Grieving Vincent Chin, 39 Years Later
By: Paula Yoo
Tags: Stopasianhate, Justice, Racism, Vincent Chin, Asian American

Grieving Vincent Chin, 39 Years Later

‘There are no words that can describe the abuse and erasure we have faced.’ Paula Yoo May 11·9 min read

On June 19, 2018, I stood at Vincent Chin’s grave. I read the words engraved on the headstone: “Forever in our hearts. Beloved Son. Vincent J. Chin. May 18, 1955–June 23, 1982.” It was an overcast day in Detroit, the dark clouds matching the solemn gray granite slab.

This day marked the 36th anniversary of when Ronald Ebens beat Chin to death with a baseball bat. I was in Detroit conducting research for a nonfiction book on his life that I had just sold to Norton Young Readers, the children’s book imprint of W.W. Norton & Co. I had hired a freelance photographer to accompany me on my trip to understand, and honor, the final days of his life.

Our first stop was Chin’s grave, so we could pay our respects.

During our moment of silence, the photographer’s phone rang. He immediately recognized the caller’s number. “It’s my mom,” he said.

The photographer working with me was Jarod Lew. His mom? Vikki Wong. Chin’s fiancé.

Author and screenwriter Paula Yoo honors the memory of Vincent Chin while on a reporting trip. Photo courtesy of Jarod Lew.

Earlier that year, another photographer had introduced me to Lew. His name was Corky Lee. He was known as the “unofficial Asian American photographer laureate,” whose photojournalism had captured some of the most iconic moments in the past 50 years of Asian American history: protests against the Vietnam War, calls for justice for Chin in the 1980s, and scenes of joy — a colorful celebration in 2014 of the direct descendants of Chinese immigrant railroad laborers reclaiming history at the Promontory Summit.

Lee praised Lew as a talented young photographer, adding that he was “related” to Chin.

When I called Lew, I learned exactly how he was related. “My mom was engaged to Vincent Chin,” he told me.

But Lew himself wasn’t even aware of his mother’s connection to Chin until 2012, the 30th anniversary of his wrongful death. On that day, his cousin had warned him not to mention “that guy” to his mother.

“What guy?” Lew said.

“You don’t know about Vincent Chin?” his cousin asked, shocked.

At the time, Lew was 25 years old. He googled “Vincent Chin,” and the first thing he saw was a local newspaper article from 1982 featuring the headline, “Slaying Ends Couple’s Dream,” with a photograph of Chin with his fiancé, Vikki Wong, who he immediately recognized as a younger version of his mother.

As I bowed my head in prayer at Chin’s modest grave marker — a flat tablet almost hidden by the overgrown grass — I could hear Lew talking to his mom on the phone. She was just checking in, wanting to know how his day was going and if he wanted to stop by the house to pick up any dinner leftovers to stock up in his refrigerator.

On that day, Wong had no idea Lew was with me at Chin’s grave. Lew, not wanting to trigger his mom, had simply told her he was spending the day doing a “freelance photography assignment.” It was difficult for Lew to talk to her about Chin. In fact, it took him four years to work up the courage to ask about her connection to Chin’s watershed moment in Asian American history. After all, she had been engaged to the man who was at the heart of the first federal civil rights trial for an Asian American, The United States v. Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz.