My Hellish Story of My Police Brutality Experience

Corey P. shared this post via’s submit page.

I’m a black young man that unfortunately used to live in a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood in the Chicagoland area of Harvey, IL. No matter how many years pass, this experience continues to haunt me. This is my story of an extremely violent act of police brutality that happened to me approximately ten years ago in 2003, when I was 22 years old.

I was a VERY low-class drug dealer. On this particular day, me and a few of my friends were hanging out on the block. Two police cars pulled-up and told everyone to go in the house. They did this often, but on this particular day when we went in, we got a knock at the door about five minutes later. It was an 8-man police force.

They pushed in and snatched down curtains, flipped up couches and beds, ripped pillows, dumped dresser drawers – they ransacked the place! The reason they ransacked it is because we really didn’t have any big drugs like they assumed, only three little rocks of cocaine.

When they couldn’t find any drugs, they started to get VERY aggressive and intimidating. They lined all four of us up on the living room floor on our knees. Then, after about 20 minutes of searching, cussing, and screaming, “Where the shit at!”, they started to violently abuse us! One of them came into the living room and grabbed one of my friends by the throat and took him in the bathroom. All I heard were thumps, slaps, punches and whimpering sounds of my friend saying, “We don’t have anything! If we had something, we’d give it to you!”… Then, he started screaming, “Please. No!” while I sat there wondering what they were doing to him. When he didn’t get anything out of my friend, he came back into the living room with him by the neck and tossed him to the floor. He subsequently did the same to my other friend… And then came my turn.

This police officer, while being observed by at least eight of his fellow officers, grabbed me by the neck and took me into the bathroom. All he kept asking was, “Where’s the shit?!” I couldn’t answer because, in truth, we really didn’t have anything except those three little rocks. He proceeded to slap me, choke me, punch me in the stomach, and when I couldn’t answer his “Where the shit at” question, he proceeded to pull out his gun and put it to my head. He squeezed the trigger, and “Click!” He obviously had the safety on or had the clip halfway out or something. I really don’t know, because I was in extreme fear and was feeling like I was about to pass out. He then put the gun under my chin and did the same thing. “Click!” He kept asking in a haunting voice, “Where the shit at?” I couldn’t respond because I was feeling like I was about to faint. He had me pinned up on the bathroom sink and I was drifting down when he grabbed me by my balls, squeezed them and said “Are you awake now!?” The only thing I could say was, “We don’t have anything, I wish we did, because I promise to give it to you just so this can stop.” He then grabbed me by my neck, took me into the living room, and threw me on the floor. He did my other buddies like that as well.

As they lined us all up on our knees on the living room floor. they were quite angry and disappointed that they didn’t find anything except those little three rocks. He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a gallon of milk, then went into the pantry to get some flour and pancake mix. As we were lined up on the living room floor, he came down the line and poured milk on our heads. He then went down the line and poured the flour and pancake mix on our heads.

They then cuffed us up and took us out to the patrol cars. The whole neighborhood was out and everyone thought we were some kind of Drug Kingpins because they thought the flour on our faces was cocaine. We were looking like complete zombies.

They took us to the station and even though they found three rocks of cocaine, they didn’t charge us with it. They had the nerve to charge us with Disorderly Conduct. We were out in 4 hours.

We didn’t know what to do. We tried to talk to Internal Affairs and Ops but all we got were phone numbers, and when we did happen to call, they didn’t respect our stories. Mind you at the time, we were all young. We didn’t really know what to do.

Another thing I forgot to mention is my friends 4 year-old niece was in that house when all that happened. She’s now a teenager and she was traumatized by that. They locked her in the bedroom while they humiliated, insulted, degraded, and violently abused us… Harvey, IL was notoriously known for police corruption and abuse. They had a tact unit named Jump-Out Boys who were the main abusers.

I’ve moved from that area and now live a decent life. Back then, cellphone cameras didn’t exist. I know that was 10 years ago, but for the life of me I can’t seem to forget that horrid experience. It’s seared in my memory.

This is why I respect sites like CopBlock. Like shining the light on police transgressions. Police brutality has been a major issue for the longest time. Now, with the advent of camera-phone technology and sites like CopBlock, the public knows what police really do. It’s time to break down that blue wall of silence…

Keep up the good work CopBlock!
-Corey P.



When you see "CopBlock" as the author it means it was submitted via our submission tab - you can share your story too. If you enjoy this content and/or believe "Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights" get yourself some CopBlock Gear from our store or donate just $1/month to the CopBlock Network.