When “To Protect and Serve” Becomes “Respect My Authority,” We All Lose
By LONNIE KING
It’s printed on patrol cars. Stenciled on station walls. Burned into the public imagination as the promise of policing in America: “To Protect and Serve.”
But too often, the reality we see looks nothing like a promise kept. Instead of officers showing up as guardians of the community, we see encounters where the badge is wielded like a weapon of personal authority — where the unspoken command isn’t “Let’s keep everyone safe” but “Respect my authority.” And when that shift happens, we all lose.
The recent case of William McNeil Jr., a 22-year-old Black college student in Jacksonville, Florida, is just one example. Pulled over for questionable reasons, he ended up with a smashed car window, a concussion, and a broken tooth after officers punched him in the head — all while his own dashboard camera captured the assault.
The original traffic citations were dropped, but he was still convicted of “resisting without violence.” If the stop itself was suspect, why was there anything to resist in the first place?
The Promise vs. the Practice
The phrase “To Protect and Serve” has a clear origin. It was born in 1955, when the Los Angeles Police Department held a contest among its officers to create a motto that captured the heart of its mission.
Officer Joseph S. Dorobek’s submission won, and by 1963 the LAPD had adopted it as both an official motto and part of its Code of Ethics. It began appearing on patrol cars soon after — not just as a slogan, but as a statement of purpose: protection of the community, service to its members.
The motto’s reach exploded in the late ’60s and ’70s thanks to Adam-12, the Jack Webb–produced TV show about LAPD officers Pete Malloy and Jim Reed.
The show worked hand in glove with the LAPD for authenticity, and every episode featured the motto prominently on the squad cars. Millions of Americans came to see “To Protect and Serve” as the gold standard of what policing should be.
But somewhere along the way, the balance between protect and serve shifted. The service side faded into the background, and the protection side became increasingly defined as protecting property, protecting power, and — most corrosively — protecting the officer’s own authority.
The words stayed the same, but the culture underneath them began to change.
How the Shift Happens
The transformation from “guardian” to “enforcer” doesn’t happen overnight — it’s the product of culture, training, and systemic reinforcement.
- Paramilitary Structure
Modern policing in the U.S. borrows heavily from military hierarchy: clear ranks, rigid chains of command, and an expectation of unquestioned obedience. Inside that structure, a civilian’s reluctance to comply isn’t treated as healthy skepticism — it’s treated as a threat to control.
- The Warrior Cop Narrative
Many academies still focus far more on weapons training, tactical maneuvers, and officer survival than on de-escalation or community trust-building. Recruits are told they could be killed at any moment, creating a hyper-defensive mindset. Anyone who questions an officer’s actions can be framed — consciously or unconsciously — as a potential danger.
- Institutional Immunity
Qualified immunity, powerful police unions, and weak civilian oversight create an environment where misconduct rarely carries personal consequences. Over time, this feeds a sense of invulnerability: If I say it was justified, it is.
- Peer Reinforcement and the Blue Wall
Officers who assert their authority aggressively often get the nod of approval from peers, while those who hesitate risk being labeled “soft” or “not backing your partner.” In a culture that prizes loyalty above all, the quickest way to lose status is to question a fellow officer’s judgment — even if that judgment is wrong.
- Distancing from the Community
The less an officer identifies with the people they police — racially, culturally, economically — the easier it becomes to see those people as “the problem” rather than as neighbors. That distance breeds suspicion instead of trust, and authority instead of service becomes the dominant mode.
The Racist Roots of “Respect My Authority”
It would be dishonest to talk about the “Respect My Authority” mentality without naming one of its most persistent drivers: race. While abuse of authority can happen to anyone, the pattern is stark — you rarely see white officers escalating encounters with people who look and talk like they do.
Across decades of footage, lawsuits, and Justice Department investigations, the same story emerges: officers are more likely to view Black and Brown civilians as suspicious, noncompliant, or dangerous from the moment they’re spotted. That assumption shapes every command, every gesture, every decision about whether to de-escalate or escalate.
This isn’t always overt bigotry — though sometimes it is. More often, it’s the product of generations of policing in America that grew out of slave patrols, Jim Crow enforcement, and a “law and order” movement designed to control rather than protect communities of color. The uniform changed. The language changed. But for too many people, the experience did not.
And in this climate, “Respect My Authority” isn’t just about personal ego — it’s about enforcing a racial hierarchy, whether consciously or unconsciously. That’s why a simple question during a traffic stop can turn into a violent takedown: the challenge isn’t to the law, it’s to the officer’s perception of where you belong in the social order.
The Cost
When “To Protect and Serve” morphs into “Respect My Authority,” the damage doesn’t stop with one bad stop or one violent arrest. The cost is paid over years, in ways both visible and invisible.
Every questionable stop, every excessive use of force, every story that makes headlines for the wrong reasons chips away at the trust between a community and its police. Without that trust, people hesitate to call for help, witnesses won’t come forward, and even legitimate law enforcement actions are met with skepticism or outright hostility.
