Warning: This story mentions physical abuse and follows the aftermath of a racially-motivated assault.
That night in May 2022, all she and her mom wanted were McDonald’s fries.
But instead, Patricia Roque watched in horror as her parents lay injured on the ground of the parking lot. Minutes before, locked safely in her family’s car, she watched as a tall white man shoved her father, Gabriel. She jumped out of the car in fright as he strangled her mother, Nerissa.
All Patricia wanted was some late night snacks. But instead, she got a nightmare.
“I could have witnessed both of my parents dying at the same time, same place,” Patricia said. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Patricia’s family is a Filipino migrant family. From 2020 to 2022, there were more than 11,000 anti-Asian hate crimes. Though most were Chinese, Filipinos made up the third largest group of hate crime victims — and Patricia’s family became one of them.
After the horrors they experienced, the Roque family decided that they must report the case and push for justice to be served. But almost a year later, they barely completed a preliminary hearing — and are losing faith in the legal system of a country they originally thought would be better than the Philippines.
I. The Long Move: When the Roques Came to the U.S.
Patricia and her siblings grew up in the Philippines amid a worsening economic crisis. According to the Asian Development Bank, in 2021, almost 27 million Filipinos lived below the National Poverty Line. As of 2023, Trade Economics reported that over 2.4 million people are unemployed.
Even if they are employed, many Filipinos are exploited through contractualization. Through illegal end-of-contract (“endo”) practices, employers fire employees after five months so that they don’t have to regularize them and provide benefits. Large international corporations like Jollibee and Dole practice endo labor, according to the Philippine Department of Labor and Economics.
Patricia Roque sits down for an interview.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
Because of these conditions, Nerissa and Gabriel Roque struggled to support their three children, or even pay for them to have a decent education. Patricia remembered her childhood as a hard one.
“Life just wasn’t cutting it in the Philippines,” the 20-year-old said.
As such, in 2008, Nerissa left the Philippines in search of work abroad to support her children. She soon became a nurse and settled in North Hollywood, with Gabriel eventually joining her.
They became Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), just like more than one million other Filipinos who leave the Philippines every year in search of work.
More than 7,300 miles away from their parents, Patricia said she and her siblings felt intensely lonely.
“I actually didn’t see my parents for almost a decade,” she said.
Her older brother, Patrick, was only 10 years old when his parents left the Philippines. He is now 24.
A portrait of Patrick Roque.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
As a child preparing to enter high school, his parents’ departure marked a turning point when he took on a larger responsibility to his siblings. “It was still at a moment where I was still learning the ropes on how to navigate life,” he said. “It was a lot of being independent while also learning how to grow up. By myself.”
After college, Patrick found himself standing on the cusp of the same unstable job market his parents left behind. “After you graduate, you're left with uncertainty — if you will land a job that will sustain your livelihood,” he said.
Rather than entertaining this uncertainty, Patrick, Patricia and their sister, Ysabel obtained tourist visas to reunite with their parents in North Hollywood. Tourist visas typically allow international visitors to stay in the U.S. for six months maximum. But Patrick and his sisters decided to extend their visit.
“This might be the time to reunite with my family and just move here [to the U.S.] before things get too late,” he said.
The Roque family. From left to right: Patricia, Gabriel, Ysabel, Nerissa, and Patrick.
Photo courtesy: Celine Mendiola
In May 2017, Nerissa and Gabriel happily reunited with their children, who were entering the U.S. as Philippine nationals.
Though she felt excited to see her parents again, Patricia felt so homesick that she wanted to return to the Philippines. Other than the mild Southern California weather, she didn’t like the U.S.
“I hated it,” she said. “I had to start over, really knowing no one.”
Patrick also felt similarly alienated. “I was just stuck at our house for a year, not doing anything, separated from my group of friends in the Philippines,” he said.
The five members of the Roque family lived in a cozy one-bedroom apartment in the North Hollywood suburbs, in a neighborhood with a pharmacy and local businesses like a camera shop and a pet store. Patricia began attending Ulysses Grant High School, where she found solace in meeting other newly arrived Filipino families.
“Seeing fellow migrant Filipinos brought comfort to me, and it led me to believe that it's okay,” she said. “There’s comfort in knowing that people have the same experiences.”
Meanwhile, Patrick asked his mom, Nerissa, to recommend Filipino people he should connect with. “I was searching for a community to reconnect [me] back to my culture,” he said.
