Bao Phi

Bao Phi has been a performance poet since 1991. A two-time Minnesota Grand Slam champion and a National Poetry Slam finalist, Bao Phi has appeared on HBO Presents Russell Simmons Def Poetry, and a poem of his appeared in the 2006 Best American Poetry anthology. Read more about Bao Phi.

Posts about Crime

Cambodian Son: Minneapolis Screening and Q & A with director Masahiro Sugano on April 15

Posted by: Bao Phi Updated: April 9, 2014 - 10:55 AM


TUESDAY // APRIL 15, 2014 // 7-9 PM 

Director Masahiro Sugano will be in attendance for a post-show Q and A.

From the website: Cambodian Son documents the life of deported poet, Kosal Khiev after receiving the most important performance invitation of his career—to represent the Kingdom of Cambodia at the London 2012 Cultural Olympiad. Kosal would travel to London having only taken two flights prior; first, as a 1-year-old refugee child whose family fled Cambodia and, then as a 32-year-old criminal “alien” forcibly returned to Cambodia in 2011. The film follows a volatile yet charming and talented young man who struggles to find his footing amongst a new freedom that was granted only through his deportation. Kosal’s London representation is a triumphant moment for many people in his life, both in America and Cambodia. The film traces the impact and significance of this moment for Kosal, his friends, family, mentors and a growing international fan base. Armed only with memorized verses, he must face the challenges of being a deportee while navigating his new fame as Phnom Penh’s premiere poet. After the performances end and the London stage becomes a faint memory, Kosal is once again left alone to answer the central question in his life: “How do you survive when you belong nowhere?

I was able to exchange some emails with Anida Yoeu Ali of Studio Revolt about the film, in anticipation of the premier here in Minnesota on April 15.

1) What drew you to Kosal Khiev and this project?

Masahiro (director) and I were introduced to Kosal by a mutual friend, another Khmer Exiled American (KEA) I knew in the US. Our mutual friend raved about Kosal’s poetry and said that we should really meet him, especially since I was also a spoken word artist once upon a time in Asian America. (Masa’s personal telling about his first encounter with Kosal is very touching, so feel free to read it here:

Then one night Masa comes home and tells me that he just heard Kosal’s life story in one sitting. He was moved by the whole experience and he said this guy has something special and that I should really take the time to hear him kick a poem. Being the jaded old school spoken word artist that I was, I didn’t really believe Masa but then I remembered that Masa doesn’t usually rave about spoken word poetry so Kosal must have moved him deeply. On another night, Kosal came to visit us and in the middle of my living room I asked if he would kick a poem. That poem was “Moments In Between the Nights” and it grabbed my guts and shook me teary eyed. Since that moment sometime in July 2011, our paths have intertwined into both a journey and collaboration.

We believe Kosal represents something bigger than himself – ideas around compassion, the transformational power of art, and justice.

2) As it is National Poetry Month, what is it about poetry and spoken word that makes it a useful vessel for such a heavy subject?

Spoken word woven with musicality, theatricality and the raw energy and charisma of Kosal offers an element of entertainment that enables a mainstream audience typically unsympathetic to the deportation of convicted felons to have a new guide into the issue.

Kosal has a voice and it’s powerful and inspirational. We truly believe that his story and poetry should be heard on an international scale. We believe he has the power to unite and open up minds and hearts. He became a reformed man inside the US prison system as a result of arts programming. This means that reform is possible and art can be transformative. Kosal is living proof. We don’t need more punitive forms of justice but rather options that are restorative and transformative.

3) What is the goal of this film?

Our goal is to reach millions with this film. Laws can only be changed if we can change the culture which created the policies. We want people to humanize the issue of deportation through Kosal’s story. We want people to experience his story in order to tap into compassion and a sense of justice. Kosal’s story is complicated and has everything to do with history, geo-politics, war, circumstances, and failed systems which created him, then destroyed his life, and now rebirthing him once again.  

4) Where can readers learn more about deportation?

