In these times of pandemic, capital kills more than ever. Workers are left without equipment in hospitals. Confinement falls upon us because our government did too little, too late. Rich landlords who brought the virus back from their latest trip are angered by a rent strike that their penniless tenants have no other choice but to partake in. The people dying right now are among the most vulnerable, from grocery store clerks, to delivery workers, prisoners, homeless folks, and undocumented migrants. All of this while the most fortunate get to work from home. Nevertheless, social distancing remains an important way to reduce transmission, and this is why WE WILL NOT MEET PHYSICALLY FOR A MAYDAY PROTEST. We will however try to make resistance as visible as possible, given the difficult context.
The Canadian economy, along with that of most countries of the G20, will present a negative fiscal balance this year due to the sanitary crisis. The economy, however, means nothing. It’s a mix of statistical indicators that have never reflected our collective well-being. These indicators are more often related negatively to the health of our relationships, children, and waterways. However, the political elite forces us to mourn the economy by blocking our access to the products of our labor. While the rich live in style on desert islands and in distant townhouses, the poor are stacked in slums, forced to produce wealth, to heal the sick, or to restock grocery store shelves. Confinement makes solidarity very difficult in a context otherwise favorable for the crumbling of the capitalist state.
Let’s take this opportunity to shift environmental questions back to an anticapitalist perspective of climate justice. At a time when the air of our cities is finally breathable, let’s avoid the return to normalcy demanded by the capitalist elite. Let’s avoid making forced isolation and mass surveillance the new normal. Because a return to normalcy would only be the second act of a single tragedy, with societies playing the same role they had in the ongoing ecocide. The system must change, we must build justice anew, a justice which respects life and ecosystems.
We want to belong to the world we inhabit. Capitalism built societies we don’t really want. It’s time to take back control of our future from the rich and powerful who have had it for far too long. It is time to build a world for all of us.
This year we will not take the streets. This is why we ask you to SHOW YOUR ANTICAPITALIST SOLIDARITY THROUGH BANNERS, ART PROJECTS, AND POSTERS. If you can take pictures, images will be presented on a Web page built for this purpose. Details will be available shortly.
We cannot lose hope. The struggle continues to be as necessary as ever.
In the West we laughed at the images of consumers at big chain stores desperately struggling for irrational amounts of toilet paper. When asked by the media, the consumers said they didn’t know why they needed so many rolls, or that they had simply followed the crowd.
The feeling of catastrophe is difficult to deny. Government experts are asking us to put our trust in the same health care heroes they have overworked, exhausted, and discouraged through repeated budget cuts and devaluing of their jobs in preparation for collective bargaining negotiations.
The dissonance is intense… so is the anger. Management is “rationing” protective equipment for employees; to this day, there are still no masks and few gloves for caregivers in many seniors’ homes despite the mounting deaths.
Entertainment and scapegoats. While the “guardian angels” are working themselves to death for lower real wages than in previous decades (prosperity is the order of the day for Quebec bosses!), the people are being asked to look the other way – to watch videos of baby animals. It’s going to be fine… and above all, wait patiently for the government to restore the normal conditions of your exploitation. It’s not a beautiful dream. The state is the coldest of monsters that, to paraphrase Nietzsche, tells us with lies crawling out of its mouth: ‘I, the state, am your caretaker’.
The story we all tell of these events is not just personal… it is shaped in large part by the state. In the face of the crisis, the state is bringing out the same old stories. Xenophobia being what it is, many people, including Trump, believe the virus is of Chinese nationality, or at least that fault lies with the Chinese people; a deception that suits the populists, who felt their national pride offended by the rise of China. Racism is never really confined to the “realm of ideas”. It has manifested itself in many ways through expressions and actions that are hateful to people of Chinese origin or associated with them for sometimes stupid reasons. A Chinese-born Chicoutimi woman, for example, has denounced several incidents in our region [https://www.iheartradio.ca/energie/energie-saguenay/nouvelles/coronavirus-une-chicoutimienne-nee-en-chine-victime-de-racisme-1.10852664].
True to form, the state also sent its armed wing to “contain the crisis”. The calls for law and order have generated a veritable snitching culture in which everyone is called upon to spy on the actions of others and rely on the police. Your neighbour is potentially the enemy. The situation in Quebec is currently so pitiful that even the cops say they are overwhelmed by the flood of sordid calls and are asking Quebecers to “chill out” with the snitching! Some politicians believe that the state is too soft and are calling for the army to intervene. You’d think that this virus is some kind of anarchist…
Finally, the borders. It was through the power of politicians, not the medical profession, that the popular narrative of events came to include the belief that the virus would be spread by people from outside the country, especially immigrants, and that closing national borders would be one way to stop its spread. Following populist pressure, the Canadian government even took steps to prevent refugee claimants from entering Canada. Do we think we can live in an airtight glass bubble? The fantasy of right-wing populists is utterly stupid. Billions of people in the global south, many of whom have no clean drinking water at home or have to fend for themselves on a daily basis to meet their families’ basic needs, are being asked to live in forced confinement. How many will die of hunger or thirst rather than coronavirus, while countries like Canada would rather invest billions to support the destructive fossil fuel industry? How can we not think that this lack of solidarity with the global South in the context of the pandemic will not encourage an even more intense spread of the virus and make it even more difficult to fight in Canada in the future? Fuck!
