Peligrosas Paletas/Dangerous Ice Cream


Tiny - Posted on 13 July 2011

Author: 
Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia and Tiburcio Garcia

Po’Lice Harassment and attacks of Migrante Ice Cream Vendors in Bay Area Parks

Persecucion Policiaca y attakes acia vendedores de Paletas en San Francsico y Parkes en Oakland nada mas por vender paletas

 

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“K-Wal is SUE NAMBRE? “  cada palabra, cada syilaba caia sin desden, en cuanto salia de la boca de la policia hacia estos dos paleteros ( vendedores de nieve) este Sabado por el medio dia en el parque 24 y Folsom en San Francisco. Los dos hombres que tanian su mirada hacia bajo apenas podian contestar.

 

“Esto esta mal mama” MI hijo miro hacia arriba con profundos ojos de tristesa y traicion en sus café ojos grandes al ser testigos del abuso de policia a dos trabajadores migrantes micro-negociantes hombres de quien su “crimen” era vender paletas en el parque. Mi hijo y yo fuimos al Parque de los niños en este brillante Sabado para estar con otra famila.

 

Hemos venido a este parque desde que comence La Casa de Las Madres para mamas pobres y solteras como yo saliendo de desalojacion en la mission en el 2005. Nos Juntamos con miles de otras familias, muchos eran raza mamas y padres y abuelas migrantes, quien se sentaban en silencio bajo el sol mientras sus hijos corrian, brincaban y escarbaban en las estrocturas y cajas de arena que llenaban ese choco parque. Siempre amabamos este parque particularmente por sus suave silencio y pasto, y unas de las mas dulces cosas en que podias contar eran los siempre presentes, siempre humilde migrante escolares quienes traian su carrito de paletas llenos de nieve de todos sabores de todos los colores y formas imaginables.

 

“A- Bee-er-to”   La Policia hacia señas sobre el carrito chico, para que lo habriera para revelar si escondia snow cones de Tortugas assesinas, o push–ups de arcoiriz llenos de balas. Despues de solo encontrar nieve. La policia empezo a acusar a unos de los paleteros de mentir sobre el hecho de que no sabia hablar Ingles.

 

“Que estas haciendo ?” Llena de furia y siempre la hija de mi mama quien NUNCA se paro en silencio contra el ataque de gente vunerable ( aunque ella era extremamente vunerable tambien) Yo Intervine. Como una madre con su hijo, con papeles Amerikkkanos y mi piel blanca, yo sabia que no corria riesgo immediante de que la po’licia me arreste si mantenia mi voz baja y “conversional”

 

“No tienen derecho de estar aqui, el parque y departamento de rec no permiten su presencia en el parque por ordenansa anunciado en el barandal,”

“Desde Cuando?

“Desde siempre, yo eh multado y arrestado estos vendedores por los ultimos dps meses, y muchas veces tengo que confiscar sus productos y anotar los,”

“De verdad, que chistoso, yo nunca te eh visto y yo vengo aqui todo el tiempo, entonces pueden vender afuera de el parque,?”

 Ahora se veia molesto con migo por causar “problemas” empezo a alsar su voz, “No, no pueden porque no tiene lisencia por la ciudad y no pueden estar tan cerca de un lugar donde hay niños jugando,” Se voltio de mi y continuo su abuso racista contra los dos vendedores mientras mi hijo y yo nos parabamos ahi viendo.

Mi corazon se callo al cemento. El parque entero, lleno de niños y mamas migrantes veian mientras con el movimento de sus cabezas mostraban su desacuerdo y diciendome palabras de solidaridad

Mientras estábamos allí recordé con terror la primera vez que todas mis camisetas que vendía en la calle me las quito la po'licia, mi primer miedo era lo que iba a hacer para ganar dinero suficiente para y para mi mamá para comer ese día. Como una niña y un adulta joven en la vida de la pobreza en Amerikkka que había pasado años vendiendo productos en la calle sin una licencia para apoyar a mi mamá y mi hermana dentro y fuera de estar sin casa. Fui acusada constantemente por po'licia por el solo hecho de hacer negocios, cuando no era dueño de la tierra an la estaba parada

"Ok, VA-MOS", después de otros 20 minutos de abuso y reviso de identificación, les dijo que los iba a dejar ir sin emitir una citación, probablemente sólo porque estabamos de testigos.

"Al salir del parque les dimos nuestro número de teléfono de Prensa POBRE e información a los palateros para que puedan contactarnos para la defensa y mi hijo me preguntó:" ¿Qué vamos a hacer mamá? "

"Bueno, tu abuelita nos enseñó a no guardar silencio sobre las cosas malas que nos pasa a nosotros y a los demas, así que supongo que esta lucha ha comenzado",

Mi hijo enseño su acuerdo con la cabeza y caminamos por la calle reunir monedas de diez y conco centavos para el palatero siguiente que veamos a conseguir algunos de los helados peligrosos.

