TURNING OUTRAGE INTO ACTION

On July 1, 1982, The Detroit Free Press featured the bridegroom’s beating death in its front section, telling of Vincent’s life and hopes for his marriage, but offered no circumstances of his slaying nor any mention of the anti-Japanese and anti-Asian hate that permeated Detroit and the Midwest. It was the sad and tragic tale, with a color photo of the smiling Chinese American couple looking happy at a bright future together. Detroit’s Asian Americans took notice of their Asian faces, which were so uncommon, rarely appearing in news, magazines, TV or movies of the dominant American culture. Whereas most non-Asians were clueless about Asians and race, the local Asian Americans were already on high alert because of the constant hostility in the racialized climate. Many suspected that the bridegroom’s race might have been a factor. But the community was too small and fragmented to demand answers. Many in the largely immigrant communities held a “don’t make waves” attitude; they feared that bringing attention to their invisible Asian American communities could lead to more trouble. But even if they had wished to protest, there were no Asian American advocacy or watchdog groups to turn to—only two pan-Asian legal nonprofits existed in all America, one in San Francisco, the other in New York and nothing in between. Nine months later, on March 18, 1983, new headlines appeared on the front pages of Detroit’s two dailies: “Two men charged in ’82 slaying get probation” and “Probation in slaying riles Chinese.” The articles went on to report that the two killers who pled no contest to savagely beating a man to death received three years’ probation and $3,780 in fines and court costs to be paid over three years; the victim’s name was Vincent Chin. In a city where Black people could be sentenced to long jail terms for nonviolent infractions, like possession of a marijuana cigarette, this was news. The sentencing judge, Charles Kaufman, explained his reasoning: “These aren’t the kind of men you send to jail,” he said. “You fit the punishment to the criminal, not the crime.” The light sentence shocked Detroit, a city that was more than 60 percent Black, which had exploded in race riots in 1967 over unequal justice. Black defendants were often sentenced to prison for minor infractions, while these two white killers were set free for committing a brutal murder. The sentences of probation drew cries of outrage. Local columnists like Nikki McWhirter harshly criticized Judge Kaufman, writing, “You have raised the ugly ghost of racism, suggesting in your explanation that the lives of the killers are of great and continuing value to society, implying they are of greater value than the life of the slain victim… How gross and ostentatious of you; how callous and yes, unjust...”

It was just like the frontier “justice” of the 1800s, when a white man could kill an Asian person with impunity. The sheer injustice shook people from their fears of speaking out.

