result of the concentration camps and invasions and starvation and boarding schools that tried to destroy our culture. The death rate in the boarding schools was 50%.

To this day the unemployment rate for American Indians is 35%. What America calls “depression” has become a way of life for us. Bureaucrats scream and jump up and down about the Israelis right to claim their homeland, yet at the same time America still takes our land against our will, our homeland. The black hills of South Dakota was leased for 99 years the lease has been up for some 20 something years, but they will not return it. They have offered to pay some 3 billion dollars for the Black Hills. Why don’t they take that money and relocate the non-Indians from there? There have been people complaining of a mosque in the proximity of the former World Trade Towers yet our sacred hills have Abraham Lincoln’s face carved in the side of our sacred area, and George Washington who practiced a scorched earth campaign against our people in the East is there along with others.

I’m sorry if I’m getting carried away, I want America to be a great nation, but I want it to be fair to all people. We don’t ask for anything that wasn’t agreed to by this government,. There’s three hundred and seventy something treaties that cover most of our concerns. I apologize if in reading this in some way it hurts your celebration of the holidays. Its very difficult to not be negative when you are unjustly imprisoned for this long and every day you look through an iron door when the true enemies and terrorists are free to terrorize the poor and the oppressed of America. When the resources of America and the labor of its people is used to enhance the lavish lifestyle of some 2 to 3 % of the population that owns 96% of America’s wealth or I should say owns and controls 96% of America’s wealth then people like you and the people occupying Wall Street and walking across America are needed more than you would ever know.

I said I wouldn’t make this too long and it seems I have gone back on my work. However in closing I would like to thank the National Congress of American Indians for passing a resolution supporting me in my bid for freedom. And I would especially like to thank Lenny Foster who has served as a spiritual leader in prisons throughout America who presented the resolution to the National Congress of American Indians. I would also like to thank all the others, too numerous to mention, who has supported me for so many years. I guess in some off handed way I have learned to live and exist by my contact with them over the years. This struggle has been long and difficult and I know at times I have offended people and hurt their feelings and for that I am deeply regretful. But rest assured I appreciate all of you in the deepest sense of the word. And I pray that this Holiday season brings joy to you and your families. And there is no greater gift that we can give our children and our children’s children than freedom and a healthy earth.

I will close for now but unless they shut me up like they did Bob, you will hear from me again rest assured.

In the Spirit of Crazy Horse and all the others that have died for their people,

Sincerely,

Leonard Peltier 

 (Image of Leonard Peltier from bermudaradical.wordpress.com)

In 1982 I was a kid working at a fast food restaurant on Market Street earning 3.35 an hour—minimum wage.  I quit that job to pursue my fortune in the world of dishwashing in a trendy SOMA restaurant.  On my last day my supervisor assigned me to restock the walk-in freezer.  Like a fool, I did it.  I have permanent goose bumps from the experience.  That restaurant is no longer on Market Street, but I am, as well as many low wage workers who subsidize the affluent on a daily basis.  I think of that walk in freezer.  I should have tossed my supervisor in there and locked the door.  I still have chills thinking about it.

San Francisco’s minimum wage, as of Jan 1^stis $10.24 an hour, up from $9.92.  The city’s minimum wage is among the highest in the country thanks to the work of the Living Wage Coalition (http://www.livingwage-sf.org/) which began fighting for a Living Wage Law in 1998.  The coalition joined with eight other organizations to form the Minimum Wage Coalition which successfully campaigned to pass a ballot initiative in November 2003 that established San Francisco’s Minimum Wage Ordinance. Karl Kramer of the coalition said it was important that the ordinance didn’t contain a “tip credit”, in which workers receiving tips would be paid sub-minimum wage. 

The San Francisco minimum wage applies to all who work a minimum of 2 hours a week within the boundaries of San Francisco or at the San Francisco Airport.  The minimum wage increases every January to keep up with the rate of inflation—as measured by the consumer price index, aka CPI —for the greater Bay Area. 

$10.24 is above the $7.25 hr federal minimum wage and $8 hr. California wage.  Critics of the ordinance say that it amounts to a job tax—using phrases such as “job killer” to stress the burden the minimum wage mandate would bring.  Kramer cites a 2011 study by The Center for Economic and Policy Research (http://www.cepr.net/index.php/publications/reports/wage-employment-impact-of-min-wage-three-cities) that analyzed the effects of citywide minimum wage increases in Washington, DC, Santa Fe and San Francisco—the first cities to pass minimum wage laws.  The Study found no significant downsizing or business closings/relocations.

