RoRoRo I would like to write about my abuelita. I met her a handful of times. What I remember the most was when I would go to Mexico. She had a lemon tree, and she would make me fresh lemonade. She was very important to my mom. To this day, she still wears black in remembering her. I believe I was her favorite grandson. I still walk with her. Much love & respect, RoRoRo Susan Daws Anderson I walk through, with my grandmas spirit. My ancestors were all very amazing past life wise and blood wise. It almost seems like a joke. How can I EVER live up to that strength. But “Susan” tough, due to my ancestry, by default. My grandma is my hero. My mother is very strong too. My dad is a sociopath, so he is easily strong. Thank you. Mabre(?) I'm choosing to write about my former best homie Richie who was shot in the Tenderloin and subsequently died from complications from the gun shots. I looked up to Richie more than anyone because he pushed the hardest like standing up for what he believed in. Anytime anyone disrespected him in any way, or crossed any of his boundaries, he would drop everything he had and would challenge them to a fight. I never saw him lose a fight. He taught me to respect myself and to not let people disrespect me or cross any boundaries. Towards the end of his life when I was in jail, Richie chose to start using guns to push his line. This ended up being a total mistake, but it taught me to push my line without violence, especially with guns. Live by the gun, die by the gun. The person who shot Richie is not my best homie. I just realized the importance of me talking to him to convince him to stop using guns so that he doesn’t make that same fatal mistake that Richie did. Red My grandmother had a very strong spirit and still does. She taught me everything I believe and live by. Without her, there is no telling how or what type of person I would be today. I love her so much for the strength she bestowed into me! And her name was the same as my mom’s, Eunice Holmes! But my mom was not junior! Lol… Melinda Garrett In a time where ancestors are very close, honor our ancestors from all four corners of the earth. We are also lifting up our ancestors with a letter to our ancestors. Big Mama, Grandma, Auntie Paulie, Cuzn Jay, Granddad and Grandpa, Daddy, Dixie Anderson, Imani and Aunties and Uncles. I fall and call upon you. In the moment of time. Your heartbeat beats within me. I feel you. I see you. I thank you for walking this journey and path before and with me. I call on you today because my spirit is sometimes troubled. Big Mama, I need the strength of you when you walk this land with no fear and how you made it in this wicked and cruel world. Auntie Paulie, give me peace and love and joy as if you were still walking hand and hand with me. Cuzn Jay, protect me. You see the trouble, you know my ways. Please show me that you live close to me and that you’ll protect up there. Wish you were here with me. And save me a seat in the upper room. Imani baby girl, keep shining, you and Grandma. I’ll always be your first chocolate baby, and I’m really trying. Hope you see and know that. Because I’m your 1st chocolate baby. Tenisha Miller I do believe that my ancestors have definitely had a crucial impact on the life I live today. When I think of ancestors, I first get a vision of all of my family members, specifically my grandmother and grandfather. They lived lives that I could never imagine having to try and survive in. They endured so much hatred, judgment, and mental and physical abuse on a daily basis. Yet they remained loving, gracious, and smart while securing financial security. I am truly amazed at how strong they had to be at all times. It makes me look at their situation and feel disappointed with myself for the complaining and ungratefulness that I find myself showing. Knowing how hard they fought for not just myself, but my children and their future children makes me have to thank God that He chose them to be the strong pillar that still lets their spirits linger all throughout this earth and in heaven for eternity. “Undone” On June 6th 2006, SFPD unannounced and without a warrant entered a home near State College of SF. Approaching a man in the attic of the unit trying to avoid his capture. Unexplained, the “officer” shot my big brother 17 times, sentencing him to death by firing squad immediately. Still til this day 10-16-26 it has gone unjust. In loving memory via His Holy Spirit, Asa B. Sullivan Rony Cabrera Reg = Our Antepasados y Dios Everyday we walk, do things, try to do better, and we say, I did it, but sometimes we do not realize the people before us already did the same process. I believe there is a God that guides us if we have good intentions. I hear the people with bad heart (bad intentions) will change. Ancestors I remembered a time my grandfather gotten all the men and asked all of us men to enjoy playing the drum. We are Navajo Native American. Stephan Unfortunately, most of my family is dead, but I met some good family members. No matter what they did in life, they were good and very informative about life challenges. I learn from my ancestors. I hold their lessons close. Luis Jobar Mi abuelita no sabe cuánto falta me hace. Yo sé que esta en un lugar mejor. Que Dios me la cuide siempre. Pedro Garcia Para mi, el ejemplo de la por tu dade y pisos está muy bien porque dependiendo del pedazo de la tierra no el terreno. Noralyn Perez R.I.P. To my ancestors who helped mold me become a strong, courageous, caring, hardworker, independent, loving, thoughtful, forgiving, always willing to make sacrifices for someone else’s wellbeing to cater to others needs while putting aside my own because it’s where their happiness comes from. Thank you Mom and Grandma for being my super hero, my leader, and my role model. Because of you both, I became the most compassionate human of my nature who understands what my purpose in life is: which is to share my knowledge and wisdom; who taught me and inspired me to share human kindness, and I will not be sad because you both are in heaven. My sadness comes from missing you. I rejoice when you both cross my mind because the only thing I think about is the good memories and happiness we have shared. The memories that I get to pass on to our… Proud member of Homefulness family Tyler Fitzgerald Writing in memory of my nana who was killed by the covid vaccines that were forced upon her against her will. She was very strong helping women who would help homeless kids find forever homes even with the struggles the government can make for anyone who is struggling to find real loving and caring parents and families. Gonzales Moreno Growing up ignored in my country. When I was 10 years old growing up in another country, I believed in what I was told about who we are and our ancestors where they come from. We were told beautiful stories from our mother patria España. Until I came to USA and after some many years and going to school I find our about the real truth about who lie to us in the past and the ones that conquered, decimated and imposed their own belief on us. That is the reason that everyone we get in touch is abusing us and treating us real bad. And thank you that you believe in us and explaining to us our rights and the need to fight back against injustice. Val Evangelista My ancestor is my father. He helped me so much and after all these years I still miss him. He’s what I strive to be like and instill in my kid. Keith Sulolan I walk with my great grandfather who survived Japanese occupation in Guam 1941 while other families were forced to have the father dig a grave, get beheaded then the oldest son would bury him, dig another hole, behead him, have his younger brother bury him, dig his hole and etc. But with my great grandfather he was left alive due to him pulling a work hard worth three men and held it down to keep our family alive when the Americans came and liberated us from Japan, he alongside many war prisoners joined the Guam Combat Unit. His name is Mariano Guerrero Benavente, born in 1911 and passed away 1998. Ray Ataros To thank Poor Magazine to make it happen that people who started in Oakland and now in San Francisco. This is the beginning of the fortune to be we every and poor people, we are the example of what future be. It’s people like us trying to make better for all the struggles in life and didn't have so easy. We need to understand poor people like you and me helping people the way to next generation to have Homefulness lead and make Poor Magazine, Room to grow become the future and become as a society that can live forever and ever. Amen - Someone who I love to remember is my best friend Cynthia V. Although our time together was short when we were together it felt like we knew each other our whole life. We shared the same dreams, the same history, and the same hurt. I met her in Dallas when I moved away from Houston to leave domestic abuse. She quickly became my friend as we would go out to bars, but also to the gym. Something we both enjoyed very much when I learned from her, and she taught me more in that little time was to not litter as she loved the mother earth so much it hurt her to see anyone litter or trash the earth. Also she loved animals so dearly she couldn’t fathom eating meat. She was houseless but never homeless as her family always had a room for her just like me and her friends. Although she has schizophrenia she knew more about life and living than most sane people. She died without having children or being married, but her very much at time to me, my mother and partner. I miss her every day. Richard Olivas A lot of people have died in my family, never looked much into it, never thought where they went, but when my mom died, before she died, my son asked her to give him a sign she was ok. That night we both got the sign seconds apart. She touched us both on our eyebrows. Which what she did to me when I was small and my son also. We have that. I kept my mom’s hat she liked to wear and believe this - that hat smelled like my mom's perfume for over a year, then the smell went away and my mom was gone. She was watching over me. I know for many reasons. I was worried she was gone because I was with her for 50 years. No more smell in her hat, then a year later I walked past the hat, and I could smell her again just like before. That was crazy. Then after a few months, it was gone again and my poor wife threw the hat away. So then I am homeless and sad my mom is gone.

