Activists Target Problems at Liquor Stores : Crime: Residents in Pico-Union/Westlake plan to monitor area for drug sales and other violations.

It is a neighborhood housing more than 500 liquor outlets--but only three libraries and one high school.

The Pico-Union/Westlake district, the immigrant enclave west of Downtown, is among Los Angeles’ poorest and most densely populated neighborhoods, home to more than 150,000 people. Gang violence and drug sales are rampant. Recreational space is at a minium.

The problems here are many, but, on Thursday, community activists launched a program to attack what they call a major concern: the proliferation of liquor stores and bars.

Participants plan to monitor such outlets, which they describe as magnets for drug sales, prostitution and street crime. Violations--such as sales of liquor to minors or intoxicated people--will first be brought to owners’ attention. If problems persist, the information will be turned over to city and state officials for potential action, including license revocation.

“We want our children to live in a community where they are secure, healthy and free of drugs and liquor,” said Marina Luna, 32, a mother of three who is among those heading the effort.

She spoke at the Clinica Msgr. Oscar A. Romero, a free clinic named after the Salvadoran archbishop assassinated as he celebrated Mass in 1980, at the outset of that nation’s bloody civil war. The Pico-Union/Westlake area is the heart of Southern California’s massive Central American community, the nation’s largest.

Increasingly, experts view drug and liquor abuse--and the violence associated with them--as a critical public health issue, particularly in urban areas.

“It’s very much our philosophy that health involves more than medical care and visits to the doctor,” said Margaret B. Martinez, executive director of the Romero clinic, which is spearheading the effort.

In part, the monitoring plan drew inspiration from the success of activists in South-Central Los Angeles, who have managed to block the reopening of scores of liquor stores destroyed in the 1992 riots. But organizers also hope to increase awareness about substance abuse and involve parents in prevention.

And there is a broader, more ambitious goal: the empowerment of a disenfranchised community, a place where continued fear about the fallout from Proposition 187 is very real.

“Many of us are still in the process of adapting to this country,” said Gladis M. Sibrian, a community organizer on the clinic staff. “We are looking to get rid of the apathy and create an awareness.”

The effort is largely volunteer in nature, though county grants pay for some staff time. The organizational capabilities so evident in many Salvadorans will probably help.

“We in Pico-Union are a sleeping giant,” said Rosa Ayala, a grandmother and volunteer outfitted in a “Justice for Janitors” T-shirt. “People are afraid, but we must speak out.”

Ayala, like many neighborhood residents, is among the working poor, earning $5.60 an hour cleaning offices in Beverly Hills. She is painfully familiar with the pattern of life here: the struggle to pay the bills; the fear that children will veer toward crime and drugs; the multiple families who crowd into apartments to save on rent, not infrequently in dilapidated, fire-prone tenements.

Eddie Kim sees those problems as well. But Kim, who owns a liquor store and grocery at 3rd and Bonnie Brae streets, views himself as a positive contributor to the community.

“The drugs sold on the street here are a totally separate thing” from his business, Kim said.

Kim spoke from behind his store counter, in front of a sparkling array of whiskey, tequila, cognac and assorted spirits, along with cigarettes, rolling papers, condoms, aspirin and other items. Customers, all Latinos, flowed in and out.

Like many merchants, Kim said the liquor stores are unfairly targeted. He said he is scrupulous about not selling alcohol to intoxicated people or minors. He wears a button: “No Sale. No I.D. No Way.” Along with alcohol, his store sells bread, cheese, milk and other essentials.

During the riots, Kim said, he slept for two nights on the roof of his store, a shotgun at his side. But amid the neighborhood looting and ransacking, his shop was spared. He credits his good relations with neighborhood customers. A native of South Korea, he speaks Spanish and says proudly that people consider him a Mexican.

“Where would people go if there weren’t small stores like this?” Kim asked.

But activists say their aim is not to drive law-abiding shop owners out of business. Rather, the hope is that tightened vigilance at liquor stores will translate into less crime and mayhem on the streets.