In the unrelenting stream of videos showing violent police encounters with citizens, none has carried more sheer power to stun the public than the shooting death of Walter Scott in North Charleston, South Carolina. Officer Michael Slager initially said Scott wrestled with him and tried to take his Taser. But the video told a disturbingly different story as it captured Slager firing eight times at a fleeing Scott, hitting him five times in the back. Slager was promptly charged with murder once the bystander video surfaced.

Recordings of police encounters have demonstrated their impact since home video caught Los Angeles Police officers beating Rodney King in March 1991. When George Holliday, who videotaped the King beating, offered the footage to the LAPD, an officer expressed no interest. If only that sergeant had known. Holliday then took his video to a television station.

Videos capturing the chokehold death of Eric Garner at the hands of a New York Police officer and the roadside beating of Marlene Pinnock by a California Highway Patrol officer are only some of the more recent examples of video that has proved critical in allowing the public to judge for itself whether police acted properly.

Though so many adults now have smartphones with video cameras, people exercise the right to record the police far less than they could or should. Some people don’t know the right exists. Others are intimidated by officers who mistakenly believe that recording a police encounter is unlawful. These officers may threaten to arrest them. The bystander who recorded the Scott shooting was so fearful of possible police retaliation that he considered erasing his video. Still others fear recording an encounter won’t make a difference because they assume police officers will confiscate their phone and delete the video.

The ACLU of California has moved to ease those concerns with the launch of Mobile Justice CA, a free smartphone application allowing people to record video that is sent straight to local ACLU offices. This transmission is key because it prevents anyone from grabbing the phone and deleting the only copy of the video. The app, available on Apple and Android phones, also enables the Android phone screen to lock as soon as the video stops recording to protect that footage if the phone is confiscated.

The app enables a user to receive notifications if someone nearby is using it to record. It also sends such notifications to others when someone is recording with the app, bringing more witnesses to the scene. Last, the app contains Know Your Rights information, educating individuals about their rights, including the right to record the police. We hope that these functions, individually and collectively, provide reassurance against officers who seek to intimidate or discourage people from exercising their rights.

The app provides a needed tool for accountability. Often incidents of serious misconduct go unreported because people don’t feel that they will be believed in the game of “he said, she said” that often results. Worse yet, other incidents go without remedy because the only person who can contradict the officer’s version is dead. A federal judge has described such encounters as the game of “we said, he’s dead.” With Mobile Justice CA, the technology empowers the people to document police activity and directly place a check on police power: users are encouraged to submit a detailed incident report of a law enforcement interaction they saw or experienced, whether or not they recorded it.

Video technology may also serve as a practical deterrent. In a recent study, police officers wearing body cameras, for example, were shown to be more than 50 percent less likely to use force. This makes sense. People behave better when they know they are being watched. By multiplying the number of cameras that can be trained on police, the app promises to deter bad behavior and improve police interactions with the public.

The courts have decided for decades that the right to gather information that can be made publicly available about government officials serves a key purpose of the First Amendment. Such activity promotes the free discussion of government affairs. This right is particularly critical when applied to the conduct of law enforcement officers and their extraordinary powers to detain, search, arrest or use force – powers that may be misused to deprive people of their rights, liberties or their very lives. Public scrutiny of the police guards against the abuse of power and the miscarriage of justice. The people’s well-established First Amendment right to record police conduct is a cornerstone of that scrutiny.

Though the national debate around police abuse has naturally focused attention on the app’s value as a check on law enforcement abuse – whether by police officers, sheriff’s deputies, border patrol, or other officers – we know the app can be used more broadly to record or document other abuses.

The ACLU of California was able to develop the app thanks to the generosity of Susan Adelman and Claudio Llanos.

The ACLU of California is a collaboration of the three ACLU affiliates in the state—the ACLU of Northern California, the ACLU of Southern California, and the ACLU of San Diego & Imperial Counties.

Hector Villagra is executive director at the ACLU of Southern California. Follow ACLU_SoCal

By Mitra Ebadolahi

Film the borders, film them all

 

These days, a lot is being said about police accountability. In the wake of terrible tragedies like Michael Brown’s senseless killing, a national conversation has re-ignited around such themes as the right to observe and record law enforcement activity.

Five years ago, Anastasio Hernandez-Rojas, a 42-year-old Mexican immigrant and father of five U.S.-citizen children, was brutally beaten and Tased by federal border officers near the San Ysidro port of entry. He died shortly thereafter.

Hernandez-Rojas’s senseless death was not an isolated case. Indeed, according to the ACLU’s Regional Center for Border Rights, at least 35 people have died since January 2010 as a result of U.S. Customs & Border Protection officials’ lethal use of force, including 16 U.S. citizens. Critically, however, eyewitnesses managed to capture Hernandez-Rojas’s brutal beating on video—and that has made all the difference as advocates have pressed for justice in his case.

Many of us have watched local police officers and federal officials perpetuate needless violence in our communities and experienced a sickening “Groundhog Day”-like déjà vu sensation. We have wondered what we can do to powerfully assert our core civil rights and defend against the erosion of human dignity. We have come to understand the terrible truth that, without mechanisms for the immediate and indisputable tracking of law enforcement misconduct, the most vulnerable among us will continue to suffer unconstitutional and inhumane mistreatment at the hands of certain public officials.