Illustration by Annie Spratt on Unsplash In 1991, I arrived in the San Francisco Bay Area and began a journey that would take me from San Francisco’s disability and community organizing movements, through Berkeley’s cultural and political struggles, into UCLA, and ultimately back to East Oakland. That journey has taught me a central lesson: Black disabled people cannot depend on institutions that marginalize our bodies, dismiss our knowledge, and displace our communities to create the cultural, political, and intellectual futures we need. We must build our own. My work as an artist, organizer, writer, and scholar has grown from that necessity. Since the 1990s, I have challenged ableism, survived gentrification, helped develop Disability Justice, founded Krip-Hop Nation, fought inaccessible housing, and transformed community knowledge into Krip-Hop Theory. Now, as I enter the final year of my Ph.D. and prepare for dissertation fieldwork in the San Francisco Bay Area, New York, and Brazil, I am working toward the next stage of this project: returning to East Oakland to help build the Krip-Hop Institute, a Black disabled-led center for art, research, political education, archives, and liberation. I moved to the Bay Area in 1991 and spent the 1990s living in San Francisco, where I began building the foundation for my work as an artist, organizer, writer, and scholar. In 1995, I graduated with my bachelor’s degree. I worked with disability organizations, served on nonprofit boards, and became deeply involved with Poor Magazine, a community-based media and organizing organization that challenged poverty, racism, homelessness, and the exclusion of marginalized communities from public conversations. Started the first online column called Illin-n-Chiilin, started Po- Poets in the heyday of spoken word/open mic, Poor Magazine in the late 1990s helped start DAMO and got me on the radio. I’m proud to be the original members that co-wrote the vision of Homefulness that is a reality today in East Oakland and has been planted in Oregon, Los Angeles and San Francisco. I have carried Poor Magazine’s scholarship into my PhD studies here at UCLA and their scholarship will be in my dissertation aka creating Krip-Hop theory that will be the building blocks of the Krip-Hop Institute, turning my dissertation into institution building for my community. These experiences taught me that political knowledge does not belong exclusively to universities, professional researchers, or established organizations. It is also produced by people living on the margins, people organizing in their neighborhoods, and people whose experiences are routinely dismissed by those in power. During the 1990s, I also began developing my own organizational vision. I understood that Black disabled people needed spaces where our experiences, creativity, and political concerns would not be treated as secondary to the priorities of predominantly white disability organizations or mainstream Black organizations that often overlooked disability. In the late 1990s, I started my own nonprofit organization, continuing my commitment to building community-based structures led by and accountable to people of color with disabilities. This organizing laid important groundwork for what would become my lifelong effort to connect disability, Black politics, art, culture, and liberation. As San Francisco became increasingly expensive, I experienced the displacement that has reshaped the lives of so many working-class people and communities of pcolor. In the early 2000s, gentrification pushed me out of San Francisco and into Berkeley. But moving across the Bay did not mean leaving behind the political struggles and communities that had shaped me. Instead, I continued to build. With the help of Patty Berne, I helped start Sins Invalid, a disability justice performance project that became an important force in the emergence and development of the Disability Justice movement. Disability Justice challenged the limitations of approaches that treated disability as an isolated identity or focused primarily on individual access within existing institutions. It insisted on understanding disability through interconnected systems of oppression, including racism, ableism, capitalism, gender violence, and other forms of exclusion. It also emphasized leadership by those most affected, collective access, interdependence, and the knowledge generated through lived experience. My involvement in this work reinforced a lesson that continues to guide me: cultural production is political work. Art, performance, music, storytelling, and community organizing can create new ways of understanding ourselves and challenge the systems that determine whose bodies, voices, and knowledge are valued. Yet I also saw the need to center Black disabled people more explicitly within conversations about race, disability, and liberation. This need helped lead me toward Krip-Hop. In 2005, I started Krip-Hop Nation in Berkeley, building on years of disability organizing, hip-hop culture, and the political creativity of Black disabled communities. Krip-Hop uses hip-hop and other cultural forms to challenge ableism, racism, and the exclusion of disabled people from music, media, and political life. It is not simply about putting disabled artists onstage or asking the music industry to become more inclusive. It is about recognizing disabled artists as producers of knowledge, political critics, cultural workers, and leaders in struggles for liberation. Through music, poetry, performance, writing, and international collaboration, Krip-Hop Nation has worked to create platforms for disabled artists whose voices are too often excluded from mainstream hip-hop, disability institutions, and public debates. Over time, my work has raised questions that go beyond artistic representation. What intellectual traditions emerge when we take Black disabled artists and organizers seriously as political thinkers? How does hip-hop change when disability is not an afterthought but a source of knowledge and cultural power? What happens when we place Black disabled experiences at the center of our understanding of the Black Radical Tradition? These questions have become the foundation of my developing framework, Krip-Hop Theory. My journey has also exposed the contradictions between the language of access and the realities of disabled people’s lives. In 2020, I became part of a lawsuit with other disabled renters against a landlord over a broken elevator and other problems affecting our housing. For disabled tenants, a broken elevator is not a minor inconvenience. It can become a barrier to leaving home, reaching essential services, participating in community life, and exercising basic independence. When landlords fail to maintain accessible housing, disabled people can find themselves trapped in buildings that deny them meaningful access to the outside world. Our lawsuit was therefore about more than a broken elevator. It was about housing, dignity, accountability, and the right of disabled people to live in their communities without being made prisoners of inaccessible environments. In 2021, after we successfully sued our landlord, another unexpected chapter began. UCLA approached me with an opportunity to pursue a Ph.D. At the time, I was living in a one-bedroom, Section 8 apartment affected by bedbug infestations. The contrast was striking: after decades of community organizing and cultural work, I was still confronting the everyday indignities of poverty and inadequate housing, yet I was also being invited into a major research university to develop my intellectual work. I did not arrive at doctoral study from