Report from the frontlines of social justice

Editor’s note: Cody Fenton-Robertson is a law school student at Seattle University. He spent this past summer interning with Solid Ground’s Family Assistance Program, which provides free legal assistance regarding public benefits. This account of his time with us is taken, with Cody’s permission, from SU’s Public Interest Law Foundation Journal Project website.

Cody

Cody Fenton-Robertson was one of two legal interns who worked alongside Family Assistance’s attorneys during summer 2012 to provide free legal assistance to people regarding public benefits. The interns at Solid Ground do much of the same work that the attorneys do: They conduct intake interviews, research issues, request and comb through discovery (i.e., material which may lead to admissible evidence), and represent clients in administrative hearings. Cody was extremely excited to have the opportunity to intern at Solid Ground because of his larger desire to work in public interest law and provide legal assistance to groups of people who have been marginalized by our society. The internship at Solid Ground also allowed Cody to gain experience working and communicating with clients, a skill that Cody believes to be invaluable to his future career goals.

June, 2012
Early on in my internship at Solid Ground, I discovered a single sentence in the Washington Administrative Code that killed a case I was working on. Because of this particular WAC, my client had no argument to make to prevent DSHS from cutting his family’s benefits. After discussing the case and my research with a supervising attorney, the attorney agreed with my analysis.

“Now you have to call the client and tell him that his case has no legal merit and that we will not be representing him in his fair hearing,” said my supervising attorney.

I knew coming into this internship that I would be working with people who were truly in a state of need and desperation. I did not realize how frequently I would have to tell people in such a state that there is nothing I or anyone else could do to help them.

On that particular day, it was not only my first time making such a call, but it was my first time calling a client through an interpreter service. My first attempt at calling the client was cut short when the client was dropped from the conference call. I tried again, and again found myself in a two-way call with only myself and the interpreter. Eventually I got both the client and an interpreter on the phone at the same time, and I told him the bad news.

Of course, he did not understand. He didn’t understand because the law does not make sense, and because the application of the law feels unfair. I empathized with him and apologized, and then I heard the interpreter apologize in my client’s language. I didn’t need the interpreter to understand the client’s last word before the conversation ended: “Okay.”

It was the sound of a man’s frustration at realizing his only choice was to accept the unfair answer. I thanked the interpreter and hung up the phone. I left the internship that day feeling defeated.

I want to work in public interest law because I want to help people. Before starting this internship, I didn’t realize how often that would entail telling people that I could not help them. For every five calls I get on our intake line, one, maybe two, are cases that our office can accept. The rest are cases that I either have to refer elsewhere or are cases where I can immediately tell there is no legal merit. Of the cases our office accepts, at least half of them turn out to be unwinnable once we get discovery from DSHS. If the case looks like there is legal merit, there is still the possibility that the ALJ will disagree.

It can be depressing to think about.

But even so, I have found this internship incredibly rewarding. Aside from the value derived from the immense amount of practical experience I am getting in speaking with clients and drafting letters to adverse parties and requesting discovery and conducting investigations of sorts, there is another kind of value to this internship. The clients are incredibly thankful. I have had clients call in and, after listening to their story and determining what their legal issue is, I have had to tell them there is nothing we can do and explain why. Even so, those clients have still been immensely thankful and just happy to have someone explain the reason behind what was happening.

So I guess one of the things I have taken from my internship at Solid Ground so far is that “helping people” has a broader definition than I originally thought. Sometimes helping can just be listening.

July, 2012
Opposing DSHS in fair hearings is a lot like playing blackjack with a dealer who can rewrite the rules as he likes. We can call out DSHS for cheating, but if we do it enough times, they will just rewrite the rules to make it so what they are doing is no longer cheating.

The Washington Administrative Code states that DSHS must supply a petitioner with his or her hearing packet (the evidence being used against them) no later than five days before their hearing. Time and time again, this rule is broken. Pro se litigants are given their hearing packets as they step into the hearing, and they have no idea that they were supposed to get the evidence days earlier, or that they have a right to ask for a continuance. Instead, they go through the hearing without any knowledge of the laws or evidence being used to deny or terminate the benefits they rely on to survive. It is truly infuriating.

This summer, our office at Solid Ground has adopted a new policy: We are no longer smiling and being friendly while the DSHS hearing representatives break the law in ways that are prejudicial to our clients. We have begun aggressively filing motions to compel discovery and holding prehearing conferences with ALJs in order to get DSHS’s misbehavior on the record. We want the Office of Administrative Hearings to understand that if a client with representation has to make such aggressive gestures just to get the hearing packet that is required by law, then the 98% of petitioners who are appearing pro se have absolutely no chance at a “fair hearing.”

This new policy has allowed for me to gain some great experiences. I have written, argued, and won motions to compel discovery. I have been able to inconvenience the lives of people who seem to be bending backwards to incorrectly apply the law and break the rules. However, our office is working under a constant fear. If we make too big a stink, if we make DSHS work too hard, the department might just rewrite the rules. The department will amend the WAC to say that that the department does not owe our clients discovery until 30 minutes before the hearing.

So there is a tightrope we are walking. We want to stir up enough dust to encourage a change in behavior, but not enough dust to catch Olympia’s attention.

Meanwhile, my caseload has expanded to over 20 cases. I have a hearing next week that I have yet to get discovery for (surprise, surprise), and a massive hearing the week after that I have been preparing for nonstop for the past week.

This work is infuriating, frustrating, never-ending, and I really enjoy it.

The New Guy

This post, written by Mitch Cameron, was originally published in the July 2012 issue of the Santos Place Q-Notes, a newsletter written by and published for the residents of Santos Place. Santos Place is Solid Ground’s transitional housing program for single adults at Sand Point Housing.

Self-portrait of Mitch, in his truck on the road to San Diego to see his mom

The New Guy

Today I am the New Guy, I moved into Santos Place two weeks ago.

Tomorrow I may be the Old Guy, who can say.

My past is unimportant, it is behind me; I won’t compete with anyone for the best story.

My future is before me and it may be formed by fate or destiny, I don’t know; I choose to believe I make my own future.

I try to live in the here and the now, this day, this moment; I am still learning.

I am the Slow Guy with a limp, except when I am on a bicycle where I am more free to travel in harmony and with speed.

A volcanic crater in the Pacific NW

I am no different than most people; I am an imperfect human who wishes to be a part of something to better myself and to be loved and respected.

I am the New Guy and I wish to treat all people the way I wish to be treated; with dignity and respect.

I am the New Guy, if you can, give me helpful advice, I will gladly accept and give back if I can; or a friendly greeting and I will do the same.

I am the New Guy and I have lost my way in this world and my confidence is slow to return.

I am the New Guy and I love the Great Northwest and the outdoors; including fishing and camping.

I am a Veteran of the Vietnam War and I still remember being spit upon while wearing my uniform, but still I remain “The New Guy.”

Recent image of a sunset at Golden Gardens Park where Mitch and friends had a bonfire

Where I am from ~Adrienne

Editor’s note: Adrienne Karls is a resident at Solid Ground’s Santos Place, transitional housing for formerly homeless single adults at Magnuson Park. She is a member of the Santos Place Residents Council and Solid Ground’s Advisory Council. Earlier this year she began editing QNotes, a newsletter written and published by Santos Place residents. This piece, entitled “Where I am from,” is taken from a recent issue with permission.

