Housing/Gentrification

Life is short for some people and life is long for others and it's hard to except the value of death. But without death there is no living life to the fullest. That's what Mark, a man who died too soon after a hemorrhage and facing the comeback of what the struggle can to people and sadly he had died leaving the world and going on his journey. Mark Flaherty a man who was born in 1969 and died in 2016.

The funeral started around 11 o' clock on a Thursday. At first it began cloudy then about a couple of minutes later it got sunny. The car he was in came, then his sister went along as some of his family and friends saw Mark for the last time. It was sad seeing Aunt Viv cry and depressing for most of his family. Then the pallbearers carried the casket toward the grave, then put it on top of something to carry the casket and lower it down.

“You can’t come in,” the oddly butler-esque dressed sheriff stopped me, my 12 year old sun Tiburcio and literally hundreds of members of the “public” at the door to King Lee’s (Not at all) “public” inauguration.

“We were told it was open to the public,” I countered, 

“It is,” a weird silence ensued and he looked above us. 

“So if its public, we are the public and we would like to go in,” I continued.

Side by Side 

WeSearch Policy Group (WPG) Data Release 2016
UnHoused residents of San Francisco Data Collection
2015- 2016

Tent City WeSearch Statement Demand summary (see below for detail):

Tent City WeSearch Statement & Demands:

This year, 5^th Annual Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

What is Mario Woods telling us?  Mario, you made a film, shot a film about your home, the Bayview.  It was titled, “HP From Then till Now”.  Opening shot, your home, mid-shot—the faces and voices of your home—wide shot; shots from different angles—shots all over.  Mario, tell us what it is you see, what are you telling us?  The only thing that many people know about you is the image of you, pursued by the cops, and the gunshots ringing out, piercing your body, which is the black body of the city, the black memory of the city, the memory

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly my hands hurt, I saw my mama so many years before, looking straight ahead to the road, trying to not let the mountain of tears crush her soft face. Now it was me and my sun alone on the highway, 30 years later, trying  to drive away from my torn and  crumbled  heart..