a position of comfort or distance from the problems I wanted to research. I arrived with decades of lived experience, community relationships, artistic production, political struggle, and questions that had emerged through organizing. My path to UCLA demonstrates why universities must recognize knowledge produced outside academic institutions. I did not begin thinking about Black disability, hip-hop, and liberation because I discovered these issues in a classroom. I had been working through them for decades in communities, organizations, cultural spaces, and struggles for access and survival. My doctoral education has given me an opportunity to develop and articulate this knowledge in sustained scholarly form, but it has not created the knowledge from scratch. The experiences of Black disabled people, the cultural work of Krip-Hop Nation, and the political lessons of community organizing are central to the intellectual foundation of my dissertation. Now, in the final year of my Ph.D. journey, I am preparing for dissertation fieldwork in the San Francisco Bay Area, New York, and Brazil. These locations offer opportunities to investigate how Black disabled artists, organizers, and communities produce cultural and political knowledge across different geographic and social contexts. Through interviews, archival research, and engagement with artists and community organizations, I aim to examine the relationships among disability, hip-hop, Black radical politics, and decolonial thought. The purpose is not simply to document the existence of disabled artists. It is to understand how their experiences and cultural practices generate theories, strategies, and visions of liberation that dominant institutions have failed to recognize. This research will help establish the necessity of Krip-Hop Theory as a Black diasporic, disability-centered framework grounded in lived experience and cultural production. Disability Studies has often been shaped by institutional traditions that do not adequately center Black disabled knowledge, while Black Studies has too frequently treated disability as peripheral to its analyses of race, power, and resistance. Mainstream media and political institutions also tend to marginalize disability as a central issue, particularly when the experiences in question involve Black disabled people living at the intersections of racism, ableism, and economic inequality. These gaps are not merely academic oversights. They affect which histories are preserved, whose ideas are funded, which artists are heard, and what kinds of political futures can be imagined. Krip-Hop Theory responds to these gaps by insisting that Black disabled people are not simply subjects to be studied, populations to be included, or individuals in need of assistance. We are knowledge producers, cultural innovators, and political actors. Our music, language, organizing, and everyday survival can reveal dimensions of Black history, disability politics, and collective resistance that established frameworks overlook. The goal is not inclusion into institutions that remain fundamentally unchanged. The goal is decolonization: transforming the structures that determine whose knowledge matters and building institutions in which Black disabled people can define our own intellectual, cultural, and political priorities. My vision extends beyond completing a dissertation or publishing academic work. I want to return to the East Bay, this time to East Oakland, to help build the Krip-Hop Institute. This return would bring my scholarly work back into the communities and cultural traditions that made it possible. The Institute would grow from more than two decades of Krip-Hop organizing, my relationships with artists and community leaders, and the knowledge developed through my doctoral research. It would provide a Black disabled-led space for music, visual arts, archives, education, research, political organizing, and intergenerational learning. I envision building this work in collaboration with Poor Magazine and Homefulness, the Black Art Zone, Community Movement Builders, Alternative Minds Foundation, and longtime friends and collaborators such as Lateef McLeod, Gary Norris Gray, and Moore, alongside other Black disabled artists, scholars, organizers, and community members. Each relationship offers possibilities for connecting cultural production with political education, community knowledge, and collective action. The Institute would not simply be a building where programs take place. It would be a living cultural and political platform where Black disabled people could develop their own curricula, preserve their histories, support emerging artists, mentor young people, conduct research, and build networks across the African diaspora and internationally. East Oakland matters to this vision because the work must remain connected to communities facing displacement, poverty, racism, and unequal access to cultural and educational resources. Returning to the East Bay is not about recreating the past or claiming that one organization can solve every problem. It is about carrying forward the lessons of my journey and creating a sustainable institution that can support work beyond the lifespan of any one project or individual. The Krip-Hop Institute would connect the intellectual work of the dissertation to practical resources: spaces to create music, opportunities to learn and teach, archives to preserve Black disabled histories, platforms for political debate, and networks through which artists and organizers can collaborate. My journey from San Francisco to Berkeley, through housing struggles and community organizing, and into UCLA has taught me that access to an institution is not the same as having the power to transform it. A Ph.D. can open doors, but a degree alone cannot guarantee that Black disabled scholars will find meaningful employment, institutional support, or spaces where their knowledge is valued. Nor can academic recognition replace the community institutions that are necessary for sustaining cultural movements and passing knowledge between generations. The challenge is to make scholarship accountable to the people and movements from which it emerges. For me, the Krip-Hop Institute represents that accountability. It is the next stage of a journey that began with community organizing and cultural resistance long before I entered a doctoral program. It is a way to transform research into resources, lived experience into collective knowledge, and academic training into community infrastructure. It is also a response to the question that has followed me throughout my life: Where do Black disabled artists, organizers, and scholars go when the institutions around them fail to recognize their knowledge or support their leadership? My answer is that we must continue building our own spaces, strengthening our relationships, documenting our histories, and creating institutions that answer to our communities. Since arriving in the Bay Area in 1991, I have graduated from college, worked with disability organizations, served on nonprofit boards, helped develop Disability Justice through Sins Invalid, built Krip-Hop Nation, challenged inaccessible housing, and begun transforming decades of community knowledge into a doctoral research project. These experiences are not separate chapters. They are connected parts of a larger struggle to challenge the systems that devalue Black disabled lives and to create alternatives grounded in creativity, self-determination, and liberation. As I prepare to complete my dissertation and conduct fieldwork in the Bay Area, New York, and Brazil, I am not simply looking backward at what I have accomplished. I am preparing for what comes next. The goal is to bring this work home to East Oakland and build the Krip-Hop Institute as a place where Black disabled people can make art, develop theory, preserve history, organize politically, and imagine futures beyond the limitations imposed by racism, ableism, poverty, and institutional exclusion. My journey has brought me from community struggle to doctoral research, but the destination is not the university. The destination is the community, where research must become a resource and knowledge must become a tool for liberation. From San Francisco to Berkeley, from UCLA back to East Oakland: the next chapter is about building the Krip-Hop Institute and turning decades of resistance into an enduring institution for Black disabled cultural and political liberation. Leroy F. Moore 10/12/26

