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EVANSVILLE, Ind. — On the day designated for the “Big Fight” at the police academy, rookie sheriff’s deputy Asson Hacker struggled as a burly instructor bore down on him.
In the intense exercise, the trainer acted like a violent suspect, testing Hacker’s resolve and physicality. He punched, grappled, and hurled Hacker against padded walls, all the while urging him to fight as if his life depended on it.
“You’ve got to go home!” another instructor shouted, pushing the message that Hacker must fight harder if he was to survive encounters in the field.
After seven grueling minutes, Hacker managed to secure a handcuff on the trainer, earning applause from classmates encircling the gym. Exhausted, Hacker collapsed onto his back.
A few hours later, however, this 33-year-old father of four was pronounced dead. Another recruit, who fought the same instructor shortly after Hacker, was hospitalized with a severe injury. The full details of that March 2023 training exercise would remain largely hidden from the public, with officials stating that Hacker succumbed to exertion related to a preexisting genetic condition.
The tragic events during the Big Fight at the Southwest Indiana Law Enforcement Academy reveal a troubling culture of aggression within numerous police departments. Officers are often trained to perceive nearly every individual as a potential life-threatening criminal. Such an outlook can prompt officers to resort quickly to physical force or weaponry in the field.
In the years prior to Hacker’s death, four individuals died in a mere 14 months in the streets of Evansville due to tactics that, while not intended to be lethal, have nonetheless led to civilian fatalities nationwide, as an investigation found.
This cluster of fatalities was particularly alarming for a mid-sized city when compared to over 1,000 similar cases documented elsewhere. These deaths mirrored incidents in other locations where officers improperly employed force during challenging behavioral or medical situations.
The investigation illustrated a concerning trend following fatal instances involving civilians and academy training: authorities routinely downplayed the violence, while the county coroner—having served 25 years in law enforcement—determined that the force had played no role in the deaths, and no officers faced criminal charges.
Records and footage obtained indicate that official accounts often omitted pivotal details about the force used or the conduct of officers towards those who would die. With limited independent oversight, Evansville police have largely evaded criticism, but not entirely escaped accountability; the city paid nearly $1 million to the parents of one victim to resolve their lawsuit quietly.
City officials refused interview requests and did not respond to extensive inquiries. A city attorney asserted that the force employed by Evansville officers is typically deemed lawful when scrutinized in court.
Evansville is among police departments where similar use-of-force training, methodologies, and oversight were found reminiscent of those in cities criticized by the U.S. Department of Justice in recent years.
Relatives of Hacker voiced feelings of abandonment and suspicion, fearing that the law enforcement community he intended to join was concealing the true circumstances surrounding his death.
“If they can’t get it right with one of their own,” remarked Lij Hacker, Asson’s younger brother, “then they’re certainly not going to get it right with the public.”
A fallen recruit, Asson Hacker was excited about being a rookie deputy, though he expressed anxiety to his brother about the approaching Big Fight—culminating a challenging week of training that had already left him bruised and battered.
A 6-foot-3, 230-pound former athlete, Hacker felt a strong desire to serve and protect. As a Black man hailing from New York City, he was also poised to bring diversity to an overwhelmingly white department.
Before the fight, he shaved off his beard from his coal miner days, proudly donning his uniform for family to see. He hoped to serve as a role model for his four young sons.
First, Hacker needed to complete four months of rigor at the academy. On fight day, he was matched with Instructor Mike Fisher, a veteran sheriff’s major with a history of pushing recruits hard.
Anticipating the grueling day, Hacker navigated through pre-fight rituals, holding his ribs tightly. When his turn arrived, he ascended a two-story building’s stairs, engaged with training bags, and ultimately positioned himself on a mat to engage in battle.
Video evidence later revealed that midway through, Hacker’s stature wavered, resembling a fighter on the verge of defeat. He persisted for three more minutes under instructors’ urging but eventually slumped against the ropes, exhausted.