Please, let’s protect ourselves from the virus, but let’s also fight the confinement of consciences through class solidarity and international solidarity. Let’s target the real enemies.
Inspired by the Black Panther Party and other groups of revolutionaries organizing to meet the health and educational needs of their community, members of the Latin American Young Lords Party set up a drug treatment centre in 1970. On November 10, 1970, about 30 activists occupied the then vacant sixth floor of the nurses’ residence building at Lincoln Hospital in the Bronx, New York. He quickly set up checkpoints and erected a barricade; the hospital administration was forced to negotiate and finally give them the space. In partnership with health care workers, addicts and community members, the Young Lords then established The People’s Drug Program, a community-run detoxification program. The following interview, conducted by Molly Porzig, was published on March 15, 2013, in the American magazine The Abolitionnist. Vicente “Panama” Alba, a member of the Young Lords Party and counselor at Lincoln Detox Center during the 1970s, recounts his experience.
/ / /
The Young Lords made seven demands to Lincoln Hospital in July 1970.
What was the Lincoln Detox Center? How did it start and why?
In the late 1960s and early 1970s in New York, we were living through a drug epidemic. In November of 1970, I was 19 years old and had been a heroin addict for five years. I began using heroin when I was 14, which was very common for young men and young women of my generation. Fifteen percent of the population was addicted (communities in the South Bronx, Harlem, the Lower East Side, Bushwick in Brooklyn, including everyone from a newborn baby to an elderly person ready to pass on). The concentration of addiction was on teenagers and people in their early 20s and 30s. Addiction at that time was primarily to heroin.
In the 1960s, the U.S. government engaged in a war in Southeast Asia commonly known as the Vietnam War, but the United States was involved in all of Southeast Asia. There was an airline that was an operation of the CIA transporting heroin from Southeast Asia to the U.S. We see now in Hollywood movies “gangsters” importing heroin, but the bulk of heroin imported to the United States was a United States government operation, targeting poor communities of color, black and Latino communities.
In New York, heroin devastated most of Harlem and the South Bronx. Young people utilized heroin very publicly, sniffing heroin at dance halls or in school bathrooms, which led to shooting up intravenously. This was an epidemic that Black Panther Michael Cetewayo Tabua, one of the New York 21, wrote a pamphlet on called “Capitalism Plus Dope Equals Genocide,” which we used widely. In 1969, the Black Panther Party in New York City was decimated by the indictment of 21 Black Panthers and needed to focus on the trial, becoming inactive in other areas at that time. Because of the relationship the Black Panther Party and the Young Lords had, together we began looking at the heroin epidemic, the general health of our communities and the public health positions of institutions against our communities.
Lincoln Hospital was built in 1839 to receive former slaves migrating from the South. By 1970, it was the only medical facility in the South Bronx. It was a dilapidated brick structure, from the previous century that had never been upgraded. It was known as the “butcher shop of the South Bronx.” In the old Lincoln Hospital (and even today) you walk down the hall and see blood everywhere—blood on the walls, the sheets, the gurneys, your shoes. Doctors were assigned there for internships and learned on Blacks, Puerto Ricans and a very small diminishing white community in the South Bronx.
In early 1970, there was a woman by the name of Carmen Rodriguez who was butchered in the hospital and bled to death on a gurney. Following that death, the Young Lords, with the participation of some Black Panthers, took over Lincoln Hospital for the first time and demanded better health care delivery for people in that community.
“Of course the powers that be did not want us there but could not figure out how to deal with people saying we ain’t going. We’re staying and we’re going to serve our people.”
During the takeover, the Young Lords, Panthers, supporters and translators set up tables where people came to document their experiences of the medical treatment. A major part of the takeover focused on how there were no translators at Lincoln Hospital. South Bronx is a predominantly Puerto Rican community, primarily of Spanish-speaking people newly arrived or second generation who spoke little-to-no English. People would walk in Lincoln Hospital for medical treatment and there was nobody there to understand your ailment or problem. The hospital administration had also been confronted about the lack of services for people with addictions, primarily heroin addiction. The community had told the hospital one of its shortcomings was that you come to the hospital and you get no treatment whatsoever. The hospital administration paid no mind to it.
Months later on November 10, 1970, a group of the Young Lords, a South Bronx anti-drug coalition, and members of the Health Revolutionary Unity Movement (a mass organization of health workers) with the support of the Lincoln Collective took over the Nurses’ Residence building of Lincoln Hospital and established a drug treatment program called The People’s Drug Program, which became known as Lincoln Detox Center.
The police surrounded us and we said we weren’t leaving. By day two, the takeover had spread by word of mouth and we had hundreds of people lined up wanting to get treatment for addiction. About a month later, the administration had to come to terms with the fact that we weren’t leaving. They had been sitting on the proposal of some monies that had been earmarked for treatment that hadn’t been implemented. The money was brought and staff was hired from the very volunteers of the Lincoln Detox program we started. Of course the powers that be did not want us there but could not figure out how to deal with people saying we ain’t going. We’re staying and we’re going to serve our people.
We were very effective in doing so, and kept our program running until 1979.
The Young Lords demonstrate in front of Lincoln Hospital, September 3, 1970.
What was your involvement?
