‘Officer Tsukamoto’: Documenting A Cold Case
October 19, 2007
I first read about Ron Tsukamoto during the summer of 2005, when a San Francisco Chronicle headline grabbed my attention: “1970 Killing Still Haunts Berkeley.” The murder of police Officer Tsukamoto had taken place just blocks from U.C. Berkeley, where I was attending graduate school. As I read on, I became as confused as I was intrigued.
Tsukamoto had pulled over a motorcyclist for making an illegal U-turn late one night in August 1970. After he issued the man a warning in lieu of a ticket, the two struck up a friendly conversation. A few minutes later, a third man walked over and joined the discussion, which touched on a protest that had taken place earlier that day in San Francisco. Moments later, the third man pulled out a gun, shot Tsukamoto in the face and fled in a getaway car.
Thirty-five years had passed since that night, and the Berkeley police had just arrested two men who allegedly carried out the murder. The mystery of the crime baffled me, but there were so many more questions — about race, politics and injustice — that swirled around in my mind.
The murder seemed so random — why was Tsukamoto, a 28-year-old rookie with no history of violence, targeted? If the Black Panthers were involved, as the police in 1970 immediately suggested, why would they target the only Asian officer on the Berkeley police force? And why was this case, along with a handful of similar police murder cases from the same era, just resurfacing now?
Two weeks later, as I began my final year of journalism school, the Tsukamoto case was fresh in my mind. I dove into microfiche articles, scanned reels of old news footage, and researched the Asian American Movement, the Black Panther Party, and tension between police and activists; my documentary turned into a full-time obsession. After doing background interviews with dozens of people, including activists, police officers and academics, one thing became clear: the Tsukamoto case was just as polarizing today as it was in 1970. Some questioned the tactics of the Berkeley police department’s investigation. Others questioned the legitimacy of the Black Panther Party. Still others who knew Tsukamoto helped create a portrait of him in his absence.
I learned that he was born in a Japanese internment camp, that he always wanted to become a police officer and that he was known for his gentle nature. Given the divisiveness of the case, I had to keep one overarching goal in mind during production: balance.
That meant posing my questions to a diverse group of people, from the chief investigator to the chief suspect, from a black police officer discussing racism against minority officers to an Asian American activist who rallied for black self-determination.
I also had to accept that certain people were not willing to participate in my film. Tom Orloff, the Alameda County district attorney who declined to charge the suspects, spoke with me about the weaknesses of the investigation but did not want to appear in the film. Bobby Seale, the co-founder and chairman of the Black Panther Party, talked to me candidly about how the Panthers were a carefully run community organization that would not have allowed its members to carry out such a crime. Still, Seale also declined my request for an on-camera interview.
Tsukamoto’s widow, who had never spoken to the media, also kept her distance from my project. Two years after I first read about Ron Tsukamoto, his case still remains a mystery. Of the four suspects arrested for carrying out and assisting in the murder, none were charged due to insufficient evidence. Like Tsukamoto’s friends and family, I have to accept that many of my questions may never be answered.
It’s my hope that this film will open dialogue between people interested in and affected by this case, and ultimately help everyone find a bit of common ground.
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