Please read the “issues” section of our press kit and/or our movie’s website for this information:


Letters Home: the shootings at the Sikh Gurdwara in Oak Creek, Wisconsin

Posted by: Bao Phi Updated: August 16, 2012 - 10:24 PM




Like much of the Asian American community, I was stunned and saddened to my core a couple of weeks ago to hear about the terrible murder of Sikh people in Oak Creek, Wisconsin.  Adding to the tragedy, there seems to be little empathy or coverage of this terrible event in the mainstream American press and consciousness.  What little there has been in the mainstream press has been problematic.

Shortly after the incident, I received an email from Preeti Kaur with a poem about the hate crime.  I was floored by it.  I asked Preeti to write an artist's statement and her thoughts for this blog.  Her response follows, with a link to her full poem at the end.


On August 5, 2012, while morning services were starting at the Sikh Gurdwara in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, a gunman barged into the place of worship with assault weapons. For over two hours, he terrorized the worshipers -- an innocent crowd consisting of faith scholars, elderly, women, and children. He ultimately shot six dead, seriously wounded three others including a police lieutenant, and ended his terror by fatally shooting himself to death. Posthumous investigations indicated the killer, Wade Michael Page, was a decades-long out-spoken member of white supremacist groups and bands.  


As an American and a practicing Sikh, I was deeply aggrieved that this could happen in one of our places of worship. In times of grief, poetry can give us the space to connect our personal grief with external grief.  Letters Home is a collection of poems which seek to connect the tragedy in Oak Creek with the larger narrative of violence in the name of a deep-seeded racial hatred in this country.


The Oak Creek shooting calls us to seek the guidance of Bhagat Singh Thind, a Sikh from Punjab, India, who fought for the United States in World War I, but was denied American citizenship because of xenophobic laws during his era.


The Oak Creek killings rekindle our American remorse for the heinous murder of Balbir Singh Sodhi, the first person killed in a hate crime after 9/11, for being an immigrant practicing his faith by visibly emphasizing his difference in wearing a turban. Practicing Sikh men, and some women, wear a turban to cover their long, unshorn hair, which they maintain as a commitment to acceptance, and to being a distinguishable beacon of sanctuary in times of danger. Yet in America, this difference exhibited by practicing Sikhs, especially in the post-9/11 years, has meant being subject to bullying in schools, being subject to racial epithets or violence in society, to the most extreme punishment: death.


Oak Creek calls on the Sikh community itself, again spotlighted in a time of tragedy, to respond with the dictates of our teachings: compassion, resilience, and a lived strength, especially in a time of loss.


Oak Creek re-awakens our historical amnesia and reminds us of the Bellingham Riots of 1907, where the Asiatic Exclusion League, a xenophobic organization of the time, violently ejected over 400 Sikh lumbermen from a Washington lumber-town.


Oak Creek brings alive Vincent Chin, a Chinese American who was killed in Detroit in 1982 in a hate crime which has been historically labeled a case of mistaken identity. One cannot help suggesting, in this era of extreme Islamophobia played out on the national policy and media theaters, that perhaps Sikhs, who might look like a version of the so-called 'enemy' to people with crude knowledge of the world, were 'mistaken' for an alternative target-- a Muslim target. No one deserves brutality for being stereotyped as an enemy, no matter what their faith. No one deserves a political climate which justifies racist collective punishment. In the last two weeks alone our nation has seen eight attacks against places of worship, most of them Muslim places of worship. America needs to address the political climates which give vigor to hate-based violence within our borders.


Oak Creek also calls us to question collective punishment and supremacist ideologies around the world, from the 1984 pogroms against the Sikhs in  Delhi, India, to the recent March 2012 massacre of villagers in Panjwai, Afghanistan.


Finally, Oak Creek should evoke a dirge of grief from all Americans. The symbolism of white supremacist violence against a place of worship inhabited by people of color is something our country witnessed in the 1963 bombing of a Black church in Birmingham, Alabama during the Civil Rights movement.  We have moved mountains since then, yet mountains remain. 


