Live PD, On Patrol: Live, and the Resurrection of Reality Policing (Part One)
Policing as entertainment is far from dead. (1/2)
Author’s Note: This one’s a long read, but I feel that it’s important. To minimize potential reader fatigue, I’ve divided this essay into two parts. Part Two continues on where this essay leaves off.
On a cold March night in the small riverside city of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, Officer Bill Wilk stops a white 2013 Volkswagon Passat with a broken headlight. As Officer Bill shines a very large, very bright flashlight into the passenger’s seat, the tinted glass barrier separating the rider from the viewer’s watchful gaze retreats into the car door. A woman’s raspy voice emerges with surprising earnestness, asking, “Hey, are we on TV?”.
“No, you’re not,” Officer Bill lies.
“Aw, man! We were trying for that,” the nameless woman sighs. There is no hint of sarcasm in her voice, only sincere disappointment. She then explains that the headlight went out within the last few minutes and that she was returning home from her mother’s funeral. Without warning, the driver – a girl, perhaps 18 or 19 years old, the passenger’s daughter – looks straight into the camera’s lens.
“Are you sure we’re not…?” the girl behind the wheel quips. At this point, Officer Bill has no choice but to concede that they are, in fact, on the reality docuseries On Patrol: Live. In response, the occupants of the vehicle begin to cheer, laugh, and wave to the camera.
Frankly, it’s a bizarre scene. Getting caught with a busted headlight on the way home from grandma’s funeral is not exactly what most people would consider to be a good time. All the same, both women seem to be elated by the momentary brush with fame and the opportunity to bash the fourth wall.
As you may have already gathered, On Patrol: Live is an ongoing series that features live camera crews riding alongside active police officers as they patrol city streets for crimes in progress. Though this may be your first time hearing about the existence of this program1, On Patrol: Live boasts an exceptionally devoted fanbase. Each episode consistently garners about 800,000 same-day viewers, which is particularly impressive considering that it airs in three-hour increments during infamously underperforming Friday and Saturday night primetime “death slots”. Furthermore, this is all happening on REELZ, a cable television network whose average viewership hovers just above 330,0002.
What makes On Patrol captivating to so many becomes evident within a few minutes of watching any given episode. The show itself3 has the appeal of an active school shooting or Category 5 hurricane coverage. With it comes an undeniable tension, a tension that completely engulfs you and leaves you stewing in the knowledge that something horrible is about to happen (or has already happened). Some might call it morbid curiosity, but I’m inclined to believe something stronger is at play. Even the most empathetic are drawn in, compelled by some invisible force to assess whatever damage looms on the horizon.
Unlike a tragic rampage or a natural disaster, however, the men and women of On Patrol: Live always step in to stop whatever horrible thing is happening before it can become…more horrible. That’s the idea, anyway. The cinéma vérité of it all transforms you into the role of buddy cop partner, passively standing on the sidelines yet somehow essential to the act of stopping something wicked afoot. You’re meant to feel good, in a twisted backward sort of way, when some drunken idiot eight Michelobs deep is pulled out of the front seat of his Ford F150, or when a domestic dispute over God-knows-what is broken up before black eyes can progress into something more serious.
Try4 as I might, reader, we’ve reached the point where I can no longer pretend to be impartial because, plain and simple, On Patrol: Live does not make me feel good. Actuallyy, I hate On Patrol: LIve. Like, a lot. I have been semi-privately bitching about On Patrol: Live for years(!) now. I would go so far as to say that On Patrol: Live is actively bad.
To be as clear as possible, I don’t mean “bad” in terms of “boring TV”; concrete numbers definitively prove that On Patrol is, if anything, entertaining. Nor is my use of “bad” meant to be synonymous with “vapid” or “exploitative”, a la your favorite manifestation of 90-Day Fiance or an old rerun of Jerry Springer. While On Patrol certainly doesn’t shy away from individual exploitation, to mark it off as your regular run-of-the-mill reality TV freakshow would downplay the careful calculation involved in its creation as well as the severity of its societal impact.
No. On Patrol: Live is bad, as in, it is something that verges on the edge of pure evil.
But before I can fully delve into the ills of On Patrol: Live in all of its wretched glory, I need to go over the background of a defunct series titled Live PD. To do that, I first want to go over the circumstances that have allowed dystopian nightmares like On Patrol and Live PD to develop and thrive.