I joined the building of Lincoln Detox from day one. Before that, my primary objective was to go get drugs, until one time Cleo Silvers and I were sitting on a stoop and she pointed some important stuff out to me. She told me to look at the New York City Police patrol car where two officers sat selling heroin. She said, “Look, those are cops. Look who you’re giving your money to!” The climate in our communities at the time is very important. On the one hand we have the drug epidemic, but there was also revolution in the air—change was something that you could breathe, that you could taste, that you could feel, because the movement was very vibrant. Some days before October 30, there had been a massive demonstration called by the Young Lords and I attended the demonstration even though I was still addicted.
Because of the way I felt that day, I told myself I couldn’t continue to be a drug user. I couldn’t be a heroin addict and a revolutionary, and I wanted to be a revolutionary. I made a decision to kick a dope habit. Coincidentally, that day I called Cleo, who told me to go to this place with these people. I met a couple of young brothers from the Puerto Rican Student Union and they escorted me over to Cleo at Lincoln Hospital. It had just been taken over a half-hour before. As I was withdrawing from my addiction, I did not detoxify in Lincoln Detox, but detoxified on my own, cold turkey, a challenge I placed upon myself.
I was recruited out of that experience into the Young Lords Party, maybe a month after the first day of the program. The presence of the Latino movement within the revolutionary movement in the U.S. hadn’t occurred yet in New York. It had occurred in the Southwest with the Brown Berets, but the Latino community in New York was predominantly Puerto Rican. When I joined the Young Lords, I was assigned to Lincoln Detox where I worked as a counselor.
What did the Lincoln Detox Center do? What approaches did it use?
We provided detoxification. We had support from medical doctors providing us with methadone, which we then provided to people in increasing dosages over ten days for people to withdraw, replacing the heroin with methadone and then decreasing it by milligrams every day. After the tenth day you would be physically clean.
This was also right around the time that Richard Nixon opened up relationships with China. A lot came out about Chinese way of life and how health care was provided to the people of China. We heard about acupuncture. We read a magazine article about a situation in Thailand where an acupuncturist used acupuncture to treat someone with respiratory problems and an addiction to opium. We read that the stimulation of the lung point in the ear was the key of the treatment. We went down to Chinatown, got acupuncture needles and began experimenting on one another. We then developed the acupuncture collective within Lincoln Detox.
We also understood that an individual’s addiction wasn’t just a physical problem, but a psychological problem. It was a widespread problem in our community, not because we as a community were psychologically deficient, but because oppression and brutal living conditions drove us to that. There was a book called The Radical Therapist that some of us read.
“The existence of the program was a thorn in the government’s side. We were revolutionaries and radicals doing work, recruiting people to do work the government didn’t want to happen.”
We developed therapy that integrated political education into therapeutic discussions. We held group sessions with overwhelmingly Black and Puerto Rican participants, and engaged in conversations around what it felt like to be Black or Puerto Rican, what it meant for someone who was called a “spic” to not understand what Puerto Rican was. Puerto Rican people are colonial subjects of the United States. You ask a Puerto Rican generally, an unconscious Puerto Rican and they’ll say, “I’m a U.S. citizen.” Well, you are an un-welcomed U.S. citizen, so what does that feel like and mean? The effects of colonialism and the treatment Puerto Ricans receive stateside are not understood because they become internalized. You have to start with what it means. How do you feel about your family’s inability to provide for you? Why do the cops hate you? Why does the school hate you? I went to public school, didn’t know English in 5th grade, and was placed in a class for the “mentally challenged.” There are people who need that support, but I don’t get it. What are the impacts of that kind of treatment by the institutions of society? What happens to a person who lives in those conditions, who gets beaten by police and called a “dirty spic” or who gets denied friendship because the person is white and you’re of color? There is a cumulative impact of this kind of existence and we would discuss it.
How did Lincoln Detox incorporate grassroots organizing into its ongoing work?
When you’re consumed by chasing a bag of drugs, chasing the money to get the bag of drugs, being high, or being in an environment with other people you get high with, it becomes a way of life. When people want alternatives, you have to provide it for them. We did not have the resources to say: Okay, you’re 17, you can benefit from finishing school. Here’s a school with caring teachers, caring counselors and so on to bring people up to speed in education or to direct people to get employment, particularly people who had been out of the work force. Given the natural power of the therapeutic approach, this was all very important that it was voluntary, that it was people’s will to do. If they learned things from our educational program and therapeutic sessions, they wanted to do something about those problems. We would direct them to get involved, to get engaged in campaigns that were going on in the community.
We had people advocating for people in welfare centers, training people on the rights of welfare recipients, and translators who would advocate for people who were Spanish-speakers. We played a part in the founding of a coalition for minority construction workers, because construction work was a good paying job and the industry excluded minorities. Those were a few things we did, in addition to political campaigns. Some people that came through our programs joined the Young Lords, Black Panther Party or the Republic of New Afrika. Some became Muslims and got deeply involved. Some got involved in the campaign to free political prisoners or began building collectives.
We fought everyday—we fought for the right to eat, the right to get paid, the right to be respected, the right not to be fucked with by the cops. We never asked for anything in return.
What were some of the strengths, successes, challenges and weaknesses?
There were strengths and successes throughout, but it wasn’t all glory. There were a lot of challenges and weaknesses. From the first day, November 10, 1970, we had a constant influx of people everyday seeking help. Hundreds and hundreds came—I’m not talking about one or two-dozen people—as the word spread about Lincoln Detox, the opportunity for people to walk in and get effective help from everyday people (not white professionals but their own people) who had a loving heart, developing an understanding of things they needed to articulate. People came from all over New York and Connecticut, Long Island, New Jersey, too. The Lincoln Detox program became so successful and effective that a United Nations delegation visited and gave us recognition for it.
