Gang shootings open window into Cambodian refugee community
Fragrant incense sticks smolder next to an offering of half a double-bacon cheeseburger and a bottled chocolate latte. The 20-year-old Bunthung is invisible to the living and not yet aware of his untimely death, according to Buddhist beliefs. But Bunthung's parents say their eldest son left them long ago, taken by an urban America they never imagined when they fled the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge more than 20 years ago. Six young Cambodian-American men – including a Marine just back from Iraq – have died since late October in a rash of suspected gang-related violence in Long Beach, home to the largest concentration of Cambodians outside Phnom Penh. Police say at least three of the victims had gang affiliations; the others may have been cases of mistaken identity. Police have made no arrests. The shootings open a window onto a fragile refugee community undergoing a generational transition made worse by the legacy of Cambodia's brutal past. The life experiences of Cambodian parents and their American-born children are so profoundly different that many families can't overcome the cultural divide, leading many children to take refuge in a gang family of their peers. "This sort of a cultural clash is unprecedented. We've never had this before," said Sgt. Paul LeBaron of the Long Beach Police Department. "There's a lot of strife between family members. They have an experience that is unique to anybody else in Long Beach, and that will demonstrate itself when they become gang members." Cambodian community leaders watching the younger generation struggle with its identity said the problem is heightened by stark differences between rural Cambodia and the streets of Long Beach, a working class city of 500,000 south of Los Angeles. Those differences paralyze even well-intentioned parents, who have no context with which to deal with the problems their children face. "In Cambodia, there's one school, one pagoda. Everybody knows each other and likes each other. There's no bad element to talk about, no stressful life to talk about," said Him Chhim, executive director of the Cambodian Association of America who fled Cambodia nearly 30 years ago. "From the basic needs of life to the huge, materialistic life of Long Beach, there is a huge difference."
Parents whose children have joined gangs said they would prefer to have their children in jail than out on the streets where they don't know how to protect them. "Here, they have freedom. In Cambodia, there's no freedom. They never go out," said Gern Kasanoy, 44, who said her two eldest sons are in state prison for gang-related crimes. "Out of 10 kids, only one is good here. In Cambodia, 10 are good and one is bad." Bunthung's father, Mike, recalls that his first impulse when he learned of his son's gang activity was to beat him as punishment – something that would have been common, and even accepted, in Cambodia, he said. But he soon realized that U.S. law was strict about corporal punishment and he became afraid to discipline his son. "In Cambodia we say if you love your kid, you have to make him hurt to help. If they changed the law, all these kids would not be like that," Mike Bunthung said. "It's how I was raised. When my generation (was young), they respected old people. They respected everybody. Now they don't respect anybody." Nearly all Cambodians in the United States arrived in the late 1970s or early 1980s as refugees from the genocide of the Khmer Rouge, a brutal and extremist Communist regime. Many were attracted to Long Beach because it already held a small community of Cambodians who had arrived during the 1960s to study at the California State University campus there. The nation's second largest concentration of Cambodians is in Lowell, Mass. Police aren't sure what has caused the recent violence. Detectives have not been able to link the shootings and aren't aware of any brewing rivalries between Cambodian gangs and other gangs in Long Beach, said LeBaron, the police spokesman. But police do say it's unusual for so many Cambodians to be shot in such a short period. There have been 32 gang-related shootings in Long Beach since Oct. 19, the day the first two Cambodian victims, U.S. Marine Sok Khak Ung and his friend Vouthy Tho, were gunned down. Police don't believe the two had gang ties but might have been targeted because they were freestyle rapping at the time, a common pastime among gang members that may have been misinterpreted by a passer-by. "In most cases, the number of Cambodian victims is very small," LeBaron said. "It's unique that this many would be shot so quickly." The shootings could be the result of rapidly expanding Mexican-American gangs, said
Alejandro Alonso
, an expert on Los Angeles-area gangs and a doctoral student at the University of Southern California. Alonso said he noticed as early as 1995 that Mexican-American gangs were expanding and pushing black gangs out of their traditional territory, resulting in violent flare-ups. The same thing could be happening in Long Beach, he said. "It's inevitable," he said. "I've noticed the Hispanic migration to Long Beach. It's just a matter of time before it's affecting the Cambodians as well." Los Angeles County has one of the nation's largest concentrations of criminal street gangs, a mosaic that includes all cultures and immigrant groups. The district attorney's office has identified more than 1,400 such groups operating throughout the county. "It's a reflection of a much bigger problem that's not unique to the Cambodians," said Thomas Douglas, a doctoral student at the University of California, Irvine, who has done extensive field work among Long Beach's Cambodians. "There's been this sort of gang culture that's emerged among most immigrant groups. The gang element seems to be entrenched in our society." Cambodian community leaders said their gang problem stems from a basic source. Chhim, the executive director of the Cambodian Association of America, said police haven't tried hard enough to reach out to Long Beach's Cambodian population. Roughly 10 percent of the city's population is Cambodian-American, and about half of Cambodian adults don't speak English. Yet only about 8 percent of the force's 890 sworn officers are Asian. The department doesn't keep track of how many of those are Cambodian-American, LeBaron said. A lack of Cambodian-speaking officers underscores the existing fear Cambodians have of authority, especially those who have lived through the massacres of the Khmer Rouge, Chhim said. "Simply put, if a police officer does not speak the language, how can you work with the community?" he said. "If the department really wants to work with the community, they have to have more people who speak the language and go deep into the community. Our people will not pick up the phone and report." LeBaron said the department has had trouble recruiting Cambodian officers but has done everything it can to work with the community. That includes creating a liaison through Buddhist monks who sometimes intervene to help gang-involved teens, he said. The department also recently promoted a Cambodian-American detective to its homicide division. But for Bunthung's family – and the five other grieving families – the pain, confusion and fear of future violence will not soon go away.
"Unless Jesus comes and blesses Long Beach real fast, we're in trouble," said Stevin Vandee, cousin of the most recent victim, 22-year-old Sakorn Phan, who had no known gang affiliation. "Long Beach is a jungle for us young, Asian guys."
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By Gillian Flaccus
ASSOCIATED PRESS2:59 a.m. January 26, 2004LONG BEACH –
The makeshift Buddhist shrine dedicated to Woodtee Bunthung tells the story of a life caught between two worlds.Copyright © Streetgangs.com, All RIGHTS RESERVED. Disclaimer
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