President Obama still has not visited the families of the Oak Creek victims, as he has done in other recent mass-shootings in our nation, leaving many to wonder why a tragedy against a minority racialized community does not deserve the dignity of a President's gesture of shared national grief. What happened in Oak Creek is an American tragedy. I grieve for America.


Excerpt of poem Letters Home:


please forward to the 50 states/ the white house/ all territories/ the flagged patch on the moon




the gurdwara door is open

our bare feet like cracked glass

our covered heads bulletproof from ego

we turn our backs on bellingham

build our gurdwaras from post traumatic cinder

of bombed birmingham black church

nina simone sings tera bhaana meetha laage*

to tune of mississippi goddamn

gunpowder lines noses of children

left behind wailing mummy papa we will never forget you

‘the love that forgives’ a lullaby

which sears obedient

into a bittering lemon


i stand half mast, america

i grieve for my future son, america

i grieve for all nights, america


i grieve for all nights



*A Sikh prayer invoking acceptance of sacrifice. Literally, it means “May I experience Your will as sweet to me.”



For complete poem, please see here.



Preeti Kaur attended Gurdwara at the local Sikh center in Minneapolis for years as a student. She currently lives in California. Her poetry can be found at Qarrtsiluni Literary Magazine, The Loft's ¿ Nation of Immigrants? spoken word CD, the South Asian Magazine for Action and Reflection, and The Sikh Review.

Vincent Chin: 30 Years Later

Posted by: Bao Phi Updated: June 18, 2012 - 8:38 AM


Vincent Chin

Vincent Chin




On June 19, 1982, Vincent Chin was at his bachelor party at Fancy Pants, a strip club in suburban Detroit.  Two white out-of-work autoworkers, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, began trading insults at Chin from across the bar.  “It’s because of you little *expletive deleted* that we’re out of work,” witnesses say Ebens yelled at Chin.


At the time, anti-Japanese sentiment was high.  Many blamed the decline of the U.S. auto industry on Japan – I remember the pressure to buy products with a “Made in America” sticker or patch on them, even though I was just a boy.  Vincent Chin, a 27 year old Chinese American draftsman, was not Japanese, and had nothing to do with the auto industry.


After the altercation, Chin and his friends parted ways, but Ebens and Nitz weren’t done.  They went looking for Chin, reportedly paying a friend $20 to help look for him.  They found him at a McDonalds, dragged him outside, and one of them held Chin down while the other brutally beat him with a baseball bat.  Four days later, Chin died – five days before his wedding.


Both Ebens and Nitz got three years' probation, a $3,000 fine, and $780 in court costs.  To this day, neither of them have spent a day in jail.


I will repeat that: Ebens and Nitz sought out an unarmed man, held him down, and beat him to death in front of witnesses, and to this day they haven’t spent a single day in jail.


How does one make sense of that.    In a few days, it will be the 30 year anniversary of his murder, and still, thinking about Vincent Chin is like ripping open an old, raw wound.  Even after years of struggling for change, of witnessing terrible injustice after injustice, of trying to educate yourself about institutional racism, how do you make sense of this.

How do you reason with people who *still* don’t think racism exists.   


Sure, there have been many much less visible incidents of horrific racist violence against Asians before Chin.  And unfortunately, many after him.  That just makes it worse.  It is a reminder to all of us, that our lives simply aren’t worth as much as a white person’s.


The race of the perpetrator is important, absolutely.  But so is the race of the victim.  Statistics show that in the U.S., if the victim of a crime is white, the perpetrator is far more likely to endure harsher punishments, including the death penalty, than if the victim is a person of color or Native American.


But still, even armed with this disappointing knowledge: no jail time served for the brutal murder of an Asian American man.


I’m not even a vindictive person.  Punishing Ebens and Nitz won’t bring Chin back.  Nor will it even the scales for all of the people of color who have suffered from the racism in our legal and penal system.




You can talk about how this all started at a strip club, and how we should be critical of all men and their patronage of such places.  Just as long as you ask yourself, do all men regardless of their race fear death by baseball bat by going to a strip club.  Is that a reason to murder anyone.


