Contents
- One in four children??!
- HASTINGS
- Vancouver's Homeless Christmas
- The Spirit of Giving
- THE BRICKYARD
- Behind the War on Terror
- Arts In Action Forum
- to the Lost Sisters
- as disturbing as possible
- CHAMPION OF THE D.E.
- Fate
- The Shadow Project
- You think someone is going to save you?
- Your Vote Counts!
- SISTER ELIZABETH KELLIHER
- the fight against poverty and inequality
- Homeless and Half-naked on East Hastings
- a poem of absence
- Sidewalk Song
One in four British Columbia children are living in poverty -- the highest of any province -- according to a report by an advocacy group that calls for governments across Canada to change the conditions of the country's poorest children.
The report, by anti-poverty group Campaign 2000, paints B.C. as the worst offender in a country where the gap between rich and poor families is growing and where children of aboriginals and recent immigrants are hardest hit.
Released for the first ministers conference in Kelowna, the report was timed for the anniversary of a 1989 unanimous vote by the House of Commons to eliminate child poverty by 2000, Campaign 2000 co-ordinator Laurel Rothman said.
Michael Goldberg, a B.C. advocate who worked on the report, said the government has to increase minimum wage, eliminate the controversial $6-an-hour training wage, and end restrictions on welfare rolls that have pushed people to low-paying jobs.
"They were meant to get good jobs, but they didn't," he said. "And you didn't have that policy anywhere else in Canada."
B.C.'s child poverty rate, measured by the proportion of children living in households earning less than a regionally specific low-income cutoff, is more than double that of Prince Edward Island, which had the lowest poverty rate, at 11.3 per cent.
B.C.'s rate jumped from 20 per cent in 2001 to about 24 per cent in 2002 and 2003. In that time, the national average stayed stubbornly close to its current value, 17.6 per cent.
Nearly half of the children of recent immigrants are poor, said Ms. Rothman, while 40 per cent of aboriginal children and 33 per cent of children in visible minorities live in poverty. That should make the federal Liberals think twice about a plan to boost immigration to 300,000 over the next five years, she said.
Waiting at the Vancouver Salvation Army with her two-year-old son River, 25-year-old Francine Jennings said she's part of an impoverished urban-native population and doesn't want her children to grow up poor. Even after finishing high school and college, the single mother struggles to raise her son with only $150 in welfare and a $266 child tax credit left after rent.
"You prioritize," she said. "You say, is it more important for him to have a toy or for him to have diapers," There's no money for her to buy clothes or a dehumidifier to reduce mould in her apartment that exacerbates River's asthma, and she must count pennies or her son won't get milk at the end of the month.
Needy children
Nearly one in four B.C. children was living in poverty in 2003, a number that translates to about 201,000 youngsters.
Child poverty rates, 2003
British Columbia: 23.9%
Manitoba: 22.1%
Newfoundland: 21.8%
Nova Scotia: 20.7%
Saskatchewan: 18.3%
New Brunswick: 17.3%
Quebec: 16.7%
Ontario: 16.1%
Alberta: 15.6%
PEI: 11.3%.
Canada: 17.6%
SOURCE: STATISTICS CANADA
From the Globe & Mail
HASTINGSHASTINGS
Hastings Street is so much more than a continent:
The smells are the smells of a town faraway, one like yours, like mine, like everyone's.
It stinks like the hatred of the government that administers its filth.
Hastings, I pass along her everyday, so as not to forget her face
I measure my steps slowly along her garment
I want to see her always through the height and breadth of her body
Curled up, with her mouth closed, waiting for them to speak to her or to shut their eyes
She doesn't say anything, but she's alert.
I scream to her face, broken with marijuana and crack,
Lost -in dreams of coke and paradises of heroin that are not hers
Ay! Hastings, everyone's scandal
No one can say that they have nothing to do with what happens,
They can say they haven't seen it, but they can't say that they do not know.
Hastings - why are you always the place of the forgotten ones?
