Watch Niu Yi’s story here:
“I thought it was firecrackers...”
As the sound of gunfire echoed through the Star Ballroom Dance Studio in downtown Monterey Park, California on the eve of Lunar New Year, Niu Yi, a Chinese diaspora living alone in Rosemead, was initially convinced that it was simply the celebratory crackle of firecrackers.
As he watched dancers around him drop to the floor, the horrific reality of the situation began to set in.
“It does sound just like fireworks; they even smell the same way,” he said in Mandarin Chinese, repeating the phrase when asked to recount what he sarcastically called “a night of adventure.”
Niu couldn’t shake the feeling of nostalgia that the sound of gunfire initially evoked, memories of how his hometown in rural China celebrated the New Year with fireworks, which ward off evil spirits and usher in good luck for the coming year.
In the days that followed, Niu struggled to make sense of the tragedy in the Monterey Park dance studio, where 72-year-old gunman Huu Can Tran, armed with a modified semi-automatic pistol, had fired 42 rounds, leaving 11 dead.
For Niu and many elderly immigrants who speak limited English, the Star Ballroom Dance Studio serves as a sanctuary, a “home away from home.” It’s a place where Niu spends time with friends, listens to music, and keeps himself active.
During Lunar New Year, a festival where family gatherings are important, the dance studio takes on an even greater role, offering a welcoming space for those who may find themselves alone during the holiday.
“Where else can I go? The dance studio is my only place to go,” Niu told Annenberg Media.
“I do have friends, but here in the United States, people are so caught up in their own lives, no one will talk with you, no one cares,” Niu said. Despite having friends, Niu feels isolated from the mainstream.
A promotional post on a WeChat group caught Niu’s attention. “Chinese New Year Countdown Dance Party on Jan. 21″.
On that chilly Saturday night, the 67-year-old dressed in red, a symbol of good luck, and made his way to the Star Ballroom from the neighboring city of Rosemead.
That night, the studio was decorated for the occasion. The photo backdrop was surrounded by red balloon arches. Niu came up to the mirror and asked a dance instructor to teach him a few new moves for line dance, while waiting for the final countdown to the new Lunar Year.
But ringing in the new year never happened.
“I was the closest” – Narrow escape from gunfire in the land of the free
Around 10:20 p.m, dozens of people were line dancing to the Chinese song “Light Rain in March.” The revelers were so enthralled by the dancing, they didn’t see Tran walk in.
“When it happened, the gun was right next to me, only about two meters away,” Niu demonstrated the scenario to Annenberg Media.
Niu was standing in the front row of the line dance, when Tran entered the studio and began spraying bullets into the crowd.
“I was in the first row, and I was wearing a red outfit. It was very obvious.” Despite being in clear view, Niu managed to escape unscathed.
He hid in a tiny 1.5 by 3 foot storage room for a “prolonged period.” Niu was halfway in when several others tried to squeeze in, crawling in and piling on top of Niu. They didn’t dare move.
Niu got up when he heard the police arrive, but what he saw was shocking. “Each time I stepped forward, I would find a person on the ground,” Niu said.
He saw a man who had been shot in the stomach. As he took a few more steps, Niu saw more injured people on the ground, many of whom were his friends.
“There were bodies and blood everywhere around me. It was bloody, too graphic to look at.”
Tran did move on that same night to another dance studio in neighboring Alhambra to carry out another shooting, but that attempt was thwarted by Brandon Tsay, whose family owns the Lai Lai Ballroom and Studio. Tsay disarmed Tran, who was found dead the next day from a self-inflicted gunshot wound in Torrance.
“Shadow in my heart” – The immediate aftermath of gun violence
Days after, Niu couldn’t shake the unease and fear that had gripped him that night. He couldn’t sleep or eat, and the thought of returning to the dance studio filled him with dread. “Everyone around me fell, but I was still alive. I was the closest to the gunman at that time”, said Niu quietly.
For Niu, the cruelty and fear he experienced may be unimaginable to his friends and family in China where guns are illegal for private citizens, but gun violence is far too common in the U.S.
For the third straight year, the U.S. in 2022 recorded over 600 mass shootings in which at least four people were killed or injured, according to the Gun Violence Archive.
The U.S. is a nation of gun violence survivors. More people die from gun violence in the U.S. by early February than during an entire calendar year in other high-income countries, according to a recent research.
The number continues to rise, as the recent tragedy in Monterey Park stands as one of the deadliest mass shootings in California’s history.
The impact of gun violence extends far beyond just those who are injured or killed. Take a glimpse of the lives of the families, communities, and individuals who bear the lasting scars of gun violence.
The attack shattered the dance community of Monterey Park, a storied hub of Southern California’s Chinese community.
Niu does not think he will go back to the ballroom on Garvey Avenue. “Never ever would I return for dancing, it’s too scary for me”
Niu did not get shot, but the experience still wounds him. The shooting, in his words, forever changed the course of Chinese Lunar New Year for the years to come.
“I have a shadow in my heart,” he said, but he’s leaning on his Buddhist faith.
“I won’t eat meat, I won’t drink,” Niu declares. “I will practice universal compassion and bring love to everyone around me.” A simple, but powerful concept that this survivor hopes to catch on.