Story Archives 2015

Hi everybody: I just came back from an experience I don’t want to do again. I went through Homeland Parinoia better known as Homeland Securityrted on June 8, 2015.  I went to visit a friends graduation in Seattle, Washington. I known her for a long time.  She is a good friend of mine. I went through the Airport in San Francisco OK. I got my boarding pass, and went through Homeland Security and the x-ray machine by giving the Lumieadi sign (you make your hands put a triangle over your head). So in the basket where they are checking my jacket. wallet, shoes ID and other useless stuff. Went through the airport, got on the plane, left SFO. Got to Seatack, went to the ATM machine and realized my picture ID was missing. Was half nervous and my PTSD kicked in. Nervous enough. Got money from the ATM. Walked to the shuttle and got the shuttle for downtown Seattle. At downtown Seattle I picked up a cab and rode to my friends home. After I arrived I scoured the Internet for a backup ID. Couldn’t find a logical one. They all wanted picture ID. As an elder and retired I threw all my picture ID’s in San Francisco Bay. So no picture ID I called Homeland Parinoia they said,”Bring your Boarding Pass from San Francisco, a credit card you used to purchase your ticket, and three other pieces of ID.” This losing of my ID makes me feel like a drooling idiot.

Since 9 ll you show your ID if you are a poor white guy more often than you show your Credit/Debit Card.

Had fun that week. My friend got her Doctorate Degree. Her outfit made her look like she graduated from Hogwash instead of Washington State University. She would bake four hours in the sun with a ceremony that looked like a Mideval Festival. They played Pomp and Ceremony so many times that you know the tune by heart. When the ceremony was completed, we left after four hours. All the windbags had completed their speeches.

Two days later when I went home. I walked to Air Alaska Counter with my return ticket in one hand in the other I had my old boarding pass from seven days earlier. My Social Security Card, Medi-Cal Card (Faded California Medi-Cal Card that looked like it was in World War III) and a Union Bank Debit Card. Got the ticket. got the Boarding Pass walked to Homeland Paranoia where a security supervisor said,”Is this your property?” “I said, “Yes and put everything back into my wallet.” Telling him that I feel like an idiot. He replied, “Don’t , you’re the fifth guy today. It is 9:00 am.” I hope this will help you next time you go through the airport and you lose your picture ID. The world will not end if you use my technique.

You will hear from me on my next report.

Bad News Bruce signing Out.

Image: Security Screening at Denver Airport by Dan Paluska https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixmilliondollardan/3382932556

walking down valencia, i see

a woman in a wheelchair

we share hellos and i give

her a buck as i wonder

what her story is—she was

just evicted from her home

or maybe her lover beats her

imagining her hunger and

pain i feel compassion for her

and know i’m the lucky one

because i have a dollar to spare

as i leave to walk on, two young

women well dressed and coifed

pass by—and they too must have

a story—maybe one of them has

just broken up with her boyfriend

or the other is having troubles at

work—but i don’t care nor feel

any compassion for them—for as

they go inside a posh eatery

the struggles and strife of

those living on the street

seem not to matter—

since it seems a birthright

of these young women

to have a silver spoon—so

why be bothered by those

without—when a twelve dollar

cocktail awaits.

1.Looting

“I’m gonna loot ‘til the midnight hour
That’s when the gates come tumblin’ down
I’m gonna loot ‘til the midnight hour
When there’s no guardsmen around…”

I kicked off that martial law, off-the-dome
version of ‘Wicked’ Pickett’s dance floor-
filler and Son-Hawk, Ches-Schu, Ron Shaw,
‘Pookie,’ Jimmy and Jerome came in, Right
On Time, as though we’d rehearsed it, all of
our lives…

Our greeting to hoarse engines, huge tires,
of giant army green trucks bristling with
rifles, loaded with blue eyes and itchy trigger
fingers. Rumbling east, it headed down79th Street,
toward Central Avenue—“The Stem,” as Bunchy
Carter used to call it.

Sitting on wooden milk crates, snacking on cup
cakes, chocolate milk and chips, holding court
as we usually did, we weren’t gonna “loot‘til
the midnight hour…” Brothers had jobs, working
There at the Chinese-owned Family Market.