Sanctuary of the condemned, people murdered by the rules,
Laws and regulations that are given out at the food bank,
Handouts from Welfare, a bus ticket, the philanthropists' lunch
Spoils of the drug dealers and the functionaries who administer vice and misery.
Lives thrown away in needles into the gutter:
Shock oozing pus,
Smell of shit, of despair, of compassion, of losing it all,
And somehow, never by accident, of tenderness.
(In Hastings statistics never drop by, they never visit this corner
I was looking everywhere for my indigenous brothers (and sisters) of pain and blood
And I came upon them on the sidewalk and they did not know me:
Their struggle and their future tied up in making sure they have their next fix.
These ones, (my beloved), drag their rotten colours and faces and skin,
It doesn't matter their sex, their age or how many years their bodies have birthed
And they measure, without knowing it, the price of a bit of drugs, cheap and murderous.
Here dogs don't bark, but rather weep in pain for them.
For those who wonder why we don't give up,
Hastings is, more than anything, a building up of fury,
Memory that needs a fist made of dignity
A path which speaks the future that I don't want
Horizon against which I have armed my strength.
Enough! If we're all going to die, no more lying down in silence,
Let this wretched poverty rebel
Because nothing is free and there will be overdoses in order to clean the streets
As the Olympic year hovers over the business district.
Hastings is not hope's grave,
It is so that we won't forget
-- and why not say it - it is the colour of my fear and my shame.
Raul Gatica
Vancouver's Homeless Christmas
It is the night before Christmas on the corner of
The homeless are all huddled trying .to stay out of the rain.
In the doorways of monuments to Mammon's great greed.
Under the city’s lights dancing and twinkling so bright
The homeless-are hunkering down for another cold night
After rising from their knees to enjoy a great Christmas feed.
The public washrooms are all locked up sound and tight.
Now the problem is to hold it all in until daylight.
Failing that a deposit will be left in the rain or the snow.
Because when you have to, you just got to go.
The cardboard is taken from the shopping cart.
With hopes the body heat wouldn’t so swiftly depart.
Then they huddle together with folks they trust and they know.
All have a story that they can reluctantly tell,
Of struggle, disappointment and a personal hell.
While their perpetrators lay snugly, enjoying incomes so great.
There is George with his leg cut off when a crane tipped over on the job.
Eventually of worker's compensation he was to be robbed
The pain in his phantom leg was to be his constant mate.
They said retrain or we cut you off in two years.
He tried to kill the pain with much too many beers.
Then to study he could not focus his. mind very well.
So cut him off they did after two years of aid
Then ten years of appeals thereafter he fruitlessly made.
Now he tries to survive in this virtual hell.
Now Harry there is a different story.
He was once an executive in all his glory.
Downsizing, takeovers and contracting out,
is what the business world is all about.
First he fired those under him left and right..
Then his work load became a dreadful fright.
Till one day his wife said of this marriage I want out.
Yon have a family, now don't you recall?
And you are never home to watch your children grow tall.
You have no idea what parenting is about.
Then the stress in his life it did compound.
Till the CEO said your results aren't that sound.
!'m afraid we’ll have to let you go.
He was found to be over-qualified, or too old
There were no jobs he was always told.
So he applied for unemployment and they said no.
Eventually like a leaf from a treetop in the fall
He drifted down to the street and joined them all.
Huddled next to George he braces himself for another cold night.
Now Charlie's story is nothing new.
He first got laid by a priest, in a pew.
Left the child in an awful fright.
He was told he’d be dead if a word be said
And for forty years, kept quiet he did.
He took to drink trying to wipe the memories from sight.
The shame and the guilt and those memories of dread.
Were all too often dancing around in his head.
The more he tried to drown his sorrows in drink
The less then he was able to work and to play.
The drink was to take over his life one day.
Now all his days are spent trying not to think.
He sits this Christmas night leaning against a great stone pillar.
With drink, this night away, he will now dither.
While the Carols and church music still ring in his ears.
He huddles with hope that the night win soon go away.
And that morning will bring him a brighter, sunnier day.
