Story Archives

by Elizabeth Reiser/POOR Magazine Race, Poverty and Media Justice Intern

I woke up in bed this morning. I brushed my teeth, took a shower and ate scrambled eggs with toast. I drove to Dr. Andrew's office where I winced at my tetanus shot and then headed to Walgreens to pick up my prescription.

Although the first hour of my morning was a common one, it was also one of privilege. My ease in obtaining basic necessities and health care is at odds with the significant struggle for many citizens living in San Francisco. As clothes pile in bedroom closets and medications stack on the shelves in bathrooms of the "haves" resources for the "have nots" drain from supply closets at shelters and health clinics. Mayor Gavin Newsom's proposed 2008-2009 budget for San Francisco signals a harsh future of painful shortages of essential necessities for those most in need. There will be no longer a trickling down of supplies but instead a severe drought of survival resources.

Reduced funding for non-profit health and housing centers further endangers the most vulnerable citizens in our city. For Ella Hill Hutch, Episcopal Community, Next Door and many other health and support shelters assisting hundreds daily, services would be significantly cut or worse, their doors would close. And, when this proposed budget closes a door, there will be no opened window.

In desperation for my concerns to be heard, while re-porting and sup-porting for POOR Magazine, I joined a worried community at the budget protest on the front lawn of city hall. "We have a city and leadership that is indifferent to our people," stated Supervisor Bevan Duffy of District 8. How can such apathy exist in a democracy? My voice would not be heard in the Budget Committee meeting; however, the voices of my fellow citizens would echo within the walls of the Supervisors' Chamber as we marched in during our budget protest on Thursday, June 26th.

"When services are under attack. What do we do?"

"STAND UP FIGHT BACK!"

Members of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) along with members of Tenderloin Health Resource Center, Coalition on Homelessness, and other activists crammed into the chamber at City Hall. The flame of frustration in the security guards was a tea candle compared to the fire burning in those most affected by the proposal. Their fierce and determined chants gave meaning to Tom Ammiano's comment, "the cruelest thing is that they get very angry and they worry." The proposed 2008-2009 budget causes stress not only about simple necessities but also about basic survival.

Among the purple sea of the SEIU, I stood next to members of the Tenderloin Health Resource Center, the largest community center in San Francisco providing essential services and housing to thousands of individuals annually. It is the only service open 365 days a year, 18 hours a day. Although 16,000 individuals access this center over 180,000 times per year, many of these services have been deemed expendable and their clients disposable. Tei Okamoto, a manager of Tenderloin Health stated that the proposed budget will cut their $800,000 funding nearly in half. She exclaimed, "this can't serve our population." And, this is just one of many shelters that will be significantly impacted or closed due to the budget cuts.

A further look at Mayor Newsom's budget shows over 1,000 front-line service jobs eliminated while management jobs increased. This continues the 10 year trend of high paid management positions increasing at a rate 7.7 times greater than the lower-paid positions for workers directly involved in delivering city services.

As Chris Daly quieted the unified crowd in the Supervisors Chamber, he declared, "Sustained pressure is important, we need to unite as a city to save services." With these words I raised both my head and my sign higher as I processed out of the room. However, my shoulders returned to their slouched position, weighed heavily by the sight of the men and women on the street lying outside closed doors. The backs of those struggling citizens turned away from overcrowded, under-funded shelters circled through my mind in response to their cycle of poverty. How many doors must be slammed in the face of those most in need of an open one?

Later that evening as I brushed my teeth and removed the band-aid from my tetanus puncture another question surfaced. In remembering a fellow protestor's sign, "Patients not Profits," I suddenly realized that even full-funding would still be just a band-aid. Mayor Newsom's budget may be saving city dollars, but what about saving human lives?

*Supervisors' funding requests known as "add-backs" were added since the production of this article restoring almost full-funding to the Tenderloin Health Resource Center. However, this and many other health centers and shelters are still significantly under-funded and in danger of closing. The 2008-2009 budget process has not yet been finalized so ongoing pressure is still vital.

by Staff Writer

Dear Al --

Im one of your Tule Lake friends, Misa from Oregon. Shizue and I join you and Peter in the morning to do Tai ChI and if at night youre on the piano, we join you there too.

