Case Closed: What Happened When I Was Charged with Resisting Police in Berlin

The Day Before Everything Changed

It was January 22, 2025. I was seven days away from flying to Lagos, Nigeria, to bury my mother.

She had passed in June 2024, and I had spent months preparing for the funeral — saving money, coordinating with family, carrying the weight of grief while trying to function at work. This trip was everything. My chance to say goodbye. To honour her. To finally let go.

I never made that flight on time.

17:00 — Baumschulenweg Bus Stop

I had just finished work. I'm a software developer, employed at a company here in Berlin since December 2023. That day, I had left home at 5 AM. By 5 PM, I was exhausted, hungry, and waiting for my last bus home.

Like a few others around me, I lit a cigarette while waiting. When I finished, I dropped the butt on the ground.

Three young men approached me immediately.

They were dressed in black hoodies and jackets — no uniforms, no visible badges, no identification. They looked like young guys from the street. They told me they needed to fine me for littering and demanded my ID.

I was on the phone with a friend. She overheard the encounter and immediately warned me: *"Be careful. They might be trying to rob you. Leave."*

It made sense. I had two MacBooks in my bag — one from work, one from a friend. My wallet. My phone. Three strangers in hoodies demanding my documents at a bus stop, with no proof they were authorities?

I tried to walk away.

They grabbed me and pulled me back.

When the Uniforms Arrived

Two uniformed police officers appeared. I felt a wave of relief. Finally, I thought. Someone who can help me understand what's happening.

Instead, they immediately sided with the three men.

*"Give them your ID. Sofort!"* — their tone just as aggressive as the plainclothes officers.

Before I could process what was happening, I was tackled to the ground.

I was handcuffed.

One of the officers sat on my head.

I couldn't breathe.

I didn't understand why this was happening. I genuinely felt like I was fighting for my life.

Left on the Ground

I don't know how long I was lying there. Time stretched and collapsed. When I finally looked up, I saw multiple police cars. Around 15 officers. All surrounding me.

For a cigarette butt.

They searched my bag. Found a medication — Ketonal — and claimed it was illegal. They confiscated it. They wanted to take a blood sample and bring me to the station.

I was exhausted. Starving. Mentally shattered. I had been awake since 5 AM, hadn't eaten all day, and just wanted to go home and rest before my flight to Nigeria.

The whole process lasted until around 20:00 — nearly three hours. A passerby who witnessed what happened offered me her contact details in case I needed a witness.

Eventually, they let me go.

The Aftermath: Five Missed Flights

The physical injuries were documented. My right arm hurt for weeks. My doctor was supportive and told me to come directly to him if I needed medical records or documentation.

But the mental damage was worse.

I couldn't focus. I kept zoning out. I replayed the encounter over and over — the hands grabbing me, the weight on my head, the fear that I might die on a sidewalk in Berlin for littering.

At the airport, I sat at the gate, unable to move. The plane boarded. The plane left. I was still sitting there.

I booked another flight. Missed it.

I booked five flights in total. I had to say goodbye to my mother. I had ignored her calls too many times when she was alive — *"busy building a life"* in Europe. And now I couldn't even get on a plane to bury her.

Something Changed Inside Me

Before this happened, I never saw colour or race. I never noticed it. People were just people to me.

I learned that from my mother. She ran a small hospital, helping anyone who came — regardless of who they were or whether they could pay. She gave without keeping score. She taught me that hatred was a poison you drink yourself.

But the day after the incident, something terrifying happened.

I looked out of my window and saw a man walking on the street. A stranger. And I felt something rise in me that I had never felt before.

Hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred.

It scared me deeply. I can honestly say that what I felt in that moment was close to what some people must feel before they do terrible things — before they start shooting, before they hurt others. That kind of blind, consuming rage.

I knew I had to fight it. I couldn't let that darkness win.

