Abstract
Race-and-class-subjugated communities continue to experience disproportionate police violence despite increased attention to this longstanding problem. This study examines how residents make sense of the legal issues that arise from these encounters and turn to civil law for assistance. I do so by unifying scholarship on police encounters, legal consciousness, and access to justice to consider the obstacles everyday people encounter when they consider filing a civil legal claim in the aftermath of police violence. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork and interviews with 24 residents and two attorneys specializing in police brutality, I find that all residents, but especially those who sought civil legal justice, experienced what this study calls a legal mirage—which occurs when a knowable legal process exists to pursue one’s rights, but a variety of barriers (e.g., structural, human, financial) make that process unreachable. Three obstacles reinforced this mirage: difficulties obtaining competent representation, unresponsiveness when securing evidence, and frustration navigating municipal indemnification. I conclude by outlining the practical implications of this research for advocates looking to increase access to civil legal services and reduce police violence. Without these interventions, civil legal justice may remain elusive and beyond the reach of everyday people.
Keywords
More than 60 million Americans had contact with police in 2018, and more than one million of those Americans experienced or were threatened with police use of force (Harrell and Davis, 2023; Kramer and Remster, 2022). Studies of police encounters involving lethal violence show that death at the hands of police was highest for race-and-class-subjugated (RCS) residents (Soss and Weaver, 2017; Feldman et al., 2019). Indeed, despite making up only 13.6% of the U.S. population, Black Americans are nearly three times more likely to be killed by police than white Americans (Mapping Police Violence, 2023). Inequalities persist in violent but nonlethal police stops on the street and investigatory stops while driving (Harrell and Davis, 2023; Legewie, 2016; Langton and Durose, 2013), impacting when and how residents travel from place to place. Police encounters can have adverse spillover effects on several other aspects of social life, including residents’ physical and mental health (Kramer and Remster, 2018), access to meaningful educational opportunities (Shedd, 2015), and a neighborhood's cumulative erosion of citizen trust in the police (Brunson, 2007).
Despite the abundant literature summarizing significant racial disparities across police–resident encounters, less is known about the sociolegal pathways residents consider in the aftermath. To this point, studies indicate that rights assertion is quite rare in these cases, and less than 5% of residents who experience police misconduct file a complaint (McCarthy et al., 2020), with Black residents filing more complaints than others despite being less likely to have their complaints upheld (Headley et al., 2020). We also know that some residents, not all, proactively deploy cultural frames or “cop wisdom” (Stuart, 2016) to engage and avoid police in ways that respond to their needs (Bell, 2016). Residents also attend police accountability meetings to voice their concerns and expectations (Skogan, 2006). In the context of sociolegal responses, these studies suggest that residents harmed by police violence may differ in how they respond; some may opt to do nothing, while others might engage civil law to advocate against perceived injustice (Ewick and Silbey, 1998).
Extensive literature showing that civil legal needs are routine and widespread in everyday people's lives is instructive (Sandefur, 2015). These studies find that few turn to the law for assistance and instead rely on “self-help” as well as personal, social, and service networks to manage “bread and butter” civil matters (Sandefur, 2014: 3). Issues commonly include problems with financial stability and employment (Sandefur, 2014), shelter and landlords (Purser, 2016), and the care of children, extended family, and other dependents (Sandefur, 2007). Moreover, those who turn to the civil legal system often encounter systemic constraints such as limited access to legal representation (Bright, 2010) and a lack of time and financial resources to meet their civil needs (Seidenberg, 2012). These constraints are particularly salient for police encounters, which frequently involve civil legal needs and criminal charges against the complainant, catalyzing a complex and underexplored combination of issues at the civil/criminal justice nexus.
To better understand residents’ sociolegal responses to police violence, I unify scholarship on police encounters, legal consciousness, and access to justice to consider the obstacles everyday people encounter when they turn to civil law for assistance. I attend to these issues by examining how residents, not courts, make sense of violent police encounters from an RCS perspective. I do so by drawing on five years of ethnographic fieldwork, observations of police–citizen encounters, 34 semistructured interviews conducted with 24 RCS residents (eight residents were interviewed twice) who experienced what they believed was unwarranted police violence, and two attorneys specializing in police brutality in one Northeastern city, referred to as “The City.” While all residents in my study shared the general intuition that the law intended to exclude them and viewed civil lawsuits as an opportunity to defend their constitutional rights, residents differed in what came next.