Por/By Juan Francisco Esteva Martinez ENGLISH BELOW El movimiento de las cucarachas en la India surgió en mayo de 2026, después de que unas declaraciones del presidente de la Corte Suprema, que utilizó ese término despectivo, provocaran una reacción entre los jóvenes. En lugar de aceptar el insulto como una condena, lo transformaron en una identidad colectiva y una herramienta de movilización. Sus protestas contra las filtraciones de exámenes y por la rendición de cuentas en la educación contribuyeron a la renuncia del ministro de Educación. Esta experiencia demuestra que, cuando las personas excluidas se organizan, pueden ejercer un poder capaz de hacer temblar a los poderosos. En California, Oscar Zeta Acosta retrató la insurgencia chicana en The Revolt of the Cockroach People, publicado en 1973. Su obra convirtió a quienes eran despreciados y relegados en protagonistas de su propia historia. Esa lucha formó parte de una época más amplia de organización y resistencia: el movimiento chicano, el American Indian Movement, MEChA, las Panteras Negras y los Brown Berets expresaron, desde distintas experiencias, la determinación de comunidades que exigían dignidad y poder sobre sus propias vidas. En Brasil, el Movimiento de los Trabajadores Rurales Sin Tierra —MST— ha organizado a familias campesinas para conquistar la reforma agraria y construir un proyecto popular. Su lucha convierte la exclusión del acceso a la tierra en una razón para organizarse y actuar colectivamente. En Argentina, los movimientos piqueteros transformaron el desempleo y la exclusión económica en organización política. Trabajadores desocupados, asambleas y organizaciones barriales hicieron de las calles espacios para reclamar trabajo, participar en las decisiones públicas y construir alternativas desde abajo. En Palestina, los comités populares han desarrollado formas de organización comunitaria y resistencia para defender sus tierras, sus comunidades y su derecho a la autodeterminación. La coordinación entre esos comités permite articular esfuerzos comunes y conservar la autonomía de cada comunidad. Estas luchas tienen historias, identidades y objetivos propios. Aquí, la metáfora de las cucarachas expresa una conexión: quienes son tratados como prescindibles pueden reconocerse entre sí, organizarse y reclamar su lugar en el mundo. Hoy, Prensa Pobre trabaja con personas y colectivos dedicados a apoyar a quienes enfrentan el desempleo, los desalojos, la pobreza y la falta de vivienda. Desde East Oakland, el Tenderloin y el Mission District hasta Hayward, Richmond y Berkeley, la organización comienza cuando dejamos de enfrentar nuestras dificultades en soledad. De California a la India, de Brasil a Argentina y Palestina, la dignidad se vuelve fuerza cuando se comparte. Quienes fueron silenciados levantan la voz. Quienes fueron despreciados construyen comunidad. Quienes fueron considerados impotentes desafían al poder. ¿Estás listo para sumarte? Chicoyaxe The Revolt of the Cockroach People The Cockroach People movement in India emerged in May 2016 after remarks by the Chief Justice, who used the derogatory term, sparked a reaction among young people. Instead of accepting the insult as a condemnation, they transformed it into a collective identity and a tool for mobilization. Their protests against exam leaks and for accountability in education contributed to the resignation of the Minister of Education. This experience demonstrates that when excluded people organize, they can wield a power capable of shaking the powerful. In California, Oscar Zeta Acosta portrayed the Chicano insurgency in The Revolt of the Cockroach People, published in 1973. His work transformed those who were despised and relegated into protagonists of their own story. This struggle was part of a broader era of organization and resistance: the Chicano movement, the American Indian Movement, MEChA, the Black Panthers, and the Brown Berets, each from their own experiences, expressed the determination of communities demanding dignity and power over their own lives. In Brazil, the Landless Rural Workers Movement (MST) has organized peasant families to achieve agrarian reform and build a people's project. Their struggle transforms exclusion from access to land into a reason to organize and act collectively. In Argentina, the piquetero movements transformed unemployment and economic exclusion into political organization. Unemployed workers, assemblies, and neighborhood organizations turned the streets into spaces to demand work, participate in public decisions, and build alternatives from the ground up. In Palestine, the People's Committees have developed forms of community organization and resistance to defend their lands, their communities, and their right to self-determination. Coordination among these committees allows them to articulate common efforts while preserving the autonomy of each community. These struggles have their own histories, identities, and goals. Here, the cockroach metaphor expresses a connection: those treated as expendable can recognize one another, organize, and reclaim their place in the world. Today, Poor Press works with individuals and collectives dedicated to supporting those facing unemployment, evictions, poverty, and homelessness. From East Oakland, the Tenderloin, and the Mission District to Hayward, Richmond, and Berkeley, organizing begins when we stop facing our hardships alone. From California to India, from Brazil to Argentina and Palestine, dignity becomes strength when shared. Those silenced raise their voices. Those despised build community. Those deemed powerless challenge authority. Are you ready to join us? Chicoyaxe

By/Por Juan Francisco Esteva Martinez ESPAÑOL DEBAJO Recently, I became very ill while visiting my family in San Francisco and needed to go to the emergency room for inflammation throughout my body. When I was employed and had health insurance, the decision was straightforward: get treatment now and pay the copayment later. Now, as a retiree without employer-sponsored coverage or eligibility for Medi-Cal, that decision is much harder. Like many people struggling financially, I try to avoid emergency room bills that could consume money needed for groceries, housing, and utilities. But what happens when home remedies do not work and medical attention becomes necessary? A health emergency can threaten both our health and our financial stability. Many of us—retired workers and people living in poverty—belong to a financially insecure class, with little protection against an unexpected medical bill. Proposition 40 offers one way to support California’s public health care system. It would impose a one-time wealth tax of 5% on qualifying billionaires who were California residents on January 1, 2026, with real estate, pensions, and retirement accounts