Skip to main content

Culpability in Mr. Jordan Neely's Death

It had been a hellish two months. I am not quite ready to share that story, but I can say with some serenity that it is now behind me. On my way home from one of my solo dinners — a book in hand, celebrating the quiet return of civility to my life — the Lyft paused in traffic in front of 1313 W. 8th Street. The building houses the ACLU, one of the NGOs I once supported. The past tense there is a longer story for another time.

Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

Above the entrance is painted a list of demands: housing, healthcare, green space — all reasonable things a society should strive to provide. At the very bottom of the list, just above the ACLU sign, the words “More Police” have been crossed out.

The sight of it brought to mind the death of Mr. Jordan Neely and the man who restrained him on a New York City subway train, Mr. Daniel Penny.

You may not have heard of Mr. Jordan Neely. He died before reaching thirty-one years of age. At the time of his death, he was on New York City’s “Top 50 List” of homeless individuals considered most at risk. The list, maintained by a task force of city agencies and social-service nonprofits, identifies people whose troubles are severe and whose lives are marked by repeated resistance to assistance.

To put that in perspective, New York City has more than eight million residents.


In November 2021, Mr. Neely punched a sixty-seven-year-old woman, breaking several bones in her face. He was arrested, served time in jail, and in February was released to a residential treatment program. Two weeks later he walked out of the facility and never returned. An open arrest warrant remained.

You may also not have heard of Mr. Daniel Penny, the former Marine who placed Mr. Neely in a chokehold on a New York City subway train on May 1 after Mr. Neely allegedly began shouting and behaving erratically toward passengers. The chokehold ultimately killed Mr. Neely.

Following public outcry and protests demanding accountability, Mr. Penny was charged with second-degree manslaughter.

There is little dispute about the immediate cause of death: Mr. Penny’s restraint killed Mr. Neely.

I first learned of the case through a Wall Street Journal editorial titled “Charging Daniel Penny, the Subway Samaritan.” The editorial board argued that prosecuting Mr. Penny — even if he were ultimately acquitted — might discourage bystanders from intervening in dangerous situations. The concern is not frivolous.


As someone who rides the Metro trains in Los Angeles — our local equivalent to New York’s subway — the case does not feel as simple as one man killing another.

Los Angeles County has roughly seventy thousand homeless residents. Harassment, threats, and occasional violence on public transit are real experiences for riders. At the same time, it is heartbreaking to witness how many people are forced to live without dignity in conditions that are plainly inhumane.

Whether we like it or not, the presence of police on transit systems often helps maintain a basic level of civility and safety. That is simply the reality many riders experience.

Just as homeless individuals have rights, I also have the right to move through public space without fearing harm.

Perhaps Mr. Penny believed he was protecting himself and other passengers. Perhaps he heard Mr. Neely’s statements — that he was hungry, that he was not afraid of jail, even death — as threats rather than pleas. Perhaps he perceived danger where there was none. Perhaps he perceived danger because Mr. Neely was homeless. All of these possibilities exist.

The situation is complicated.

I doubt Mr. Penny knew about the assault in 2021. I doubt he knew Mr. Neely was on New York’s Top 50 list or that an arrest warrant existed. Without that knowledge, what led him to perceive such an immediate threat that he resorted to a chokehold — a restraint many police departments themselves prohibit?


The unanswered questions are unsettling.

But there are other questions that are equally unsettling.

What if someone on that train had simply handed Mr. Neely food and water? What if the passengers had collectively offered a few dollars rather than recoiled in fear? What if the city and its agencies had intervened earlier — with mental health care, housing, sustained support — before his life deteriorated to this point?

What if a police officer had been on the train so that Mr. Penny never felt compelled to intervene?

What if we, as neighbors and citizens, had invested more in caring for those who fall through the cracks of our systems?

What if we had chosen engagement instead of avoidance?

Are we, in some measure, all culpable for Mr. Neely’s death?

We live in a society where a man pleading for food and water can reasonably be perceived as a threat because that perception has been reinforced by reality.


I do not know whether Mr. Penny perceived Mr. Neely as dangerous because he was a Black homeless man. Our society is undeniably shaped by racism. That does not automatically make Mr. Penny a racist. If you have read my essay “Was I Wrong to Have Accused White Men?”, you know that human motives and perceptions are often more complicated than our first assumptions.

After nearly a decade riding Los Angeles Metro trains, I can understand how a rider might interpret a volatile situation as dangerous.

I am not on “Team Penny.”

But this may not simply be a story about a White man killing a Black homeless man.

It may also be a story about how a society slowly abandons people who need help until tragedy becomes almost inevitable.

