El Acoso Racista y Clasista de gente de color, pobre, y inmigrante continua en San Francisco
Racist and classist harassment of poor folks, migrants and people of color continues in San Francisco
El Acoso Racista y Clasista de gente de color, pobre, y inmigrante continua en San Francisco
Racist and classist harassment of poor folks, migrants and people of color continues in San Francisco
by Teresa Molina/PNN Voces de Inmigrantes en resistencia
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Yo soy Teresa, reportera de Prensa POBRE, una mujer inmigrante trabajadora, madre de cinco hijos, luchando dÃa a dÃa viviendo la discriminación por ser pobre y inmigrante
Era un domingo soleado, todo parecÃa normal, todos disfrutábamos del rico sol y el viento. HabÃa un tremendo calorcito que se antojaba estar en la playa, bronceando nuestro cuerpo. Los olores de comida salÃan de los restaurantes a nuestras narices, las palmeras se ladeaban de lado a lado como que querÃan demostrar que algo no iba a estar bien pero todos muy despreocupados, sin imaginar que algo terrible iba a pasar.
A Edgardo lo mandaron a la corte donde solo lo mandaron a la escuela de manejo pero le suspendieron la licencia, pero no dijeron nada sobre el carro. Estos casos pasan todos los dÃas. Ay casos donde les quitan el carro a la gente y se los regresan sin radio, gas o algunas partes, sin algún remordimiento. Nos paran muchas veces solo por ser Latin@, para acosarnos quitando lo poquito que tenemos. Desgraciadamente no se puede hacer nada, porque ellos son la ley y ellos son los que mandan, son los que deciden y asà van pasando mas abusos sin encontrar soluciones.
La Terrible Realidad Policial El Acoso Racista y Clasista de gente de color, pobre, y inmigrante continua en San Francisco. Yo soy Teresa, reportera de Prensa POBRE, una mujer inmigrante trabajadora, madre de cinco hijos, luchando dÃa a dÃa viviendo la discriminación por ser pobre y inmigrante
Era un domingo soleado, todo parecÃa normal, todos disfrutábamos del rico sol y el viento. HabÃa un tremendo calorcito que se antojaba estar en la playa, bronceando nuestro cuerpo. Los olores de comida salÃan de los restaurantes a nuestras narices, las palmeras se ladeaban de lado a lado como que querÃan demostrar que algo no iba a estar bien pero todos muy despreocupados, sin imaginar que algo terrible iba a pasar.
A Edgardo lo mandaron a la corte donde solo lo mandaron a la escuela de manejo pero le suspendieron la licencia, pero no dijeron nada sobre el carro. Estos casos pasan todos los dÃas. Ay casos donde les quitan el carro a la gente y se los regresan sin radio, gas o algunas partes, sin algún remordimiento. Nos paran muchas veces solo por ser Latin@, para acosarnos quitando lo poquito que tenemos. Desgraciadamente no se puede hacer nada, porque ellos son la ley y ellos son los que mandan, son los que deciden y asà van pasando mas abusos sin encontrar soluciones.
A mi madre y yo, nos parraban muchas veces la policia por violaciones de Manejar Mientras ser Pobre (MMSP) por mucha de mi vida. Nos quitaban el carro mientras estabamos viviendo en el, y me llevaron a la carcel. La policia acosa a la gente pobre y la gente de color," dijo Lisa Gray-Garcia, madre y co-editora de Prensa POBRE.
Yo pienso que todo esto pasa porque nosotros lo permitimos, ya basta de tanto abuso, aquà en prensa pobre pensamos que si luchamos y resistimos vamos a ver cambios porque la unión hace la fuerza. Demanden los abusos de la policÃa, no hay que vivir dominados por el miedo!
Engles Sigue
I am Teresa, a community reporter for POOR Magazine, a hard working immigrant woman, mother of five; everyday I live the discrimination for being an immigrant living in poverty.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, everything seemed normal, and we were enjoying the rich sunshine and light winds. The heat gave us the urge to be on the shores of a beach, sun bathing our bodies. The smells of food came out from the restaurants into our noses, the palm trees moved from side to side, as if giving a warning that something was not right, however we were all unaware of the terrible thing that was about to take place.
All of a sudden a police car comes out of nowhere and gets beside us on the road. At that moment we all got nervous, our hearts were racing and began beating desperately; my granddaughter began to cry, as if she suspected something was going to occur. Inside the car were my daughter, Liliana, my son Marcos, my granddaughter, and Liliana's boyfriend, Edgardo, who was driving. When we pulled over on the side of the curb, they asked Edgardo for his insurance, and unfortunately, he did not have it renewed. What happened at that moment was terrible.