Photo by Adrienne Karls

I am from my mother’s womb, my giver of life, from an infinite bond of love made one very special night.

I am from the deepest place in my soul where my life experiences live. From my loves, my loss to my knowledge and every step walked within.

I am from every breath I take as I walk the beach by the ocean. This is where I find serenity letting flow every one of my emotions. Here my spirit runs free while my heart becomes replenished, where my mind can let go of all that was while creating something new and un-blemished.

I am from love and war, passion and pain, terrible memories of secrets kept and wonderful times that I will never forget.  Never mind what it is if it matters too much then let go of the hurt and hold on to the trust. A bond that’s never broken and a truth that’s never lost.

God and trusting him is my faith. I’ve learned it pays to always treat others as well as I’d like to be treated myself. Through God I’ve learned forgiveness so I can free my heart of anger, moving on to what’s next in this life full of wonder.

From the most passionate of love to the ugliest of resentments, I’m from becoming  renewed while learning from what life has to offer.

Despite the many tears I’ve cried I’ve smiled a million smiles more, for my experiences have made me stronger in everything I do. Every battle has made me wiser and every joy has given me life.

I am from STRENGTH.

Photo by Adrienne Karls

It’s okay to ask for help

Lisa and Rusty

Editor’s note: We are honored to present Lisa Pierce’s account of her journey through homelessness, especially the moving story of her time spent living at a roadside rest area.)

In December, 2007, my son Brycen and I moved into a beautiful 4-bedroom home with a fenced yard in the Renton Highlands. We lived in a quiet neighborhood next door to our church. We had two roommates to offset the rent and utilities.

I was working and going about my life, just maintaining. Then, in 2009, I lost my job as a manager due to my Multiple Sclerosis.

To this day, I still don’t know how I was blessed to be introduced to Solid Ground. The first person I encountered was Tunde Akunyun. (Tunde’s work in Solid Ground’s Stable Families program focuses on helping at-risk families maintain their housing stability.)

Tunde came into my world and made a difference. She didn’t just help keep the roof over our heads and the lights on. She helped me get my social security disability benefits. She taught me how to budget my money. And when I was diagnosed with diabetes, she was responsible for me being able to give myself an insulin injection.

The biggest thing she did for me was let me know it’s okay to ask for help.

In May of last year, I lost the home. The owner passed away and it was sold out from under us. I didn’t have savings or a plan.

My son and I had packed our four Chihuahuas and what we could fit in the car and moved to a motel.

My income was $765 disability and $91 food stamps per month. So, I was able to keep us in a room for two weeks at a time. The other two were spent at the SeaTac rest area on I-5 and at a truck stop where we could pay for a shower.

Living at the rest area
When you are at the rest area, the only really good thing is that you are right there next to Enchanted Village and Wild Waves. During the summer it would make you feel like you are not out in the woods. Sometimes you could just dream about it, like, “I wish I could take Brycen over there.” It did help.

When I first came to the rest area, I really didn’t pay much attention to anybody else. I didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want people to notice me sitting in my car, making my phone calls looking for shelter and doing my paperwork. I started to be more attentive to my surroundings, and who was coming and who was going.

I noticed this man. He walked by my car continuously, all day long. So, I started to watch him. He would go to the garbage can and he would rummage through it. He would go to the ashtray where people put out their cigarettes and he would go through that.

One day, it was pouring down rain and I noticed he went into the men’s room and he got a bunch of paper towels, came out and sopped up all the water out of the cigarette thing. He was hoping he could get a cigarette butt out of there that wasn’t sopping wet. And that is when I really started paying attention, like “Wow, he is really staying here.” Someone that is just passing through is not going to take the time to do that, you know.

As the days went by, I kept noticing the same vehicles there. Then, when I would go into the restroom, I would see everybody that would go in there – I would see their clothes – basically like a dressing room.

One day, I counted and I noticed there were about 12 vehicles with people that were living there. You’ll see them, just to kill time, take things out of their vehicles, put it back in. Like you would do in housework, doing housework in your car. Just something to do.

Well this man, one day I watched him and he went up to a gentleman who had a really nice car, and dressed really nice. You really can’t judge a book by its cover, but you had to assume that he probably had money. The guy was smoking right next to his car.

I had my window down just a little bit and I heard him say, “Do you have a cigarette?” And this man talked to him like he was just the lowest piece of garbage. You know: “Get away from me old man, I don’t know who you” – just awful words I can’t even say. So that just hurt me and I started to cry.

So, I went up to him after that gentleman left and I gave him a bunch of cigarettes. I asked him if he was hungry and he said he was. I had a few dollars in my pocket, so I drove to McDonald’s and got him some food and brought it back to him. He was just so shocked, I don’t think anyone had ever done that for him before.

When I could, I always made it a point to help him. When I got my apartment here, I’ve never forgotten him. I can’t forget him.

A life transformed by hope

“They just thought it was my phone. That saved me from shame,” Samuel said. “That gave me the feeling that I was a normal guy."

Samuel grew up in a tough neighborhood, but life at home was even tougher. The third of 14 children, he struggled with poverty, abuse and emotional distance from his family. When he left home at 18, his bottled-up anger ultimately led to some bad decisions that triggered a cycle of homelessness.

Although he was jobless and living in shelters, it was important for him to keep his dignity. Samuel avoided telling friends he was struggling, and he wasn’t in touch with family members. He was isolated and simply trying to survive. When he began to look for work, he found the job hunt nearly impossible without a home – or a phone. It was at this critical point that he stumbled on a life-changing opportunity: Community Voice Mail (CVM).

“Normally, you don’t recognize the value of something until afterwards,” said Samuel. “But then I didn’t have a phone, so I knew how important it was and I used it right away.”

Samuel put his CVM number on his résumé and gave it out to potential employers when he applied for jobs. A CVM number looks like any other local number, so no one knew about his personal situation. Employers would call and leave messages, and Samuel would call back – often using courtesy phones in hospitals or social service agencies.

“They just thought it was my phone. That saved me from shame,” he said. “That gave me the feeling that I was a normal guy. This was one less problem I had to deal with. There’s no way I could have done it without CVM.”

According to Samuel, one of the most underrated aspects of phones is their ability to bring people together. This simple fact was borne out as soon as Samuel got his CVM number; his family was finally able to call him. “My sister, who I didn’t speak to for years, all of a sudden left me a message on that phone. I kept the message for more than a year.”

As a society, we often focus on the immediate concerns of food and shelter, but Samuel believes CVM offers something equally vital: human contact. “When you feed someone, you’re keeping them alive. When you’re communicating with them, you’re giving them hope – and a chance.”

For Samuel, CVM provided this human touch through its Broadcast Messaging service, where he got news about job fairs, housing opportunities and other relevant information. And, because the CVM messages always came from the same friendly voice, Samuel reflected, it felt like someone cared about him. “It was almost like having an activist on your side.”