Policing as televised entertainment in the United States has a history spanning nearly forty years. The origins of the genre can be traced back to former President Ronald Reagan and First Lady Nancy Reagan, who in 1986 directly petitioned American media outlets to cover the War on Drugs in a joint statement:
“…This camera in front of us: It's a reminder that in Nancy's and my former profession and in the newsrooms and production rooms of our media centers, you have a special opportunity with your enormous influence to send alarm signals across the Nation.”
To support this initiative, Reagan allowed ABC News cameras to join DEA agents to record and broadcast raids on crack houses. Other major networks soon followed suit, creating a home-grown bastard offspring of the combat footage televised throughout the Vietnam War. Just months after Reagan’s 1986 speech, Geraldo Rivera hosted a televised documentary special titled American Vice: The Doping of a Nation. Among other things, the special televised live footage of policemen tearing down doors with crowbars and sledgehammers, arresting suspects at gunpoint, and detaining illegal immigrants attempting to breach the US-Mexico border
Even in its infancy, this type of programming drew criticism. In a review of “American Vice” published by the LA Times, a disgusted Howard Rosenburg said the following:
Tuesday’s “American Vice: The Doping of a Nation” was Rivera in all his journalusting repugnance. What acting. What corn. What sanctimonious slop […] This was live TV at its most revolting, with cops kicking down doors and bagging alleged pushers in front of TV cameras that beamed coast-to-coast pictures of suspects along with apparently innocent bystanders. In the confusion, it was hard telling who was who, and the ultimate disposition of these cases will never be known. A woman was led away under the white glare of TV lights. Was she charged? Was she guilty? No time to worry about smearing the innocent.
But even the most strongly worded condemnations were stifled by the resonant popularity of real-time policing. American Vice ultimately garnered a whopping 15 million viewers, becoming one of the most popular syndicated television specials in US history. Leading the production team was John Langley, a man previously recruited by the White House to produce anti-drug propaganda. Following his participation in American Vice, Langley5 and fellow producer Malcolm Barber went on to create COPS in 1989, when a five-month Writer’s Guild strike piqued the interests of executives seeking unscripted content.
Described by Langley as an “existential variety show with an accent on the criminal justice system”, COPS was an unprecedented hit. Carefully compiled from hundreds of hours of footage, each episode purposely fluctuated between action-packed hooks and “lyric pieces” designed to evoke the emotions of viewers. There are no narrators, no commentary, no incidental music. All there is to COPS is the raw footage presented. Like American Vice, some parties took offense to the show’s core premise. In 1999, media critic Howard Rosenberg once again voiced his revulsion, warning that “at their worst [media ride-alongs] create unholy alliances where cops and cameras join forces as a single snoop, the former getting to choreograph themselves as heroes for the lens, the latter getting access to action footage that inevitably titillates viewers”. Nevertheless, as of April 2024, COPS has aired 36 seasons over 35 years.
The granddaddy of reality television as we know it today, it has had a monumental impact on how entire generations of Americans perceive the law enforcement agencies meant to serve them. COPS is so pervasive in the collective US psyche that Shrek 2, a movie that most reasonable adults consider to be appropriate for children, openly parodies the violence and drug busts the show has become famous for.
As COPS became a fixture of the 90s pop culture zeitgeist, a true crime renaissance of sorts was underway. From True Detective and other pulp magazines to Truman Capote’s groundbreaking “non-fiction novel” In Cold Blood, plenty of demand for fact-based criminal content existed in the first half of the 20th century. But the 24-hour news cycle and fledgling internet provided platforms to discuss, ad nauseam, the dirty details of sensational crimes. The approach of a new millennium brought with it Judge Judy and Nancy Grace and Court TV, all created to pass judgment and dissect the intent of convicted serial killers and petty crime suspects alike.
As time passed, more and more entities opted to profit off of America’s seemingly endless supply of victims and criminals waiting to be caught on film. A&E (originally billed as cable TV’s “arts and education” channel) was one such operation eager to jump on board the true-crime bandwagon. Simultaneously, the network was intrigued by the emergence of reality television during the early 00s. By 2004, A&E found two massively successful series in Dog the Bounty Hunter and The First 48, both of which meshed sensational reality and gritty crime drama. In the 20 years since, A&E has gradually leaned further into the intersection of investigation, policing, and entertainment.
This channel drift culminated in the creation of Live PD, which was exactly what it sounds like; a stream of live footage coming out from real police departments across the United States.