After the police realized that Edgardo's car insurance was not updated, they told us we had to walk home because they were taking his car. We were far from our home, but we all went back on the bus, upset about what had just taken place.
Until now, we know nothing about our car and supposedly, no one else knows anything about its whereabouts either. My daughter has been calling about it, mostly because she left important documents inside, and they give her a series of lies. First, they tell her there is a $1,200 fine to remove the car from the impound, then they tell her it was never in the impound, and then they tell her that immigration now has possession of the car and there is not a fine.
Edgardo ended up going to court where they suspended his license and were obligated to go to traffic school, but the judge did not mention anything about his car. These cases happen everyday. There are some cases that without any shame they take the car and return it, without any gas, radio or other parts inside. Many times the police pull us over just because we are Latinas, they are racially profiling us and taking advantage of the little we have. Unfortunately, we cannot do much, because they are the law, they are the bosses, and they are the ones who are entitled to make the decisions that affect our lives, allowing abuses to take place.
My mother and I were continually stopped by po-lice for DWP ( Driving While POOR) violations for most of my life- they took our car away right while we living in it and then took me to jail, the police prey on poor folks and poor folks of color, said Lisa Gray-Garcia, co-madre and co-editor of POOR Magazine.
I believe this happens because we allow it to happen. Let us stop these abuses! Here at POOR Magazine we believe that only when we fight and resist we will be able to see real change. Unity creates strength. Report the Police abuses; do not let fear dominate our lives!
The title of this essay, "Buried Alive not Dead," is a metaphor for the unspoken and unwritten connection between Black history and disability.
In this essay I will concentrate on two major historical events that shaped the future of African Americans: the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, and slavery. So far my research into these two periods reveals a sharp connection that links early African American history to disability. You will see that although disability has been intertwined with African American history, it has been overlooked, put on the back burner for the sake of "bigger issues." This history has been buried alive, but the history and contribution of Black disabled people is not dead.
The Bible
In the Old Testament disability was seen as a sin, or a punishment from God. Sometimes disability was seen as being possessed by evil. In the New Testament Jesus healed the lame, sick, blind and crippled, or in today's terminology, ìpersons with disabilities.î
But also in the Old Testament we find a prophet of God who performed some amazing feats without changing his physical stand. This prophet comes up again and again throughout the history of Black Americans, from African slaves to Martin Luther King. I'm talking about Moses in Exodus.
In Exodus, Moses was chosen by God to lead the Israelite slaves out of slavery in Egypt and into freedom in Israel. When God came to Moses and gave him this dangerous assignment, Moses doubted his own abilities to lead because he was slow of tongue. Another way to phrase this is to say Moses had a speech impediment.
But God didn't cure Moses' "speech disability" (as Jesus did to his followers in the New Testament). God gave Moses an accommodation, his brother Aaron, to speak for Moses. Moses and Aaron were a team together. Moses had the leadership skills and Aaron provided the voice.
The connection between Moses and African slaves was the strong hold of religion in the Black community. The Black church expressed a rich spirituality that sustained slaves and freed people through hard times. Although White masters taught their slaves to be Christians by preaching the New Testament, slaves were interested in the Old Testament because it spoke of their lives, and gave them hope of a new and better world. Moses was a hero to African American slaves, inspiring them to sing, "Go Down Moses."
Slavery & Disability
Although slaves looked to Moses as a role model, Moses' speech disability did not translate into positive attitudes toward disability at that time. We can say that Moses' disability did not affect his ability to perform physical labor, so it was placed in the background of his life. In slavery times, the main link to being a successful slave was the ability to perform physical, manual work on the plantations.
Many Africans did not survive the long boat ride to America because of the inhumane, abusive conditions of the slave ships. The slaves who were sick and physically disabled from the conditions of the boat ride and the physical torment from the White settlers were tossed overboard and left to drown. Is this where my history stops, at the bottom of the sea?
The harsh treatment of slaves produced a high rate of physical and mental disabilities. One historian linked mental illness and insanity among slaves to the separation of families. In 1863 a slave woman went insane because her sons were sold and sent to the trader's jail.
Disability had to be hidden away for a slave to stay alive. African slaves who were born physically disabled were put to death by their White masters or even their own parents because these disabilities made them useless on the plantations. When a slave woman gave birth, the first thing she was concerned about was the infant's physical condition. As time went by, the mother forced the baby to stand and walk.