But belly fires set by the Frye Bros. and their
Mother on the 1-1-6 and Avalon wouldn’t let
us sit silently, saying nothing— if we did nothing
but taunt the pale, alien army occupying our streets,
Disturbing our peace!

Really, we felt like Original Guardsman of ‘The City
of Angels—’ Chumash, Tataviam, Tongva, Serrano—
felt about marauding mass murderers, looters, disguised
as
explorers,
Disturbing their peace!

The ‘City of Angels’ first inhabitants didn’t
believe in devils and evil spirits, until Spanish
missionaries and settlers arrived with ‘thug life.’
Natives didn’t connect murder and manhood.
Endurance trials, fasting, teaching legends of
the world’s origin, hallucinogenic rituals, were
ways elders built boyz to
Men.

Medicine people, spiritual people, gathering in
Circles making decisions, saw sacredness in sweet
Air, crystalline water; knew the penalty for taking
too many deer, sheep, fish, mountain goat and rabbit.
They knew nothing of incest, murder, robbery and rape
and had no chiefs named Parker, Davis, Gates, Bratton,
Beck…

There’s no psychic statue of limitation for looting land,
Lives, lineage of Serrano, Tongva, Tataviam, Chumash
Peoples.
‘Thug life’ missionaries of expropriation, assimilation,
relocation, reservation and extermination, wiped out 90%
of First peoples. Show us mass graves, where the bodies
are
buried.

2.Shooting

Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop Thew-thew-thew-thew-
thew-thew-thew Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud
Coming quickly after trigger-happy, young occupiers’ English
Checkpoint, curfew commands…Mexican drivers, habla Espanol;
volley after volley at volley after volley, at volley, anything moving
Bees piercing walls, farting clouds of fine white dust; buzzing
Lethal lead lullabies to my six-year-old sister and mom, trapped
all day, all night, on their dentist’s floor off 103rd St., the Heart of
Watts.

Down on the ground, Mom and Penny saw much, heard all…
The 8-year-old Watts veteran visited aunts, uncles, cousins for
Summer vacation—two years later. Entering their city from
Metro Airport, Uncle James, pre-Marvin, posed the question:
“What’s Goin’ On?” Penny explained: Motown was “Dancing
In The Streets,” like she’d seen L.A. dance, two years earlier….

While Mom and Penny dodged lead fillings from National Guards,
Dad and I bonded, “Come on, boy,” gruff style, grunting, motioning,
We hiked from the front yard of 730 East 81st Street, pink stucco three-
bedroom we called home. Heading northeast for the 70s, we hit 77th &
Central Avenue—White Front—Wal-Mart-Costco cross of the times

festive energy flowing from the crowd like black pepper, garlic, onion
smells telegraphing good cooking. Mostly reminded me of when Ali
Stood his ground whipping Liston in Florida—maybe, even a wee bit like
when enslaved Africans heard about the Emancipation Proclamation!

steel gates and doors shimmied, wrenched, buckled and broke. Families
emerged elated! Carrying couches, stoves, washing machines, pushing
vacuum cleaners— no money down, no money ever— for overpriced
furniture and appliances, Liberation Shopping— based on need—not
‘Black’ Friday frenzies of overnight camper-zombies, lusting for latest
slave labor products
We sampled soulful, savory democracy, sweet hints of collectivity,
watching organized young men slip like specters through steel gates
and doors liberating guns, before exiting, making way for the masses

Peoples joy chiseled smiles in my dad’s heart, unmasking contours I’d
Never noticed. Truly a crazy glue moment bonding us for the rest of our
Lives… I was proud of him, like I was proud of his work:
Like men on 81st, my dad worked. Worked hard. Outside hammering,
Sawing, sanding cabinets; inside small hours, listening to 105.1 FM Jazz,
Magi birthing blueprints, running the drafting table like a
pool shark on Green felt for new jobs; Bel-Air bar, Beverly Hills office,
Hollywood kitchen…
scribbling my lil’ sloppy thoughts in ragged notebooks, I’d sometimes join
Him, nights I couldn’t sleep

“Burn, baby, burn,” came crescendo cries, unifying calls and responses, from
the white van—a van we’d see speeding around several times that night!
Magnificent Montague’s lick, he’d shouted it for years over KGFJ airwaves at
Hot music of The Ice Man, Curtis, comin’ out of Chitown; The Funk Brothers,
Stevie, Smokey out of Motown; Booker T & The MGs, Sam & Dave, The Big O
out of Memphis— a time when Great Black Music justified: “Burn, baby, burn!”

