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Counting the Killings · No. 12

The Word Mandated

"We are required to report everything." "The national count is voluntary." Both are true. Here is how.

An anatomy of one word·data release v0.4.0

This essay, like the last one, was provoked by a reader who knows the work from the inside: a career officer who told this series, flatly, that every department is mandated to report any deadly force incident. He was not wrong. And nothing in the previous eleven essays is wrong either, including the claims-guarded finding that the one national use-of-force count is voluntary and the one federal death mandate has never once been enforced. The word doing all the quiet work in that standoff is mandated, and it turns out to hide three different layers of American government, the same way essay four found the word "killed" hiding five different definitions. This essay takes the word apart, layer by layer, with the receipts.

Layer one · the department

Where the officer is standing, he is right

Inside a department, force reporting is genuinely mandatory. Policy manuals require officers to document use-of-force incidents up the chain, discharge of a firearm triggers review, and a death brings investigators. An officer who spent a career under those rules is telling the truth about the rules he lived under: from where he stood, everything was reported, every time, on pain of discipline. Nothing below contradicts that experience.

What layer one cannot do, structurally, is produce a national number. A report that terminates in the department's own records room is real accountability plumbing, but it is plumbing that ends in the building. For the incident to reach a count anyone outside can read, some law has to carry it further, which is where the next two layers come in, and where the word "mandated" starts to leak.

Layer two · the states

A patchwork with two working proofs

Some states did carry it further, and two of the biggest did it in the same year, 2015, from opposite ends of the political map. California's AB 71 requires every law enforcement agency in the state to report use-of-force incidents involving serious bodily injury, a firearm discharge, or a death to the state Department of Justice, which publishes the data annually.[src] [src] Texas requires every agency to file an officer-involved shooting report with the state attorney general within five days of any shooting that injures or kills, and, notably for readers of essay eleven, the same statute requires reports when a civilian shoots an officer, both sides of the ledger in one law, summarized annually to the legislature.[src] [src]

So when an officer in one of these states says reporting is mandated, he is right twice over: once by policy, once by statute. The catch is the map. State mandates like these are a patchwork, present in some states, absent in others, with thresholds and definitions that vary wherever they exist. A count assembled from a patchwork inherits the patchwork's holes, which is exactly the lesson the FBI's voluntary collection taught in essay two, arrived at from the opposite direction.

California and Texas matter to this series beyond their size: they are existence proofs. A mandatory, all-agency, published state collection has run in each since 2015 and 2016. Nobody arguing that a complete count is impractical gets past the fact that the two most populous states in the country already run one.
Layer three · the federal government

One real mandate, and where it leaks

At the federal layer sit the two programs this series has measured all along, and the reader's claim splits cleanly across them. The FBI's National Use-of-Force Data Collection, the only national count of force incidents, is voluntary, full stop; that is the blind spot of essay two.[src] But the Death in Custody Reporting Act is a real federal mandate, and it works exactly the way the reader described: departments report deaths to their state, and the state reports quarterly to the Department of Justice.[src] He had the architecture exactly right. Two boundaries, though, keep DCRA from being the mandate the word implies: it covers deaths only, so a shooting the person survives is federally invisible, and its sole enforcement tool, a 10 percent grant penalty, has never once been used.[src]

Then the government audited its own pipe, and this is the paragraph that earns the essay. In 2022 the Government Accountability Office tested what the mandate actually delivers: 70 percent of the records states submitted were missing at least one element the law requires, like the circumstances of the death; auditors identified nearly 1,000 deaths in a single fiscal year that potentially should have been reported and were not; and the Department of Justice had not yet determined whether any state was even in compliance.[src] A mandate nobody checks compliance with is not a count. It is a request with a letterhead.

Everyone is mandated to report something. No one is mandated to complete the count.

What the word was hiding

Lay the three layers side by side and the standoff from the top of this essay dissolves. The officer is right: at his layer, and in states like his, reporting is mandatory and really happens. The series is right: the only national use-of-force count is voluntary, the only federal death mandate stops at deaths, leaks 70 percent of its required detail, and misses deaths by the hundreds with no consequence to anyone. The word "mandated" let both sides believe they were talking about the same pipe. They never were. There are many pipes, each sound at its own joint, and no law connecting them into one national, complete, audited count, which is precisely the four-part gap essay seven's spec was written to close. This essay upgrades that spec's first line with better information: the country does not need to invent a mandate. It needs to plumb the ones it has, and audit the plumbing.

The boundaries, stated plainly

What this essay has said: force reporting is genuinely mandatory inside departments; California and Texas prove mandatory, all-agency, published state collection is practical and have run it for roughly a decade; the federal death mandate is real, deaths-only, unenforced, and, per the government's own auditors, delivers records that are 70 percent incomplete while missing deaths by the hundreds; and the national use-of-force count remains voluntary. Every claim is quoted from statute text, agency documentation, or the GAO's published audit.

What this essay has not said: that any officer or department is hiding anything, that the reader this essay answers was wrong about his own experience, or that any particular legislature should pass any particular bill. The finding is about a word: "mandated" is true at every layer separately and false about the system as a whole, and a country that argues about policing using that word without specifying the layer is having the fight this series was built to referee.

On the record, one more time: no verdict on any person, department, or policy; no partisan claim. Two readers of this series, a career officer and its author, disagreed in good faith about one word, and the record showed both were right at different layers of the same broken system. That is the series' whole method, applied to its own argument.
In this series: 01 who counts · 02 the blind spot · 03 five definitions · 04 the definition gap · 05 the open data · 06 nobody counted · 07 the spec · 08 the two whys · 09 the disparity · 10 where it comes from · 11 the other ledger · 12 the word mandated (you are here)
Back to the start: No. 01, Who Counts the Killings →
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