At 'Nudieland' sentencing, victims wrestle with grief and 'failed' society that creates killers

In the French Quarter of New Orleans or the backyards of south Minneapolis, August Golden was the person you hoped to meet.

Inquisitive, explorative, conversational and kind, he changed the people he met. In Hennepin County District Court on Monday afternoon, those people stepped forward to explain how his murder had derailed their lives.

"The loss is a shadow," his partner, Caitlin Connery-Harris said, "one I will continue to move alongside the rest of my life."

Nudieland is a DIY backyard music venue in Minneapolis. Golden was living at the house connected to the venue in August 2023 when two teenage cousins, who witnesses said had been acting aggressively before being asked to leave, returned and opened fire.

They shot Golden in the back, and, Connery-Harris said, "he bled out under his bedroom windows." Six others were seriously wounded.

Victims who survived the shooting and family members of Golden addressed Judge Lisa Janzen as Dominic Burris, whom the Hennepin County Attorney's Office referred to as the mastermind of the shooting, was sentenced to 23 years in prison. With good behavior, he could be released in 15 years.

The victims spoke of auditory hallucinations, vivid nightmares, mental health disorders and fear of being outside at night or in public at all. They spoke of changing jobs, drinking to stave off depression, fighting to stay sober and finding hope in the wake of trauma.

Many of them stood in the center of a criminal justice system they don't believe in and wrestled with that conflict.

"I believe this world and the systems we live under are the reason we are standing in this courtroom today. I believe this country breeds scarcity and scarcity breeds violence," Connery-Harris said. "I do not believe prison can do much good for the longevity of the human mind and body. I do not believe punitive justice or the deterioration of another will bring me any closure."

Burris, who was 17 at the time of the shooting, was walking down the street with his cousin, Cyrell Boyd, also 17, when he approached Golden's home. Golden declined to give Burris alcohol because he was clearly inebriated. The two teens directed sexual insults at people at the show, which was a haven for the queer community. Burris allegedly told Boyd they should come back and shoot up the place. Shortly after leaving, Burris did so.

On Monday, Burris sat in an orange jumpsuit with family members behind him. As he listened to the statements, he swiveled in his chair, looked at the ceiling and occasionally stretched and yawned. He also, for the first time, took public accountability for his actions.

Between the shooting and his sentencing, Burris' son was born. Boyd pleaded guilty to aiding an offender after the fact last year and was sentenced to the juvenile correctional facility in Red Wing. When he is released at age 21, he will serve five years' probation.

Jennifer Dotson was one of their victims. Dotson, who uses they/them pronouns, was shot through the thigh and now suffers from exploding head syndrome, a disorder that causes them to hear screams and loud bangs when they near sleep.

Dotson recalled getting their pants back from the state after the pants had been inventoried as evidence. They saw bullet holes and blood stains. Like many others in the court, Dotson bemoaned the gun industry and gun violence in America, and wondered about the long line of familial and societal structures that failed Burris.

"What do we do with children who commit egregious crimes? Children who have been failed by their caretakers, system and society?" Dotson asked the court. "I don't have an answer and I'm OK with that."

Burris' attorney, assistant public defender Matthew Swiontek, noted that Burris had his first interaction with child protective services for abuse when he was 3 years old. That his entire life he had been surrounded by drugs, alcohol, neglect and poverty. That a caretaker first made him get drunk when he was 9.

"We as a community failed Dominic," Swiontek said, adding that it is especially egregious because Burris is Indigenous.

Others were less forgiving. In an impassioned statement over Zoom, Aaron Maloof recalled how Golden, his cousin, made the world come alive. The two men grew up together and shared their deepest secrets. Maloof said Golden was the pure kind of cool because he was authentic.

He said the only annoying part of his cousin was that he was "virtually incapable of being annoying."

If you needed someone to talk about the darkness of life or a recommendation for music or a book, "August came through, without fail," Maloof said. The fact that his cousin is dead while Burris and Boyd remain alive and are given "the ultimate hall pass when they should be paying the ultimate price" for their crime enrages him, he said.

That rage is "the closest I'll get to finding religion," Maloof said.

Bobbi Tellez-Casco was the first person approached by Burris and Boyd that night at Nudieland. They hit on him, he said, and he rebuffed their advances. For a year, he believed he was responsible for the shooting.

Before meeting Burris and Boyd that summer day, Tellez-Casco had been preparing to read a journal entry to his friend. He read that in court Monday. It was about the love he felt for finding "these beautiful punk people" and wanting to see them every day. He quoted Oscar Wilde, and his desire to "live in my youth for as long as I have it."

He said an impossible equation of choices led all these people to be in the same courtroom on Monday. He said of Burris and Boyd, "I wish them good luck in the rest of their lives. That's enough for me to stay in peace."