In 2015, I was brutalized and body-slammed by an NYPD officer in front of a Midtown hotel for a case of mistaken identity — he apparently thought I looked like someone who committed credit card fraud, and that was a good enough reason to be violently thrown to the ground, detained and handcuffed.
I knew my rights. I had the privilege of lawyers, a Harvard education and a microphone because of my career as a tennis pro. That got me a quick apology from the mayor and police commissioner. What it didn’t get me was justice. Or accountability. The officer who abused me, who’s had other complaints against him, lost a few vacation days. He was promoted to detective. He still pulls a paycheck. And he may still be a danger to New Yorkers.