Story Archives

by Chance Martin-Coalition on Homelessness

4/7/01 -- 12:15 p.m.

I just got off the phone with Anita (not her real name), who called us
collect from jail.

When you receive a collect call from jail here in SF, you get one of those
female robot (fembot?) voices: "THIS IS A COLLECT CALL FROM

*** (real voice)
'Anita' *** AN INMATE AT THE SAN FRANCISCO COUNTY JAIL. TO ACCEPT

THE CALL

PRESS '0' NOW. TO BLOCK FURTHER CALLS FROM THIS FACILITY PRESS '1' NOW"

(which blocks your phone from EVER receiving a collect call from the jail
facility).

Being mostly human (even five minutes after walking into the office on a
Saturday, and I hadn't had any coffee yet), I press '0'.

Then the voice comes on and says: "YOU HAVE JUST ACCEPTED A CALL FROM AN INMATE AT THE SAN FRANCISCO COUNTY JAIL."

The caller gets to hear all of this too.

We know Anita. She's struggling with homelessness along with her partner
Brian (not his real name). We had helped them help themselves to the point
where they were going to move into an SRO hotel room, which is a pretty
sorry accomplishment, but the rains have been cold and regular lately. They
were supposed to move in last Friday, but then Anita got picked up by SFPD
on an old petty theft beef she walked away from five or six years ago.
Because she never took care of the charge, she can't be "cited out" or
released on her own recognizance. We were trying to help by getting her
mom's number so her mom could bail her out, then she could find her Brian
somewhere on these fabled streets of San Francisco, and they could see if
their room was still available. Not too hard, right? Well hang on, 'cause
here's where it gets difficult.

Anita has Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. Not exactly what one
might consider to be the kind of disability that lends itself easily to
enforced confinement. Exercise and cannabis are what she usually uses to
manage this situation, having successfully kicked drugs and alcohol for some
years now. But there's no room to run or play hacky-sack with a paper wad in
the new jail, and pot is pretty much out of the question. You can't even
smoke cigarettes in the state-of the-art facility behind 850 Bryant Street
in San Francisco.

When Anita comes on the phone, she's ping-ponging between panic and
hysteria. Seems a few days ago she was so feeling so frustrated and defeated
and alone she was sitting on the floor of her cell, weeping uncontrollably.
But here in San Francisco, this shining beacon of enlightenment, our jails
are equipped to accommodate prisoners with disabilities. She was placed in a
suicide watch "tank" or cell, better known to the City and County of San
Francisco's women prisoners as the "naked cell." It's called that because
they strip you of your clothing and then place you in five-point restraints
in a cell with a window behind which a guard sits to watch you and whoever
else has merited such special attention 24 unending hours a day.

While Anita was there, one guard, a white male guard named Allen (his real
name), became so moved (or aroused) by Anita's helpless state that he became
especially interested in her. He stood inside the naked cell with Anita for
some considerable length of time and teased her about her remarkable lack of
body hair (Anita is Native American).

Anita was finally released from the naked cell, and placed in a tank where
all the other women are detoxing cold-turkey from heroin. This is only a
very small step down from the naked cell -- the women in this tank are all
sick and miserable as hell, and there is not one scrap of anything that
isn't a bare wall or mattress: no sheets, no books or magazines, no cards or
checkerboard, no paper or pencils, no tv, no toiletries, not even
toothbrushes. The toilet is starkly exposed to any guard who happens by, and
dirt and garbage accumulates in the filthy cell’s corners.

Rita (not her real name), one of the other women in the "kick tank" with
Anita, has diabetes and epilepsy, and no medication. She's been suffering
seizures with hellish regularity, but her pleas for medical treatment are
ignored by the guards. The condition the jail staff places on Anita if she
doesn't want to return to the naked cell is that she is to do nothing
without a guard's permission except sit still on her mattress.

Here’s the inevitable dilemma: while I'm trying to support Anita’s effort to
regain some precious little bit of composure so I can give her mom's phone
number to her, she realizes she has nothing to write it down with. She has
nothing she can even use to scratch it on the surface of the walls or floor.
She has come so close to getting the seven digits that represent her ticket
out of the beast's belly (she's been there since before last Friday) and now
she's stymied once more. She starts getting really shaky again; the little
voice in the back of my head is telling me if she gets too animated behind
her frustration the guard is going to put her back in the naked cell and she
won't have another opportunity to arrange bail until next week.

I listen to Anita. I tell her that we're going to stay on the line together
until the panic passes, no matter how long that takes. I tell her I think we
can figure this one out between us. The storm begins to ebb -- I know we're
making real progress when Anita manages a rueful, shaky laugh at the insane
irony of this inhumane, screwed-up situation. We talk about Brian: had we
seen him? We talk about how she's going to find him when she's finally
released.

We talk about preparing a deposition about what happened in the naked cell.

Then Anita says: "Hey! There's a metal mirror here, and I think I can smear
the number in the soap scum on it!" (I knew you had it in ya, sis!) We share
a hearty, victorious laugh. I give her the number. I ask her to repeat it
back to me. That's correct! We share a few words of relieved, relaxed,
normal conversation. I ask her to read the number back to me again. She's
got it. Anita won.

I tell Anita that she'd better call her mom before they finally clean the
metal mirror in the women's detox tank (yeah, fat chance). We laugh about
that for a moment. I ask her to come to the Coalition's office after she
gets out so we can document the many violations she has been victim to --
let's fight these guys, ok?

More words of encouragement, then Anita and I disconnect.

