On the day of the hearing, the prosecutor in Jacob’s case offered a last-minute plea deal: a nonviolent felony with a sentence of probation. But if he turned it down that day, the deal would forever be off the table. Prosecutors call this a “one-time offer,” a routine pressure tactic that undermines a meaningful opportunity to make a truly voluntary decision. Most people take the deal.

The framers of the Constitution envisioned a far different system. They knew well from British rule that the government’s power to stop, search, detain, accuse, judge and punish people suspected of committing crimes presented unique risks for abuse. While they did not envision plea bargaining or the kind of policing we have today, three of 10 amendments in our Bill of Rights — the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth — when read together, collectively describe the view that government power should be vigorously challenged, without fear of reprisal or punishment, at every turn when it threatens the liberty of individuals. This original intent becomes meaningless if defendants cannot seek and receive judicial protection. As the United States Supreme Court warned nearly 60 years ago in the landmark Mapp v. Ohio: “Nothing can destroy a government more quickly than its failure to observe its own laws, or worse, its disregard of the charter of its own existence.”

Jacob got his public hearing. Two of the officers involved in his stop, search and arrest were compelled to testify. I cross-examined them over three days. They were visibly uncomfortable, even upset at times. It was clear that they never expected to testify. The judge found the officers’ testimony “implausible,” holding that the search violated Jacob’s constitutional rights, and granted Jacob’s motion to suppress the firearm. Soon after, the prosecution dismissed all charges.

A month later, however, I learned that the same prosecutor was relying on the same team of officers to prosecute another man. He, too, was charged with possession of a gun found under similar circumstances. A week after that, I passed by the officer whose testimony under oath the judge had rejected as “implausible.” He was sitting in court, waiting for another judge to sign off on a search warrant — to enter and search someone’s home — sworn out by him.

The message that the system sent to this officer and continues to send to others is clear: You can do anything and the system will not hold you accountable. In fact, the system will protect you.

We must abolish mandatory minimum sentences. Aside from denying individualized justice and driving mass punishment, they usurp the role of the jury, coerce guilty pleas and, yes, insulate police misconduct. But as Jacob’s case underscored, even in the rare cases where officers are forced to testify and a judge finds them unbelievable, there is no mechanism to ensure that they are halted from being able to contribute to future prosecutions.

Fortunately, there is a growing national conversation among forward-thinking district attorneys and prosecutors to take police accountability more seriously. District attorneys like Larry Krasner in Philadelphia and Kim Gardner in St. Louis have developed “do not call” lists of officers whom they refuse to rely upon based on previous findings of incredibility or misconduct. If more prosecutors start rejecting arrests from bad officers, a strong message can be sent and their ability to continue hurting people can be stymied.