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solutionspotlight · 4 years

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The Love She Waged from a Prison Cell

How environmental justice activist, Siwatu-Salama Ra, dug deep while incarcerated, and the community that lifted her up.

When Siwatu-Salama Ra arrived at the Huron Valley Correctional Facility last year to serve a two-year mandatory sentence, she was in shock, six months pregnant, and not sure how she would live through the ordeal. She spent her first days in an isolation cell staring at the wall. And yet, somehow, through the harrowing nine months that she was there, she advocated for Muslim incarcerated women, organized around birthing and parenting rights for herself and others in the pregnant and postpartum unit of the prison, and convened a poetry group where women inside wrote and shared their deepest selves.

Now, after being released on bond since November 2018 with a GPS tether on her ankle for almost a year, Siwatu’s conviction was reversed on August 20, 2019, and the tether finally removed in late October. Her legal team is urging prosecutors to dismiss the case and not recharge her. Her next hearing is scheduled for November 15, 2019, and the tentative trial date is February 18th, 2020.

The environmental activist has spent much of her life as a community organizer. As a teen, she worked with other youth to tackle environmental concerns affecting their local communities and later became the co-director of the East Michigan Environmental Action Council, where her voice and ability to resonate with people was crucial. She was following the footsteps of her mother, Rhonda Anderson, who has been an environmental justice organizer for the Sierra Club for almost two decades. In her interviews, she expresses how being convicted of felonious assault and felony firearm was not like anything she’d ever experienced in her life or could have been prepared for.

Michigan’s Stand Your Ground

The details of Siwatu’s case were reported by many including dream hampton in Essence, the New Yorker, and Democracy Now! as it became clear that pieces of the case weren’t adding up.

In July 2016, Siwatu was visiting her mother at her Detroit home with her two-year-old daughter when a young girl came by to visit Siwatu’s niece, who also lived in the home. The family became concerned about the presence of the girl as the niece was recently jumped by her at school. They decided it was best she leave. The girl’s mother, Chanell Harvey, arrived to pick her up, infuriated that her child wasn’t welcome.

Siwatu testified that she’d asked Harvey repeatedly to leave the premises. Harvey then drove her car and rammed into Siwatu's parked vehicle, where Siwatu’s two-year-old daughter was playing inside. Then she tried to hit Siwatu's mother—she’d forcefully brought the car within a hair of her. At that point, after taking her daughter inside, Siwatu reached into her car's glove compartment and brandished her licensed, unloaded gun to demand Harvey leave.

Harvey took snapshots of Siwatu, took the pictures to the police, and filed a report that Siwatu had assaulted her and her daughter by pointing a gun at them. Siwatu dropped off her daughter and picked up her husband from work, and arrived hours later to report the incident as an attack on her family by Harvey. One day, after over a month with no response from police, Siwatu’s home was surrounded by police who arrested her because Harvey’s report, in which Siwatu had been named the aggressor, had been on file first.

Of the many controversial details of Siwatu’s case, the most impactful one is the fact that Michigan is a self-defense "stand your ground" state, which gives a legally licensed, law-abiding gun owner the right to use deadly force if they believe it is necessary to prevent death or great harm to themselves or another person.

Siwatu was a licensed gun owner with a concealed carry permit and her gun was unloaded. And Michigan law has consistently interpreted aiming an unloaded gun as non-deadly use of force, according to Wade Fink, one of Siwatu’s attorneys appealing the case. He also states that her case should have hinged on whether Siwatu used reasonable force to meet the threat posed by Harvey, rather than whether or not she feared for her life.

Another issue, Fink points out, is that at the time of the event Harvey was on probation for assault; it was her third felony, and violating probation would have gotten her into trouble. Fink contends this could've been a valid motive for lying. But the defense wasn’t allowed to pursue this line of questioning.

A YES! article that details the rise in Black gun ownership despite the racist origin of the second amendment, explores the perspective of Black gun groups who view the right to self-arm as basic for self-defense in a climate of constant violence. Yet, we also see where laws like Stand Your Ground don’t always work out positively for people of color, as we saw with Trayvon Martin and Marissa Alexander.

As reported by Vox, the Urban Institute found that Stand Your Ground laws seem to worsen racial disparities. When the shooter is Black and the victim is white, only 3 percent of deaths are ruled as justifiable versus the 34 percent when the shooter is white and the victim is Black. “Even when black shooters kill black people,” the article states, “those shootings are less likely to be deemed justifiable in a court of law than those involving white shooters who kill white people.”