That voice also told Samuel there were a lot of people out there just like him – that he was not alone. He was able to connect with people in similar situations, who were dealing with the same issues he faced. CVM gave him the ability and the encouragement he needed to seek help and move forward.

Today, Samuel is a youth counselor. He uses his past experience and the wisdom he’s gained to help other young people overcome the challenges of homelessness and despair. He cheers when kids achieve “baby steps,” and always tries to be that voice of hope that was so vital to him. “I quickly recognized that I felt better when I was helping someone,” he said. “I think that’s the key.”

(Editor’s note: Thanks to our friends at CVM National for gathering this story! Samuel got his voice mailbox through Seattle Community Voice Mail, which is a program of Solid Ground. The national office, which is headquartered in Seattle, supports CVM systems in communities across the country.)

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Why Seattle became home to us

Editor’s note: This first person account was submitted by Michelle Armstrong, who worked through our JourneyHome Rapid Re-housing program to gain stability through a challenging time in her life.

Micah

Several years ago, my son, Micah became chronically ill with an unknown disease (diagnosed two years later as Crohn’s with Perianal Disease). As a single mother, I was facing a lot of unknowns and had a frightened child to comfort.

I made a lot of mistakes during the first year of his illness. I had graduated from college with a B.A. and changed jobs a few months prior. His dad was not in the picture, nor had he been since Micah was a toddler. Suddenly, I not only had a student loan, mortgage payment and larger utility bills, but also looming medical bills.

I had to make choices that were very difficult, and those choices always caused an inner conflict. I wanted to be there for my son 24/7 but couldn’t, because I had to make a living as well.

My supervisor was such a warmhearted person, having gone through severe medical issues himself. He allowed me to work extra long days so I could do Micah’s treatments. But his boss said this was unproductive, so eventually I was laid off.

I had already fallen behind on our mortgage payments in order to purchase medical supplies and pay high deductibles out of my pocket. We eventually lost our home and, still without a diagnosis and now without medical insurance, I had to make some fast decisions.

I researched hospitals and found one two states away. I sold everything, including the wooden fence around our yard, so we could afford to move. I found a job in Nashville, Tennessee. But, still facing the same demands to respond to Micah’s condition, it was difficult to maintain steady employment. However, the blessing was a diagnosis and new treatments for Micah.

Michelle continued to prioritize Mikah’s care over everything else, which led to a number of moves. In 2010, they came to Seattle Children’s Hospital for treatment.

Merri Ann

As soon as we arrived in Seattle, Catholic Community Services was so attentive and gracious to help us. They then placed us in the hands of one of the most wonderful people I have ever met, Merri Ann Osborne with Solid Ground.

When I met Merri Ann, we were homeless. I still needed a job and Micah was still being seen at Children’s. Merri Ann was such a ray of sunshine. She helped us believe in hope again.

We were able to move into an apartment of our own. She then connected me with an amazing program to help people in need of employment.

During the summer, Micah had a successful surgery. Micah’s health improved so much in such a short time. Micah felt like he had a new lease on life. He had friends. I was meeting people and networking. It seemed things were heading towards “normal” again.

However late last fall, circumstances changed in our lives, and I made a decision that I have learned from but still regret. I had not found a job, and discovering problems at the apartment complex where we were living, my old fears returned.

We decided to move to Kansas City where there were job prospects. There were other determining factors, such as family being somewhat closer, but even my mother was not keen on the idea of us moving away from Seattle.

In any case, Merri Ann and Solid Ground advocated for us to terminate our lease early because of the problems with our apartment. The property management company had not been clear about some issues. They agreed to let us out of the lease early without penalty.

I remember crying as we drove out of Seattle, feeling like I was making the biggest mistake in my life. However, we left Seattle with something that we did not bring: a new lease on life.

Merri Ann, Solid Ground and Brigid Cabellon (with King County Career Connections) showed us that there was hope. They helped me rediscover myself, believe I was valuable as a human being, know that I was intelligent and –  despite all of the odds we had faced – know that I was still sane.

Left Broadview smiling

Mary Ann (not her real name or photo) and her 7-year-old son moved into Solid Ground’s Broadview Transitional Housing program under very difficult circumstances.

Her son had leukemia and was in recovery. He could not walk up stairs and he had no hair. They spent most of their time at Children’s Hospital initially. He could not go to school and could not play with other children.

After Mary Ann’s son improved, a Children’s Advocate stepped in to help him integrate into the Broadview community. They helped mom with school enrollment, and then his really big moment came: He started school and could participate in onsite activities. He attended Children’s Group and went on some field trips, too. He was so happy just to be outside with the other kids on the playground. He made friends and some of the kids came to visit him in his unit. He limps but he can climb the stairs now; he smiles a lot and he has lots of hair again.

Mary Ann has been looking for work and has gone on several interviews. She found permanent housing and thinks she has a job as well. Broadview Transitional Housing gave them a place to heal physically and emotionally. Mary Ann says that they feel normal now. Both Mary Ann and her son left Broadview smiling.

To contribute to the important community and support happening at Broadview, please visit our Broadview donation page.

Reaching Solid Ground: An unexpected world

Dan Terrance, a former participant in Solid Ground’s Family Assistance Program, shared his story with us for our July 2011 Groundviews newsletter. To read the entire issue, visit our Publications webpage.

A vintage snapshot of Dan Terrance, Family Assistance program participant, during his Alaskan fishing industry days.

If anyone can vouch for the reality that there are holes in the social services safety net, it’s Dan Terrance. He learned the hard way about assumptions our society makes about people living in poverty, and the dehumanizing effect this has. Back in 2005, a fall on the job shattered his left arm and ended his 21-year maritime career: as a Merchant Marine, then on cruise ships, and then on fishing boats. “Six surgeries later,” he says, “I ran out of money – and this shoulder started to act up two years ago – and the next thing you know, you’re in a world that you’d never expect to be in.” A hardworking, college-educated, former world traveler, Dan spiraled into homelessness, with public assistance as his only source of income.

While the surgeries restored some use of his arm, his shoulder is inoperable. Dan describes his injury: “What I’ve got, it’s a soft tissue injury, the tendons are all messed up – and because it hasn’t been taken care of, it’s just deteriorating. Basically, it can’t be fixed. Steroid injections, they don’t work. They put me on pain pills. Physical therapy just made it worse – so I was just stuck.”

Fight for restored dignity

Dan first connected with Solid Ground’s Family Assistance program – whose staff attorneys provide free legal help to people being unjustly denied public assistance benefits – when he was fighting to prove to the Department of Social & Health Services (DSHS) that he couldn’t go back to the fishing industry. DSHS wanted to cut his Disability Lifeline benefits for people unable to work.

“DSHS, from the get go, said there’s nothing wrong with me. They had me have an assessment. Their doctor said there’s pretty much nothing wrong with me that aspirins can’t cure.” But the pain he experienced told him otherwise. So, he says, “I stayed persistent at it. Then I got an MRI in November of 2009 that showed that I had serious problems.” So, finally, his benefits were temporarily extended.