I've got your picture -- you know the one with your finger punching the air emphasizing your words, that one is tacked up on a cherry tree right over our Sacred Fire.

I'll go out to pray every day joining the trees whose arms are already lifted up toward the sun and the birds who are already singing those prayer songs in the morning.

Shizue and I meet on the cell phone and we're sending you long distance Reiki.

I hear you are traveling and don't know where you're traveling but I know you'll let us know when you're well because you never hoard magic. You always share.

I don't know how long the recovery will be but I'll carry prayers to Mt. Shasta, to Winnemem River, to all the sacred places. Just get well soon.

You are brother to so many maybe you don't remember all of us.
But, in case, I'm Shizue's roommate, and you told me to write a poem for Tule Lake and told Shizue to bring her sheet music next time so she can sing while you played. And I've done my homework for you.

Much love and light sent your way.

Love you, Misa (Joo), Oregon

by Staff Writer

Dear Al and fellow Tule Lake Pilgrim,

Misa Joo told me that you are in hospital. I've read the updates about the GBS. As Misa said in her letter, she and I are roomies when we are on the Tule Lake Pilgrimage. Me--I'm the one who is actually from Santa Cruz, CA, but everyone thinks I'm from Seattle because I always travel with the Seattle group (my brother is from Seattle).

Misa has done her homework that you gave her. Me--well, let's say that the sheet music is still to be found and decided upon ;-) Earlier, "flyin' high in the friendly sky" was going through my head, Marvin Gaye's song from the What's Goin' On album. Will see if I can figure out how to record a favorite song of mine from childhood and send it to you. The Pilgrimage is just not the same if Peter is not there doing Tai Chi, and if you aren't there to play those jazz standards on the piano. Next time, I'll sing if I know the words (except for My Funny Valentine--heard too many bad covers of it!).

Are you flying through the purple golden rose-petaled skies of the shamanic terrain that most of us only see in dream states? I just know that you are one of the few who sees those skies whether asleep or awake. Al, when you return from your journey, please share the stories with all of us. Before I fall asleep, I'll ask my guardian angels to send greetings via your guardian angels. I placed your name in the healing prayer box at my Qabalah class this evening. And Misa and I will be doing reiki for you. I'll be sending you pink and gold. Whoever is reading this might think this sounds silly--but i know you that you know what I mean, neh!

When you are up and about again, I hope to visit and say "hi, Al! what's what?"

Take care,

Shizue Shikuma

by Staff Writer

Al and Freddy on a journey


To find the nose flute mountain man,

To seek the source of his laughter./>

Safe journey up the mountain, Al.

Careful of the wild boar.

And when you've had your fill of roaming,

Come home to Manilatown

Where we wait with open arms.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine....

Love,

Nancy

Hi Al,

We gathered at the Manilatown Center on Saturday to wish you well and heard the good news that you can open your eyes. So we are very joyous and jubilant and hope for a fast recovery.

The sun has been shining so bright these past few days and the weather so warm everyone is out soaking up the blue blue skies and falling in love. How good to still be alive, yes? Even as you lie there - to remember the caress of the sun on your face and the music and songs, to hear the voices of everyone who loves you and now to see them - how precious this human birth is!

This weekend I was dancing and will dance again tonight - swing, foxtrot, samba, waltz, salsa, merengue, bachata, cha cha - you name it . Remember when we danced at Manilatown? As if we were in a taxi dance hall - you so sure of your moves and me hesitantly following. Now I dance with men, I dance with women, I dance alone with the music as my soulful partner. It was you who introduced me to the poetry and the music and the song and the dance - it's all come to me now as I sway to the beat, in all this heat, thinking of you....