Specifically, I find that approximately one-third of residents chose not to engage civil law for their injuries, while the rest considered using 42 U.S.C. Section 1983, a civil statute that residents believed could help hold officers accountable and provide emotional and financial relief. I also find that those who pursued hard-to-win civil suits encountered (1) difficulties obtaining competent representation, (2) unresponsiveness when securing evidence, and (3) frustration navigating municipal indemnification. Past negative experiences with the criminal and civil legal system contributed to some residents’ frustration. In contrast, others grew anxious when they realized how ill-equipped they were to seek legal assistance and navigate legal proceedings for the first time, leading these respondents to eventually let the matter go (Greene, 2016). The personal hardships residents experienced at the hands of police, coupled with the barriers they encountered seeking justice, made opportunities for redress elusive and, for some, reinforced a reluctance to engage with the law and legal actors.
I introduce the concept of a legal mirage—which occurs when a knowable legal process exists for complainants to pursue their rights, but a variety of barriers (e.g., structural, human, financial) make that process unreachable—to contextualize my residents’ experiences navigating civil legal processes. This concept deepens current research on legal consciousness and access to justice by highlighting how everyday peoples’ civil justice may remain out of reach despite their best efforts. Additionally, in the context of policing, these analyses reveal residents’ overlapping experiences within the civil and criminal legal systems because police use of force is often connected with criminal charges for residents. Meanwhile, a legal mirage's unreachable promise can significantly impact how residents evaluate legal opportunities for redress, form opinions about the utility of citizen-led police reform, and even shape how municipalities approach their material and legal investments in police accountability (Rocha Beardall, 2019, 2020, 2022).
The consequences of a legal mirage can seriously impact democratic futures as well. For instance, harmful police contact can erode Americans’ trust in fundamental freedoms and democratic processes. When combined with an inability to access existing civil legal remedies, fairness and equality under the law can deteriorate (Garland, 2012). These implications raise significant questions in political sociology about the state's responsibility to protect citizens from harm and the use of punishment as a social stratification mechanism. They also activate new connections between the sociology of race and ethnicity, the sociology of law, and ongoing demands for police accountability by examining how civil and criminal legal systems reproduce race, class, and gendered inequalities in the aftermath of police violence.
Police violence and legal consciousness
Slow violence policing studies show how the gradual, diffuse, and sometimes mundane harms inflicted by the state (Ward, 2015: 300; Kramer and Remster, 2022) can negatively impact RCS residents’ neighborhood interactions (Brunson and Weitzer, 2009), their participation in the labor market (Brayne, 2014), and even manipulate the healthcare they receive (Lara-Millán, 2014). When police contact transforms into arrest, incarceration, and extended carceral supervision, these inequalities relegate residents with criminal legal contact to an “alternate citizenship category” (Miller and Stuart, 2017). Additionally, the intergenerational psychological impact of police encounters on youth is well documented. For example, students traveling long distances to school in segregated neighborhoods often encounter police violence as they navigate race, class, and gang territories (Shedd, 2015). Within schools, police harassment and discipline can impact classroom performance (Kupchick, 2010; Rios, 2011; Legewie and Fagan, 2019) and exacerbate childhood depression and psychological distress (Brunson, 2007; Sugie and Turney, 2017).
Police encounters also impact how RCS residents perceive the role of civil law in society. Legal consciousness—the process by which ordinary people make sense of their experiences through a legal lens and decide to pursue the law as a vehicle of personal relief (Merry, 1990; Ewick and Silbey, 1998)—aptly describes this meaning-making process across social groups, including the poor and marginalized (Levine and Mellema, 2001). Related studies show how one's legal consciousness is shaped by many factors, including social location (e.g., race, class, and gender) and socialization with the law through popular media, cultural references, and stories about the possibilities and limits of the law (Levine and Mellema, 2001). Where and how legal harm occurs can also influence one's willingness to engage the law (Ewick and Silbey, 1998), as shown in research among recipients of street harassment and offensive public speech (Nielsen, 2000).
