Most people encounter the idea of a police raid through news headlines or television: officers breaking down a door in the middle of the night, shouting commands, weapons drawn. These moments are often framed as extraordinary—used only in extreme circumstances.
But for decades, forced-entry tactics have been part of routine policing in certain contexts. “No-knock” policies did not emerge suddenly, nor were they designed as rare exceptions. They developed gradually, shaped by legal decisions, enforcement priorities, and assumptions about danger.
Understanding how these policies came to exist—and how they came to be normalized—helps explain why encounters that begin at home can end in tragedy.
At the founding of the United States, the home was legally significant. English common law emphasized the principle that law enforcement should announce itself before entering a residence. This “knock and announce” rule was meant to protect life, property, and dignity.
The expectation was practical as well as moral: a sudden intrusion could provoke fear, resistance, or violence from occupants who believed they were being attacked.
For much of American history, this principle held. Forced entry without warning was viewed as dangerous not only for residents, but for officers themselves.
That assumption began to shift in the mid-20th century.
The expansion of no-knock policies is closely tied to the War on Drugs.
Beginning in the 1960s and accelerating in the 1970s and 1980s, lawmakers and police departments increasingly argued that announcing entry gave suspects time to destroy evidence—especially drugs. Courts began to allow exceptions when officers claimed that knocking would be “futile” or “dangerous.”
In 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the use of no-knock warrants in certain circumstances. Over time, those circumstances broadened.
What began as a narrow exception became a standard tactic in drug enforcement. Special weapons and tactics (SWAT) teams expanded rapidly, and raids were increasingly used not just for hostage situations or violent crimes, but for low-level drug investigations.
The logic shifted from preservation of life to speed and control.
No-knock raids were not deployed evenly.
They were used most frequently in neighborhoods already subject to heavy policing—often low-income communities and communities of color. Drug enforcement priorities concentrated raids in these areas, even though drug use rates were similar across racial groups.
Residents in these neighborhoods experienced repeated forced entries, sometimes at the wrong address, sometimes based on faulty information, sometimes for nonviolent offenses.
Children, elders, and people unfamiliar with police procedures were especially vulnerable. In many cases, residents responded as homeowners reasonably might—by reaching for protection against what appeared to be a home invasion.
These responses were then interpreted as threats.
Today, no-knock policies sit at the intersection of fear, speed, and misinterpretation.
Officers enter expecting resistance. Residents wake suddenly, disoriented, hearing shouting and explosions. In seconds, both sides are operating under worst-case assumptions.
Body cameras and training have not eliminated these risks. The fundamental problem is structural: no-knock raids remove the pause that allows recognition, understanding, and de-escalation.
Even when officers follow procedure, the encounter itself is primed for violence.
Public debate often treats deadly no-knock raids as tragic anomalies. But when outcomes repeat, they reflect design.
Understanding the history of no-knock policies clarifies why reform efforts focused only on training or accountability often fall short. The danger is built into the tactic itself.
This history also explains why trust erodes differently across communities. When the home—long considered a place of safety—becomes a site of sudden state violence, the psychological impact extends far beyond a single incident.
To explore how no-knock policies developed and how they affect different communities, these resources provide additional context:
No-knock policies were created to solve a problem—evidence destruction and officer safety. Over time, they created new risks that fell unevenly across communities.
Every Chapter Counts looks at these histories not to provoke outrage, but to understand how policies evolve, how exceptions become norms, and how design choices shape outcomes long after their original justification fades.
When we understand how tactics became routine, we can better ask whether they still serve the purpose they were meant to fulfill.