All my love,

Nancy

by Staff Writer

The wind swims through the bamboo stalks like an eel in water

The embers crack and dance in the village fire's glow

The Elders pass their wisdom across the generations

The Children harvest their heritage like the river flows

Their song echos across the summer's tall dancing grass

Stars hang like jewels, each telling a tale of poverty or fortune

At the head of a well worn wooden table sits the wise man

His eyes casting shadows like the rounds of the fullest moon

There is a road that leads in and out of the village old and worn

Gravel ruts crack the crooked line carved with human toil

A thousand miles of hope cake the road like ancient mud

Dreams of a concrete and steel promise without spoil

Child-like dreams hang from the bamboo canopy far above

Out of reach yet close enough to taste their sweet scent

On the jungle's edge a lone mountain cat watches the embers

Connected to the elders through time carefully spent

The Manong guard the midnight fire's crackling roar

Across the darkened jungle the sound cracks like a whip

The conversation colored in hushed and muted tones

As the morning comes their thoughts into silence they slip

The embers die quietly as the blood red dawn shatters the sky

Morning comes with the songs of wives sweetened in sorrow

The blackness of night now muted between the longing hours

The darkness of dreams folded into the creases of tomorrow

The Manong elders watch the dawn turn to the light of day

Their thoughts now drifting to their voluminous days gone past

The untold silence spoken in tongues of ancient thoughts

Each of the elders walks off into the forest their father's cast

They sit and sing of the wise men of the aged Manong

Their tale is told from weathered father to untattered son

The fabled tradition of cultures faded from the great books

Their story forever told yet never completed, forever, never done

Manilla town built from the sweat of broken proud men

Casts shadows from a long gone International Hotel

Whose brick facade once housed the history of his people

Now the ghosts of long gone Manong wander in its cells

The wind blows down the concrete and steel valleys

In a modern village the Manong pass the torch of tradition

As sons walk the walk of the ancient tales from fathers

While mothers pass their stories on well worn Kitchens

by Staff Writer

Paying Respect

(For Al Robles)

Shhhhhh listen with your heart

Brown Yellow, Red

voices of color

Rising us up from boxes

people put us in

Yes, I'm Black

feeling activist elders from all ethnic cultures

Combining communities

Through the arts

Black, Chicano, Asian, Native, Women Gay Arts Movements

From Manilatown to Motown

Homo-Hop to Krip-Hop

Koreatown, Chinatown to Chocolate City

Walking Down These Mean Streets

With Piri Tomas, Gil Scott Heron & Al Robles

Spoke political poetry

Real artists\activists

California Hotel residents learning from I Hotel legacy

Black elders strateg izing with Asian elders

Robles left a foundation

Of self-reliance

planting seeds that left POOR with homefullness

collective ownership

_______________________________

Peoples culture versus American medical system

Breaking up families

Kids in foster care

elders in nursing homes

Lost of kinship no wonder we die early

...........................................................

Folk lyrics of justice by Chris Lijima

Mixing with 2009 Hip-Hop by Blue Scholars

A Song For Ourselves

Burn Hollywood burn

As we write and film our stories

In post production for more than thirty years

No more ties to foundations that had ties to the economy of plantations

Untie the knots that keep our art and stories like

Manilatown Is In The Heart..

In endless production

Passing It On wrote Yuri Kochiyama

"Gave up dancing to become a revolutionary" said Bill Sorro

When Will The Time Come? Sang Bambu

Rapping with Ten Thousand Carabaos in the Dark with Uncle Al Robles

Ted Nakamura, Trinh Minh-ha, Raeshem Nijhon

Pointing their lenses on his/herstories for the big screen

Noemi Sohn, Mia Mingus mixing identity & politics of race, sex & disability

on paper in lecture halls and on protest lines

Grace Padaca serving her people and country in the Governor's Mansion

Aiming to be the first disabled woman president of the Philippines

The smells of San Francisco

Black-eye Peas, Burritos, Lumpia MMMMMMMM

Forms a cloud of aroma around the Bay

Dissolving boundaries following your nose

Into different neighborhoods

Meeting the real policy makers cultural workers

Uncle AL's' spirit will always be around Maniltown

Like the sounds of great jazz musicians

Echoing through the Fillmore at 2am

With Sakeone on the cheek cheek- turntables

Remember Richard Aoki, A field marshal for The Black Panther Party

Not your average Asian, donated first defend weapons for police patrols to the BPP

Afro-Asian, Latino-Cuban, Puerto-Rican Tribes, Afro-Haitians

Jessie Jackson didn't create the concept of the Rainbow coalition more like Fred Hampton

So I stand here in the oral tradition

Continue to learn from my elders

Beyond institutional walls

Paying respect to Al, Bill, Chris, Yuri ...

