When Help Becomes Harm
Somehow, over the past few days, I’ve become a public voice for the neighbors who experienced the chaotic law-enforcement clusterfuck that unfolded on my street. The first reporter asked to speak with me because I’m the neighborhood association president; a title that means very little and carries no official responsibility beyond trying to build community in Normal Park.
Even though I joked about building a podium and holding press conferences on my front lawn, I genuinely didn’t feel qualified to say anything.
All I knew was how I felt.
It turns out that how I felt became a valid point of view.
For anyone who has ever driven past a scene with a heavy police presence and not thought much beyond I wonder what’s going on, let me tell you, I will never have that luxury again. Situations like this don’t affect just one person or one house. There is collateral damage. And anyone who believes that tradeoff is worth it, I would implore you to examine your humanity.
Before this week, I was not in the “never police” camp. I sadly believe we live in a society where protection is sometimes necessary; where there are people who intend to cause harm.
What this week has forced me to confront is a far more unsettling question: is that protection worth it?
What happens when the harm is caused by those who are supposed to protect you? Not just in my small town, but across the country. Again and again, it feels like the entities meant to keep us safe are not held accountable when they fail. That is terrifying.
I also want to acknowledge that being able to contemplate this is itself a point of privilege. This question has long been asked by people who have experienced police brutality and injustice firsthand; by those who live with the fear that, because of who they are or what they look like, they will not be protected at all. I’m not naïve. I know the statistics. Despite making up roughly 13% of the population, Black Americans account for 26% of total police killings and 36% of unarmed police killings.
I know that not all law enforcement officers are looking to cause harm. I have friends who are police officers. Good, kind people who joined the profession because they genuinely want to protect and serve.
But if you believe law enforcement is infallible, you’re wrong. Everyone is fallible. Everyone. And when failure becomes systemic, it is dangerous.
Today, I know far more about what happened this week, and I ask you to consider how many opportunities there were for this to unfold differently.
We have a neighbor with serious mental health issues. Not generalized anxiety or depression, but complex conditions that require clinical management.
He was having an incredibly difficult week. Three separate calls were placed asking for help. Three times, dispatch should have redirected those calls to Community Mental Health. Or they could have provided the county crisis support hotline, (734) 544–3050, set up specifically for situations like this.
Situations where no law is being broken.
That didn’t happen. Instead, police responded to the first three calls, said they couldn’t do anything, and left.
Eventually, things escalated. Another call was placed, not because the caller was afraid of him, but because they were afraid for him.
This distinction matters.
This time, he wasn’t hiding in his apartment when police arrived. He was in a public space in the rental house, holding what was described as a “sword.” Police perceived this as a threat. He ran back into his apartment and hid.
Everything that happened after that made things worse.
He hadn’t slept in days. He wasn’t eating. He was incoherent and unreachable. He couldn’t be reasoned with. He was terrified of the government and deeply uneasy around people he didn’t know.
And then an army showed up.
Is anyone surprised that a terrified man in crisis didn’t willingly come out of his home under a barrage of auditory assaults? Under threats shouted through a megaphone? After being tear-gassed repeatedly? After being kept awake for another 30 hours?
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People who knew him, including the person who originally called for help, begged law enforcement to stop. They tried to explain his condition. But once it started, there was no reasoning. He would either come out on his own, or they would force him out.
They claimed they were “committed” to not hurting him, which is why they refused to go in and physically remove him.
And this is where I believe the greatest fallacy of the entire situation lies.
At one point, the Sheriff’s Office stated:
“The situation is taking a significant amount of time because a rushed response increases the risk of injury to everyone involved, including the individual and responding officers.”
Injury takes many forms.
Every action I witnessed was designed to cause injury. Perhaps no single tactic carried a high risk of immediate fatality, but all were intended to inflict mental anguish and extreme physical discomfort. Taken together, they posed a serious and escalating risk of harm.
Around 3:30 p.m., a friend arrived on the street and called me. She said, “They have a fire hose hooked up. Do you think they’re going to set his house on fire?”
No way, I thought. I was already struggling with their tactics, but surely that couldn’t be it. I assumed — still — that law enforcement was acting in good faith. Maybe they were worried he would set the house on fire and wanted to be prepared.
An hour later, I learned why the hose was there.
It wasn’t a safety precaution. It was yet another “non-lethal” tactic to force him out of the house.
That was the moment I lost all remaining faith in the people who were supposed to protect us.
For four hours, they intermittently blasted him with a fire hose while yelling that if he came outside, it would all stop. Then they brought in a crane and told him they weren’t coming inside, but if he didn’t come out, they would tear the house down around him.
Why this escalation?
Because they were worried if he stayed in the house another night, he would die.
Think about that.
For 30 hours, they subjected a frightened man to aggressive, inhumane treatment: no food, no water, no sleep, no heat —followed by hours of being soaked with a fire hose. They knew what would happen if they left him there another night.
And still, they didn’t stop.
They didn’t listen to the people who knew him.
They themselves told the community he wasn’t a threat.
So why not send SWAT home? Why keep snipers stationed in the church? Why the armored vehicles, the bomb squad, the dozens of agencies?
If they believe tearing down a house was an act of humanity meant to save his life, they are delusional. The only reason his life was in danger was because of what they had already done. You don’t get to claim victory simply because he survived.
In the end, they stunned him and carried him out — something they could have done 30 hours earlier.
There are people who will continue to argue that law enforcement did the right thing. That they were just protecting the public. That it’s not my place to speak because I’m not the one facing potentially dangerous individuals. And that questioning these tactics means wanting those dangerous criminals roaming the streets.
But in this case, when police first arrived, no laws had been broken. This man was not a criminal.
By the time they left, that had changed.
They charged him with eight felonies, destroyed a home, and sent him to the hospital.
The fact that he lived does not absolve a system that manufactured the danger it then claimed to resolve.