Mr. Penny killed Mr. Neely with a chokehold.

But long before that moment, had we already been killing Mr. Neely — slowly — through neglect, avoidance, and indifference?

_____
Why Are We Not Fighting the Right Battles When It Comes to Women’s Rights?
When Positive Culture Becomes Toxic Dump
Are You Hustling?
I Hate That Word… Survivor
Harry, Meghan, and the Price of Privacy

ESSAYS | RECIPES | STYLES | IG

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Not the Mayak Eggs, But Ganjang Gyeran-Jang

Although this delicious soy sauce-based brine can certainly be used to make the once-viral Mayak Eggs, I prefer the eggs for this particular banchan fully cooked rather than jammy. Partly out of familiarity from childhood and partly for food safety, fully cooked eggs keep longer in the refrigerator. Typically, jammy-yolk eggs are good for two to three days, while fully cooked eggs are safe for four to five days. INGREDIENTS six eggs three celery sticks, cut in thirds [for the soy sauce-based brine] five Thai chilies, sliced four garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped two green onions, finely chopped a half cup of soy sauce one and a half tablespoons of sugar a tablespoon of sesame oil three-quarters of a teaspoon of honey For perfectly boiled eggs, place the eggs in a pot with plenty of room at the bottom. Do not stack the eggs. Add enough room-temperature water to submerge the eggs and a handful of salt to clog leakage in case shells crack. All ceramic bowls were wheel-thrown and g...

Gwyneth Paltrow is Aloof, So What Are You?

There are days when I feel utterly disconnected from the world. It took an IG feed from Diet Prada for me to learn that Gwyneth Paltrow had starred in an ad for 51 Park, a luxury residential development in Herzliya, Israel. Herzliya is an affluent coastal city north of Tel Aviv, and the project is being marketed as a luxury residential development there. To be clear, 51 Park is not in Gaza. It is in Israel. But precision does not make the geography innocent: parts of present-day Herzliya overlap with or sit near the land of al-Haram, also known as Sidna Ali, a Palestinian Arab village depopulated in 1948. Lisbon, Portugal There is misinformation about where the 51 Park residential development is located, and the distinction matters. If our beating of Gwyneth Paltrow is going to be effective, it should at least be accurate. I have never liked her. I have never hated her. Even before the 51 Park ad controversy broke, I felt she was irrelevant. Her acting skills are not impressive. Would ...

Will Love Give Us the Courage to Let Our Dad Go?

I believe the cruelest thing a human can experience is burying their child. While the only thing guaranteed in life, from the moment we take our first breath to our last, is death, for a parent to bury a child is not the natural progression of life. For more than six years, I have watched my Dad go through rounds of chemotherapy, years of dialysis, emergency room visits, and hospitalizations where doctors advised against further medical treatment—until my brother vehemently fought for it. If you ever need a medical advocate, you should hire him. Perhaps it is the lawyer in him that convinces doctors to shift their medical opinions. My Dad asked, and my brother passionately advocated for him for days so he could receive his first round of chemotherapy more than six years ago, which the doctor at first refused to administer since it was an unusual treatment for his autoimmune disease. He would have passed away within a matter of months without it. He did squats after his first chemothera...

I Am Not Alone. I Am a Party of One.

I get that a lot... “Aren’t you lonely?” Should I be lonely? I live alone. I travel alone. I eat alone, even at the finest restaurants. I go to bars alone, although it's rare. I go to the opera alone. I see plays alone. I go to concerts alone. Not always alone, but I am comfortable being alone... Go, seek, and do it alone. When something I want to do pops up, my instinct is to do it. I rarely have that moment when I am like... “I need to find someone to do it with.” When I invite others to join me, their presence isn't often required unless you know... it requires a minimum of two people. Rare, but it happens. Lunch for one at KinKan That word, alone, is misleading. Isn't it? Perhaps, it is how we've been taught to understand that “alone” means lonely and thus unhappy. Is it unhealthy that I prefer the company of none, often a book at a restaurant, rather than a human? It is healthier than being in a relationship because of the fear of being alone, often clawing to just...

The Grandeur of Mundaneness

Whenever I think of the word mundane, I think of Burning, the film starring Yoo Ah In. It was described once as being like watching paint dry. That comparison lingered. In many ways, the pandemic years felt the same—new coats layered endlessly over the wall, each variant stripping away the hope that the surface might finally harden. It feels almost obtuse to call the pandemic mundane. More than five million lives lost. Hundreds of millions infected. At moments, it threatened not just our survival, but our humanity—our ability to remain human, with hearts and intelligence intact. The first months were brutal. Our lives collapsed inward, reduced to rooms, screens, and routines that repeated without distinction. Before all of this, I had built a life around the belief that life itself is art, paired with a devotion to minimalism. I found serenity in ordinary things: cooking, reading, knitting, tending to plants, coloring, crafting. Even cleaning brought a quiet satisfaction, punctuated by...