The fact that he was Chinese American and had nothing to do with the auto industry – it still would have been horrible if he had been Japanese and worked for Honda.


And still – Fong Lee was killed in 2006, in a case that is highly suspect, by a police officer with a history of violence both while on duty and at home in his personal life – he was given a Medal of Valor for shooting and killing Lee, a teenager.


Lili Wang was murdered in 2002 by her classmate, Richard Anderson, who had stated he had a “preference” for Asian women.  Richard shot and killed Lili, a married woman, after he was allegedly frustrated that she had turned down his advances.


In 1992, 10 years after the murder of Vincent Chin, 16 year-old High School student Yoshi Hattori was looking for a Halloween party with his friend.  They knocked on the door of 30 year old Rodney Peairs and his family.  No one answered so they began to walk away.  Bonnie Peairs, Rodney’s wife, looked out her window, spotted “an Oriental person,” and called out to her husband, “Honey, get your gun.”  Rodney Peairs shot Yoshi Hattori point blank in the chest, killing him.  His defense was that Yoshi, a Japanese exchange student, had an "extremely unusual manner of moving", one which any reasonable person would find "scary”. 

Peairs has also never spent time in jail for the murder of Yoshi Hattori.


There are also the countless Arab, Muslim, and South Asians who have been harassed, beaten, and murdered, both prior to 9/11 and afterwards, including 78-year-old Gurmej Atwal and 67-year-old Surinder Singh, gunned down and killed while on an afternoon walk in Sacramento.


It’s not just us Asians.  25 year old Mexican immigrant Luis Ramirez was brutally beaten and killed by two white teenagers – who were acquitted of all serious charges and face 7 to 23 month sentences.   Trayvon Martin, a teenager, was killed by George Zimmerman – it was a long time before Zimmerman saw the inside of a jail cell.


Justice is not even on our side when we act in self defense.  CeCe McDonald, a local transgender African American, defended herself when she and her friends were verbally and physically assaulted outside Schooner’s in South Minneapolis.  She faces three years in a men’s prison for defending herself.


I’m not saying that I like the prison-industrial complex of this country.  However, I do believe it is worthwhile to look at the inequalities.  Koua Fong Lee was driving a car that malfunctioned, and another family was killed in the accident.  He did not flee the scene – and his own family was in his car – and yet no one believed him when he insisted it was an accident.  His own family was in his car – why would he endanger their lives as well?  He spent three years in jail before the Toyota recall put his allegations that the brakes malfunctioned into a new light, and he was freed.


Contrast that to Amy Senser, who killed Anousone Phanthavong in a hit-and-run, knocking him nearly 50 feet, fled the scene, and did not turn herself in until days later, after she had consulted her lawyers.  She was not jailed during the trial, and though she is convicted of two counts of vehicular homicide, and though there was expert testimony that Phanthavong was flung onto her car and there was no way she could not have known she hit a person, the jury inexplicably sent her a note saying they believed her.


Who you believe says a lot about you. 

And the list goes on.  John T. Williams.  Oscar Grant.  Chonburi Xiong.  Michael Cho. Cau Thi Bich Tran.  Tycel Nelson.  And these are just the more well-known names.  How many more dozens, or hundreds, of nameless brown people are killed twice: once by murder, and again by a racist judicial system.


30 years later, and we can’t forget Vincent Chin.  And we shouldn’t.


There is no way for me to make sense of this case.  I try to write intelligently about it, and all I have is unbridled, bottomless anger.  I feel provoked, to my core.  That one of my earliest memories is that kids were calling me chink and I had to ask my dad what it meant.  To have a lifetime of micro-aggressions and not-so-micro aggressions directed at you, stacked on top of people telling you your experience and insisting that racism doesn’t exist towards your people, and to top it all off, that people can murder you in the street in front of McDonalds and get a slap on the wrist for it.  And though Vincent Chin’s tragic murder is relatively invisible, it’s horrifying to think his case is actually one of the more visible, known cases of anti-Asian violence.  I feel that there is no room for love, or reason, in a world like this.  I feel tired, and defeated.  Stupid and useless. 


