In the wake of the recent shootings involving federal agents in Minneapolis, we see the United States divided as protestors—burning with indignation—take to the streets. Regardless of political affiliation, what has happened is tragic. What is particularly troubling, however, are the reactions unfolding, not just in real life but on the screens in our hands.
As a former police officer, I watch these videos with a trained eye: looking for mechanics, studying different angles, analyzing human factors, and formulating general threat assessments. But as a Catholic, I read the comments section with a heavy heart.
What I believe we are witnessing here is a spiritual crisis disguised as political discourse. In the rush to take sides, we have abandoned two fundamental Christian virtues: humility and charity.
While it does serve some good, social media has convinced us that we are all omniscient witnesses. A fifteen- or thirty-second clip of a chaotic encounter goes viral on X or Instagram and within a matter of minutes, millions of people feel certain they know the objective truth. On one side, the footage is definitive “proof” of murder; on the other, it is “proof” of justified self-defense. So which is it? Anyone who has worn the badge for long knows a video is like trying to see the inside of a house through a keyhole rather than a window. It lacks the full picture: the peripheral vision, the sensory overload, the radio traffic, and the pre-event intelligence that the officers on the ground were processing.
In the Catechism, we are warned against rash judgment—that is, assuming the moral fault of our neighbor without a sufficient foundation. And yet, we scroll, we judge, and we condemn. We have replaced the rigorous and patient search for truth with the immediate dopamine hit of self-righteousness and instant certainty.
We do not have to choose between supporting law enforcement and mourning the loss of life. Our faith demands that we do both.
This arrogance is further compounded by a profound ignorance of violence. I have seen various commentators and even members of my own family who have never been in a physical altercation, let alone a life-or-death situation, speak with absolute authority on how these events “should” have gone.
The reality is, violence is not a movie. It’s not always clean or choreographed. As someone who is experienced in combatives and has been in many seriously violent encounters, I can tell you that it is most often ugly, frantic, and terrifyingly fast. The physiological effects of a high-stress incident—tunnel vision, auditory exclusion, loss of fine motor skills and decline of cognitive function—are realities that are not simulated from behind a screen.
It is rather easy to demand de-escalation from a keyboard in the comfort of your home, but to practice it in a rapidly unfolding situation is infinitely more challenging. As Christians, we must have humility to admit that unless we have stood in that arena, our understanding is limited.
But the most disturbing trend I have witnessed—and the one I must call out to my fellow officers, supporters of law enforcement, and Christians alike—is the dehumanization of the dead.
I have seen the phrase “F— Around and Find Out” (FAFO) plastered across the comments sections and memes regarding those killed in these recent incidents. It has unfortunately become a slogan that degrades human life to a simple transactional game: You broke a rule, therefore you forfeited your dignity.
No question, as a former police officer, I believe in law and order. I believe that actions have consequences, and I believe in self-defense. But as a Catholic, I recoil at the delight with which this slogan is used.
Simply put, it is a celebration of death. It denies one’s worthiness of our prayers and sorrow. It rejects the premise of human dignity—that those who died, regardless of their actions in their final moments, were created in the image and likeness of God. And as such, they are our neighbors whom we are commanded to love and pray for. To respond to a death with “FAFO” is to harden one’s heart in the same way as the Pharisee passing the beaten man on the road to Jericho, convinced that his own righteousness justifies his indifference.
So, what does all this mean? We do not have to choose between supporting law enforcement and mourning the loss of life. Our faith demands that we do both.
We can pray for the safety and discernment of our law enforcement officers and defend the difficulty of their job against unfair criticism while simultaneously praying for the souls of the departed, for the comfort of their grieving families, for our neighbours who disagree with us, and for the purification of our own hearts.
St. Michael the Archangel is the patron of police and the champion of God’s divine justice. We must not forget, however, that justice is always married to God’s divine mercy. So perhaps we would all do well with putting down our phones, stepping away from the keyboards, and instead picking up the Rosary. Minneapolis doesn’t need more hot takes or division. What it needs is our charity.