History repeats itself. As Garry Tan concluded in his most recent op-ed about why Asian hate so often goes unpunished, it is a cumulative effect of the loudest voices that influence a courtroom, from policy briefs and op-eds to grant-funded studies and legacy media. That voice has been dominated by nonprofits like Stop AAPI Hate, which have collectively received well over $150 million in funding while betraying the very victims they claim to represent and protect. They have aggressively pushed for non-carceral solutions and restorative justice policies in California for perpetrators, in contrast to what victims and their families, like myself, have asked for – greater public safety, real accountability, timely trials, and proportionate sentencing that actually deters crime.
What did Grandpa Vicha’s trial and sentencing tell us? That the going rate for an elderly Asian life in San Francisco has become tragically cheap. That Hanako Abe’s case will likely prove equally disappointing, and perpetrators like Thea Brenda Hopkins will continue to receive drug diversion and leniency.
My family, like so many others, was abandoned by the very criminal justice system that was supposed to advocate for us, when in May 2024, our 14-year-old son was trapped on the Muni 29 bus with dozens of other students. A serial perpetrator launched into a vicious anti-Asian tirade, screaming racial slurs and brandishing a stun-gun. And while we asked regularly about the status of our case, we were ignored and even removed as victims from the case without a single notice. It was only under interim Chief Paul Yep that we finally learned the truth of what was really going on behind the scenes. Our supposed advocate at the hate crime unit was “on leave” when Chief Bill Scott was ousted.
I also learned later why ABC News never ran the hour-long interview they did with our son after my family and two others filed police reports at our home for the Muni 29 attack. It was for the same reason that TV news reporter Dion Lim was ousted for her extensive coverage of Asian hate crime victims, including the death of Yanfang Wu. Because the truth was inconvenient.
Because shining a sustained light on the raw reality of anti-Asian violence clashed with the dominant narrative that certain advocacy groups and newsrooms had committed to. Dion Lim’s relentless reporting humanized too many victims like my son, like Grandpa Vicha, like Yanfang Wu, and like Hanako Abe. The preferred storyline demanded framing every incident through the lens of systemic racism, mental health, or “root causes” rather than straightforward criminal accountability. So the hour-long interview with my terrified 14-year-old son sat on the shelf and never aired.
Even harder is exposing what happens inside the San Francisco Superior Courts themselves. For years, the courts have shielded ideological judges by refusing to submit required criminal disposition data to the California Judicial Council, as mandated by state law. They spent five years claiming their case management system was “too new” to produce disposition numbers, yet somehow found ample time and resources to build their own public judicial dashboard filled with conveniently skewed metrics. What we do know is that the vast majority of crimes in San Francisco are diverted, reduced, or delayed for years, with few, if any, receiving timely trials. On an annual basis, Alameda County averages 11 trials per judge, while San Francisco manages just one.
Enough. Asian elders should not have to fear the sidewalk. Asian children should not have to fear the bus. And victims and their families should not have to beg a system that claims to serve them while treating their lives as expendable. It’s time to stop letting well-funded ideology override the voices of actual victims: more safety, more timely trials, and more proportionate justice.
Anything less continues to tell our community that some lives and some truths are simply cheaper than others.