Now I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I'm setting all this down,
other than for documentation purposes. It's because this is a very real look
into San Francisco's "homeless policy" that is rarely considered by anyone
who hasn't been homeless. It describes a very small part of the terrible and
relentless violation of the civil and human rights of poor people that is
standard operational procedure in this city.

It's because Anita would have been off the streets and safe with her partner
this past week if the "status crime" of her homelessness didn't give some
zealous "quality of life" enforcer probable cause to detain her and imprison
her because of a five year old bench warrant.

It's because if we are ever going to organize together for justice, then we
must organize with people like Anita, and me, and every other luckless soul
who ever got drafted into America's War on the Poor.

It's because an injury to one is an injury to all.

--

Not to know is bad.

Not to want to know is worse.

Not to hope is unthinkable.

Not to care is unforgivable.

-Nigerian saying

by Staff Writer

My views are three fold:

1) Grow and separate the brain stem, keeping the body and it parts in cold storage until parts are need. The clone: essentially bag-a-flesh.

2) Regenerate some or all body parts in artificial, sterile environments,
modified genes improves and makes younger, stronger, more resilient, longer lasting regenerative parts that slowly makes us better built humans.

3) A full body clone with tougher, improved, longer lasting, regenerative
adaptive powers would have full brain function though in a mechanized coma until the neural net of a healthy or dying human can place her or his electrochemical personality in the perfectly functioning clones brain.

The machine maintaining the simulated Coma State is disconnected in stages
as the original person’s brain patterns placed in the clone.

This process recreates a better, longer lived and possibly smarter human if extra and improved brain cells can also be added.
There are more ideas on this but these are some of my views.

The above might offend many of religious, scientific, or philosophical on ethical grounds.

Please have dialogues, discussions on this an other emerging applied technologies so proper guidelines and laws will be in place before… ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE… AGAIN!

Please send donations to Poor Magazine C/0 Ask Joe at 255 9th St. Street, San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail: PO Box 1230 #645
Market St. San Francisco, CA 94102
Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Challa Tabeson

Some 80 San Francisco homeless families marched on City Hall last Tuesday,
where all three freshmen supervisors-Sandoval, Newman, and Maxwell-were
holding hearings. The protesters, loud and unstoppable, called for the
abolition of Mayor Brown's "Merry-Go-Round" policy which forces homeless
families with children out of city shelters. They also called for the implementation of a citywide "No Turn Away" policy at shelters that serve homeless families.

Homeless parents and their children demanded a home to call their own. "We
want permanent housing! We need permanent affordable housing!" Right now!
Currently, no less than one hundred homeless families walk the dark and
dangerous streets of San Francisco on any given night. Looking at the
1999/2000 census, over 50 percent of homeless children are under the age of
five, as documented by the SF homeless advocacy group Connecting
Point(Gateway). The total number of homeless children is just over 4,041.

Homeless children and their families are among the fastest growing segments
of the city's homeless population. These children are often forced to live
inunsafe and unhealthy conditions because of lack of shelter space. They
are more likely to have poor health compared to other children. They are
four times more likely to have delayed development-homeless families are
often subject to hunger and malnutrition. Homeless children and youth also
face multiple barriers to educational achievement.

The facts seem terribly troubling, considering that 14,675 people are
currently on the Section 8 waiting list for public housing units, with
another 9,700 waiting for rental vouchers or certificates. An average San
Francisco family on welfare receives $611 per month; a full-time minimum
wage earner would have to work 53 hours per week to pay for the average one
bedroom apartment, leaving $0 for other expenses.

The Department of Human Services has been quietly working with the Mayor's
Office on Homelessness to limit the use of hotel vouchers, making them
valid only at the Family Resource Center (FRC), which is situated out in
the Bayview Hunters Point District of San Francisco. This would stifle
citywide access for homeless families using hotel vouchers. "But it wasn't
fair to pit the Homeless Coalition against Bayview's Connecting Point...all
we wanted was to find out what Sojourner Truth was doing with
children from the Child Protective Services," responded Bianca, of SF Shelter Outreach Projects. Under this model program, the hotel vouchers would be available only to those families in need of housing who are engaged in family preservation services at the FRC.

Director of Department of Homeless and Housing, Maggie Donahue, towed the
party line during the hearing sessions, by blatantly interrupting
testimonies on abuses homeless families had suffered at the hands of some
homeless protective programs. The mayor's strong-armed lieutenant, spoke at
length about a five-part scheme to confront the San Francisco housing
struggle which included phasing out the Hotel Vouchers Program at
Connecting Point(CP) started early last year.

"We feel that the Connecting Point program was never designed to be what it
became via the hotel vouchers--a provider of temporary shelter for families
throughout the Bay Area," according to a February 20 memo from Donahue to
the Coalition on Homelessness. She went on to make light of what effect
this would have on homeless families, "CP will now be able to more
productively utilize staff time and resources to act as a broker for
emergency services, prevention services, and other information and referral
services for families who are in crises."

Not a few hopes were dashed upon the phasing out of the Hotel Voucher
Program at Connecting Point in March. The opening of the family shelter at
260 Golden Gate, which can boast only 6 new beds for the hoard of waiting
homeless families is hardly an answer. Or should we be speaking of the
three new medical hotel rooms at Hamilton Family Emergency Center, which
provide a "net gain of 103 beds to the system after the CP closed the doors
to its hotel rooms?" as stated by DHS

"They (CP) don't even go by what they say..." rebuked TJ, who, with wife,
who is six-months pregnant, recently found refuge at St. Joseph House, a
center for homeless families with special needs, "They turned us away when
me and my wife couldn't make it any other way."