As his lined brown face slowly drops into his beer, a falling tear.
The shelters, they are all filled up to the brim.
And no more people can they let in.
It's not cold enough yet for the emergency shelter
But being on the street at night isn't that awful a thing to dread.
Not when one thinks of the risk that's taken in a shelter bed.
Where thieves are everywhere and things are helter-skelter.
Out here in the cold and the rain for the night
Sharing a doorway with friends is less of a fright.
True there is the cold and the awful pain.
It's hard on the bones the older they get
Especially ones that have been broken up a bit.
Sleeping out in the snow and the rain.
Larry over there was a passenger in a car one day.
Later, that afternoon, in the hospital he did lay.
ICBC said his injuries weren't all that bad.
They told him his compensation was to be nominal
Because his income thus far hand not been too phenomenal.
Though much poor health and strain he has had.
Too many sick days, too much pain for sleep or for work.
He eventually lost his job as a night clerk.
Oh God how he's tried to learn a new trade,
But the pain has gotten in the way of his lofty ambitions.
And to kill it he's made it his life's main mission.
Now of looking for work he no longer eludes the charade.
Larry's got too much a fright to sleep at night.
So he'll take crack to keep him awake until morning's first light
He has found this to be his best survival mode.
He hopes and prays that this Christmas will be a sunny day
So when the parks open he can fall asleep in his hide away.
Out of the rain and the cold, where he need not fee! so bold.
Little Kenny is new to this tough stuff.
He's run from a family where life is pretty darned rough.
The Mom was drunk all the time, and beat him as a rule.
He's now on the streets too young for the dole
Doesn't know quite just where he should go.
He doesn't fit in and he's feeling quite the fool.
His dad a thing of his youthful past
Was not a figure that for very long did last
In his household the drinking and fighting were norm.
This night Kenny huddles in silence, watching the rain turn to snow.
Enjoying the silence and peace and thinking of the home to which he won’t go.
He's thankful to be safe and away from that storm.
No drunken brawls this Christmas night on the street.
Just community oh so sweet that only yesterday he did meet.
They pass him a bottle "to help him keep warm."
Long lost of its comfort, his warm bed back at home.
Has been traded this night for a place under the Carnegie dome.
Now he huddles there next to the sick, infirm and the lame.
With scars that are so deeply in-bedded.
His past is something for most to be dreaded.
Now he's hopeful his future won't be more of the same.
As this Christmas Eve, he sits across from Jane who he thinks a. bit insane.
Now Jane was in Esseinda!e a long while back.
Until budgets to health care the Government did cut
Now Jane just mumbles to herself and dances about.
She is friendly and kind and ever so nice.
But rile her up and her language turns to spice.
And on Boy! Can she shout!
With her there will be no messing about.
There is a history for every body under those damp blankets tonight
They are someone's son or daughter who's needed to take flight.
They are cold and they are hungry, with nowhere to go.
It is on this Christmas night, and every night of the year.
They are gathered in poverty living in cold and with fear.
In the doorways of buildings to stay out of the rain and the snow.
It is here that you will find them all huddled and in fright
Trying to get through yet another homeless, hard and cold night.
But they are all somebody special, and I just thought you should know.
It’s Christmas in
Homeless now by the thousands here, oh.my what a pity!
Christmas at
Colleen Carroll
“These last two weeks, I have observed sad, sad things. I have written 4 books about poverty and homelessness. I’ve interviewed homeless people but. I have never seen people suffering so much as now.
Last week coming along Butte on my scooter, there was an elderly man, perhaps 60 plus. He was in a wheelchair, tires badly worn. He was so dirty his hands were black; his legs were visible through his tattered pants, one swollen and deep-purple-looking, like it could explode any moment, and the other full of open cuts and sores. He was so sick.. not panhandling, just bent over. .
I asked, “Do you need help?” He shook his head.
I couldn’t do much anyway as I was on my scooter. I couldn’t push him. I gave him some fruit I had just bought (some ripe plums) and he said thanks. I knew without a doubt he would die soon.
