Story Archives 2012

I don’t wanna go to school, I hate it! Everyday it’s the same thing. I have to endure being bullied, like when I was in the third grade I ran to the restroom crying because I had had enough. I stayed in there because I didn’t have to worry about the bullying in there, the name calling, pulling my ponytails or saying ugly things about me, that was my safe haven. As I sat there I felt nobody liked me or loved me.

My classmate came and asked if I was okay but I didn’t answer her I continued to cry so the teacher followed a few minutes later asking the same question of course I answered her with no ma’am. She asked if she could come in I said no.

In America bullying has become a real serious problem and children just like me so many years ago endure the harsh treatment everyday.

Because you don’t always know who to turn to, you keep it to yourself. Kids are bullied for many reasons, it could be because the color of your skin, it could be because you’re considered by societies standards poor/less fortunate, it could be because your hair is longer than someone else’s, the problem is so wide spread and there are many reasons why. In some cases it’s not kid on kid bullying, you can be bullied by teachers and other staff the ones who are supposed to help you and even at your place of employment.

I was in middle school and everyday my teacher ”the coach” teacher picked on me because due to my religious beliefs I couldn’t dress out for P.E. he made a point to harass me every chance he got in and out of class and after reporting him things only got worse to the point I just learned to deal with it as does so many people do. But in the end he was fired.

As I think of it now the United States of Amerikkk was founded on bullying, in how the Europeans traveled to America where the indigenous peoples were doing just fine. But because it wasn’t to their standards, they(the indigenous people) needed to be refined and better structured….in other word to be more like them. But I say who made them politically/un-politically correct in their way of thinking.

I remember in high school there was a fellow student named Drew, Drew was a very nice and soft spoken person but because he was considered special needs he was timid and they picked on him everyday. He was thrown in the trash cans, he was stuffed in the lockers, many times other kids knocked books out of his hands and one time they set his desk on fire with him in it. One day he talked to me about how he felt, it was sad. What was even more sad was I could relate to him.

There are those who don’t deal with being bullied very easily. Some choose suicide as a way to deal with the agony of being the target of someone else’s bullying which equals to FEAR. Some choose to kill because that’s the only way they know how to ease their discomfort.

The point is bullying is a very ugly attachment to have to oneself. It is fueled by FEAR. Fear will cause you to do things that you wouldn’t ordinarily do; but I have to ask what are you really afraid of? What gives you the right to treat other people in a way that makes them feel uncomfortable and miserable? We can ask this question over and over again and may never get the answer that will soothe the memory and agony of being bullied whether it is in your past or still present. I always wondered did I have a sign plastered to my forehead that read PICK ON TERRILYN TODAY which was everyday. Many years later and thanks to facebook most of the people that picked on me daily got the opportunity to make things right….they apologized.

Roll out the red carpet

Here comes the Queen

Regaining her thrown

Wait! Wait! Wait!