According to Sondra Stewart of Family Rights and Dignity, "City Hall is
playing a shell game-robbing Peter to pay Paul..." No less than a 100
families wait for emergency shelter every night here in the city of San
Francisco, "...this is just one more proof of how the City de-prioritizes
families." The massive number of homeless mothers and children certainly
had a unified voice at City Hall, as they spoke out against the forced
merry-go-round they have been on, and called on the Finance Committee of
the Board of Supervisors to fully implement the "No Turn-Away Policy" for
families with children at risk.

The vision was that an additional family shelter would increase existing
shelter beds for homeless families, not that it would replace the Waller
Street location or the Hotel Voucher Program. Instead of the proposed 35
family total capacity, only 15 emergency beds placements were made
available to the City for homeless families with children. Where do the
rest go from here?

In a united effort to ensure that supervisors take appropriate steps to
address the ever-growing housing crisis among homeless families in San
Francisco, homeless advocacy organizations-including the Civil Rights
Committee, Family Rights & Dignity, Hogares Sin Barreras, Shelter Outreach,
Street Sheet, POOR Magazine and Substance Abuse & Mental Health coalitions-have taken the matter to City Hall. These organizations joined forces with homelessfamilies present at the Tuesday hearings, demanding that the City enact their outlined "twelve commandments."

Along with several homeless advocacy coalitions in San Francisco, the
homeless families presented numerous stipulations that the Board of
Supervisors should reimplement the 1998 No Turn Away resolution designed to ensure that no child will ever be abandoned to the mean streets.

by Alison VanDeursen

The opening shot is of a narrow, rocky San Francisco Bay beach. The sky
is grey; the low, rolling waves fall into the shore, scattering gulls.
Then a cut to the back of a woman watching the beach, and my own voice
wonders aloud, "Where did all the birds go?"

Yes, my voice. I had the honor of participating in Ken Moshesh's artistic
documentary "Just Trying to Sleep," and I now have the pleasure of
introducing it to the readers of POOR. I learned more about Ken Moshesh
and his groundbreaking court case by watching his video. And, I want you
to know, by knowing and working with Ken Moshesh, I have learned more
about my self.

"Where did all the birds go?" rang to us as an accidental but apt metaphor
for the subject of this video: homeless people of the Bay Area and of the
entire nation. When the night falls, where do homeless people go to
sleep? And what happens to them there?

What has happened to Ken Moshesh in Berkeley are citations,
criminalization, and incarceration. He spent five days in jail for the
"crime" of sleeping outside, and faces 45 days for "violating" his
probation- i.e., sleeping outside again. (Where else can he sleep? The
shelters are full!) He has been banned from the campus of UC Berkeley,
where he once taught and where he now produces his award-winning videos.
["Endangering the Species", Excellence in Ethnography award, Berkeley Film Festival, 2000].

The "crime" Moshesh is being charged with is called 647j. It is
erroneously known as the "Lodging Law," and it targets those who "set up
lodgings" illegally. One fundamental problem with this law, as outlined
by Moshesh and attorney Osha Neumann in the video, is that "lodging" is a
vague term. What it means to "lodge" has never been defined. Thus, this
law violates the constitutional right to due process. As Neumann says,
"If you can't tell what the crime is," then how can you be prosecuted for
it?

One thing is undeniably true: sleeping is not a crime. It is a fundamental
human right, let alone a biological need. Moshesh refuses to be bullied by a compassionless and unjust system, andis challenging the constitutionality of the Berekeley law. Read: This is huge, folks. This is history.

The video highlights the words of some of the major activists in Berkeley
and the Bay Area, expressing their opinions about homelessness policy in
general and Ken's case in particular. It is controversial, as my friend
Dave and I watched the video and spent an hour debating what a "basic
human right" really is. It is artistic, and my roommate Jonathan, himself
a documentary filmmaker, found its creativity refreshing. There are lots
of unusual camera angles- those are my green Converse shot against the
levee! In my mind, the many shots of shoes and cold, hard ground suggest
the struggle of homeless folks. This may not be a slick production, but
it is originally crafted and thought-provoking.

Perhaps my favorite scene in the video is that of Ken playing drums by the
beach, the audio overlapping shots of Ken convincing Greg Syren, the
Public Defender, why this case is so important. The beats are throbbing,
quick, and unrelenting, both peaceful music and a battle cry. This is Ken
Moshesh: articulate spokesman for homeless folks within the Berkeley
courthouse, and an intense musician inspired by our natural environment.

Ken Moshesh, staff writer and poet for POOR Magazine and www.poornewsnetwork.org is also a filmmaker, musician, a poet, orator, and
activist. He is also homeless. He is also a wonderful person with a
generous heart and a teacher's spirit. Ken has encouraged me to explore
and push beyond my own artistic boundaries, and though I cringe a bit
hearing my voice reciting his beautiful poetry- and singing(!)- I am proud
to have been a part of this project- and he won't let me rest! Ken Moshesh
is a peaceful and inspirational soul and artist, and it would be a true
crime were he to be incarcerated again for "Just Trying to Sleep."

Check out this powerful piece on
Berkeley Public Access Channel 25!!! as well it is available by writing to Po'Products c/o POOR Magazine 255 9th street SF, Ca 94103

by Takuya Arai/PNN (edited by Dee Gray)

Currently, I share a house with four other students like myself. As well, on most days there are six or seven more people in our house at any given time because we invite our friends over. Mine is a large household. Since PG&E started charging more for their utility services, we have not been using the gas heater, even for cold nights. Our dishwasher has been unused for weeks. Despite our efforts, the energy bill has kept mercilessly increasing. Everytime I open the PG&E bill, I feel like I am receiving a graded exam from my professor.