I'm reminded of a short story titled 'Black Diamond' by Afi Tiomble A. Kambon. The story starts out in a small village in Africa and talks about the White invaders who brought the African villagers to the New World. The story concentrates on a slave woman who gave birth to a lovely girl who sparkled like a diamond. The only problem was the baby girl's legs were thin, and she was unable to stand and walk. At the end of 'Black Diamond,' the master dropped, kicked and stomped the baby until it was dead.
Pages 133 and 136 of American Slavery As It Is: Testimony of a
Thousand Witness describe the slaves' masters' views on disability as follows:
Old Slaves:
They're seen as a tax to the Master, it would be in the best interest to shorten their days.
The Incurably Diseased Maimed:
It would be cheaper for Masters to buy poison than medicine.
The Blind, Lunatics and Idiots:
They're seen as a tax to the Master, it would be in the best interest to shorten their days.
The Deaf, Dumb and Person Greatly Deformed:
Such might or might not be serviceable to the Master, many of them would be a burden and many men throw their burden away.
Feeble Infants:
Would require much nursing, the time, trouble and expense necessary to raise them would generally cost more than they would be worth as working animals.
This document goes on to give estimattions of 1600 slaves who were deaf and dumb, and 1300 blind slaves, in 1830. The directors of the American Asylum produced these numbers for the Deaf and Dumb of Hartford, CT.
On many plantations there were hospitals for sick slaves, but these were not healing places. Slaves in these hospitals had to work while recovering. In a personal narrative, Mr. George A. Avery describes the treatment of sick slaves as "revolting!" The same book reads, "If no cure was found for the sick slave then death was ordered with no compensation to be made, but if cured a bonus up to $300.00 was to be given" (336). Nine times out of ten, when a slave was really, really sick, he was left in an empty room alone for days or even months to die.
All disabled slaves were not killed! Many slaves lived and worked on American plantations with their physical and mental disabilities by making adaptive equipment to make them seem 'normal'. Mentally disabled slaves leaned on the slave community to hide their illnesses. These slaves were watched closely by their Masters to make sure they were not dangerous to themselves and others.
The bodies of the slaves were on display for auction, and slaves and their Masters tried to hide flaws, weaknesses and disabilities. Still, slaves' masters continued to use harsh torment and physical abuse, causing physical and mental disabilities.
Harriet Tubman, who led the famous Underground Railroad, was beaten so badly that she experienced black outs and seizures. Ms. Tubman's health made it difficult for her Master to find her a new Master. In 1857 Harriet
Tubman brought her parents to freedom. Her parents were too feeble to walk, so she hired a wagon to accommodate them. In her journey to lead slaves to freedom, Ms. Tubman would leave her company hidden in the woods while she herself went into towns in search of information. After freeing slaves, Ms. Tubman watched over their welfare, collected clothes, and organized the free slaves into societies. She also raised funds to build a house for her parents.
During her days of the Underground Railroad, one of Ms. Tubman's disguises was to look so stupid that nobody would suspect her of knowing enough to be dangerous! She, like Moses, led slaves to freedom, and her disability, like Moses', was and is played down or looked upon as a pity in the history of Black Americans.
As you can see, disability was a part of slavery. Although disability among slaves often equaled death, many disabled slaves contributed on the plantations, helped free other slaves, invented adoptive equipment and gave encouragement to the slaves' population.
After the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, slaves went to war to fight for their freedom. What happened to the soldiers who returned home disabled? What happened to disabled slaves after slavery? Did Black disabled free people enjoy the benefits of the Black Reconstruction? What happened in the sixties to Black disabled people?
The two histories, African American history and Disability history, do mention Black disabled people and their contribution, but it is buried alive. The connection between African American history and Disability history needs more attention and research in a positive light.
Neighbors hold meetings about the "Noise and other nuisances" of Shelter residents. Matt Gonzalez attends meeting.
by Connie Lu and Dee Gray/PNN
Dusk - the streets are quiet except for a few passing buses and the occassional car. I am walking up 3rd street towards the Third Baptist Church to attend a neighborhood meeting about the shelter at the Church, or what my editor calls - a meeting about NIMBYISM (Not in My Backyard)
On my way, I pass by a few homeless men, who
are patiently and quietly waiting for the shelter at
Third Baptist Church to open. I ask them how I could
get into the church and was kindly directed around the
corner to an open door
I arrive to find my co-worker Joseph Bolden, staff writer and
photographer for POOR Magazine/PNN, in the second row
of chairs at the Third Baptist Church. The room
itself is spacious with an old piano in the front and
several doors along the white walls decorated with a
few posters and bulletin boards. I look down at the
dark red carpeting with gray grid lines and begin to
notice the muffled sounds of footsteps coming from
upstairs. I hear quick feet scurrying above, I
imagine the pure innocence of small children running
freely in laughter. I also hear the applaud of an
audience as it penetrates through the walls of the
church from a nearby room and flows into where I await
for the Alamo Square neighborhood meeting to begin.