An authority-first mindset makes conflict more likely, not less. A traffic stop that could have ended with a warning instead ends in a physical takedown. A noise complaint turns into an arrest record. The more officers equate compliance with respect, the more they’re willing to escalate when they feel that “respect” is missing.
And, when policing becomes a contest of wills, the risk of harm skyrockets — for civilians and for officers. A culture that prizes domination over de-escalation puts every encounter closer to the boiling point. And in that heat, mistakes are made, lives are changed, and the cycle of mistrust deepens.
Then, courts and prosecutors, often reluctant to challenge police credibility, can end up reinforcing bad behavior by validating weak or pretextual charges. Over time, this turns “rule of law” into “rule of the officer,” where the badge itself becomes the evidence.
Beyond that, the current federal administration has made a point of framing law enforcement not as a community partner, but as a force to be feared — one that should “dominate the streets” and “take the gloves off.” This rhetoric doesn’t just trickle down; it pours into every roll call, every training, every moment when an officer wonders if they’ll be backed up for holding their fire or rewarded for using it.
When the nation’s highest leaders portray confrontation as strength and restraint as weakness, they send a clear message: escalation is patriotic, and anyone who questions your authority is the enemy. That mindset doesn’t just increase the risk of violent encounters — it hardens the divide between police and the people they’re sworn to protect.
The Way Back
If this slide from service to domination is the product of culture, training, and policy, then reversing it requires changing all three. There’s no magic switch, but there are steps that can make “To Protect and Serve” mean something again.
- Oversight That’s Real, Not Cosmetic
Civilian oversight boards only work when they’re independent, have subpoena power, and can impose discipline without interference. Membership must be drawn from the community, not stacked with insiders sympathetic to abusive tactics.
- Training for Guardians, Not Warriors
Shift academy curricula toward conflict resolution, crisis intervention, and cultural competency — and make those skills as valued in promotion as tactical proficiency.
- End the Shield of Qualified Immunity
Holding officers personally accountable for proven misconduct would go a long way toward discouraging the casual use of authority as a weapon. Without real consequences, bad actors thrive.
- Recruit for Empathy and Integrity
Departments should actively seek candidates motivated by service, not status. That means rethinking screening to prioritize emotional intelligence and problem-solving over just physical toughness.
- Reconnect Officers to the Communities They Serve
Officers who know their neighbors — and are known by them — are less likely to treat every encounter as a potential standoff. This isn’t a “soft on crime” approach; it’s a recognition that trust is the strongest form of crime prevention.
The badge should be a promise, not a threat.
When police culture honors the “serve” as much as the “protect,” the public gains safer communities, and officers gain the respect that can’t be demanded — only earned.
But when the balance tips the other way, when “Respect My Authority” replaces “To Protect and Serve,” it’s not just the target of a stop who loses. We all do.
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Randomly Rudimentary Faith Stuff 
When “To Protect and Serve” Becomes “Respect My Authority,” We All Lose
By LONNIE KING
It’s printed on patrol cars. Stenciled on station walls. Burned into the public imagination as the promise of policing in America: “To Protect and Serve.”
But too often, the reality we see looks nothing like a promise kept. Instead of officers showing up as guardians of the community, we see encounters where the badge is wielded like a weapon of personal authority — where the unspoken command isn’t “Let’s keep everyone safe” but “Respect my authority.” And when that shift happens, we all lose.
The recent case of William McNeil Jr., a 22-year-old Black college student in Jacksonville, Florida, is just one example. Pulled over for questionable reasons, he ended up with a smashed car window, a concussion, and a broken tooth after officers punched him in the head — all while his own dashboard camera captured the assault.
The original traffic citations were dropped, but he was still convicted of “resisting without violence.” If the stop itself was suspect, why was there anything to resist in the first place?
The Promise vs. the Practice
The phrase “To Protect and Serve” has a clear origin. It was born in 1955, when the Los Angeles Police Department held a contest among its officers to create a motto that captured the heart of its mission.
Officer Joseph S. Dorobek’s submission won, and by 1963 the LAPD had adopted it as both an official motto and part of its Code of Ethics. It began appearing on patrol cars soon after — not just as a slogan, but as a statement of purpose: protection of the community, service to its members.
The motto’s reach exploded in the late ’60s and ’70s thanks to Adam-12, the Jack Webb–produced TV show about LAPD officers Pete Malloy and Jim Reed.
The show worked hand in glove with the LAPD for authenticity, and every episode featured the motto prominently on the squad cars. Millions of Americans came to see “To Protect and Serve” as the gold standard of what policing should be.
But somewhere along the way, the balance between protect and serve shifted. The service side faded into the background, and the protection side became increasingly defined as protecting property, protecting power, and — most corrosively — protecting the officer’s own authority.
The words stayed the same, but the culture underneath them began to change.
How the Shift Happens
The transformation from “guardian” to “enforcer” doesn’t happen overnight — it’s the product of culture, training, and systemic reinforcement.
Modern policing in the U.S. borrows heavily from military hierarchy: clear ranks, rigid chains of command, and an expectation of unquestioned obedience. Inside that structure, a civilian’s reluctance to comply isn’t treated as healthy skepticism — it’s treated as a threat to control.
