The Death of My Son, Yong Yang — A Father’s Testimony
A Letter to Fellow Seoul National University Alumni
On May 2, 2024, my son Yong Yang lost his life to gunfire from the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD). At the time, Yong was suffering from severe anxiety, but he was by no means violent. My wife and I had sought help from the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health (DMH) to transfer him to a hospital, leaving him alone inside the house while we waited for the DMH team outside.
That day, however, what our family encountered in America’s police and public health systems was not a structure designed to protect the lives of its citizens, but one that justified irresponsibility and violence.
DMH’s Inaction
For one hour and three minutes after arriving at the scene, DMH staff did not exchange a single meaningful word with my son, who was conscious but vulnerable. There was no medical intervention. Instead, they aggravated his anxiety by suddenly raising their voices and attempting to enter the space. When my son shouted, “Get out!” and resisted verbally, they deemed him “violent” and called LAPD via 911, setting off the chain of events that followed.
LAPD’s Excessive Force and Tactical Operation
After receiving the call, LAPD deployed to the scene and aimed their weapons at my son for a total of 47 minutes. They did not attempt any form of persuasion or de-escalation, and under the direction of Sergeant Araceli Ruvalcaba—who took command without any conditions for safety being met—they ordered an immediate forced entry.
Officer Andres Lopez, who fired the fatal shots, had previously been involved in another unjustified shooting of a mentally ill person in 2021. He had faced no discipline then, and in this case again he volunteered to lead the operation. The officers advanced in a manner resembling a military assault, armed with non-lethal weapons in the front and lethal weapons behind them, and within 1.19 seconds of entry, fired three bullets into my son’s chest, lung, spine, stomach, and major organs, killing him instantly.
Instead of trained emergency medical services, only regular paramedics arrived—eight minutes and thirty seconds after the shooting. Life-saving measures were delayed, and the operation’s tactical procedure took priority over my son’s survival.
Systemic Failure — The Gap Between Law and Reality
The U.S. Constitution’s Fourth Amendment guarantees that all citizens, including those with mental illness, be protected from unreasonable searches and seizures. In reality, however, when people in crisis are killed by police gunfire, prosecutions are almost nonexistent. Police shootings are rationalized, and officers are rarely charged.
In OECD countries, LAPD ranks first in civilian killings per capita. Yet the department, rather than prioritizing the preservation of life, clings to structures that protect itself.
Fighting Through Silence, and a Family’s Fatigue
After Yong’s death, major U.S. and Korean media outlets covered the case at least once. But as time passed, public attention faded. To prevent Yong’s story from disappearing into silence, our family—together with fellow alumni, the Korean community, and young activists—continued to speak out at public rallies, press events, and meetings with local officials. Even LA City Councilmember Hugo Soto-Martinez listened to our story and helped organize rallies.
But since last September, our family has been mired in deep depression and unbearable fatigue.
Indifference, Prejudice, and Double Suffering
Throughout this fight, we have also endured other wounds. U.S. and Korean government institutions, and many Korean organizations, failed to play a central role in this matter. Some even said, “Things like this happen all the time,” “If you’d cooperated, the police wouldn’t have done it,” or “He deserved to die.”
For a grieving family, such coldness and prejudice were acts of violence in themselves. This structural reality—with its lack of empathy, disappearance of questions, and replacement of accountability with silence—has made us suffer not once, but multiple times.
One Year Approaches — and the Truth Remains Hidden
As I write this on April 19, 2025—two weeks before the first anniversary of Yong’s death—the truth is still obscured, and responsibility is avoided. In February, an LA County Superior Court judge ordered LAPD to release all bodycam footage. Yet the department selectively disclosed only six heavily edited videos, filled with scenes that neither clarified the truth nor aided understanding.
On April 8, 2025, the LA Police Commission shocked us again. It praised Sergeant Ruvalcaba’s conduct, stating she had been “thoughtful, immensely patient, flexible, and awaited all necessary resources prior to opening the apartment door.”
For Officer Lopez, the Commission concluded:
“Based on the totality of the circumstances, the UOFRB determined, and I concur, that an officer with similar training and experience would reasonably believe the situation had escalated to where deadly force may be justified… Therefore, I find Officer Lopez’ use of lethal force to be in policy. No further action.”
This is the reality my family faces: no one held accountable, perpetrators instead praised, and a system that protects itself.
Justice Has Been Denied — But We Will Not Give Up
Fellow alumni,
My son posed no threat. Yet in 1.19 seconds, he was shot three times, his major organs destroyed. The police call this “reasonable” and “justified.” The court ordered full video disclosure, but the truth is being concealed.
We will not give up. We will expose the flaws of the system, record the truth, and fight for justice. Your attention and solidarity can strengthen this cause.
Justice has not yet been achieved, but our unity and actions can be the first step toward it. I extend my deepest gratitude and heartfelt plea to all who read this to the end.
— April 2025, Los Angeles
Min Yang, Father of Yong Yang (Seoul National University, Class of ’77, B.S. in Chemical Engineering, Class of ’81)
Please visit: justiceforyongyang.com
