For the first time in the city’s history, on Nov. 4, Philadelphia released police body-camera footage to the public following a police shooting. According to officials, this was done as a token of transparency and accountability: a show of goodwill to the thousands of protesters running roughshod over Philadelphia’s streets — not least to those responsible for at least 60 assaults on officers since the Oct. 26 shooting itself.
But if bodycam footage is an olive branch from the police to the people, what is the goodwill token back to the police? And will the footage itself engender a greater sense of partnership and trust, or does it instead entrench an image of police officers as villains?
On Monday, Oct. 26, two Philadelphia police officers, aged 25 and 26, responded to a 911 call. Cellphone video that went viral later that day showed them encountering 27-year-old Walter Wallace Jr. striding in the street, brandishing a knife. Onlookers tell him to drop the knife. The police tell him to drop the knife. Instead, weapon in hand, Wallace comes directly at the officers, who have been steadily backing away, and they fatally shoot him.
It’s a sad video. The officers appear scared and defensive, and after the shooting, the victim’s mother is angry and grief-stricken. Thousands of Philadelphians saw in that video a story of police callously, unjustly shooting a black man. And they saw this story as a parable for an entire system of racist law enforcers empowered by a racist system.
Their response was days of protests, with rioting, looting, and assaults on police so violent the Pennsylvania National Guard was deployed to Philadelphia. Reportedly up to 15 people were shot the first night, including a 15-year-old, and up to 1,000 people descended on Philadelphia’s Port Richmond neighborhood, where they ransacked businesses. Despite subsequent curfews, criminal activity continued: Two people are facing charges after Philadelphia police found a van full of illegal explosives amid multiple nights of unrest. A crowd estimated at upward of 1,000 turned out to rally. Tallies report 617 incidents of looting, 18 damaged vehicles, 24 ATM explosions, 60 police injured, and more than 225 arrests.
Will the release of bodycam footage inspire these anti-police protesters to think more deeply about the actions and intentions of these two officers or have a more positive view of the department as a whole? Will it allow for a more genuine and constructive conversation around police methods and mission?
No, it won’t. And here is why.
Bodycam footage, whatever the benefits that some jurisdictions have found it provides, doesn’t lead to a more balanced and open-minded dialogue between the 5-0 and the people.
One reason is that released footage provides the narrowest, most violent view of all police activity and of criminals’ role in crimes. These bodycams bias our picture of reality because of the illusion that their footage is exhaustive. We don't see the absence of recording, in much the same way that we rarely see or hear about the roughly 99% of police-civilian encounters that do not involve the use of force, or the tens of thousands of calls for police to handle mentally disturbed persons.
Similar to early 20th-century grisly forensic photography, body cameras spark emotional responses, touched with adrenaline and morbid fascination — all the more so because what they capture is live, as it happens. And rather than focusing primarily on the scene, victims, and suspects, body cameras track the actions, decisions, and utterances of officers themselves. So unlike in historic crime stills, body-worn camera clips actually position the police as the suspects and the criminal suspects as the victims. This is because typically, when the camera starts rolling in a use-of-force incident, the police are already on the scene pursuing and subduing suspects. When you can’t see the actual victim or the crime itself, the officers can appear, uncontextualized, as aggressors.
If that didn’t already skew what the public sees, bodycams predominately capture those limited moments when police use force, because that is when bodycams are most likely to be turned on. Some newer models are even automatically activated when officers unholster a Taser or gun.
And clips depicting police violence are far more likely to be seen because departments are more likely to be obligated to share them publicly. In June, for instance, the New York Police Department mandated the release of all body camera footage of police shootings and other instances involving force and injury or death. These clips then go viral — people are drawn to the violence and are fired up by perceived injustice.
Will there be footage of Wallace hitting his parents during the morning of the 26th, so scary it led the family to make multiple calls to the police? Will there be footage released of mundane, good, or excellent police work demonstrated by Officers Matarazzo and Munz during their few years on the job? Will there be simulated footage created to show the carnage Wallace might have caused in his deluded state had the police not intervened? And, while the footage of the officers’ violence has been distributed for judgment along with their identities, will the same be done for the more than 200 violent individuals arrested in subsequent street clashes that injured so many of Philadelphia’s finest? If we’re being honest, shouldn’t all this be up for consideration?
On Oct. 28, the city promised to deliver bodycam footage to the public, but this was delayed in a decision backed by Philadelphia’s mayor, the police commissioner, and Wallace’s own family because they feared it would further foment citywide tensions and violence. Why? The footage verifies what skeptics questioned: Wallace does have a knife, and the police do tell him over and over to drop it. Furthermore, the 911 calls released simultaneously reveal the deranged man’s family members’ calls to say he was hurting his mother, that he had a history of violence. This is information that would seem to support that, while it’s critical to explore how the episode could have ended with a less heartbreaking outcome, Wallace posed a credible violent threat both to the police and to the crowd of innocents around him.
The exculpating nature of the police footage is borne out by the fact that Wallace’s own parents, who suffered the trauma of seeing their son killed in front of their eyes by those they hoped could defuse the situation, watched the video and decided they did not want the officers to face murder charges or be personally blamed. So, the subsequent decision to delay the public release purely underscores that much of the voluble citizenry isn’t seeking an honest conversation about what actually happened.
Yes, the footage will be useful in the Philadelphia Police Department's internal investigation and in any subsequent trials, and it may be a valuable training vehicle for officers learning how to handle the most volatile situations. Also, largely due to the dignity and gravity that Wallace’s grieving family have brought to this moment, Wallace’s death will provide more impetus to discuss the best ways to prevent the severely mentally ill from posing a violent threat to those around them and to themselves. And the incident may focus more attention on important police deescalation tools, training, and funding.
Philadelphia police’s historic sharing of bodycam footage was intended to build bridges to incensed citizens. But denizens of the City of Brotherly Love, and whipped-up protesters nationwide, need to meet the police halfway. Ultimately, it will be the belligerent, intractable anti-cop activists who, having rapidly decreased law enforcement’s available tools and demoralized officers who signed up to serve their communities, leave the most vulnerable populations unprotected against crime, nuisance, and raging violence.
Answering a question about his response to social media videos showing unarmed civilians getting killed by police, former acting Baltimore Police Commissioner Anthony Barksdale reflected at a recent Manhattan Institute event titled " Policing While Black": “Unfortunately, now as a civilian, I can’t just pull the case; I can’t just call the chief of detectives. So now, I’m cautious to get as many facts as I can before I can make a judgment. And that’s what I would like to start seeing and hoping that citizens can understand. Before everyone acts on emotion, let’s try to get as many facts as possible.”
Can we count on the public to be as cautious as Barksdale? If the answer is "no," we need a better tool than just bodycam footage to spur an honest conversation from both sides of the blue line on police use of force.
This piece originally appeared at Washington Examiner (paywall)
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Hannah Meyers is director of the policing and public safety initiative at the Manhattan Institute.
This piece originally appeared in Washington Examiner