She introduced him to the Filipino Migrant Center, a Long Beach nonprofit that supports recently immigrated Filipino workers. There, he met community organizers like Dominco Vega, who introduced him to Migrante Los Angeles, an organization dedicated to protecting OFWs like his family.
“We just started to hang out and educate each other,” Patrick said. He fondly chuckled at the memory. “From there, the connection grew and I was able to meet all these Filipino people.”
In time, the Roque family adjusted to the U.S. with the help of their newfound communities.
Then, in 2020, the pandemic hit.
A portrait of Nerissa Roque.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
Nerissa, a registered nurse in Pasadena, found herself thrown into the greatest health crisis in modern U.S. history. She was one among the Filipino nurses making up nearly a fifth of California’s total nursing population, according to a 2018 UC San Francisco study.
Across the country, more Filipino nurses were hit disproportionately by COVID-19. A National Nurses United study found that they made up more than a quarter of COVID-related deaths among registered nurses.
At this time, Nerissa worked seven days a week, often for 24 hours a day. The pandemic triggered the threat of death at the hands of COVID-19 to nurses like her.
II. The Long Battle: When Hate Came for the Roques
But that wasn’t the only threat to the Roques triggered by the pandemic.
According to Stop AAPI Hate, nearly 11,500 anti-Asian hate incidents occurred from March 2020 to March 2022. This came from the misplaced fear that Asians were more susceptible to spreading COVID, since the first reported outbreak occurred in Wuhan, China.
At the time, former president Donald Trump fueled the hate even further when he referred to COVID-19 as “the Kung flu” at a rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma. As a result, the FBI reported a 77% increase in hate crimes against Asians from 2019 to 2020.
As Nerissa watched news reports of anti-Asian assaults, she prayed it would never happen to her family.
But late on May 13, 2022, Nerissa and Patricia hopped into the family’s Nissan Rogue to buy some midnight snacks. At the McDonald’s drive-thru five minutes away from their house, they were paying for their fries. Suddenly, mother and daughter heard a loud thump behind them.
“As we were waiting for our food to arrive, someone hit the back of our car,” Patricia said. Concerned it might become a hit-and-run and that she might need to prove the other driver was at fault, Patricia pulled out her phone and started recording video.
Instead of capturing the other vehicle’s make and license plate, Patricia ended up recording something more sinister. Nicholas Weber, a 205-pound, 6-foot-4 white man, pulled up his dented Jeep next to Nerissa’s car. Craning his neck around to their open window, Weber made racist taunts in a mocking accent, yelling, “Ohhhh! You’re so Asian!”
“Yeah, you bumped our car! What is wrong with you?!” Patricia yelled back.
But in her video, Weber didn’t respond to her. Instead he tauntingly repeated: “Oh, you’re so Asian.”
Nerissa stands in front of the Van Nuys courthouse.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
After a few uncomfortable minutes of insults, Weber drove away. Their hearts racing in panic, Nerissa dialed 911, while Patricia called her father Gabriel to accompany them while waiting for emergency responders.
Before Gabriel arrived, to Nerissa and Patricia’s shock, Weber came back.
“He started saying racial slurs again at us,” Patricia recalled to me, grimacing.
Rolling his passenger window down, Weber drunkenly leaned over and slurred his speech. “Ohhh… I’m gonna kill you,” he said.
Paralyzed by fear, Nerissa and Patricia called 911 again, but they were told not to leave the premises and wait for help to arrive.
It was while waiting that Gabriel finally arrived… and all hell broke loose.
“I was in the passenger seat of the car with my door open to get some air because the engine was off,” Patricia said. “The man got out of his car and started to come towards us. Once he saw my face, he decided to go to the door.”
Terrified of the 6-foot giant approaching her, Patricia instinctively closed and locked the car door. She remembered how her father ran in front of Weber and blocked him with his arms, saying, “Get away from my daughter!”
The man forcefully shoved Gabriel against the curb stop of the McDonald’s parking lot. Gabriel, an older, smaller man compared to Weber, fell to the ground and felt bruises along his upper arms, the wind knocked out of his lungs
Patricia and her mother Nerissa screamed at Weber to get off, running up to the two men and separating them. Sobbing, Patricia desperately begged for her dad to get up.
Then, to her terror, Weber whirled around and strangled Nerissa, pinning down her neck and right arm with his giant forearm.