That night “Burn, baby, burn” locked rhythms of resistance with harmonies of
Solidarity…
Heading back to 81st Street, Daddy decided we’d walk west to Avalon.
Gus’s burger/pastrami stand: OK; Virgil & Atkins’ state of the art Tonsorial:
OK; but, a crowd ballooned ‘round the Stein Brothers—Ted and Alan’s—
Liquor store. a navy blue valiant roared up from hell. Four, white- helmeted,
shotgun-toting, devils leaped out barking epithets and jacking rounds into WMD.

corralling bystanders, one snarling thug slammed my schoolmate, Eddie Rose,
AKA ‘Bulldog,’ through T& A’s Ponderosa plate glass window. Candy cane-
Thick shards of glass smashed into ‘Bulldog’s’ head like a guillotine, slicing
the Nile in his neck…

3.”Just the facts, man”

We all know the facts, *34 dead, murdered mostly
by police and National Guard
1032 injured, mostly by police and National Guard
**3438 arrested,
$40 million property damage.
We all know the chain of events—the event of chains 1619—1965:
August 11, 1965 21-year-old Marquette Frye was DUI.
And here’s where beauty’s in the eye of the beholder:
Black angels with wide wings gathered in tens of thousands,
spitting out rot gut of 2nd class citizenship—
Speaking fluent Fanny Lou, in actions, “We are sick and tired of being sick and tired—“
of all the ‘routine’ bullshit harassment traffic stops, dumb-ass degrading, humiliating,
Three Stooges questions, corny B- Movie “you fit the description…” “A car like
yours…” throwaway lines, perverted frisks, planting dope and weapons, gratuitous
violence, stream of conscious ‘testi-lying,’ puttin’ cases on folks…

Not this Wednesday; not this 11th day of August; not this 65th year of the 20th century
This hump day will be the tipping point, critical mass
We control the horizontal, we control the vertical for 46 square miles

Not this Wednesday; not this 11th day of August; not this 65th year of the 20th century
We mount the world stage, sons of Malcolm, Mama Harriet’s daughters—not Slausons,
Businessmen, Gladiators, Farmers, ‘spooks,’ not niggers, or “monkeys in the zoo…”
mushroom clouds of Watts will never fit back in the bottle… Rivers of blood, oceans of tears have
Cleansed scales/washed sleep
from a
Generation of L.A. eyes…if only for 144 hours…

*34 people were killed in the L.A. August 1965 rebellion; 5 were killed in 7 1964 uprisings in, Rochester, Paterson, Jersey City, Elizabeth, Chicago, Philadelphia and NYC.
**3,438 were arrested in L.A. August 1965. There were 1,116 arrests in the 7 rebellions of 1964.

Raymond Nat Turner © 2015 All Rights Reserved

being in the mission is becoming

like a benetton ad or like living

in disneyland—no longer a place

of everyday people knowing the

the hardness of daily life and yet

creating joy and beauty

out of a myriad of struggles

instead of theater, poetry, dance, music and art

expressing the aliveness of many cultures

indoor miniature golf and outdoor bowling

are the new cultural wave and bars with

twelve dollar cocktails are ongoing frat parties

and for those hip enough—everything

is an app away—yes, there are a mix of people

who play in their new discovered land

people who look like they’re from different

parts of the globe—but not those who built

this community—the working class irish and

italians or the mexicans who have lived here for

many generations or the refugees from war torn

countries in central and south america or immigrants

from all over asia or the african americans that came

from the east and south of the usa—yes the mission

always was a rainbow—a richness in culture

but now the mission is in great danger of being

a caricature of itself—while the homogenized

cut outs from late 1980’s ads for the united

colors of benetton who all favor the color green

play a new kind of multicultural fantasy

while stealing other people’s homes and dreams.

