Filming the State: How the Government Is Criminalizing the Right to Record

Public documentation of government action is a powerful tool of democratic accountability. From local weekly papers to 24/7 national broadcast networks, news about our government and its officers has always been necessary for an informed populace. But since the era of smartphones and social media, law enforcement is now under a level of public scrutiny unlike any seen before. Any public encounter can be filmed, posted, and scrutinized by the masses. Our online feeds are inundated with videos of officer interactions: the good, the bad, and the illegal. While this level of public accountability can help deter misconduct, what happens when law enforcement and the government decide they don’t like this newfound spotlight? As we’ve seen over the past year, a worrying trend has emerged of retaliation against exercise of free speech by journalists and others, including a degradation of the First Amendment right to record.

The First Amendment generally protects citizens and noncitizens alike, including when they photograph and film public officials, such as law enforcement, performing their duties in public. While the U.S. Supreme Court has not yet directly weighed in on this issue, this right has been recognized in some form by all 50 states and the majority of federal circuit courts of appeal. Indeed, the 11^th Circuit, which is the controlling authority in Georgia, Florida and Alabama, held: “The First Amendment protects the right to gather information about what public officials do on public property, and specifically, a right to record matters of public interest.” Smith v. City of Cumming, 212 F.3d 1332, 1333 (11th Cir. 2000). So long as no other laws are being violated (e.g., obstruction of a police officer or non-compliance with “Hands Free Driving” laws), any member of the public is allowed to film law enforcement activity occurring in a public space. Unfortunately, as the ACLU aptly states, “we’re all too aware that there can be significant daylight between what the law requires and what happens in practice.” So, while the right to record is protected by our Constitution, it is increasingly commonplace for officers to become defensive when being recorded and to react with threats, arrests, or violence.

We have seen an alarming increase in attacks on both journalists and bystanders in response to filming of law enforcement. The currently most recognized example is Alex Pretti. On January 24, 2026, after using his phone to record the activities of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents in Minneapolis, Pretti was seized by the agents and subsequently fatally shot in the back while unarmed and in the helpless grasp of the agents. White House and DHS officials immediately labeled him a “domestic terrorist”, a charge that was later disproven by videos of the incident recorded by other protesters at the scene. This murder of a U.S. citizen by ICE agents shocked the nation.

But, the Trump administration’s disregard for the right to record was evident six months earlier, right here in Georgia, when Mario Guevara, an independent Spanish-language journalist, was detained—and ultimately deported—by ICE on the specious grounds that his recordings of law enforcement made him a danger. Mario came to the United States from El Salvador more than 20 years ago, seeking asylum because journalists in his home country were being persecuted. Based in the Atlanta metro area for several decades, he reported primarily for the Hispanic community. In 2024, he started his own media company, MG News, and grew a devoted Facebook following of over 700,000 people. Mario focused his independent reporting on immigration and other law enforcement actions, often receiving tips from locals and arriving within minutes to record and livestream raids occurring in his community. At the same time, Mario also built relationships of trust with local law enforcement. He regularly participated in ride-alongs with Gwinnett County Sheriff’s officers, interviewing them to present their perspectives to viewers. He also joined with local law enforcement in community initiatives, like school supply and food drives. The Gwinnett County Sheriff’s Office recognized his bridge-building work and invited him to represent the Hispanic community at the Gwinnett Police Department’s 200^th anniversary celebration.

But in June 2025, Mario was arrested for obstruction and unlawful assembly by the DeKalb County police while covering one of the first “No Kings” protests in Georgia. He was wearing a press vest and clearly identified himself as a journalist. By the time the charges were dropped a few days later, he had been placed in ICE detention. An immigration judge ordered him released on bond, but ICE refused to honor that decision and appealed. The agency argued that Mario’s reporting on law enforcement activity that he could observe from a street, sidewalk, or parking lot interfered with operational security and made him a danger to the community. Mario was jailed in ICE detention, much of the time in solitary confinement, for over 100 days. Requests filed by his attorneys to the Bureau of Immigration Appeals and to multiple federal courts seeking his release on bond and a stay of his deportation fell on deaf ears, even though Mario had no pending criminal charges against him and had a path to a green card via sponsorship by his adult son, a U.S. citizen. He was deported in October, 2025.