Around 15 minutes later, amid another ongoing fight, four instructors and peers transported an unconscious Hacker across the gym while anxiously awaiting medical assistance.
Instructors speculated that he had only become dehydrated or overheated. Among them was rookie Tanner Corum, the next recruit scheduled for combat with Fisher, who ominously informed a classmate to reach out to his wife if anything went awry.
Corum’s ordeal involved Fisher’s relentless assaults as he struggled to breathe, ultimately leading to injury and hospitalization. Doctors diagnosed both Corum and Hacker with rhabdomyolysis, a potentially deadly condition stemming from excessive physical exertion.
As Hacker’s funeral gathered a multitude of uniformed officers, Corum wheeled himself in, revealing the physical toll inflicted by the Big Fight. Sheriff Noah Robinson addressed attendees, urging them to commit to the “truth” surrounding Hacker’s demise—a message he would later describe as a means to quell speculation.
Following Hacker’s passing, Evansville police confirmed that he and another recruit had experienced medical emergencies during “routine physical tactics training,” pledging cooperation with a state police investigation.
For decades, the Evansville department had investigated its incidents internally, typically absolving officers of wrongdoing in fatal encounters. The decision to allow external scrutiny was extraordinary within this context.
Yet charges of potential influence covered the investigation, with recruits expressing concern about protecting the academy from liability issues. Investigators inquired about unfounded allegations of steroid use while also scrutinizing Hacker and Corum’s health habits.
While some recruits maintained there was nothing wrong with the training, others felt the investigation neglected the injuries sustained and a culture that pushed them to injurious limits. One recruit noted that they were being fed a narrative the instructors were absolved from blame.
Five experts contacted revealed similarities between Evansville’s training practices and others linked to serious injuries or deaths.
Spencer Fomby, a seasoned use-of-force instructor, criticized the simulation design, emphasizing that police typically do not confront larger suspects without backup or tools to de-escalate the situation. “We should not be cultivating an officer’s skills to combat like a UFC fighter,” Fomby stated.
Experts, including Dr. Randy Eichner, suggested that had instructors intervened sooner when seeing Hacker’s exhaustion, he might have survived the ordeal, underscoring the need for more conscientious training practices.
Determining the official cause of Hacker’s death fell upon Vanderburgh County Coroner Steve Lockyear, who had deep ties to law enforcement prior to his election.
Lockyear noted that his office worked closely with local law enforcement, leading to questions on the accuracy of findings. Eventually, authorities revealed that Hacker’s death stemmed from “exertional sickling due to sickle cell trait.”
While sickle cell trait remains mostly asymptomatic, rare instances occur when individuals, like Hacker, experience severe complications during intense exertion. Although Hacker had been diagnosed with the trait as a child, he had never previously exhibited issues with physical training.
Dr. Michael Baden, a former chief medical examiner, found multiple factors contributed to Hacker’s death, asserting that the rough training played a significant role. Others were similarly surprised that instructors failed to stop the training when excessive exertion was apparent.
After the coroner’s report, Sheriff Robinson claimed they were unaware of Hacker’s condition and would begin screening for it in recruits going forward. He defended the Big Fight’s necessity, linking it to real-world challenges officers face.
Response to inquiries about the handling of Hacker’s death and training methods were consistent with a disappointing pattern observed after similar instances of excessive force in the Evansville area.
The fallout from Hacker’s tragic death has initiated lawsuits; his widow claims negligence by the academy and instructors in creating a hostile training environment. Expectations abound regarding the forthcoming legal struggles as crews aim to bring accountability.
The haunting impact of Hacker’s death looms large, as relatives call for investigations, determined to hold law enforcement accountable for changing their practices and acknowledging the registers of ongoing brutality that plague police departments.
“If this slips through the cracks and no one is held accountable,” Lij Hacker expressed, “the justice system has failed us.”
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