Engles Sigue

“K-Wal is SUE NAMBRE? “  each word, every syllable  dripped with disdain as it shot out of the po’lice officers mouth towards two palateros ( ice cream vendors) on Saturday afternoon at a park on 23rd and Folsom in San Francisco. Both of the men whose heads  faced the ground barely answered back.

“This is so wrong mama” My son looked up at me with deep sadness and betrayal in his wide brown eyes as we stood in witness to the po’lice harassment of two migrante hard-working micro-business men whose only “crime” was selling ice cream in a park. My son I and went to Parque de los ninos on this sunny Saturday afternoon to meet up with another family.

We had been coming to this park since I started mamahouse for poor single mamas like myself coming out of houselessness in the mission in 2005. We joined countless other families, mostly raza migrante mamaz and daddys and abuelas, who sat quietly in the sun while their children ran, jumped and dug in the structures and sand-boxes that filled the small park. We always loved this park in particular because of its soft silences and grassy field,  and one of the sweetest things you could always count on were the ever-present, always humble migrante skolaz who brought their paleta carts filled with ice cream flavors of every imaginable color and shape

“A- Bee-er-to”   The po’lice waved his hand over the tiny cart motioning for the man to open it and reveal if he was concealing any deadly ninja turtle snow cones, or ammunition-filled rainbow push-up bars. After finding only ice cream, the po’lice officer began accusing one of the palateros of lying about the fact that he didn’t speak English.

“What are you doing, ? ” Filled with fury and always my mama’s daughter who NEVER stood silent in the face of attack on any vulnerable folks ( even through she was extremely vulnerable herself ) I intervened. As a parent with a child, with Amerikkkan papers and my melanin challenged skin, I knew I was not at-risk of  immediate po’lice repercussions as long as I kept my voice modulated and “conversational”

“They have no right to be here, the park and rec department doesn’t allow their presence in parks based on the ordinance that’s posted on the gate,”

“Since when?”

“Since forever, I have been citing and arresting these vendors for the last few months, and many times I have to confiscate their goods and book them,”

“Really, that’s funny, I haven’t seen you before and we come here all the time, so can they sell outside the park,?”

 Now visibly annoyed at me for causing “trouble” he began to raise his voice, “No, they can’t because they don’t have a license from the city and they can’t be that close to an area where children are playing,” He turned away from me to continue his racist harassment of the vendors while my son and I stood looking on.

My heart dropped into the cement. The entire park, filled with children and migrante mamas looked on shaking their heads and mouthing words to me in solidarity.

As we stood there I remembered with terror the first time I had all of my t-shirts I was selling on the street seized by the po’lice, my first fear was what was I going to do to make enough money so me and my mama could eat that day. As a child and young adult in poverty living in Amerikkka I had spent years selling products on the street without a license to support my mama and sister in and out of houselessness. I was constantly harassed by po’lice for the sole act of doing business when I didn’t own the ground I was standing on. 

“Ok, VA-MOS,” after another 20 minutes of harassment and ID checking, he told them both to leave without issuing a citation, probably only because we were standing in witness.

“As we walked out of the park we gave our Prensa POBRE phone number and info to the palateros so they could contact us for advocacy and my son asked,”What are we going to do mama?”

“Well, your abuelita taught us to never be silent about the messed up stuff that happens to us or anyone else, so I guess this fight has just begun,”

My son shook his head in agreement and we walked down the street gathering together out dimes and quarters for the next palatero we saw to get some of that dangerous ice cream

Stay Tuned for further action by POOR Magazine/Prensa POBRE migrante and poverty skolar mamas and daddys and sons about this issue

"“Well, your abuelita taught us to never be silent about the messed up stuff that happens to us or anyone else, so I guess this fight has just begun,”

My son shook his head in agreement and we walked down the street gathering together out dimes and quarters for the next palatero we saw to get some of that dangerous ice cream"

In case you don't know who B v. S was, he was the leader of the Hitler Youth, and the level of indoctrination you are giving your son ould no doubt gladden his heart.

Here's one that would fit over your head: BVD

(In case you don't know...it's a brand of underwear that fits nicely over heads like yours...that you can probably buy at Abercrombie and Fitch)

... B v. S are initials, not an acronym. So is BVD, by the way. It stands for Bradley, Voorhees & Day, which I'd be willing to bet real money you didn't know.

An acronym is a word created from the first letters of a series of words, such as NATO, SONAR or SCUBA. I'll let you look up for yourself what the individual words are.

"“No, they can’t because they don’t have a license from the city and they can’t be that close to an area where children are playing,” He turned away from me to continue his racist harassment of the vendors"

I didn't realize that those with a license from the city constituted a race. Or do you mean that the city only gives licenses to persons of a certain race? Let me give you a clue: the last time I checked, "illegal" was not a race.

are you as blind as well as stupid?

...but you are apparently stupid as well as blind.

is actually the brand of wine you are obviously overdosing on a regular basis.

I like that, brother! Sieg heil!

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