POLICE OFFICER HUMILIATES BLACK JUDGE WITH HOSE AND ENDS UP BEGGING…
Have you ever seen someone laugh while trying to erase another person’s dignity? In Santa Aurora, on a hot, dry morning, a sergeant decided to turn the town square into a stage—and chose the worst possible victim.
Dr. Aline Mendonça was walking to the courthouse with her briefcase pressed against her body. She was a federal judge, known for not flinching in the face of corruption. Even so, in that neighborhood, she was still “the black woman who thinks she’s in charge.” Near the fountain, three police cars and a garbage truck blocked part of the passage. The police officers laughed loudly, as if the city belonged to them. When Aline approached, Sergeant Davi Braga raised a hose and said, for anyone who wanted to hear: “Today I’m going to cool this snob down.”
Before anyone could react, the icy jet hit her chest. Her light-colored blouse stuck to her skin, her briefcase fell, and the silence turned to laughter. Cell phones flew up like traffic signs. Aline didn’t run, didn’t scream, didn’t call for help. She just stared at Davi, read the name on his uniform, and memorized the patrol car’s number with her eyes. He, amused, moved closer and teased: “Who are you going to call?”.
Aline picked up her briefcase, walked dripping with sweat to the courthouse, and went straight into her office. Inside, she closed the door, took a deep breath, and did what few do when shame tries to win: she wrote. She recorded the time, location, witnesses, requested privacy of the images, and sent it to the internal affairs department. Her colleague, Judge Renato Lemos, tried to be “prudent”: “This will turn into a war.” Aline replied without raising her voice: “War is when they tell me to shrink. I won’t.”
That same afternoon, the video exploded in the city’s groups. When someone finally said her name aloud — “It’s Judge Aline Mendonça” — Davi’s laughter froze. He ran to the commander, Captain Norberto Paes, hoping for protection. Paes only saw danger: “Shut up, don’t talk to anyone.” And behind the scenes, anonymous calls began, messages “from a friend,” and even the mysterious disappearance of a file in the technical department.
But Aline wasn’t alone. Prosecutor Lívia Barros entered the case like someone turning on a light in a basement. A municipal guard, Camila Soares, decided to testify, trembling but standing: “He aimed first. He said he wanted to see her shrink.” A shopkeeper handed over another camera. And this time, the audio was clear.
At the public hearing, the room was packed. The screen showed Davi smiling before the jet and, soon after, the phrase that sealed everything. Davi tried to repeat “just kidding,” but his own voice contradicted him. He swallowed hard, looked at Aline and, for the first time, received neither applause nor laughter: “I wanted to humiliate her. I did it because I thought I could.”
The decision came with consequences: administrative punishment, an investigation for obstruction, and the captain’s removal from office. Days later, in the same square, with an open microphone, ordinary people recounted other humiliations. Aline listened in silence and understood: it wasn’t just about water. It was about an entire city relearning that respect is not negotiable. And that night, as she closed her window, she smiled: not because of victory, but because she had opened a crack that no one else could patch.
“If you believe that no pain is greater than God’s promise, comment: I BELIEVE! And also say: from which city are you watching us?”