generally excluded. Ninety percent of the revenue would fund public health care services; the remainder would support education, food assistance, and administration of the tax. For people who depend on public services, that funding could make a meaningful difference. It would not automatically provide insurance to everyone, but it could help sustain services that financially vulnerable Californians need. Extraordinary wealth is not created in isolation. Businesses depend on workers, public infrastructure, education, and investments in research and development. California’s prosperity reflects the contributions of working families as well as entrepreneurs and investors. Asking those with the greatest wealth to contribute more toward the well-being of the people who help sustain that prosperity is a matter of fairness. Our collective contribution to California’s economy should be reflected in our access to basic necessities. All Californians should be able to obtain medical treatment with dignity, including people who have spent their lives contributing as workers, caregivers, and neighbors. That dignity should extend to people whose age, health, or circumstances prevent them from working. We should not be forced to choose between seeing a doctor and keeping food on the table or a roof over our heads. There are tradeoffs. California’s Legislative Analyst’s Office estimates that the tax would probably generate tens of billions of dollars over several years, rather than immediately. It also projects that billionaires’ responses, including relocation, would probably reduce ongoing state income tax revenue by less than $1 billion annually. Those concerns deserve serious consideration, along with transparent accounting of how the new money is spent. A one-time tax is not a permanent solution to our health care problems. Still, I support Proposition 40 because protecting access to essential services is worth a greater contribution from those most able to afford it. Despite extensive testing, including X-rays, blood work, and swabs, the doctors could not determine what was causing my illness. The tests left me with a bill of more than $1,000. The hospital offered financial assistance, and my application is currently under consideration. For the financially insecure, access to care can determine whether one illness becomes a lasting financial crisis. Chicoyaze ____________ La clase económicamente insegura Por qué apoyo la Proposición 40 Recientemente, me enfermé gravemente mientras visitaba a mi familia en San Francisco y tuve que acudir a urgencias por una inflamación en todo el cuerpo. Cuando tenía empleo y seguro médico, la decisión era sencilla: recibir atención de inmediato y pagar el copago después. Ahora, como jubilado sin cobertura médica de un empleador ni elegibilidad para Medi-Cal, esa decisión es mucho más difícil. Como muchas personas que enfrentan dificultades económicas, trato de evitar cuentas de urgencias que podrían consumir el dinero destinado a alimentos, vivienda y servicios básicos. Pero ¿qué pasa cuando los remedios caseros no funcionan y la atención médica se vuelve necesaria? Una emergencia médica puede poner en riesgo tanto nuestra salud como nuestra estabilidad económica. Muchos de nosotros —trabajadores jubilados y personas que viven en la pobreza— pertenecemos a una clase económicamente insegura, con poca protección frente a una cuenta médica inesperada. La Proposición 40 ofrece una manera de apoyar el sistema público de salud de California. Impondría, por una sola vez, un impuesto del 5% sobre el patrimonio de los multimillonarios sujetos a la medida que residían en California el 1 de enero de 2026. Por lo general, los bienes inmuebles, las pensiones y las cuentas de jubilación quedarían excluidos. El noventa por ciento de la recaudación financiaría servicios públicos de atención médica; el resto se destinaría a educación, asistencia alimentaria y administración del impuesto. Para quienes dependen de los servicios públicos, estos recursos podrían marcar una diferencia significativa. La medida no proporcionaría automáticamente seguro médico a todas las personas, pero podría ayudar a sostener servicios que necesitan los californianos económicamente vulnerables. La riqueza extraordinaria no se crea de manera aislada. Las empresas dependen de los trabajadores, la infraestructura pública, la educación y las inversiones en investigación y desarrollo. La prosperidad de California refleja las contribuciones de las familias trabajadoras, así como las de empresarios e inversionistas. Pedir a quienes poseen la mayor riqueza que contribuyan más al bienestar de las personas que ayudan a sostener esa prosperidad es una cuestión de justicia. Nuestra contribución colectiva a la economía de California debería reflejarse en nuestro acceso a las necesidades básicas. Todos los californianos deberían poder recibir atención médica con dignidad, incluidas las personas que han dedicado su vida a contribuir como trabajadores, cuidadores y vecinos. Esa dignidad también debe extenderse a quienes no pueden trabajar debido a su edad, su salud o sus circunstancias. No deberíamos vernos obligados a elegir entre acudir al médico y mantener comida en la mesa o un techo sobre nuestras cabezas. Existen beneficios y costos que debemos considerar. La Oficina del Analista Legislativo de California estima que el impuesto probablemente generaría decenas de miles de millones de dólares a lo largo de varios años, en lugar de hacerlo de inmediato. También prevé que las respuestas de los multimillonarios, incluida su mudanza fuera del estado, probablemente reducirían los ingresos estatales recurrentes por impuestos sobre la renta en menos de mil millones de dólares al año. Estas preocupaciones merecen una consideración seria, junto con una rendición de cuentas transparente sobre el uso de los nuevos recursos. Un impuesto único no es una solución permanente a nuestros problemas de atención médica. Aun así, apoyo la Proposición 40 porque proteger el acceso a los servicios esenciales justifica una mayor contribución de quienes tienen más capacidad para pagar. A pesar de las numerosas pruebas, incluidas radiografías, análisis de sangre y muestras tomadas con hisopos, los médicos no pudieron determinar la causa de mi enfermedad. Las pruebas me dejaron una cuenta de más de mil dólares. El hospital me ofreció asistencia financiera y mi solicitud se encuentra actualmente en evaluación. Para quienes vivimos con inseguridad económica, el acceso a la atención médica puede determinar si una enfermedad se convierte en una crisis financiera duradera. Chicoyaze

"Join the Oakland United Coalition in East Oakland on Saturday, November 14th for a Neighborhood Housing Tour to learn about the types of transformative housing models that could benefit folks in the Town! At each stop we will learn how affordable, communal, and green social housing models can create sustainable living for all. We will share community resources as well as ways to advocate for housing with dignity at the Coliseum site and in our communities. The Oakland United Coalition has worked for years to uplift community voices in the redevelopment and sale of the Oakland Coliseum land. The intention of this tour is to have Oakland residents, elected officials, organizational partners, and community leaders together to share perspective on and support for creating more accessible, affordable, and healthy housing in East Oakland. Date: Saturday, November 14 Time: 10:00am-2:00pm Location: 81st Ave Library RSVP: bit.ly/ou-tour Acompáñanos en East Oakland el sábado 14 de noviembre para un recorrido sobre vivienda en el vecindario. ¡Ven a conocer diversos modelos de vivienda transformadores que podrían beneficiar a los habitantes de Oakland! En cada parada, exploraremos cómo los modelos de vivienda social — asequibles, comunitarios y ecológicos — pueden apoyar una vida sostenible para todos. Compartiremos recursos comunitarios y analizaremos formas de abogar por una vivienda digna, tanto en el Coliseum como en nuestras propias comunidades. Nuestra coalición, Oakland United, lleva años trabajando para elevar las voces de la comunidad en torno a la reurbanización y venta de los terrenos del Oakland Coliseum. El objetivo de este recorrido es reunir a residentes de Oakland, funcionarios electos, organizaciones aliadas y líderes comunitarios para intercambiar perspectivas y sumar apoyo a la creación de viviendas más accesibles, asequibles y saludables en East Oakland. Fecha: Sábado, 14 de noviembre Hora: 10:00 a. m. – 2:00 p. m. Lugar: Biblioteca de la 81st Ave (81st Ave Library) Confirma tu asistencia: bit.ly/ou-tour" -from the Oakland United Coalition