The pack turned on her

Black Panthers going gray

The human & animal Kingdom eating their elders

Malcolm Samuel, Brad Loma, Kiilu Nyasha, Queen, Mama Khandi,

Black Panthers in their golden years

Living, Fighting & yes dying alone

Panthers roaming the streets in wheelchairs

Looking for their brothers and sisters

Caught up in police sweeps

Snatched up by homeland security

Left to die in prisons and shelters

Look how we treat our seniors

Queen Mama Khandi stripped by the state

Like X, state barged in splitting up Khandi’s family

Son placed in foster care

Incarcerated because she is an activist

Came back home to find eviction notion

Section eight and disability income revoked

Same story for Malcolm Samuel in Berkeley

Sitting in his wheelchair on the avenue easy target for police

Died in prison from lack of medical care

Their stories I will continue to share

On CD, Brother Malcolm Speaks

Tore up wheelchair, slept in doorways

Talked about his days as a tailor for the Panthers

From homemade black suits to sweat shop salvation army’s rags

Where is the file on Brother Brad Lomax

Brought the Black Panthers into the disability movement

Only a few knows about his work

His file is under secrecy

The Black community building for its own

Racism and capitalism ate away Lomax’s goal

Today the Oakland disabled Black community still searching for its own

Brad Lomax left out of two histories

Panthers are in every city

Let the film role capturing the beautiful revolution of Kiilu Nyasha

We all are getting older pass this poem to someone younger

On the wheels of steel respect the panthers in your community

By Leroy F. Moore

It was a day that took 40 years.  I didn’t know Kathy Galves.  I’d never seen her purple house in Noe Valley off of Church Street.  I never knew a house could breathe, didn’t know that a floor could speak, that windows could pulsate and expand like thirsty leaves pressed between seasons.  Kathy Galves an African descended elder thumbs through her life—her possessions.  40 years, that’s how long Kathy Galves lived in her house, that purple one in the middle of the block.  Kathy Galves remembers the neighborhood when elders conversed, whose names were as familiar as birdsongs—names worthy of remembrance beyond mere street signs and park benches.  It took 40 years to get to Kathy Galves’ house.  She’s not hard to spot, wearing bright colors, her face full and deep with stories shaped by rivers.  She’s probably the only one of her kind in the neighborhood—an African descended elder homeowner.  With the foreclosure crisis that has plagued communities of color—particularly the city’s black community—Kathy Galves must seem like an aberration, a misnomer to the young, mostly white newcomers to the neighborhood who peer through google bus windows with google eyes and I-Pads, I-Pods and a thousand other things that begin with the letter “I”.  Kathy Galves, African American elder, 40 year Noe Valley resident and San Francisco native gets ready to leave her home for good on a day in April. 

Flyers were posted throughout Kathy Galves' neighborhood announcing the foreclosure sale to be held at her house.  Kathy’s face was on the flyer, in black and white along with information about the sale.  I arrived with POOR Magazine co-editor Lisa Gray-Garcia AKA Tiny and our son Tiburcio.  In front of Ms. Galves' house was a table with various items for sale—lamps, a tape recorder, handbags, record albums.  Boxes were stacked next to a metal trash dumpster.  The boxes were filled with years of documents with Kathy’s name printed in numerous places.  I thumbed through the record albums.  I recognized many of them—jazz artists that my father had loved.  I slipped one disk out of its jacket.  The record was black and shiny, without a blemish. 

We made our way into the house past boxes stacked high and rooms filled with books, pictures, clothes, tables topped with trinkets, mementos and kitchen items.  We got to the front room where Ms. Galves was sorting through racks of clothes.  As she was sorting through 40 years of things, people filtered inside the house—some obvious hipsters, the face of gentrification—going through the kitchen, peering at furniture and kitchenware and other household items.  I walked through the various rooms.  In back were books about black life in the bay area.  I saw a title on a shelf called, “Black Rage”.  I felt strange walking through the hall where life had been, where life still was and was being torn and extricated, scoured by hipsters that hadn’t been on earth as long as Ms. Galves had been in her home. 

Kathy greeted us with a wide smile as she appeared from behind her rack of clothes.  “I’ve lived in San Francisco all my life” said Kathy.  My family was from Memphis and I also have Cherokee blood.  The floors creaked under the weight of her African-Cherokee feet, firmly planted like the indigenous Ohlone roots of the city.  She spoke of her late husband, whose hands painted and plastered the walls and created mantels that adorn this sacred house.  Ms. Galves loved to cook.  She spoke of the barbeque that she and her husband often shared in the kitchen.  She was a woman who lived quietly and humbly, didn’t try to cut corners, living honestly and honorably, a woman with a gentle soul and kind spirit—attributes that are not quantified in the predatory and unaccountable world of real estate speculation.

She told of how the bank had sold her mortgage to a bank that had foreclosed on her house after it had offered to work with her to resume payments.  She was told she could change her mode of payment only to be entangled in bank bureaucracy, being told one thing then another until the bottom fell out.  Now she has only 2 days to clear her belongings from the property.  She purchased her home for 30 thousand.  The bank would like to sell it at a minimum of one million dollars.  Wells Fargo had intended to sell the property on March 21st, a day after members of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors stood on the steps of city hall calling for a resolution to halt all foreclosures in the city.  The following day Ms. Galves received a one-week postponement of her eviction.

Ms. Galves is an elder with significant health problems that have been exacerbated by this tragic situation.  Her blood pressure had spiked to very dangerous levels which has led to problems with her kidneys, heart and lungs.  Despite this, she refuses to be dispirited.  “They’ve unleashed a hydra” she says, serving notice to the banks that wreaked this damage upon hers and so many others.  “I’m going to fight, I’m going to go to hearings and tell people my story.  I’m not going to let them get away with this”.