The neighbors of Alamo Square, located in District 4
of San Francisco, invited Matt Gonzalez, who is on the
Board of Supervisors for their district to express
their concerns about the homeless shelter in their
neighborhood during the meeting. The shelter is
located in the Alamo Square district (near the Western Addition) at Amos
Brown's Third Baptist Church. The meeting begins with
Gonzalez approaching the front of the room, as he
opens the meeting up for questions. The residents bring up several
issues and concerns, which are then addressed by
Gonzalez. Then the issue of the homeless shelter is presented.
As the discussion about the shelter begins, I remember the men outside who gave me directions, despite their polite
mannerism towards me, I still expected to hear only
complaints from the neighboring residents about the
homeless being unwanted nuisances because
unfortunately that's how they're perceived.
However, Arla Ertz who lives close to the shelter at Third
Baptist Church begins by voiceing her compassion for the
homeless during the meeting. She explains, "Poverty
is a serious crisis. I would really like us to be
compassionate. I find the homeless to be very
respectful. I don't experience any noise from them."
Prior to the meeting I had spoken with another shelter resident, who stayed at a different shelter near Third Baptist Church. She
agreed with Ertz and explains, "I was treated well at
the shelter, and in turn, the homeless residents respected the neighbors."
Another resident of the Alamo Square neighborhood
named Steve Crosley said, "I am not so much bothered
by the homeless people themselves, but I feel that the
church should be more open about discussing the
shelter with the community."
Then Joseph from POOR Magazine suggested that we invite Amos Brown, Pastor of the Third Baptist Church, to the meeting so the neighbors could
voice their opinions about the homeless shelter since
he was actually present at church, but just not at the
meeting. However,Joseph's suggestion was not taken
into consideration because Captain Fagan of the SFPD
defended Pastor Brown, claiming that the invitation would
not be appropriate because it would not give Pastor Brown
enough prior notice. Matt Gonzalez then closes the
issue of the shelter by suggesting, "It would be a
good idea to call Brown to invite him to discuss the
issues about the shelter before we go any further."
Currently, there are several contradictory issues
surrounding the shelter at Pastor Brown's church because he
has been very outspoken about his views against the
homeless. The whole time he was a SF board supervisor he voted against all civil rights issues regarding issues of homelessness and poor people. Yet he decided to open a shelter for the
homeless at his church. In addition to this paradox,
Ertz explains that the shelter, which is scheduled to
close by the end of June is an "illegal shelter"
because Brown does not have a permit to run it either.
After the meeting, I spoke with Arla, a warm-hearted
woman who notified POOR Magazine of this meeting in
the first place due to her concern for the growing
Nimbyism in her neighborhood. She spoke with concern for the
homeless residents of the shelter in her calm and soothing voice.
My desire to understand the source of her compassion leads me to
asking her why she cares for the homeless. She
describes her job as the Program Director for
"Draw Bridge," which is an art program for homeless
children and how she was raised and taught to be
empathetic.
I leave the meeting and the afternoon sun has faded into a dark night sky. I walk past the shelter. I listen for the supposed noise claimed by the neighbors. Once again, I hear nothing but the occasional car and my quickly approaching bus.
Letter to POOR from Arla Ertz
I really appreciate the interest of the POOR staff, and I appreciate your following up on this issue. I went to another meeting on Wednesday. It wasn't a meeting of the neighborhood association, but of "McAllister Neighbors." These are folks who live closest to the Third Baptist Church, not the whole Alamo Square Neighborhood Association (ASNA) group. This meeting was specifically for neighbors concerned about the shelter.
This was the hardest meeting of my life so far, I think. I had no allies in
that room whatsoever. I found it disheartening to be so unheeded and to see
that I live among people whose classism runs so deep, yet they are clueless
about it and simply think they're right and that naturally everyone should
live like them. Anyway, I'm attaching the minutes of that meeting for you.
