Protesters fight new welfare law

Activists at a rally in Center City spoke against the state law that went into effect yesterday. The motionless bodies of seven activists, feigning death in protest of the welfare reforms put into effect yesterday, lay in front of the Liberty Bell under the watchful stare of a statue of George Washington. Donning masks that transformed their faces into skeletal remains, they lay down on the ground on top of gray blankets as a bagpiper played "Amazing Grace." Hundreds of supporters formed a single-file line and placed white flowers over the "dead." Approximately 450 people showed up in Center City yesterday to protest new welfare reforms by marching from Broad and Spring Garden streets to Independence Hall. Yesterday marked the first day of a new state welfare reform bill that cuts off welfare benefits to many of those who have been on the roll for two years and who are not currently employed. An estimated 15,000 Philadelphians were among those who lost their benefits. About 6,800 other welfare recipients -- including single parents without childcare and people with disabilities -- qualified for a temporary exemption from the law's effects. "Here, in the cradle of liberty, we must send a message that we are fed up and we're not going to take it anymore," shouted Henry Nicholas, a union leader and one of the organizers of the protest. The day culminated with the mock funeral procession, a memorial to all those the protesters said would lose their basic human rights as a result of the legislation. Earlier, the crowd gathered in the shadow of the State Office Building at the intersection of Broad and Spring Garden to show their frustration with the new welfare cuts. A series of speeches started off an afternoon of mass demonstration and civil disobedience. Under gray skies, speakers in front of the State Office Building struggled to remain heard over gusting winds that whipped the banners, posters and flags carried by supporters. "Time's Up: Living Wage Jobs Now!" proclaimed white posters scattered throughout the crowd. Nicholas spoke about high prison rates among the city's low-income population. "We want something that starts with a 'J', but not jail -- jobs, jobs, jobs," cried Nicholas, and the crowd joined him for several minutes in an unbroken chant. City officials have estimated that Philadelphia's unemployed outnumber the available jobs by a 3-to-1 ratio. Philadelphia City Council member Angel Ortiz spoke out concerning his displeasure with recent sentiments of some of his colleagues on the City Council. "My City Council said that a person cannot eat in a park because it's not healthy," Ortiz said. "Of course it's not healthy. The problem is not that the person is eating in the park, the problem is that the government will not provide housing." "The problem is not that a person is begging," declared Ortiz. "The problem is that a person has to beg to eat." Sabrina Cason, a 44-year-old New Jersey resident who formerly was among the ranks of the homeless and now works in the city at a job readiness training program, said the effects of the law will be devastating to the people with whom she works. "Because a lot of them don't have any prior work experience, they're illiterate and without childcare [and] health coverage and working for minimum wage, it will be very hard for people to survive," she said. And Jerome Costa, who is HIV-positive and a member of the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, said that without his government benefits, he would not be able to survive. Because his illness has prohibited him from working for the past two years, most of his benefits -- except some to pay medical bills -- will be cut off. "Living with HIV is a full time job in itself," he said. At 12:15 p.m., Cheri Honkala, director of the Kensington Welfare Rights Union and the main organizer for the day, announced that the "funeral procession" was to begin. The crowd assembled on Broad Street and made their way along the march route in an unbroken stream approximately 3 1/2 blocks long and ranging from two to five people wide. The mood was somber and some marchers carried white carnations as a mark of grief. They shuffled through City Hall and rounded the corner onto Market Street, tying up traffic and frustrating honking motorists. A police van, lights flashing, brought up the rear. When the crowd reached their destination in front of the Liberty Bell, organizers began to unfold long signs, placing them on the muddy grass. "IMPACT ON WELFARE REFORM IN THE USA," read the banners, in stark black on white cloth. With a light rain starting to fall on protesters, several sat down in a line on Chestnut Street, blocking automobile entrance to Independence Mall as a form of civil disobedience. And once the seven activists were settled in their resting places, Honkala lifted her mask long enough to speak to the mob of press that surrounded them, crouching on the ground to record her words. She said that she and the other six activists would stay there "as long as it takes." At 4 p.m., park rangers arrived on the scene in paddy wagons, equipped with handcuffs. No arrests, though, were apparently made. As night fell, the seven were still lying on the ground, immobile in front of the Liberty Bell, where they said the plan to remain overnight.

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