At that point acupuncture became controversial because it was “non-medical” people providing medical care. Laws then were passed about who could do acupuncture, making it so that it could only be done under supervision of a medical doctor who might not have a clue of what acupuncture is about. Those kinds of political struggles—to maintain funding for the program, to keep the program alive, against the local police as well as the hospital police who continuously tried to make their way into the program (Lincoln Detox was a sanctuary where addicts could go and not be afraid of the police)—were big challenges. Then we struggled with the hospital to provide meal expenses for the program. People were coming off the streets, didn’t have anything to eat and needed treatment. We struggled and eventually figured it out.
We also struggled with developing our skills in treatment, acupuncture and detoxing. At the time we started the program, there was a big push to promote methadone maintenance as a treatment modality. Methadone is a scary drug, originally developed by Nazi scientists in order to furnish themselves with opiates. It’s highly addictive and the withdrawal is different from heroin. People slowly developed a protocol for detoxing off methadone. We could detox somebody from heroin in ten days and they’d be fine physically. Methadone was very painful for many months—three or four sometimes.
The existence of the program was a thorn in the government’s side. We were revolutionaries and radicals doing work, recruiting people to do work the government didn’t want to happen.
One morning in 1979, we went to work and the Lincoln Hospital was surrounded by police checking the identification of everybody walking in. They had a list of names and members of the Young Lords, Black Panther Party, and Republic of New Afrika and other people were excluded from entering the facilities, and were to be arrested if they tried to enter. They dismantled Lincoln Detox. One component they were very interested in was the acupuncture, because it was a money mill. Some people today say the Lincoln Detox still exists, but it doesn’t. There’s an acupuncture clinic at Lincoln Hospital but the program was dismantled.
Dr. Richard Taft is receiving acupuncture treatment from a patient intern at Lincoln Detox Center.
Was the collaboration between different groups such as the Young Lords, the Black Panther Party, the Republic of New Afrika and Muslim communities spontaneous, automatic or a more intentional effort in developing the program?
That’s a deep question. There’s the overriding principle of unity and respect and there’s the reality that we were all works in progress. It’s not like you go to sleep one night a junkie and wake up the next morning a revolutionary. There’s a process in growth and change. As products of today’s society, we are not examples of the society we’re building for tomorrow.
Collaboration and solidarity were very important to Lincoln Detox and there were a lot of struggles. We considered the Black Panther Party the vanguard of the revolutionary movement at that time, and there was the reality that the Black Panther Party was disintegrating. There were some people in the Black Panther Party and the Young Lords who were extremely arrogant. We had to struggle against and combat those tendencies. We would always go back to the principle of what is the best interest of the people. The outcome was very positive and we learned so much from each other. In 1973, when the American Indian Movement confronted the FBI at Wounded Knee on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, there was no question for us. It was automatically our responsibility to support and engage with that. We developed a philosophy, a practice that made it possible for us to do those things.
What lessons were learned that could strengthen work today?
I think that a lot of organizing that takes place today is funded. You don’t hear about many initiatives that are independent efforts. One of the things that Lincoln Detox was very much a part of was support for the Attica brothers during the Attica Prison takeover in September 1971. We did 20-something rallies in 15 days throughout New York City. We didn’t have the Internet or cell phones, or institutions financing copy machines or any of that. We hustled to type fliers, cut and pasted pictures and burned stencils.
Pa’lante (a contraction of Para Adelante, Forward!), is one of the publications of the Young Lords Party, distributed by the New York Chapter.
We built a movement and we looked for ways to make the movement survive without government funding. Nobody could tell us what we were going to do. Today a lot relies on foundation monies, and people focus on the money and don’t engage in campaigns. Even though we forced the government for years to underwrite our work, eventually they had the power and took it out. We didn’t have the power to continue that institution. If we were not in their facility could they have shut us down? I don’t know, but it would have been different.
We need to recognize we can’t have institutions within the institutions. I mean we eventually end up in one way or another in a place where Lincoln Detox ended. We need to think in terms of short range and longer-range efforts. How do you get rid of prisons under imperialism? You have to get rid of imperialism. In the mean time you may take on some struggles that may take on some reforms and that needs to be studied and discussed.
We can look at it from the humanist viewpoint and see that we saved and changed a lot of lives, people who would have been dead from heroin. I’m one of them, one of a lot of people. A lot of people became contributors to progress, but in changing the world the obstacles change too. After heroin came crack. We did not stop the drug scourge in our community.
What are some of the legacies or long-term impacts of the Lincoln Detox center?
Humbly, I don’t think there would be the new Lincoln Hospital without our work. If it weren’t for the struggles that we took on, the new Lincoln Hospital would never have been built, because all political interests had nothing to do with the interests of the people in the community. We had to fight to put the interests of the community at the forefront and demand that hospital be built. When they shut down the old and moved to the new Lincoln Hospital, they made space for every department except Lincoln Detox. The legacy spreads beyond that, too. If you go into any New York City public hospital, you see the Patient’s Bill of Rights on the wall. That came out of the first takeover at Lincoln Hospital. We made it come alive at Lincoln Detox.