For low-income people, increased energy costs pose the serious threat of losing access to the basic necessities of life. On March 27, as California residents’ discontent heightened, Medea Benjamin from Global Exchange, a non-profit organization based in San Francisco, protested against the approval of the 46 percent rise in electricity prices at the State Public Utilities Commission in San Francisco. Medea Benjamin ran for the U.S. Senate in the last election as a Green Party candidate. Although dealing with the energy crisis was not her agenda, she is now actively involved in it.

The office of Global Exchange is on Mission Street in San Francisco. Unlike the other parts of the city, the Mission District is filled with the liveliness and vitality of the Latino community. I noticed that there were more people on the street than in other parts of the town and there were different generations of people, such as little kids, young couples, people at work carrying stuff, mothers with babies, and elders on the street. Despite its geographical proximity to my house, I felt like I had come to Latin America.

The sophisticated arrangement in the office and the multi-racial working environment of Global Exchange impressed me. The receptionist told me that I could sit on the sofa to wait for Medea Benjamin, who was in a meeting. When she came out ten minutes later, I did not recognize her. She looked a lot smaller than the picture I’d seen of her in the New York Times. We both sat on a big comfortable couch and introduced ourselves . As a matter of fact, this was my first serious interview, and I think I appeared very nervous to her. People were walking by us, but it helped to create friendly atmosphere for me.

First we talked about the role of the PUC, which is responsible for providing California utility customers with safe, reliable utility service at reasonable rates. I read this in the PUC mission statement.

“It seems like what they are doing to us is the total opposite of what they are saying. It even sounds ironic and it is hypocritical. What do you think about this?” I asked as my first question.

“They are violating their own mandate.” Medea Benjamin replied in a soft voice. “If they continue on this path, this won’t even be the end of the rate increases. Companies are responsible for the crisis, whether it is the utility companies or the wholesale energy suppliers. And somehow, between the two types of companies, they’ve got to figure it out and pay for it.” Frankly , I was glad that she answered me with a sincere attitude as I was a little anxious that she might not take me seriously. Firstly, she does not know anything about me and secondly, I am just a reporter who has never done this kind of thing before.

Loretta Lynch, the president of the PUC, said that the light power users would face little rate increase compared to the heavy power users. But these power rate hikes will ultimately hit the residents of California. Those heavy power users, or the commercial power customers, will be forced to pass on their higher electricity costs by increasing the prices of their products or services.

Medea Benjamin agreed on this point. She said, “Businesses are going to pass on [the cost] to the consumers. So, if you buy food, if you ever go to a restaurant, if you go to the laundromat, if you go to Walgreen’s, wherever you go to make purchases, you are going to feel the increase in prices.”

The other thing that she pointed out is what is called the “baseline”. PUC and other utility companies determine who is going to get the rate increase depending on a certain baseline. That baseline is determined by region and by season but they do not set this baseline by how many people are in each house.

“If you are a poor family, living six, seven, or eight people in a household because you cannot live on your own, have extended family of grand parents, kids, you will use more energy. So you will be in a category of the “energy hog”. So, it actually discriminates against larger family or larger households.” Medea said the way that they are deciding who will get the rate hike is unfair and the PUC and other utility companies should change this way of looking at and trying to solve the problem.

There are many large families and large households, particularly in poor communities. Lorena, who works with us at POOR News Network, lives with 14 roommates in a two-bedroom apartment in the Mission District. She shares one bedroom with four other adults. Over the past three months, she saw the apartment’s energy bill increase by more than 60 percent. “My roommates do not have jobs. They are looking for a job. I do not know if we can afford to pay more for electricity.” Lorena said in English, which she does not use very often.

Although the PUC states that anybody who is low income can get subsidies for their energy, the program is very limited and only helps low-income people for three months. With one quarter of children in California living in poverty, it is impossible to cover all of them. In addition, how are they going to subsidize the majority of seniors who live on a fixed income?

“We should also remember the middle-class people.” Medea Benjamin said. “This can be very devastating for them because the middle class has really been hit hard by the cost of living. Many middle-class families are hanging on by a thread as well. They have high debts, high mortgage payments, high expenses related to child bearing, high cost of health care, so this does not just affect the poor. It also affects the middle class.” During the interview, somebody important called her and she had to take the call. She came back in less than one minute, but the telephone was ringing incessantly and I could hear many people in the conference room, where she had been.

In 1996, then-Governor Pete Wilson, a Republican, signed the bill that deregulated and dismantled California's electric utilities in the name of lower consumer power bills. I learned in school that the whole notion of deregulation is to promote free competition, so that companies that have the most efficient operations, and management can offer their services and products at the lowest price, which should be beneficial to the consumers. Advocates of Social Darwinism say that the winners in competition will bring the most benefits to the consumers and hence to the society. However, what is actually happening is the opposite. Those two utility companies have not been able to pay the energy wholesalers who raised energy prices after the deregulation. Those utility companies are now passing on the higher energy costs to the consumers.

“Do you think that the deregulation is the cause of the entire rate hike, or was this just a part of the scheme for them to get more money from the final consumers?” I asked.

