As law enforcement professionals, we operate under a unique social contract. We are given extraordinary powers and, in exchange, we accept extraordinary responsibility. During my career, especially in my role as an internal affairs lieutenant, I’ve witnessed firsthand how accountability shapes our profession — for better and sometimes for worse.
The dual layers of accountability
Accountability in law enforcement exists in two distinct but interconnected realms:
- Externally, we answer to the public. Our actions are scrutinized through bodycam footage, smartphone videos, news reports and social media. Citizens hold us to the standards of law, social expectations and, increasingly, to a higher moral code that transcends written policy.
- Internally, we hold ourselves and our colleagues accountable to departmental policies, procedures and the unwritten code of conduct that defines our professional culture. This internal accountability should be our first line of defense against misconduct, not our last.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth we must confront: accountability without trust is merely punishment. And punishment without growth is simply retribution. It does not take long for people to see this for what it is and decide whether that is a culture they wish to contribute to.
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The missing foundation
In my years overseeing internal affairs investigations, I observed a pattern that should concern every law enforcement leader: departments attempting to implement accountability measures without first establishing the necessary cultural foundation.
Many agencies want the benefits of self-regulation and peer accountability without doing the difficult work of creating an environment where officers feel safe to acknowledge mistakes, seek help or voice concerns. This approach inevitably fails. As a deputy sheriff, I remember an administration that wanted to encourage self-reporting to drive growth and accountability. However, they had already established themselves as unapproachable and overly reactionary. The thought of anyone self-reporting even the slightest infraction of the rules was laughable — if it wasn’t so sad.
In my local men’s group, we hold each other accountable to agreed-upon protocols. What makes this effective isn’t the strictness of our standards, but rather the strength of our relationships and the container we have created. We’ve built such deep trust and respect that most members voluntarily disclose when they’ve fallen short—no investigation required, no judgments rendered.
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The lesson is clear: accountability follows trust; it cannot precede it.
This same principle applies to another critical challenge facing our profession: officer wellness. Departments implement wellness programs and encourage officers to seek help, yet are puzzled when these resources go unused.
The reason is painfully simple. We haven’t created the “container” of trust and respect that allows for vulnerability. Officers fear that admitting struggles with mental health, stress or trauma will be seen as weakness, making them targets for ridicule or career limitations.
How can we expect our colleagues to be vulnerable about emotional wellness when our culture often punishes vulnerability in other contexts?
- Model vulnerability from the top down — Show officers that asking for help and admitting limits is strength, not weakness.
- Separate growth from punishment — Treat mistakes as opportunities for support and development, not just discipline.
- Celebrate those who speak up — Recognize reporting as courage and commitment.
- Create psychological safety — Ensure raising concerns doesn’t risk retaliation or career damage.
- Normalize empathy — Lead with compassion toward your people.
In your department, does accountability feel more like growth or punishment — and why?
The path forward
The public demands accountability from law enforcement, and rightfully so. But we cannot deliver meaningful accountability without first building departments where trust, respect and empathy are as valued as tactical proficiency.
This isn’t about lowering standards or avoiding difficult conversations. On the contrary, it’s about creating environments where those standards can be genuinely upheld and where difficult conversations become opportunities for growth rather than exercises in damage control.
When we build this foundation correctly, accountability becomes something officers embrace rather than fear. The same goes for wellness initiatives and peer support programs — they thrive when rooted in genuine trust.
Our profession faces unprecedented challenges, but I remain convinced that creating stronger containers of trust and respect within our departments is not just possible—it’s essential for our survival and success. The communities we serve deserve nothing less, and neither do the men and women who wear the badge.
What steps is your department taking to build this foundation? How are you working to create the container that enables true accountability and wellness? I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below and am always available to be your sounding board.
