New uniforms, same abuses: Accounts of a tactical team shakedown in an Illinois prison 

Tactical teams in Illinois prisons are reportedly using abusive practices a decade after “Orange Crush” case

Content warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of violence and abuse inside prisons. 

Kool-Aid, syrup and peanut butter dumped on clothing and bedding. Wires ripped from electronic razors. Threats and instructions shouted by baton-wielding officers whose identities are concealed by masks and face-coverings. 

Descriptions of the April 28 tactical team shakedown in East Moline Correctional Facility in northwestern Illinois more closely resemble a fraternity initiation rite than a methodical search for contraband like drugs and weapons. 

From humiliating strip searches to ransacking cells, tactical team officers entered the Illinois Department of Correction (IDOC) facility and executed many of the same practices as those cited more than a decade ago in the infamous 2015 “Orange Crush” case, a lawsuit alleging abuse and violence performed by tactical teams in Illinois prisons. 

A legacy of violence

In 2015, civil rights attorneys filed a class action lawsuit against the Illinois Special Operations Response Team (SORT), a tactical team known colloquially as “Orange Crush” because of their orange jumpsuits. 

The still-active suit describes beatings, sexual humiliation, destroyed property and “gratuitously inflicted punishment” performed by SORT members. More than fifty people are named as defendants, including IDOC’s 2015 Director, IDOC’s Chief of Operations, the Warden of Lawrence Correctional Center and fifty-four members of the tactical team. 

According to court documents, the defendants deny the existence of an “Orange Crush” unit, as well as the allegations of abusive practices. A decade later, people who are incarcerated in IDOC facilities say that while the tactical teams no longer wear orange, their practices remain largely unchanged.

New uniforms, same practices

“A lot of us were forced to strip naked in front of our cellmates,” said Dan, who is currently serving a sentence in East Moline, whose name has been changed to protect his identity. “These cameras are directed into the cell, and a lot of us were forced to strip naked with these cameras in front of us.”

Dan said that he tried to make the officers aware that they were being recorded, but was his concerns were dismissed. “They just said ‘Don’t worry about it.’”

During his incarceration, Dan has been transferred to multiple IDOC facilities, but he says the cruelty that he has experienced during shakedowns—including those from Orange Crush—has remained the same. 

“They changed their name and their uniform but it’s the same,” Dan said. “They just changed their mask.”

John [name changed], who is also incarcerated in East Moline, also describes being strip searched in front of his cellmate. 

“They didn’t care about him seeing—it was a really demeaning situation,” John said.

John lives in the block that was searched last during the three-day tactical team shakedown. During the days leading up to April 28, he described feeling intense anxiety. 

“It’s kind of a panic situation; for some people, all they’ve got is the stuff that’s in these boxes—pictures, letters,” said John, who is incarcerated in East Moline. John told The Chicago Reporter that the people living in his cell block knew in advance that they were going to have a large-scale shakedown after witnessing the tactical team entering other blocks during the previous days. 

“You’ve just got the anxiety of hoping they don’t take it, hoping they don’t ruin [your possessions],” John said. 

Permission to destroy 

Three separate accounts of the April 28 shakedown describe tactical team members destroying possessions in spite of them being in compliance with prison rules. Legal documents, copies of previously filed grievances, letters from loved ones and food purchased from the prison’s commissary were torn up and discarded, according to these accounts. 

Due to chronic medical issues, John holds a medical permit allowing him to have accommodations in his cell, including an extra mattress. John said that didn’t stop tactical team members from confiscating his items.

“I had a medical permit for two mattresses—they took one of them anyway, disregarded my permit, so I had to go a couple of nights without having a mattress,” John said. “There were a couple of other guys they took mattresses from too.”

William [name changed], who also lives in East Moline, discovered that most of his food, which was purchased from commissary though payments sent from his adult child, had been poured all over his clothes. 

“They left me with nothing,” William said. “They dumped all of the syrup, opened up my peanut butter, dumped it all over my food, dumped Kool-Aid all over my stuff.”

The tactical team also destroyed irreplaceable possessions, William said. “They ripped up my kids’ pictures and ripped up the mother of my child’s pictures, who passed. They destroyed all of her letters.” 

Once the damage has been done—once items have been destroyed or taken without explanation—there is little recourse for people to seek damages or replacement of their possessions, John said. 

“Its not like you’re going to get any justice,” John said, referring to IDOC’s notoriously ineffective grievance system. “Our word doesn’t mean anything—you could have six witnesses who say ‘I saw [a CO] hit him’ but one CO deny it, and nothing will happen.”

Protected from accountability 

Multiple accounts of the April 28 shakedown mention that tactical team members conceal their identities by wearing face coverings and dressing in non-uniform attire including apparel including black hoodies bearing slogans such as “unwanted enforcers.” 

Tactical team members also use verbal threats of violence to prevent people from identifying them, according to several sources whose names have been withheld. 

William recalled attempting to identify tactical team members who greeted him with taunts and intimidation as they entered his cell. 

“As they told me to come out, they told me to put my head up against the wall, and I put my head up a little bit just to make sure I see their faces again,” said Dan, whose name has been changed. “He told me if I do it again, he’s going to smack it against the wall.” 

William says that he plans to use the grievance system to report what happened, but faces challenges because officers protect each other from disciplinary action. He has requested his shakedown slip—a document that states the outcome of a cell search—but his counselor refused to release it. 

“They don’t want to release the copy of it because it’ll tell me which officers came in here,” William said. 

William is not the first to suggest that correctional officers protect each other; numerous investigations from across the country have exposed tendencies within corrections departments to bury misconduct and hide abuse. 

As a result, even officers accused of heinous crimes keep their jobs in the correctional field: a Chicago Reporter analysis of publicly available information found that many of the individuals named in the “Orange Crush” lawsuit continue to work in IDOC and have been promoted to higher roles, including Sergeant and Lieutenant positions.  

Daniel notes that simple solutions—like adding cameras to more areas in the prison and establishing a system of accountability—could significantly improve the lives of people inside prisons by preventing abuse. 

“There’s no real oversight from outside,” Daniel said, noting that the same abuses have been exposed decade after decade with little change. 

Public awareness could answer this plea for greater oversight, and organizations like the John Howard Association and Chicago Appleseed Center for Fair Courts are fighting to expose conditions in IDOC.

Public demands for transparency have the potential to disrupt cycles of misconduct. Small changes to existing systems could have a sizable impact: Updating IDOC’s archaic grievance system to an electronic system and demanding that IDOC release anonymous reports regularly, creating a public database of officers’ disciplinary records, and conducting audits with more regularity could generate greater oversight.