Mario’s case, while perhaps the most flagrant example of a journalist detained on U.S. soil based solely on his reporting activities is not an anomaly. It is part of a pattern of retaliatory government detention of people who exercise their First Amendment rights to document and challenge state action and express viewpoints disfavored by the Trump administration. The initial cases were almost entirely against immigrants, including Mahmoud Khalil, Rümeysa Öztürk, and Sami Hamdi, who found themselves abducted by ICE and subject to deportation proceedings based on their publicly expressing support for Palestinians during the Israel-Hamas war. In a similar case, in October, 2025, Yaakub Vijandre was arrested by ICE, and remains in a detention facility to this day, due to the content of his pro-Palestine social media posts, with DHS stating that his “support for organizations and individuals who are known to engage in acts of terrorism presents public safety [and] national security concerns.” And, on March 4, 2026, another Spanish-language reporter, Estefany Rodriguez, was detained by ICE in Nashville, which she alleges was in retaliation for her critical reporting on immigration enforcement.

As ICE’s presence increased nationally, generating increasing protests, the simultaneous importance and danger of recording law enforcement reached a peak in Minneapolis in early 2026 with the killings of Renée Good and, as mentioned, Alex Pretti. Good had been recording officers prior to her interaction that ultimately led to her killing, although she was not recording in the moments leading up to her being shot to death by an ICE officer while in her car. Alex Pretti, however, had his phone out to record seconds before he was arrested and subsequently shot and killed by federal agents. These horrific incidents represent the extreme of government overreach in punishing the exercise of First Amendment rights, so far with no accountability for the officers involved.

In addition to violence and punitive ICE detention and deportation, a primary government tactic for suppressing speech and press freedoms, including the right to record, is the weaponization against protesters of criminal charges like “obstruction” or “impeding” of law enforcement. For example, during the ICE enforcement surges in Los Angeles and Chicago, dozens of protesters were arrested for impeding, but ultimately were released with charges dismissed. Journalists Don Lemon and Georgia Fort were arrested for reporting on a Minneapolis protest that interrupted a church service on charges specific to obstruction of a place of worship. Notably, a federal magistrate had refused to issue a warrant for these arrests due to lack of probable cause. Undeterred, the federal government empaneled a grand jury to indict the two. Lawyers for Lemon and Fort are now seeking to unseal the grand jury  proceedings to determine whether  government lawyers misrepresented the law and the facts to the federal grand jury.

Though the charges of federal “impeding,” of law enforcement and Georgia “obstruction” are purposefully broad, merely filming an officer’s public actions should not be enough to violate these laws. Yet officers can easily claim, even if they cannot ultimately prove, that those doing the recording were obstructing or impeding their duties, especially in cases of large protests where the scene may be chaotic. Perhaps most alarmingly, the Trump administration is pushing to redefine filming alone as an act of violence. At a press conference last July, then-DHS Secretary Kristi Noem stated that “violence” is “anything that threatens [DHS agents] and their safety. It is doxing them. It is videotaping them where they’re at.” This is a blatant attempt to justify criminalizing and using force against journalists and others who are engaging in protected speech.

Ultimately, while exercising the right to record can place the recorders themselves in danger, recording can be essential for debunking the government’s false narrative about what occurred during an interaction. For example, as noted earlier, the videos of Alex Pretti’s killing, captured by multiple bystanders, proved that he was not physically threatening or attacking ICE officers as government spokespersons claimed, and that his gun was removed before he was shot. No doubt the power of recordings is why the government wants to criminalize them. These videos combat misinformation and disinformation by government officials in response to allegations of officer misconduct.

We know of Derek Chauvin’s crime because Darnella Frazier recorded his murder of George Floyd in 2020. Ramsey Orta filmed Eric Garner’s death. And in January, 2026, video analysis of the multiple angles of Renée Good’s killing showed a more complicated picture than the government’s initial false narrative. The videos of Alex Pretti’s killing shows that he never reached for his gun before it was taken away from him and he was then shot multiple times.

Recording the actions of those sworn to serve and protect us is key to accountability. It keeps law enforcement honest. This administration has tried to intimidate people into foregoing their First Amendment rights, including the right to record, so that it can engage in immigration enforcement without being encumbered by a watchful citizenry. But the people are watching and chronicling; to combat this tyranny we must be able to continue to do so.