I saw 3 men on Sunday at different times, dirty and sick, looking in the garbage, talking to themselves. There are so many sleeping in doorways on Davie: real unwashed unfed sick human beings One young woman, with hair matted, was rocking to and fro on the sidewalk.
Yesterday I took the sky train on my scooter. It was raining. A young man, maybe twenty, got on. He too was in rags and so dirty; he had a squeegie in his hands and was soaked through. I smiled and said hello.. he picked up my keys when I dropped them. When I returned on the sky train a very young man got on. I smiled because I knew he was less harmful than the World Bank! I gave him two bucks and told him get a hot drink
Having a safety net protects everyone, even the rich. If a person is starving, really starving, then why are we so surprised that they shop lift food?
Some homeless are in Stanley Park (many have used it quietly for years)..They have been driven out of every community and the only way now is into the ocean. Should they build a raft and go to Cuba? Some will just die from neglect and sickness...
I blame the govt. It has cut back so much on services to the poor and elderly and the sick that Stanley Park may become THE LAST STAND.”
I wrote the above in 2003, thinking that it couldn’t get any worse, but here it is 2 years later and homelessness has more than doubled. With the City government returning to the wrong people, how many people will die this winter?
Sheila Baxter
(author of No Way To Live,
Under The Viaduct, and
A Child Is Not A Toy)
THE BRICKYARDTHE BRICKYARD
A band with a drummer
In front of a crowd
Perspiration and pulsating energy
Future rock superstars
Live!
I'm one in the crowd
Cheering them on
Drunken patrons fill the bar
My gaze is drawn to the man by the pool table
The one in the velvet trench coat
His clothes- the heavy black boots, the coat
They're expensive
They're a front,
A mask,
A wall to hide the emptiness he feels and lives
Watching him, I'm overcome by sadness
He's lonely
Hiding in the darkness,
The dark clubs,
The dark rooms,
The night,
As he stumbles and slurs
And laughs when there's nothing funny
He wants so much to connect with others,
Yet doesn't know how
He fills that emptiness,
That hole inside,
With booze
He's searching for something
But what? Where to look?
He doesn't know
He looks to outside forces
To others
To alcohol
In search for his wholeness
"Look inside," I want to tell him
"Take-off the layers, the walls you hide behind,
And look inside."
I feel powerless to reach-out to him
I feel great sadness,
Yet gratitude for all I have
-JACQUI
Behind the War on TerrorThe Oil Factor: Behind the War on Terror
– an overview
This article is about the movie, The Oil Factor: Behind the War on Terror. Although it was released in 2004, I didn’t get to see it until October 10 of this year, at the Vancouver International Film Festival. It was written, produced, and directed by Gerard Ungerman and Audrey Brohy, a husband and wife documentary-making team.
The film opens with a speech by US Pres. George W. Bush, during which he says, “There are thousands of terrorists in over 60 countries, like ticking time bombs. Our war on terror is only beginning.”
In July 2002, despite weapons inspections resuming in
The justification for committing war on
A neo-conservative think-tank, The Project for the New American Century, advocated increased military spending and “spreading of our principles conducive to our values and prosperity.” I read a document available over the Internet by this organization, and found that around 2000, it was promoting the idea of the
The actual reasons for the invasion were stated by an intelligence operative: geo-strategic dominance, especially with regard to energy supplies; pressure to lift the sanctions on Iraq was increasing at the time—had this been realized, no contracts would be given to American companies, and no invasion would take place; finally, Saddam Hussein was switching from the US dollar as currency of transaction, to the Euro, which would have the effect of undermining the American economy.
One day’s worth of world oil usage today comprises enough barrels to encircle the Earth. Half is used for fuel, and half is used for plastics and other industrial products; oil is indispensable to our modern civilization.
