By Lois Beckett
Some people face unemployment. Some people fight it.
In San Francisco, a battle starts every morning on a street corner in
the Bayview, where a crowd of people gathers around a white pickup. On a
Thursday in June, there are about 15 people there, mostly black men,
with a handful of women and Latinos. They're waiting for James Richards
to give them the morning pep talk. He calls it "the breakfast of
champions."
Richards is a big man in his 60s, eyes inscrutable, though seldom
seen behind his sunglasses. There's a marijuana bud on his gold front
tooth. In conversation, Richards' voice can be soft, his responses
vague. But when it's time to make a speech, he can preach social justice
with the fire of a Civil Rights–era crusader, railing against
chickenshit unions and lying politicians."What I hear," Richards begins,
slowly, "is you all were acting like real warriors."
Richards is the leader of the Aboriginal Blackmen United, a group
that's part direct-action organization, part job placement agency, and
all business when its members think employers are abusing their right to
work. Its only headquarters is this street corner in front of the
Double Rock Baptist Church. Nearly everyone here, including Richards
himself, is jobless — not surprising in a neighborhood where the
unemployment rate during the Great Recession is thought to be 50 percent
higher than that of the rest of the city, and an estimated one in every
3.5 African-Americans is out of work.