What were some of the strengths, successes, challenges and weaknesses?
There were strengths and successes throughout, but it wasn’t all glory. There were a lot of challenges and weaknesses. From the first day, November 10, 1970, we had a constant influx of people everyday seeking help. Hundreds and hundreds came—I’m not talking about one or two-dozen people—as the word spread about Lincoln Detox, the opportunity for people to walk in and get effective help from everyday people (not white professionals but their own people) who had a loving heart, developing an understanding of things they needed to articulate. People came from all over New York and Connecticut, Long Island, New Jersey, too. The Lincoln Detox program became so successful and effective that a United Nations delegation visited and gave us recognition for it.
At that point acupuncture became controversial because it was “non-medical” people providing medical care. Laws then were passed about who could do acupuncture, making it so that it could only be done under supervision of a medical doctor who might not have a clue of what acupuncture is about. Those kinds of political struggles—to maintain funding for the program, to keep the program alive, against the local police as well as the hospital police who continuously tried to make their way into the program (Lincoln Detox was a sanctuary where addicts could go and not be afraid of the police)—were big challenges. Then we struggled with the hospital to provide meal expenses for the program. People were coming off the streets, didn’t have anything to eat and needed treatment. We struggled and eventually figured it out.
We also struggled with developing our skills in treatment, acupuncture and detoxing. At the time we started the program, there was a big push to promote methadone maintenance as a treatment modality. Methadone is a scary drug, originally developed by Nazi scientists in order to furnish themselves with opiates. It’s highly addictive and the withdrawal is different from heroin. People slowly developed a protocol for detoxing off methadone. We could detox somebody from heroin in ten days and they’d be fine physically. Methadone was very painful for many months—three or four sometimes.
The existence of the program was a thorn in the government’s side. We were revolutionaries and radicals doing work, recruiting people to do work the government didn’t want to happen.
One morning in 1979, we went to work and the Lincoln Hospital was surrounded by police checking the identification of everybody walking in. They had a list of names and members of the Young Lords, Black Panther Party, and Republic of New Afrika and other people were excluded from entering the facilities, and were to be arrested if they tried to enter. They dismantled Lincoln Detox. One component they were very interested in was the acupuncture, because it was a money mill. Some people today say the Lincoln Detox still exists, but it doesn’t. There’s an acupuncture clinic at Lincoln Hospital but the program was dismantled.
Was the collaboration between different groups such as the Young Lords, the Black Panther Party, the Republic of New Afrika and Muslim communities spontaneous, automatic or a more intentional effort in developing the program?
That’s a deep question. There’s the overriding principle of unity and respect and there’s the reality that we were all works in progress. It’s not like you go to sleep one night a junkie and wake up the next morning a revolutionary. There’s a process in growth and change. As products of today’s society, we are not examples of the society we’re building for tomorrow.
Collaboration and solidarity were very important to Lincoln Detox and there were a lot of struggles. We considered the Black Panther Party the vanguard of the revolutionary movement at that time, and there was the reality that the Black Panther Party was disintegrating. There were some people in the Black Panther Party and the Young Lords who were extremely arrogant. We had to struggle against and combat those tendencies. We would always go back to the principle of what is the best interest of the people. The outcome was very positive and we learned so much from each other. In 1973, when the American Indian Movement confronted the FBI at Wounded Knee on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, there was no question for us. It was automatically our responsibility to support and engage with that. We developed a philosophy, a practice that made it possible for us to do those things.
What lessons were learned that could strengthen work today?
I think that a lot of organizing that takes place today is funded. You don’t hear about many initiatives that are independent efforts. One of the things that Lincoln Detox was very much a part of was support for the Attica brothers during the Attica Prison takeover in September 1971. We did 20-something rallies in 15 days throughout New York City. We didn’t have the Internet or cell phones, or institutions financing copy machines or any of that. We hustled to type fliers, cut and pasted pictures and burned stencils.
We built a movement and we looked for ways to make the movement survive without government funding. Nobody could tell us what we were going to do. Today a lot relies on foundation monies, and people focus on the money and don’t engage in campaigns. Even though we forced the government for years to underwrite our work, eventually they had the power and took it out. We didn’t have the power to continue that institution. If we were not in their facility could they have shut us down? I don’t know, but it would have been different.
We need to recognize we can’t have institutions within the institutions. I mean we eventually end up in one way or another in a place where Lincoln Detox ended. We need to think in terms of short range and longer-range efforts. How do you get rid of prisons under imperialism? You have to get rid of imperialism. In the mean time you may take on some struggles that may take on some reforms and that needs to be studied and discussed.
We can look at it from the humanist viewpoint and see that we saved and changed a lot of lives, people who would have been dead from heroin. I’m one of them, one of a lot of people. A lot of people became contributors to progress, but in changing the world the obstacles change too. After heroin came crack. We did not stop the drug scourge in our community.
What are some of the legacies or long-term impacts of the Lincoln Detox center?
Humbly, I don’t think there would be the new Lincoln Hospital without our work. If it weren’t for the struggles that we took on, the new Lincoln Hospital would never have been built, because all political interests had nothing to do with the interests of the people in the community. We had to fight to put the interests of the community at the forefront and demand that hospital be built. When they shut down the old and moved to the new Lincoln Hospital, they made space for every department except Lincoln Detox. The legacy spreads beyond that, too. If you go into any New York City public hospital, you see the Patient’s Bill of Rights on the wall. That came out of the first takeover at Lincoln Hospital. We made it come alive at Lincoln Detox.