Another important ordinance is the “Minimum Compensation Ordinance” passed in 2000 in San Francisco.  The ordinance requires city contractors and SF Airport tenants to pay their employees $12.06 and hour, up from $11.69 from last year.  People enrolled in Calworks fall under this ordinance.  However, the Human Services Agency is circumventing the intent of the ordinance by exploiting a loophole that allows non-profit organizations that receive city funds to defer the wage increase until the city pays for it. To date, Calworks participants make $11.03 an hour.  According to Kramer, the ordinance helped security guards who were contracted to work San Francisco city buildings and the airport.  Prior to the ordinance, guards earned $6.75 an hour with no health benefits.  With the ordinance, guards earn more, get health benefits and 12 paid days off per year.

Thank you Living Wage Coalition for your hard work.  Thank you for your fire and heart and persistence and for recognizing the important work of low-wage workers.

(For information on the San Francisco Living Wage Coalition, go to: www.livingwage-sf.org)

I never thought much about it when I was eating it.  My uncle would take me to the movies and buy me a box of red vines.   I always ate red, he liked black.  They made the movies better—those black and red licorice vines.  We’d chew very hard, lodging bits of licorice in our teeth—nearly yanking our teeth out at times.  We’d sit and chew while watching some of the greatest cinematic offerings of the century which included: Kung Fu Mama, Blacula, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Frankenstein vs. Billy the Kid, Godzilla vs. King Kong, and a host of others.

I never thought about the folks in the factory who made the red vines.  They are the hard workers at American Licorice in Union City.  They are women and men, many who have worked for the company for over 2 decades, some nearly 40 years.  The company’s 178 workers have been on strike since December 5^thwhen negotiations with management broke down over health benefits and wages.  Workers and management began negotiations in August.  The two sides have been away from the table after the company’s final offer. 

The average employee at American Licorice earns 16.00 per hour.  However, the last decade has seen a drastic decrease in the number of workers due to advances in technology.

Many workers have families and the strike came during the holidays.  At the moment, management has walked away from the table. 

The main point of contention is the health plan which includes increased health coverage fees for workers.  Workers went on strike at midnight on December 5^thafter the company’s final contract offer.  Rene Castillo, Vice President of Bakery Workers Union 125 says that the proposed health care plan would require employees to pay deductibles and a percentage of their premiums.

Workers blocked the entrance to the company in an attempt to disrupt production and draw attention to their struggle.  According to Union City Police, there have been noise complaints and various safety issues—such as a makeshift outdoor kitchen—that violated safety codes.  Funny how the police can find any number of things to disrupt a union protest but when they have some kind of labor issue, they all of a sudden become a union that requires our respect.  But when do you ever recall the cops ever respecting unions outside of their own?

As poor and working people denied health care, we support the strikers in their fight to get the healthcare benefits they deserve. 

How do I go on without my mother, my

best friend?

She is in everything, she is everywhere.

How can i bear the loss of my best

friend?

Remember, remember the love, the life,

the laughter!!!!!!!

She will always be with me, in me.

Love,

Gina

(Clockwise, sisters Charlene, Florence and Ramona)