Despite losing her home, Ms. Galves still smiles.  Her last day in her home was like the first day when we walked through the door.  Each step, each window, every inch of floor and wood contains her name.  It will not be erased.  She could wear a mask of anger, no one would blame her.  But she smiles and holds herself with a dignity and strength that is much more powerful than any foundation that a house may sit on.  It is the strength of spirit which is stronger.  With it she will prevail.

Dear Warriors, Supporters and Friends of Sogorea Te,
I want to first start this letter by thanking each one of you for your support to protect and preserve Sogorea Te, a sacred site that has been in what is now Vallejo, CA for over 3500 years.  During our occupation of the land from April through July of last year, you were all instrumental in putting aside your lives, giving of yourselves unselfishly and participating in creating a living community that really allowed us to all not only protect a sacred site, but to also see what is possible for humans when they come together and rely on one another, centered around a basis of spirituality and the belief in one another.  Each time someone walked onto that land and paid respects to the fire it strengthened the community as a whole.  The miracle was not in just protecting the site, but in protecting each other and allowing the space to include almost anyone that came with a good heart and good intentions.  

Over the months that we lived together, we endured weather hardships, boredom, laughter, tears, celebrations and disappointments.  We created bonds that we will have forever, sometimes with people we would have never imagined being in our lives before Sogorea Te.  We were truly blessed by the ancestors, because we took a stand and because we opened our hearts and allowed a healing to happen.  No one and nothing can take away these gifts.  Our lives have been transformed and we can never be the same, nor should we want to be.  We were all a part of something more than history; we were a part of a miracle, a complete transformation.  When that sacred fire that burned for 109 days finally went out in the physical sense, it continued to burn in each of us individually.  When we come together our shared experience rekindles those flames and reminds us that we are human beings with a purpose.

Over the last few months, people have posted pictures on Face Book, have written things about Sogorea Te and have generally tried to stir up people that hold this sacred land close to their hearts.  We have tried to look into each thing as it has arisen and want to be transparent with everyone that involved their time and lives in this sacred place.  Some of the ‘Committee’ went to Sogorea Te when the land was beginning to be transformed; some of us, including myself only really saw it in October when we were able to end a Sacred Walk there.  Let us not mince words… The sight of our beloved land was devastating.  We knew when we crossed that gate on July 31st that when we came back, Sogorea Te would never look the same.  But what we saw was nothing short of getting kicked in the gut.  It literally took my breath away.  We mourn what once was.  We celebrated a victory and looking at the land now… Makes the victory taste bitter in my mouth.  Of all of the things that GVRD wanted to do with the land, we only asked three things: that they not build bathrooms on the sacred site, not include a 15-car parking lot on the sacred site, and not grade a hill that there are burials/cremations in.  These are for the most part what we won.  They are not going to build a bathroom, the parking lot is going to be moved and only allow for two handicap parking places, but the grading happened.  We knew that they were going to take out the invasive species of plants and tear down the mansion and, yes, even put in trails.  

When I went there several weeks ago, what I saw was that the entire site had been molested.  The creek is virtually exposed, all the trees had been cut down and, yes, the grading has occurred.  We talked to tribal monitors and other tribal representatives, who appreciate the assistance that we gave in getting the ‘Cultural Easement’, but they blatantly stated that they don’t have to answer to anyone.  What they did say while walking me around the site is that they did not find any cultural artifacts or remains and that the hill was “fill”.  As I walked along the area where the hill once stood, I looked for anything that would stop them from continuing to do the destruction, but couldn’t find even a shell.  What the Tribes told us was that they would preemptively use specialized canine’s trained to find ancient burials or hand screen the area, but that didn’t occur.  The fact is that there were many cremations and that the land had already been moved before and it was going to be impossible to find remnants, especially after they had already removed 5ft of the hill.  Frustrating was the fact that they didn’t have any answers.  When was the project going to be finished?  “I don’t know.”  Why did they take out native plants and still leave some of the invasive?  “I don’t know.”  Will the tribe make a statement or have a public meeting to let people that supported the tribe in obtaining a cultural easement know what is happening to the land?  “No.  We don’t have to answer to anyone.”  The other fact is that a tribal sovereign government is still a government.  It is also a fact that this same tribal government has allowed desecration before Sogorea Te and continues to make concessions to other developers at different burial sites.  
 