The world is rapidly running out of oil: by 2010, the West will run out; by 2013,
Noam Chomsky said
In August 2003, the Iraqi leader sympathetic to anti-Israel, anti-US
Ask one person, “How does it look to the rest of the world when the first big contract for refurbishing
Before 9/11, the
One year after the invasion of
This is why the resistance in
Oil in Central Asia is a factor in the invasion of
One month after 9/11, the
If you map the locations of
Is it, the film concludes, a coincidence that US forces are massively deployed in oil rich
By Rolf Auer
Arts In Action ForumMy Presentation at the Arts In Action Forum
On October 20 I was fortunate to be one of the artist/researcher presenters at the Arts In Action Forum held at 29 W Hastings - one of the pre-festival events for the Heart of the City Festival. I worked hard researching and freaking out about speaking in front of a lot of people for a month. It was very rewarding for me since I developed a lot of selfconfidence when I found out I could do it and be good at it.
My presentation was about Cellspace, which is an artist-run centre in the Mission District of San Francisco. It was started in 1996 when a group of artists leased an undeveloped 10,000 square foot warehouse. It is a vibrant place which greatly enriches the area's cultural life. It is 90% volunteer run. It has an art gallery which showcases emerging artists, stages performances and lots of other things. It has been hugely successful in reaching its goal which is to provide an affordable, permanent location to artists working in all arts disciplines.
Since the Downtown Eastside has the highest percentage of artists per capita in
If you want to learn more about this amazing space they have a great website: www.cellspace.org.
Working on this project made me get excited about starting up something similar in this area. I highly recommend that you check out the website for this great organization.
By Adrienne Macallum
to the Lost SistersMerry Christmas to the Lost Sisters,
May they find their way home. Please Creator give us the strength to carry on for them, heal our hearts that ache for our Sisters, they need our Love now and the families as well. I only want one thing this Christmas, God, give me back my sister Mary Florence Lands, she is very nice, beautiful smile, that's all I will ask for Dear Creator thank you for the
blessings that you give me.
written by little sister,
Let’s make it as disturbing as possible.
Agencies, organizations, groups and individuals, most especially those involved with elevating the dignity of women but all their collaterals as well, are being asked to participate in a national day of remembrance for the 14 women massacred at a university in
That event was a horrible tragedy and, even here in
The eyes and spirits of local people, most especially women and their families and friends, get cold comfort from such a national event. The ongoing tragedy here has apparently been reduced to a varying statistic, at least outside of the Downtown Eastside and just maybe – but unlikely - outside
Joseph Stalin is quoted in Alexandr Soltznyshyn’s Gulag Archipelago as saying “One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.”
The disparity that is alive and well here is centred on the formalized dichotomy between
You want to make it a truly national event? How about just mentioning that over five hundred Aboriginal women in Canada are missing… have disappeared… and make this annual memorial part of an ongoing campaign to break the silence around the violence that thousands of women have lived with and still must endure?
By PAULR
THE CHAMPION OF THE DOWNTOWN EASTSIDE
The boxer Antonio dos
Fate
Is it a miracle, a coincidence or a dream come true?...
On a nice afternoon in the fall of 1992 I decided to take a nap. As I fell asleep my Father came to me in a dream. For as long as I can remember, if I forgot to visit my father's grave on the anniversary of his death in August of 1982, he would come to visit and spend time with me in my dreams.,
In the winter of ’92 the dream went like this: My father took me out onto the patio and said to me, "Son, you bought your own house, be nice now!" I said, "Thanks, Dad!" In my mind, for some reason, I believe he helped me to get that house! He continued and said, "Look over there Son, see the girl with the red Chinese dress sitting at the big round table? She is going to be your wife and the two of you will have a baby boy! Be good to her and yourself. Understand?!" I knew I was only dreaming but the thought crossed my mind "Father is dead so that girl is probably dead too. Does that mean I have to die to marry her?" Then I thought "One look won't hurt." I moved close to the girl. I looked down at her and asked "Miss, may I look at your face?" She had a veil on her head and as she looked up at me she used 2 fingers from each hand to open the veil and smile. I said "Wow, you have a very nice smile and you're very pretty!" As I sat down looking at her she stood up and walked away from the table. I yelled "Miss, I don't even know your name!" Then I woke up with the image of the back of the girl in a Chinese red dress still in my mind.