Building on this literature, relevant sociolegal studies examining the relationship between legal consciousness and residents’ responses to perceived rights violations, find that Black and Latinx youth see themselves as vulnerable to discriminatory policing (Hagan et al., 2005). Additional research examines rights consciousness during warrantless police searches. Studies find divergent definitions of voluntary searches between defendants and courts, with defendants feeling unable to refuse consent due to how officers phrased their search request and residents limited legal understanding (Kagehiro, 1988; Nadler and Trout, 2012). Other sociolegal studies use hypothetical scenarios to explore how residents might respond to police questioning if approached by an officer (Kessler, 2008; Young and Billings, 2020). These insights are consequential for the study of RCS residents’ police encounters and their understanding of the limits of the law and law enforcement (Brunson, 2007).
By unifying scholarship on policing and legal consciousness, this study advances sociolegal research on whether everyday people recognize violations of their constitutional rights. It does so by foregrounding the voices of RCS residents who believe they experienced an inappropriate police encounter. I consider how residents responded to and engaged their feelings about the law, legal actors, and legal institutions being unresponsive, ineffective, and biased against their needs (Sampson and Bartusch, 1998; McCarthy et al., 2020). This focus allowed me to better understand the impact of police encounters on how “individuals observe, perceive, and interpret situations” concerning safety and accountability (Kirk and Papachristos, 2011: 1120) during police encounters and in the days, months, and years that follow.
However, by learning directly from residents about what obstacles they face, we know that responses to this mistrust are not always negative (McCarthy et al., 2020). Prior policing studies affirm the notion that residents abandoned by the state do not always turn away from it; they also strategically engage the law (Stuart, 2016), and in some cases, these experiences mobilize residents to participate in community activism (Remster and Kramer, 2018), citizen oversight, and other rights-based mobilization (Rocha Beardall, 2022). For example, throughout my fieldwork, I noted that residents actively engaged or shared their intentions to engage civil legal pathways to recoup emotional, material, and constitutional rights. I also recorded how Black residents were acutely aware of the history of police violence in their neighborhoods as well as the reality that their civil legal success was far from guaranteed. The obstacles were discouraging, but for many, they constituted just one part of their journey to challenge the police narrative and rewrite their own story. In this sense, residents’ decisions were neither naive nor misinformed but instead rooted in a refusal of the slow violence of policing.
I introduce the concept of a legal mirage—which occurs when a knowable legal process exists for complainants to pursue their rights, but a variety of barriers (e.g., structural, human, financial) make that process unreachable—to contextualize how civil legal justice may remain beyond the reach of everyday people even when a legal pathway is defined and they have the will to pursue it. Indeed, I learned that the act of turning away from the law may arise from the obstacles preventing victims of police violence from pursuing civil claims rather than a general sense of anomie or disillusionment. In this way, the concept of a legal mirage captures one critical driver behind the feelings and experiences that cause residents to turn away from the law and legal institutions in the first place. This perspective complements research on the multiplicity of responses residents deploy with and about police (Bell, 2019), as well as the need to consider how problematic policing can increase community engagement in civil legal complaints, spurring “memorialized enduring racial protest against police use of power.” (McCarthy et al., 2020: 1). I turn next to the legal process residents engage when seeking civil legal justice in addition to, or as a substitute for, their wishes for The City to criminally prosecute police violence.
Criminal and civil legal processes in cases of police violence
Some resident complaints against police violence can activate both criminal and civil legal pathways. While prosecutors initiate criminal cases that can result in consequences ranging from fines to imprisonment, civil cases can be brought by harmed individuals who seek relief, most often in monetary damages as compensation for the harm they endured (Ross, 2018). In theory, civil cases can be advantageous for residents harmed by police. For example, residents can file a civil complaint against a municipality for police violence independently; however, a successful civil lawsuit is difficult to win without assistance. Yet, some believe this route to be more promising for individual compensation than pursuing criminal penalties (Hess, 1993). Civil legal claims can also enact changes to police policy, clarifying the use of force and enhancing mechanisms for internal review (Cheh, 1996; Rocha Beardall, 2022). Unfortunately, civil actions can be expensive, complex, and intimidating, which may dissuade residents from filing them and attorneys from taking on new clients.