The Tomato Sauce

Small pleasures are often overlooked. They are the quiet details that make daily life feel opulent. Not the breathless moments, but the ones that bring a soft smile and the comfort of familiarity. In food, those pleasures often come from the simplest recipes. One of my simple pleasures is this tomato sauce, which I learned about nearly two decades ago in Veneto, Italy. Although slightly modified from the original, this sauce marked the beginning of my love for Italian food and remains the foundation of the Spicy Italian Sausage Orecchiette I shared in 2022. While the Spicy Italian Sausage Orecchiette has layers of flavor from various ingredients and is more involved on the stove, this tomato sauce relies on one flavor, tomato, supported by garlic, basil, and salt. The salt? It brings out the acidity of the tomato. Shown above with French Miso Lamb , this tomato sauce with spaghetti is a versatile companion to meat dishes, from lamb to chicken. Delicious on its own, you can also add...

My Last Gift to Dad Was a Do-Not-Resuscitate Order

When Dr. Moon, a pain management specialist, told me about Dad’s wish, it was not the first time I had heard it. A few days earlier, Mom had told me that Dad wanted to be transferred from the hospital to hospice. I did not quite understand what hospice meant at the time. Between that conversation with Mom and the one with Dr. Moon, I had watched Dad take about twenty steps with the support of a walker and the assistance of a physical therapist. After seeing him come out of critical condition, I took those steps as a sign of recovery. So I was surprised when Dr. Moon told me that Dad had expressed his wish to end all medical treatments and go peacefully. I had been struggling with the continuation of his medical treatment. Three days after I wrote Will Love Give Us the Courage to Let Our Dad Go? , Dad passed away peacefully, as though he had simply fallen asleep, with a morphine drip erasing the pain that had once dominated him. He was eighty years old and had spent the last six years o...

Surf & Turf Fried Rice

Growing up, fried rice was a staple in our home. My mother served it with yellow radish pickles and kimchi, sometimes crowned with a fried egg. On certain days it appeared a little fancier—tucked neatly inside an omelet, or my personal favorite, stuffed into inari age, those seasoned fried tofu pouches that soak up every grain. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me Fried rice exists in many forms across Asia—China, Japan, Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam, to name only a few—each with its own techniques, flavors, and traditions. I cannot say that my version belongs squarely to any one of them. It began with the flavors and instincts of Korean-style fried rice, but over time it evolved, influenced by my Chinese-Hungarian-American ex-husband and the ingredients commonly found in American kitchens: leftover ham, jalapeƱo, and calabacita. This version leans into a playful idea of surf and turf—shrimp representing the sea and ham representing the land—folded together into a wok of rice ...

Bibim-Soba

You’ve seen it on my Instagram —bibim-soba served with steaks, from filet mignon to NY strips. Instead of scalloped potatoes or green bean casserole, I usually pair steaks with bibim-soba, especially when cooking is rushed. It is particularly good with a perfectly cooked medium-rare steak, seared in butter and finished in a preheated oven, served alongside bibim-soba. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me. This pairing of steak and bibim-soba was inspired by my love for galbi (beef ribs) and naengmyeon (cold buckwheat with sweet potato starch noodles). While the two are traditionally served separately—galbi first, then naengmyeon—I prefer them together, savoring both in the same bite. Soba, a Japanese buckwheat noodle, works seamlessly here as bibim-guksu, a Korean mixed noodle dish. Bibim means to mix, and guksu means noodles. Instead of using various seasoning ingredients as other bibim-guksu recipes do, I wanted to keep the seasoning minimal and focus on a spicy-and-tangy f...

It Happens All the Time

I have lived in Los Angeles for more than four decades. I slept in a van the night following the 1994 Northridge earthquake, which killed 57, injured more than 9,000, and caused over $13 billion in property damage. Some have published economic losses as high as $50 billion. View of Los Angeles from Runyon Canyon I was no different from many Angelenos. Wildfires and mudslides in our coastal and hillside neighborhoods were an inconvenience met with indifference. We saw them as a consequence of living with gorgeous views. Wildfires and mudslides could not have been much of a concern for those who bought and lived in high-risk communities. To claim otherwise would be obtuse, especially for those who owned properties without homeowner's insurance. That is like driving a car without insurance, even if the state lawfully allows it. I live among Progressives—people who claim to care about the environment, inclusiveness, and equality. I voted for Vice President Kamala Harris in the last pre...