Many academies still focus far more on weapons training, tactical maneuvers, and officer survival than on de-escalation or community trust-building. Recruits are told they could be killed at any moment, creating a hyper-defensive mindset. Anyone who questions an officer’s actions can be framed — consciously or unconsciously — as a potential danger.
Qualified immunity, powerful police unions, and weak civilian oversight create an environment where misconduct rarely carries personal consequences. Over time, this feeds a sense of invulnerability: If I say it was justified, it is.
Officers who assert their authority aggressively often get the nod of approval from peers, while those who hesitate risk being labeled “soft” or “not backing your partner.” In a culture that prizes loyalty above all, the quickest way to lose status is to question a fellow officer’s judgment — even if that judgment is wrong.
The less an officer identifies with the people they police — racially, culturally, economically — the easier it becomes to see those people as “the problem” rather than as neighbors. That distance breeds suspicion instead of trust, and authority instead of service becomes the dominant mode.
The Racist Roots of “Respect My Authority”
It would be dishonest to talk about the “Respect My Authority” mentality without naming one of its most persistent drivers: race. While abuse of authority can happen to anyone, the pattern is stark — you rarely see white officers escalating encounters with people who look and talk like they do.
Across decades of footage, lawsuits, and Justice Department investigations, the same story emerges: officers are more likely to view Black and Brown civilians as suspicious, noncompliant, or dangerous from the moment they’re spotted. That assumption shapes every command, every gesture, every decision about whether to de-escalate or escalate.
This isn’t always overt bigotry — though sometimes it is. More often, it’s the product of generations of policing in America that grew out of slave patrols, Jim Crow enforcement, and a “law and order” movement designed to control rather than protect communities of color. The uniform changed. The language changed. But for too many people, the experience did not.
And in this climate, “Respect My Authority” isn’t just about personal ego — it’s about enforcing a racial hierarchy, whether consciously or unconsciously. That’s why a simple question during a traffic stop can turn into a violent takedown: the challenge isn’t to the law, it’s to the officer’s perception of where you belong in the social order.
The Cost
When “To Protect and Serve” morphs into “Respect My Authority,” the damage doesn’t stop with one bad stop or one violent arrest. The cost is paid over years, in ways both visible and invisible.
Every questionable stop, every excessive use of force, every story that makes headlines for the wrong reasons chips away at the trust between a community and its police. Without that trust, people hesitate to call for help, witnesses won’t come forward, and even legitimate law enforcement actions are met with skepticism or outright hostility.
An authority-first mindset makes conflict more likely, not less. A traffic stop that could have ended with a warning instead ends in a physical takedown. A noise complaint turns into an arrest record. The more officers equate compliance with respect, the more they’re willing to escalate when they feel that “respect” is missing.
And, when policing becomes a contest of wills, the risk of harm skyrockets — for civilians and for officers. A culture that prizes domination over de-escalation puts every encounter closer to the boiling point. And in that heat, mistakes are made, lives are changed, and the cycle of mistrust deepens.
Then, courts and prosecutors, often reluctant to challenge police credibility, can end up reinforcing bad behavior by validating weak or pretextual charges. Over time, this turns “rule of law” into “rule of the officer,” where the badge itself becomes the evidence.
Beyond that, the current federal administration has made a point of framing law enforcement not as a community partner, but as a force to be feared — one that should “dominate the streets” and “take the gloves off.” This rhetoric doesn’t just trickle down; it pours into every roll call, every training, every moment when an officer wonders if they’ll be backed up for holding their fire or rewarded for using it.
When the nation’s highest leaders portray confrontation as strength and restraint as weakness, they send a clear message: escalation is patriotic, and anyone who questions your authority is the enemy. That mindset doesn’t just increase the risk of violent encounters — it hardens the divide between police and the people they’re sworn to protect.
The Way Back
If this slide from service to domination is the product of culture, training, and policy, then reversing it requires changing all three. There’s no magic switch, but there are steps that can make “To Protect and Serve” mean something again.
Civilian oversight boards only work when they’re independent, have subpoena power, and can impose discipline without interference. Membership must be drawn from the community, not stacked with insiders sympathetic to abusive tactics.
Shift academy curricula toward conflict resolution, crisis intervention, and cultural competency — and make those skills as valued in promotion as tactical proficiency.
Holding officers personally accountable for proven misconduct would go a long way toward discouraging the casual use of authority as a weapon. Without real consequences, bad actors thrive.
Departments should actively seek candidates motivated by service, not status. That means rethinking screening to prioritize emotional intelligence and problem-solving over just physical toughness.
Officers who know their neighbors — and are known by them — are less likely to treat every encounter as a potential standoff. This isn’t a “soft on crime” approach; it’s a recognition that trust is the strongest form of crime prevention.
The badge should be a promise, not a threat.
When police culture honors the “serve” as much as the “protect,” the public gains safer communities, and officers gain the respect that can’t be demanded — only earned.
But when the balance tips the other way, when “Respect My Authority” replaces “To Protect and Serve,” it’s not just the target of a stop who loses. We all do.
This is SO good, I've gotta share it!
Related