“I think both. I think the deregulation has been absolutely disastrous. This was sold to the people of California as a way to reduce rates by at least 20 percent. We were told that the deregulation would lower consumer prices because of increased competition and we see it went from regulated cartel to deregulated or unregulated cartel. I think it is also a part of the scheme that the companies themselves have pressured the politicians to implement the deregulation as a way for them to make very obscene levels of profit.” She answered.

I kept thinking about things that I had learned in school, such as deregulation, lobbying, privatization, competition, etc. I was taught that those things bring prosperity to both business and the consumer. When we had discussions in class, I learned to use business jargon and got used to talking like a senior executive of a company. I remembered what I was studying and thought that my mindset was so one-dimensional.

Because of this rate hike, two utility companies are getting a lot of revenue, but at the same time, the wholesale price increased more than 10 fold last year. Even with increased revenue from higher prices, the two utility companies are unable to pay 13 billion dollars in months of outstanding debt to the wholesaler.

“What do you think is the best solution for all these rate hikes?” I asked, a basic question.

“I think the only solution is public power.” She replied right away. “We put both the generators of electricity and transmission and distribution of electricity in the hands of public entities.” She argued that privately owned utility companies have, “no incentive for conservation.”

Before the crisis, cities like Sacramento and Los Angeles had lower utility rates, better programs for conservation of energy, and better programs for uses of renewable sources of energy. Those cities that have their own public utilities have been sheltered from the crisis to a large extent. She insists that we should have municipal utility districts that are locally controlled and locally managed and they should be coordinated at the statewide level by a public power authority.

“If we have public power locally controlled where the interest is not profit for the shareholders, but the interest is providing precisely what is the mission statement of the public utilities, which is reliable sources of energy at affordable prices. I would add into that, reliable sources of clean energy at affordable prices. Then we can really make tremendous progress in cutting down our use of energy and getting off of our treadmill of using more and more fossil fuels.

She indicated that the company should, “divide themselves into the profit making and the non-profit making parts. There are certain things in modern day society that are too important to be left to the manipulation of the market place, things like water, energy, education and health care. These things need to be in the public sector.”

As we finished the interview, I thanked Medea Benjamin for her time and sincere responses to my questions. My hands were sweating but my tense mind was relieved. I stepped outside the building and thought it would have been great if I smoked a cigarette, but I decided not to because I quit smoking last year. However, and more importantly, I was encouraged to know that there was another person fighting hard for the public’s interest.

by Barbra Huntley-Smith

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free; The wretched refuse of your
teeming shores, send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to
me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

These are the words engraved upon the Statue of Liberty in the New York Harbor. These words represent a symbol of welcome and hope for the immigrants who came to America during the years 1800 to 1954. These words have brought every known emotion of joy to all those immigrants who saw that gigantic monument, her torch held high to the heavens. I believe that to those arriving, Lady Liberty represented an endowment of Grace they had never known until the moment their eyes beheld her.

America! A land flowing with milk and honey! A land that held hopes of a new and different life! As history has recorded, these immigrants have been essential in the building of what is now the Superpower of the world, the great United States of America. Though Ellis Island was not without problems, what was accomplished there was a Herculean venture that no country in the world at that time had undertaken to help the assimilation of those entering a new land.

It is now two hundred years later. It was 5:15 A.m. on a blustery, cold Friday morning: January 5, 2001 at the Immigration of Naturalization Service (INS) in downtown Los Angeles. Before my eyes were "huddled masses." I was in a state of step-frozen, jaw-dropping sock as I viewed this sea of blanketed forms, huddled together all along the pavement surrounding the INS building. Regaining my composure, I walked up to one of the blanketed persons and inquired what was happening. "Is this your first time?" she asked. I said yes, and she pointed to the huddled masses and explained that they had physically been there since midnight. I asked what time she had arrived, and she told me 2:00 a.m. She was far from the start of the line.

I asked where I could find the end of the line, and she waved me forward to Aliso Street, then toward Alameda Street. I thanked her, and began to experience the new meaning of "your tired, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

My first impression of this horrible picture, so early in the morning, will be etched in my memory for a long time to come. As I trekked down the sidewalk, negotiating my way through standing huddled masses, minding traffic, I accidentally stepped onto the lawn area and tripped. I discovered that the lawn had been sprinkled earlier, which explained why the masses of people were standing two feet into the street. This was the scene all along Aliso Street and down Alameda Street.

I joined the line three fourths of the way to the corner of Alameda and Temple Streets. By 6:00 a.m., the standing masses were rounding the corner of Temple Street. It was cold, even for a Midwesterner. There in the line I was schooled on the horrors of experience by people I will call the "Regulars." As they spoke, there was an air of fear, contempt, and loathing for "this place." The object of their contempt was "Room 1001." I reminisced about the events that had brought me to this place on this cold morning.

Many unforeseen events had invaded my life the past year, and time away seemed to be the most appropriate action to take in rebuilding my life. Travelling by train from the Midwest, I was treated to the glory and grandeur of this wonderful country. The view form the train at that mile-high elevation was prodigiously breathtaking. No two sceneries were alike. Overlooking one of the many great expanses were snow-capped mountains, and gorges that were awe-inspiring and frightening. Brilliant shades of changing foliage nestled beneath the silver reflection of the glistening snow. It was as though the four seasons had met, and in perfect union displayed their offerings. As I watched with wide-eyed awe the train's slow and deliberate negotiation of this rugged terrain as it descended into the plains, I introspectively declared, "Truly, humanity has had dominion over the earth."