Of course, if there is any bright side at all to this, it is that the memory of Chin and the blatant injustice has galvanized many Asian Americans to activism.  I asked some respected Asian American activists and community workers to talk about this case for my blog. 

I asked them two questions:  What do you remember about the first time you heard about Vincent Chin?  Why do you think this case is still important, 30 years later?  Their answers follow.  I thank them for their time, and energy.

I do not remember how or where i first heard about Vincent Chin, the white men who murdered him, and the justice system that supported them to walk free -but it wasn't until my college years. I do remember feeling awful that so many years of my life had passed before his story made its way to me. This was something i should have learned in elementary school and discussed throughout my adolescence along with Emmett Till's case.


This case will be forever important and forever relevant. Here I offer questions.  What is acceptable for this country to mourn and permissible to bury? What is convenient about the collective unconsciousness surrounding Vincent Chin's case? Asian Americans are still seen as perpetual foreigners, another axis in how People of Color are racialized. How have devastating instances of brutality and injustice upon Asian Americans been confined? How even our struggles are "outsiders within"? How in celebrating our strength and power we are welcomed? 


Eva Song Margolis is a Minneapolis-based activist.


The gruesome Chin murder forced us to ask deeper questions and seek more complicated answers. It is elementary to answer the question “Who Killed Vincent Chin;” Ron Ebens and Mike Nitz killed him. But a more complicated answer is white America’s creation of the “Yellow Peril” stereotype killed Vincent Chin. The anti-Japanese and anti-Asian fervor in the U.S. reached levels not seen since Pearl Harbor. Corporations, elected officials and celebrities alike were drawing comparisons between the sudden rise in Japanese automobiles to the invasion of Pearl Harbor. The Chin case forced us to ask questions about how as a community we interfaced with the state and the courts when our civil rights were violated. Have we successfully and faithfully applied these lessons since his murder?

In the wake of the terrorist attacks of September 11, have we failed to ask the deeper and broader questions that the Chin murder case taught us to ask? Where was the massive public outrage over the 1,400+ Arab, Arab Americans, Middle Easterners and other “non-whites” being detained without regard to their civil rights? How critical have we been to the steady flow of legislation being passed in the name of “homeland security” that violates our basic civil rights?


Daren Rikio Mooko is an activist and Associate Dean of Students at Pomona College



The first time I heard about Vincent Chin was in 1995.  Ping Chong's company presented a performance piece that included baseball bats and a dramatization of Vincent Chin's murder.  I was shocked, especially because I grew up in Detroit and knew nothing of the case even though it happened in my own city.  Either my parents shielded me from the murder because I was a child or because they didn't think it was important to share what happened with me.  I found out years later that the Asian-American community was gathering in basements right across the street from my elementary school, to discuss what to do...and I never knew it was happening. 


The case is still important because these kind of hate crimes still exist today, in our own backyards: in Chicago, in Tulsa, in Minneapolis.  Vincent-Chin-violence happens today, yesterday and unfortunately as an Asian-American woman, I know incidents will continue to happen tomorrow.  Because we, as Americans, as a global community, are not "post-race" by any means.  Understanding racism is a lifelong commitment.  Race is not easily understood; the actions of violence that have continued since Vincent Chin's murder 30 years ago only further amplify the need to address the complexities of race in the United States if we want to evolve as a nation.


Sun Mee Chomet is an actor, playwright and collaborator who lives in the country of St. Paul, Minnesota.