Decolonization Not Canonization

By Tiny Lisa Gray-Garcia/daughter of Dee, granddaughter of Mimi

The screams traveled in the wind. Some so faint you could hardly hear, some so loud you couldn’t see. A gust of hurt blew in my face as  i walked onto the oddly silent stretch of mama earth called Mission Tierra in Fremont. California. The ancestral land of the Ohlone peoples. The screams belonged to the ancestors. they always greeted me when i walked onto to these stolen spaces called Missions, that are the locations of so many decades of colonial genocide to Native people of Turtle Island. Once the screams start- they never quiet .For the last few months myself and other POOR Magazine family of poverty and indigenous skolaz have been traveling to Missions across CalifAztlan along-side 1st Nations elders and revolutionaries to address the 21st century violence of granting saint-hood to Juniperra Serra by Pope Francis.

"As an Ohlone woman who has ancestors that were enslaved at both Mission Dolores in San Francisco and Mission San Jose in Fremont I am disgusted and appalled that the Roman Catholic Church is going through with the canonization of the genocidal maniac Junipero Serra," Explained Corrina Gould, 1st Nations warrior woman leader and truth revolutionary speaking to a convening in July at Mission Tierra entitled Serra- Saint or Sinner?

(photo of Nate Wilks family by Tony Robles/PoorNewsNetwork)

“He was a loving young father, he was sharp, he was respectful to everyone and loved by his family he loved life, he had that New York swag, this killing has to stop,” Jasmine, one of several loving family members of 27 year old Nathaniel Wilkins, cried out to the crowd of over 110 people who billowed out of the tiny corner at 27th and Martin Luther King Bl in North Oakland to hold space for another Afrikan Mamaz sun, a young father and brother stolen from us all by the Po’Lice.

On August 12, 2015, Nathaniel Wilks, 27, born August 26th in New York city and father to a tiny beautiful baby girl named Kai’Lei was fatally shot in the back of his head as he slowed down with his hands up, back to the pigs, saying, "OK OK OK".  His girlfriends family and community resides in Hunters Point district of San Francisco.

“This is 4th shooting of a black man in Oakland this year, and justice still hasn’t been served for any of them.” Cat Brooks, leader with Onyx and Anti-Police Terror Project stated after launching the day with the pouring of libations for ancestors lost to amerikkklan violence. Cat chronicled the last 72 hours of Oakland Po’Lice lies, “We talked to 12 witnesses within the hour of the police murder and one thing that was a constant in each person’s account was that this young man was running away, his back was to the cops and they still shot him,”  Cat went on to paraphrase the gentrifier Mayor Shaaf’s assertion that this ( Nate’s murder) was ok because he was “suspected” of a crime.
 
The huge crowd that gathered on Friday, BlackAugust 14th at the Po’Lice murder scene at 27th & MLK where bullit holes had penetrated the gray fence behind us were directed to just “hold space” and it seemed that the crowd which grew with every minute, could not do much more. Our collective hearts were too heavy to keep in our chests. For me It was not just a murder of another young sun but the outright and almost arrogant way that these 21st century slave-catchers and stolen land protectors are picking off our people. African peoples, Native Peoples, Poor peoples are being killed by both private and governmental agents of the amerikkklan state with impunity. Extra-judicial killing as comrade and fellow truth warrior Jeremy Miller from Idriss Stelly Foundation called it

It seems like we were just at the protest for young brother, Demourria Hogg a few months back killed for sleeping while black in amerikkklan and then less than a month ago Richard Linyard after being chased down by Oakland police and killed. The flagrantly bullshit filled statements by Po’Lice and their enablers, kkkorporate media stated that he ran after being stopped and then the police found him already dead “wedged between two structures”.  Po’LICE telling his family that he died from choking on vomit. which to all of us who have seen these lies before know sounds like bullshit, as revolutionary soldier and mama of murdered African sun Idriss Stelley stated on the Facebook page Justice4Richard.

“How is it a lawyer for the Po”lice Officers Association (POA) came out within 24 hours with an autopsy for Nate and was speaking on behalf of the police?  an elder brother spoke on the weird cover-up that is already gathering around the Nate Wilks case. “Something isn’t right” he concluded.

“This family needs an independent autopsy, this is one of the only ways we will get justice, “ Cat Brooks concluded.

“We are here for justice, not just for our family, but for everyone, please help us get justice for us all.” the powerful words of Nates girlfriend Chemika whispered to the crowd while holding our future, little Kai’lei.