Section 1983 claims against the police
Residents who pursue a civil case against local/state entities, officers, and public employees can file a suit under 42 U.S. Code §1983: Civil Action for Deprivation of Rights, informally known as Section 1983. This law is the codification of the Civil Rights Act of 1871, also known as the “Ku Klux Klan Act” (Goldsmith, 2004), and was enacted to protect rights already guaranteed by the Constitution (Monroe v. Pape, 1961). Indeed, the law's original goal was to provide relief when state courts were unwilling to enforce Black Americans’ due process rights guaranteed under the 14th Amendment (Jones, 1981), illustrating an early example of an effort to remedy a “legal mirage.” In time, courts added the possibility of civil remedies to protect those rights (Memphis Community School District v. Stachura, 1986). In the 1940s, the United States Supreme Court expanded its position on the use of Section 1983; officials acting under the “color of law” could now be liable for misuse of power, and the notion of the “color of law” was broadened to include misuse of police authority (Ross, 2018).
A successful 1983 claim requires that the plaintiff prove (1) that their constitutional rights were violated, and (2) that the violation was caused by a person acting under the color of law. Ordinarily, these factors require residents to engage with the municipality, its police, legal team, and witnesses who may have witnessed and recorded the violence. While residents can bring 1983 claims against any state or local employee, few studies parse these lawsuits by specific profession. However, we know that federal courts saw a steady increase in civil rights-related claims after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, growing from 709 cases in 1964 to over 35,000 cases in 2013 (United States Courts, 2014). The same is true in 1983 cases against police, which nearly doubled in size between 1990 and 2015 (9780 and 16,561 filings, respectively) (Bersani and Condon, 2016).
Recent studies emphasize the structural impacts of these cases, namely how police officers are financially and legally protected for the harm they cause. Scholars find that officers are almost always indemnified and rarely contribute to financial settlements; municipalities and their taxpayers pay plaintiff settlements, not the individual officer or police department (Schwartz, 2014, 2016). Regarding qualified immunity, scholars find that government officials are often personally protected from lawsuits claiming a violation of constitutional rights so long as the official did not break a clearly established law (Reinert, 2010). Thus, the qualified immunity doctrine may prevent residents from filing a civil claim and dissuade attorneys from accepting new clients, which tips the scale in the government's favor, not those harmed by public officials (Schwartz, 2017). Some scholars examining the historical origins of the doctrine found it legally unsound (Baude, 2018), encouraging the end of qualified immunity altogether. This research contextualizes this study by directing attention toward other federal changes that could reduce police violence beyond qualified immunity, such as reducing barriers to bringing a suit against a government entity and allowing state attorneys to sue municipal police for constitutional rights violations (Smith, 2020).
Data and methods
Following calls on the importance of studying how civil legal needs affect the people who experience them, I extend the existing scholarship by examining how RCS residents make sense of their police encounters and respond to obstacles they face in pursuing a Section 1983 claim. To do so, I draw on ethnographic fieldwork, observations of police–citizen encounters, and 34 in-depth, semistructured interviews with 24 RCS residents who experienced what they believed was unwarranted police violence and decided to pursue a civil legal claim against their local police department. In the end, only eight officially filed lawsuits against the city. I also interviewed two attorneys, unrelated to the 24 residents’ cases, specializing in police brutality and civil rights violations. Along the way, respondents interacted with two key organizations—a citizen oversight board, referred to as the “City Citizen Review Board” (CCRB), and the city police department, referred to as the “City Police Department” (CPD).
Throughout my fieldwork, I attended community meetings, city council meetings, rallies, and neighborhood events related to policing and came to know residents personally or vicariously affected by police violence. I recruited my first five residents across these events and used snowball sampling to recruit additional residents. All residents were RCS community members and are referenced here using pseudonyms. I also omit residents’ demographic information (e.g., race, age, occupation, and income) to protect their privacy. I reached out to a total of 30 respondents, and four declined participation. Each interview lasted between 30 and 120 min, averaging 80 min. All interviews were conducted between June 2017 and June 2023 at locations chosen by my respondents.
In each interview, I emphasized that residents were the experts, and I was there to listen and learn as they described their experiences. I framed my questions around what happened, how residents reacted to these events, and what occurred next. I acknowledged the significance of “doing nothing” as a meaningful response and avoided referring to police encounters as legal problems. I took this approach because legality is a socially constructed “interpretive framework” (Ewick and Silbey, 2003), and consequently, many individuals may not perceive their experiences as legal. When the topic arose, I asked about residents’ approach to their civil suit. Additionally, the impact of policing on many aspects of social life prompted discussions on crime, criminal records, housing instability, and un(der)employment. I analyzed these data by reading each interview transcript and ethnographic fieldnote three times to create broad codes concerning civil litigation. Next, I used NVivo 12 to code these data and focus here on three unique obstacles residents faced.