The following night I had another dream. This time I'm in a strange place, very dark, with lots of Asian people around. As I was walking down the road I said to myself, "Where am I? What am I doing here?" I looked over to my right. I saw 7 or 8 people in a circle under a dim light eating fruit. I turned my head to look back in front of me and as I did something cofourful caught my eye. I turned my head to the right again and this time I saw the girl in the red Chinese dress looking at me with a nice smile. She began moving away from the crowd and headed towards a laneway. I yelled "Miss, aren't you the one my father told me about? I don't even know your name!" I quickly ran after her. When I got to the laneway it looked about 5 to 6 feet wide and 20 feet long and seemed to me like a cement wall. I saw her turn right at the end of the laneway. By the time I got there she had disappeared. I was sad and frustrated and then I woke up. I said to myself, "Wow, two dreams in one day and they’re connected!
About 3 or 4 months later my 2nd dream repeated itself and then again 3 or 4 months after that. Then it stopped for good '
For 13 years wherever I go when I see a Chinese red dress, I would recall my dream like a movie playing in my head. [The 2nd half next issue]
T.C. (Carnegie Security)
The Shadow ProjectThe Shadow Project
On a freezing, blustering, wickedly windswept day I gratefully wandered off the glistening streets of the historical and award-winning Strathcona neighbourhood and into the warm and welcoming confines of the ERussian Hall on staid Campbell Avenue; and I must tell you that the special occasion, of course, the second of two performances of The Shadows Project workshop presentation and Roots of Addiction Forum, produced by Vancouver Moving Theatre and Carnegie Community Centre.
It was a stunning performance of a solid 30 minutes by numerous local actors, puppeteers, the lighting crew numbering between 30 and 50, along with an enchantingly magical live band slightly off to the side of the stage pumping out extraordinary beats and rythms under the steady leadership of the constant and consistent Joelysa Pankanea.
All of this stage management was under the careful steady direction and watchful eyes of “Heart of the City” director, the soon-to-be legendary James Fagan Tait, along with stage manger Dorothy Jenkins.
The Shadows Project, with already well over 100 people involved (so far), will be two years in the making, culminating in performances at the 3rd Annual Heart of the City Festival. The entire Project is pulled together and produced by Terry Hunter and Savabbah Walling, inspired by the ancient tradition of Shadow Theatre: stunning, stark and startling all at the same time.
Following both performances was the Roots of Addiction Forum, hosted by Carnegie Centre. stalwart artiste Sharon Kravitz, featuring a presentation by SFU professor Bruce Alexander, author of Roots of Addiction in a Free Market Society. There was much discussion, debate and sharing amongst members of the auidience and those who were part of the Project – some talking about horrific personal experiences and some inspiring revelations on how to fight addiction.. Next year, the results of learning could be Surviving Addiction – Hope beyond Hope, and Breaking the Silence on these very important and serious issues in an open, comforting and friendly atmosphere.
By Robyn Livingstone
You think someone is going to save you?You think someone is going to come and save you?
Did Matt save you? Drew? Sean? Robb?
You walk always with your hand in that of another
Yet your soul wanders through this world lost and alone
Something inside you tries to reach out,
But you stop your soul's cries for help from escaping
Just the same old story being played out over and over
Has it worked for you yet, Mel?
Turning to men as a distraction from the pain?
Getting caught-up in the chaos of it all
Digging your claws into the flesh of another
Inflicting pain and emotional scars
This guy will be the one,
Or so you always seem to think
The one who saves you
Saves you from yourself
Your past
The convoluted emotions you feel
and stuff deep down inside
-JACQUI
Your Vote Counts!
I have been told time and time again that I should get out and vote. Find out the facts – the pros and cons. Research the candidates who I will be electing to office. Will these candidates be able to fight for our community's needs and will these candidates also have our community’s support?