For more information go to the facebook page Justice 4 Nate Wilks page. To donate to the family for funeral expenses and to get an independent autopsy go to http://www.gofundme.com/justice4natewilks
 

Dear Ms. Paganini-Hill,

I am writing you as board president of the Manilatown Heritage
Foundation.  Our foundation was established by those who fought the
eviction of seniors from the city's International Hotel, or “I-Hotel” as
it is also known as, in 1977 when mostly elderly tenants were forcibly
evicted from their homes.  That eviction broke the hearts of many and
was the battleground of what became the tenant's rights movement in San
Francisco.  The eviction also spelled the end of a Filipino neighborhood
on Kearny Street known as Manilatown.  

One of the people who remembers the I-Hotel eviction is Theresa
Flandrich.  She remembers the rallies in support of the tenants, she
remembers the mime troupe performing in the park in support of the
I-Hotel and its tenants and she, of course, remembered the night of the
eviction when police rammed through a human barricade of 3000 people to
get to the tenants and forcibly evict them from their homes.

Theresa has lived in her Lombard Street home for more than 30 years. 
The epicenter of her life is North Beach where she raised her son as a
single mother.  She remembers her young son's fascination with fire
engines and how a North Beach Fireman befriended him and gave him rides
on the fire truck—a treat for any young boy.  She remembers the many
smells of North Beach, the many sounds—the falling and rising tenor of
Italian syllables connecting words and sentences and ending with any
number of gestures.  She remembes the African American voices and the
voice of the woman who told her once, 'Until you have kids, girl, you
don't know what tired is...”

Theresa remembers the relationships that existed between businesses who
believed in co-existence—that there was enough to go around for all—that
one not be greedy or prey upon one another.  She remembered the old
Italians who lived in North Beach for generations, and the Chinese, and
the lines that separated the two, a line that became blurry and more
faint in the passing years as both enjoy the sunshine and fresh cool air
of Washington Square Park, sharing conversation, doing Tai Chi—a respite
in a neighborhood whose very fabric is under attack by outsiders who do
not care about its history or its people.

She remembered those neighbors who aged in their homes, whose North
Beach hands built the neighborhood—such as Diego Deleo—who came to North
Beach at 17 and laid brick, who was part of a community whose voices
rang out clearly, rising above St. Peter and St. Paul's and Coit
Tower—for what are landmarks without the people who built them?

Theresa remembered her long time landlady Virginia Paganini.  They were
friends and Virginia maintained a good relationship with all the tenants
in the building.  But eventually Virginia's health began to fail.  The
tenants helped take care of Virginia, doing their best to tend to her
needs.  During the last 9 years of her life, she told the tenants of her
building, “You are now my family”.  Virginia finally passed on, leaving
the building to you—her niece.  And Theresa remembers Elaine Turner,
perhaps you do too, perhaps you don't.  Elaine was Theresa's neighbor. 
She lived in her unit for 25 years.  She was an actress,eternally young 
with an active mind.  Nobody knew she was 88 years old. 

One day Theresa, Elaine and the other tenants in the building on Lombard
Street received eviction notices.  The landlord—that is, you Ms.
Paganini-Hill—invoked the Ellis Act to evict all the tenants in the
building, many of whom were seniors.  An eviction notice from the niece
of the original landlord—who the tenants provided care to in her last
years.  Being a researcher on the care of seniors, did this ever enter
your mind?  Did you know that Elaine used to walk 65 steps to get to her
unit?  It was hard at times, but she'd make it because it was her home,
her community.

Elaine was much loved and after the eviction was served, she wasn't
herself.  The laughter disappeared.  She was steeped in fear wondering
what would happen to her, where would she go?  Her life was in North
Beach.  She was afraid of leaving her life, the life she knew, and the
neighbors and neighborhood that was dear to her.  Elaine's health
suffered due to the stress of the eviction, the stress of housing
prospects being waiting lists of up to 6 years or more and market rate
housing averaging upwards of 4,600 a month.  Elaine's internal organs
began to fail.  She was hospitalized and died in March 2015.
Elaine's neighbors—her small circle of friends—were her family and were
with her until the end, making sure she was comfortable in her last
moments.