The story of Sogorea Te is ours collectively.  We each make up a part of the history that was a miracle.  It is our voices that need to reach out to everyone.  We stood up and lead a good fight.  We protected a sacred site and in at the same time we protected ourselves and each other.  We each became better human beings because of this experience.  We each brought to Sogorea Te our best and left a little better.  We all continue to mourn not just the loss of parts of the Sacred Site, but also the community we created and left behind.  Human beings need to be needed and for some this sacred place gave us a place to belong, a place that we each had worth, and a place where prayers are answered.  Our ancestors continue to bless us in so many ways.  I am eternally grateful to each person, elder, adult, youth and child.  Grateful to the plants, animals, elements, and medicine that was shared.  Grateful for all of the lessons learned and that I continue to learn from this experience.  I am Grateful to the Creator and the ancestors for allowing me to have such wonderful people cross my life path and for the continued journey that they have in store for us as we continue to be inspired by one another and look forward to that community that we all know is possible.

A CALL TO ACTION!

AIM-WEST issues a Call to Action against use of Racist Logo of Cleveland Indians,
Oakland Coliseum
 
On Friday, April 20th through the 22nd, the American Indian Movement-WEST (AIM-
WEST), a San Francisco based human rights and non-profit organization, will be calling on all
friends and supporters who stand in solidarity with the American Indian community.  We will
raise our voices against the use of the racist images of an American Indian as a mascot.   Join us at a public rally, taking place as the Cleveland Indians play the Oakland A’s.  
Indians are humans, not mascots!

AIM-WEST calls on the Cleveland Indians team management and the National Baseball
League (NBL) to immediately change its current racist team logos under the NBL
administration.  The caricature of the Cleveland team logo is a stereo-typical Indian person in
red pigmentation, with a large nose, and exaggerated teeth, and with a feather behind its head.

This disgusting image perpetuates racism against Indigenous peoples and their way of life.
Indeed, it institutionalizes this heinous practice and brings no honor to the original peoples of
these lands.  It must, therefore, be retired for it dehumanizes American Indian communities.

Additionally, AIM-WEST considers it a violation of our human dignity included in the
United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (DRIP) adopted by the General Assembly in 2007.   

Article # 8 of the DRIP specifically states:
1. Indigenous peoples and individuals have the right not to be subjected to forced assimilation or destruction
of their culture.
2. States shall provide effective mechanisms for prevention of, and redress for;
a. Any action which has the aim or effect of depriving them of their dignity as distinct peoples, or of their
cultural values or ethnic identities;
b. Any action which has the aim of effect of dispossessing them of their lands, territories or resources;
c. Any form of forced population transfer which has the aim or effect of violating or undermining any of
their rights;
d. Any form of forced assimilation or integration;
e. Any form of propaganda designed to promote or incite racial or ethnic discrimination directed against them.  

Further, AIM-WEST calls for resolution from the City of Oakland, as well as the City of
San Francisco, to officially declare their support concerning American Indian people’s right to
their culture and dignity and to oppose any further use of any human beings as mascots in sports and  entertainment.  The Bay Area city governments must stand together and not allow
compliance in perpetuating this form of institutional racism, for purposes of generating revenues by ticket sales and merchandizing at Indigenous people’s cultural expense.
Indigenous peoples will neither accept tactics and gestures, nor forms of benevolence,
such as token designations of “Native American Day” at sports games contrived by the NBL,
including the National Football League (NFL), which are intended to compromise the concerns
of Indigenous peoples under the pretext of acknowledging our heritage; nor accept money that
derives from these pacification efforts appealing to non-profit Indigenous causes, which serve to evade the real issues of racism and of the need to change racist mascots and logos.  
Change these racist logos!  That is how Indigenous peoples can be honored!
AIM-WEST extends an invitation to the public to come stand with Indigenous peoples
on this issue of racism and mascots in sports. We will be providing literature and information
this Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the Oakland A’s Coliseum starting at 6 pm, 5 pm and 12
noon respectively.  This is an opportunity to help educate the general public about this burning
issue, and where and who to write to help make the proper changes to these racist logos which do no more than depict human beings as clowns and caricatures that damage the self-esteem of our youth.  Help us bring dignity back to the American Indian and the American people!  All my relations!

