What does it say about our current system that violent white men are so often drawn to law enforcement? And why the hell do they keep getting hired?
On May 25, 2025, Grant Hardin walked out of Calico Rock Prison in Arkansas by donning something close-enough to an officer’s uniform and acting the part. Another guard saw him, assumed him to be a corrections officer, and opened the secure gate (a misnomer, clearly) for him without question. Just like that, a convicted rapist and murderer was free to take a little summer vacation in the Ozarks.
He was recaptured Friday after a two-week manhunt, and obviously I’m happy he was caught. But the more I think about the background of this recently escaped convict; the more it pisses me off (and should piss you off, too.)
This wasn’t some anomalous failure. Hardin wasn’t just any rapist/murderer: he was a former police chief with a decades-long history of violence across Arkansas. His crime spree masquerading as a 35-year career in law enforcement included multiple complaints of excessive force, rape of a woman at gunpoint, and the murder of a man named James Appleton.
Hardin carried complaints, liability, and an off-puttingly agressive reputation everywhere he went. Lying in police reports, incompetence on-scene, abusive behavior toward citizens and other officers; this is how his illustrious career is remembered by others.
Even so, he’d bounced from department-to-department like a game of bad cop hot potato; rehired, passed around, given access to weapons and authority simply because he knew a bad cop who knew a bad cop who vouched for him. All billed to the taxpayer’s dime and sense of safety.
Of course this man felt like he could just stroll out of prison. He’d been allowed to come and go as he pleased for 35 years. This was our system as usual, and he knew right where he fit in it.
By the way: could we please stop giving these dickholes such prolific-sounding nicknames? Romanticizing murderous men while their victims remain without real justice gives me the ick. Hardin was dubbed the “Devil in the Ozarks” by a 2023 documentary of the same name. Eyeroll to the moon.
The ripple of abuse: How does this keep happening?
For those who dare to face it, this case shines a glaring, 2,000 lumen flashlight onto some deeply-rooted, interwoven issues in law enforcement and our legal systems overall.
My own former abuser benefitted from this Good Ole Boy favor system. I witnessed it for myself, was gaslight into complicity with it. It’s not a bug in the code, it’s a feature.
Rates of domestic violence among cops have been estimated to be a whopping 40% higher than the rest of the population. That statistic is alarming enough, but then we consider the fact that those same abusers are given deadly weapons and discretion to wreak havoc on the public. Yet punishments for those officers, both for accusations of domestic and community violence, typically range from exceedingly light to nonexistent.
Do departments who pass around and defend officers like that truly think that violence won’t extend to their communities? Or do they just openly not care anymore?
Embedded in directing a victim of violence to call 911 is a key assumption-that law enforcement will make that person safer. But the headlines regularly feature stories of law enforcement officers accused of abuse: of their own partners, the victims they’re supposed to be helping, and incarcerated survivors of violence.
Here I take a moment to remind you that we recently commemorated the fifth anniversary of George Floyd’s death. The 46-year-old Black man was slowly and publicly executed after allegedly “resisting arrest” over the nonviolent crime of using a fake twenty-dollar bill.
Derek Chauvin, Floyd’s murderer, was a white cop who’d himself been bounced around to different departments due to behavioral issues and excessive violence. MAGA leaders have recently fueled rumors that Trump is considering pardoning him for the murder.
All of the systemic reasons this violence and oppression and corruption are allowed to pervade our communities overwhelms my brain. It’s so exhaustingly all of it: government snatches away mental health benefits from veterans, defunds research and resources for survivors, and tries to militarize law enforcement against us.
They muffle media, education, and oppressed voices within those systems. Officers close ranks, bonded by mutual trauma and propaganda. Whether behind bars or imprisoned in their own homes, victims and vulnerable populations are even more isolated and afraid to speak out.
Hardin’s backstory sounds practically identical to the story of my own abuser; who once drunkenly tried to shoot me in full view of a security camera. Charges were dropped the next morning. Didn’t even make the news, although it was openly gossiped by officers across the city. We both lost our jobs due to the incident and were forced to move in together, at which point he was free to abuse me for 5 more years. As far as I last heard, he’s still a cop in my hometown and has married some poor woman with whom I went to high school.
My abuser’s own history of victimization by his small town cop father was the reason he entered the military. Once there, he was further traumatized; now with added combat and weapons training, nationalism, alcoholism, and emotional repression. A natural candidate to then return home and become a cop.
As well as keeping their jobs, police employees across the country were more likely on average to avoid prosecution, with only 3.4 per cent of the reports leading to a conviction. The conviction rate for the wider general public is twice as high. The Bureau’s data showed lower than expected conviction rates at forces across the UK.
On and on, back and back: different cops, same toxic violence. Abusing power, terrorizing vulnerable communities, and inflicting nothing short of generational trauma upon anyone who makes the misstep of getting sucked into their orbit.
This is the pipeline. Trauma breeds trauma, violence breeds violence, and our institutions reward it with promotions and pensions. Until the bad apple finally end up getting caught publicly enough to be either forced out or thrown in prison (door unlocked, apparently).
The same system that protected Hardin for 35 years is the one that keeps abusive and killer cops on the street every day. It’s not broken, it’s working perfectly for the people it was designed to serve.
Spoiler alert: that’s not us.
What does it say about our systems that these violent men are so often drawn to law enforcement? What does it say about those making hiring decisions that they keep handing guns to men with documented histories of violence? And why are we still pretending this is about a few bad apples instead of an orchard poisoned at its very roots?
What the devil do we do?
We stop waiting for the system to fix itself. We get angry, we get informed, and we get organized.
- If you can, show up to city council meetings. Ask the uncomfortable questions in front of other citizens: Why is this officer still employed after multiple complaints? Who signed off on his training? Who’s investigating allegations about the investigators? People often don’t realize how much impact these meetings make on their communities.
- Support organizations and efforts led by survivors and communities most harmed by police violence and abuse of power. They’re building the alternatives and resources we need. There are always helpers out there doing it on their own. Think about how you can lend help; whether by donating your time, skills, or financial support.
And if you work in law enforcement and feel icky or defensive reading this? Good.
Ask yourself what you’re really protecting when you stay silent about abuse in your ranks. Does silence really keep you or anyone else any safer? Why support a system where it’s unsafe to voice a valid concern?
If your actual motivation for joining law enforcement is truly about improving and protecting your community, then you should absolutely be questioning these oppressive systems and your role in them. Every time you look the other way, you’re complicit in maintaining the system that helps the Grant Hardins stroll right through those gates.
By the way, at least prior to his escape, Hardin was apparently eligible for parole at 84. The system isn’t broken. It’s working as designed. Time to build something better.