But then a year later, DSHS determined him no longer incapacitated. So after consulting with Family Assistance Senior Attorney Stephanie Earhart, Dan successfully defended himself at an Administrative Hearing, and his benefits were restored once again. “I won because [DSHS] tried to say that I could go back to doing the work that I did. Now the fishing industry is the most vicious, hardest work there is. And I don’t care what your job position: Everybody has to be physically capable on a ship for emergencies – you cannot be up there with a bad limb – you become hazardous to your fellow crew members. And the judge sided with me.”

Born in Alaska, Dan holds a piece of his artwork in the Haida/Tlingit style.

A world of hurt

After he won his hearing, Dan spent his time productively, studying to get MCSE (Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer) certification, volunteering with the Pike Market Food Bank and maintaining computers in the Senior Center there, and creating his native Alaskan artwork. But then, while taking a shower at the men’s shelter where he was staying, he says, “I got a backpack stolen: laptop, all my schooling, my medical records, my drawings, cell phone, my pain pills. I gotta start all over again.”

Things seemed to be looking up when he moved out of the shelter into low-income housing in late October 2010, but then he learned in November that his benefits were going to be cut again, because he hadn’t returned paperwork. As it turns out, DSHS had mistakenly sent the paperwork to the men’s shelter where he no longer lived, and then penalized him for their mistake.

“Without my money, I can’t pay my rent; without paying my rent, I’m going to get evicted. So then what they’re doing is putting you right back out on the street, in harm’s way.” To make matters worse, DSHS “… began to say that my MRI was irrelevant. Within months, it was too old!” So he had to fight to get another MRI, costing $3,000.

With all of this stress, something had to give – and in January 2011, Dan suffered a heart attack. “I was here at six in the morning, waiting to do my maintenance on these computers, and it felt like a fire poker going right into the center of my chest.” Yet just a week later, with bandages still on his surgical wounds and no money for bus fare, he found himself walking over a mile uphill to obtain medical records, because DSHS demanded he prove he had a heart attack. When he got to the hospital office, he learned it would cost $1 a page to print his records – and there were 40 pages. Hospital staff, realizing his desperation, printed it for free.

At the breaking point now, Dan got back in touch with Stephanie. “I called her and said, ‘I’m in a world of hurt with these people.’ ”

Navigating the system

Dan says, “Stephanie knows the system, she knows what’s right, how to take care of things. She kept saying, ‘This is outRAGEous!’ So, she immediately sends a request for an extension. And then she got me in touch with Tony [a Family Assistance Legal Intern]. And then after that, it was all phones and emails and letters. ‘Can you do this?’ And I’d do it. And he would ask me to fill this out so he could get medical records, so I’d fill this out and send it back.

“They saved me a world of all that grief, stress. And I suppose they do that for a lot of other people. I still don’t know the system! And I finally got the MRI in July. As this radiologist says, it’s worsened since the last MRI. They found me incapacitated for another year. And so Stephanie and Tony got them off my back. They handled all the interoffice communications. So that’s what they did for me; they got the stress off.

“This was a completely honest injury, on the job. There’s a lot of people in a bad way that are not there because of drugs, alcohol or crime. It’s just the facts of life. And anyone could end up there.

“Here I am, five years later, six surgeries later, trying to get back into the workforce, trying to get a home going, a daily ritual. I do what I can, I volunteer. I give back what I can so I’m not just leaching off the system. And without their help, who knows where I would be.”

For more information about Solid Ground’s Family Assistance program, contact Senior Attorney Stephanie Earhart at 206.694.6714 or familyassistance@solid-ground.org, or visit www.solid-ground.org/Programs/Legal/Family.

Bearing down with white privilege

Roger Clemens with a fan

As a white person engaged in anti-racism work, one of the things I struggle to get a firm grip on is my white privilege: that internal voice and belief system that tells me everything is going to be ok and I’ll usually come out on top.

It’s an arrogance that comes from looking like the people who have ruled this country for generations, regardless of my own personal or family story.

I’m raising a teenage daughter and working hard not to pass on the blind sense of privilege I inherited. Never mind the fact that I’m not too far removed from immigrant grandparents who had barely a grade-school education. My parents were both professionals with advanced degrees. No matter how much they might have suffered as first generation Americans, they passed on to me the internalized expectation that I was as good as anyone, that I would have adequate, if not surplus, resources and never know want. I am white, a man, and now, unfailingly older – privileged to the power of three.

Through my experience with the anti-racism organizing at Solid Ground, I have learned to identify my privileges. I strive to recognize my privilege programming in my daily interactions with others, and to recognize that my sense of entitlement and privilege is far from the reality of most who come to Solid Ground for work, services or a way to participate in building a better community.

I was reminded of the benefits of white privilege in a round-about way last month. Reading the The Seattle Times Sports section, I learned that famous pitcher Roger Clemens’ trial for perjury ended in mistrial. Clemens was accused  of lying in statements made during previous legal actions concerning his alleged use of performance enhancing drugs.

Judge Reggie Walton ruled that prosecutors had used “extremely prejudicial” evidence in the trial and let him off on what amounts to a technicality. Clemens’ crack legal team and the incompetence of prosecutors assigned to the case got him off the hook.

On the other hand, our judicial system is stuffed full of people, disproportionately people of color, who have been entrapped, held and convicted because of prejudicial evidence, overbearing police tactics and unprepared civil defense teams. The vast majority of people who are incarcerated do not have access to the high-powered defense team Clemens bought.

And they certainly don’t have fans throughout the court system the way Clemens does.

Following the trial’s abrupt end, Clemens “accepted hugs from a couple of court workers, shook hands with the security guards, and autographed baseballs for fans…” before “ducking into a nearby restaurant to escape the media horde following him.”

So, he strode into the courtroom, an award-winning pitcher taking to the mound, knowing his fastball and location would overwhelm his opponent. More disenfranchised people approach court expecting they will lose, regardless of the truth, and that their human dignity might well be assaulted along the way.

I’ve never thrown a Big League pitch nor made millions doing anything. But I share Clemens’ arrogance and assumption that I will win, that the world will take care of me. The real question, I guess, is what I do with that knowledge…

It Gets Better with Disability Lifeline

Kytty

Editor’s Note:  This story is courtesy of the Statewide Poverty Action Network’s Network News. It’s an interesting follow up to the presentation Dan Savage made at our recent luncheon about the It Gets Better Project. Dan promotes personal outreach as an antidote to bullying of LGBTQ youth by peers in schools, families, etc. Kytty’s story chronicles political engagement to counter the way budget cuts to Disability Lifeline would be a kind of state-sponsored bullying of marginalized people.

Kytty, a 24-year-old former Disability Lifeline (DL) recipient and new Poverty Action member, shared her story with lawmakers and spoke out against budget cuts. After years of childhood abuse, Kytty was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), depression and anxiety, making it nearly impossible for her to hold down a job. Stressful working conditions, such as angry customers, sometimes triggered flashbacks of her abuse. Left without a source of income, Kytty survived three episodes of homelessness before learning she was eligible for DL.

The DL program provides a small monthly cash grant and medical coverage to people with very low incomes when they’re temporarily unable to work due to a mental illness or physical disability. This program has endured a 40% reduction since 2009. Now, the Senate has proposed the total elimination of the DL cash grant and a $51 million cut to DL’s medical coverage. If adopted, these cuts will take away the only source of income for over 20,000 individuals and cause 6,000 people living with disabilities to lose access to health care.