Findings
The concept of a “legal mirage” emerges from respondents’ attempts to advance their Section 1983 claim. While approximately one-third of respondents decided not to engage the law at all, most residents concluded that the 1983 process was “a big, endless set of hoops” that unfairly left residents with unmet legal needs and little chance of success. Specifically, residents believed that only high-profile cases—those that dominated news cycles, sparked city-wide conversations, or resulted in extreme physical violence—received contingency representation, where clients pay attorneys a percentage of their settlement or trial verdict. Three obstacles reinforced this belief: (1) difficulties obtaining competent representation, (2) unresponsiveness when securing evidence, and (3) frustration navigating municipal indemnification. Respondents also reported feeling lost and alone when private attorneys, city officials, police, the oversight board, and others failed to address their requests meaningfully.
Nuancing prior research illuminating “that problems that look legal to lawyers do not seem particularly legal to the people who experience them”, this study finds that residents quickly labeled their police encounters a civil legal issue because police encounters constituted unquestionable state encounters (Soss and Weaver 2017). Importantly, however, these findings reflect residents’ perceptions of their interactions with police and lawyers rather than objectively retelling a particular event. For instance, several residents feared involving themselves in civil legal matters because they worried that past or present criminal charges might lead to police custody. Residents constructed this concern from multiple data points, including the criminal charges, which are often linked with the justification officers provide for their use of force. Private defense attorneys I consulted explained that they may discourage residents from filing claims to avoid initiating the discovery and deposition process for potential clients. I explore these perceptions below, mindful that this convergence of criminal and civil legal issues likely suppresses the number of claims filed.
Prospective financial settlements drive access to competent representation
Nearly two-thirds of residents (15 of 24) struggled to obtain competent representation. Residents also generally believed that attorneys were less interested in taking on nonfatal and non-high-profile cases of police violence due to their lower financial settlements. For example, Renee explained her experience contacting an attorney after being thrown to the ground by police. She had no broken bones or lacerations, and according to Renee, the attorney told her, “If nothing else, you have a sure case for negligence. They didn’t render aid or help you in any way….but honestly…if [I’m] not getting a million dollars for your case, then there's no way I’m interested.” Renee appreciated the attorney's honesty but grew anxious about navigating this legal process alone. Several community members echoed these fears. While Section 1983 claims do not require physical violence, there was concern that, in practice, only cases involving severe injuries would attract the attention of private attorneys.
Residents constructed their belief that attorneys, constrained by time and capacity, would lack interest in less sensational cases of police violence due to their insistence on significant upfront fees. Charles experienced this firsthand when he contacted an attorney following a police assault during a traffic stop. The attorney responded, “Yeah, I’ll take your case, but it's going to cost you.” Seeking clarity, Charles was told, “…your retainer fee is going to be really high because I need to be sure that I’m going to get paid.” Charles and Renee emphasized that cases with little potential for monetary damages were more likely to incur upfront costs. Renee knew that other residents were not required to pay in advance. When I asked her how she knew this, she replied, “…I asked them! I told the attorney himself that I knew he was not making anyone else pay him $25,000 upfront. I knew for a fact. He took their cases and got money strictly off the back end.” Renee was angry when the attorney did not negotiate the amount and allowed her to leave the office without scheduling a follow-up appointment.
Renee introduced me to Diane, who explained that some attorneys woo high-profile clients into representation. Diane's case involved an extended hospital stay, and she believed attorneys saw such cases as a more worthwhile time investment because of their potential for high settlements. Diane explained, No one told me they wanted any money upfront. They actually took me and my family out to dinner several times. One of those times, they took us all back to their hotel room, and we sat down, and they showed me the retainer agreement, which said…they would get a one-third cut or something like that…I knew they really wanted my case because of all the attention it was getting…They wanted it, and I agreed.
