MURDER, THEY WROUGHT
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"There is an actual increase of violence in the Asian community,
and we have seen an increase in gang activity."
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To reach the supervisor's office, Nguyen had to cross the
assembly plant floor, and en route he shot four former colleagues.
First, he approached Chris Newell, an electronics repairman who had
just earned a bachelor's degree in engineering and had recently
announced his engagement. Nguyen aimed the pistol and unloaded
two bullets into Newell's back, killing him instantly.
As screams irrupted and workers panicked, Nguyen shouted,
"Get down or get out of the way," as he began stalking his next victim.
With a methodical directness, Nguyen walked up to Son Van Truong,
one of the plant's most skilled repairmen and who had plans to open
a TV repair shop. Nguyen shot him in the back of the head. Like a
rag doll, Truong collapsed.
A nearby worker vomited and then leaped under a table
head-first, his buttocks protruding into the florescent glare. Nguyen,
as if targeting a dart board, raised his gun and fired a single shot at
the exposed rump.
At that point, Nguyen paused to reload the gun. The task
completed, he sprinted across the cement floor toward the
management offices. He brushed past Song Sabandith, a 39 year-old
Laotian, who in a fit of terror raised his arms and begged in his native
tongue, "Man, don't shoot. I surrender." Inexplicably, the gunman
elbowed Sabandith aside and shot another man, standing nearby in
a stunned silence, twice in the back.
As Sabandith, in tears, dropped to his knees, the gunman
dashed across the room to his ex-supervisor's office and kicked in
the door. The supervisor's desk was empty. She had left for lunch
just before Nguyen had entered the building. In the next desk over
sat Teresa Pham, who had trained Nguyen to assemble computer
interfaces. Nguyen shot her. The bullet instantly stopped her heart.
Watching Pham's head flop onto her desk, Nguyen raised his
gun, pressed its muzzle to his temple and pulled the trigger. Police
and psychologists later questioned witnesses, but no one could
conclude what events or hardships could have provoked such rage.
These incidents represent only the tip of an increasingly
bloody iceberg. Each week Los Angeles and San Francisco area
newspapers carry at least one Asian-related crime story, and
undoubtedly, dozens more take place unnoticed.
Little Saigon Murders
In April Little Saigon in Orange County experienced a rash
of late-night gang-style shootings that targeted café patrons.
In the final week of May, two 19-year-old Laotian Americans were
arrested and charged with the murder of a German tourist and the
shooting of her husband. The German couple had parked their car
at a scenic viewpoint overlooking Hemet in the San Jacinto Mountains
when the gunmen pounced. The apparent motive was robbery.
"There is an actual increase of violence in the Asian community,
and we have seen an increase in gang activity," says Dr Stanly Sue,
director of the National Research Center on Asian American Mental
Health. "And people are noticing it more. Because of the stereotype
of Asian Americans as the ethnic group that's always doing so well,
when people see Asian violence it grabs their attention."
Sue points to an increasing number of pressures that may account
for the spread of spilled blood. Recent immigrants may grow frustrated
trying to function in a new and shockingly fast-pasted environment and
become disgruntled by an unforeseen lack of economic opportunity. The
children of immigrants may feel torn between new and old country
values, especially if their parents refuse to acculturate.
Naturally, the increasing immigration rate compounds the
pressures. A decade ago members of a smaller and tighter Asian
community could provide each other with personal support, but
now the impersonal nature of an ever-growing Asian population
alienates those on the fringe who require the most attention.
murder like the one allegedly committed by Lisa Peng may have been
prevented if she had had access to a circle of close friends or at least a circle
of Chinese speakers with whom to consult, believe some Asian community
leaders in Los Angles. Peng was motivated by a profound frustration
stemming from jealously and helplessness, contend the police.
The Pengs had been married 19 years in October 1990 when
Jim Peng met his mistress-to-be at a resort bar in China. Over cocktails
they chatted, flirted and exchanged phone numbers. The following
morning Jennifer telephoned Jim to arrange an evening out with mutual
acquaintances. They parted that night as friends, but the image of
Jennifer, a graceful and angular beauty, lingered in Jim's imagination,
although he was much older, shorter and pudgy.
Two months later a business trip took Jim to Shanghai,
Jennifer's home town. He asked her out and they became lovers.
Jim hired her for $129 a month to work for his company in Shanghai,
and he opened a Hong Kong bank account for her with a $300 check.
Their romance blossomed that winter and thrived over the next year.
They met whenever Jim could arrange a business trip to Shanghai,
and when apart they maintained a correspondence.
One of Jim's letters to Jennifer read in part: "It's time for a
temporary goodbye again. Although time goes by so fast when
we're together. Every minute, every second. It feels like life is so fulfilled."
In July 1992 the affair hit complications. Jennifer became
pregnant, and to conceal the child, Jim moved her to the Mission
Viejo apartment, where he could continue to see her in absolute
privacy. The Pengs owned a second home in nearby Rancho Santa
Margarita, where they spent four to five months each year.
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