The dominant, false narrative that Black people are intrinsically violent obscures genuine issues of equity. It’s why we can have a criminal justice system that operates on implicit biases, even when all persons concerned are Black.

Siwatu’s jury had to ultimately decide, based on Michigan self-defense law, whether Siwatu was truly afraid in that moment to warrant invoking self-defense. Despite the question as to why a woman whose daughter and mother are being endangered by a vehicle would not be afraid and feel a basic human need to protect, the jury ruled guilty because they didn’t believe Siwatu could be afraid, only angry. And the felony firearm charge, which means that a firearm was used in an assault, came with a two-year mandatory minimum.

The power of a community

As she details in conversation with adrienne maree brown on The Practice of Freedom: A Conversation with Siwatu-Salama Ra and Rhonda Anderson on the How to Survive the End of the World podcast, when Siwatu learned that she was having charges brought against her for, essentially, acting within what she believed were her rights to defend her family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around how to continue. But then community showed up.

Siwatu was showered with love. Fellow activists, co-workers, and friends poured in. They showed up at her house asking what they could do to help. There were so many people coming to meetings that were organized on her behalf that they moved gatherings to the larger home of a friend.

At one point in The Practice of Freedom, Siwatu's mom remarks that what was truly notable was how many of the people that came to support were women with children.

They formed the Siwatu Freedom Team and have not only accompanied Siwatu on her journey for full freedom and justice, but also collaborated with a broad coalition on several campaigns including: developing a set of bills to fight for the rights of incarcerated pregnant and postpartum mothers, parents, and caregivers in Michigan; working to end the felony firearm mandatory sentences that disproportionately criminalize Black people in Michigan; and continuing to support and work in solidarity with women Siwatu met inside prison as they return home.

Finding a way through madness

From the moment that charges were brought against Siwatu—through her court case and eventual sentencing, right up to her release and the reversal of her conviction, and now as her legal team works to put this case to rest completely —countless people have poured enormous dedication towards supporting her, spreading the word about her case, raising legal funds, writing letters, and organizing meetings. In prison, however, she was alone, facing close walls and prison bars. The letters that poured in from community across the country were like beacons of light in the darkness.

In the isolation of her experience, she stumbled across a book called Deep and Simple, by Bo Lozoff, who had co-founded the Prison-Ashram Project and worked for 20 years guiding people behind bars to reach their own inner peace. “He was able to steer men and women who were inside of a prison to that oneness,” Siwatu says in The Practice of Freedom. “My community, Bo, my mom, literally saved my life in prison.”

“I remember reading this book and being just so blown away...it was answering the questions I had, the why me, the what do you want, what am I supposed to do?” Then one day she noticed a copy of Deep and Simple on her pregnancy counselor’s office desk; the counselor offered her all the Bo Lozoff books she had in her office.

Siwatu reflects that in prison, a person is stripped of everything and anything that could offer them comfort. Reading Bo Lozoff helped her reach a place of peace inside herself despite the deep sadness all around her. “If anybody walks out of a prison...who is enlightened,” she says, “it is the work of themselves, and it is despite of the prison. Bo helped me take advantage of that hell.”

She also witnessed the spirit of fellow inmates around her. They inspired her. She said in a recent interview with Earth First! “You normally see women on the frontlines fighting, and you saw the very same thing inside the prison: women fighting to hold on to some of their dignity and humanity to say, ‘This is not how we will live.’”

She says there were women working on so many issues—from trying to get treatment for the yellow water coming out of prison pipes to making sure the food on their plates was sanitary.

When Siwatu learned that her challenge getting a hijab, a Quran, and the meals she required for the daily practice of her faith was not her challenge she faced alone, she led other Muslim women prisoners in organizing for religious rights that legally should have been accommodated by the facility. Her efforts attracted attention from the Council on American-Islamic Relations in Michigan, which filed civil rights complaints on a number of the prison’s practices regarding religious freedom.

Disheartened by the ways in which life behind bars was designed to cut down a person’s humanity, Siwatu also created a poetry group and fostered close bonds with the women around her as they co-created a space of beauty, where poetry offered gateways to emotional freedom.

Finally, her harrowing experiences of pregnancy and birth in prison led her to inform herself of her rights as a parent and mother, which she then shared with other prisoners. At the time of Siwatu’s delivery, the Michigan Department of Corrections did not allow loved ones to be present at labor or delivery although Siwatu’s family, community, and other activists and organizations made every effort to get the MDOC to humanely shift its position.

