Anti-Asian Violence Is Not Random: Why Increased Policing Will Fail Us

With the Atlanta spa shootings earlier this year, and the pandemic exacerbating incendiary rhetoric about Asian Americans, violence has become a regular conversation topic in my circles. My Asian-American friends share stories about street harassment, while my mother, in her native Chinese, always urges me to “stay careful” and “pay attention to my surroundings” before we get off the phone. These conversations are buoyed by gratuitous images of violence, videos that have become ubiquitous on Instagram or WeChat, of often elderly Asian people getting assaulted in the street. Motivated by this national conversation, “Stop Asian Hate” has become a rallying cry for a community that has undoubtedly experienced much loss over the past years.

When Shaoxiong “Dennis” Zheng, a recent University of Chicago alumnus from China, was shot and killed on Nov. 9, I couldn’t help but think of these conversations about violence. Perhaps in this background of heightened vigilance, I quickly noted the similarities between him and me: he was also 24, he was killed only blocks away from where I live and attend class, he was born in the same province that my dad called home. But my discomfort was not limited to my sense of safety, instead extending to the ways I knew this tragedy would be used to justify greater policing in my neighborhood. Predictably, the University of Chicago has since announced a joint effort with the Chicago Police Department to increase police presence and install more surveillance throughout Hyde Park. Also predictably, one of the major groups calling for this change was a coalition of more than 300 faculty members, many of whom are Asian. These demands echo those of many Asian communities around the country in the wake of heightened anti-Asian attacks.

Tragically, Zheng is not the first Asian University of Chicago student to die from gun violence this year: Yiran Fan, a PhD candidate, was killed in a shooting spree in January. Despite the different circumstances surrounding their deaths, Fan’s killer was supposedly undergoing a mental health episode, while Zheng was killed during a robbery, both shootings were framed as indiscriminate and without reason. At Zheng’s memorial service, University of Chicago President Paul Alivisatos described the death as “tragic and senseless”, while the Chicago Tribune reported that Fan and the other victims were “random targets”. These framings have marked similarities to the discourse around hate crimes,  which centers violence in prejudice, painting it as something motivated by hate alone and thus devoid of logic. In both conceptualizations, both violence as “random” and violence as a product of rabid hatred, the focus is on the individual and the incomprehensibility of their actions. In emphasizing the lack of logic behind violence, these framings paint “crime” as unavoidable and distract us from engaging with the true root causes of violence: structural racism and economic inequality.

The University of Chicago has a long history of perpetuating harm against the surrounding South Side community. The university supported racist restrictive covenants in the 1930s and 1940s, repeatedly sought to displace long-time residents of surrounding neighborhoods, and only recently reinstated the Level 1 trauma center after years of protest from community members. Meanwhile, the coronavirus pandemic has had lasting economic impacts in the United States, with many states, including Illinois, still recovering from the rapid job loss experienced at the pandemic’s start. These factors have created gross inequities between Hyde Park and surrounding neighborhoods. In Hyde Park, 18.4% of households are below the poverty line, while in Woodlawn and Washington Park, the neighborhoods directly south and west, respectively, 30.7% and 42.1% of households are below the poverty line. These economic inequities have human impacts: the average life expectancy in Hyde Park is 75, while in Washington Park it is only 58. It is against this background of material need that violence occurs. Zheng was shot over a cell phone, one that his killer, who was only 18 years old, ultimately sold for only $100. Far from senseless and random, Zheng’s death is a product of decades of disinvestment perpetuated by the City of Chicago and the University of Chicago, exacerbated by the economic burdens of the pandemic.

This is not to say that racism does not play a role in violence against Asian Americans, whether such violence is overtly racially motivated or not. It doesn’t escape me that of the three students who have died from gun violence this year, two were Chinese international students. Stereotypes about Asians undoubtedly interact with material need to produce violence. Throughout our history in this country, Asian Americans have been made into scapegoats as the economic power of working class whites has declined. Asians are also viewed as perpetual foreigners, unable to truly assimilate, and as compliant and docile, making it harder for Asians to advance to leadership positions in the workplace. Put together, these stereotypes suggest that Asian Americans are an apt target for violence: they suggest that Asians are taking jobs from “rightful Americans”, that we have lower English proficiency or tend to carry cash, that we are less likely to resist or report an assault. Unlike what the “Stop Asian Hate” tagline suggests, these stereotypes are not random: they arise not out of hate but out of power. Fundamentally, racism is very much rooted in logic; it aims to maintain a status quo of racial inequity, one in which white people are the beneficiaries.

Once we recognize that anti-Asian racism, and the violence it helps breed, is a tool of white supremacy, the “solution” of increased policing becomes ridiculous. In the racial reckoning following George Floyd’s death, the country has come to realize how policing, itself, is rooted in white supremacy. Within the University of Chicago’s own history, campus police have been used to control and displace Black communities around the university, with former Chancellor Lawrence A. Kimpton justifying these actions by stating “We simply cannot operate in slums.” And beyond history, it is clear that police brutality disproportionately affects Black communities, with police leadership repeatedly failing to address racist practices. Increasing policing will not only further strain the University of Chicago’s relationship with the South Side, but will also put Black and brown community members, including University of Chicago students, at greater risk. Meanwhile, policing may not actually reduce gun violence: police spending has been shown to have a near zero correlation with levels of violent crime. Hyde Park is already one of the most policed neighborhoods in the city; if policing was actually a solution, these deaths would not have occurred in the first place.

Structural issues like violence, both against Asians and at large, require structural solutions. It is inaccurate to frame acts of violence as indiscriminate when both the conditions that produce violence and the stereotypes that make Asians targets of violence are rooted in racial inequity. Addressing these inequities at their root will be what allows us to truly protect our communities. Under public pressure, University of Chicago leadership recently announced their intention to expand investment in violence reduction research and community initiatives. Though implementation of this stated goal remains vague, nearly all of the University’s short-term investments have centered around increasing policing. The University of Chicago did announce the formation of a Council on University of Chicago Community Relations on Dec. 17. In light of these ongoing efforts, it is crucial to emphasize the importance of expanding health care access and providing economic support. Investing in the South Side will reduce violence in the long term, creating a safer and more equitable community for us all.