1:10 1967 1:5 1967 1:3 1966
Pt. 2 Profile of Desperation: Beck 2011 *thanks to my elder M. Forrester for the inspiration The lights of the Castro sign flicker from top to bottom, reflected in the storefront windows and in the eyes of the tourists eating within. Families shield their children from a few heavily bundled, scattered buskers silently pleading for mercy with scrawled cardboard signs; Nearing Castro at 18th, outside the Walgreen’s, a young gay man lies shoeless advertising spiritual tarot readings for $1 as an older man’s dog sniffs his dampened blanket. The boy reaches over to pet the pup. “C’mon, Muffy” woofs the bear, as he yanks his precious poodle from the boy’s affections. Elsewhere on MUNI, commuters stare deep into their smartphones, squishing tightly into themselves as to remain as far as possible from the themselves. Strolling market street, a homeless man is ticketed for resting on the sidewalk. Those distracted at work watch a video of 6 San Francisco Police murdering a disabled man on Howard street. In 1966, the city of salvation was in need of a savior. In 1978, Harvey Milk was slain. Now where are we? Yet and still, the blacks and browns are herded into the expanding prison system, as prison guards unionize for greater wages and private CEOs relish in their slave labor profits. Undocumented immigrants lay awake at night, peace impossible, always awakened by approaching sirens. Poor young queens and queers fight tirelessly to get the scraps they need to survive from overworked non-profiteers, trekking from shelter to shelter, wondering where they would go from here. After all, This was supposed to be the promise land. For us. For all of us. They all come from everywhere filling up the busses and streets everyday. Those who Have. Opening their businesses pillows of the street, a rude awakening in a cold city. The rest live restless inside themselves, for there’s nowhere else to go. It’s illegal to sit around here, nowadays. Forced into the system of hopping hoops for crumbs and desensitized “charity“, a pressure is created within the streets. There’s a burning inside, a desperation, a knowledge that having nothing means there is nothing to lose. Going from the day to day, letting the fire roast inside until it burns too hot and there’s a fever only cured by dousing it with elixers or turning it into a flame. The police watch closely, stalking anyone whose flame goes untamed, their fingers steady and ready at the trigger. It’s been 50 years since the first <strong>Vanguard</strong> and it is past the time for questions and answers. It is now time to combine fires and to begin demanding humanity on the streets of San Francisco for the Outcasts, the Immigrant, the Black, the Queer, the Transgender, the Poor. Otherwise, the wait will slowly burn us from inside and from without. 42