I notice that nothing I said appears in the minutes. It's like I wasn't
even there. I thought I presented myself very diplomatically and swallowed
a lot of things for the sake of maintaining a dialogue. However, at one
point when I proposed talking with the people at the church and inviting
someone from the Interfaith Council to be present, a woman there said, "Why
negotiate against yourself?" She said we must advocate to shut the shelter
down so the city will learn to do these things right. Another man lectured
me, saying we must advocate the same. I said I'd go a step farther and
suggested we advocate for housing that's affordable to poor and homeless
people and then they wouldn't even need shelters. The whole group
simultaneously shouted me down at that point.
Anyway, you get the idea. And as well, they rejected the idea of Matt
Gonzalez conducting mediation sessions. They said Amos Brown won't talk to
Matt Gonzalez.
"Working 9 to 5…"
Dolly Parton sang
But I’m bustin’ my butt 24/7
"I bring home the bacon…"
Remember that song
I’m bustin’ my butt keating leftovers
People say what goes around comes around
I’m bustin’ my butt
But no money is circling around me
Others say give and it will come back to you
My closet and heart are emptied
But bills are all I have received
Revolutionaries will die for the cause
But what is the real cause
They are busin’ their butts for
And striving to death
"Just give it time!"
Tell that to my pocket and stomach
Tick tick tick tick
Time is ticking and I am wasting away physically and mentally
Bustin’ my butt for what
Somebody ate my piece of the pie
The American Dream is a lie
My life is like Good Times
Busted my butt for that white paper so I get some green paper
But I was told I need more white paper
So I took out a loan
Now Uncle Sam wants some green paper for the white I received
I’m bustin’ my butt
But I’m still broke
Stress out and beat down
Need to calm down before I have a stroke
DAMO’s 1st Annual
Celebrating Ourselves
It was a beautiful day, not drop dead gorgeous. The sun raised up on August 30th 2000 and DAMO’s staff got busy. It was our first ever Celebrating Ourselves Blasting Stereotypes on Visible & Invisible Disabilities event at McLaren Park Amphitheater in San Francisco.
Walking like zombies, with sleep in our eyes, the DAMO staff crowed into the kitchen to make one hundred lunches, hang up posters and blow up balloons.. All the obstacles we had run into for the last three months of organizing this event , didn’t matter on this sunny morning. Like they say in Hollywood "the show must go on!". We descended on McLaren Park Amphitheater at 9:00am. And oh my God did the show ever go on!
Like busy ants we covered the Amphitheater and turned it into a rainbow of colors. Time was ticking away while the sun beamed down on us helping us relax. The feet of children and adults scrambled around the Amphitheater decorating the stage and the seats. The show was scheduled for 11:00-2:00 and we were doing good on time. For entertainment we had a raffle and prizes, a live DJ and dancers, a dance contest a poet, and yours truly was the first disabled black clown. For refreshments we had the lunches we packed plus 7UP and Frito Lays donated three cases of soda and chips.
The gates opened and we waited for our audience. The show stared at 12:00pm. (better late than never!). Idell Wilson and I welcomed the crowd. The sun spilled over the park and because of the heat I had to take off my blue, red and yellow clown wig. The DJ did not waste any time pumping up the crowd with our theme song. The whole show was like climbing a ladder: the poets, artists and the energy of the hosts with the hot licks of the DJ took everybody higher and higher.
At lunchtime everybody mingled and got to know the artists and the vision of DAMO. We raffled off toys, Tupperware and we even had a disabled Barbie! The most amazing element of the whole day was the children. Half the audience was teens and children. They made the show come together by dancing on stage and winning our raffles. They danced with disabled poets and artists without hesitation.
The show ended with a call for people to get involved in Disability Advocates of Minorities Organization (DAMO). We spoke of the emergency that disabled minorities are in today and expressed our need for help.
One last note: this event could not have happened without support from the Women’s Foundation, Bay Area Homeless Program, LA FAMILIA, 7-up Bottling Company, Frito Lays Company and all the artists and poets who participated. A big special thanks goes out to the staff of DAMO - especially Idell Wilson and her children.
DAMO plans to make Blasting Stereotypes on Invisible & Visible Disability an annual event! We’ll see you next year!
By Leroy F. Moore
Founder and Executive Director of
Disability Advocates of Minorities Org., DAMO
Po’lice brutality is a disease that has spread amongst and infected more than just the black and brown communities, and when it happens outside the “minority circle”, heads start to roll immediately. The response to SJ state student Phuong Ho’s unprovoked assault by po’lice was an typical outrage, but one can’t help but ask would Mr. ho’s unfortunate experience become the “posterboy” case of po’lice misconduct that leads the movement against po’lice terrorism?
