I’m everything but broke.
I’m trying to make it home too. Cause I’m riding around in the same car that the police pulled me over in and drawed guns on me and my children on March 3, 2017. I need someone to trail me home now and make sure I make it from East Oakland to West Oakland safe while I left my children’s school.
My name is Audrey Candy Corn. I’m the mother of Torian Dejure Hughes. He is 17 years of age, and I am a grieving mother. He was shot, killed and bullied one year ago. It’ll be 15 months actually exact on the 20th of March. I have two living children, his brothers Amir, 13 years of age, and Ishy-Me, 8, who are still living.
It’s been a struggle every day of our lives. Outside of our everyday monetarial living, I have to deal with outside circumstances. So in a nutshell, Torian dies. Four months later, after he passes away, I get housing. And housing is around the corner from where my son is murdered. So I have to make a decision on if I stay homeless, living pillow to post with my children? Or do I take this residency that’s supposed to be stable and is in a poverty-stricken community called West Oakland?
So I took the apartment, being triggered, knowing that around the corner my son’s blood was shed. Then shortly two months after I moved into this poverty-stricken project, housing police abused me, put their hands on me, tried to taze me, remove me out of my car illegally. Internal affairs got involved, and I currently have a lawsuit of misconduct and whatever else falls beneath that.
A few months after that, my house is surrounded by police ready to kick it in. They’re looking for someone. They’re looking for someone who previously lived there. But they didn’t care to go and check the paperwork to see if there had been new residents occupying that place cause they would have known me and my children was up in there.
I’m a single mother, 35 years of age, three male black children, law-abiding citizens, never been in jail. Never did drugs, don’t drink alcohol, not on probation, not on parole. I’m not on fucking welfare. I don’t accept your food stamps. I don’t have Medi-Cal so my teeth is rotting out my fucking mouth. I am totally independent. If I don’t work, I don’t eat.
My son is an author. He writes books. We sell them. My other son is the founder of an anti-bullying campaign for his brother. We are here in Deecolonize Academy because we could not be at the traditional schools because of discrimination against my children.
A woman such as myself that is bridging the gap for the community, between the police and the community, I – four times – have been stopped and guns pulled down on me and my children. I have anxiety, panic attacks, stress, depression, and any goddamn thing that you could think of.
Why? I don’t know.
I don’t know, but what I do know is that the police is out of control. They are not following protocol. Any time a woman comes from home, decides that she is going to go volunteer at her children’s school, to show them love and to show the staff and the teachers support, and show the other children whose parents ain’t here, that they got extended family. I came and I did that.
And I was here. I was in Church’s Chicken, up the street on Macarthur cause I was hungry. Then I made it here. And once I made it here, I didn’t leave. And once I left, I put my children in the car. I told the staff and the children that we would see them on Monday because it was Friday. And me and my children began to talk about our day and what we had planned because later on that day, Friday, we had T.A.Z. Apparel anti-bullying gear where we had to fit their models.
We almost didn’t make it because what transpired was: as I was coming from Macarthur from the school, there was an accident in front of us. And there was a bunch of police cars, so I decided I didn’t want to go through that. I make a right.
A white unmarked cop car gets behind me. Two more cop cars get behind me. I say to myself, “Ooh, I’m scared. Lord Jesus, oh Lord Jesus, the police is behind me.” The children is like, “It’s okay, Mom.” I’m like, yeah that’s right, it’s gonna be okay. I forgot, you know. I’m like, it’s gonna be okay.
It wasn’t okay.
These police officers followed me into the Eastmont Mall, turned on their sirens, and flung the doors open and said, “get out of the car,” with guns drawn on me and my children.
Could it be mistaken identity? Could it be my vehicle fit the description of another vehicle that did something? Could it be Donald Trump is in the office? Could it be that they’re practicing on us? Is it terrorism?
Terrorism is what it is. Cause I had on a dress. And again, they ran the license plates, didn’t they? They see that I was a woman and 98 pounds. I told them, this is what I did:
“Get out of the car.”
“My name is Audrey Candy Corn. I am a law-abiding citizen. I am not on probation or parole. I have 2 male children in the car that are minors, 13 and 8. Please sir, can you tell me what is your business with me and my children because we just came from school? I assure you this is a mistake. Please, put your guns down.”
They told me to put my ear on the ground to humiliate me, spread my legs, and don’t look at him.
My eight-year-old son Ishy-Me later remembered what he saw:
The cop said, “Get on the ground.” She was having anxiety. She couldn’t breathe. She called out my grandma’s number. A lady called my grandma. She said, “I am coming, baby.” And then called my Auntie. She was in San Francisco.
They put her in handcuffs. She said no. Both of them pushed her down. One of the cops had pointed a gun at her.
This lady knew us. She pulled us out of the car. Then they uncuffed her. One of the cops had a boiled-egg head. (Click here to watch the video of Ishy-me)
I’m done. I need some help.