What It’s Like to Face a Riot: A Secret Service Officer’s Firsthand Account
In April 2000, Justin M. Bocock stood on the skirmish line in Washington, D.C., surrounded by thousands of angry protesters during the World Bank and IMF demonstrations. As a young officer with the U.S. Secret Service Uniformed Division, he was trained, confident, and committed to protecting the buildings under his watch. But nothing could fully prepare him for what came next.
In this raw, unflinching account, Bocock recalls the moment a peaceful protest turned violent—and what it felt like to be on the receiving end of hatred, chaos, and human waste. It’s a story of courage, restraint, and duty told from the heart of the riot.
📘 As a Police Officer, What Is It Like to Be in a Riot? is an excerpt from his upcoming book, On Call: Case Files from a Career in Homicide - What Every Investigator Should Know coming this September from Genius Book Publishing.
As a Police Officer, What Is It Like to Be in a Riot?
In April of 2000, I was a Federal Officer in the United States Secret Service Uniformed Division. I was assigned to the official residence of Vice President Al Gore at the Naval Observatory. I was also a team member of the Civil Disobedience Unit.
That summer, the World Bank and International Monetary Fund (IMF) were holding their annual meetings in Washington, D.C. President Bill Clinton designated the meeting locations as federally protected buildings. This declaration placed the buildings under the protection of the Secret Service. The Secret Service is not a large organization and received assistance from the National Guard, Metropolitan Police Department, Capitol Police, and Park Police.
I had received extensive training in crowd control and civil disobedience during my initial Secret Service training. In addition, I received several days of training specifically related to the World Bank and IMF meetings. All participating agencies used the same commands, movement techniques, and operating procedures.
I didn’t know what the World Bank or IMF was. It didn’t matter to me. My job was to protect the buildings, so I was going to protect the buildings. I also didn’t know who the protesters were or why they were protesting. I had one focus: do my job, not let my team down, and make sure my teammates and the property I was ordered to protect were not harmed.
I was fresh out of the Secret Service academy and was physically and mentally prepared to handle threats. I knew my training, I knew what was expected of me, and I was confident in my ability to apply that training to the job at hand.
We were deployed prior to the arrival of the delegates. We performed standard rotations around the building and watched as the crowds steadily grew larger. Masks weren’t a thing back then, and the protesters didn’t hide their faces. A few had cameras and handheld video recorders—cell phones weren’t common yet. These “intelligence” protesters took pictures of our name tags and tried to strike up conversations with us. I had one of them ask me where he could get bottled water. While I was giving him directions to a water station, I saw him eyeing my name tag and writing my last name in a small notebook. Although the crowd appeared peaceful, I had a feeling something menacing was in the works.
The situation changed drastically on the second day. The crowds were large, unruly, and loud. My team rotated to a front-line position. We lined up behind metal bicycle racks that were chained together to form a barrier around the building we were protecting. The protesters in our section were only loud at first. I didn’t hear everything they were yelling, but they were angry. They each shouted a different slogan and pointed at us as they leaned over the barrier, pushing the limits of how close they could get to our skirmish line.
It was alarming, but exactly what I expected. It was difficult to hear the radio, but I could make out reports about protesters trying to break the lines and spraying liquid at police. That’s when I got a tap on the shoulder and the command to don my gas mask. I dropped to one knee, quickly secured my gas mask, and stood back up in the ready position. In that eight-second window, the crowd that had been merely loud turned into something else. The yelling faces disappeared and were replaced by a more aggressive group. The slogans turned into threats: “Fuck you!” and “I’m going to kill you!” The crowd began lifting the metal barrier, trying to break our line of protection. I was in the front row, three feet from the barrier. I focused on that barrier. I knew that if it came apart, the masses were going to rush us. We had to hold the line—they couldn’t get past us.
I got another tap on the shoulder, signaling me to raise the hood of my rain jacket. With my hood up, I could hear my earpiece much better. I learned that protesters were using “Super Soaker” water guns to spray urine and diluted feces at the police. I laughed a little to myself, but the laughter quickly died. The voice speaking in my ear was my section commander, and I was about to experience that mixture firsthand.
The crowd roared—the chanting and yelling were deafening. The protesters slowly pushed the metal barrier closer to us. It was just a matter of time before we would be face to face. Suddenly, my radio squealed: “Hold!” And as I heard the command, I was doused with liquid. I couldn’t smell it through the gas mask, but I smelled it. It just kept coming. The liquid bounced off my gas mask and pooled inside the hood of my rain jacket. I felt the warm fluid soaking my uniform. A light brown film clung to my face mask, obscuring my view. When I could see again, the crowd had advanced to arm’s distance. They had dragged the metal barrier within a foot of our line. The protesters were spraying us and pressing forward. Then I saw road flares being lit. Protesters waved the flares and chanted, “Burn them alive! Burn them alive!” I truly hoped the liquid I’d just been sprayed with was urine and feces—and not anything flammable.
Ultimately, I got sprayed with human excrement, hit with water bottles, screamed at, threatened with death, and called every name imaginable. When our rotation ended, we got cleaned up, got some food, hydrated, and moved to another sector. The next couple of days were nothing like those fifty minutes of chaos I had endured.
When the IMF meeting ended and the protests concluded, I watched the news and learned that the protesters were angry because local police had raided their encampments. They claimed the raids were illegal and violated their rights. I’m not here to take sides or convince anyone to see the world the way I did that day. What I know is, I didn’t understand why these people hated us so much. Their anger and vitriol were unlike anything I had ever seen.
Official reports documented that between 12,000 and 15,000 protesters attended the three-day event. Law enforcement was outnumbered 10, 20, maybe even 30 to one. Standing on the skirmish line, facing people who hated me, I came to a disturbing realization: despite all my training and instincts, I was completely at their mercy.
I take pride in telling this story and remembering my actions during that riot. I remained calm. I didn’t let my team down. And I protected the buildings I was entrusted to defend. I take pride in knowing that I did my job.
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Justin M Bocock
Justin Bocock began his law enforcement career as a Uniformed Division Officer in the U.S. Secret Service before joining the Mesa Police Department (Arizona), where he served for 20 years in roles including patrol officer, training officer, detective, and homicide investigator. During his career, he investigated hundreds of violent crimes, suspicious deaths, and homicides. In 2019, he was named Homicide Detective of the Year by the Arizona Homicide Investigators Association (AHIA) for pioneering drone technology in crime scene investigations. He retired from the Mesa Police Department in 2021 and later contributed as a subject matter expert for criminal justice textbooks used in higher education.
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