DECORATED AND DESERTED written by Marifi Esteves photos by Akiko Nabeshima Just as sleep begins to wash over him, shouts and the sounds of footsteps running and fists pounding on doors jolt him to attention. Screams of "Get out!" and "Fire!" punctuate the night. He runs to the door, only to be surrounded by clouds of black smoke filling the corridor. There is no escape through this portal, but luckily for Claudio Bonifacio and his brother, their room has a fire escape. As swiftly as two senior citizens can run, they fly down to safety. Bonifacio, or Boni as he is affectionately known, stands in the street huddled with his brother and fellow fire victims until the twilight hours of the morning. "I lost everything," he says, "Except, of course, myself." More than 50 years ago, he was promised a wealth of opportunities and endless possibilities of having a good life in the United States. That promise was broken and now finally in the country of his dreams, he finds himself homeless and destitute. Bonifacio is one of 225 residents out on the streets after their home, the Delta Hotel, a low-income resident hotel south of Market burned down in August. One hundred thirty-one are Filipino World War II veterans who recently immigrated to the United States with the passage of the Immigration Act of 1990. The average age is 70 and all have come thinking the promise President Roosevelt made more than 50 years ago would finally be fulfilled. According to Joy Lacanienta, an award-winning filmmaker who produced the documentary "Tears of Old, The Plight of Filipino W.W.II Veterans," almost 500,000 Filipinos served under the direct command of the United States. At the time, the Philippines was a U.S. colony and Filipinos were considered nationals. They fought side by side with Americans with Roosevelt's promise they would become U.S. citizens and have the same benefits all U.S. veterans are given. After the war, they were betrayed with the passage of the 1946 Rescission Act denying the Filipino vets full benefits and U.S. citizenship. "Filipinos were the only group isolated with their benefits taken away," Lacanienta says. Under the GI Bill of Rights, all U.S. veterans, whether U.S. or foreign, are entitled to a pension, medical care, educational funding, disability, and death benefits. Italian, French and German allies of World War II have long been receiving such benefits. "It is discrimination," says Conrado Galang, president of the Filipino-American Senior Citizens of W.W.II Veterans, who is also a displaced Delta Hotel resident. "It is against our civil rights. We want social justice for the Filipino veterans. We can not live on their words and promises anymore. We don't want to revolt against our commander in chief, but we want to enjoy our remaining years." In recent months the Filipino veterans have received media attention with hunger strikes in Los Angeles, where they chained themselves to General MacArthur's statue. And in Washington this summer, Filipino vets and activists organized a Second Bataan Death March to honor the thousands of American and Filipino prisoners of war who died on the 80-mile trek to the Japanese prison camps, ending with some vets and activists chaining themselves to the White House fence. Last year, President Clinton finally issued a proclamation recognizing the Filipinos as U.S. veterans and Section 405 of the 1990 Immigration Act offered the U.S. citizenship that was snatched from them 50 years ago. To the vets, these are just token gestures. All they want is what they deserve, their veterans' benefits. "I fought for the U.S. flag. During the war, sometimes we don't eat and all we have is dirty water. Why can I be a citizen and be honored as a vet but all I receive is welfare?" Galang says. Ninety-five percent of the Filipino veterans exist only on Supplemental Security Income, an average of $600 a month. With the onset of anti-immigration sentiments and welfare-reform legislation, even that meager amount may be in jeopardy of being taken away. Congressman Bob Filner, D-Chula Vista, introduced the Filipino Veterans Equity Act back in 1995 to rescind the 1946 Rescission Act and restore full benefits to the Filipino vets. According to Filner, some form of the bill has been floating around for 10 years, but only recently has been gaining support. "We're close to a majority in the House," says Filner, "but we can't get past the cost. Because of the balanced-budget situation, we can't move forward until we find a source of funds. And even if it passes the House, it doesn't mean it will eventually be passed." Only 70,000 Filipino veterans, worldwide, are still alive. The estimated cost for reparations is $1 billion to $3 billion. A Filipino saying goes, "Aanhin pa ang damo kung patay na ang kabayo?" Meaning, "What use is the grass if the horse is dead?" "The U.S. is playing the age-old waiting game," says Lacanienta. "They're saying, ' We can wait for you to die.' Then all they have to issue is an apology. The vets are all in their 70s. Do you really think they can hang on for another 10 years?" "I don't think it's a conscious effort of neglect," Filner says. "It's just hard to get people's attention or sympathies on something that happened 50 years ago." "We want to keep fighting," Bonifacio says," But we're all old. Most are sick, some are dead. What can we do? It is up to [the U.S. government] to give us our benefits." Bonifacio and most of his Delta comrades have been homeless since September 15 when the temporary-housing vouchers expired. The average rent for a resident hotel is $450 and a studio in San Francisco is $600. "The housing situation is either in very bad condition or the rent is too high," says Myrna Lim of the Filipino-American Democratic Club, "and the vets can easily exhaust half, if not more of their SSI on rent alone. They can't live in these conditions." Lim has been meeting with the mayor's office to find solutions on permanent housing for the vets. Suggestions ranging from Treasure Island's barracks, to rehabilitation of the Delta Hotel, to public housing are being explored. Concerns have been voiced over Treasure Island's isolation and lack of transportation services, groceries and restaurants, and emergency medical services. According to Supervisor Mabel Teng, who has been working diligently with Lim and the mayor to find solutions on permanent housing for the vets and is also a staunch supporter of the Filipino Veterans Equity Act, the problem with Treasure Island is its isolation. There is no regular transportation to and from the island, and it lacks essential services such as groceries and restaurants. As for the idea of public housing, recent allegations of racially motivated violence against Asians in public housing causes concerns over the elderly vets' safety. A report issued by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development says, "... it's [racial tension] a result of tenants being isolated from their own ethnic groups and from essential support services. Since most of the Filipino veterans are here without family, they want so much to stay together as a group, like an extended family. "Of course, the most ideal situation would be to keep our kababayans(countrymen) together," says Jose Caedo, deputy citywide disability coordinator and unofficial liaison to the mayor's office, "but there is no place like that in San Francisco. The law enforcement is doing their best to rectify those situations [of racial tension], and hopefully keep the vets safe if they are placed in public housing." At a Housing and Neighborhood Services Committee, Teng said she is trying to extend the temporary-housing vouchers for another 30 days, while the permanent-housing problem is solved. Because of all the uncertainty that looms over the vets, about 50 of the Filipino veterans, including Bonifacio, may decide to return to the Philippines. They came with the dreams of a better life for themselves and their families, but all they've found are obstacles. With no home, no hope of receiving their benefits and no way to petition their families for immigration because they're seen as burdens to the society, the homeland beckons. "In the Philippines," says Galang's wife Maria, "even beggars have a home." Bonifacio and his fellow veterans roam around the South of Market area trying to keep their spirits up. They flock together at the Mint Mall on Fifth Street and Mission and tell stories about the war or their families back home. "We're still waiting," says Bonifacio. "They always make promises and tell us we are the priority, but until now--nothing!" |ISSUE #1|FEATURES|A&E|INVESTIGATIVE|GREEN WATCH| |NAKED TRUTH|IN MOTION|HEALTH|LIFESTYLES|FYI|INDEX|