In early October 2019, as a direct result of this organizing, the Michigan’s House Appropriations Subcommittee on Corrections added new language to the budget bill that states that anyone in prison due to give birth in prison can consent to one visitor being present during labor and delivery. The language states that person must be an “immediate family member, legal guardian, spouse, or domestic partner.” It’s a signal that change is happening.

A more humane and discerning system of justice

For every person that is able to have a protest, or national news attention, or a community of devoted people call out that a wrong be brought to light, there are hundreds more sitting in a jail cell without any of these options.

Siwatu, speaking to Earth First!, said that knowing she was innocent only made it easier for her to see how many more women were likely in prison unjustly.

“...You have a large population of women who will be returning citizens who have literally been face to face with the very beast we’re fighting,” she said. “They are walking out of that prison cell, out of custody, with much knowledge, so resilient, and so beautiful. I encourage that everybody support women and men coming out of these prisons because they have seen so much. They know what it will take to win this.”

When asked how being incarcerated changed her perspective on environmental issues, she explained how it strengthened her belief in looking at how different issues are connected.

“It took me to literally be taken away from my family and taken away from my children and placed in a prison cell to understand we have to step away from... self-identified work and dedicate our entire selves to a better world.”

“You have to look at everything,” she said, “and take everything into consideration of how all these injustices are interconnected and feeding off one another.”

And then what could justice look like? Life-valuing structures that value healing more than they value practices that dehumanize, and where deeper understandings of history and social problems are incorporated, so that there are sustainable options for actual accountability, wellness, and growth in communities.

Showing up to speak, listen, learn, share, and organize wherever and whenever possible is essential for this shift to take place. We can learn from and build upon cases and experiences like Siwatu’s.

ACTIONS:

Support Siwatu’s legal fees as her hearing approaches on November 15, 2019, help sustain her family throughout this arduous process, or support continued organizing Siwatu’s freedom and policy changes, by donating here.

Go to FreeSiwatu.org to learn more, stay posted, and find more ways to get involved.

Host a house party or community gathering to share Siwatu's story, have discussions, process the impact of this and similar stories, and brainstorm organizing ideas.

Get involved with local groups in your area fighting for prison abolition, environmental justice, and supporting people directly impacted by the prison and criminalization industrial complex who are working for liberation.

#prisonindustrialcomplex #prisonabolition

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wineanddinosaur · 3 years

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Morals Over Margins: A Blueprint for a More Equitable Hospitality Industry

The spring and summer of 2020 brought a reckoning for many Americans, with a global pandemic causing mass unemployment and the murder of George Floyd spurring protesters across the country to decry police violence against Black lives. For the restaurant industry, these events brought every failure and uncomfortable truth to the forefront — and exploited and jobless workers suddenly had plenty of time for such conversations.

Social media was flooded with infographics about the racist origins of tipping and the inequities that have kept the hospitality machine running in America since its birth at the blurry end of legalized slavery in this country. Capitalism itself was under a lens, the unfair concentration of power and profit magnified with every report of another billionaire doubling or tripling wealth. Replacing this economic and political system is a long shot, but anti-capitalist practices have existed in bars and restaurants for years now. So what does this look like, and why should everyone care?

Fair Wages

Capitalism is an economic system wherein the means of production of goods and services is privately owned rather than state-owned, with those private owners reaping the sole benefit of profits. That leaves the “means of production” — bartenders straining your Margarita and line cooks preparing your al dente pasta — in the hospitality industry exposed to exploitation thanks to notoriously slim margins for success. And since the hospitality industry, like most in this country, was built on the backs of Black people, it should be surprising to no one that the mistreatment of BIPOC, immigrant, and undocumented workers remains prevalent, despite their significant majority as employees in restaurants today.

One of the most basic ways an establishment can ensure the safety of its staff is by providing stable pay. Sadly, tipped workers who serve guests in bars and restaurants often make a subminimum wage, which is legal in all but seven states. Organizations like One Fair Wage seek to end this subminimum wage, but so have business owners.

In 2015, the practice of paying restaurant staff a higher but un-tipped wage cropped up noticeably. Prominent chefs like Alice Waters at Chez Panisse in Berkeley, Calif., began including service fees in guests’ checks in order to facilitate the change, while now-closed Bar Agricole in San Francisco raised its prices 20 percent to do the same. Chef Amanda Cohen was an early advocate for abolishing tipping in New York City when she adopted the practice at her Lower East Side location of Dirt Candy.