Kytty, who is transgender, describes her experience of homelessness as extremely stressful because she feared her identity would cause her to be targeted on the streets. “People discriminated against me and treated me like a second class citizen.” Having aged out of other transitional housing and homeless prevention services, DL provided the necessary support for Kytty and her partner to move off the streets and into a rented room. “I literally used every single penny on rent.” DL’s medical benefits provided Kytty with insurance and enabled her to access medications and counseling services. Kytty is currently working through her PTSD and dreams of earning a college degree in music technology and becoming a professional musician.

Kytty met with her lawmakers for the first time last month in Olympia through Poverty Action’s Lobby Tuesday program. She said that she felt like she made a difference and that the trip was fun and productive, “I felt like Harvey Milk – like an activist!” Her advice to first-time activists who have never shared their stories before is to “research your lawmakers as much as you can beforehand and know their names, districts, and what issues they care about. Speak with confidence, even if you’re nervous.” Kytty encourages other current and former DL recipients to speak out: “There is a huge need for this program – it prevents homelessness.”

Washington State legislators continue to wrangle over the state budget. To let them know how you feel about Disability Lifeline or other issues, use this handy online tool.

First tenants move in at Brettler Family Place

If you listened carefully this morning, you could hear the soft padding of young feet in jammies in the hallways at Brettler Family Place. Tea kettles whistled and warm voices called “wake up,” where once the drone of air compressors and the pop of impact drivers filled the soundscape.

Kelly, our first resident!

For the past year, the sounds and sights of construction have dominated this little hillside on the western edge of Magnuson Park. Now, homemaking has taken over. Because yesterday, the first dozen families moved from shelter and transitional housing facilities across the region into their new, permanent, affordable homes at Brettler Family Place.

“This is the beginning of something great for me,” said Joyce, who called her car ‘home’ not too long ago. She was all smiles as she approached her apartment for the first time, its third floor views extending across Magnuson Park to Lake Washington and the Cascade mountains.

Monday afternoon, six new families received their orientation by staff at Solid Ground, who developed the 52-unit Brettler Family Place, and Mercy Housing, who are managing the property. They went over ground rules and guidelines for making this new community a safe, welcoming, environmentally-friendly one. For some, it was the first permanent housing they have ever had; for others, the first in a long time.

Orientation with staff of Solid Ground and Mercy Housing

The first 12 families got their keys on March 7. Within a few weeks, 51 units will be filled with formerly homeless families. In the context of the 10-Year Plan to End Homelessness, this represents significant progress: Within a few weeks, homelessness will be over for these 51 families. The supportive services on site will help ensure that they maintain their new position on solid ground.

And all around King County, as these families exit the facilities they have been living in, other families anticipate moving into now-vacant slots at transitional housing programs. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of candidates for those programs.

Throughout the spring, the landscaping at Brettler Family Place will take root – and the yard, which still reminds you of a construction zone, will fill in. The Lowry Community Center will open to host casual get-togethers and formal events. Kids will ride their bikes in the park. And life will start to settle down from the crisis-driven cycle of homelessness to something more even-keeled. From beautiful buildings will come a vibrant community.

Landscapers still working at Brettler Family Place

The process of transforming a formal military airfield, one of the nation’s foremost “swords in ploughshares” conversions, will come a step closer to fulfilling its promise of 200 housing units for formerly homeless folks. Sometime in the next year, Solid Ground hopes to launch the final phase of the development, constructing additional family units as well as housing for veterans and other singles.

When the Naval Station Puget Sound was first listed for base closure in the mid-1990s, there was a tremendous outpouring of ideas about how to best use the remarkable facilities and setting. Throughout a multi-year, city-wide planning process, the Sand Point Liaison Committee – under the leadership of former City Council member Jeannette Williams – helped the city craft a plan that incorporated recreational, cultural, educational and other uses. The notion of housing formerly homeless people on the site was proposed early on in the planning process. While there was some trepidation at first, it was soon roundly accepted by the Committee, which represented most of the community clubs and neighborhood organizations in the NE part of the city, as well as other park stakeholders.

Living in transitional housing is not the best time to collect lots of stuff

I had the privilege of serving as the alternate representative for the Seattle King County Coalition on Homelessness to the Liaison Committee. In that role I saw how initial fears about locating housing for formerly homeless people in the park transformed into concerns about how we could work together to build the best possible community for these people. Since Spring 2000, when families and singles first moved in to repurposed Navy buildings, neighbors from the surrounding community have invested their time, talent and love in making the Sand Point Community Housing program successful. Individuals and groups from “up the hill” continue to help shape and support this growing community.

But for the families who moved in yesterday, that is all just old business. For parents like Justine, their sights are set on the future.

While Justine thinks about a better future, Analiyah thinks about a nap.

Justine is a 20-year-old single mom, who, along with her young daughter Analiyah, moved into her first real home yesterday. “I’ve never had my own permanent housing before,” Justine said. Kicked out of her family as a teen, she’s had a handful of challenging years. But now, Brettler Family Place is giving her the stability to pursue a nursing career. She’s almost finished with her prerequisites at a local community college. Her sense of hope, and that of her new neighbors, is as powerful as the promise of spring. And like the blooms that will soon overtake the park, new life is shooting up at Brettler Family Place.

Townhomes, views to Lake Washington

Breaking the shame and silence with determination and love

Bettie J. Williams-Watson

Editor’s Note: Bettie J. Williams-Watson is the Domestic Violence Program Coordinator at our Broadview Emergency Shelter & Transitional Housing program. In addition to her work at Solid Ground, Bettie was recently awarded a Purpose Prize Fellowship for her work in a nonprofit organization she founded, Multi-Communities. Bettie was named a Fellow for her groundbreaking work with Multi-Communities to address domestic, youth and sexual violence in predominantly African-American faith communities throughout the Greater Seattle area and beyond. The following are Bettie’s reflections on her recent trip to Philadelphia to receive her award.

I was much more anxiety-ridden about flying than about going to be honored for my work. I have a fear of flying. The fear starts early, beginning with butterflies in my stomach, and I begin to imagine that the plane will definitely crash while I’m on it. Upon takeoff, however, fears decrease and my coping mechanisms kick in. I start praying, immediately visualizing comforting supportive hands encircling and guiding the plane throughout the flight. Those same hands are able to gently land the plane.

Normally, I travel in a zone where I am categorized, compartmentalized, discounted or dismissed, because my choice of issues to tackle is on turf where there is a lot of overt and covert resistance and reluctance. Let’s face it! Opening the can of worms about domestic and sexual violence is not something you ordinarily see within these (predominantly African-American) church settings. Often, tackling the issues is what I consider to be “pedaling backwards in quicksand.” Within these settings, there are no hard and fast rules that work the same way every time – each church setting presents different challenges. Accepting as well as embracing these challenges is largely by my own, passionate design.

