Opinion editor’s note: Strib Voices publishes a mix of guest commentaries online and in print each day. To contribute, click here.
•••
It was my first day as an FBI special agent and some senior squad members had learned that I had previously served as a federal law clerk and an assistant U.S. Attorney. Though I had not seen the movie, I heard and understood a Sylvester Stallone character reference — judge, jury and executioner — but didn’t give it more thought. And the nickname didn’t stick.
I knew from my education and professional training that our country is one of laws. And a divided government. Legislatures enact laws, the executive departments enforce the laws, juries of our peers make determinations of guilt and innocence and judges mete out punishment and, most importantly, ensure that the process is fair.
But the second and most important reason was that the instructors at the FBI had ingrained in me and my class the integrity and paramount value of human life.
The Jan. 7 shooting of Renee Nicole Good by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent in Minneapolis hit home. Hard. Initially because my second daughter works in Minneapolis, and my first fear as her dad was that it was her. But second, and with genuine sympathy for all involved, the shooting took me back to a time when I was wearing that badge, carrying that gun and making those decisions.
The FBI’s emphasis on human life was the department’s and Director Louis Freeh’s edict embodied in the attorney general’s Oct. 17, 1995, Memorandum on Resolution 14 — the then new Department of Justice’s Use of Deadly Force policy — which came to life after an Aug. 22, 1992, firefight where Deputy U.S. Marshal William Degan died, along with Randy Weaver’s 14-year-old son, on Ruby Ridge. The rules of engagement during the standoff that followed were improvised — agents were instructed that they “can and should shoot any armed male.” Sadly, an FBI sniper’s second shot, fired from a distance during that standoff, caused the unintended death of Randy Weaver’s wife. She had been unobservable to the sniper behind a door when he fired at an armed male. The irony is not lost on me that that shot, 30 years ago, called to action and drove the Department of Justice to issue a uniform policy recognizing and elevating the value of human life over immediate apprehension or even, to some, agent safety.
But back then I didn’t know any different than that an FBI special agent was authorized to use deadly force when the agent had a reasonable belief that there was an imminent danger of death or serious bodily injury to agents or others and there was no safe alternative to its use. That second factor, the absence of a safe alternative, was key. Through the use of hypothetical scenarios, the instructors taught us that the facts on the left side of the equation — the person with a gun, the escaping felon in a car, the person running into a home or away from the agents — did not always equate to an authorized use of deadly force. It was Freeh’s prescience to impose a limitation — the absence of a safe alternative, a requirement above the applicable constitutional standard — that gave human life its paramount value.