ICE has been using Eastmont Mall in East Oakland for it's operations and on 10/25 community came together to demand their removal. @StreetLevelHealthProject said it best on Instagram, "Powerfull ComeUnity showing up to east Huchiun to clarify whose streets these are !!!" Eastmont Mall houses the Eastmont Wellness Center where poor, immigrant, and refugee relatives go to get care. Legal observers have documented ICE using parking lot C in the mall as staging grounds on several occasions. ICE has no business there. The footage, shot and edited by Tibu Garcia, includes testimony from Gabriela Galicia, the executive director of Street Level Health Project, and from a local ER doctor, who has tended to those wounded by ICE and attests to their brutality. The music featured in the video is from Los Jornaleros del Norte. Calls to Action We're calling on Tidewater Capital, the property manager, to stand with immigrant communities. Continue to document ICE sightings and call your local hotline. Save the hotline number in your phone if you haven't already. Find a list of different hotlines below (sourced from ACILEP): "The ACILEP Hotline is open and taking calls! If you are in Alameda County and witness Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) activity in action, suspect ICE activity in progress, or if you or someone you know is detained by ICE, please contact the Hotline at (510) 241-4011 during the operating hours of 6AM - 6PM. Priority will be given to calls related to ICE arrests. If you are in a surrounding county, please contact the rapid response hotline corresponding to your area. Below is a list of active hotlines in our region: Contra Costa County: (925) 900-5151 Stand Together Contra Costa Website: Standtogethercontracosta.org San Francisco: (415) 200-1548 San Francisco Rapid Response Network Website: https://sfilen.org/resources/sf-rapid-response-network/ San Mateo County: (203) 666-4472 San Mateo County Rapid Response Network Santa Clara: (408) 290-1144 Santa Clara County Rapid Response Network Website: https://www.amigoscenter.com/rapid-respon"

Unhoused, formerly Houseless disabled youth, families, and elders from HOMEfulness, POOR Magazine and Wood Street Commons honor ancestors of homelessness at Day of the Dead ceremonies on both sides of the Bay Dia de los muertos/Day of the Dead ceremonies for ancestors 4pm Today, Thursday, Oct 29th at HOMEfulness Huchiun (OAK) 8032 MacArthur Bl Oakland, Ca 94605 11am Tomorrow, Friday, Oct 30th at HOMEfulness Yelamu (SF) - 3390 Cesar Chavez St San Francisco Both Ceremonies will honor ancestors of homelessness from across the Bay Area and Beyond with multi-nationed prayer, Aztec Dance, Words from Family who have lost our family to this crisis of homelessness and multiple altares across the sanctuary spaces of HOMEfulness- a homeless peoples -led solution to homelessness. "The ceremoies honor, pay tribute, offer prayer, and lift up the stories and spirits of Nino Parker, “Inni” Ingold GuttenBeil, Jose Santos Castillo, Jalani Lovett, Cornelius Taylor, Steven Taylor, Tyrell Wilson, JT, Luis Demetrio Góngora Pat, Luis Temaj, Laure McElroy, Anjileen “Green Eyes” Swan, Desiree Quintero, and Shannon Marie Bigley, and so many more all who passed from the violence of sweeps, poLice terror, and hate of us poor people,” said Tiny, a formerly houseless co-founder of POOR Magazine and HOMEfulness. “These ceremonies honor our lives as well—currently in struggle homeless poverty skolaz, in cities like San Francisco and Oakland where we are being swept even in the rains we are expecting with El nino and preparing a mutual aid effort because we know these Cities don’t care about us Another ancestor we will be honoring is Brokin Cloud. Brokin Cloud moved into Homefulness - a rent free housing project created by houseless people at POOR Magazine, after surviving for 25 years on the street. Brokin Cloud, like many houseless people was called “Service Resistant” which really just meant the carceral “solutions” created by city, state and federal government are never informed by poor and houseless peoples ourselves and rarely if ever work. Last year in July 2025, due to the health complications of his life and struggle on the streets for decades, beloved elder Brokin Cloud has joined the ancestors. : Follow @poormagazine for Livestream coverage of events. www.PoorMagazine.org

For immediate release: Press Contacts: Tiny Gray-Garcia / Muteado Silencio (510) 435-7500 In Honor of Ingold Guttenbiel, Jose Santos Castillo and so many more Homeless Ancestors… Homeless people create a movie about homelessness, screenings from San Francisco to New Mexico While Mayors from LA to San Francisco claim their “homeless population” is decreasing, the violent policy of “sweeps” increase and the budgets for homelessness are cut, a powerful new movie created by houseless/formerly houseless sweeps and eviction survivors will screened from San Francisco to New Mexico and will honor houseless ancestors all along the way. In honor of Ingold Guttenbiel, who was killed while sleeping behind a car wash In honor of Jose Angel Castillo who was killed for being houseless Upcoming Screenings: Vallejo Thursday, November 5 @ 6 PM PST The Vallejo Museum, 734 Marin St, Vallejo, CA 94590 Get Tickets Here Los Angeles Friday, November 6th, 2026 @ 7 pm PST Skid Row History Museum, 250 S. Broadway, Los Angeles, CA 90012 Free and No Ticket Needed! San Francisco Sunday, November 8 @ 1:30 PM PST Treeline Room in Sports Basement, 1590 Bryant St, San Francisco, CA 94103 Get Tickets Here Albuquerque Friday, November 20 @ 3:30 PM MST Street Vision, 123 Vermont St NE, Albuquerque, NM 87108 Get Tickets Here $1-20 donation (no one turned away for lack of funds or for any reason!) Free for houseless / poor folks Crushing Wheelchairs with an original screenplay written by houseless poet and povertyskola tiny gray-garcia and adapted from her award winning play of the same name, focuses on the violence of homelessness, city and state sponsored sweeps, anti-homeless hate and poLice terror. The movie includes an all houseless/formerly houseless cast whose motto is: “We aren’t acting, we are living.” It was shot primarily in houseless communities (encampments) and on the streets in Oakland and San Francisco. “The story of Crushing Wheelchairs is written in a prayer, a dream, and a scream felt and barely survived by me, tiny gray-garcia aka povertyskola, my houseless, disabled mama, and all of my fellow poverty/disability skolaz & ancestors portrayed/lived in this movie/story. This is the art of our lives, our almost survival, and our death at the hands of laws that say our bodies and lives are criminal and that we