My Dear Sister Ramona,
You were my big sister; but, we never got to trade clothes, have sister chats and do all of the other things that most sisters do with each other because we were separated by circumstances that were beyond our control. I only knew about you, but never really got to know the real you as I grew up. As an adult, one year led to another and then another without us interacting. I moved out of state, and more years went by. We followed our own paths that rarely intersected save for important family events that would bring us together. I thought about you often; but I was always so far away. Our children grew up and left the nest to begin their lives and make their own mark. Your life took a different path than mine. Yours was a glorious journey filled with a patchwork of relationships, good times and bad times, loving, nurturing, loss, commitment, and justification.
You were always a bit of a larger-than-life mystery to me. That might seem odd to some who’ve regularly interacted with you and most likely know you differently. But, eleven years is a big age difference between siblings, especially when you’re a kid, even under the best of circumstances. Ours is a story of years of separation followed by a time of reconnection that led ultimately to a beautiful restoration.
Early on, everything I knew about you came from the one-sided conversations I overheard from listening to the regular phone chats between Grandma Wright, RoRo, and Grandma Edna. In the family, you were known as the smart one; a quick study who never needed to labor over lessons in school because you got it the first time around. You were a high spirited young girl who loved to dance and have fun. Again, this I learned from Grandma’s side of the phone conversations.
Back then, our paths rarely ever physically crossed except every couple of years when we both happened to wind up visiting grandma at the same time. I grew into adulthood and you started your family. Without grandma’s house as the focal point of connection, our already fragile relationship grew even more distant. I moved far away. Whenever I would return to San Francisco, you, Charlene and I would meet for dinner at a restaurant somewhere. You stayed planted in your neighborhood. Your family grew and you grew as a person, as well. You went back to school to become the educator we all knew you were capable of becoming. Teaching the little ones—this was your calling
In 2002, I returned to the Bay Area to live. Sis, did you ever wonder why after so many years of living elsewhere, I decided to come back home? Well, even though I had a wonderful husband, son and by this time a grandson, still, there were empty spaces that needed to be filled. It was a longing for those overdue sister-chats and affirmations that only a sibling can satisfy. Right off, you started inviting me to family functions and I went. We got to know each other better. Our children got to know each other. Then, seven years later, when my journey again led me away from San Francisco and to North Carolina, and once again I needed to say goodbye, I was, of course, sad to leave, but it was different this time. My heart was now full. The empty spaces were now occupied with new memories made during my time spent with you and the family. On my last day in the city, you, me and Charlene, went to lunch at the Beach Restaurant. I promised to stay connected no matter the distance. I didn’t forget that promise. Once in North Carolina, I called you regularly. You called me too. We learned new things about each other during our conversations. I shared my photos with you and you told me things about our family that I never knew. You knew so much about our family’s history. I was amazed.
When I think about you sis, two words immediately come to mind—family, and community. Your world was your family. You were always involved with whatever they were doing. You were a natural nurturer and your children were the direct beneficiaries. Next you opened your arms to the grandchildren and finally the great-grand’s. What a family you created and oh my, how they do love you. Your commitment to your community was reflected in the fact that you stayed anchored rather than moving from place to place. I’d hear you say that you had to go and volunteer your time at the neighborhood food bank and at your church. You seemed to enjoy contributing without the need for fanfare or the spotlight. You simply saw a need and sought to find way to meet it.
So as your family and friends reflect back on and celebrate your life, I’m reminded of your 70th birthday party and how your face glowed when picture taking time came around. You asked for the children to circle around you. What a lovely sight it was to see you with babies in both arms and in your lap while the children all gathered around you—the next generation—encircling you as planets to the sun, in their own orbit, yet drawn and energized by you at the center.
We also celebrate the beginning of your new journey. Now beside your Lord, looking down upon your loved ones, you continue to be with us as he says to you:
“Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things. I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy lord.”
(King James Bible, Matthew: 25:21).
I love you, sis and will cherish your memory always. You have left a proud and wonderful legacy that will live on, and continue to grow stronger and bless others. Yes, you’ve gone through many challenges yet were resilient enough to sustain and eventually emerge the victor—stronger and more committed than when you began. As I think back on your life, and how many you’ve touched, one thought keeps coming to mind. With all that you have contributed and accomplished, wouldn’t daddy have been proud?
With love always,
Your sister,
Florence

Our mother, Ramona Dolores Gra’Ves, was born Ramona Dolores French on June 17, 1936, to the union of Rosaline English of San Francisco and Robert French, originally from Louisiana.  A descendent from a very colorful and historically significant ancestry, she is one of seven consecutive generations of her family to establish roots in San Francisco.  Her lineage traces back to such varied origins as Victoria British Columbia, Grand Turk Island in the Caribbean, and the Quaker communities of Pennsylvania—and includes such figures as the civil rights activist & historian W.E.B. Du Bois.

Our mother, the oldest of five siblings (Charlene, Tyrone, Dennis and Florence), spent her childhood in the Fillmore District.  She attended Emerson Elementary Girl’s School and graduated from Mission High School.  A high achiever academically, her winning personality made her very popular with fellow students.  During her school years, she won the title “Miss Legs of San Francisco”.

Our mother had six children: Lowana, Yvette, Craig, Gina, Dana, and “Little Ramona”.  (Sadly Craig and Ramona preceded her in death, along with her parents, her brothers Tyrone and Dennis, and her husband William.)  Even in the midst of raising her family, she decided to further her education and enrolled in City College of San Francisco.  It was no easy task raising six children, being a full time student and holding a part-time job, but she was blessed with the constant support of her mother, Rose.  She graduated from City College with a 4.0 average and received the Ford Scholarship Award, but her commitment to her family to precedence over going away to a four-year college.  She received an A.A. in early childhood education and, at the time of her passing, was in her 35^ther husband William.)  Even in the midst of raising her family, she decided to further her education and enrolled in City College of San Francisco.  It was no easy task raising six children, being a full time student and holding a part-time job, but she was blessed with the constant support of her mother, Rose.  She graduated from City College with a 4.0 average and received the Ford Scholarship Award, but her commitment to her family to precedence over going away to a four-year college.  She received an A.A. in early childhood education and, at the time of her passing, was in her 35^thyear working at Sojourner Truth Childcare Center.  Totally committed to her work, she had finally planned to retire in 2012.

Our mother’s nurturing instincts were unceasing.  Having raised six children to adulthood, she promptly decided to become a foster mother and welcomed into her family Avery Collins Jr. and Shaneca and Jimondre Redman.

Our mother now has a dynasty of her own, with 15 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren.  She never missed a birthday party, graduation, or any other celebration involving her family.  She was the definitive example of a family-oriented person.  Words can’t express the love we have for our mother.