Massacre in the Woods

By Michelle Orecklin

Every November, Wisconsin ceases to be a red state or a blue state and instead becomes a blaze orange one. That is the color donned by hunters, 650,000 of whom bought licenses to participate in the state's rifle-deer-hunting season, which begins the Saturday before Thanksgiving. As much as that holiday and Christmas, the nine-day season is a time when families and friends gather. In the woods, men, women and children all join in, and a child's first excursion is often viewed as a rite nearly as solemn as First Communion. But this year the joy was interrupted almost as soon as it began. On Sunday, Nov. 21, a man in the North Woods opened fire on a group of fellow hunters, all clad in the orange garb that is supposed to prevent accidental shootings, leaving six dead and two wounded.

The accused shooter is Chai Soua Vang, a Hmong refugee from Laos who lives in nearby St. Paul, Minn. Vang, 36, is in custody in Hayward, Wis., and was expected to be charged formally this week by the state's attorney general. In a statement to police the day after the shootings, Vang admitted to killing the hunters after being confronted when he trespassed on property owned by two of them. In fact, much of his statement matches the one given by Lauren Hesebeck, 48, a wounded hunter who survived and the first victim to talk about the incident. Both men agree that Vang was asked to leave the area. They also agree that during the shooting spree, Vang chased down and shot two of the hunters as they fled. There is, however, one crucial discrepancy: Hesebeck says Vang opened fire without provocation; Vang says he began shooting only after the group peppered him with ethnic slurs and took a shot at him. Now whites and Hmong in the area, who have lived side by side for years, are wondering whether, by invoking race, Vang exposed ethnic tensions simmering in the community or created new ones.

Hmong started moving to the U.S. in large numbers 30 years ago. During the Vietnam War, the CIA enlisted them to help fight communists in Laos. But when that country fell in 1975, the U.S., out of gratitude, allowed Hmong to immigrate to America, and they settled primarily in the upper Midwest at the invitation of religious groups offering to sponsor them. Today 46,000 Hmong live in Wisconsin and 60,000 in Minnesota. St. Paul, home to 24,000 Hmong, has the highest concentration in the U.S. Over the years, they have established themselves as hardworking, middle-class business owners, their stores helping gentrify the once dilapidated University Avenue in St. Paul. They have gained seats on school boards and the city council, and in 2001 a Hmong woman was elected to the Minnesota state senate.

Vang came to the U.S. in 1980, settling first in Stockton, Calif., and serving six years in the California Army National Guard, where he qualified as a sharpshooter. After moving three years ago to St. Paul, where he lives with his wife and six children, he worked as a truck driver. Among the local habits he enthusiastically adopted was deer hunting, applying for and receiving a hunting license for the past four years. Hunting was a fundamental part of Hmong life in Laos, where it was done quite differently: there were no prescribed hunting seasons and rarely any delineations between public and private land. One of the few areas of friction between the ethnic groups has been caused by hunting restrictions. Some Hmong say white hunters have threatened them, and white hunters have complained that Hmong do not respect private property. In the North Woods, private and public lands abut each other, and the only way to know the difference is to consult maps issued by the state or look for NO TRESPASSING signs. Landowners routinely find unauthorized hunters on their property. Etiquette calls for asking the interloper to leave or phoning the sheriff or game warden. Physical confrontations are extremely rare.

In 2002 Vang was ticketed for trespassing while hunting in Green Lake County, Wis.--an incident that ended peacefully when Vang left the property after being asked to do so. When a similar situation unfolded on Nov. 21, however, hunters became the hunted. Vang was looking for deer in Sawyer County, a rugged, boggy and thickly wooded area. He was carrying an SKS semiautomatic rifle, a legal deer-hunting weapon but an uncommon one because it isn't particularly powerful. Vang says he was lost when he stumbled upon and climbed onto a deer stand, a structure about 10 ft. high that gives hunters a better view of their quarry. Vang says he was approached by Terry Willers, a co-owner of the property, who asked him to leave and then radioed friends in a cabin nearby. Vang says that as he was leaving the area, the others arrived, surrounded him and taunted him with racial insults. When he finally was able to walk about 100 ft. away, he says, Willers, the only one of the group Vang saw with a rifle, fired a shot, which hit the dirt 10 ft. behind him. That, Vang says, is when he opened fire.

Hesebeck says the group never threatened Vang. Even so, one of the men wrote the number of the hunting license displayed on the back of Vang's vest into dirt coating an all-terrain vehicle (ATV). According to Hesebeck, Vang walked about 40 yds. away from the group and then turned around and started shooting. At that point, says Hesebeck, Willers fired back but missed Vang. Both men agree that chaos ensued. Spraying bullets at the party, Vang shot Willers, 47, in the neck, wounding but not killing him, and then shot and killed Mark Roidt, 28, and Hesebeck's brother-in-law Dennis Drew, 55. Hesebeck hid behind the ATV, but Vang went after him and shot him in the shoulder. Robert Crotteau, 42, and his son Joey, 20, ran from the scene but were chased by Vang, who shot them both, hitting Joey in the back. While Vang was pursuing the Crotteaus, the injured Hesebeck radioed the cabin for more help. As two new people arrived, Vang reloaded and shot them, killing Willers' daughter Jessica, 27, and Allan Laski, 43. Police found Vang a few hours later in a cabin and identified him by the license number that had been written on the ATV.

Even if someone took a shot at Vang, his reaction was wildly out of proportion, and Hmong in Minnesota and Wisconsin are concerned that the racial animosity stirred up will undo years of hard work. At a press conference in St. Paul last week, community leaders tried to distance themselves from Vang and announced that they were starting a fund for the victims' families. Fearing a backlash, Joe Bee Xiong, director of the Eau Claire Area Hmong Mutual Assistance Association, has suggested that Hmong hunters stay home for the rest of the season.

It is possible, however, that tensions had already been on the rise. In June 15,000 Hmong, recently cleared by the State Department to enter the U.S. from a refugee camp in Thailand, began arriving in the U.S. Of those, 5,000 are expected to move to Minnesota and 3,500 to Wisconsin, where they will be eligible for welfare at a time when the job market and state budgets are tight. For the families of the victims, the economy is the least of their woes. The entire close-knit community is reeling from the loss, and hundreds are turning out for the funerals of their neighbors and fellow hunters. Many of the mourners are wearing blaze orange ribbons. --With reporting by Phil Bourjaily/Iowa City and Marc Hequet/Rice Lake

With reporting by Phil Bourjaily/Iowa City; Marc Hequet/Rice Lake