Transitional housing: a personal success story

Editor’s Note: For many women and children, escaping domestic violence (DV) is a root cause of their homelessness. Solid Ground’s Broadview Shelter and Transitional Housing program serves primarily women and their children who are working to survive domestic violence and rebuild stable lives. The following story was written by a recent resident of Broadview and our Sand Point Family Housing program. While she is not sharing her name in order to protect herself, she is very open about her experience. Her story is direct, honest and moving as it documents the difficult path DV survivors must walk to reclaim their lives. We are honored to be able to share it with you.

In September 2008, my daughter and I went into hiding from my daughter’s father by moving into Solid Ground’s Broadview Shelter. Despite the fact that this shelter was confidential, my ex had searched the neighborhood and found my car parked there. Because of this, the advocates at Broadview relocated us to a shelter in Kent.

Three months went by as my daughter and I resided safely in Kent. I spent every day trying to find some type of transitional housing; our time in the Kent shelter was strictly limited. My income level couldn’t afford us to pay market rent. We gratefully received public assistance and I also received SSI, as I have a disability. On top of that, I did part-time nanny work as much as possible. But with all of these, it was still not enough to pay market rent. My daughter and I don’t have family in the Northwest. I knew that our only viable choice was to find transitional housing.

Food justice starts with us!

Solid Ground has spent decades helping folks have adequate food and nutrition. Over time that work has shifted from giving people food through the food bank system to looking at ways to restructure our regional food system. With many community partners, we strive to connect people more closely to the bounty that comes from our own communities. This work is especially important in low-income communities that have had limited access to healthy fresh produce.

Clean Greens is one of the visionary organizations in this work. “Founded in 2007, Clean Greens is a food justice organization that is owned and operated by residents of Seattle’s Central District,” according to its website. Its mission is to “decrease the incidence of disease in our communities by increasing residents’ access to healthy, pesticide-free produce at affordable prices. We are committed to delivering clean produce to all people in our communities, which we grow on our 22-acre farm in Duvall, Washington, and distribute via our Central District farm stand and CSA program.”

This Saturday, January 29, I’ll be MCing a fundraising event for Clean Greens and I want you all to join me there!

The Food Justice Starts with Us dinner event will be held at the Garfield Community Center, 23rd and Cherry, from 6pm to 10pm. The event features a meal cooked with local, seasonal foods by members of the Clean Greens community. Tickets are $35 and available from Brown Paper Tickets.

Clean Greens welcomes Brahm Ahmadi, co-founder of People’s Grocery in Oakland, CA, who will be giving a keynote speech on Oakland’s food justice movement. Towards the end of dinner, a short film on Clean Greens’ ongoing food justice work will be premiered. After dinner, we will be having a dessert auction, and guests can enjoy their dessert while listening to a local jazz band perform.

The event promises to be an evening of inspiration, fun and fabulous food. When we build community like this, we can make meaningful steps to secure food justice in our community! I hope to see you there!

For more info on the event, call 206.324.3114.

Metro passes for seniors and disabled folks cost more

(Editor’s note: The following dispatch is from the pen of Patricia Ann, who works part-time with Solid Ground’s Volunteer Resources Department and lives on a limited income.)

Today, Robin Knudsen of Solid Ground’s Retired and Senior Volunteer Program (RSVP) asked if I knew anything about the changes in King County Metro’s reduced fare passes for seniors and disabled folks. Evidently the Regional Reduced Fare Permit was being discontinued. One of the RSVP volunteers had asked her for information, and she asked me because she knew that I have a Regional Reduced Fare Permit. I had not heard, so I went online and found out that the Monthly/Annual Reduced pass is being replaced with the PugetPass, which will cost seniors and disabled folks $27 a month.

I am fortunate because I paid $3 for the permit and $99 for a full year of monthly passes instead of paying $18 a month, which would have totaled $216 a year. I was able to get the savings because I have a job and do not depend solely on my monthly SSDI check and because I have a credit card. My Reduced Fare Permit is yearly, ending in May. So, I will not have to pay the $27 per month until April. Many of my neighbors at Jefferson Terrace, a Seattle Housing Authority high-rise, are living on very low fixed incomes of $600 to $800 in Social Security payments with no cost of living increase for the third year in a row. This change will be a real hardship for them.

While it is true that the PugetPass will cost less than many other passes, what is missing from this is an understanding of exactly how much money many seniors and disabled folks are living on. An individual living on $700 a month ($8,400 a year) will pay $27 a month ($324 a year) or 3.8% of their income for bus transportation. The increase from $5.50 a month in 2007, to $9 a month in 2008, to $18 a month in 2010, to $27 a month in 2011 is a 409% increase in three years! Fixed incomes have not been rising accordingly!

RSVP’s low-income volunteers who cannot volunteer without transportation assistance will be most affected. RSVP provides partial mileage and bus pass reimbursement to these volunteers who need it the most. This change will stretch limited program resources further, affecting the volunteers’ ability to serve agencies such as Asian Counseling Referral Services (ACRS), Port of Seattle, congregate meal programs, adult day care programs and homeless shelters.

King County Metro Public Disclosure: 206.684.1005

Memories of Roberto: Roberto still lives!

Juanita Maestas is a member of the Solid Ground Advisory Council, the Statewide Poverty Action Board, and a fierce advocate for people struggling to get by in our communities. She is also a cousin of Roberto Maestas, the longtime civil rights leader who recently passed away. Roberto is fondly remembered and was much eulogized for his legacy: founder of El Centro de la Raza, founder of the Minority Executive Directors Coalition, and one of the Four Amigos of multi-cultural organizing. A few weeks after he died, Juanita sat down with me to share a more personal set of memories about Roberto and his lasting impact on her family. This is Part Three of a three-part interview. You can read Part One here, and Part Two here.

Roberto’s passing is a great loss to us because we have no more. Me and the kids have no more aunts and uncles on my dad’s, the Maestas, side. We have nobody.

Juanita

My son came to me yesterday and said, “You know what, I want to be a Maestas.” He goes, “If something happens to you, I am going to take over your place.” And that is like the most beautiful thing somebody can say to you, “I want to take over.” You know, “Don’t worry, I got you.”

I remember saying that to Roberto: “I’m learning. You put my foot in the door. I’ve done the walking. I know you watch me. I know you kept tabs on me.”

And today my son is like, “Teach me what you know.” And I’ve never heard that. And so I know what Roberto felt like when people were like, “Teach us, we want to know, we want to learn.”

Roberto

So I am going to do that for my son for Christmas; he is going to get his name changed.

When he found out Roberto had passed, he was down for an hour crying. “Why? Why? We have nobody left.” He’s a Maestas, my son, he has to carry the name. And he knows that and it is a big burden on him. ‘Cause it is like he has own thinking, his own ways.

But I said, “Remember, Roberto will walk with you, through everything that you are going through.”

He’s gonna pick up where I left off. By my son being around Roberto when he was younger, you know, going in and listening.

I’d go: “OK, we have to go help Roberto today. OK, what can we do.” We’d help with mailings, all that. Roberto would come down to see who all is down there.

And losing Roberto to us – you know, you want to ask him more questions, you are not done. To us he is not done. To him, he’s like, “OK, I did what I did, somebody else take over” – his children, his daughters, his wife. But, you know, we will take over in our own ways and still represent that. And it is a great loss. And we struggle with that every single day now.

