Mark Shields | Body-worn cameras don’t stop bullets – but they can stop lies

When a police officer steps into a volatile situation, a body-worn camera will not disarm a gunman, calm a violent suspect, or magically de-escalate every confrontation. That much is obvious.

So when Aubrey Stewart argues that body-worn cameras “record violence, they do not prevent it”, he is, in a narrow sense, correct. But that truth, standing alone, risks missing the bigger and more important picture, especially for Jamaica at this moment in our policing journey.

The real question is not whether body-worn cameras prevent violence in the instant it occurs. They do not. The real question is whether they improve justice, accountability, and trust in a system where too many encounters end with competing stories, public outrage, and years of uncertainty. On that score, body-worn cameras remain one of the most valuable tools modern policing has.

Stewart leans heavily on research suggesting that the presence of cameras does not consistently reduce police use of force. He references some 70 empirical studies and notes that, when averaged out, the data show little difference in force outcomes with or without cameras. That sounds damning , until we ask a more practical question: what exactly were these studies measuring, and what were they expecting cameras to do?

Violence in policing is relatively rare, unpredictable, and highly situational. Expecting a small device clipped to a uniform to reliably change those outcomes across different countries, cultures, command structures, and rules of engagement was always unrealistic. When studies show “no consistent effect,” what they are really telling us is that cameras are not a behavioural cure-all – not that they are useless.

PROVIDE PERSPECTIVE

A recent fatal shooting in Minnesota illustrates this point clearly. An ICE officer shot and killed Renee Nicole Good during an enforcement encounter that was captured on video. The presence of recording did not stop the use of deadly force, nor did it prevent allegations of breaches in policy. What it did provide was perspective – a visual account of what unfolded – allowing investigators, oversight bodies, and the public to assess events based on evidence rather than speculation.

This is where the public debate often goes wrong.

Body-worn cameras were never meant to be a crime-fighting tactic in the same way patrols, intelligence, or targeted operations are. Their primary value lies elsewhere: evidence, transparency, protection, and legitimacy.

In Jamaica, this matters deeply.

Every police-involved shooting, every controversial arrest, every viral video fragment creates a vacuum that is quickly filled with rumour. Cameras help close that vacuum. They provide a full, time-stamped record of what happened, not just what someone says happened days or weeks later. That protects citizens from abuse – and it protects officers from false or exaggerated allegations.

This is not theoretical. One of the most consistent findings across jurisdictions is a reduction in citizen complaints once cameras are introduced. Complaints are an imperfect measure, but fewer complaints still mean faster resolution of disputes, fewer drawn-out investigations, and fewer careers clouded by unresolved allegations.

For the professional police officer – the vast majority – that protection is not trivial. It is essential.

Another overlooked benefit is what happens after the incident. Cameras improve the quality of investigations, the strength of prosecutions, and the fairness of disciplinary processes. They help supervisors identify poor tactics and improve training. They help oversight bodies do their work based on facts rather than inference. They help courts reach decisions with greater confidence.

None of this “prevents” violence in the moment – but all of it strengthens the justice system that must deal with violence afterwards.

FIRMER GROUND

Stewart is on firmer ground when he warns that cameras alone achieve little if they are badly governed. A body-worn camera programme without strict activation rules, real supervision, and consequences for non-compliance risks becoming little more than expensive window-dressing.

Discretionary use undermines trust. Selective release undermines credibility. Weak oversight undermines legitimacy.

If Jamaica is serious, cameras must be mandatory during defined encounters, routinely audited, and accessible to independent oversight in serious incidents. Officers must know that failing to activate a camera without justification carries consequences. Citizens must know that footage will not disappear into a bureaucratic black hole.

Where I part company with Stewart is the emphasis of his argument. By focusing so heavily on what cameras cannot do – reduce violence at the point of contact – he risks encouraging public cynicism: if they do not stop force, why bother?

That is the wrong lesson.

Seatbelts do not prevent crashes. CCTV does not prevent all crime. Court transcripts do not prevent perjury. Yet no serious society argues that these tools are therefore pointless. We use them because they reduce harm, improve outcomes, and strengthen accountability.

Body-worn cameras belong firmly in that category.

Jamaica has made real strides in reducing serious crime. That progress must be matched by equal seriousness about transparency and public confidence. Cameras are not an admission of failure by the police; they are a statement of professionalism. They say: we are confident enough in our work to let the facts speak.

In the end, body-worn cameras will not make policing easier. In some ways, they make it harder. They expose mistakes. They remove excuses. They demand discipline.

That is precisely why they matter.

They may not stop violence in the moment – but they can stop lies, protect the innocent, and help ensure that when force is used, it is judged fairly, honestly, and in full view of the truth.

That is why the national conversation should mature beyond slogans and absolutes, and instead focus on how Jamaica designs, governs, and uses this tool responsibly and consistently nationwide.

These views are shaped by my own experience in policing, informed by international research, but firmly grounded in the realities of law enforcement and public trust in Jamaica.

Mark Shields is former deputy commissioner of police, Jamaica Constabulary Force and managing director of Shields Crime & Security Ltd. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com