Race relations in Los Angeles, 1991 are far from ideal. When Mexican-American Eladio goes to avenge the death of his older brother at the hands of a Korean-American merchant, he soon discovers that he’s not the only one with a reason to kill today. [NSFW adult language, F-bombs; graphic violence.]
This Saturday, after driving and blasting some Public Enemy and NWA in my decidedly non-gangster hoopty (a new, very gas-friendly tiny vehicle) I went home feeling amped up about the commemoration of the twentieth anniversary of the L.A. Riots.
I checked the newspapers, then went online and was reading an excellent piece by Pocho homie, DJ and writer Davey D, about the massive civil unrest sparked by the trial of the L.A.P.D. cops who beat unarmed Rodney King.
On Apr. 29, 1992, my girlfriend and I were in shock, like much of L.A., that the cops were acquitted of beating Rodney King. Though we were accustomed to seeing the constant police brutality used against minorities by outfits like the L.A.P.D., everyone felt that there was no way they were going to get away this time. It was on.