Harlem, 1970. Young Lords pose in front of an X-ray truck for tuberculosis detection, a service the organization provided seven days a week.
[1] Black nationalist separatist organization, founded in 1968.
[2] The Brown Berets are a Chicana revolutionary organization that emerged in late 1968 in the southwestern United States. It is still active today and has mainly focused on the issues of combating police violence and organizing the Chicana and Mexican populations against exploitation and racist policies.
It’s Rent Day and thousands all over Quebec can’t pay.
Montreal, April 1, 2020 — Today is Rent Day, and thousands of people all over Quebec cannot pay rent, or have to make the inhumane choice between paying rent, or having money for food, medicine and other basic needs. Tenants are scared, fearful, and anxious. While all of society is trying to manage a public health crisis, one main indicator of physical and mental health – housing – is the source of anxiety and depression.
MANY PEOPLE ARE LEFT OUT OF THE EMERGENCY RESPONSE BENEFIT (CERB)
The main argument opposed to tenants by the landlords’ associations is that the payment of the Canada Emergency Response Benefit (CERB) — a $2,000 per month financial assistance for workers affected by the COVID-19 pandemic, by the federal government — will help pay their rent. However, this benefit will not arrive in the pockets of recipients until mid-April. It is also important to point out that many people will be excluded and will thus remain in financial precariousness. Some of the excluded include:
Workers who left their jobs before the crisis began.
Workers who have maintained incomes, even minimal ones, in the last two weeks will not be immediately entitled to it.
People living on savings who did not have $5,000 in cash inflows last year.
Many students, especially international students who have been cut off from funding from their home country or those returning from a study abroad.
Non-status and undocumented workers.
Sex workers.
People who depended on undeclared income.
People who have not declared their income for tax purposes in the last two years.
Vulnerable people who, for health, precarity or other reasons, will not be able to complete the application.
These workers will also have absolutely no recourse if they are denied the CERB. This is why some of us will be on a forced rent strike and others will support us by going on strike and/or displaying a white sheet on the front of their homes. To provide relief to the most disadvantaged, we believe that the government must act responsibly by :
immediately cancelling rent payments in Quebec;
declaring a moratorium on all evictions related to the inability to pay rent during the COVID-19 pandemic; people who do not pay their rent during the crisis should not be evicted afterwards either;
opening as many vacant units as possible — such as empty Airbnb units, vacant condos, hotels — to house people who are homeless or currently living in unsafe, unsanitary or abusive housing conditions.
ABANDONED BY HOUSING MINISTER LAFOREST
In a press release sent on the eve of April 1 (www.newswire.ca/fr/news-releases/pandemie-de-la-covid-19-1er-avril-le-gouvernement-du-quebec-rappelle-les-mesures-en-place-888418021.html), Andrée Laforest, Minister of Municipal Affairs and Housing, insulted Quebec’s low-income tenants. She urges tenants to contact their banks (!). This means two things: i) Laforest is completely ignorant of the reality lived by poor and working class tenants, who cannot qualify for bank loans; Laforest’s suggestion is laughable; ii) Laforest is suggesting that tenants go into debt to deal with the current crisis, debts that cannot be paid, and will only increase mental and physical anguish in the middle of a public health crisis.
TENANTS ARE GETTING ORGANIZED
The testimonials of tenants from all over Quebec express fear and worry, while demanding the cancellation of rents immediately. Those testimonials can be accessed here: https://grevedesloyers.info/en/testimonies-2/
In a building in the Rosemont-La Petite-Patrie district, precarious tenants of 10 apartments have decided to go on a rent strike in order to signify to their landlord their collective inability to pay rent:
“We are working together to ensure everyone stays safe. However, the current circumstances have put not only our physical, but also our financial health at risk,” explains Dexter Xurukulasuriya, one of the tenants. In a letter sent to their landlord, they ask for an understanding that “the inability for some to afford the rent is due to a public health crisis outside of anyone’s control, and that for the good of public safety”, they must be able to stay in their homes, “without fear of being able to pay for living expenses.”
“Of course, we realize that [our landlord] is also affected by this crisis, and are reassured to know that [landlords] have access to tools and relief measures such as mortgage deferral.” adds Xurukulasuriya.
TOOLS FOR TENANTS WHO WANT TO FIGHT BACK
Hundreds of tenants all over Montreal, and all over Quebec and Canada, are organizing collectively. When confronting injustice, fear and isolation, our best weapons are solidarity, care and support.
The Draps blancs pour une grève générale have put together a WHY & HOW about rent refusal and rent strikes for tenants and supporters; access that info here: https://grevedesloyers.info/en/howwhy/
We have also put together a PHOTO GALLERY of white sheets place in front of homes, a symbol of rent refusal, rent cancellation, and a rent strike, and solidarity between tenants: https://grevedesloyers.info/en/gallery-2/
Autonomous tenants in Montreal have launched a Quebec-specific PETITION, with three clear demands, including rent cancellation. The petition is reaching 10,000 signatures. Sign and share the petition: http://chng.it/XJctK2Tw
The Draps blancs pour une grève des loyers reminds the MEDIA of our previous press releases, with information still very much relevant today:
Rent strikes are risky. To reduce the risks, the more of us the better. We have strength in numbers.
