Scars left from Wisconsin shootings a worry

By Stephen Kinzer and Monica Davey
The New York Times

ANN HEISENFELT / AP Pallbearers carry the casket of Joey Crotteau, 20, out of St. Joseph Catholic Church in Rice Lake, Wis., yesterday after the funeral for Joey and his father, Robert Crotteau, 42, were two of the six hunters fatally shot in a confrontation last Sunday.

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DOBIE, Wis. — The two gatherings, less than 200 miles apart, seemed to be separated by whole worlds.

In this isolated village, mourners trudged through falling snow Friday to Our Lady of Lourdes Church to remember one of six hunters killed a week ago.

To the southwest, in Minnesota, thousands of Hmong immigrants streamed into a downtown St. Paul auditorium for three days of New Year's festivities with papaya salad, traditional courtship rites and young women in dresses covered in gently clinking coins that echoed through the halls.

The only link between the somber Wisconsin gathering and the mostly festive Minnesota gathering, one of the most important annual meetings for Hmong people, was a shared concern: the depth of the scars left behind by the shootings last Sunday that left six white hunters from the North Woods dead and a Hmong immigrant from St. Paul in jail.

Hmong are from large farming families from the hills of Laos, where the CIA recruited many to be part of an anti-communist secret army during the Vietnam War. Thousands have relocated to the United States, primarily in two areas: the Midwestern states of Minnesota and Wisconsin and on the West Coast, in California and Washington. An estimated 20 to 50 Hmong families are believed to have moved to the Puget Sound area last summer.

	Chai Vang is a suspect in the killing of six hunters.

St. Paul has drawn at least 25,000 Hmong immigrants since the war, transforming it into the Hmong capital of America. Even there, it has not always been an easy fit, with so many Hmong refugees arriving so rapidly, often with no English and little education or urban job skills.

The northernmost edges of Wisconsin are made up mostly of people of European descent. Many come from Scandinavian, German, Czech and French Canadian backgrounds.

Both the native Wisconsin whites and the Asians from St. Paul share a love of hunting. They have often met and sometimes clashed during the traditional November deer season, mostly quietly until last Sunday. Some in Dobie said they fear those tensions will grow.

Mourners dazed

In Wisconsin, mourners said they were still dazed by how a day of deer hunting turned into a killing spree after local hunters confronted Chai Soua Vang, 36, of St. Paul, who, police say, was using their tree stand to hunt on their property. Police say Vang, a naturalized citizen and former Army National Guardsman who immigrated 24 years ago, opened fire after he was told to leave.

Mike Katterhagen, a mourner at Friday's funeral service for Mark Roidt, 28, said he and many felt anger about what happened, but he said, "I don't know if you can place it at who."

Asked if local residents have a negative attitude toward Asians or people of other races, Katterhagen replied, "Personally, I don't." Then he added, "Some people, I think, may have it."

In St. Paul, many at the Hmong New Year events said they feared retribution. Some said they would not hunt for a while. Many said they were embarrassed by the acts another Hmong American was accused of, but the case also made them recall experiences with ethnic misunderstanding.

Some said they wondered whether there was more to the case — and thought they might have gained some understanding when they learned Vang had told the police that the local hunters used ethnic slurs and fired at him first. A police statement by a hunter wounded in the incident makes no mention of ethnic slurs.

"I mostly ignore what people call me, but it does hurt," said Va Pao Xiong, a Wisconsin college student who was celebrating the New Year in St. Paul on Friday.

Painful memories

Like many others, Xiong, 24, has distinct and painful memories of his family's flight from Laos. After communists won power there, the Hmong people, who had rescued downed U.S. pilots and fought North Vietnamese soldiers, said they found themselves under attack and began fleeing, escaping across the Mekong River and ending up as refugees in Thailand and elsewhere.

In part as a show of gratitude for their sacrifice in Vietnam, the United States has allowed tens of thousands to emigrate.

"Young people now don't seem to know anything about all that," Xiong said.

This year, as many as 15,000 more Hmong refugees still waiting at a bleak camp in Thailand called Wat Tham Krabok were granted permission to come to the United States. Some have moved to St. Paul, a city of 300,000.

The new arrivals brought new questions to St. Paul's City Hall: How could the city, in tough budget times, afford to help more Hmong refugees, especially those who lacked medical, educational and psychological help for years at the camp in Thailand?

In September, a poll conducted by The Pioneer Press and Minnesota Public Radio found that Minnesotans, by 42 percent to 37 percent, believed that the cost of helping immigrants start new lives outweighed their economic, social and other contributions.

Then came last Sunday.

"It's difficult to be Hmong American right now," said Mee Moua, a Hmong in the Minnesota state Senate. "There's an expectation that the Hmong-American community ought to be answerable, or ought to be responsible for this one man's action."

Moua said that was absurd: "Don't hold our community to blame for something one individual has done."

In these parts, deer hunting has come to mean a time to bond with friends, to wander the woods and to pass along life's secrets to the next generation. At last count, a week ago, nearly 645,000 hunting licenses had been issued in Wisconsin for the nine-day regular gun season that ends today. Hunters reported bagging 140,000 deer in the first two days, said Laurel Steffes, a spokeswoman for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.

Hunting part of culture

In Laos, hunting always was a crucial part of the culture and important for survival, said Cha Vang, the son of Gen. Vang Pao, who worked closely with the CIA in the war and who remains a revered leader of Hmong people.

"It was different in Laos, though," said Vang, who is no relation to Chai Soua Vang. "You could hunt all year round, and there was all public lands."

Restrictions in this country have led to conflicts, with some whites complaining that Hmongs ignore or are unable to read fishing limits, clothing rules and permit requirements.

On the other side, Hmong hunters have complained about mistreatment and harassment by white hunters. Since last Sunday, Moua said she had received so many reports of such incidents that she was considering calling for public hearings on the issue.

Tou Ger Xiong, a Hmong comedian, rapper and motivational speaker from St. Paul, said his father, who speaks little English, once was approached by a white hunter who simply demanded his gun. He said another white hunter ordered his brother to leave a tree stand he had built on public land, and threatened to use a chain saw to tear it down.

But Steffes said she was unaware of tensions between Hmong and white hunters.

"We've had our ear to the ground since this happened," she said, "and we're not picking up on that at all."

The mourning continued yesterday, as a funeral for two more of the victims, Robert Crotteau, 42, and his 20-year-old son, Joey, was held in Rice Lake.

Too soon to analyze

Some arriving mourners said they were still too much in shock to analyze what had happened.

"It's just all so stunning," said one mourner who gave his name as Aaron. "There's hardly anything else you can feel, not at this point."

Another mourner, John Zoellick, said he had not heard any negative comments about Asians or Hmong since the killings.

"Any negative feeling is directed toward the one individual, since he did something that is just totally inexcusable," he said. "It's not aimed against any group."

In addition to the six people killed, two men were wounded. Both attended Roidt's service Friday. Lauren Hesebeck, who wore a blue sling to support his wounded left arm, has told police that Vang fired the first shots, according to a police document.

All of the victims lived in or near Rice Lake, a town of 8,300 where many people have known each other since school days, and most of the rest came to escape crowds and enjoy rural life.

Along Main Street this weekend, ribbons of bright orange, the color of hunters' jackets, hung above Christmas wreaths. With more funerals running through the weekend and into tomorrow, Rice Lake Mayor Larry Jarvela still seemed stunned.

"It's so senseless," he said. "Why did it have to happen?"

Seattle Times staff contributed to this report.

Copyright © 2004 The Seattle Times Company

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