The first time I learned about Vincent Chin to any great extent, was when I first watched the film "Who Killed Vincent Chin?" directed by Christine Choy and Renee Tajima-Pena.  I had been invited to perform in an Artist Exchange event at the Asian Arts Initiative in Philadelphia as part of the 20th Anniversary remembrance events of Vincent Chin's murder.  What I remember most is the interview of Lily Chin, Vincent Chin's mother, in the film.  She recounts the last moment she had spoken to Vincent--had seen him alive--before he went out that night to his bachelor party.  She talks about how she was entreating him to stay home because he was getting married the next day.  And in both reassuring her and dismissing her, he had responded to her not to worry or to make a big deal out of because it would be "the last time."  And his mother says that she told him, "Don't say 'last time'--it's bad luck," and as the fatal import of that last exchange with her son comes rushing in on her, and she breaks down at the end of the interview, sobbing uncontrollably.  In that moment as I watched this part of the film, I saw my own mother.  I could hear my own mother in her story--that could have been my brother.  That could have been any Asian/Asian American man.  In that moment, Vincent Chin's murder became personal to me.

I believe the Vincent Chin case is still important because  it reminds us that racial violence continues to be perpetrated against members of our community, particularly young Asian American men, as was the case in Fong Lee's murder in Minneapolis in 2006.  It also reminds us that in such cases, we still face a tremendous and disheartening battle in trying to acquire justice. Finally, it demonstrates the urgency for us as a community to develop a consciousness in which  Asian/Asian American people believe in true solidarity and coalition.   For this belief to be realized, people in our community need to recognize  the importance of learning our own history from our own perspective, to be  proud of our own culture, and to resist internalizing racist and sexist  images of ourselves.


Michelle Myers is spoken word poet, activist, and educator in Philadelphia, PA.



Pan-Asian Voices for Equity, Minnesota (PAVE-MN) are organizing a local community event honoring Vincent Chin.  The event includes local artists, activists, and spoken word artists, as well as a live-stream of a national panel of Asian American civil rights leaders.  More information here:


The race card and stacked decks

Posted by: Bao Phi Updated: September 22, 2011 - 12:18 AM

 A few hours after they accuse you of playing the race card for merely mentioning the word race, the powers that be execute a Black man, Troy Davis, though there seems to be ample room for doubt that he was the one who committed the crime.  Nevermind, for the time being, your opinions on the death penalty and the criminal justice system as a whole.

Instead, if they want to talk about facts, let’s examine some facts:


In 1982, two white men, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, murdered Vincent Chin with a baseball bat in a racially motivated hate crime.  They blamed “japs” like Vincent Chin for the declining American auto industry, though Chin was Chinese American and had nothing to do with the auto industry.  This act was witnessed by two off-duty police officers.  Ebens and Nitz, to this day, have not spent a single night in jail for Vincent Chin’s murder.


In 2006, Officer Jason Andersen, an officer with a troubled record, shot and killed Hmong teenager Fong Lee.  Officer Andersen claims Lee had a gun.  There has been inconsistencies regarding the case, including lack of forensic evidence linking Lee to a gun reported on the scene, video footage analyzed by a video expert stating Lee did not have a gun.  Officer Andersen was acquitted of use of excessive force.


In 2009, Oscar Grant was executed point blank by Officer Johannes Mehserle, while he was prostrate.  He was unarmed.  The murder of Oscar Grant was witnessed by dozens and caught on cell phone cameras.  Officer Mehserle was sentenced to two years minus time served.


A few hours ago, Troy Davis was executed for allegedly murdering an off-duty police officer.  7 of 9 key witnesses against him disputed or recanted all or parts of their testimony.  Some asserted that they had been coerced by police. The murder weapon was never recovered.


My people, we know that they accuse us of playing the race card because they always stack the deck in their favor.

If you look at this logic, it’s clear who is really playing the race card.  Our unfortunate history, and our struggle, tell us this.


But this is not about them.  They get to voice their opinion all the time. Their comfortable hate already takes up too much room.  They are the only ones responsible for their hearts, their souls.  Let this space not be about them, but something else.  Dare I say – let this small space, and any small space that you may have, dear friend, be a space for us.  Take a breath.

Like you, I don’t quite know what to do, or feel.  It’s a sad night, in a history thick with sad nights.  Forgive me, all I have is this, my thoughts and my writing.  And this little space.  But it’s yours.  

The Spin on Your World

Posted by: Bao Phi Updated: September 20, 2011 - 11:43 AM


I was 17 when I got hit by a car.  I don’t recall seeing my life flash in front of my eyes.  I did see the world spin.