Collective direct actions like rent strikes are a good way to change our power dynamic with the government so that it can intervene to cancel mortgages and rents for everyone.
Gathering together as tenants of the same landlord makes organizing a rent strike simpler for us and makes it more complicated for your landlord to use legal remedies (such as eviction).
Steps to Follow:
Find out more: read the Legal Considerations and Resources section.
Discuss the strike with your roommates, neighbours, people who live in the same building, and also with people who have the same landlord if you know them or can get in touch with them.
Hang a white sheet in front of your house to show that you are demanding a rent and mortgage freeze, and that you will go on a rent strike if the government does not act.
Devise strategies that are appropriate for your different situations. Here are some examples:
If you can afford to pay your rent, think about putting money aside so that you can pay all the unpaid rents when the crisis is over, if needed.
If you live in a group, talk to the other residents to see how you can strike collectively.
If your landlord has a lot of units, try to talk about the strike in as many of his or her units as possible. A situation where many tenants of the same landlord go on a rent strike gives you a better bargaining position. Your landlord must therefore consider several legal recourses with the Quebec Rental Board (Régie du logement) and risks losing all his tenants at once.
Let your landlord know that you are unable to pay your rent. We have sample letters to send in the Resources section.
Answers to Your Questions
Will we be in trouble? What are the possible consequences?
Going on strike is never without risk, but it is also a way to make your needs and rights heard. By collectivizing the risks, we also collectivize the defence organization. The more people participate, the greater the chances of avoiding these risks. However, it is important to learn about these potential risks by referring to the Legal Considerations section.
Why encourage/participate in the strike at all?
In the context of a State of Health Emergency, with the closure of all non-essential businesses, if we do not organize collectively, thousands of people will not be able to pay their rent and bills anyway.
The more people get involved, the less likely it is that the consequences will be serious for the strikers. The stakes are similar to a workplace strike or a student strike, but for tenants.
The civil rights movement used rent strikes to protest discrimination and to ensure rent control. It is a form of non-violent civil disobedience and one of the only tactics we have left in times of pandemic.
You cannot be legally evicted as long as there is a State of Health Emergency. It is only after the crisis, if the government has not responded to our demands, that the risk of eviction resturns. But we will continue to strike until rent cancellation is granted. We will keep up the pressure to make our demands heard and to ensure that landlords cannot take action against their tenants.
The current situation is unprecedented and we must stand in solidarity among precarious and marginalized people.
Don’t landlords have bills and mortgages to pay too?
Yes, but it’s not up to the tenants to take responsibility for the landlords. It is up to the government to take action to ensure that landlords do not have to pay their bills either. Tenants must put their health and their immediate needs, such as food, first. Tenants have also been paying abusive fees for many years.
Landlords with mortgages should require banks to suspend mortgage payments without interest.
In times of health crisis, it is the duty of landlords to refuse to collect rent from their tenants. We must all put pressure on the government.
Tenants are not responsible for the current health crisis. They are not responsible for the jobs lost, the hours cut, or for getting sick.
Times are uncertain, we do not know how long this crisis will last or how it will evolve. It is the people in precarious situations – those who were already struggling to pay for groceries, rent, bills and debts – who will be hit hardest. It’s the wealthy in a society who should bear the brunt, not the tenants.
I can pay my bills and my rent, why should I participate?
The more people participate, the harder it will be for landlords and the government to break the strike and the more likely we will get the government to respond to our demands.
You may not be in financial trouble now, but in a month or two, you may not be able to pay your rent, as thousands of people are already now incapable of doing.
These demands we are making on the government are about saving lives. We want the government to take emergency measures to prevent as many deaths as possible and for people to continue to take care of their health to better resist the spread of COVID-19. No one should have to choose between housing, food and health.
Everyone must stand together in times of crisis and there must be a collective response to current problems. We already know that many of us will be unable to pay our rent in the coming months. Participating in a rent strike is a necessary gesture to ensure that the government recognizes the needs of the population and decrees the cancellation of rents and mortgages as long as there is a State of Health Emergency.
Does the government not offer financial assistance to people?
The measures that have been put in place by the federal and provincial governments are not for everyone: currently, those who are not eligible for Employment Insurance (self-employed or contract workers, students, precarious workers, etc.) and who are not sick no longer have any income and are not entitled to anything from the government.
Although Employment Insurance has been improved, the waiting time to obtain it has not disappeared, quite the contrary. The measures proposed by the provincial and federal governments will not allow those who need it to survive to pay their next rent.
Shouldn’t we focus our energy on fighting COVID-19?
That is precisely what we are doing. We are demanding that landlords, banks and governments take steps that will allow us to focus on fighting COVID-19. If we stop eating or taking care of ourselves so we can pay our rent, or if we have to find ways to make money (which often involve having to leave our homes) while all the jobs are gone, we will not be able to contribute most effectively to fighting the pandemic.
How many people are involved? I will only participate if there are many of us.
It’s hard to count the number of people who are on rent strike. Already, a large number of people are showing their solidarity and their intention not to pay their rent by hanging white sheets in front of their homes. Others are coordinating on social networks to publicize the use of rent strikes. Several autonomous citizen groups are currently organizing rent strikes in their communities. Consider joining in!