This shortage of civil rights attorneys willing to take cases made it difficult for residents and city officials to address police misconduct. Consequently, city agencies were left to grapple with these issues on their own. Sarah shared that this combination of issues helped her decide not to pursue her case after experiencing harm from police responding to a 911 call at her residence. She explained that without outside intervention and assistance, the city was not able to change problematic policing, or else it would have done so already. In this way, the civil process was knowable but out of reach, a mirage to her and others. Sarah said wearily, “I’ve lived here long enough to know when I’m wasting my time by trying. This here is one of those times.”
Nonetheless, many residents pushed forward and sought assistance from the CCRB. Residents like Jeremy experienced new frustrations when they found the CCRB's attorney list less helpful than expected. Jeremy reported “exhausting that list first” and eventually learned, “That list isn’t any help because no one in [The City] wants to sue the [The] City Police. It's bad for business if you’re from around here.” Despite this, attorneys like Sheila explained that she recommended engaging the CCRB for other reasons: to substantiate a CCRB complaint and strengthen a civil legal case. Similarly, Tyler and three other residents echoed this understanding and considered CCRB involvement “a long game [lawyer] strategy” to move their case forward and motivate future police reform. For Tyler, bringing his case to court was “ideal because the city and the City PD aren’t going to do nothing without a judge.”
Resident requests for evidence are costly and go unanswered
Most residents (20 of 24) struggled to gather evidence to support their claims, and over half believed this issue hindered their chances of securing competent legal representation (14 of 24). Adam and Sam sidestepped this obstacle by going “at it alone” (3 of 24), seeking help from the internet and friends. Others, including Renee, eventually stopped pursuing their case “because it was nearly impossible” to access evidence and could not afford the retainer fee. Renee's interaction with a potential attorney, who told her to find and email “…everything that you can that could be good evidence,” made her feel that the attorney lacked interest in the case, unaware that such actions on her part could reduce attorney expenses. She documented her injuries and gathered eyewitness testimony but never sent it to the attorney for this reason. Additionally, Renee was concerned about the attorney's payment instructions, sharing, “This man was clear in telling me which account to use to send him his money…but when I talked to a friend, I realized that he wasn’t telling me I would have to pay if I lost.” Six other residents also reported instances when attorneys requested upfront fees without providing a formal legal agreement beforehand.
In contrast, some residents understood their responsibility to gather evidence but faced barriers with cost and a need for more police cooperation. In Gerald's case, a potential attorney explained, “In the end, I’ll still have to pay for him to request this information. Like my personal documents, [so] it was easier for me to give them my medical records.” Gerald struggled to pay for evidentiary records and relied on family loans, promising to repay relatives when he saved enough or received a successful settlement. Gerald worried that both possibilities seemed slim. Pam, on the other hand, ultimately decided against pursuing her 1983 claim because CPD officers allegedly withheld officers’ badge numbers. She also claimed that CPD officers knowingly falsified incident reports, making her complaint seem unfounded. These obstacles led Pam to believe that her chances of success were more of an illusion than a reality.
Although filing in one venue is procedurally sufficient, more than half of the residents I interviewed (13 of 24) filed their complaints with the CCRB and CPD because they believed it would help them gather evidence for a successful claim. However, most (18 of 24) reported not receiving any communication from CPD. When I asked about obtaining body and street camera evidence, all said their requests were largely ignored. Some faced similar troubles with the CCRB but suspected CPD's hesitation was causing the delay. Ethan, among others, sought a clear answer from the CCRB but received a vague response. He explained, “I kept asking about that [evidence], and they kept saying that a formal response would come in the mail. But when I finally got a letter, it didn’t say a damn thing about that footage…I saw those cameras.” Overall, residents felt ignored in their attempts to obtain evidence and the outcomes of their CCRB and CPD complaints.
Although the CCRB was unable to help them secure evidence, most residents (20 of 24) believed a community forum to “stand up for themselves” was necessary. However, Adam explained that advocating for oneself through the CCRB demands significant time and energy that many do not have. He recalled spending extensive periods of time downtown before and after work and times he could have spent “for my family, for people that love me. He continued, “You would have thought that [CCRB self-advocacy] was my job because I was going down there every day.” Despite this extensive legwork, Adam did not fault the CCRB, acknowledging their efforts against “a real corrupt” police department. He believed the agency faced similar neglect from the police as he did.