A Level Field

One of the most prominent supporters of the movement was Union Square Hospitality Group’s Danny Meyer, who announced back in 2015 that USHG would gradually end tipping and raise menu prices at all of its restaurants. Citing pay disparities between back- and front-of-house employees, which often fuels an unspoken feud between the two, the move to eliminate tipping at such a large and influential restaurant group convinced others to follow suit. This past summer, Meyer reversed the company’s “Hospitality Included” policy, meaning that servers at Gramercy Tavern and Union Square Cafe (to name just a couple) are once again working for tips.

Where Meyer posited that staff should benefit from guests wanting to tip generously in the wake of an economic crisis, Stephanie Watanabe, co-founder of Brooklyn wine bar Coast and Valley, found the opposite to be true. “We instituted a universal living wage, which was super important for us,” she says. “I think we did that in the summer after realizing that folks were not tipping.”

With tips plummeting, Watanabe and her partner Eric Hsu began to have the conversation about livable wages with their staff. “It really solidified for us when Covid hit: People before profits, period. It’s non-negotiable,” she says.

Thanks to her background in filmmaking in Hollywood, Watanabe brought outside perspectives to the argument against tipping, too. The “Most Favored Nations” clause utilized in movie contracts for smaller independent projects — paying the A-list celebrities the same amount as the supporting players — inspired her to try something similar. “We saw the dynamic between dining room and kitchen [employees], and it really bothered us,” says Watanabe of the tipped FOH/untipped BOH schism. “So for me, this was a way to level that and say, ‘No. We’re not going to pay this person less because somehow their job is deemed less valuable than the person who is able to go to get their WSET [Wine & Spirit Education Trust certification].’”

The friction between staff, coupled with the usual caveats of tipping — tipped workers experience higher rates of sexual harassment and people of color are tipped less than their white coworkers — led to a discussion with staff about experimenting with a fixed wage. “We understand the deep roots that tipping has and how ultimately, it’s incredibly, incredibly harmful and racist, and that doesn’t sit well,” Watanabe says. “Every single person, including the owner, gets paid $25 an hour.” This anti-capitalist strategy, which values humans over money, brings her staff equality and stability. It is not, however, an easy way to run a business in America.

“Every month, we’re losing money. But we’re like, ‘and?’” says Watanabe. “Then so be it, then our business can’t survive. Period. And that’s a shame, but it’s also a function of capitalism and society and these systems and structures that exist.”

With profit margins hovering around 1 percent at places like Coast and Valley right now, most investors would be hesitant to risk it all, but many of Watanabe and Hsu’s backers are friends and family who truly believe in their vision. The team recognizes the real struggle that most bars face. “There are good folks out there, and the problem isn’t [that] owners don’t want to pay their people. Some of the time, it’s that they can’t,” Watanabe says.

Even for the big players, a seemingly minimal loss in income might come with strings attached. “Who knows if they’ve got investors and people that they’re beholden to that don’t share their commitment to those things?” Watanabe says. “Then oftentimes, you don’t have a lot of control over it. And that’s where capitalism kind of just comes in and wreaks havoc.”

Nobody is saying that flouting our capitalist tendencies is painless. “To do the right thing is really, really, really hard in this world that we live in,” Watanabe says. “I think it’s like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. But for Eric and I, … we can’t violate our own integrity, and so maybe that means we’re bad business people. And at the end of the day, I’d rather be a bad business person than a bad person.”

A High Road

Andrea Borgen Abdallah, owner of Barcito & Bodega in Los Angeles, was once a general manager at Union Square Hospitality Group’s Blue Smoke in Battery Park City, Calif. “I became really interested in that model and what it hopes to achieve — especially when it came to dealing with the inequity between kitchen staff and waitstaff,” she says. Borgen Abdallah followed USHG’s lead and did away with tipping less than a year after Barcito’s September 2015 opening.

Thanks to the restaurant’s proximity to the L.A. Convention Center, Borgen Abdallah noticed business was very cyclical. “[On a] Monday, I would out-sell a Friday night, and there was no method to the madness,” she says. But eliminating tipping created stability for her employees, ensuring that shifts would be predictably fruitful on any given day. “I was also able to introduce healthcare as a result of that,” Borgen Abdallah says — no small feat, given that the Affordable Care Act only requires insurance to be offered if an establishment has a larger staff of 50 or more full-time employees.