In many ways, Live PD largely resembles longtime reality mainstay COPS. However, Live PD is without a doubt something inherently more fucked up than COPS ever was. This is a pretty strong statement, considering that COPS is pretty fucked up, both quantitatively and qualitatively. It presents a far more dangerous portrait of America than the one Americans actually live in, where nearly all confrontations with civilians end in arrest – “innocent until proven guilty” bumper be damned. It thrives on the humiliation of its victim-offenders, who are often coerced into participation under the pretense that cooperating with the media might soften the hearts of the police officers who stand by their side.
Nevertheless, against all odds, Live PD managed to take the numerous ethical issues a show like COPS presents and imbue them into something even more abhorrent.
What set Live PD apart – the key to its success, its most repugnant quality – was its liveness6. In each episode, the program monitored between eight to ten different police departments and simply switched between crews as action occurred. If Tulsa was having a peaceful (aka uneventful) night, no problem – Live PD could easily switch to meth-addled civilians in Nye County resisting arrest, or the aftermath of a domestic dispute in Daytona Beach.
During segways, host Dan Abrams would draw on his background in legal analysis to provide commentary, and occasionally, encourage audience members to join in the conversation on platforms like Twitter. And take to Twitter they did. Loyal fans religiously convened online to joke about arrests happening in real time. Eventually, these followers were affectionately nicknamed the “Live PD Nation”.
In a remarkably short amount of time, Live PD became the most-viewed cable program in its time slot, averaging about 2.4 million viewers per episode.
To meet the rabid demand for more, two-hour Live PD episodes became three-hour episodes. New installments began airing on Saturday nights as well as Friday nights. Abrams was quickly flanked by two co-analysts: Tom Morris Jr., an ex-corespondent from the now-defunct America’s Most Wanted, and Sgt. Sean “Sticks” Larkin, an officer of the Tulsa PD so popular with fans that he left policing to play host. Live PD camera crews started spending off-hours flanking officers in hopes of capturing outrageous footage that occurred outside of Live PD’s weekly allotted 6-hour slots. The best of those clips would then be played during lulls in the show.
Numerous spin-off series were ordered to quell the seemingly endless appetite of audiences. Live Rescue borrowed Live PD’s format, but instead featured firefighters and first responders. PD Cam was a curation of raw body cam footage. America’s Top Dog featured police canines from Live PD competing against one another through challenges and obstacle courses that included crawling through ductwork, sniffing out narcotics, and “apprehending” faux “suspects”7. Eventually, entire days’ worth of A&E content would be devoted entirely to Live PD or Live PD-adjacent programming.
Why was this network-wide, nation-encompassing popularity a problem? For starters, Live PD generally did not require consent to show suspects (innocent and guilty alike) on air.
In traditional reality television, parties in front of the camera are almost always required to sign a release that states consent for productions to use and profit off of their likeness. This is generally designed to avoid the possibility of future lawsuits, should the production choose to portray parties in an embarrassing or defamatory light. When you see a suspect’s face blurred out on a show like COPS, it’s usually because that individual refused to sign a release.
Live PD, however, was able to take advantage of a loophole that freed it from the burden of asking for consent. Perhaps the idea stemmed from John Langley, who used the same loophole to film American Vice three decades prior. Essentially, live programming can be classified as newsgathering, meaning that it is protected as freedom of the press by the First Amendment. In practice, this allowed Live PD to film just about anybody in a public place free of potential repercussions, so long as the deed was done in the name of “newsgathering”.
As you might expect, this led to the public humiliation of the people unfortunate enough to wind up on Live PD. Countless individuals guilty of nonviolent, petty crimes8 had their privacy stripped and their mistakes broadcast to millions of homes. Over time, speculation arose that some departments might have deliberately followed and targeted certain non-violent offenders9 over long periods for the sole purpose of capturing good TV (though it is hard to confirm or deny these claims with any degree of certainty).
This is to say nothing of the indignities inflicted upon innocent people, guilty of nothing more than getting caught in the camera’s crosshairs. A woman from East Providence, RI, for instance, requested $1 million in damages after officers and Live PD crews came knocking at her door mid-shower. Dressed in nothing but a towel, she dutifully cooperated with police questioning while hidden cameras filmed without her knowledge or consent, transmitting her mostly naked body to the televisions of friends, family, co-workers, and a few million strangers. Occasionally, the consequences citizens faced for appearing on Live PD were far more severe than fleeting embarrassment. When a Pasco County man wrongly accused of trespassing in the apartment he rented explained to the officers searching him that a suspicious-looking baggie was Himalayan pink salt10 used to season his McDonald’s fries and hamburgers, his segment went viral for a few fleeting moments among the Live PD Nation. Almost immediately, this unwanted attention led to the man losing both his job and his housing.