Municipal indemnification prioritizes police over residents
Residents voiced (19 of 24) their frustration with police indemnification by describing the legal and financial protections The City provided to police during misconduct allegations. In contrast, residents believed The City offered taxpaying residents little to no protection for the harm they endured. Residents like Sam described indemnification as an uneven playing field because police were shielded and compensated while he remained unprotected. He explained, “…[it's] pretty fucked up actually…we need to pay for their bullshit any way you look at it. They harass and beat you, and then they just go back to work like it's nothing while we’re out here trying to get some kind of lawyer to help us…” I asked Sam to say more about officers’ employment security. He responded with a heavy sigh, “I know some of these guys work hard and don’t try to fuck up. But neither do I. So why won’t my city ever, like ever, show up for me?” Sam shared he was trying to find employment elsewhere in hopes of leaving The City altogether. This decision was difficult because he appreciated his supportive City network of family and friends.
Charles shared his feelings about police indemnification by evaluating the broader racial politics of police union contracts. He said, “I’m left feeling pretty alone, you know? Like the only way this city will care about me is if I become a white cop and start living in the suburbs. That's who they protect.” When I mentioned the city's contractual obligation to protect officers under their union contract, he replied, “Nah, they don’t have to. They choose to. They need to rethink that contract anyhow, and that's one way to start.” Residents like Charles often scrutinized police bureaucracy when seeking answers about why city officials rarely advocated for resident protections and found the union contract a significant but hidden obstacle. Charles connected his frustrations with police indemnification to prior negative experiences with the criminal legal system. Unrelated, he recounted struggling to get his public defender to “give a damn” while on probation for a minor offense years prior, revealing his present feelings of isolation intertwined with past feelings of invisibility.
Similarly, Renee likened police indemnification to decision-making within a collective brotherhood. Drawing from her knowledge of fraternal organizations, she expressed concern that interpersonal relationships between the city and its police force were detrimental to complainants. When I asked her to elaborate, she explained that, in her eyes, city–police relationships hindered even the CCRB's willingness to challenge the city's indemnification clause in the police union contract. It's like the one hand washes the other, and they all wash the face…I mean, it appears as if I'm going to the CCRB to file these complaints, and their job is to make sure my voice is heard… But I don’t think they’re impartial. Because they can’t really be, you know? In my mind, you can’t sit on different boards and be in different groups with people you’re supposed to be investigating. When you have a different kind of sisterhood or brotherhood with them, you won’t find fault in them. You’re just not going to.
Several residents explained that police indemnification influenced officers’ interactions with residents outside formal legal channels. Furthermore, some residents (5 of 24) described being contacted and, in their opinion, harassed by officers after speaking out publicly about their injuries. While not technically unlawful, CPD officers used Facebook Messenger in each case to discourage residents from advancing their complaints. Tammy summarized the most common message from a retired officer who wrote that the accused officer was “a really good person and a good cop” and did not “deserve all of this right now.” Tammy also summarized the message this communication implied: police officers are not required to help you, but they still deserve more leniency than the victims of their violence. Tammy was not persuaded by these messages, but Christian felt differently, saying, “It was clear to me that I was on their radar and that the cops didn’t seem to have any problem putting that in writing. I took screenshots of all of it and shared it on my social media too.” Several concerned friends commented on these posts and cautioned him about the potential risks of sharing these photos. All four attorneys he contacted were uninterested in his case, so Christian decided it would be safer to drop the issue than remain “on the radar” of local police.
Residents (6 out of 24) also believed city officials minimized their injuries because of The City's investment in police indemnification. One approach involved city officials scrutinizing residents instead of the police while publicly advocating for reform. Alondra explained, “One councilor saw or heard about my post; I’m not really sure, but however it came about, they told me to contact them. When I did, he basically told me what happened was a lie.” Alondra felt “gaslit” after sharing a cellphone video documenting her claims and cut the conversation short. Jeremy echoed another approach involving elected officials who “kneeled against police brutality” in 2020. He explained that city officials want to “publicly march for George Floyd or Breonna Taylor, and I get that..[but] what about what's going on right here in The City?” According to Jeremy, officials publicly objecting to police violence broadly but failing to reduce that same violence locally was a consequence of police indemnification. Sam, seeking redress through the civil process by turning to the internet and friends, lamented, “If you’re not George Floyd or you didn’t die in the process, then what do people do? …Where can we go to protect ourselves from police?” Despite not officially abandoning the civil process, Sam's feelings hindered him from moving his case forward.