For more information: 415-577-1492
www.aimwest.info
www.aimovement.org
www.whoisleonardpeltier.info

Photo from www.demockratees.com

It was a warm beautiful day in Oakland as our POOR Magazine family made its way to the site where the dream of homefulness is taking bloom. We got to MacArthur Blvd. and met up with shovels, jackhammers, wheel barrows and lots of concrete to be broken up and removed. The sun was directly above, watching this joining together of hands, hearts and minds—witnessing the birth of something beautiful. It has taken a long time to get to this place—a lot of sweat, frustration, perseverance and trust in the creator. To make homefulness happen, many people suffered incarceration, houselessness and removal due to gentrification—making up what Mama Dee Gray-Garcia referred to “Little murders of the soul”. Some folks have passed on—Bill Sorro, Al Robles, Mama Dee—but these powerful ancestors continue to inform our day to day thinking, working alongside us as homefulness fulfills its mission of taking back the land.

I got out of the van and looked up at the sun. It spoke: “You might have this land and all kinds of lofty dreams—but don’t think you ain’t gonna bust your ass out here today”. I looked directly into the sun’s face and said “Yes, we have this land but we don’t believe anybody owns land, it’s just a bunch of fake paper trails and land theft. It is a gift from the creator. We’re all standing on pachamama”. The sun shook its head. “I know, I know” it said. “You’re gonna bust your ass anyway”. I turned away seeing spots and commenced to bust my ass. Just as we got set to begin work, we noticed a car parked on the site where we plan to have our homefulness garden, a place where we plan to grow fresh, non-pesticide tainted vegetables for the community. We are fully aware of the attitudes people have towards people who call this area home—residents that somehow neither need nor deserve fresh vegetables since they are low income folks of color. But alcohol and tobacco and food laden with fat and sodium—bring in the truckloads!

The car sitting atop our future garden belonged to the landlord of the apartment building next door. He had arrived nice and early and assumed the self-appointed, officious and imaginary role of foreman, exuding a pomposity which included asking questions and generally treating our family like diseased underlings. Observing this, I came to the very well thought out conclusion that this man was a pain in the ass. We couldn’t begin work his car blocking the way so POOR family member Constantine and I decided to tell the man to move his vehicle. I admit, I was a bit nervous, given my experiences with landlords in the past. We approached the man and he looked at us as if we were supposed to genuflect or begin osculating (IE: kissing) his ass. “You’re going to have to move your car” I said, standing tall but still 2-3 inches shorter than the man. “I’m not moving anything” he replied, with a twinge of landlord smugness. I examined his face, the full cheeks, condescending eyes and nose. “My God, this guy looks a lot like Don King, the boxing promoter, I thought. Only difference was that Don King was better looking and had a better hairstyle.

The reason for the man’s obnoxious behavior is that he believes that several parking spaces located on homefulness land are his via something called “implied easement”. The spaces are clearly on homefulness property and we have documentation to prove it. As a result of this dispute, our querulous landlord neighbor has launched numerous complaints on the POOR Magazine family to the Building Inspection Department, causing delays to our garden and work towards providing sweat equity housing. We finally got the landlord to move his car and we began work.

I used a jackhammer for the first time, helped lift slabs of concrete with a crowbar and carried the slabs, stacking them to form a barrier between our garden and any perceived parking spaces. When we finished the day’s work, my hands were torn apart, my lower back aching. I thought of the day laborers who really work, whose hands are hard with the feel of the land and hearts that are heavy with memories of home. As we began loading our tools and equipment, the landlord from next door asked, “When are you going to remove all that cement?” Remove the cement? I thought. Didn’t this guy see us busting our asses in the hot sun? No he didn’t I thought--because that isn’t something within the purview of a landlord. He stood about and spoke as if he were my and everybody else’s boss. “Let me explain something to you”, I said, “You ain’t my boss…I don’t work for you”. He looked at me, somewhat surprised. “Do you dislike me because I’m rich?” he asked. I looked at him and walked away.

By the way, his name is Ramble--and boy, does he ever. To refer to him or say he looks like Don King would be an insult to Don King. He can osculate my ass, I thought as I drove away.

Labor Black N Brown @ Community Newsroom @ POOR Magazine, March 2012