I disembarked in Sacramento with hopes of a new beginning. However, my hopes would soon be dampened as I was informed that my credentials were not sufficient to secure a California Department of Motor vehicles (DMV) Identification, even though I had been verified as a Naturalized Citizen. The Sacramento County officials gave me the information necessary to reapply for a copy of my Naturalization Certificate, and the application was forwarded to the INS. The application was dated April, 2000, and I was informed that it would take from six to eight weeks for a reply. Hopes restored.

After waiting eight months, I came to Los Angeles, hoping for better success in obtaining this document. My experience with the County of Sacramento officials lulled me into believing that things would be manageable in Los Angeles. What I found was a journalistic thesis. After visiting a Traveler's Aid office, I was sent to the County of Los Angeles Aid office for assistance. They in turn sent me to the INS office for verification of citizenship status. It was near closing when I arrived at the office, where access was granted by ringing a bell and state one's purpose. I was admitted and surrendered my application from the County Social Worker and within five minutes I was declared an authenticated citizen. With the INS sealed document in hand, I commented to the officer, "My problems are now over, I can now get my California Identification." She looked at me with a smile that said, "Are you crazy?" and then replied, "No, Miss, you will need to go to Room 1001 for any identification." Her smile became a frightening grimace. It was late, so I decided I would take the challenge another day.

A week later I was at the Post Office and noticed information concerning American passports. I took out my INS authenticated form and asked if this was enough to reapply for my passport. The Postal worker looked at me with regrettable sadness and said, "You will have to go to Room 1001."

I left the Post Office wondering, "What is this place to inspire a kind of frightful, agonizing terror?" I was free for the day, so I headed to the INS building to investigate. I walked up the steps and strolled along the marble terrace. I noted the business hours, saw that there were few people present, and decided to return the next day, Friday, figuring that at the end of the week there would not be many people there. But something very sinister was at work here, unknown to me then. It was Thursday when the office is open only until noon.

My first visit was on Friday, December 1, 2000. I got to the INS building at 7 a.m. There was a line, and it would take two hours to reach the hallowed halls of Room 1001. It was this day I would be given valuable information on the horrors of the system of administration at the INS. People were relating how often they had been coming and had not yet been able to enter the front door. They explained that there are tickets issued for certain categories that are discontinued by 7:30 or 8:00. Therefore, it does not matter how early you get there if for that day the number of tickets determined is depleted.

I would be a witness to their story when at 8:00 a.m. there came a voice over the public address system. "You out there in my line, listen up!" I wondered whose line I was in. Then came a man of immigrant descent, strutting his way toward the entrance. I took notice of his massive deltoids, pecs, and chest, protruding a good six inches in front of him. There was a hush as the Regulars were silenced. Mr. Ax-man, as he is affectionately called, was has been given the dubious honor of reciting the categories that will not be issued a ticket. His list always begins with the Regulars. These are Resident Aliens who may have had their Alien registration card stolen, or need minor adjustments to protect their status. As the Ax-man read his list, just as an extended rubber band is released, so the line congealed. The Regulars stood there, dazed, waiting for some sign to say it was not so. Some defiantly remained in the line, hoping they might be seen, which is never the case. They are always booted out.

My category was viable, therefore I would make my first entry into Room 1001. My inquiry number was #102 for my category. By 11:00 a.m., seated in a large room, I once again witnessed the "tired." Most of the patrons were soundly sleeping. That morning a sleeping patron missed her number flashing on the leader board, which resulted in a most frustrating spectacle.

As I scrutinized this beaten group, my thoughts returned to one of the morning's episodes. While in line, there had been a loud thud, like a falling ton of bricks hitting the concrete. People began running in the direction of the thud. It was a man, very well-built, who had fainted. The security guard radioed for emergency, but nothing else was done. The man just lay there. Five minutes, eight minutes, no Emergency service. It was ten minutes before they arrived. By this time the man was beginning to regain consciousness, and was trying to sit up. The EMS Techs arrived and the most appalling medical emergency service I have ever witnessed was demonstrated. The fallen man was trying to stand, and was pushed forcibly to the gurney by an EMS tech with one hand, the other hand holding him in place. No pulse or blood pressure was taken. The man was strapped down and wheeled out to the ambulance. At that moment I hoped I would never have need of the EMS in Los Angeles County.

My thoughts returned to the present as the leader board announced #102. I was focused and ready to go. My inquiring officer greeted me with,"What do you want?" I explained my circumstances and offered my INS approved status... suddenly I was interrupted. "Where is your receipt? Without a receipt you will not be seen." The receipt she requested was for a fee I could not afford when I applied for the document: $135.00.

I was determined to be seen by someone. I demanded to speak to her supervisor, and with a condescending attitude she turned and walked to the next booth, where her supervisor happened to be listening to our exchange. Our eyes met and she summoned me over.

She asked me a few key questions, tapped on her computer and remarked, "Oh, your file is in Chicago." She said she would request a transfer, explaining it would take three to four weeks and that I should return for the response. Exhaustion had now set in, my mind was becoming jelly, and I could only be glad that I had been given some hope. I did not detect the flagrant psychological maneuver being perpetrated. I requested a letter of sorts that would exclude me from waiting in line again, and the supervisor looked at me and said, "That is the only was to get in here." Can that be the only way? I dare say, "No!" There must be a better way, and it is time that the INS at 300 North Los Angeles Street find it.