“I was panicking the entire time,” Patricia said. She closed her eyes, shuddering at the memory.
Patricia kept screaming at the man to stop. Finally, a passerby came and separated him from the family. Though, he didn’t leave unscathed; Weber landed a blow on him as well.
The whole assault happened within a matter of minutes.
But Nerissa and Patricia said that the police didn’t arrive on the scene until about an hour later — long after the assault ended.
III. The Long Wait: When the Roques Entered Legal Limbo
After the police arrived, an ambulance picked up Weber, the Roques’ attacker, while Patrick came to the scene to drive his father to the hospital. There, Gabriel discovered he sustained multiple injuries, including a fractured rib.
A portrait of Gabriel Roque.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
However, officers discouraged the Roques from pursuing justice. “When the detectives questioned my parents, they asked them, ‘Are you sure you want to go forward with this case? It's expensive to get a lawyer. It costs a lot of money to have this case go forward,’” Patricia said.
Despite the detectives’ suggestions, the Roques got Sandy Roxas to be their victims’ rights attorney, pro bono.
But for many Asians who have experienced a hate crime, access to a lawyer isn't the only barrier. According to a 2022 report by AAPI Data, Asians were more wary to report hate crimes, compared to the American population overall. Less than 70% of Asians were inclined to report their incidents, either because they feared unwanted attention or another racial-based attack.
Judy London, the former directing attorney at Project Counsel’s Immigrants’ Rights Project, said that undocumented immigrants may also fear reporting hate crimes because they fear deporation.
“We’re coming at a time following four years of Trump policies in which all immigrants were targeted,” London said. “There’s the fear of losing your home, but more importantly, losing your family.”
Even if they do report their case, the same AAPI Data report stated that less than 60% of Asian and Pacific Islanders are confident that justice will be served.
Nevertheless, the Roque family has been pushing to bring their case to court. But it hasn’t been easy. According to Gabriel, it has been difficult obtaining documents from the LAPD.
“Up to now, we haven’t seen a copy of the police report,” he said. They are unsure at this point whether one was even prepared.
It also hasn’t been easy getting the assailant to appear in court. As attorney Sandy Roxas said via email, on the day of the assault, the police gave Weber a citation to appear for his arraignment hearing on June 8. However, she said that Weber failed to show up. He wasn’t arrested until June 16, when he was found passed out on the sidewalk in Costa Mesa.
Even in the weeks following his arrest, the assailant failed to appear in court until the judge filed an extraction order on June 27. According to Roxas, he wasn’t officially arraigned until July 11.
Though her expertise doesn’t involve criminal cases like the Roques, London said that delays like these are common in cases involving immigrants. “We have a tremendously broken system and it's harming immigrants every day by these delays,” she said.
Despite these delays, the Roque family persevered. In partnership with Migrante Los Angeles, the Filipino Migrant Center (FMC) and the National Alliance for Filipino Concerns (NAFCON), they launched the “Justice for the Roques” campaign. The ongoing campaign calls for donations to pay for the Roques’ hospital bills and compensation for every time they missed work to attend court hearings.
At the beginning of the campaign, Patricia volunteered to be the spokeswoman for her family, sharing the story of their assault with news organizations and rally attendees. It was nerve-wracking.
“I was bad at public speaking. I get anxiety,” she said. “But now that I've done this more than a few times, I think that I'm more articulate in trying to speak my thoughts and trying to speak for for my family.”
As she found her voice, she also founded her own organization: the Pilipino Youth Kollective, an organization in the San Fernando Valley fighting for Filipinos’ rights in the U.S. and the Philippines.
At every court date, more than 100 members of several organizations appeared at the Van Nuys West courthouse to support the Roque family. Along with Pilipino Youth Kollective, Filipino organizations like NAFCON, solidarity groups like Neighborhood Safety Council, and student organizations like Anakbayan UC Irvine would attend. Not only did these organizations show up for the family, they also raised over $10,000 for them.
For Nerissa, it was because of this community that she felt the courage to continue pressuring the courts. On the morning of March 6, 2023 — the family’s ninth court date in 10 months — Nerissa stood before a masked crowd, feeling moved by the banners demanding, “Organize to Stop Asian Hate” and “Justice for the Roques.”
“I’m losing hope. I’m about to give up already,” she said, holding back a sob. “But when I see you guys, the community… I got my strength from you guys.”
Nerissa gains her strength from her community. Hear the story of one of those community members, John Kawakami from the Neighborhood Safety Companions.
That fateful morning, the Roque family and their supporters waited over an hour to go inside the courtroom. There, the judge finally set a date for their preliminary hearing: April 4 at 8:30 a.m.
The Roque family, more than 100 community members, and I returned to the Van Nuys West courthouse promptly on April 4 at 8:30 a.m. We waited in the hallway for the judge to let us in. We thought the hearing would finish within two hours. Instead, the preliminary hearing didn’t start until 2 p.m., and continued over three days.
Finally, on April 17, the results from the unexpectedly long preliminary hearing were in. At 1:45 p.m., Nerissa, Gabriel, Patricia, Ysabel, Patrick, and I, along with less than 50 community members, filled all the seats of the tiny, cramped courtroom and anxiously peered at the judge from behind glass protectors. Adjusting her rimmed glasses, the judge warily looked at Weber’s defense, the prosecutor Deputy District Attorney Paul Kim and the anxious crowd from her bench before announcing her verdict.
Nicholas Weber will be tried for the felonies of assault and great bodily injury. However, the charges will not have the hate crime enhancement. The next court date to set the official trial date will be May 1.
Then, she dismissed the court. It was only 2:15 p.m.
Patrick and Ysabel Roque address the crowd after the preliminary hearing.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
The Roques had waited 11 months for a preliminary result that took 20 minutes to announce. They waited almost a year to even begin seeking justice for their assault on that late night in May, only for it to not be considered a hate crime.
The air hung heavy as we all filed out of the courtroom. Some shook their heads in disbelief. Others asked around to confirm what just happened. But as everyone exchanged knowing glances in the elevator, it was clear to me that we were all disappointed, but not surprised.
IV. The Long Haul: When the Roques Came to a New Conclusion
As the lush trees swayed in the breeze outside Van Nuys Courthouse West, community members picked up their signs and banners. Chuck Parcon, a member of the Filipino Migrant Center, picked up a sign saying “You’re So Guilty” with Nicholas Weber’s face. Suddenly, a boy who attended the court hearing ran up and kicked Weber’s face on the sign. The crowd chuckled at how the boy felt angry about the results as well.
Then one woman shouted: “Get it right the first time!”
“That was a hate crime!” the crowd responded. The chant surged, cutting through the quiet breeze.
A sign from the community rally.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
Meanwhile, Nerissa, Patrick, Patricia, Gabriel and Ysabel sat further away on a stone ledge in front of the courthouse. They murmured to themselves and to Sandy Roxas, processing what just happened in court.
As Filipino migrants who only recently arrived in America, the Roque family still have much to learn about navigating the courtroom. But experiencing the painful delays of the courts drastically changed their perception of the U.S. legal system.
For one thing, Nerissa can’t trust the authorities anymore.
“After what happened to me in my personal experience, even if there is something coming up where I need to call the police, I don't know if I can call them,” she said. “Even after we got hurt, the police just came after more than an hour. It traumatized me and my family.”
These delays have shown the Roques that justice in the U.S. is not swift. It’s slow.
“I thought it was justice for everyone initially. But then as we were going through this case, I realized… it’s selective,” Gabriel said.
“The justice system doesn't cater to working class people like us,” Patrick said.
But while the Roque family can’t rely on the courts, they know they can rely on their community. At every court date, the Roque family were greeted by throngs of people, offering an embrace, a listening ear and rallying cries to uplift them.
Nerissa, surrounded by her children and her community, stands in front of Van Nuys Courthouse West.
Photo courtesy: John Haas
The morning of April 17, a chef named Mike cooked garlic fried rice and chicken adobo to feed the Roque family and other community members before entering the courthouse. To Patrick, this was just one example of their community’s compassion.
“Every time we hold an action outside the courthouse, our community keeps on going,” he said. “This is akin to my community back in the Philippines.”
“There’s a love for us and my family,” she said. “They’re my strength.”
The trial against Nicholas Weber begins May 26, less than two weeks after the anniversary of the Roques’ assault. Until Weber is charged for his crimes, the Roque family and their supporting organizations promise to continue to show up, demanding justice not only for their family, but to all Filipino migrant families in similar situations.
Patrick, Patricia, Nerissa, Ysabel and Gabriel kneel in front of their community.
Photo courtesy: Celine Mendiola
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