But the program didn’t stop short at humiliating individuals – it humiliated entire communities. In playing up the false narrative that the stars of Live PD were all that prevented society from devolving into total anarchy, the departments that participated in the show often actively damaged the reputation of the locales they were hired to protect. Take, for instance, this collection of #LivePD tweets made during a segment in Spokane County, Washington:
Because of repeat complaints and the general bad publicity that comes from being portrayed as a crime-addled community, a few places (including Spokane) eventually pushed camera crews out of town. But throughout Live PD’s run, departments unwilling to participate were far outnumbered by those that tolerated – even craved – Live PD’s presence.
The nature of the show, curated in real-time to be a neverending stream of action marketable as something raw and uncensored, provided a constant stream of positive publicity for increasingly maligned law enforcement officials. Allowed the privilege to narrate their side of every scenario, officers were able to justify every action to viewers riding along vicariously (whether or not the actions in question were actually justifiable). Suspects had no such luck, and nearly everyone on the other side of these police interactions was perceived as guilty - if not of a crime, of being dumb or unlucky enough to get caught by merciless camera crews.
And through the perceived guilt of everyone around them, the men and women in uniform were allowed to join the ranks of heroes and accrue minor celebrity status11.
As Live PD gained traction, one such police department that wanted in on the phenomena was the Williamson County Sheriff’s Office. In 2017, when Live PD was just starting to accrue widespread attention, an unopposed Robert Chody assumed the position of Williamson County Sheriff. Unlike many men who find themselves in similar positions, the newly appointed government official took to Twitter almost immediately. There, he relayed local crime alerts, posted public goings-on, and most notably, professed his desire to be featured on Live PD. At one point in July 2017, for example, he tweeted the following directly to show host Dan Abrams:
“@danabrams bring #LivePD here to Austin area in WilCo. We will get you a cowboy hat.” (Attached was a selfie of Chody wearing said cowboy hat.)
In 2018, Chody’s wish came true and Williamson County was selected as a featured Live PD department. Sheriff Chody later openly opined that the show proved to be an excellent recruitment tool. According to Chody, more applicants than ever were eager to serve the central Texas community in hopes of soaking in the fame and worship offered by the Live PD Nation.
But this willingness to perform, this hunger for notoriety, was the first of many red flags that would ultimately lead to the demise of the sensational television show.
Some former Williamson County employees claim that, in retrospect, Chody seemed to prioritize reality TV stardom over public safety in making hiring decisions. At least one deputy quit after finding that Chody had actively ignored obvious warning signs uncovered during applicant background checks. As a direct result of Chody’s willful ignorance, Williamson County hired several officers with checkered pasts. Compounded by the willful ignorance of the showrunners, a few of those questionable hires became integral players in the production of Live PD.
One of the most prominently featured of these officers was Lt. Mark Luera. After lying about abusing his authoritative role to bypass airport security, Austin PD was set to fire Luera. Before that could happen, the Williamson County Sheriff’s Department hired him instead. Less than two years into his tenure, Luera found himself at the center of controversy after leading a SWAT team and a Live PD camera crew in a militarized raid on the home of Gary Watsky, complete with flash-bang grenades, loaded rifles, and thousands of dollars worth of property damage. After it was discovered that Asher Watsky (the man police were after) had visited the district courthouse mere hours before the raid, allegations arose that authorities waived an opportunity to make a peaceful arrest in favor of making an explosive spectacle for a national audience. About a month later, Luera alongside several other deputies kneed, punched, and repeatedly tased Ramsey Earl Mitchell after he attempted to run from officers. Live PD cameras showed Mitchell huddled in the fetal position while enduring a barrage of blows from officers, and before being subdued in a carotid restraint12, he can be heard screaming “I can’t breathe!” several times. At the end of the segment, Luera expresses concern that Mitchell could go into a potentially fatal “excited delirium”13 as the man lies in a pool of his own blood.
