Just dropping off papers. Calling for the gate code with a map with one hand. After hearing loud, frantic screams from the hallway, I open the door to find two officers pushing him face-first against the wall.
He struggled to breathe while telling them my name.
Apartment 4C! Call her! Please!”
Not listening. Said he looked odd. Someone reported a backpack-carrying “trespasser”.
I casually introduced him as my delivery driver. I was expecting paperwork. That he was innocent.
I was ignored. One instructed me to “stay back.”
This is the thing. I leave.
Not when someone’s rights are being trampled in front of me.
Requested badge numbers. They paused. I repeated the question loudly and listed the laws they were breaching.
They showed it in their expressions. Oh-shit flicker.
After uncuffing him, they didn’t apologize. Didn’t check on him. Said something about “procedure” and left.
They had no idea what was coming.
Because I had previously recorded on my phone as they left like any other Tuesday.
No, not the event’s end. I began filming when they seized him. Clean footage. Clear sound. Their words, deeds, and faces. All of it.
The delivery guy—Davion, I later learned—sat shivering on the hallway floor.
He looked 22–23 or so. Brown skin, anxious eyes, neat company-logo shirt.
Knelt alongside him and inquired if he was alright. Though he claimed to be, he wasn’t. Not really.
Even with shaking hands, he gave me the packet.
He murmured, “Do you think they’ll come after me again?”
Something cracked within me.
See, I do civil litigation. Mostly employment discrimination, although many friends work on civil rights lawsuits. Police misconduct? That’s their specialty.
I called many times.
Priority: Davion’s employer. I inquired about their corporate counsel. They did. I inquired whether they would help him file charges or a complaint. Yes, particularly considering they had “a couple of complaints in that neighborhood” before.
Next, I phoned my buddy Nina. Lawyer for civil rights. Pit bull in court. She agreed to represent the matter pro gratis.
Davion had no idea what to do. He said, “You don’t have to do all this.”
Indeed, I did.
Because I knew what would happen if nothing was done.
They’d get away. Again. They always do until illuminated.
Shine we did.
I helped Davion submit the internal affairs complaint. Next, civilian review board. Nina reported impending legal action.
That was only the start.
Three days later, I uploaded the video.
Uncommented. Pure facts.
Simple title: “Delivery Driver Assaulted By Police While Working.”
The video revealed everything. He was serene. He panicked. How they ignored me when I stated, “He’s here for me.”
It exploded overnight.
Local news initially reported it. Then national media. Davion was interviewed by two talk programs and a podcast.
Everyone now had an opinion.
Some termed it “unfortunate” but stated police “meant well.”
Others were more honest and termed it power abuse.
And now the twist.
Davion has a history of police trouble. In his delivery neighborhoods, he was stopped three times.
Never charged. No warning. Just “looked suspicious.”
That was discussed publicly.
The actual kicker?
One cop from that day was under scrutiny for roughing up a college student outside a home party for “refusing to show ID.”
Two tales. Same officer.
With such a glaring spotlight, the department couldn’t ignore it.
Internal affairs suspended both officers throughout the inquiry.
While that occurred, another thing happened.
Job offers came to Davion.
He became community outreach coordinator for a group that helped systemically oppressed youth.
They stated his tale inspired them and wanted him to represent their upcoming effort.
He nearly declined. He felt unqualified.
I said, “Sometimes, you don’t need a degree to change the world. Just your story and bravery to convey it.”
The position was taken.
Meanwhile, Nina and I persisted. By month’s end, public outcry forced the city council to hold a hearing on police practices and racial profiling.
I testified. As did Davion. Two more individuals came forward after viewing the video.
A lady was stopped walking her dog.
Police requested to inspect another’s camera bag when she was recording a sunset.
All claimed they felt helpless.
Not anymore.
The police agency added de-escalation and racial bias training before summer’s end.
A little step? Maybe.
It was something.
Just as everything were settling, the most unexpected moment occurred.
Handwritten letter. Slid beneath my door.
It came from an officer. The youngster.
No entire name was signed. His first—“Matt.”
Said he viewed the video 100 times. Said it made him queasy.
Said he joined the police to protect, not intimidate.
He answered, “I can’t undo what I did. But now I may choose differently.”
What happened to him thereafter is unknown. If he maintained or left. Yet the letter seemed genuine.
Sometimes sincere guilt is the only way to change.
What about Davion?
He thrives.
The foundation funded his public speaking training. He visited schools to share his tale and encourage kids to speak out when things seemed wrong.
His video of him teaching to high pupils about dignity and not shrinking to please others went viral.
“I used to think keeping my head down would keep me safe,” he added. “But silence never protected me. It rendered me invisible.”
I recall that phrase.
Because he’s correct.
No one is protected by silence. Especially when fearful.
Perhaps that’s the lesson.
Some parts of the system are broken. But its members—like Davion and perhaps that cop—can change.
Outsiders like you and me can make that change matter.
Simply moving ahead when it’s simpler to retreat works.
And knowing that your voice matters even if it rattles.
Next time someone advises you to “stay back,” ask yourself—who benefits?
If this story touched you, share it.
Because you never know who’s listening—and who could act.