Theresa has fought her eviction for 2 years, along with neighbor Silvio,
refusing to leave their community at the whim of their landlord—you.  It
is  you that caused the decline of Elaine Turner, cruelly serving a
vulnerable elder an eviction notice that caused so much stress.  It is
hugely ironic that you, a researcher on the 90+ Stufy at UC Irvine,
which is funded by the National Institute On Aging—a study that focuses
on the well being of seniors past the age of 90—can purport to be
concerned about the health of seniors on the one hand while on the other
hand, engage in an activity—in this case, eviction of an elder—that led
to the demise of an 88 year old senior.  How do you reconcile this in
your  mind?  Is the National Institute on Aging aware of this situation?

You have been unrelenting in your mission to evict the tenants in your
building.  Evictions like this are destroying communities in San
Francisco.  At its most extreme, it is killing tenants, particularly
seniors.  You indicated that you wanted to move the tenants out so that
you and your family could move in; but this is false, as your primary
residence is in Laguna Beach.

Stop playing games with lives and stop this hypocrisy.  You bring shame 
to Virginia Paganini's family name and all that this family did in maintaining
the tradition of caring for not only the tenants, but also the community of 
North Beach.  Rescind the eviction of the 2 remaining tenants in your building,
 Theresa Flandrich and Silvio Maniscalco.  


Tony Robles
Board President
Manilatown Heritage Foundation

I woke up to the news that 9 people were murdered in South Carolina by a white supremacist in a church. I spent some time listening to the news and allowing it to register. It is an old story, but one that continues to be something that cannot be easy to get used to. It was a horrible act one that shouts the urgency of oppressed people to mobilize for their own interests.

The mainstream media has focused on that dam confederate flag, as if it was a FLAG which caused this horrific act. The flag was only a symbol of what it and the shooter represented and that is white supremacy. The state can burn every one of those flags and it won't change the actions that the flag represents and that is national oppression.

One can very much trade that confederate flag for the Amerikkkan flag and for many it would mean the same thing. The Amerikkkan flag has meant the same thing for the oppressed nations. Both flags have had poor people fighting for their lives for centuries. The brutality of both flags are locked together, tied and fused with the blood of the oppressed and then hung over our lands, and as we have seen over the caskets of those who died because of that rag.

The root cause of what occurred in South Carolina was not what was painted on a cloth, it was our social-political and economic reality of living under a colonial oppressor nation. The coward who walked into a church and shot innocent people, grandparents and people who welcomed him into their place of worship is only a physical manifestation Amerikkka. He was Amerikkka in the flesh.

This mass murder of church people, of new afrikan people is horrendous. But if we look to history (which is our best teacher) we will find more and more cases of such horrendous cases. It is an ongoing onslaught inflicted on the people. Amerikkka will continue to do so if we allow it. People need to see the urgency and necessity of coming together as a people and rebuilding our nations. We need to stop fantasizing that somehow we can assimilate into Amerikkka because we CAN'T and such atrocities keep reminding us that we can't.

When oppressed people wake up they will see that the Amerikkkan flag is just as oppressive as the confederate flag and it also needs to come down!

The word “gentrification” has become very familiar to poor folks in recent times. Even in prisons "gentrification" has become popularized mostly because it is in large part prisoners' families who have been experiencing "gentrification” out in society.

When I first began hearing about this “gentrification” going on out there especially in the Bay Area I thought it may be a passing trend, but years later it's still going strong. It wasn't until I began hearing from friends and family who were being evicted or told rents are being jacked up that I began to look deeper into this gentrified offensive on poor people.

For those who do not know, the way that gentrification works in neighborhoods which have had a long presence of Raza or Black folks, they have been getting pushed out of these areas and well heeled techies are moving in. Poor people are being pushed out by having their homes essentially stolen by developers or in Frisco through “Ellis Act Eviction” which codifies gentrification. Even small businesses ran by Raza or Black folks are taken over by raised rents. This is used to flush poor people out of the area. When I began to really look into this phenomenon from the gate it smacked of the Israeli settlements that are constantly encroaching into Palestinian lands.