Discussion and conclusion
Despite increased attention to police violence in RCS communities, few empirical studies explore how RCS residents interact with the civil legal issues arising from these encounters. By extending research on legal consciousness and the obstacles residents face accessing civil legal relief, I find that a legal mirage—a legal process that exists but residents cannot access due to structural, human, and financial barriers—can prevent residents from translating their desire for a remedy into civil legal justice. Specifically, I find that approximately one-third of residents in my study chose not to engage civil law for their injuries. In contrast, others struggled to find legal representation, evidence, and support for their 1983 claims. Residents’ past negative experiences with the criminal legal system and public institutions also heightened their frustrations with the roadblocks they faced. Importantly, this gap between law on the books and law in action significantly affects community members’ legal protections in the aftermath of police violence, how courts interpret these encounters (McClellan, 2017), and ongoing efforts to deliver police accountability (Rocha Beardall, 2019, 2020, 2022).
My analyses of obstacles to accessing civil legal justice resonate with prior studies. For example, my RCS residents needed legal information and tools (Sudeall and Richardson, 2018). They also required sophisticated legal assistance that could “transform a party's grievance into a highly stylized set of allegations, evidence, and arguments” that many were open to receiving had it existed (Steinberg, 2014: 744). Among my respondents who were moderately familiar with other non-police-related civil and criminal legal processes, the prospect of bringing a claim against a police officer was still intimidating and worrisome for them. Prior scholarship explains that feeling lost impacts one's willingness to proceed and that ending the civil legal process before it starts makes sense for residents hoping to avoid further negative feelings, even if “inaction mean[s] more financial and emotional stress” for residents (Greene, 2016: 1267). However, among residents with and without familiarity involving legal proceedings, a local culture of “damned if I do, damned if I don’t” impacted how residents understood the purpose and possibility of their claim as a necessary measure of justice. In all cases, turning to the law often depended on whether a civil legal process represented a legal reality or a legal mirage.
Overall, a recognizable but inaccessible civil legal pathway can influence how people perceive the law and their willingness to seek legal remedies (Ewick and Silbey, 1998).
Meanwhile, the legal mirage at the heart of this study illustrates how RCS residents are left to navigate their rights while the state “pretend[s] that everyone has the same meaningful access to these rights” (Young and Billings, 2020: 58). These insights have practical implications for advocates aiming to enhance access to civil legal services and reduce police violence. One critical policy shift might involve “supply side” civil legal services to address procedural hurdles residents experience (Steinberg, 2014) beyond the standard citizen complaint assistance that an oversight board can provide. Another policy shift might address the “demand side” of these issues by expanding citizen oversight and external police accountability mechanisms to better serve RCS residents, including efforts to “revise the procedural and evidentiary rules that commonly cause…litigants to stumble” (Steinberg, 2014: 746). These changes are significant for residents who find that the legal support, internal review processes, and funding streams allocated to police facing litigation far outweigh what is available to them. Without material change, civil legal justice may remain elusive and beyond the reach of everyday people.
This study analyzed RCS residents’ experiences pursuing civil legal justice in just one jurisdiction and is not without limitations. For example, I cannot systematically compare the types of police encounters residents experienced and whether these differences mapped onto particular identities, including race, gender, income, age, or a specific moment in one's journey toward accessing civil legal justice. In this regard, these findings have several important takeaways for future research. For example, future research can take up this comparative analysis to parse these differences and understand if the obstacles residents encountered here also appeared for non-RCS residents to know whether these experiences were typical.
Additional studies can systematically explore the perspectives, intentions, and motivations of civil rights attorneys involved in these cases and residents who turned away from the opportunity to file a 1983 claim. On the attorney side, independent verification in this study was not possible due to attorney–client privilege. Still, a larger, multi-jurisdiction study can draw out how attorneys’ “second-order legal consciousness” (Young, 2014) is shaped by their perceptions of residents’ beliefs about the law. Such work might also interview members of a municipality's civil legal bureaucracy (e.g., attorneys representing the city, the police, city court personnel, and CCRB members) to better understand how the civil legal implications of police violence help or hinder residents seeking justice. These studies may reveal new approaches to reducing the “slow violence” of police misconduct and highlight direct connections between policing, civil legal justice, and the bureaucratic processes that facilitate and hopefully reduce racially disproportionate police violence.