The Detroit News reporter, Cynthia Lee, herself a Chinese American from Hawaii, interviewed members of the city’s Chinese American community, who voiced their disbelief. “You go to jail for killing a dog,” said Henry Yee, a noted local restaurateur who was known as “the unofficial mayor of Chinatown.” “Vincent’s life was worth less than a used car,” another family friend protested. As Vincent’s mother Lily cried in anguish for Vincent’s spirit, other Chinese Americans were disheartened by the shattering of a dream, a hope that they might be accepted as American one day, rather than being seen as an existential threat and alien invader. Vincent was effectively “sentenced” to death by his killers because he looked “foreign,” even as he celebrated at his very American bachelor party, while his white killers were sentenced to mere fines because they looked like good, upstanding Americans. What might have been just another senseless tragedy then turned into even more tragic bungling and incompetence by law enforcement and courts, not uncommon in an insensitive, overburdened bureaucratic system where there is often no justice. No police went to the bar to investigate what had initiated the murderous hunt. No witnesses at the lounge were ever contacted or interviewed prior to the sentencing. No one even thought to ask if race might have been a factor. A pasty, pale-faced detective in the municipal enclave of Highland Park opined that the killing was no big deal and he was certain that there was nothing racial involved—even though he made no effort to ascertain the facts. The killers’ defense lawyers managed to get the case moved from courtroom to courtroom within Wayne County until they found one judge to set the charges at second-degree murder. The next circuit judge to review the case stated on the record, “I am of the opinion that the defendants were undercharged. The elements of first-degree murder are here.” Finally, the case went before Judge Charles Kaufman, who had not even read the probation officer’s recommendations of incarceration. He also didn’t take the time to read a psychiatric report warning that Ebens was an “extremely hostile and explosive individual... with a potential for uncontrollable hostility and explosive acting out.” In the 15 minutes that Judge Kaufman spent on the case, no prosecutors were present to speak for the victim, Vincent Chin. Instead, Kaufman listened to the killers’ lawyers claim that Vincent provoked his own death while Ebens and Nitz were innocent bystanders. Judge Kaufman noted that the two clean-cut, now-sober white men were responsible because they had jobs, and then sentenced them each to $3,000 in fines and $780 in court costs, payable at $125 per month with no interest, and three years’ probation. That was the total value placed on the life of 27-year-old Vincent Chin, whose only crime was having an Asian face at a time when anti-Japanese and anti-Asian prejudice ran rampant. In rendering his infamous sentence, Kaufman offered several rationalizations to the bewildered public and the inquiring journalists: “These aren’t the kind of men you send to jail. . .We’re talking here about a man who’s held down a responsible job for 17 or 18 years, and his son is employed and is a parttime student. You don’t make the punishment fit the crime, you make the punishment fit the criminal.” News of probation and fines for the killers and the judge’s explanations drew outrage from many in Detroit, who saw a clear double standard in letting the killers get away with murder. Chinese Americans and other Asian Americans were even more shocked and disbelieving that the court would allow such a violent crime against an Asian person go unpunished. For many Chinese Americans, it was just like the frontier “justice” of the 1800s, when a white man could kill an Asian person with impunity. Vincent’s grief-stricken mother Lily, family and friends, as well as members of the small Chinese American community struggled to understand what

had happened. And they asked what could be done about the clearly flawed judicial decision. There was no advocacy group in the Midwest to speak out and represent the Asian American community. In fact, at the time, the different Asian ethnic groups were completely separate from each other, with no common organization that could bring the groups together to speak out.

But everyone of Asian ancestry recognized that what happened to Vincent Chin could happen to their loved ones: that an Asian American could be beaten to death with a baseball bat and his life could be so devalued that the killers could go free. The sheer injustice shook people from their fears of speaking out. Soon people came forward to tell of their own experiences with humiliation, discrimination and suffering that they had endured silently for generations. They knew that what happened to Vincent Chin endangered the entire Asian American community, and they could no longer watch in silence. After receiving news that her son’s killers were sentenced to probation, Lily Chin wrote the following appeal, translated from Chinese, to the Chinese Welfare Council of Detroit, the civic arm of the Chinatown business community that she, her husband and son had been part of:

I, King Fong Yu (the wife of Bing Heng Chin) grieve for my son, Vincent Chin, who was brutally beaten to death by two assailants with a baseball bat. The two killers were apprehended by police and prosecuted in court. During the court proceedings, I, because I am widowed and poor, with no money in my bed, could not retain legal counsel to press the case for my deceased son. As a result, the murderers’ attorneys had the say. Yesterday, I read in the newspaper, the sentence was only a fine and probation; and the killers were set free. There was also no compensation for the victim’s family. This is injustice to a terrible extreme. My son’s blood had been shed; how unjust could this be? I grieve in my heart and shed tears of blood. Yes, my son cannot be brought back—and I can only wait for death. It is just that my deceased son, Vincent

Chin, was a member of your council. I therefore plead to you to please help me. Please let the

Chinese American community know about this case so they can help me raise funds to hire legal counsel for an appeal. You must help put the killers in prison so my son’s soul may rest and my grief be vindicated. This old woman will be forever grateful.

I, King Fong Yu, respectully submit this letter of appeal, March 18, 1983

Conversation Questions

» What effect did the story of Vincent Chin’s murder have on other Asian Americans, and why? » Why were people certain, and uncertain, if race was a factor in Vincent Chin’s murder? What factors contributed to feelings of certainty and uncertainty? » Why did Vincent Chin’s story bring Asian American people and organizations together? How was this moment a call for change?