This gentrification was eerily similar to when Amerikans first settled in Texas before their land grab. Perhaps the First Nations will find this “gentrification” all too familiar. When a people have lived in poverty in enclaves for generations and are forced to move because a privileged class of people are moving in, it can only be seen as neo-settlements, which are settlements where you're not told it is for the oppressor nation or for rich people or another class but it is. The neo-settlements are introduced under the guise of the Ellis Act, eminent domain or you're told you can stay if you can pay the rent which is two or three times more than what you earn or receive. But the outcome of the neo-settlments is to displace and grab up poor people's dwellings.

What really had me thinking is if the state is allowing these neo-settlements to displace law abiding folks out in society, people who have in many cases worked all their lives and contributed to building these same communities that they are now being booted out of, what will become of people leaving the prisons? Most prisoners at some point will be released and unfortunately many will be on some type of relief, whether it is disability, social security, unemployment etc. and if so will not be qualified for low income housing because they don't make enough. So how will this gentrification or neo-settlements affect the ex-prisoners? The thought of it kind of validates the notion of a felonious caste-like system.

In today's society prisoners or ex-prisoners are already considered as cast off's and even in somewhere like the Bay Area with it being a tech center most jobs in the tech industry are off limits to ex-felons and this is enforced by background checks when applying for work. An ex-prisoner paroling to a historically Brown or Black neigborhood may be gentrified right next to other longtime locals.

I was reading an article that came out around a year ago about an artist and longtime resident of San Francisco's Mission District, Yolanda M. Lopez, who was being evicted from her home of 40 years due to the neo-settlement “Ellis Act.” Lopez has been described as a “Pioneer of the Chicana movement” but neither her work struggling for social justice, nor her 71 years wise saved her from the neo-settlement claws.

Most recently there was a section of the Mission District which was designated as a “Cultural Corridor.” This was done to at least hold a small place of the Mission District from the claws of neo-settlements and preserve its Chican@/Raza essence. In a way it's good to preserve anything from the oppressors, but it's a shame that Aztlan must be reduced to a few blocks called a “Cultural Corridor.”

When I see this taking place to folks with no criminal records, people who in some cases worked for 50 years and contributed to invigorating the community, it leaves no doubt in my mind that ex-prisoners will be left with few options.

What is occurring in cities like San Francisco are test runs which will expand to other cities throughout California and the U.S. Many times prisoners focus on our immediate needs, and this is understandable to a point. At the same time in our efforts to create change and opportunities we should also begin the process of generating qualitative needs for prisoners and ex-prisoners alike. It is after all ex-prisoners who become some of the fiercest fighters for prison reform and prisoners' rights once released from prison.

Our common oppressor thus is not only who us prisoners share, but who our communities share on the outside as well. The reality of being deprived of material existence as people works to enrich and fortify our common oppressor.

As prisoners we are almost always misunderstood by society and sometimes misunderstood by our fellow prisoner. The act of committing “crimes” in U.S. society does not condemn us to a life of ignorance, nor of being unsalvageable because for one, what is considered “crime” in this corrupt society is up for debate. But being in prison does not condemn us to bystanders of hystory, but creates the natural conditions for a powerful organism which works for anti-imperialism.

These neo-settlements are a symptom of the disease called national oppression. This is something which for many in the U.S. Left has been brushed aside and given no attention in some circles. The bald truth is that the national oppression within the internal nations of the U.S. becomes almost a secondary concern, if a concern at all, taking a back seat to tending to Amerikkkan “workers.” This First World chauvinism expresses itself not just in ignoring issues affecting the oppressed like these neo-settlements, but in so many other ways, all of which serve to stagnate or sabotage national liberation struggles in the U.S.

These actions that are carried out in our communities that affect our peoples derive not from some bank or wealthy land owner per se. Much of today's behavior reflects the dominant political culture of today which is Capitalism. It is a selfish culture that cares about nothing but the dollar. But not all societies are fuled by personal come up and preying on others. When the earthquake struck Haiti a couple years ago Cuba sent Doctors to Haiti as did the U.S. , yet Cuban Doctors slept in tents right by the suffering Haitians, while Amerikkkan Doctors slept in luxury hotels that they were flown to nightly be helicopter (Monthly Review, Vol. 64, No.4 “Cuba: The New Global Medicine” by Don Fitz. Page 37.) The point is that there are societies where serving the people is put above serving the dollar.