Behind the scenes was Patrol Commander Steve Deaton, who was arguably just as problematic as Luera. Another former Austin PD employee, Deaton fell from grace after repeatedly making inappropriate comments toward fellow officers and on one occasion leaving his badge and gun unattended in a Target shopping cart. When Live PD rolled into Williamson County, he took on the role of coordinator between officers and producers, stationing men with ride-along passengers strategically across the county in hopes of capturing the most compelling footage possible. Deaton eventually resigned after local media outlets began reporting on a series of demented Facebook posts crafted by the commander, featuring date-raped Barbie dolls and Elves on Shelves mutilating the bodies of black quarterback action figures. After his departure, former deputies reported that Deaton would actively reward deputies who used force on the job with gift cards to steakhouses.
And then there were deputies Zach Camden and J.J. Johnson.
Both men, initially hailing from the neighboring Bastrop County Sheriff’s Department, had extensive disciplinary records before joining the Williamson County force, which included instances of dishonesty, aggression, and even assault. Camden and Johnson had both applied for positions in Williamson County previously, and both were turned down. However, with the arrival of Sheriff Chody, the two were welcomed with open arms. Both men can be seen participating in the brutal beating that accompanied the arrest of Ramsey Earl Mitchell, mentioned earlier.
A strikingly similar use of force involving Camden and Johnson occurred in the early morning hours of March 28, 2019. Unfortunately, their actions on this particular occasion resulted in the death of Javier Ambler. After Ambler failed to dim his headlights to oncoming traffic on his way home from a poker game with friends, Deputy Johnson tried to initiate a traffic stop. For reasons we’ll never know for sure, Ambler failed to stop, initiating a 22-minute car chase14. Some believe that Ambler may have been suffering from a medical episode15 and was attempting to drive himself to a nearby hospital. He may have simply been scared by the situation and panicked16. Either way, after hitting several stationary objects, the chase ended when Ambler crashed his Honda Pilot into a small grove of trees.
Jason Waldon, the on-call detective the night of Ambler’s death, has gone on record stating that “there is no way that pursuit would have been allowed to continue if they weren’t trying to make good TV.”
Once Ambler exited the vehicle, empty hands raised, Johnson promptly deployed his Taser. Between shocks, Ambler tried to explain to the officer that he suffered from congestive heart failure, was struggling to breathe, and could not physically comply with police requests. Deputy Camden eventually arrived at the scene, used his Taser on Ambler, and knocked the man off balance. Reports claim that Ambler continued resisting arrest for two minutes, despite police body cam footage recording Ambler explicitly pleading, “I am not resisting!”
Eventually, Ambler lost consciousness. Once officers noticed, they made attempts to perform CPR to no avail. At 2:37 am, Ambler was pronounced dead at Dell Seton Medical Center, just five miles away from the crash scene.
And capturing the entire thing was – you guessed it – Live PD.
The death of Javier Ambler never aired, of course. As a statement from A&E explains:
"The incident did not occur while Live PD was on the air but rather during the show’s hiatus, when producers are regularly out in the field gathering footage. The footage never aired on Live PD per A&E’s standards and practices because it involved a fatality”.
Instead, A&E opted to destroy the footage of Ambler’s death. This allowed the Williamson County Sheriff’s Office (and by extension, Live PD) to keep almost all of the details of the incident under lock and key for over a year. According to Travis County District Attorney Margaret Moore, authorities actively hindered the efforts of investigators seeking to better understand what exactly happened that night on the side of the road. But in May 2020, when the Texas Attorney General ruled that Williamson County didn’t have the grounding to withhold information about the Ambler case, the ugly truth was revealed. And while Live PD destroyed their footage of the incident, evidence of what happened survived in the form of police body cam footage. On June 8th, Austin media outlets released the damning video to the public.
As outrageous, inhumane, and unethical as the circumstances around Ambler’s death were, news of the death outside of the Austin area was ironically overshadowed by the death of George Floyd two weeks earlier (and the widespread calls for police reform that came with it). Rather than address the incident, A&E promptly canceled Live PD. Without any warning, episodes of Live PD were permanently pulled from evening lineups and streaming services alike. Reruns used to fill the doldrum hours of daylight were shelved. Nearly four years later, it’s still next to impossible to find a full episode of the show.
This cut could be seen as a noble sacrifice on the part of A&E. Live PD was a cash cow that accounted for nearly all of the channel’s programming, after all. Cutting the show cost A&E money and viewers, and likely presented a logistical nightmare for those that needed to invent new viewing lineups overnight. But with public outcry demanding police reform ringing through the streets of America, many people would argue that letting go of a show that demonstrably had the power to corrupt entire departments and ruin innocent lives was the right thing to do. However, this act was perhaps not as noble as it may outwardly seem. Conveniently, the abrupt cancellation relieved Live PD from the burden of having to acknowledge (or god forbid, apologize for) the suffering it inflicted and promoted over the years. Outrage over Javier Ambler’s death was largely contained to Williamson County, and Live PD evaded a great deal of criticism by canceling itself before it could be “canceled” by the general public.