I look at my son every day now and I say, “What are you going to do? Life is too short, you’ve got to find your way, you’ve got to make something of yourself.” He’s 17, he’ll be 18 in June.

Today for him to come and tell me – I mean that is pretty big for a 17-year-old. And he’s like, “Let me see the project you are working on. Let me see what you are doing, how it is going to affect everybody.” He says, “Mom, I’m not into politics, but I will get into them, just show me.”

I’m glad to have him do that. But like I said, Maestas is a loss not only to the people out there, but to us too, and he is in our hearts.

The thing that he loved the most was his El Centro. That was his home. All the kids in the Day Care – he would go down there and try and grab every single one of their cheeks – he had this cheek pinching thing. He called them all his kids. You know, “I’m gonna go see my babies down there.”

Everybody has lost a warrior. We lost a warrior and a family member. He wouldn’t want us to sit around crying for him. Because he is more like, “Get out there and do something. What would I have done? Get out there and be happy, I lived my life. I left a legacy for somebody else to carry on.” Always remember that: Roberto still lives and that is all we can do.

Memories of Roberto: it’s in the blood

Juanita Maestas is a member of the Solid Ground Advisory Council, the Statewide Poverty Action Board, and a fierce advocate for people struggling to get by in our communities. She is also a cousin of Roberto Maestas, the longtime civil rights leader who recently passed away. Roberto is fondly remembered and was much eulogized for his legacy: founder of El Centro de la Raza, founder of the Minority Executive Directors Coalition, and one of the Four Amigos of multi-cultural organizing. A few weeks after he died, Juanita sat down with me to share a more personal set of memories about Roberto and his lasting impact on her family. This is Part Two of three-part interview. You can read Part One here.

Roberto and coffee: Viva!

Now, Roberto was the kind of man that always had a Styrofoam coffee cup full of coffee. When he’d start, when he would leave his office, it would be full. By the time he got to where he was going it would be half empty. You could see the coffee dots everywhere, down the stairs, just everywhere.

A big thing that he taught me is, don’t let people bring you down. I’ve gone to his meetings, once we went to a party with lawyers. Lawyers that are high-class lawyers. I was so embarrassed to be in there because here I am low-class. I’m up here with Roberto on the high-class, and I’m like, “What am I doing here?”

He’s like, “It’s ok, Mija, come on, I’ll introduce you.” And it gave me so much to watch the way he talked to people, the way he does things. And he is quick, very quick. I’ve never seen somebody so into what they are doing.

Once at his office I said to him, “It’s like you live here.”

He’s like, “Mija, sometimes I’m on the couch. I can’t go home, I’m tired.”

Juanita (l) leading the MLK Day Rally in Olympia, January, 2010

One time I found him in a meeting in his office. He’s like “Mija, go get me some food.”

And I said, “OK, Roberto.” And I set up a table for him with the food and everything. He goes, “Would you like to stay?”

“Sure, why not.” So he put me in the corner, but everybody who came in he introduced me. Larry Gossett – I remember Larry Gossett because they were very, very close – and a couple of other people from Eastern Washington. They come in and to hear him talk – he’d speak English and then Spanish, English and Spanish. And you know, Larry Gossett is just sitting back there, going, “Uh huh, uh huh!” I’m like, “OK, look at these guys. Look at Roberto work!” They listened to him.

I told him, “One of these days I am going to walk in your footsteps. I may not be as great as you are. But I will be out there. I will carry on something that you gave me.”

I was up to see him, maybe the last two months of his life. My grandson Anthony was just crawling and I went up there and Roberto looked different.

Warriors for Peace: Uncle Bob Santos (l) and Robert Maestas

And I was like, “He’s all skinny, is he ok?”

And he was like, “Mija, come in, come in.” And he’s on the phone. I’m looking at him, and I bring Anthony in. And he goes, “Ok, ok, I’ll call you back.” Hung up. He goes, “Who’s this?”

And I go, “This is Jessica’s son, Anthony.”

And he goes, “ANTHONY!” and he went and grabbed his cheeks!

I said, “It’s another generation!” He goes: “Yeahhh!” And Jeremy came walking in and he goes, “Who’s this?”

I said, “This is Jeremy.”

He said, “Oh, my gosh, you are such a handsome man, come here.” And he went and grabbed Jeremy’s cheeks.

He said, “What’s that on your face?”

And Jeremy is like, “Hair, man.” It was just funny

He looked at me and he goes, “How you doing?”

I say: “I’m trying to get active, I’m trying to do what I got to do, get out there and let people know that this world is not what they expect or think it is.”

And he goes, “You know, you are going to have a lot of people telling you that you can’t do it. Don’t listen to them. If I listened to them I would have never got where I’m at now.” He goes, “Remember your culture; remember who you ARE. Remember that and nobody is going to take you down.”

And I said, “You know what, I never told you thank you.”

And he goes, “For what? Mija, it’s in the blood, you are going to be just as mean as I am!”

And I said, “You are not mean, you know that.” He started laughing.

I said, “Let me see your coffee cup.”

And he said, “Oh yeah, it’s right here.” And there was like half a cup of coffee. And I’m looking, he says, “What you looking for?”

And I say, “Coffee marks!”

And he’s like, “Oh, I know, I cleaned it up…”

So I took a drink of coffee and I said thank you. And that is the last time I seen him. And then I heard what happened.

To be continued…

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Keeping Perspective after a Tough Election

(Editor’s Note: Marcy Bowers is the Membership and Communications Coordinator for the Statewide Poverty Action Network, a program of Solid Ground that works to build grassroots power to end the root causes of poverty and create opportunities for everyone to prosper.)

Volunteer canvassers in Tacoma

I confess. I’m an eternal optimist. I believe in crazy notions like “things will always get better,” and “there is always something gained, even when things go wrong.” I think this is what drove me to choose a career in organizing, what has kept me in this field for the past eight years, and what allows me to keep going in the face of devastating election losses.

This year in Washington, voters faced a record seven statewide ballot measures. Of those seven measures, three (I-1098, I-1053, and I-1107) will directly impact our state’s ability to balance the budget without making drastic cuts to the programs and services that people depend on to survive.

Reflecting a national wave of anti-tax, anti-government rhetoric, those three measures decidedly “went wrong:”

• I-1098 would have created a limited income tax on Washington’s wealthiest 1%, bringing in over $2 billion a year for healthcare and education. It failed, 65% to 35%.

• I-1053, this year’s Tim Eyman disaster, will require a two-thirds vote in the legislature or a vote of the people to raise taxes or close corporate tax loopholes. In this economy, this measure will surely mean more budget cuts. It passed, 65% to 35%

• I-1107 repealed a small tax on soda, bottled water, candy and gum that Poverty Action and other advocates passed during last year’s legislative session. These taxes would have brought in $300 million a year for schools, kids’ health care, domestic violence and sexual assault services, and many other basic services. It passed, 62% to 38%.

So, let’s get back to that optimism thing. How in the world can I possibly be optimistic when Washington is facing another $4.5 billion budget deficit and voters just repealed taxes and made it nearly impossible to raise revenue in 2011? How can I possibly be hopeful knowing that, as a result, Washington State is poised to be the first state to cut prescription drug benefits for people on Medicaid?