Four weeks passed and my second visit to the INS was in progress. I had arrived at 6:30 a.m. to circumvent a long delay, or so I thought at the time. There was still a long line ahead of me, but it seemed manageable. I would stand in line for four hours before I was positioned to enter the horrid halls of Room 1001. The Regulars had been dismissed, giving hope to those left standing that they might be seen. When I got to the triage where the tickets are issued, the officer told me, "There are no more tickets." I argued, "Why wasn't my category omitted from the line, instead of giving the false hope that I would be seen?" She just sat there with a "that's tough" attitude, and shouted, "Next!" Now I had experienced the hell that the Regulars endure every day, and I was fighting mad. I walked away, planning my third and final visit.

So there I stood, my third visit at 5:30 a.m. in my huddled mass, reliving my encounters at the INS. The words "Ventura County" interrupted my thoughts. I had been intending to travel to Orange County, and noticed the bordering county was Ventura, so I began to listen to what was being said. The woman in line ahead of me had traveled this distance to be at the INS office at this hour of the morning. She related how often she is forced to make this trip for a response to a simple question, to which no comprehensible answer could be given over the phone. How utterly disgusting! In an age proliferated by the best means of communication systems the world has ever known!

Six hours later- I was once again at the triage, and being seen by an Asian officer. I explained that I was to return to window #15 to meet with the supervisor, and with a shy smile he made the strangest request of me: "Please describe the supervisor, for there are many supervisors." I started to make a not-so-pleasant remark, but stopped my self. Here was someone who, being an immigrant, knows the pain, and was at least willing to give me a hearing. I decided I should at least try. My description was somewhat accurate because he was able to attach a name to it. He punched a few keys on his computer and said, "Your file is in Missouri." Without a response I took form him a form sending me back to window #15.

I went directly to this window and listed my name, behind four others. It was over two hours before I was called. However, this time my interview went well. I was given an application to complete, and told that within four weeks I would receive and answer by mail. So I waited.

Was my experience at the INS Ellis Island revisited? A resounding No! It was not. Ellis Island at its worst stages had officers who were courteous and respectful and treated the immigrants with dignity. Would an individual who fainted on Ellis Island have suffered the indignity that I observed that day? No! There were, on the island, many agencies equipped to render First Aid, and there was a hospital present. As a matter of record, in 1933 a committee reporting on the conditions of Ellis Island stated the medical care was exemplary. Why then in the new Millennium, when communication and medical technology is at its zenith, must a sick person wait ten minutes for deplorable service?

It is obvious that there are very few cases that are resolved in any given day at the INS. On Ellis Island, records show that daily an estimated five thousand persons were seen and cases resolved. This was an age when only the human capabilities of the officers were at work. Here in the new Millennium, when these officers can tap a computer key and receive information from around the world, they are unable to resolve these cases.

It was three days prior to the estimated time I was given to receive an answer when a letter form the INS arrived. This is the information I was given: "We have searched for records that relate to your request and determined that if such records exist they would be maintained under the jurisdiction of the INS office at the following address in Missouri..." Is that to say that I suddenly do not exist? Are they now telling me that the file the officers had been looking at was a figment of their imaginations? Here I am, a viable, certified citizen with degrees, qualified to work as a Medical Technologist, a counselor and now a fledgling journalist, unable to work because of a technicality. But the wonder is the Department of Justice's willingness to authenticate my receipt of welfare from the Department of Public Aid, and yet will deprive me of the identification necessary to work.

The INS have resorted to defrauding immigrants of the pride of being an American citizen, the pride felt by those immigrants of the twentieth century. In the words of Lee Iacocca, a first-generation American of immigrant parents upon dedicating "The American Immigrant Wall of Honor" on Ellis Island, "It is not just for those who came through Ellis Island; it honors all American immigrants who came to this great melting pot in search of freedom and opportunity." The pride that security officer felt, as he accomplished his job with excellence. The pride Tennessee Williams must have felt when he wrote the play "A Streetcar Named Desire" and spoke through the lead Stanley Kowalski, "But what I am is one hundred percent American, born and raised in the greatest country on earth and proud as hell of it."

The County of Los Angeles and their immigrant descendant lawmakers need to fix the horrendous, deplorable black eye that exists at 300 North Los Angeles Street. The time is now to rekindle the pride and hope that their forefathers held dear. To all immigrants, especially those who have lived the atrocities of Room 1001, the Lady still lifts her lamp beside the golden door. That lamp lights the way to your empowerment through the vote. Contact your Congressperson, let your disgust be heard. Regain the pride of all the immigrants that have preceded you, the pride I felt as I raised my right hand twenty-six years ago and pledged my allegiance to the Flag of the Untied States of America.

by Staff Writer

What if it were possible to truly end war?

How would our world, it's people react to eternal
peace?

My hypothetical, What-If scenario: If time travel became a reality, lost knowledge could be returned our skeptical so called modern world.

Besides observing historical events, people, and temporarily visits or living in those past times one priceless opportunity may arise."THE TOTAL END OF WAR"

Imagine. A joint venture across time! Historical figures dead in their own time or brought through time as special assistants for a global secret project of "OPERATION ZERO WAR".

From ancient civilizations to our time and beyond this ideal and idea fought to be realized.

>p>Many nationalities from scions of wealth and privilege, merchant business people, to poor though brilliant children, adults, and elderly sages.

Although women, minorities, participate where they had no voice many people stuck in their mindset and daily lives must be lifted out and shown the truth they would never see until now.

Complexities abound from different life experiences, expectations, languages, applied sciences, and philosophy’s.

One invention, many mothers, fathers, researchers, lend their time, energy, and spirit to the Global War Memories or G.W.M.

Some of the best minds know they will be soldiers, their son’s, daughter’s unborn, working beside them or as infants and young children whom fate chose to die as citizens in death camps in war’s conflicts; many are told their fates as compensation for working on the project.