are trash.” –tiny gray-garcia (writer, co-director) The lead characters in this powerful movie feature tiny and her mother, who struggled with homelessness throughout her childhood and later were arrested for sleeping on the streets of Oakland; Aunti Frances Moore, a formerly houseless Black Panther in Oakland; Stephanie Grant, who was pregnant and homeless when she witnessed the murder of Luis Gongora Pat by poLice in 2016, for being houseless and indigenous in a rapidly gentrifying San Francisco Mission neighborhood. The ancestors of homelessness we also focus on include Steven Taylor, murdered by poLice in Walmart while houseless for having a mental health crisis; Papa Bear, a houseless veteran of three tours in Vietnam, who died on the streets of San Francisco after receiving 280 citations for being houseless on the street, iris Canada, a 100 year old Black Elder evicted to homelessness from her longtime home in the Fillmore due to gentrification, Shannon Marie Bigley, Cornelius Taylor and James Edward Oakley, all run over by bulldozers in sweeps of their tents in California and Atlanta, Anjileen “Green Eyes” Swan, who died after being violently swept in Los Angeles and Luis Temaj, burned alive while asleep in his sleeping bag and so many more. We are living in a moment when Mayors across California and the nation use the policy of sweeps on a daily basis to disappear houseless peoples bodies and comeUnities off the streets by force, and cut all of our housing first and treatment resources–all of which further enhanced already dangerous sweeps that were amped up last year’s Supreme Court ruling that stated living while houseless in the US is a crime (City of Grants Pass vs. Johnson, 2024) and that houseless people have no protection under the Constitution. And that this crime is punishable by arrest and incarceration. But how can you incarcerate someone for being poor, for being disabled, for not having enough money or credit to pay rent to attain shelter? How can we be punished for living outside without access to shelter? In the state of California, the Governor has claimed that our bodies are equivalent to trash. In the city and county of San Francisco, the mayor has deemed our presence a blight; and in Los Angeles where, on average, six unhoused people die everyday, our outside comeUnities (encampments) are being destroyed, evicted, and disappeared. Our Lives are now deemed unworthy of human rights, so I suppose in the eyes of the State we are not human, we are in fact trash. “But we are not trash. This movie at this time is urgent medicine for humanity itself, who through this art can realize that we as houseless people are just like housed people. We are workers, and artists, and poets and innovators, and survivors. We have solutions and backstories and HERstories and visions – this movie lifts up those urgent stories, those urgent solutions – this movie is Medicine for Mama Earth and all of us,” concluded tiny gray-garcia. This movie produced by Green Diamond Projects and POOR Magazine includes spoken word from renowned poet laureates including Tongo Eisen-Martin (Poet Laureate of San Francisco), Ayodele Wordslangar Nzinga (Poet Laureate of Oakland), Luis Rodriguez (Poet Laureate of Los Angeles) and Devorah Major (Poet Laureate of San Francisco), as well as indigenous leaders and prayer-bringers Corrina Gould (Spokeswoman of the Confederated Villages of Lisjan, Sogorea Te), Tony Gonzales, OG Rev, Harry Williams and Brother Mink as well as formerly houseless leaders from Wood Street Commons and Homefulness.

August 25, 2026 NICK Nickolas Cruz Dariemax (?) Nick AKA mosh Born & raised in Van Nuys, California, 818 Valley boy W Head Bangin & MOSHEN III IUA Trying to figure out what igzacly I struggle with or.. the truth in that.? Angel My name is Jose but you can call me Angel Im from heaven but my mom gave birth to me. I live wherever I feel like home is Homeless culture. Everyone that is invisible to others… My struggle right now is the city trying to keep us out of sight while I try to create stability while the city takes everything from us ..all at the same time Britney Sanders, Britbrat… My name is BritBrat Im from the Valley and Everywhere I am Belizean I feel like a bad mom. I keep getting fuqed over, what am i doing wrong. I keep putting my trust in places … where it doesn’t belong… Hard Time aka tiny (povertyskola) My name is HARD time CUZ TOO MANY times I only made it out alive cuz I held onto or rhyme I aint from anywhere - neither here nor there - doorways & the backseats of cars in LA, Fresno, Oakland the valley or nowhere Might as well b wite my heart of Black Brown river, sand & sea, palm trees & sand & love & wind. What you can’t see - u can’t really tell who is homeless me … Holding people who like me want to destroyourselves & each other can’t you see? Hazel Henriquez Surviving 5 From Van Nuys “the so called ghetto” Salvadorean, with Lenca Roots. I was another statistic dangerous immigrant child, teen mom didn't finish high school, married young, they call me lazy…of five. They thought I wouldn’t make it. But we indigenous folx are resilient, thriving in my tiny home, raising amazingly kind children. Married for 29 to an amazing man coming together alongside community to build the world we dream of. Giselle My mama & daddy named me Giselle; meaning vow or pledge. But I like when you call me Gelly. NO it’s not spelled with a “J” but a G for the GODDESS in me. I’m a SoCal native, a valley girl to be exact. I have no origins. The world is my home, whether these transparent aliens know it or not. My ancestors are my guiding light, my moral compass, my way through these slippery roads. LooKed down because of my skin. Hated for my beauty, And judged & beaten for my knowledge. And they call us savages. But I am the strongest. I am a GOD/GELLY/GISELLE. So I win.. I pledge a vow to stay a GOD!! Paisley Paisley, my name a gift from my mother. Born on the west side – so-called “ghetto” side of O’ahu. Islanders priced out of the islands. Chased the Hollywood dream Off of student loan schemes. All hundred thousands of dollaras and degrees But the lie of rent and the life of a gentrifier was a poison not made for me. So I sought refuge in an RV. Raised by two kids escaping poverty thru stripping first then thru the military. My grandmas Indigenous to the Philippines. Grandfathers Greek and English - passing on white supremacy, abandonment and rape through our bloodlines. I live between the worlds of gender perceived. Are you a boy or a girl? I live between the worlds of poverty and privilege Generational poverty and trauma, Clawing our ways out Slammed doors and slapped faces. Learning from an early age Police only make violence worse. Martha Mi nombre es Martha. Yo soy de El Salvador y vivo en Van Nuys. Mi cultura es muy bonita mis ancestros, son pipiles y lencas y mi gente, es muy Bonita muy AMable, nos gusta Bailan Cumbia, nos gustan los colores Encendidos, nos gusta mucho salir en las tardecitas a dar la vuelta y comos antojitos. Lo más duro para mi vida fue la pérdida de mi nieto, fue terrible. Y aun no la supero y ultimate, a mi hermana le dio un derrame cerebral y pensé que iba a morir. English (Martha ) My name is Martha. I'm from El Salvador and I live in Van Nuys. My culture is beautiful. My ancestors are Pipil and Lenca, and my people are very kind and friendly. We like to dance Cumbia, we like bright colors, and we love going out in the late afternoons for a stroll and eating snacks. The hardest thing in my life was the loss of my grandson; it was terrible. I still haven't gotten over it, and then my sister had a stroke, and I thought she was going to die.