Poor, unemployed, laid-off, precarious, undocumented, contract and other workers — all of us who live month-to-month — will not be able to pay rent this April 1st. Many of us were struggling to pay rent before this crisis hit, and are likely already behind. In a perspective of direct action and social solidarity, ALL tenants can refuse to pay rent on April 1st.
Even if you are able to pay your rent, please consider joining the strike to support those who aren’t. If we all go on rent strike together, we’ll make it impossible for the authorities to target everyone who does not pay.
Together, we can:
Stop paying rent;
Block evictions and renovictions;
Open up vacant housing — including Airbnb, empty condos, and hotels — to house homeless people or those who lack safe housing.
The urgency of the moment demands decisive and collective action. Let’s protect and care for ourselves and our communities. Now more than ever, we must refuse debt and refuse to be exploited. We will not shoulder this burden for the capitalists. Tenants must not be made to pay the price for a collective health crisis.
The Régie du logement has suspended eviction hearings. For the immediate future, your landlord cannot take you to the Régie to evict you for not paying rent.*
If you nevertheless experience harrassment or intimidation from your landlord, talk with your neighbors about a collective response.
* If the Régie restarts regular operations and you are called to an eviction hearing, you can, as a last resort, avoid an eviction order by paying all outstanding rent on the spot in cash plus fees, as long as you haven’t paid late frequently. But if we’re enough to go on rent strike, we can support each other and make it impossible for evictions to proceed as normal. Further legal information will follow. [See Legal Considerations]
All power structures are rooted in ideology. A shared belief in this ideology is what keeps the structures of power in place. Under capitalism, the edifice of social control is built on the collective illusion of private property, and the sanctity of the so-called ‘free market’. Any moves taken to challenge this logic will therefore provoke pushback from the system’s indoctrinated cheerleaders, and will certainly catch the attention of the repressive and recuperative functionaries of the state. But as the saying goes… you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And you definitely can’t overthrow capitalism without messing with people’s stuff.
So…. what is property, anyway? And what do anarchists have against it?
Comments Off on Fare Distribution Machines Disabled in Montreal MetroTagged with: How-to
Dec032019
Anonymous submission to MTL Counter-info
Over the past several days, motivated by an international call for transit fare strikes, the fare distribution machines in several metro stations were disabled by blocking the debit/credit card readers and coin slots.
The STM is continually hiking fares and deploying squads of wannabe-cop “inspectors” to harass, fine, and assault people over $3.50. Currently, the STM is even seeking to give its inspectors expanded powers to detain and arrest people and access police databases. Every effort to maintain and expand policing of people’s movements deserves to be met with resistance. Fortunately, there is no shortage of inspiration from around the world, above all the ongoing revolt in Chile.
These actions were experiments with some simple, effective, and fairly discreet means of sabotageing fare collection and enforcement. At this point in time, the method that gives us the most confidence is to apply super glue to both sides of a random unactivated gift card and insert it fully in the debit/credit card slot, and put more super glue in the coin slot after causing it to open by operating the machine as though you want to pay for a ticket with cash. We hope this technique can be reproduced widely alongside other tactics for taking these machines out of service.
Everyone pays for the rich to get richer. We pay with our labor, working to fill their pockets. We pay with skyrocketing rent as they gentrify us out of our homes. We pay with the destruction of the environment, the erasure of our communities, the stress in our day-to-day lives. We pay for things that used to be free, like water. We pay taxes so they can hire more cops to terrorize us. Everyone pays, but only they benefit.
We could talk about the high cost of living—but who’s really living?
On November 29, nobody pays. This is a call for a strike addressing all the ways they are squeezing us, all the ways they are making it impossible to live.
There’s a call in Seattle for a fare strike on public transit. In Portland, people are rallying on November 29 in Pioneer Square; in San Francisco, people are meeting at 16th and Mission. There have been demonstrations about transit costs and enforcement in New York City for weeks already and more are scheduled this week. Chicago is in on this, too. Wherever you are, you can organize something or carry out an action with your friends.
A strike is a blow. It’s not just a boycott; it means interrupting the system, stopping it from working. At the least, you could avoid paying the fare on public transit in your city. But it’s better to make our refusal public and collective. Hop the turnstiles all together. Open up the gates and intervene if security tries to harass anyone. Sabotage the machines. Make the walls proclaim “Nobody Pays!” with posters or spray paint. Set up a table and give out literature about why no one should have to pay, ever. Establish a fare dodgers’ union like they did in Sweden.
People around the world are in revolt against the rising cost of living. In Ecuador, people occupied the parliament and forced the government to cancel all the new austerity measures. In Chile, mass fare evasions gave birth to a countrywide revolt that even the military could not suppress. From Paris to Beirut and Hong Kong, people are recognizing that our only hope is to resist together.
November 29 comes on the cusp of the 20-year anniversary of the demonstrations that shut down the World Trade Organization summit in Seattle in 1999, showing the power of direct action to change history. Today, opposition to capitalism has spread widely, but it’s up to us to spread the practices of resistance that will make us ungovernable.
The fare evasion movement in Chile.
Nobody pays—because they’ll spend millions for cops but they’ll kill a person for dodging a two-dollar fare. Nobody pays—because the infrastructure they build is not meant to serve us, but to control us. Nobody pays—because we don’t just want a few piecemeal reforms, we want to show that we are strong enough to change the world ourselves. Nobody pays.
Anonymous submission to MTL Counter-info