A rainbow of Revolutionary spirits in the sky going back home

By Leroy F. Moore Jr.

by Staff Writer

The eyes are the window. The light talks first in little beams that grow into constellations. So much beauty in the gleam.

Last Wednesday Alfred opened his right eye. That evening Russell asked, "Do you want to go to Chinatown to get some tomato beef chow mein? No words, just one eye, reaching for the sound of his younger brother. Al closed his eyes. Russell asked, Do you want to leave the hospital and go home? He opened his one eye again. Clarity in the look.

The next day two eyes open.

says, Russell. What can I say?

Utopia, Alfred's loving niece says, Al is moving more muscles in his face, including his mouth. Words are never far away with Al. Never have been. Thoughts have already been spoken for, before the tongue becomes familiar.

Muscles move the body and draw the bone. A tingle becomes a twitch, becomes and little motion from here to there in centimeters. The fight against atrophy calls those who know the way. Cliff Young shows how to properly massage Al's hands and arms to increase blood flow to the limbs. Phyllis Wong is doing Reiki, bringing energy to Alfred's body. Atrophy does not stand a chance!

Family and friends stand firm.

The hospital staff say, He is improving... which is very encouraging, but the sweetness of the words comes with an after taste. The elephant is in the room with Al. The cost of healthcare is beginning to communicate, the way it does when it is hungry.

Al's sister, Theresa, has begun talks with the social worker and those in charge of patient care for the hospital. The question is when to move Alfred out of ICU? Already the money! Already the costs, but we all know this is the price of living in the world the way it is. The other side of recovery comes with accountants, as blood pressure becomes a line item and the journey back sees the landscape of our common dilemma: how much does it cost to heal?

Al will be moved from ICU in a couple of weeks. That is the plan and the tubes will not follow.

These are the days of recovery now, the days we have been waiting for.

People, community, friends, have been the strength for Al and family: help when needed, responding to the call, giving room, and sending love with words and prayers. Amazing. It is all so amazing.

Nancy Hom says, Al brings out the best in all of us, even when he sleeps.

by Staff Writer

Dear Uncle Al

I remember when

you was telling me stories

about the many manongs

and the carabaos

and fish soups

and singing

and the blondies

all traveling in the mish mash

memories

somewhere

like radio waves

invisible

at manilatown

and beyond.

they carry traces

of their history

and the tears

were the burden

of the futures

they were building

like the many seeds across

the American west

and floating across the

Pacific ocean.

Dear Uncle Al

thanks for the stories

you tell

to make sense of

the criss cross

mish mash lives of

young pinay plant

growing from roots

tangled

across different land masses

in the Pacific.

Ellen-Rae

by Staff Writer

Waking Up in Hopi

In the physical world, we saw each other only twice.

Once when I was not awake.

Once when I woke up.

Now I never see you in the physical world.

But you are always there.

Do you remember when I woke up, there on the Mesa at Hopi?

How funny that I was to find the fish and the rice right there, on that Mesa in
Arizona

But why not,

You were by my side, you and Jayo, Lou and Eddie.

All of you Manongs were right there by me.

It was no wonder I woke up.

Now you are asleep, resting, taking a break,

But, you are awake even when you are asleep.

You are still laughing, I hear you laughing and being so funny


I hear you asking me if I am writing.

I tell you I am, but I don’t have a lot of time.

You ask me, “You go to the bathroom, don’t you? Just write on the toilet paper.”

You laugh.

I write.

It scares me Al, where you might go.

Then I remember, you are no going anywhere.

The fish and the rice are inside me,

The mandolin is inside me

My father is inside me

You are inside me.

That’s just how it is

I love you Manong, I love you.

Pinay Kay