Activist groups need to carry on more work addressing the neo-settlements i.e. “gentrification.” We need to address poor communities and enact efforts and projects which halt these neo-settements which will help eviscerate the class oppressors in their encroachments into oppressed communities. We can't expect folks to partake in social justice struggles when they are homeless, and anyone expecting prisoners to be released and help the prisoners rights movement when their communities are being gentrified will be equally disappointed.

The fact that amidst the heart of the heart of the tech industry of California which is amongst the wealthiest in the U.S. exists the largest homeless tent city proves that what is occurring is an epidemic. San Jose, California has the biggest homeless camp in the U.S. (the camp has recently been broken up and dispersed into dozens of smaller encampments throughout the city) and so the neo-settlements are not just pushing folks out of their communities but pushing poor people out on the streets.

The struggles inside these prisons are just a small piece to the puzzle of what we are poor people are facing. The struggles to close the SHU are linked to the struggle against neo-settlemets because it is the rotten state which we are ultimately struggling against. Only complete liberation of poor people will solve these social ills.

After the slaughter of the beloved Cecil the lion, many people took to social media outraged over the illegal killing of the protected, rare black-maned lion. Walter Palmer, along with two others had allegedly lured Cecil out of the national park with a dead animal carcass that was tied to a tree. Earlier reports say that Cecil was wounded and hunted for another 40 hours before the amerikkkan dentist finished sacred Cecil off, beheading and skinning him. If reports are accurate, Cecil suffered and that is indeed one of the worst cases of animal cruelty. Cruel as it may be, we still have people out there like Sabrina Corgatelli, aka "The italian huntress" who claims she respects nature but then arrogantly posts up quotes like "To all the haters, stay tuned, you're gonna have so much more to be pissed about." Looks as if she is the hater, seeing her blatant disrespect towards the beautiful, living beings that God and Mother Nature created and these acts of mankind displays the foolishness of man/woman and how this barbaric stupidity is the downfall of Mama Earth as a whole. The argument of how hunting down to the extinction of these gorgeous creatures brings in millions in revenue falls upon deaf ears because nothing rightfully belonging to Mother Earth should have a price tag on it. If the people take care not to destroy her, she would take care of us and we would not be worried about any natural resources "running out". Theft, exploitation and devilish greed has got the world in the sling its in now.



Anyone who takes pride and gleeful pleasure in hunting and deliberately killing off different, living beings have a twisted sickness of a false sense of domination and control. The hunt and kill is not even for the sake of needing food, clothing or shelter and even so there is a way you pray and thank the animal for its sacrifice and be careful not to let any part of it go to waste because like Mama Carolyn Brantley X (ashe) used to say, "It was a a sin". Folks who see absolutely nothing wrong with slaughtering for fun and head collecting, folks that accept the annihilation of animals AND people as a way of life and treats it as something to just shrug off further shows how complacent, mentally and spiritually ill this universe has become.   

Other so-called hunters who take pride in defying the laws of nature have also been under fire in the recent past, like Texas cheerleader Kendall Jones who became infamous for posting some of the most beautiful beings on the planet, dead and desecrated as she poses next to her kill,  proud with the "lynching smile" on her face,  the same eerie, soul chilling smile that I saw on the faces of those ameriklans who slaughtered the stolen Africans here and proudly took pictures with their bodies.The smiles and smirks and the pride behind taking away life and mutilating the body parts and keeping them as souvenirs has horrible similarities to the "animal hunters" and regardless of it being a lion or a person, it takes a crazed mind to believe that playing a part in the destruction of Pancha Mama is a normal "humankindness" thing to do and to try and justify that the sickly-odd trophy collectors who carries this fake license of entitlement to kill and erase whatever living being they choose. To try and justify the sickly-odd trophy collectors who carries the fake licenses of entitlement to kill and erase whatever living beings they choose because of their stolen wealth and arrogance would be like trying to fry fish in boiling water- unsuccessful. To even say that death happens all of the time is a complacent statement also in my opinion because although it is true, there would not be so much of death and despair if Man(kind) was more open-minded and respectful to our universal obligations and did not glorify ignorance and greed. As a descendant of a stolen and hunted people it was, and always will be disturbing to see photos of the deliberate and beastly murders of human beings and sacred animals for no reason other than they dared to exist. And unfortunately for myself and Sacred Cecil, our killers looked alike in this case.