Great news: this week, the ACLU of California launches the Mobile Justice CA app, which is designed to help track and record law enforcement misconduct. The app includes Know Your Rights primers to help you understand your rights when encountering law enforcement officials, whether local, state, or federal. For example, the First Amendment protects your right to take photographs or video of police officers from a safe distance if you’re a bystander to a police-civilian encounter. The app also allows you to send video to the ACLU of California even if law enforcement officials try to confiscate or destroy your smartphone.

By downloading and using the Mobile Justice CA app, you are giving yourself one more tool in the fight against government misconduct. That can make all the difference in the world for would-be victims of police violence, and over time, can help our communities feel more empowered and safe.

Mitra Ebadolahi is ACLU Border Litigation Project staff attorney. Follow ACLU_SoCal

By Griffith Fuller, Jr.

My instinct is to film...especially when alone. As soon as the officer got out of his car, I pulled out my phone and hit record.

At times during my childhood in the ‘90s, I moved between two distinct communities—one with the sound of gunshots and police helicopters circling overhead in South Central Los Angeles, the other in the quieter confines of Westchester where I was bussed to school. There I was surrounded by friends who were black, white, Asian, Latino, Muslim, Jewish, Armenian—a great variety of colors and cultures. We sang Michael Jackson’s “Heal the World” at school assemblies, and inspirational posters featuring photos of ethnic diversity hung in our classrooms proclaiming, “One Race. The Human Race.”

In Westchester we were taught to believe in these messages because diversity was reflected in that community. There we were groomed to be colorblind, to ignore people’s hues and to see them only by their character.

But in my South Central neighborhood, we lived a different reality. As soon as I was of age, the world stopped seeming so colorblind. Now, as a black male adult, I have become a “threat” in the public eye.

One night last November, I was walking on my way to visit a friend in West Hollywood. At an intersection before his apartment, a couple ahead of me crossed successfully. I followed behind. But before I reached the other side of the street, a Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputy flashed a bright light and signaled me to stop.

He swooped around and pulled up. I’ve been harassed by law enforcement so many times in my life that my instinct is to film any interactions I have with them, especially when alone. So, as soon as the officer got out of his car, I pulled out my phone and hit record.

The officer asked for my identification. I asked him why he stopped me and why I needed to show him my ID.

He refused to answer, and instead grabbed me and slammed me against his vehicle. I placed my phone on the hood of his car before he cuffed my hands tightly and frisked me aggressively. Then he put me in his car while he stood outside and searched through my wallet. He found nothing.

Several curious pedestrians passed by but continued on their way. From the back seat, I called out for help, hoping they would stop and film. But the officer rolled up the window. I didn’t feel safe in his custody.

He then picked up my phone, which was still recording, and deleted the video from the “Camera Roll” folder as well as the copy in the backup “Recently Deleted” folder. The deputy was apparently familiar with the model of my phone and automatically knew to go into that folder to erase evidence of our encounter.

After the deputy re-entered the car, I told him that a friend had warned me of police targeting people of color in the neighborhood. He said that I should have listened and not gone out in public. After almost a half hour in custody, I was released with an expensive jaywalking ticket. I was shaken but relieved to walk away alive.

Whenever I talked about being mistreated because of my skin color, I was often told that I was being “oversensitive” or “looking for racism where it doesn’t exist.” But I had grown up with other people of color whose experiences were very similar. The painful reality is that the world judges me by my skin color and on that basis alone. I wasn’t imagining it. It wasn’t “all in my head.” These were real experiences.

They are as real as police stopping me for no probable cause and giving me the lame excuse that I fit the description of a burglary suspect. As real as seeing white people cross the street when they see me approaching with my dark skin. As real as hearing car locks snap shut when I walk by, or seeing salespeople follow me in stores, all the while asking: “Do you need any help?”

The truth is that black people in this country live in a completely different reality than others. Whether you’re a black person with the political leanings of Clarence Thomas or Cornel West, you are being judged by the color of your skin. Black encounters with racial prejudice transcend political party and socio-economic class. It is largely a shared experience of repression. And state-sponsored violence is at its core.

When I was a child in the D.A.R.E. program, police officers told us that they were there to protect and serve us. But even as a child, I saw and understood what they did to Rodney King. And I saw how the people rioted after a nearly all-white jury found the cops who beat King not guilty.

The plethora of video footage that has surfaced in the last year has given the public a more accessible view of what blacks experience. And the conversation has undeniably changed. More and more people are starting to understand the significance of #BlackLivesMatter. But how many videos have been deliberately deleted or held back from public view out of fear? How many black lives have been lost off camera in police custody?

Technology is only a tool, but for me it is my protection against police abuse, particularly when there are no witnesses around. The only potential witness that night in West Hollywood was a woman waiting at a nearby bus stop. The deputy ordered her to leave. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the video of my arrest backed up to the cloud.

As the deputy went through my phone, I told him at least three times that he was breaking the law and violating a Supreme Court ruling that declared it illegal for an officer to search through a person’s phone without a warrant. He laughed and blurted, “It’s your word against mine.”

I was infuriated. But sadly, the reality is that he was right. Truly, how much does the word of a black man weigh in America?

Griffith Fuller, Jr. is a writer and activist from Southern California.