At first it seemed like a story already written. A difficult neighbourhood, Rogoredo. A policeman who shoots. A pusher who falls to the ground. The key word coming immediately: self-defence. On one side ‘the good guy’ in uniform, on the other ‘the bad guy’, the drug dealer. An all too familiar script, ready to be relaunched on talk shows and indignant posts.

Then, as is often the case when leaving room for facts, the narrative cracks.

The policeman was placed under arrest and investigated for voluntary manslaughter. From the findings and testimonies of other officers it would appear that the pusher was not armed. The alleged weapon would have been a fake gun and, according to investigative speculation, may have been placed at the scene at a later time. A detail that changes everything. Not a technical detail, but the very heart of the matter: was there really a present and concrete danger such as to justify the lethal use of force?

In a rule of law, this question is not an ideological nuisance. It is the essence of justice.

Yet certain politicians did not even wait for the first investigative findings before taking sides openly. Immediate statements, support ‘without ifs and buts’, automatic invocations of self-defence. For a part of the securitarian right, the formula seems simple: if he wears a uniform and declares that he shot in self-defence, the matter is closed. End of speech.

But self-defence is not self-certification.

It is a legal institution that requires rigorous assessments: proportionality, necessity, actuality of the danger. It is not enough to pronounce the magic word for it to materialise in practice. Transforming legitimate defence into an automatic presumption would empty it of its legal foundation and turn it into a political shield.

This is precisely where the theme, which has returned cyclically in public debate, of the ‘criminal shield’ comes in. The idea, which has yet to be translated into a definitive rule but whose contours have been repeatedly evoked, is to guarantee enhanced protection to those who, in the exercise of their duties or in self-defence, invoke legitimate defence. But if this protection were to translate into the very impossibility of launching a preliminary investigation, the risk would be enormous: it would be enough to declare that one had acted in self-defence to evade any verification.

In the Rogoredo case, with such a criminal shield in force, the policeman would not have been investigated. And if indeed – as would emerge from the first reconstructions – the murdered man had been unarmed, and if even the testimonies that speak of possible previous relations between the officer and the world of local petty crime were to be confirmed, a possible voluntary murder would never have come to light.

This is the point that should worry anyone who cares about real security, not the security declaimed at rallies

It is one thing to stand with the police, with the forces of law and order, against crime. It is a civil and institutional duty. Women and men in uniform operate every day in complex and risky contexts, and they deserve respect and adequate tools. But it is another thing to turn support into curve cheering, into an automatic reflex that disregards the facts. Especially when this is done by representatives holding high institutional posts.

Institutions cannot afford ultras attitudes. Because when those who govern take sides before the investigations take place, they drag the institution they pro tempore represent into ridicule and send a dangerous message: the law applies, but not to everyone equally.

Security is not built by suspending guarantees, but by strengthening the credibility of the state. And credibility passes through the ability to distinguish, always, between those who do their duty and those who possibly betray it. Even – and especially – when wearing a uniform.

A criminal shield conceived as an automatism risks producing a double damage

On the one hand, citizens would paradoxically be less safe, not only in the face of criminals, but also in the face of law enforcement officers, if they were exempt from any checks. On the other, the police themselves, who would have fewer tools to identify and expel the – fortunately few – bad apples within. The Questore of Milan himself declared in a press conference: ‘we have shown that we have the antibodies. Because trust is defended with transparency, not immunity.

The Rogoredo case is not just a judicial affair. It is a mirror. It reminds us that the rule of law is not a bureaucratic impediment, but a fragile achievement. That justice cannot be administered on the wave of emotionalism or political expediency. And that the true strength of institutions lies not in closing their eyes in the face of doubt, but in opening them to the full, even when it is inconvenient.

Waiting for investigations is not weakness. It is legal civilisation.