Minutes, hours, days, months.
At times, it seems as if the cycle of grieving would never end for Fonda Quan, who lost someone she considered her second mother in the Monterey Park mass shooting a year ago. Yet sometimes a fleeting moment arises that hints at the possibility of healing.
“It’s definitely painful,” Quan said. “I would say this last year is just on and off, just grieving. And there are moments where it’s like, oh, you feel like you’re done grieving. There are just little moments that hit you, and it kind of all comes back again.”
A year has passed since Jan. 21, 2023, when 72-year-old Huu Can Tran walked into a dance studio in Monterey Park and fatally shot 11 people amid the city’s festive Lunar New Year celebrations.
The city’s perennial draw – an annual showcase of its culture, its food, its traditions – started with a day full of smiles, like it always does. It ended in bloodshed at a beloved dance floor on Garvey Avenue. By then, the 33rd mass shooting in the United States in 2023 was also the nation’s deadliest since the Uvalde, Texas, shooting the year before, which left 19 children and two adults dead.
There would be hundreds more in 2023, and even deadlier. They all echoed loudly in Monterey Park, where its own tragedy shocked a tight-knit community and plunged it into grief. It reignited the long-standing national debate on gun control and prompted conversations among local leaders about enhancing seniors’ accessibility to mental health resources.
The path toward healing hasn’t been easy for the city. And that’s not unlike other communities, where students who witnessed the massacre at Robb Elementary in Uvalde faced anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic disorders. The ripple effect of PTSD hits not only those directly impacted but also the public at large.
Amidst these broader discussions, some families of the shooting victims and survivors continued to grapple with the aftermath of the tragedy.
“Over time this past year, my family and I, we just became experts in grieving,” said Quan, niece of victim My My Nhan, who was a regular at the Star Ballroom for more than a decade and was described by her family’s as their ‘biggest cheerleader’. “We go in and out of the cycle much faster each time, and I think that’s kind of what we try to pride ourselves in, having progress, moving forward. And we know that we can’t just keep doing that to ourselves.”
Rather than fixating on their personal loss, her family has channeled their time and energy into giving back to the community, something Nhan cared deeply about, said Quan, who grew up in the San Gabriel Valley but now resides in Texas.
“I think it’s more important to tell the story of who she was, than to kind of have her quietly slip away,” she said.
This includes setting up a fund in Nhan’s name, which supports programs that empower AAPI seniors and youth to defend themselves against violence, Quan said.
“She was only 65 years old,” she said. “So we’re like, okay, even if we set a fund and help the community for the next 20 years, we’re just kind of doing things for her, as if she was still here.”
In a different story of resilience, Hattie Pong considers herself lucky.
Her dance partner, Jim Goodman, a former lieutenant with the San Gabriel Police Department, suffered significant injuries while protecting her during the shooting. Despite the hurdles, Goodman survived.
Pong herself was “traumatized for around 45 days,” a period during which she continually revisited the events of that night in her mind and refrained from dancing, she said.
Yet, over time, she found herself yearning for the opportunity to exercise again and has since returned to the dance floor. Her life has mostly returned to normal, Pong said.
But many others have remained in the shadow of the lingering pain.
“I don’t want to keep thinking about it,” said Amy Qi, whose dance partner, Valentino Alvero, shielded her but was fatally shot. His body collapsed onto hers as he fell down.
Qi experienced such trauma from the incident that she endured health issues for months, from lack of sleep to an extended menstrual cycle. She even refrained from venturing outside of her home, which resulted in her quitting her job as an aesthetician.
In an effort to prevent the haunting replay of that night in her mind, Qi enrolled in cosmetology classes to immerse herself in learning throughout the day. Having recently completed her studies, Qi has resumed her career as a cosmetologist.
But to this day, Qi steers clear of the shooting site and minimizes encounters with folks who remind her of the incident, a choice that, in her perception, helped her forget about the tragedy, even just for a while.
Unlike Qi, some survivors have found solace in continual mutual support – and dancing.
Lloyd Gock found himself merely 10 feet away from Tran as the gunman walked into the ballroom. In a move crucial to his survival, Gock’s dance partner, Wendy, swiftly covered his head with a coat, while calming him and advising him not to move.
Since the incident, Gock has organized a peer support group on WeChat of around 30 to 40 people who meet up every month to chat and attend counseling sessions together at places like the MPK Hope Resiliency Center. The centeropened in the aftermath of the shooting to provide trauma counseling to community members in Mandarin, Cantonese and Vietnamese, among other services.
Despite the diminished initial shock, a year later Gock still grapples with the lingering aftermath of the shooting. He experienced moments of fear in the dark and adjusted his dance routine from going out four or five times per week, to just two times weekly.
There have also been personal hurdles extending beyond the PTSD, Gock said, noting that he was excluded from a friend’s birthday party because he was considered “unlucky” as someone who experienced the shooting.
However, progress is evident. Gock’s group has recently transitioned from meeting once every month to once every few months to allow members to gradually move on with their lives, he said.
“I hope that with the passage of time, things could return to normal,” Gock said, adding, “throughout this period, I have made numerous friends, and this group has become like family to me.”
Despite the tragedy, a positive outcome of the shooting was the community coming together, said Monterey Park City Councilmember Vinh T. Ngo.
A number of nonprofits and religious organizations have been heavily involved in helping the victims and residents improve their mental and behavioral wellbeing, he said.
Among them is the Chinatown Service Center (CSC)’s MPK Hope Resiliency Center, which was specifically built for community members after the shooting, said Ngo, who also serves as CSC’s board president.
The Resiliency Center, supported by several local organizations, emerged as a vital hub in the aftermath of the shooting.
At the same time, Asian-American organizations, such as Seniors Fight Back, Asian Pacific Counseling and Treatment Centers (APCTC) and the Resiliency Center, have continued to organize self-defense classes for seniors to protect themselves in face of violence.
A similar project is coming in April, organized through a partnership between the My My Nhan fund, the APCTC and Brandon Tsay, the hero who disarmed Tran and thwarted his second massacre attempt at Alhambra’s Lai Lai Ballroom & Studio, Quan said.
According to Ngo, the CSC’s check-in services at Monterey Park’s Bruggemeyer Library alone saw an increase of 700 visits from February to December of last year.
“Asians, the Chinese in particular, don’t really ask for help unless they really need it,” Ngo said. “Well, we want to make sure that people understand that it’s okay to ask for help. Your mental well-being is part of that. And it’s OK to accept help because that’s the culture we live in today.”
Quan said that growing up, her aunt was always the one pushing her to try out new things. Now, as she cherishes Nhan’s memory, Quan aims to carry that spirit on by using her platform to speak up and promote positive changes in the community.
“What my aunt encouraged me to do throughout my whole life is using my voice, and trying things out,” Quan said. “So, this is the time that I have to try.”
Source: Orange County Register
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