Consider the deeply disturbing case of Alexus Byrd-Maxey, a young Black woman and police cadet who, rather than being protected and uplifted in her journey to serve the community, was violated, isolated, and ultimately terminated from the Chicago Police Academy after reporting sexual harassment.
A recent investigation by ProPublica and the Invisible Institute exposed the ugly underbelly of this situation—Alexus, harassed during her training, did what so many are taught to do: speak up, file a report, seek justice.
What did she get in return? Not support. Not protection. She was fired.
This wasn’t some misunderstanding, this wasn’t a gray area, and it certainly wasn’t justice. This was a message—a message to every Black woman: you are not safe.
It is emblematic of the systemic sickness that infects police departments across this country—particularly in cities like Chicago, which has paid over $800 million for police misconduct settlements and attorneys’ fees since the dawn of the millennium.
That’s almost $1 billion with no return on investment.
Money flows freely when it comes to covering up crimes committed by police, yet those same city leaders cry poverty when it’s time to fund schools, pay teachers, or support the elderly or the unhoused. Meanwhile, serial abusers in the ranks of law enforcement remain shielded, promoted—even honored.
Cariol Horne is a former Buffalo, N.Y., police officer and a living example of what a righteous law enforcer looks like. In 2006, she physically intervened to stop a fellow officer—a White cop—from choking a handcuffed Black man. The White cop punched her in the face and she said she suffered a rotator cuff injury while restrained by other officers.
For her heroism? She was fired. Ostracized. Punished.
In 2008, she faced 13 departmental disciplinary charges, and after a public hearing, 11 were sustained. She was dismissed in May 2008. She lost her career and her pension, which was later restored. The Fruit of Islam (F.O.I., the men of the Nation of Islam) in Buffalo stood with her and escorted her to a police station when she was ordered to come back to work prior to her dismissal.
The officer Cariol stopped later served jail time for civil rights violations, yet he successfully blocked her back pay from the city due to a defamation suit—a suit Cariol says she lost by default after being misinformed about her court date.
In 2022, during a catastrophic snowstorm, Cariol remained active in her community, helping coordinate emergency aid when official services were unavailable. Through Facebook groups and local coordination, Black folk worked together to rescue those stranded.
It led to a confrontation with Black officers who had two Black women handcuffed and sitting in deep snow during the legendary Christmas blizzard. People died in that blizzard, she said.
Cariol said she calmly asked the Black cop about getting the women off the ground. He exploded, demanded that she leave, threatened to throw her in the snow if she didn’t, and arrest her. He made good on his promise, slamming her in the snow, in another classic Buffalo PD episode, she said.
Later, prosecutors painted me as someone looking for attention, not justice, she continued. The jury didn’t find me guilty of harassment or disorderly conduct—just obstruction, Cariol noted. My attorney rightly argued that without evidence of force or threat, obstruction doesn’t hold. But justice in cases like mine often don’t hang on facts, she observed.
As Cariol pointed out in an interview, the “Blue Wall of Silence” isn’t about Black versus White. It’s about protecting the system—a system that rewards complicity and punishes accountability, no matter your skin color. Even the Black officers’ association in Buffalo turned against her when she pointed out the wrongs of Black officers …,” Cariol said.
But her spirit could not be broken. Cariol always fought back, and following public outcry after the 2020 murder of George Floyd, her persistence birthed Cariol’s Law in Buffalo—a legal requirement that police officers intervene when witnessing abuse by fellow officers.
Yet here we are in 2025, and even with laws like hers on the books, they are not enforced. Meanwhile, officers continue to maim and kill Black men, women, and children—most often without consequence. In fact, some are being rewarded for taking lives, even when procedures are ignored and protocol is tossed aside.
This is not about reform. This is about a system that cannot be reformed.
If the police academy—a supposed place of discipline, training, and a sacred oath to serve—is allowed to cover up abuse and destroy a Black woman for simply seeking justice, what hope is there for the Black woman walking down the street? For the sister driving home from work? For the mother dropping her child off at school?
If we are serious about Black lives, we must be extremely serious about the lives of Black women. If we will not come together to preserve, protect and defend our women, as the Most Honorable Elijah Muhammad taught our people, what type of men are we?
If we continue to depend on systems built to control and destroy us for our survival, what kind of people are we?
Naba’a Muhammad, editor-in-chief of The Final Call newspaper, can be reached via www.finalcall.com and [email protected]. Find him on Facebook. Follow @RMfinalcall on X and Instagram.