Since I was old enough to vote those were the questions my parents asked me before I went to vote in my home town of
Today I live in a community where many people say it is not a good place to live. I have lived here since 1990 - I love it and consider it home. Of course I do see a lot of people who struggle on a daily basis with issues of poverty, homelessness, addiction, mental illness or a combination of all of the above. But what I also see is that there are many positives too. Many people in the City of Vancouver outside of our community (general public/media) call the Downtown Eastside “skid row”, painting primarily a dark picture.....because they only see the problems and not the many accomplishments we have worked hard at together – not just to better our home but to actually create a sustainable community for everyone, including both businesses and local residents.
When it comes down to getting help for the many projects we attempt to carry out in our community, we rely on some funding from City/Victoria/Ottawa. We are asked to choose the people in positions of Municipal power (in this case) who would best serve our community. This weekend I was asked to vote - “if you don’t vote don’t complain”, so in good faith, off I went to cast my ballot.
I voted and waited anxiously for the results. Of course, like many others, I was hoping for the best and was disappointed in the end, because 'I almost voted', (and I am sure other's actually did) for the wrong candidate who had another contender with the same last name – which has led to concern that one of them received votes that should have been accredited to the other who came short by a 3,500 votes. It appears that once again the other side played dirty and are now saying they were not involved with the mix up! (What goes around comes around! My grandmother used to say "truth brings justice and lies are the devils words.")
I was honest when I voted on November 19th 2005! I can only hope that those who did get elected will serve every community in this City equally. The Downtown Eastside needs help with the many different challenges it faces on a day-to-day basis and cannot afford to be ignored or dismissed. Neglect of our issues can cost lives and we have lost more than enough already!
Leader of the future (MDP)
SISTER ELIZABETH KELLIHERSISTER ELIZABETH KELLIHER
RECEIVES AN AWARD IN
On November 9th 2005, Sr. E. Kelliher received the "Sara Curry Community Award" in
In 1973 Sr. Elizabeth, a Day Care consultant, was asked to help the board to reestablish Little Missionary's to be a licensed Day Care Center. That was done and the center functioned very well for twenty years. A new board, most of who lived in the suburbs, decided to sell the very valuable property which housed the Day Care. Again Sr. Elizabeth was called on by the director and parents to save the Day Care. By mobilizing political support, taking the case to the Attorney General and creating a new board, the Day Care has continued.
After living and working in the very poor Lower East Side of Manhattan for 35 years Sr. Elizabeth came here to
Sr. Elizabeth is active on the DERA board, advocating for increased social housing, increased benefits for those on assistance and better health care.
As a Franciscan and a member of the Sisters Association of the Vancouver Archdiocese, Sister promotes Justice, Peace and Care for the Earth. Sister is presently working on the World Peace Forum 2006. She is hoping that everyone will be involved in making World Peace happen at home & throughout the world.
Sister Elizabeth's tireless commitment in fighting for social justice is inspiring (Sister Elizabeth recently celebrated her 81st birthday!).Her family hails from
Submitted by Mary Ann Cantillon
the fight against poverty and inequalityLibby Davies MP (
Mr. Speaker,
In Social Watch Report 2005, Canadian economist, Armine Yalnizan says that, "... despite unparalleled economic and fiscal capacity,
It was the NDP that forced the federal Liberals to commit to $4.6 billion for social and environmental investment including 1.6 Billion for housing. But Canadians are still waiting for a national housing strategy and access to affordable housing.
Even existing low income housing is at risk because this government has withdrawn subsidies for low income co-op housing and countless pensioners, single parents and low-income Canadians have been affected. The Minister for housing says he'll fix this problem, but co-ops are fed up waiting, especially when it can be easily remedied.
The appalling housing conditions for so many aboriginal Canadians is a national disgrace, as so hauntingly exposed in Kasechewan.
The National Housing and Homeless Network has given the federal government a failing grade in their 2005 housing report card and still the government will not commit to ongoing funding for important housing programs like Supporting Community Partnerships Initiative - SCPI.
