There’s a quiet but dangerous idea creeping into public discourse right now: that if someone is guilty—or even suspected of being guilty—law enforcement killing them is somehow understandable, inevitable, or excusable. Sometimes it’s framed as “they should have complied.” Sometimes it’s “they were dangerous.” Sometimes it’s just implied.
But that idea is wrong. Not emotionally wrong. Not politically wrong. Structurally, legally, and constitutionally wrong.
In the United States, law enforcement is not authorized to kill people—even guilty people—except in the narrowest, most constrained circumstances. And that distinction matters, because without it, we don’t have a justice system. We have force.
Let’s ground this in reality instead of vibes.
First: guilt is not determined on the street.
It never has been. It’s not supposed to be.
The Fifth Amendment says no person shall be deprived of life without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment applies that protection broadly. Due process isn’t a suggestion or a technicality—it’s the entire point. Investigation, arrest, charges, trial, verdict. That’s the sequence. That’s the system.
Law enforcement exists to start that process, not to skip it.
Even someone caught in the act of a crime is not legally “guilty” yet. Even someone who later turns out to be guilty does not retroactively lose their constitutional protections. The Constitution does not say, “unless we’re pretty sure,” or “unless they seem dangerous,” or “unless it would be inconvenient.”
Which brings us to the second point people blur on purpose: use of force is about immediate threat, not guilt.
Supreme Court precedent is actually very clear here. Lethal force is justified only to stop an imminent threat of serious bodily harm or death. Not to punish. Not to deter future behavior. Not to enforce compliance. Not to resolve uncertainty. And not because an officer believes someone is guilty of a crime.
That distinction matters because it limits state power.
If lethal force were allowed based on suspected guilt, then every other safeguard becomes optional. Warrants become symbolic. Trials become ceremonial. Appeals become meaningless. And mistakes—because humans always make mistakes—become fatal.
This is why “they refused to comply” is not, and has never been, a legal justification for lethal force. Refusing orders can justify arrest. It can justify non-lethal force. It does not justify death.
There is no doctrine in American law that says failure to comply equals forfeiture of the right to live.
And this is where logic matters as much as law.
If law enforcement is allowed to kill guilty people, then guilt becomes irrelevant—because it no longer has to be proven. It only has to be assumed. Once you accept that, the question quietly shifts from “Did this person pose an immediate threat?” to “Do we trust the state to always get it right?”
History answers that question pretty decisively.
The justice system exists precisely because power needs constraints. Because certainty is rare. Because perspective is limited. Because fear distorts judgment. Because the consequences of being wrong are too severe to gamble with.
Law enforcement officers are not judges. They are not juries. They are not executioners. Their authority is custodial and defensive, not moral or punitive. The moment punishment happens before due process, the system has failed—regardless of what we later learn about the person who was killed.
This is the part that makes people uncomfortable, because it removes the emotional escape hatch.
It means we don’t get to sort deaths into “tragic” and “justified” based on whether we like the person, agree with their actions, or believe they were “probably guilty.” It means the standard applies even when it’s inconvenient. Especially then.
The question is not whether someone was innocent or guilty.
The question is whether the state followed the rules it demands everyone else obey.
If the answer is no, then the violation belongs to the system—not the individual.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth we need to sit with: a constitutional system cannot function if lethal force becomes a shortcut for uncertainty, fear, or frustration. The rule of law only exists if it restrains power when power is most tempted to overreach.
In a democracy, law enforcement is allowed to restrain, arrest, and charge—even guilty people. It is not empowered to decide who lives and who dies. The moment guilt becomes a justification for lethal force, the rule of law gives way to the rule of force.
And once that line is crossed, no one’s rights are secure—because rights only matter when they’re upheld for people we don’t like, in moments that are hard.
That’s not softness.
That’s the architecture of a free society.
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