Los Angeles sheriff's department faces a reckoning after another police shooting

One of America’s most powerful local law enforcement agencies is facing a reckoning after decades of reports of violence and corruption.

The Los Angeles sheriff’s department (LASD) is the largest county police agency in the US, with 9,000 officers who patrol nearly 200 different southern California cities and towns in a region bigger than most states. It controls a $3.3bn budget and runs the world’s largest jail system.

LASD’s history of abuse and scandal is as overwhelming as its size. Two weeks ago, amid national protests over the killings of George Floyd and Rayshard Brooks, LASD killed 18-year-old Andres Guardado at his security job at an autobody shop, allegedly shooting him in the back as he fled.

The department also faces questions over its handling of the death of Robert Fuller, a 24-year-old Black man found hanging on a tree.

The incidents have reinvigorated demands for systemic reforms, with activists and victims’ families calling for the defunding and dismantling of the department. Fueling their anger is a widening scandal surrounding alleged gang members and white supremacists within LASD’s own ranks; the rehiring of deputies accused of misconduct; “Trumpian” outbursts by the top sheriff; an exploding Covid-19 crisis in LASD jails; and allegations that deputies are intimidating victims’ families when they speak out.

“We should never have let it get to this point,” said Jaylene Rea, whose teenage brother was killed by an LASD deputy last year. “I know that our voices are now being heard.”

‘They run because they’re afraid’

LA sheriff’s deputies have killed more than 330 people since 2000, according to the Youth Justice Coalition LA. In recent years, the LA region has been one of the deadliest in the country for police violence. Between LASD and LAPD – the department that polices the city – officers have on average shot one person every five days.

LASD alone has killed six people since the start of anti-brutality protests in May. The shooting of Andres Guardado took place on 18 June. Police approached say Guardado ran away when they approached him at work and appeared armed. When deputies caught up with him, one fired six rounds, according to police. The department has refused to disclose basic details about why police approached Guardado and why he was killed, and have kept the autopsy report and surveillance footage secret. The family has disputed the department’s story, and the deputy who fired the fatal shots was previously accused of making false statements.

It’s not the first time LASD has provided minimal explanation for why deputies decided fatal force was necessary. Last year, deputies fired 34 times at Ryan Twyman, 24, who was unarmed in his car. In 2018, Anthony Vargas, 21, was shot a dozen times from behind after he fled.

Eighteen-year-old Paul Rea was killed on the evening of 27 June 2019 when two deputies pulled over a car that allegedly ran a stop sign in East LA. Rea, who grew up nearby, was a passenger. The officers accused the driver of being high on marijuana and demanded he exit. The officers threatened to kill him if he didn’t comply, the driver told prosecutors.

Rea broke free and ran, and deputy Hector Saavedra fired a round of shots, fatally hitting him in the neck, authorities said.

Prosecutors concluded the shooting was justified “self defense”, citing Saavedra’s claims that Rea “punched” him and was armed with a handgun. But in its report approving the killing, the district attorney also noted that surveillance video did “not depict a struggle” and did not show Rea punching the officer. Rea also never pulled out a firearm, and the deputy was “unable to describe what the gun looked like”, prosecutors said.

Paul was 5ft 2in and grew up terrified of police, said Leah Garcia, his mother.

“They run from you not because they are guilty, but because they are afraid,” said Garcia, 39, about the young men in the neighborhood . Garcia said the father of her youngest son was also killed by LASD. She has one memory of getting stopped by deputies with Paul when he was around seven-years-old: “He screamed, ‘Please don’t take my mom.’”

‘Gangs’ of deputies

The brutality extends beyond killings. Residents have long complained of day-to-day racist harassment, including arbitrary stops and searches, unjustified interrogations and hostile patrolling.

In 2013, the FBI charged 18 sheriff’s deputies implicated in the systematic beatings of prisoners and accused of collaborating with white supremacists. The top sheriff was later imprisoned.

David Diaz, a 69-year-old lifelong East LA resident and the great uncle of Paul Rea, said that he and nearly every man in his family was at one point arrested and booked by the local sheriff’s station, the same division that killed Paul. During the Chicano power movement in the 60s and 70s, it felt as if deputies were competing to arrest as many people as possible, he said. At least nine of his friends were killed by police, he said. “I don’t know if this will ever end in my lifetime,” he added.

“I’ve grown numb to [the police brutality],” said Ceddy Mack, a 31-year-old south LA native whose friend was killed by deputies last year. “They throw me out of my car, tear the whole thing apart, rip my seats out, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The historic toxic culture is exemplified in reports of secret societies that operated like criminal gangs and were known for extremely aggressive tactics within LASD’s ranks. In the 1990s, one sheriff’s station in a Black part of South LA was home to officers with matching neo-Nazi gang tattoos.