So I went to the forest. I shouted until my voice cracked. I cried for hours. I went to loud, dark clubs and danced until I was drenched in sweat — letting the music drown out the noise in my head.

I refuse to become what that encounter tried to make me.

The Charge: Widerstand gegen Vollstreckungsbeamte

Weeks later, I received notice that I was being charged with Widerstand gegen Vollstreckungsbeamte — resisting enforcement officers.

A serious accusation under German law, carrying potential penalties of up to three years imprisonment.

I hired a lawyer. Paid in installments because I couldn't afford it any other way. And then I waited — for months — while the case hung over my head, while I was already drowning in grief, debt, and the custody battle for my daughters.

December 9, 2025: Case Dropped

The letter arrived from the Staatsanwaltschaft Berlin.

The investigation was discontinued under § 154 Abs. 1 StPO.

In legal terms: the prosecution determined that even if the case proceeded, any resulting penalty would be insignificant compared to another ongoing matter.

In plain terms: the charge didn't hold up.

Case number: 253 Js 1539/25

Incident: January 22, 2025

Accusation: Widerstand gegen Vollstreckungsbeamte

Outcome: Eingestellt (Dropped)

I read the letter three times. I didn't feel relief. I didn't feel vindicated. I just felt tired.

What I Want You to Know

This Can Happen to Anyone

I am a software developer. I pay taxes. I do not make troubles. I am reserved and gentle. I was waiting for a bus after work.

And I was tackled, handcuffed, and had an officer sit on my head — for dropping a cigarette.

If you are Black, Brown, or visibly "other" in Germany, you are more likely to be stopped, more likely to be treated as a threat, more likely to have an encounter escalate for reasons that make no sense.

Racial profiling is real. It happens here. It happened to me.

Know Your Rights

If you're stopped by police in Germany:

1. **You can ask why you're being stopped.** *"Warum werde ich kontrolliert?"*

1. **Plainclothes officers must identify themselves.** Ask for their Dienstausweis (service ID). If they refuse or can't produce one, you have reason to be cautious.

1. **You have the right to remain silent.** Beyond providing identification, you are not required to answer questions.

1. **You can request a lawyer if detained.** *"Ich möchte einen Anwalt sprechen."*

1. **Document everything.** Badge numbers, time, location, witnesses. Write it down as soon as you can.

1. **You can file a complaint.** Contact the police oversight authority or file a *Dienstaufsichtsbeschwerde*.

Resources

• **Antidiskriminierungsstelle des Bundes:** [antidiskriminierungsstelle.de](https://www.antidiskriminierungsstelle.de)
• **ReachOut Berlin** (support for victims of racist violence): [reachoutberlin.de](https://www.reachoutberlin.de)
• **KOP Berlin** (Campaign for Victims of Racist Police Violence): [kop-berlin.de](https://www.kop-berlin.de)
• **Each One Teach One (EOTO):** [eoto-archiv.de](https://www.eoto-archiv.de)

Why I'm Sharing This

I built [Custody Clarity](https://custodyclarity.com) because I went months without seeing my children — because I didn't know the steps to assert my parental rights.

This experience with the police taught me the same lesson: when you don't know your rights, you are vulnerable.

I'm sharing this story because:

• Racial profiling exists in Germany, even when people pretend it doesn't
• Being charged does not mean you are guilty
• Documentation and legal support matter — even when you can't afford them
• Other fathers, other Black people, other immigrants deserve to know they are not alone
• Trauma can plant seeds of hatred — but you can choose not to let them grow

To Anyone Fighting a System That Wasn't Built for You

I know what it feels like to be exhausted. To wonder if you should keep going. To cry into your pillow until it's soaked, then wake up and pretend you're fine.

You are not alone.

The path is hard. The system is slow. The people who should help you sometimes make things worse.

But you are still here. And that matters.

Keep going. Cry it out. Document everything. Find the people who will stand with you.

And when you come out the other side — tell your story. Someone needs to hear it.