With then-President Trump posting daily rants on Twitter over an upcoming election cycle and a full-blown pandemic raging in the background, few (understandably) had the energy at that point to direct criticism at an entity that had seemingly removed itself from circulation and relevancy. Would there have been any value at all in having a conversation about a problem that had seemingly solved itself?
The answer, in hindsight, is a resounding yes. I can say this with the utmost confidence because Live PD is still around. It is still cranking out new three-hour-long episodes twice a week using footage from around the continental United States, and it is still quietly ruining lives.
The only real difference? The name of the show.
Part of the reason I’m writing? While On Patrol: Live seems to have a stronghold on certain demographics, it goes entirely unnoticed by others. I’m not sure if this lack of awareness boils down to geography (the majority of the people I know live in Massachusetts, New York, or New Jersey – states that shows like On Patrol virtually never patrol) or age (almost all of my friends are in their thirties, and I don’t think a single one pays for a cable subscription) or politics (a social circle spread across blue states ≠ a social circle that tends to fly flags with thin blue lines).
(Albeit with far lower stakes involved)
And I am trying, reader; I’m generally not the type to force my opinions onto others, and I genuinely recommend that you go watch an episode of On Patrol: Live to form your own opinions and understand what it is that I’m talking about.
It cannot be understated how crucial John Langley’s role was in organizing the live aspects of the Geraldo Rivera special. It was Langley’s idea to feature live drug busts, and it was Langley who directly reached out to police departments in Houston, San Jose, and Broward County (Florida). He obtained information from these departments on search warrants issued for locations deemed likely to have drugs, then successfully persuaded that those warrants be carried out during the window “American Vice” was filming.
It was live enough, anyway – technically, each feed came in at a slight delay to prevent anything wildly inappropriate from making it onto the air.
Translation: mauling people in thick foam suits on command.
(e.g. public intoxication, traffic offenses, etc.)
Think prostitutes and addicts, the mentally ill – the most vulnerable, the most desperate, and the most in need of support from their community. Whether or not they were specifically targeted is debatable, but there’s no question that Live PD frequently showcased (and exploited) the struggles of these individuals for entertainment purposes.
It really shouldn’t matter, but for what it’s worth the substance was indeed salt.
The most visible example of the fame Live PD was capable of generating lies in Sgt. Sean “Sticks” Larkin. After gaining popularity with fans, the Tulsa PD veteran of 20 years was invited to join the show as a commentator. Around the same time, he began dating award-winning singer-songwriter Lana Del Rey.
Carotid restraints, which cut off blood flow to the brain, have the potential to cause serious injury or death. The use of the restraint was banned by federal law enforcement officers in 2021.
Official medical associations fully stopped recognizing excited delirium as a valid diagnosis in October 2023. Nearly all evidence of the condition’s existence has been discredited as junk science, largely funded by Axon Enterprise Inc. (the makers of Taser electroshock weapons).
Following Ambler’s death, Williamson County changed its pursuit policy, stating that deputies shouldn’t engage in traffic pursuits unless there is an immediate need for the driver to be apprehended. Many other departments, including neighboring Austin PD, adopted similar pursuit policies long before Ambler’s death.
Autopsy reports later proved that Ambler was not under the influence of drugs or alcohol as the chase was going on, so a medical episode of some sort may have contributed to his erratic driving the night of the pursuit. It’s also worth noting that Ambler was driving toward several of Austin’s medical facilities rather than his home in Pflugerville (though this very well might be coincidental if he was simply trying to evade police).
If Ambler’s actions were driven by fear, his fear was likely well-founded by years of documented evidence suggesting that Black Americans are subject to police violence at a wildly disproportionate rate. As mentioned in the previous footnote, Ambler was found not to be under the influence of drugs or alcohol, and no evidence suggests that Ambler had illicit substances or weapons with him. Furthermore, Ambler being guilty of a crime more severe than a traffic infraction would be seemingly out of character as he only had two minor run-ins with the law before his death (misdemeanor marijuana possession in 2001 and driving with an invalid license in 2004).