Loved ones of Utah woman who died in police custody still waiting on answers

SALT LAKE CITY — Kseniya Kniazeva knew Megan Joyce Mohn for less than a year, but Mohn's impact on Kniazeva was powerful enough to last a lifetime.

"She was the most real person I've ever had in my life. She never held anything back. Whatever she felt, she said," Kniazeva said, adding that Mohn was one of the funniest people she ever met. "She didn't care what people thought of her; she was just real to the core."

The two women met through Kniazeva's nonprofit Nomad Alliance, which serves homeless populations in Utah. Kniazeva was desperate to find women to attend a workshop she had organized after plans with nearly a dozen women had fallen through, so she went to a homeless camp and yelled out an invitation. Kniazeva said Mohn crawled out of her tent, pulled on her shoes and was in the car within minutes.

Each following Wednesday — until the program ended after six months — Mohn showed up at the workshops.

"MJ was really different. She was something really special," Kniazeva said. "She was always one that just said 'yes' no matter what. She just was there for you. She wasn't just a client for my nonprofit; she was my sister."

That sisterly bond has stretched on after Mohn's death. Nearly a year later, Kniazeva is still waiting for answers about her friend's death, which happened while she was in police custody.

"They completely botched it," Kniazeva said of how she believes law enforcement has handled the aftermath of Mohn's death. "I don't know what, if anything, is happening with disciplinary action against the police. I don't think they learned their lesson because nothing came of it."

Mohn, 40, died on Jan. 30 at Salt Lake Regional Hospital after being detained by police 19 days prior. After she struggled with Salt Lake police officers, they held her down on her stomach and she became unresponsive. Police said they rendered first aid to Mohn, who was taken to the hospital in critical condition.

Six months later, Mohn's death was ruled a homicide by the state medical examiner, jump-starting a police investigation into the incident.

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'I don't want to die': Salt Lake police release footage of arrest that led to woman's death

Video from an incident classified as a homicide shows a woman screaming she's afraid she'll die minutes before struggling with Salt Lake police and becoming unresponsive.

Salt Lake Police Sgt. Mark Wian said there are currently multiple and separate ongoing investigations, including by the Salt Lake County District Attorney's Office and the Salt Lake City Police Department's internal affairs unit and the Officer Involved Critical Incident Protocol team. The four primary officers who were involved in the incident were originally placed on paid leave, but Wian said they have since returned to normal duty. He added that the department has not updated or changed any of its protocols following Mohn's death.

"We will await the investigative findings and then consider whether any policies need to be changed. The SLCPD has reminded all officers, patrol supervisors and watch commanders about requesting medical assistance on certain calls to reduce the response time for medical," he said.

Symptom of a bigger problem?

Kniazeva believes Mohn's death is indicative of systematic problems in how law enforcement interacts with unsheltered individuals

"What we're finding —all around, no matter what color skin you are, no matter what sex you are — is that the police are specifically attacking this population with impunity," Kniazeva said. "At this point, they just care so little about the population. They think this population is drug-addicted, and this or that or whatever, and that they can treat them however they want, which includes how they were treating MJ. I really think of it was a systemic failure — and it's only going to get worse because the police just don't see unsheltered people as human beings."

Kniazeva stressed that being unsheltered, and the post-traumatic stress disorder that often comes from that, means homeless individuals are often more on guard and less trustful of others. She said she would like to see more de-escalation training and crisis intervention teams to help individuals having mental crises.

"You got to treat people with some delicacy because we can't even fathom what the current unsheltered population has been through. We can't even fathom their PTSD and their emotional turbulence. We just need to have a little bit of grace, and the police don't know how to have grace," Kniazeva said. "The way they treated MJ — while she's screaming, 'I love you, please don't kill me' — it was not necessary. There's a pleasure out of tormenting the least among us that has to stop."

The Jan. 11 incident began when a security guard with a Salt Lake refinery called police to report that Mohn was "walking in circles, carrying a piece of rebar in the intersection of 400 W. 900 North." In body camera video, officers repeatedly ask Mohn what her name is.

Throughout the video, the woman can be heard breathing heavily, and her breath can be seen in the apparent cold.

Mohn cries out, "Help! They're going to kill me!" and "I don't want to die."

After an officer cuts her backpack, she begins to struggle to free herself and kicks her legs at the officers. An officer tells her to stop kicking. The officers then get ahold of her, appearing to kneel and press onto her center and thigh, as she lays sideways on the grass. Mohn continues to struggle physically and scream as three officers are now holding her down as she lays on her stomach, according to the footage.

As two of the officers hold her down with their knees, she appears to stop struggling and becomes silent, the video shows.

The medical examiner's office ruled her death a homicide and found her immediate cause of death was "anoxic brain injury" due to "cardiac arrest" due to "probable methamphetamine intoxication in the setting of an altercation involving physical restraint."

"She was going to stand up for herself no matter what," Kniazeva said of Mohn. "MJ taught me how to be stronger, how to be braver, how to completely stand on my own two feet and take care of myself."

Wian said the police department has a team of social workers and a crisis intervention team that are utilized almost every day.

"Our department works with other city and state stakeholders to help ensure we are providing appropriate resources to anyone in need," Wian said. "We also believe additional funding for treatment, services and resources is needed across the spectrum to help people who need additional advocacy and assistance.'"

'It could happen to any one of us'

Mohn was born and grew up in Topeka, Kansas, where she was on her high school basketball team. She was passionate about soccer, photography and snowboarding, according to her obituary.

"I remember her loving sports and always having a smile on her face! Oh boy, did she have some hair back in the day!" one of her former classmates posted on an online tribute wall.

Kniazeva said Mohn was getting her life together in the months leading up to her death.

She went from living on the streets and being in an abusive relationship to holding down a job for nearly a year, living in her own micro home through the Nomad Alliance complete with a garden Mohn tended to, and two foster dogs, and working with the Nomad Alliance to serve the unsheltered population.

"She was happy and thriving," Kniazeva said. "MJ was our rising star. She was proof that you can make it out of chronic homelessness."

Mohn also had her share of trials, however. Kniazeva refuted that Mohn was addicted to methamphetamine but said she did dabble in it at times before quitting for long periods of time. As an orphan, Mohn also lacked a family support system, said Kniazeva — a common experience among the homeless population. And when the Nomad Alliance had to move out of the micro home where Mohn was staying, she turned to living in a motorhome and a women's home in Sugar House.

On the night of her death, Mohn called Kniazeva, asking her to come and get her. At the time, Kniazeva said didn't know that Mohn had been kicked out of the place where she had been staying.

"That's the biggest regret that I'll ever have, that I didn't come out that night," she said.

Part of Kniazeva's empathy for Mohn and other unsheltered individuals stems from her own experiences being homeless both as an immigrant child and as an adult whose source of income was eliminated during the COVID-19 pandemic.

"It doesn't mean that I'm flawed in any way or that I made any mistakes. It's just that capitalism is a ruthless beast, and it can take the floor our from any one of us," she said.

"There's no difference between me and somebody on the streets. It could happen to any one of us."

Correction: A previous version incorrectly said the Office of Intelligence and Counterintelligence was investigating the incident instead of the Officer Involved Critical Incident Protocol team.

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