Illustration by maulana ahmad on Unsplash RAGE Paisley To every demon with a badge, To every bulldozer who calls me trash. To the politicians who try to Legislate us away To the neighbors who curse and harass And complain. To the journalists in print and on TV Who pretend they know what it’s like to be me. Who promote hateful lies and Calls to lock us away. To the non-profiteers using our bodies to make bank. To the ones with their heads Gleefully in the sand Stepping over our bodies On their way to go dance. To the white “founding fathers” who Emblazoned this trap. To the self-driving cars and delivery apps. To every endless screen and agent draining These lands. I pray with my rage For these ways to collapse. Gelly Am I mad or nah? What kind of fucking question is that? My answer: Of fucking course I am! I swear I just want to tear everything apart Where is the dynamite at so I can demo some shit. I want to break it Break it Break it! I’m raging and waging that my acts at Kindness is working Working Working To fix this fucked up ass system. So I keep pushing forward with kindness, a smile On my face, serving the people. This how I rage, You should join me! ANONYMOUS I can’t do rage RESISTANCE Paisley We move together, without fear To break the chains that bind us. A hug during a sweep. Gelly Pointing the finger and giving the finer; An act of resistance - I believe in both Shouting “No, THAT’S NOT OK/RIGHT”, an Act of resistance - also something I believe in. Conquering Fears is an act of resistance - something we should practice more often. Resist the coward within so we can be brave in this crazy world.

The following stories were written by Povertyskolaz living on "The Lot" at Laney College and were based on this prompt: Crisis is universal - we have all had it. Please briefly describe one of your worst crisis below - financial, family, self, health, etc. By H a youth poverty skola from Laney Lot, 11 If they close the Laney Lot, I would feel sad because we have nowhere else to go. By John Shurn The first crisis is when my granny of 90 years passed away. What she gave to us changed me forever but her passing was a blessing in disguise because all the morals that she had instilled in me, I instilled in the youth and the youth will instill into the world. We win again! By Anonymous Being broke not having money for food. By Star (Amanda) One of the worst crisis that I have been faced with was in 2018 when I was diagnosed with epilepsy (seizures) and cancer (with a tumor in the back of my head). Besides being sick and convulsing 5 to 6 times a day, I became unable to work and lost a job I loved that led to me being able to support myself. With no work and still to this being told no on disability I became homeless and have yet to be able to get back on my feet. By Marlin Darris My mom died while I was locked up, and it was hard for me to go see her grave until four years I was out. By Sara Kelly “Lot Leader” Dec. 6, 2023, the day I finally left my babydaddy's and his family’s house with nothing but the clothes on my back, not even my kids. Took me 3 months to get them back. By J Javier N. My first crisis was going to jail right after me and family got evicted. That triggered a series of multiple events that made my life spiral downward. I lost motivation to do everything for myself to get out of that rut I’m still in. It’s been so difficult to adapt to everything the rise in homelessness has made it so difficult to change my lifestyle. I've constantly made bad decisions for myself and that affects my family. I feel like I need to ask for help but my image I give off don’t allow me to do that. I guess my ego won’t allow me but: I do need help and in learning to put my ego aside and allow myself to ask for help without shaming myself. Today I still struggle but I’m learning to be a better person. There is a lot of help that is out there we just need to ask. By Tim I severed my intestines and waited 18 days to go to hospital and wound up with a colostomy bag for 2 ½ years. By Chance William Hebbring My first crisis was when my mom passed away when I was 8 years old. With me next to her laying in the same bed. My second is when my stepmom kills herself by taking a handful of pills. I was 12 or 13 then because she died, we couldn't afford where we were living and that was the start of my homelessness streak for a long while. By Anonymous Since the age of 7 crisis has been unfortunately part of my life. I can’t pick one event that's worse. They all have a different style. By Tiffany Movrich My housing issue now that it’s illegal to be homeless. I don’t want to go to jail just for living in my RV. By Lindsey I was 14 years old and me and my best friend were kidnapped and taken to the Skyline hills and were both raped and beaten and afterwards told not to tell anyone cause they knew where we went to school and they would come and kill us. By Horton Timothy Being shot By S. Carson I graduated Delancey Street Foundation in 2010 after 5 years. I was in recovery going strong working out hours weekly as the driver supervisor/trainer for City of SF after 6 ½ years a City (?) I was making $28.50 an hour 60+ hours a week, 2 cars, a motorcycle and a 4 bedroom 3 bathroom home in Antioch. I was a single father as well. In the summer of 2016 my only son was killed by a drunk driver while visiting his grandparents on his mom’s side in Montana. Everything fell apart after that, I started using again. Every time I went home I saw my son everywhere so I stopped going home. One missed step led to the next, to the next and here I am.

Sonya Massey 09/28/26 Sean Grayson was sentenced to 20 years in prison for shooting Sonya Massey in her face on July 6, 2024 after she called 911 because of a possible intruder outside her home. Grayson, 32 years old allegedly was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer just one year before killing Sonya Massey. Charged with first degree murder but convicted of second degree murder after jurors found some sympathy after Grayson expressed in court that he was scared Sonya Massey would throw hot water on him. Sean Grayson had moved through several law enforcement agencies before he arrived at Sangamon County Sheriff's department. Why was he even able to work as a deputy after being diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer? Or was this another secret Pardon by Trump? How convenient for Sean Grayson to suddenly die in prison just months into his “20” year maximum sentence. Did he really die in Prison of cancer, or is he with Epstein and other killers on a secret island? Grayson was recently denied a request for early medical release under Illinois law for prisoners with terminal illnesses or serious medical conditions. In late August 2026, just days after he was denied this request for medical release, Grayson was pronounced dead “in custody”. Grayson's attorney refused to comment after announcing his death. The other deputy present the night of the murder, Dawson Farley, who responded to the call that night with Grayson, is still on duty after testifying at trial that he did not see Sonya Massey as a threat, and only pulled his gun out after he saw that Grayson drew his pistol. Justice for Sonya Massey! Gera, Kop watch Aztlan