No case of po’lice brutality should go unheard, nor unpunished. However, when someone from an non-black or non-brown nation falls victim to this illegal elimination process, the case usually becomes a high priority. Again it poses a question to rather if it is a “high priority”, or if the po’lice are simply being “corrected” for “overstepping boundaries” of “who to, and not to violate”. The recent rise of po’lice terror and murder, particularly in the Asian communities has gained a lot of media attention, but it must not overshadow the many lives already lost from this age-old method to “patrol and control”. The lesson learned here is that no non-white community is immune to this type of treatment, and that it is arrogant for ANY nation to turn its’ nose or head up to the fact that po’lice terror exists.
Another fact that receives little attention is the war the po’lice have declared on our youth. The children have been criminalized for not being able to rise above the oppression implemented with intentions on destroying them in the first place, thus resulting in a staggering rise of our children becoming a target for abuse and incarceration. Parents are constantly being denied the right to protect the well-being and destinies of the youth, while the nay saying political figures have unlimited means to systematically abuse our children.
National day of protest against police brutality took place this past Thursday (22nd) where families and survivors alike came in small masses to tell their stories. This was the national day that fallen comrades and leaders such as Idriss Stelley, Cameron Boyd, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Bobby Hutton and Chairman Fred Hampton were remembered. For some of us at the gathering, it was an almost-new experience, but for those such as myself it was a wound re-opener and a slap-in-the face fact that regardless of our heroes and sheroes’ waterfalls of bloodshed, the struggle continues.
Ode to Poverty Scholar Mary Ann Smith- Daughter of Dale Ray
by Dale Ray Smith and Tony Robles/PNN
The ancestral winds blow us across oceans and onto streets; the trees shed their leaves and return with the coming of the seasons. How many ancestors have the trees seen? How many times have we walked past the trees without looking, without honoring their presence? People appear and disappear, come and go in and out of our lives. I hear my father’s voice in the bamboo forests of Hawaii saying, life isn’t promised, we are all on our journey. Each person in our life serves a purpose, each with his or her unique heartbeat and way of laughing; each with a gift that is given to be given and given again in the cycle which is life.
I remember the day I met Mary Ann Smith. Her father Dale Ray saw me at the coffee shop on the corner of 6th and Market little more than a month ago. We greeted with a hug. “Hey, come outside for a minute” he said, “I want you to meet my daughter”. We walked over to the front of Jack’s Bar, that great place recently shut down due to gentrification. Mary Ann was with a group of friends in front of that closed down, boarded up bar. I could still hear the music and the lights inside Jack’s--black faces and black voices swirling with lights of all colors—men in slacks and women in thick makeup and the bathroom door with its loose hinges. Jack’s was my church and many people’s church. I know Mary Ann heard that music and felt the life of that place. Now it was boarded up and she was outside with the trees.
“This is my girl” Dale Ray said. Dale Ray hugged his daughter and said things that daddy’s say to their little girls, even when the girls aren’t little anymore. They hugged a hug that lasted a lifetime, a hug that said all the things that went unsaid through the seasons. Things like “Baby girl, I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t there but I’m here now”. Mary Ann took her father’s hand then let go. “I’m tired daddy”, she said, “I’m tired”. I watched and the trees watched as father and daughter embraced. Slowly the leaves of houselessness, gentrification, substance abuse, the death of her mother, the death of her boyfriend, foster homes, lost leases and many other things fell from the trees and onto the street. “It’s ok now”, Dale Ray says to the woman who is, was, will always be his little girl. Mary Ann looks at her daddy, the loneliness and anxiety between them melting in each other’s arms but knowing that it comes back like weeds—it’s hard, very hard to make it go away.
That was the only time I met Mary Ann Smith—poverty scholar and daughter of POOR Magazine’s author Dale Ray Smith. He informed me of Mary Ann’s death a few days ago. She passed away on January 3rd at the age of 36, a poverty scholar and native of San Francisco. “She was in and out of foster homes during my addiction”, says Dale Ray. “Her number one priority was getting back into her kid’s life. She was mother to Sharonda, Laron and Shalonte. Dale Ray’s voice cannot cover his sadness. “She was a beautiful person with a good heart. She would give you her last dime”. Mary Ann lost her mother to a car accident 5 years ago. Her sister Carmen remembers. “She drank but not heavy until her mom passed”.
I walk past Jack’s on 6th street. I see the trees dance to the voices of those whose spirits sing in the Market Street wind. Mary Ann Smith’s voice sings and is not forgotten. Her voice sings with her mother who are finally reunited singing the sweet mother-daughter song that was meant to be sung without pain as the trees dance the ancestral dance honoring their lives.