In March of 2020, with the shutdowns brought upon by the rise of Covid in the U.S., Borgen Abdallah closed her restaurant and made two important decisions. First, Barcito would continue to pay for the health insurance of its furloughed employees. Second, it would keep jobs available for anyone lacking a solid safety net. In this way, even though the restaurant was unable to provide the same hours, it was able to keep its doors open and its vulnerable staff cared for.

Last year, Barcito was also one of the first restaurants to participate in High Road Kitchens — a group of restaurants working to provide food on a sliding scale to low-wage workers, healthcare workers, and others in need. One Fair Wage, which fights to end subminimum wages nationwide, oversees the program through RAISE (Restaurants Advancing Industry Standards in Employment). Participating High Road Restaurants like Barcito commit to advocating for fair wages and increased racial and gender equity through hiring, training, and promotional practices.

Borgen Abdallah’s dedication to the fight for better wages began while working directly for One Fair Wage in the past, even making trips to Washington, D.C., and her commitment doesn’t seem to be waning. “I think this pandemic certainly exacerbated a lot of the issues that we’ve had for a really long time,” she says. “And I think a lot of people wanted to sweep [them] under the rug and finally were forced to reconcile.” Now, with all that is known about the instability of a life reliant on tips without guaranteed access to healthcare, paid leave, and other benefits, real change could be on the horizon.

The Hope

It has been one year since the start of the pandemic, and the cry of the overworked and underinsured is once again becoming just a murmur. An increase in vaccine availability quiets much of the fear of going back to a job where contracting Covid remains a danger, but bar and restaurant workers are still far from safe. Returning to work during a national emergency can be confusing, adding new ways for management to exploit staff such as through unsafe Covid practices, unexplained pay changes, and denial of federally required paid sick leave. After so much loss and disruption, mental health is suffering, and affordable insurance is often still tied to employment. One look at the long list of resources put together by the Restaurant Workers Community Foundation, a nonprofit created by and for restaurant workers, gives some insight into just how vastly workers’ lives have been and continue to be affected.

With the passing of President Biden’s latest Covid relief package, small restaurants received access to $28.6 billion in grants, but a $15 federal minimum wage amendment failed. “I think people kind of started to talk about [issues for restaurants],” observes Watanabe, “but it was just like ‘bailout bailout bailout!’ But … that’s not going to cut it anymore.”

Last month, Barcito was able to get all of its employees vaccinated against Covid. As eligibility opens up to the rest of the public, a new normalcy feels within reach. But the sense of urgency to repair broken systems within hospitality threatens to dwindle. “I feel like it has kind of started to fall to the wayside,” Borgen Abdallah says. “The light at the end of the tunnel gets brighter and brighter, and I think it’s just important that we [have] those conversations and that that continues to feel really urgent.”

Anti-capitalist methods can actually work well within our capitalist society, even beyond championing workers’ rights through ensuring stable wages, paid time off, health care, or shared ownership opportunities. American bars and restaurants will need to look at sustainability and minimizing harm not just to people, but to the environment. Ambitious bar programs that are eliminating plastics — eco-friendly paper, metal, bamboo, and even hay straws have become standard — tackling water usage, and targeting waste by focusing on the creative use of what most might toss out have a real chance to lead the way as well.

“I’m hopeful, but I also am disappointed in the industry,” says Watanabe. “I feel like we’ve had a year where we could have addressed some really deep problematic systemic problems in this industry.” Businesses must look frankly once again at where they are lacking in response to the racism, sexism, and ableism that has pervaded hospitality since its early beginnings in this country. If capitalism benefits from white supremacy, then now is the time to challenge them both. “Ultimately, it’s not just about hospitality,” Watanabe says. “This is happening all over the place, and there’s a lot of reckonings happening. It’s really about changing the way we do business to be more conscious, to be more people-centered, to be more thoughtful.”

2020 may have broken us down with its harsh realities, shuttering more than 110,000 bars and restaurants nationwide, but as long as we can keep the momentum of learning and reimagining a better future for this industry — one where it values lives over profits — there is hope. “It’s been a tough year,” says Borgen Abdallah. “I think a lot of it could have been avoided had we done things differently, and I don’t think reverting back to the old way of doing things is the answer.”

The article Morals Over Margins: A Blueprint for a More Equitable Hospitality Industry appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/anti-capitalism-hospitality/

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johnboothus · 3 years