It was a winter night in 1998 on the North side at approximately seven at night. I was leaving a friend’s house following a long day of work. My destination was to my apartment in South East to let my roommate in who’d lost her key. I only had 2.5 blocks to walk to the number five bus stop, with five minutes to get there. Unfortunately, the sidewalks weren’t shoveled and the snow was too deep and too icy beneath for me to reach the bus on schedule, so I decided to walk along the curb.

With less than a half a block to go, I was approached from behind by flashing red, white and blue lights. Suddenly a demonic voice shouting over a loud speaker demanded, “Get out of the goddamn street!” As a generally respectful man, I demand to be treated with respect. This hostile address offended me, so I ignored it. Next, I was rushed by two MPD officers who each grabbed one of my arms.

The officers immediately demanded that I lay on the ground in the dirty, icy, and snowy, slush filled street. I refused because I had committed no crime. As I stood facing the trunk end of their squad car, I asked them why I deserved to be apprehended. These two angry white men struggled unsuccessfully to bring my two arms together to handcuff me while I questioned their justification for treating me like a criminal. I stood there vainly, looking around for someone to save me from these rogue cops. When an unmarked car pulled up behind the squad, I foolishly hoped they could help me. Instead, they rushed to subdue me. This hyped the uniformed officers up who began hitting me in the face and back. One of their assisting assailants caused me to surrender by bending my thumb back near my wrist, an injury that took an entire year to heal.

In the prisoner seat of the squad car, I was interrogated. I also interrogated them as to why they were wasting their time with me when they could be fighting crime. I also asked them why they didn’t protect and serve to which the obnoxious cop replied, “We don’t do that anymore!” When asked if I had been drinking I honestly admitted that I had drank a bottle of Heineken beer, which had me nowhere near drunk! This led to my being taken downtown to the Detoxification center. On the way there, I was asked where I was from, to which I replied “Africa.” The obnoxious officer said, “Well I guess you don’t know how we do things here.” I replied, “No, I’ve been in America longer than you and I know all too well how y’all devils do things here!”

When I was tested for intoxication I passed, but the officer continues testing me, telling the others to give me more drinks and bring me back! Outside I was searched again in the alley and before leaving, I verbally reprimanded them again.

My police brutality testimony is not nearly the worst case to be heard, but it was a traumatizing experience nonetheless. Because a close friend of mine recently had been an innocent victim of police brutality and his mother’s pursuit of legal justice was fruitless, I didn’t file any formal complaints with the police. When I sought legal counsel no one was interested in helping me; not Keith Ellison, not the Urban League, not the NAACP!

For these reasons, I distrust and dislike the police in general, to put it very lightly. Could anyone blame me?