I had borrowed my older brother’s mountain bike to go riding with a friend of mine by the Mississippi, and then dropped by Cedarfest to hang out with friends and see some of them play in bands.  I was riding the bike home when the car came out of nowhere on Franklin and hit me.  I was about 4 blocks from my house.


I seem to remember grunting in surprise, and the world tumbling, lopsided and fast, in every which way.  Then a thump as I landed in the street.  Then the squeal of tires, and a crunch, which I would later realize was the sound of the car running over my brother’s mountain bike as the driver took off.


On the asphalt, I remember being dazed and feeling strangely fine – wondering what just happened.  There was some bewildered curse words in there too, which I won’t print in this family friendly paper.  A Native American woman was the first to find me, reassuring me that someone had called an ambulance, that I was young and handsome and that I’d be fine.  What a strange thing to say, I thought to myself.


On the ambulance ride, I was sad that my brother’s bike was ruined by the driver.  Then the adrenaline wore off and the pain set in.  And there was my father cursing me on the hospital bed for being careless and my uncle urging him to take it easy, my militant sister wondering if I was hit on purpose and if it was racially motivated. 

All in all, not a fun experience. 


Let’s not make a big deal out of it, but the difference in a couple of seconds, a couple of feet one way or another, and that could have been the end of it all for me.

For being struck by a car in a hit and run I was relatively lucky.  Small fracture in my collarbone, muscles bruised to the bone, some scars that are still faint on me to this day.  But no serious permanent injury, and I had health coverage through my dad’s work – and I was introduced to the dubious modern miracle called doctor prescribed pain medication.  To top it off, my brother was pretty cool about his mountain bike getting run over.


The driver was never caught, though I doubt anyone looked too hard for him or her.


I remember being pretty angry at whoever hit me, then took off.  I remember feeling guilty that I made my mom cry and my parents take off from work to see me. 


Now that I’m older, I drive carefully, because over the years I’ve also thought to myself how terrible it would be to hit someone with a car.  What a terrible thing to live with – that you are responsible for tons of metal and rubber, this symbol of modern times and years upon years of science and engineering and progress, propelling it towards something as fragile as another living being.  That something many of us take for granted everyday could mean grievous harm, and even death, to another.


A friend of mine sent me the article about the tragic death of Anousone "Ped" Phanthavong, in a hit and run.  Days later, it was revealed that the True Thai cook was killed by someone driving a vehicle owned by former Minnesota Viking, restaurant mogul, and sports broadcaster Joe Senser.


Recently Anna Prasomphol Fieser, co-owner of True Thai, recently wrote an impassioned and frustrated blog posting about the case, which you’ll find here:


(thanks to Leslie Ball for originally posting this a while back)


I’m glad that the Star Tribune did the right thing and eventually published Anna’s blog.   I don’t have much to add – I think Mrs. Fieser’s blog entry is an important alternative perspective and has a lot of insight.


As a community member, I’ll be watching this case with great interest.  Here, in this specific blog entry, I am not going to write about any theories or inconsistencies. Nor debate the legal aspects, of which I am not knowledgeable enough to contribute to a reasonable discussion.   What I am very interested in, is how this case plays out.   

Race and class may have nothing to do with the unfortunate tragedy of a man, successfully turning his life around, only to be killed in a tragic accident close to the place where he worked, the killer for whatever reason speeding off into the night dragging his body to paint an exclamation point in red on the asphalt.   Race and class probably have nothing to do with the tragedy itself.


We have yet to see if race and class have anything to do with public perception, media coverage, and how this case plays out in the judicial system.  Unfortunately, not every case gets the same treatment.  All these things are impacted by race, class, gender, in ways obvious to some and not-so-obvious to others.  Those who know, know.  You don’t need me to explain a thing.  We can hope for better, but not expect it.


Above all else, I hope the family members of the late “Ped” Phanthavong can find some peace, and some justice, if that is possible, in however and whatever shape it takes for them.



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