Recently, I was asked for my thoughts on the death of a young man named Mike Cho. Cho was gunned down by police officers in La Habra, Calif. The only information I had at that time was that Cho made an attempt to strike the cops with a tire iron prior to his expiration.

It sounded like a righteous shooting to me.

I’ve since had some time to find more information about the shooting. Here’s what I’ve learned so far (from words and video): on December 31, 2007 at approximately 2 p.m., police officers were responding to a vandalism call. A surveillance video showed two cops tactically deployed behind the open doors of a police vehicle. The suspect (Mike Cho) walked towards them with a tire iron in his left hand, and a cigarette in his right. Police said that they ordered him to drop the tire iron. Instead, Cho turned approximately 90-degrees to his right and walked away, off camera. Both cops lowered their guns and followed. Off camera, Cho raised the tire iron over his head in a striking position. In response, police officers shot him a total of ten times.

There have been a lot of questions as to why the police did what they did. Why did they have their guns drawn? Why did they have to shoot the kid ten times? Why didn’t they use a taser or some other less-than-lethal weapon?

The answers to those questions are so blatantly obvious (and have been answered in other forums) that I won’t go into them here. Instead, I have questions of my own: why would you approach two guys with a tire iron in hand, especially when their guns are leveled at you? Disturbing to me is the manner with which Cho approached the two cops, puffing on his cigarette. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he didn’t give a fuck. Why? Was Cho on drugs? Was he crazy? Did he commit suicide by cop?

My thoughts on the death of a young man named Mike Cho, for what they’re worth: it was a tragic death, but one the suspect brought upon himself. Unless some new information is released that will sway my opinion otherwise, I’d say that the shooting was righteous.

Note: Check out the Los Angeles Times for an article about the shooting. A Korean language news source showed surveillance video of Cho’s encounter with La Habra police, moments before the shooting. A clip has been posted on YouTube.

Tags: death · la habra · michael cho · police · shooting

I sat in the van. Watched. Waited for something to happen. Hoped for the big fish. Spent hours observing the bottom feeders of a concrete ecosystem duck in and out of alleys and side streets.

Nothing but the passing of tweakers, bums and the occasional street whore.

Three o’clock. No one on the street but a morbidly obese female transient. I watched as she took a seat near the intersection, next to an entrance of a closed liquor store. She used her filthy hands to scoop chow mein out of a Chinese takeout box, shoveled it into her mouth.

I named her Henrietta.

Minutes passed like hours. Henrietta set her food aside, retrieved a roll of toilet paper out of her grimy backpack, wrapped her right hand like a mummy.

After scanning left and right, she used her left hand to lift up her gut, stuck her mummified right hand into her pants and wiped vigorously between her legs. She pulled her hand out of her pants, dropped her gut, then sniffed the stained toilet paper before balling it up and tossing it into the gutter.

A deep breath and one loud belch later, she picked up the takeout box, finished her leftovers. She tossed the box next to the balled up toilet paper, got up slowly, picked up her backpack and waddled around the corner. Out of sight.

Another hour later, I called it a night. The big fish never came my way.

Maybe tomorrow.

Tags: chinese food · homeless · surveillance · toilet paper

Hip hop night. Closing time. Knuckleheads who couldn’t get into the club loitered across the street. Punks without a post-club coital date turned into parking lot pimps. Idiots drunk, high or a combination of both. Dumbfucks with guns.

I stood my post at the front door. Tense. Anticipating.

Yelling and cursing in the parking lot across the street. Posturing. Two idiots “motherfucking” each other. Three gunshots silenced one motherfucker. The crowd scattered like cockroaches. Cars spilled out of the parking lot, sped towards the freeway.

One Jeep Cherokee remained in the lot, passenger door wide open, crimson puddle underneath. Groaning from inside the car.

I approached the car. A fat black man in the passenger seat bled, arm hanging limp by his side. Blood trickled from his seat, slowly made its way to the growing blood pool on the ground. I asked: “Where’d you get hit?”

“Yo man, nigga shot me in the motherfucking ass!”

I bit my tongue, tried not to laugh.

Tags: blood · hip hop · nightclub · shooting