Editor’s note: POOR Magazine is asking the community to help the Smith family at this time. Contributions can be made by Contacting Tiny at (510)435-7500
I like Mike, still do. Truth be told, I didn’t buy the later albums and I only watched the Thriller video once or twice. To me, Michael was at his best when he was singing with his brothers. I loved the way Michael and Jermaine switched lead roles and the way the Jackson Five moved across our black and white TV set and living room floor. How could he move like that, such a young boy?
He seemed more than human, super-talented, in command. Of course he owed a debt to the singers that came before: James Brown, Jackie Wilson, Billy Stewart and others. Of course there’s the debt to Berry Gordy for signing him and his brothers to Motown but let’s not forget the secretary at Motown who kept bugging Mr. Gordy to give the group a shot, a listen. To me, Michael was the young kid at the forefront of the Jackson Five, wearing those cool hats and singing with a range and emotion beyond his years.
I talked to one of my coworkers, a musician. We debated which song was Michael’s best. We pondered the songs in our minds—too many to remember—too many great albums. I said, “Got to be there” and “Never can say goodbye”. He shook his head in agreement. A few minutes later he said, “What about Working Day and Night” from the “Off the Wall” album. The debate goes on, as we work day and night.
To me, “Thriller” was both Michael’s biggest success and biggest downfall. The best selling album of all time. How do you top that? He tried. The songs crossed over radio formats, songs like “Beat it”. I remember a radio DJ announcing the song, not mentioning Michael but proclaiming “That was Eddie Van Halen on guitar”.
It’s hard to stay on top. Michael did it for nearly 4 decades. To call him the king of pop is an insult. Somehow, genius doesn’t quite apply either. But for all his success, he had insecurities, fears, doubts—just like the rest of us—perhaps even more so. I like to think of Michael as a soul singer, a great soul singer. Is there more to it than that?
The media has been very disrespectful in its coverage of Michael. The media has made millions off Michael in life, and continues to thrive after his death. The drug allegations, the vilification of father Joe Jackson, his finances and the child molestation allegations have been the subject of talk shows while hosts have shown little compassion or empathy to the Jackson family. But, like millions, I sit and watch as these half-talents spew their disrespect through the clogged up cables reaching into millions of homes sponsored by companies whose products clog our arteries as well as our minds.
The man was the best in the world at his profession for nearly 40 years. Do you know anybody personally that is or was the best in the world at anything for 10 years, 10 minutes, 10 seconds? Tell me, do you?
If intelligent, elderly women
create wealth by joining investing clubs.
American workers can too.
by Joe B.
America Loves Consummers,
let's consume shares of
Multi National Corporations.
We worker's can Share Wealth locally and globally.
Blue, pink, white, or no collars, skilled, unskilled, low wage-working poor families, homeless people, single mother's, father's [who's work is not counted.]
hollywood talent, to hi-tech folks; we all have one thing in common we're all WORKERS.
Some are paid better salaries, weekly, hourly wages but We Are All WORKERS.
My plan:Worker's Inc. It includes Pooling our collective experiences and/or expertise in economics, and spread the wealth locally.
That's step 1) step 2) is pooling monies of many workers in investment clubs, economic enclaves with retired stock brokers or pentioners as instructors teaching insider skills to working poor, homeless people or anyone willing to learn the true realities of local and international economic systems.
Step 3) Spreading the wealth to people who really need it like elderly with with cronic illnessess, war veterans, sick and dying children, or fast tracking renewable alternative energy research and development.
Step 4) Global Spread of the monies made by Worker's.
International Money Market fund investing keeps
diversifying, dividing as workers help others as they've been helped keeping Worker's Corp. or Inc. vibrant and strong.
Owning large chunks of American real estate either swampland, desert, or land deemed worthless could be a first way of getting off-world to be independent of all governments.
Using Capitalism against Capitalism may sound like an oxymoron in this case it just might work.
Because we workers know the money talks and BS walks. Let's form many W.I./W.B.A. [Worker's Inc, Worker
Buy America concloms of our own.
I know working poor and homeless America and abroad can do much better than Multi Nationals. Isn't it about time to really BUY AMERICA?".
Remember:If art work, begging netted us 30, 50, to 100,000 dollars quickly magically we're no longer working poor or homeless folk but entrepreneurial geniuses instead.
P.S. Any suggestions to get this rolling or improving on this concept?
New Deal, How about women Paying
$10 or more for clubbing while men
go for free?