Before the very first of many time paradoxes began with names, faces, births of people on the project.

Vacuum sealed time-proof bags are created so anyone working on this immense project vanishing out of exsistance will be honored for their contribution.

Paradoxes continue as whole generations disappear, alternative histories take place, people born of one nationality are now another, all of this is documented too because without proof individuals would not believe such things were possible.

Every part of our human destiny is-was, will be
affected.

Unbroken secrecy, discretion, enemies across oceans, continent, racial, religious lines, time become true brothers and sisters-in-arms.

An though war rages these bonds hold as others take fallen foes-friends places.

The struggle seems pointless but machines of microscopic size recording lives of wounded, dying, dead, and the survivors who can continue stealthily with this ongoing project, their own minds unshielded from refined nano-probes implanted from birth in their heads.

Millions to trillions of nano-sized audio-visual, conscious, unconscious eavesdroppers add human neural nets when war ceases to be.

At the end of this ultra-secret world wide endeavor memorials are set all over the world, in libraries, CD-ROM’s, audio books, and in all schools.

Being a global-time-venture, thought translators instantly made any language living or dead translatable to anyone on or off the earth.

The G.W.M. project succeeded in ending war because of many unknown people showing their varied life ending or life affirming thoughts and feelings during combat. But because most died horribly in many conflicts few human’s want war and sought alternatives to war’s bloody conflicts.

Timer’sTime Travelers visited some changing small bits of time by saving some of the fallen though their memories still show how they originally died.

In time certain periods are closed stopping paradoxes closing the most holy of holy’s in the Global-World Era.

How the ENDWAR saga began. Its only a fable, parable, tall tale, but given how our world works now does anyone really believe time travel will never be possible or war to be outdated made another dust heap as humankind grows up, giving up war.
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by Luz Diamonte

It was a day of Many Tears….. I looked up to see a flying plastic bottle of bleach that was on fire. At first I couldn’t move because I was so afraid. Then I heard the screams of all the people I love……Suddenly the mountain had covered the house I have lived in with my mother, my aunt and my four sisters for the last 15 years.

"Kahit mahirap Ra Hindika namen walang bahay o nagugutom"

( "We may be poor but we’re not homeless or hungry")

Pilipino’s have a saying, "We may be poor but we’re not homeless or hungry"

Our house was made of all things we have found over the years. You see, I work and live at the garbage site in Rizal. Some people in the US must think we are very sad because we live in garbage, but we aren’t.. This was the way we survived. Yes we are very poor. But now we are very poor with no job and no house.

POOR Magazine attempts to cover issues affecting communities of poverty globally as well as locally, rather than the mainstream coverage of this event which was from an "outsider" perspective, i.e., from journalists who reported on the tragic, yet faceless deaths of over 71 very poor people who lived in a garbage dump in Manila. The people died and several more were injured when a Mountain of garbage at the dump site collapsed and caught on fire due to the erosion caused by heavy rains from a typhoon.

POOR attempted to cover this event from the "inside", i.e., one of the survivors, Luz Diamonte’s first-hand account and her very different emphasis on the tragedy.

by Tom Gomez

I read a piece entitled “Come to S.F. for Hot Time Mayor Urges” in the San Francisco Chronicle. Mayor Willie Brown is quoted telling travel executives, gathered at what is described as a “posh Washington D.C. hotel” to feast on Alaskan crab and white wine, that in San Francisco, “You can lie, cheat, and steal…and we don’t ask you about those things. We accept you as you are.” The Mayor then says to the executives, “Those of you who wear white shirts and red ties, blue suits and regular shoes, all those kind of things for the public to see, but there is a different side of you. Well, San Francisco caters to you. We have places for you to go, where you suddenly become anonymous. You don’t have to give your name…where you will have experiences that defy description.” Am I alone in being glad this asshole is in his last term?
While the Mayor prostrated himself before yet another group of wealthy executives, I was sitting for coffee with an old friend who is disabled since a fall shattered her spine. Last year she spent nine days in our county jail for jumping the B.A.R.T. She was homeless and had no money. Apparently not all of us are “accepted as we are.” The Chronicle itself last year published an editorial by Debra Saunders that called the city’s homeless people “bums.” Yet no attempt has been made to characterize the “lying, cheating, and stealing” executives that way!
The Chronicle characterized the Mayor’s remarks referring to “experiences that defy description,” enjoyed in places where no names are required, as being “an uncharacteristically subtle reference to the city’s alternative lifestyles.” Let me be blunt. When a 50 year old insurance executive from Des Moines comes to this city for a 3 day convention and sneaks off to one of these places where no names are required, what is required is money. I know that, you know it, the mayor knows it, the paper knows it, and the audience knows it! So what is this bullshit about our city’s “alternative lifestyles?”
There is nothing new about predominately white, middle-aged executives coming through San Francisco cruising our streets late at night looking to buy sex, drugs or both. Unfortunately for those of us who live here, this city also has no shortage of seriously addicted, economically marginalized men, women and children ready to supply such needs.
It’s good to know Mayor Brown (who gave a similar speech in South America) is aggressively promoting economic opportunity for our poorest citizens around the world. Mayor Brown has been so unwilling to use public money to provide services such as shelter for families or replacement of the 500 SRO rooms destroyed by fire in the last 10 years, that I was beginning to think his administration lacked vision. Think of it that way the next time you see some emaciated and hollow-eyed person turning a trick or selling dope to a tourist in your neighborhood.