The LA county sheriff in 2018 announced an investigation into the extent to which such cliques were still operating. The inquiry came after allegations that officers at the Compton station wore matching tattoos of a skeleton holding a rifle. An officer who fatally shot a Black resident during a pursuit, and was allegedly a member of the group, admitted that he had “ill-feelings” toward African Americans, though he later walked back this statement.

Among residents, the station is also known for a group of officers that has been nicknamed “the Jump Out Boys”. The deputies have a reputation for driving around with their doors partially open so they can jump out at any moment to confront people on the street.

The grieving families who can’t escape police

The warfare mentality of some officers means many Black and Brown residents say they fear calling LASD when they need help.

Jaylene Rea, Paul’s 22-year-old sister, said she and her younger sister both once aspired to join the police force. Jaylene imagined herself as the “officer all the kids know”. “I literally thought I could be a good cop for the community. But after learning everything they do, there’s no hope.”

Leah Garcia, Paul’s mother, alleged that she has been pulled over twice in recent months, and was forced to sit in the back of the police car before she was released both times. Officers said that they pulled her over due to an issue with her car registration, but then questioned her about whether she belonged to a gang, according to Garcia: “I try not to dwell on it, but I start thinking about my son’s last moments. I can’t put nothing past them.”

After Jaylene spoke at a rally on 30 October, deputies drove by the memorial site and moved to arrest two of Paul’s friends, according to a lawsuit. As one of them was getting handcuffed, he handed Jaylene a blunt he had been smoking, at which point the deputies detained Jaylene and refused to tell her where they were taking her, the suit said.

Her mother said she threw up when she found out Jaylene was arrested, fearing she was about to lose another child. Jaylene was cited for “obstruction of evidence” and released in the morning.

Ryan Twyman’s family has alleged similar harassment in Compton, noting that at a family gathering on his birthday last month, deputies showed up outside their house and accused them of blocking the street: “My grandkids were in the house. Why did they have to do this?” said Tommy Twyman, Ryan’s mother.

Ceddy Mack, Ryan’s friend, said that two days after he organized a community event in his honor, police arrested him for a parole violation: “I do feel like they wanted to silence me. And they actually did.”

LASD did not respond to requests for comment.

Hundreds of ‘justified’ killings

So far, sheriff’s deputies have faced little accountability over the brutality.

LA county’s elected district attorney, Jackie Lacey, has filed criminal charges only once for an on-duty shooting in 2018. It was the first prosecution in nearly two decades and 1,500 police shootings. Lacey declined to comment on Rea’s case, but noted she has filed excessive force charges against 24 officers, adding, “I will not be pressured into filing criminal charges when I do not believe they are warranted.”

The current sheriff, Alex Villanueva, vowed to clean up the department. But since taking office, the Democrat has consistently disappointed the progressives who endorsed him.

Villanueva closed internal misconduct investigations before they were concluded, including cases involving deputies accused of crimes such as domestic violence, sexual assault of prisoners and child abuse. He also broke a campaign promise by continuing to allow the local jails to collaborate with US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Ice). He has defied subpoenas, stonewalled the inspector general and recently attacked the politicians trying to hold him accountable on Twitter.

Although some county governments have limited authority to remove sheriffs, there are no such mechanisms in LA. A civilian oversight commission created in 2016 also has minimal power. State and federal authorities can intervene, but rarely do.

“Villanueva is the Trump of LA law enforcement,” said Andrés Dae Keun Kwon, the senior counsel and policy counsel with the ACLU of southern California. Some activists have discussed attempting a recall, which would be difficult to accomplish, Kwon said, adding, “That gets rid of the head of the monster. But it’s just going to grow another head. Who is to say we won’t get somebody worse?”

Struggling to mourn

On Saturday, the anniversary of Paul Rea’s death, his family gathered at the site of his killing, joined by a group of LA mothers who also lost their sons to police. One by one, they took the bullhorn and told stories of gruesome killings, falsehoods spread by police about their sons, and their fruitless fights for justice. They called for DA Lacey to be voted out in November.

Before the speeches began, Jaylene told the Guardian it was too hard for her to speak publicly. “I can’t even say my brother’s name at a protest, because it hurts,” she said. “I snap into reality every time I say his name out loud.”

The families said prayers and released red balloons into the air.

Minutes later, three sheriff’s cars drove slowly by the vigil.