We in the NDP believe accessible, affordable and safe housing is a fundamental Human Right.
This Liberal government has failed to deliver so far and their time is running out!
Homeless and Half-naked on East HastingsHomeless and Half-naked on
It’s been raining hard for days. My only pair of socks is soaking wet. The accompanying feeling is miserable. I decide to wash my shoes, which are in the early stages of rotting. This is too much.
I take my last $2.75 and head for the cheap laundromat run by a Chinese couple across from Ted Harris Paint. My pants need a washing too so I’m glad there is no one but me in the rundown yet cosy space filled with 50-cent washers.
Off come my pants and soggy socks and shoes. I throw them into a washer with a small packet of detergent from the vending machine.
There is a table against the back wall with some drawings of crack-addict prostitutes for viewing. Their bodies are unappetizingly skinny and saggy. Faces are contorted in what should be the throes of passion but are depicted as pained and gruesome.
I sit there in my bare feet and boxing shorts. Beside me are books left behind. I pick them up and discover the “Carnegie Centre” stamp, thinking “Who would steal from the Carnegie?”
I start reading a story about a family from
Just them a sexy black woman walks in with her boyfriend. She is tall and slim wearing spandex pants which show off her nice legs. Her hair is long and beautiful. She gives a glance in my direction as I observe her loading ritual. She and her ‘Joe’ have brought a good three weeks of dirty laundry – three green garbage bags filled to the brim lie on the floor. I look disapprovingly at this display, noting the irony of a naked man with his only pair of pants in the washer looking down at anybody.
I can’t help leering at the black girl. Her boyfriend is a good four inches shorter than her, and is painfully undeserving of such a woman. He insists on getting her approval before loading a washer.
My dryer door is popping open with my shoes hitting against it. I feel ridiculous getting up to shut it in my underwear. I remember seeing someone in this Laundromat doing the same thing one day this summer and I thought it was pathetic.
I sit up on the table and pray my load dries soon. The couple goes out momentarily and I get up and put on my pants with a great sense of relief. Now I can wait in front of my dryer and warm the back of my pants on the toasty door.
My shoes are now dry and smell-free. I put on my socks and now-dry shoes, feeling infinitely more human.
The black girl and her boyfriend exit the laundromat but not before she shoots me another glance on her way out…
By Andrew Teasdale
a poem of absencea poem of absence
this is not a poem
it is a monument.
it stands in a real place, a real time
3:47, in an alley near main and
you may know it
the words "kill pigs"
inked in blue spray
near the black dumpster.
this monument is here
because the street and parks are all taken up
with dead soldiers and famous people
and besides
the alley is the place where things fall
by the wayside.
we have refused an inscription
but if we had one
it would read:
THIS IS FOR ALL THOSE
WHO FELL BY THE WAYSIDE
it would be for all the things
they never make monuments for
for susan, who watched her friend
pick up her last customer
in this very alley
for the coast salish
waiting to greet jose maria narvaez
as he steered towards what he could never know
would become a city
a place for refracting the light of history
a vortex
for all the things our cultures bring together
for fiberoptic cables we buried
so we can talk to other cities
and other susans
for bud osborn throwing his hundred-block rock
out over the rooftops of the V6A
this monument is specially designed to yell "love! love! love!"
to the people who only pass by
staring at their watches
who refuse to acknowledge this intersection
of pain and wastings
as a part of their city
and the history we bury
beneath it
Mariner Edelson
Sidewalk SongSidewalk Song
Taking my time down tombstone avenues
hypodermic needles point skyward like cacti
bits of trash decorate the thoroughfare
you look around;
you could’ve sworn there’s someone there
And the hoes are begging
the whole world needs a cigarette
You’re looking for redemption but the angels
haven’t got here yet
Lord I need some salvation
Some reason to go on
I had a pocketful of dreams
but I’m afraid they’re long gone
And the crackheads stumble lookin for their dope
Me, I stumble too, but I’m lookin for some hope
all I got left is one big apology
for the secrets between us
and the way it used to be
R Loewen
