Rosenthal's biggest fear is that the spot could go to someone with no oversight experience. Rosenthal was disappointed that after Ruhlin rejected the offer, Hancock did not turn to either of the other finalists, both of whom have extensive oversight experience. "The manager is obviously a civilian, but the successes of the department are his successes and the failures are his failures," Rosenthal says. "The independence of the office utterly requires someone who knows what they're doing and can bring professionalism to that position and a scrutiny of public comments and comments from the manager of safety. You can't have independence without someone who can think independently. You might as well make the monitor a deputy manager of safety."
In his final report as the independent monitor, Rosenthal noted a need for strict separation of the office and the DPD. "Bias on the part of the Internal Affairs Bureau investigators and supervisors has been documented in many cases over the past year," he wrote in January. "It is the opinion of the Monitor that these cases evidence substantial problems in the way the Denver Police Department is currently policing itself. The Manager of Safety and the new Chief of Police must change the current culture in Internal Affairs to ensure unbiased, thorough and complete investigations and the appropriate documentation of such investigations."
Alex Landau was beaten by Denver cops in 2009.
Brandon Marshall
Chief of Police Robert White has launched many changes.
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For his part, Martinez says he's remaining neutral about any possible changes to the Office of the Independent Monitor, including removing smaller cases from its purview. "In my view, a good monitor probably won't go there anyway, so why does it matter?" he asks. "I think we could include that if we're trying to improve the ordinance, but if people are upset about it, it's not worth it." The one change he requests is the opportunity to add his own response to the monitor's reports before they are published: He'd like to give the public the chance to digest both voices at once, he explains. But the change isn't critical, he says. "Just some manners, really," he jokes. "That's all I want."
Hancock had appointed Holland to the committee considering potential changes to the monitor's office — but the attorney quit the committee last month, after it became clear that it wouldn't institute real structural reform, he says. "I think Denver has lived through an unbelievable scandal," says Holland. "Now we have a public that no longer trusts our police department."
Holland calls the independent monitor's office as it stands an "impotent," "insufficient" structure that does not have the power to influence the city's police oversight system in any significant way. As it is, officer-misconduct investigations are routed through the DPD's Internal Affairs Bureau, then funneled through layers of review by the DPD and the Office of the Manager of Safety — parties that have a stake in the outcome, he points out, and cannot be overruled by the independent monitor. Instead, he's urging the city to adopt the "Taj Mahal of due process": a three-panel civilian review board comprising lawyers or judges who would have the power to both make disciplinary recommendations and enforce the punishments that come with them. The American Civil Liberties Union has championed similar models in Florida and Missouri, among other states.
"I can't think of a better analogy for Denver's model than the fox guarding the henhouse," Holland says. "The city needs to think about making a process we can believe in, because the one we've got now is bad for the chickens."
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After Alex Landau finishes his story — or at least reaches its still-inconclusive end — others at the training session share theirs. A few chairs to his left sits Shawn Johnson, who was beaten by police officers along with partner Michael DeHerrera in LoDo in April 2009.
One woman is here for her son, who woke up from a coma in the hospital days after he was arrested in Denver; he has no idea how he got there. His mother was ten years old when she saw Martin Luther King Jr. give a speech in Birmingham, her childhood home. "I saw the dogs, the demonstrations, the church on fire," she says. "The only thing that has changed is our age. My goal is to keep up the fight."
Landau's session lasts almost three hours, during which he fills page after page of oversized white paper with his audience's thoughts and his own messy handwriting. As the participants speak, he scribbles down their feedback with a black Sharpie, nodding his head or asking for clarification. "But what do you mean when you say police can lie?" he asks a Park Hill neighbor. "And how do we deal with that? Not every officer is the same."
When a page is full, he rips it off the oversized notepad and tapes it to the back wall. On one page, he reminds his audience of the three potential stages of police interaction: "conversation, detainment, arrest." He jots down their lists of perceived police transgressions, essentially the all-caps message "COPS CAN LIE," followed by three bullet points: "cover tracks," "crime pays," "entrapment" — to which he adds "Be respectful." On a fifth page, he writes the number for the CPC's racial-profiling hotline.