More men in clubs, woman ask them
to dance and go through light to heavy
rejection(s).
For the first time, a real
equal playing field of the sexes
at least in Dance Bar/Clubs.
by Joe B.
Part of my short life I was a serious, bookworm, introverted, and extremely shy and sensitive to cracks about my lazy left eye from both boys and girls.
I could understand the guys its one less kid to worry about for dates if you sought them out for ridicule and abuse soon they’d be the odd one out.
It worked up to a point is when one constantly tries to join an in-group that want one to be on the outs sadly, it pretty well happen.
Dosen’t it seem it’s the outs that change the world along with a few joiners?
Anyway skip a few years of bumming to Los Angeles, being an extra in a movie or two, getting laid and finding you were never odd or different just perceived that way and though its old news those psychological scars remain.
Also in high school and later I always the next wave of things tried to tell people and then when it happened was looked at as a freak for knowing.
Its still this way and with this expanding war all I want me an people to do is "Live Through This" so its not only technology that shows what happens through sound bites but people too who’ve experienced it from the youngest antiwar protester to the oldest soldier returning from Iraq.
I have my own personal quest which doesn’t involve staying glued to radio or T. V. mesmerized by flicker night and day time bombings of holy cities and people in the cradle of civilization.
If anyone’s read that stupid online dating statement by someone being way too honest.
I though of trying LAVA LIGHT or whatever that phone chat is instead of placing my photo on line then again why not do both; I’ve always said "get rid of the no rejections first ; a thousand no’s means nothing but one yes is priceless."
Recently I’ve gone into bars, some dance clubs with a friend or two found it exhilarating and expensive with certain type of clothes to wear, drink prices and when asking women to dance actually enjoying a yes once in a while.
However my job is low wage even now I must put a catalog together spreading our author’s (including me) recent publications.
If anyone knows about self publishing and placing orders, getting at a bookstand to be sold and making little if now money from it then that’s where I and other author’s of POOR Magazine is at now.
I save the red paper for my own kind of work. Red paper goes good with gore, lurid titles, and writings POOR may not make that will not be part of.
Yes, I’ve been accused of writing porn but in my defense poor folks in Single Occupancy Housing or One Room Occupancy have the same physical needs as anyone else and because it difficult if not impossible to wine, dine, and a woman or man before taking them to your abode and have a desk clerk ask for their Identification Card to keep.
They do this not to embarrass you or your date It’s the rules of S R O’s for securities sake but it does get in the way especially if you’re the date in question.
Personally, I’d rather be at the woman’s place then she’s feels more comfortable, has power over the situation and can say no if she really feels it and not forced into what she does not want beside my room is so barren of flowers, pictures, cluttered, smelly, and dirty she’d really have to like me, be horny as hell, or both to get it on there.
Notice I haven’t talked about the war because that’s all lots of people have talked off, listened too, feared, and whispered. I’m taking a brake from the war at least for few days.
What to do, cannot afford dance clubs with suits, drinks, and especially girls-free-men-pay cover charges. I know there are places without cover charges but isn’t it time for women to pay and men to go in for free? I know, that goes against the grain, women still earn less than men, and if you can’t pay don’t go.
If wimin want so much to be equal why don’t they open a few dance club/bars charging their wimin to get in and men go free then the balance would be more men for each woman.
Except for lesbian it would still be free but with money made from drinks.
I was told any long establishment like this would lose money and be out of business if what I suggested was tried.
The only answer I had to that was that many more clubs can try it all over San Francisco and across the bay area it would become trendy that women pay and there would be a feeling of equality that it is now men who are being wooed and asked to dance by women also taking the chance of rejection.
See what I mean, being far seeing what I’ve said will happen, wimin will see it as another step in their freedom but maybe I’m wrong and they would rather be the ones giving out cell phone numbers deciding to call or not call guys instead of they being on the male side of worry.
But if one wants to continue the equal rights gambit this and others way might be one of many ways to go.
I have to fold the catalogs someone else will staple them.
It has to be done and I’m elected.
Men can help too by creating men friendly clubs those who a few clubs can try in and if it doesn’t work they can return to what make money for them.
So, Wimin, men, club owners what do ‘ya think is it possible or do we all wait another half century or the next to even up this pay for play?
Meanwhile I’ll look for bars that I don’t have to dance in even if I have to pay a cover charge and might as well have a full belly even I don’t have a date. …Bye.
The sun is the way, I can not see, if the light is red or green or even yellow. �why?� you ask why? Because many days and night�s are many. Red lights to me. The at the time the government like for me