Canvassers' toolkit: clipboard and educational materials

To be honest, there’s not a lot of hope to be found if I only look at those daunting questions. For me, it’s about taking a wider view of election organizing and remembering that elections are only partly about the issues on the ballot. I became an organizer to help build political power in low-income communities, not just to pass or defeat ballot measures. The work of building political power is simply too big and too important to achieve in just one election season. It’s about the process of building trust and community, engaging new and infrequent voters, registering voters whose right to vote was recently restored, and talking to people about why their vote matters and how issues on the ballot will impact their communities.

Even with devastating election losses, I can still be proud of the work Poverty Action did this year to register over 1,200 new voters. I can still find hope in the knowledge that we reached out to 12,000 voters in low-income communities and communities of color and talked about the real impact of this year’s ballot measures on their communities. I will be encouraged when I remember that the building blocks to real political power are found in the countless conversations we had at transitional housing facilities, in food bank lines, and at resource fairs this summer and fall.

And those numbers and conversations matter. In a state where gubernatorial elections have been decided by just 133 votes (Gregoire in 2004), 1,200 newly registered voters, armed with knowledge and ownership of their role in state politics, can easily decide the outcome of future statewide elections in Washington. From my perspective, it’s hard to not feel optimistic about that!

Memories of Roberto: Do something productive

Juanita Maestas is a member of the Solid Ground Advisory Council, the Statewide Poverty Action Board, and a fierce advocate for people struggling to get by in our communities. She is also a cousin of Roberto Maestas, the longtime civil rights leader who recently passed away. Roberto is fondly remembered and was much eulogized for his legacy: founder of El Centro de la Raza, founder of the Minority Executive Directors Coalition, and one of the Four Amigos of multi-cultural organizing. A few weeks after he died, Juanita sat down with me to share a more personal set of memories about Roberto and his lasting impact on her family. This is Part One of a three-part interview.

Juanita Maestas, pinching her cheeks in honor of Roberto

I have two kids, one is 19, one is 17. I’ve got a two-year-old grandson and we just lost a huge family member. Not only for his politics, but also as a family member.

We found Roberto in 1997. We were going through some discrimination and he stepped up to the plate and said, “That’s my family. Family takes care of family.”

We had a lot of family at that time. Throughout the years me and my kids have lost basically everybody on my dad’s side, which is the Maestas side. But, one of the world’s greatest leaders – I think of him as a leader of the whole world – he was my cousin.

When I first met him we looked at the family tree. He has a big family tree book in his office. We located my family members that were connected to his family members and that’s it, we’re cousins, you know.

His office was beautiful. It has masks, paintings, Caesar Chavez paintings, artwork from kids that went through his life and out.

Roberto Maestas

Roberto had a cheek pinching thing. He would always go and pinch my kids’ cheeks. My son, he had like the fattest cheeks. So after about the second time I’d seen Roberto, my son held his cheeks and walked in and smiled.

He said, “Hi, Uncle Roberto.”

Roberto said, “Come here, come here, sit here.” And he pulled out five dollars and said, “Go get ice cream.”

And when my son grabbed the money, Roberto would grab his cheeks! And that was it. He would always do that.

My daughter was in fifth grade and at the end of year she had to do a big project. Well she decided that she wanted to go to El Centro. And I was like, “Why do you want to go to El Centro so bad?”

And she said, “I want to go, I have this project.” So ok, we went up there and my daughter is like, “I want to see Roberto.”

They call him, “Roberto, Jessica is here.”

He’s like, “Yeah, tell her come in, come in.” He gives her a hug and kiss. He’s like, “What can I do for you, Mija?”

She’s like, “I want to record you, I want to interview you.”

He’s like, “Ok, yeah, let me check my book.” So they did the interview and it was so emotional, because here is this great man. He’s talking about education. He put it in her head, don’t ever quit school. Tell your friends, don’t ever quit school. Education is important.

She took the interview back to her class, they all watched it. She got, you know, her claps and everything. And her teacher was like, “She got an ‘A’ but I wish I could give her a higher grade. I never seen an interview like that.”

So, she took her report card to Roberto. Every ‘A’ she got, he gave her a dollar. And when he looked at the project she did, because you know the teacher noted on the box, “Your interview was excellent,” and he’s like, “Good job, Mija, now keep that in your head. I want to see you educated. I want to see you go to college. Do something, be productive, you  know.”

So, there was a Seattle Fun Run and everybody had sponsors. And my daughter was like, “I want to run but I don’t have a sponsor.” So El Centro had their volunteer days. My daughter would go to volunteer day, and she went to Roberto and said, “I want to do the Fun Run in Seattle.”

He’s like: “Ok, Mija, what you need?”

She goes, “I don’t know, something with El Centro.”

They had a gift shop at El Centro. He went and got her a pair of shorts that had El Centro on there. So, while they were at school, I came up there and we did a big banner. It was in Spanish. Roberto signed it, everybody at El Centro signed it. And she ran her Fun Run. She went back after it was done and showed him her ribbon. She gave Roberto her ribbon and said, “Thank you.”

To be continued…

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Serving up healthy produce with Jack Johnson

(Editor’s note: This report comes from our favorite carrot, Amelia Swinton, who along with the smiling pea, Meredith Wilson, represented Solid Ground’s Lettuce Link and Apple Corps programs at a very special event. Their report can also be found on the Lettuce Link. blog.)

(L to r): Meredith Wilson and Amelia Swinton spread the word about healthy produce in Jack Johnson's Village Green during his concert at The Gorge

Last weekend was a mobile one, with Lettuce Link posters, Marra Farm produce, and even a few staffers packed into a Prius and shipped eastwards. The occasion for this expedition down I-90? Jack Johnson, acoustic guitar and philanthropic superstar, was playing a show at the Gorge Amphitheater. And though his To The Sea tour has crisscrossed the nation’s biggest venues, Jack has consistently prioritized sustainability, locally sourced materials, and connecting his fans to nonprofits in their communities.

Through the fiery determination of Solid Ground staff, Lettuce Link and Apple Corps (an AmeriCorps team focused on educating kids about healthy lifestyles) were chosen to table on Jack’s “Village Green.” In addition, the programs received $2,500 in match funding from Johnson and his foundation!

Sandwiched between a surfing/beach cleaning organization and a kids+arts+nature group, Meredith and I engaged with hordes of JJ fans about food: its justice, affordability, cultivation, nutrition and education. We spoke with people about our work in schools, community gardens, urban farms, food banks, and private backyards, and discussed the connections between these programs and domestic food policy. We connected teachers with composting resources, greeting-card-writers to lovely Marra Farm harvest cards, and eaters to new vegetables (bok choi! paddy pan squash!).

We also urged people to take personal actions: donate to Lettuce Link (: , support farmers markets, and educate themselves on the Farm Bill so that they can speak out for fairer ag policy.

What’s more: 100% of the  profits from Johnson’s tour go back into his foundation, to continue supporting nonprofit work. I’m sounding like a total Jack Johnson speaker box here, but frankly, I wasn’t expecting to be so darn impressed.