Reporting Anti-LGBTQI Hate Crime to the Police

5.1.1 The outcome of reporting

The most common experience among the respondents was dissatisfaction with the outcome of reporting. For 184 respondents, reporting ʻled nowhere’ and thus resulted in no charges, court case or conviction. In some cases, they did not receive any feedback. Many spoke of having their cases dismissed even when they presented evidence and there were witnesses. As one respondent noted, ʻdespite the fact that I had much of the incident recorded on video, including the name and picture of the person [it went nowhere].’

Many individuals expressed frustration about not receiving information from the police on the assistance available post-reporting: ʻI received no help or assistance, no information about where I could possibly get help. I was left feeling that I was not being taken seriously.’ The respondent’s case was eventually dismissed. Some said they felt the police did not do enough to pursue their cases, which were dismissed without them, or witnesses being questioned. The widespread experience of having their reports dismissed and not receiving any guidance or response from the police was seen as evidence of the low priority they gave anti-LGBTQI hate crime. Sometimes the police went as far as identifying and interrogating the suspected perpetrators, but the cases were still dismissed.

Seven respondents said that, while reporting led to reaction by the police and criminal justice, they were still ultimately dissatisfied, either by the sentence given or by lack of support during court proceedings. For one person, ʻreporting it was no problem. But when the person being reported denies the crime, even if the police arrested the person, but then there is no punishment, that hurts.’ In another case, a victim was offered, as an alternative to a criminal trial, assistance from the National Mediation Service, which would have seen the parties involved meeting face to face for a ʻrestorative process’ guided by a mediator. The respondent said: ʻI politely declined as I did not need an apology from the person who carried out the violence, I needed the person to be punished.’

Having a case dismissed was usually a negative experience, especially when the police failed to look at security camera footage before it was deleted because they had other ʻmore important things to do’, as one respondent recalled. For many respondents, having no or minimal results from their reporting, other than dismissal, led to anger and frustration. These experiences deterred several respondents from reporting subsequent hate crimes. The respondents in this category mainly spoke of their reporting as a negative experience that led nowhere and was likely to influence their future reporting behaviour, reduce their trust in the police, and increase their cynicism towards the justice system.

5.1.2 Interaction with police during and after reporting – negative experiences

Twenty-one responses gave examples of negative interactions with police during and after reporting. One person said, ʻ[I] didn’t feel I was taken seriously when I went to the counter at the police station to say I wanted to report it. I was taken very seriously when I was first brought in for an interview, but the first interaction [at the counter] made me feel like they didn’t believe me.’ This, and the examples in the “Filing a Report” section below, illustrate the pivotal nature of the initial interaction with the police – the risk of victims being discouraged from reporting at that point is real. Negative interactions with police at this stage may also make people feel unsafe, which decreases the likelihood of subsequent hate crimes being reported.

One respondent described the difficulty of interacting with police during the investigation of the case: ʻThe police officer did not believe what I said during the interrogation was true. That made it very difficult and painful to carry on with it’. Many responses described being met with suspicion and disrespect because they were LGBTQI (see also Shields, 2021; Wickes et al., 2016). One person said, ʻI was treated in a very inhumane and unprofessional manner by the police. The police officer I met was very dismissive, showed zero understanding, and I was also consistently addressed with the wrong gender at the police station’. Some negative experiences were related to police officers lacking knowledge about the variety of gender expressions and identities that exist, and their incorrect use of pronouns.

One person’s view was that: ʻThe police have little knowledge about how to interact with someone who has experienced hatred and violence, and are much more interested in what you did, said, and were wearing than in what was done to you and by whom’. According to the respondent, this amounts to ʻpoorly disguised dislike and little goodwill towards LGBTQI people’. The same person argued that this could mean that the police ʻdo not understand what is being said or that it amounts to hatred towards LGBTQI people’. Others reported feeling unsafe when interacting with the police because they were afraid that they would not be LGBTQI-friendly (see also Fileborn, 2019; Shields, 2021). This connects clearly to respondents’ perceptions of procedurally unjust police behaviour.

5.1.3 Interaction with police during and after reporting – positive experiences

In contrast to such dissatisfaction with the police and reporting, positive experiences were also reported (see also Fileborn, 2019). This was mostly related to the interaction with police during and after reporting. Thirty-one responses described mainly positive experiences, irrespective of their case’s outcome. Some expressed disappointment because they ʻnever heard anything more until much later, when we were told that the case had been dismissed’, but at the same time they emphasised that the ʻmeeting with the police was fine, they were nice and respectful.’ Another person said ʻthe case was dismissed because of a lack of resources’ but maintained that the police ʻinvestigated it and did thorough work’. The respondents who had positive experiences also said they were glad they had reported, even though their cases were dismissed: ʻI was received and treated well. Admittedly it was said that nothing further could be done, but it was not the police’s fault.’ Unlike responses discussed above, some respondents described the police as treating them politely and respectfully, and doing the best they could, even though their reports led nowhere. These respondents frequently maintained that it was not necessarily the fault of the police or a lack of investigation that led to the case being dismissed.

The police in the Oslo district, as well as the National Police Competence Group on Hate Crime, located in Oslo, were mentioned in a few responses: ʻOslo Police gave me good treatment and, should it happen again, I have been told I can call a policewoman directly to assess whether I should report it.’ Another respondent who had been in contact with the same unit was pleasantly surprised because ʻthe police took it [the report] seriously and even bothered to start an investigation.’ Even though the case did not lead to a conviction, the police’s behaviour and handling of the case made the respondent exclaim: ʻwith this I feel safer!’ These examples, like the other responses, make it clear that it is not just the outcome of reporting that is crucial to the respondents’ experience, but also the way in which the police welcome those targeted by hate crime or hate incidents. This underlines the importance of officers’ attitudes for the respondents’ perceptions that police behaviour is procedurally just.

However, though these respondents spoke of positive interactions with the police, the majority had negative experiences when reporting anti-LGBTQI hate crime.

5.1.4 Filing a report

Negative experiences of filing a report to the police were also evident in the data. In 35 open-ended answers, respondents described contacting the police or starting to file a report, and then not finishing it or being discouraged from doing so. One respondent was met with condescension, which put them off reporting:

I was assaulted by a man in a tunnel in [district in Oslo]. It took me two days to process what had happened before my colleagues talked me into calling the police. When I did, the policewoman that picked up the phone suggested that being out alone at 9 pm on a Saturday was of course dangerous in [district in Oslo] and that they probably wouldn’t catch anyone because I had taken so long to call them, and it would be my own fault that they couldn’t investigate it.

The reason that people contacting the police to file a report then gave up, was often the negative nature of this encounter. This included the police not trusting their explanation of the incident, describing the incident as not serious enough to report, or treating them in ways that respondents described as patronising and dismissive. The police also blamed them, for example, for frequenting queer meeting places: ʻI was beaten up outside a gay bar a few years ago and went to the police with a big black eye. The officer was condescending and rude and said I should stop going to places like that.’ Some respondents were also discouraged by officers advising them not to report their case or telling them that a report was likely to be dismissed. One respondent said: ʻOn one occasion, I wanted to report a hate crime but was told by a police officer that there was no point because the burden of proof was so great.’

Several (N=15) respondents described the process of filing a police report as too onerous. In many cases, this led victims to decide against reporting (see also Miles-Johnson, 2013): ʻI was going to report, but then I checked the police website, found no way of reporting except by meeting at an office or phoning. I ended up not reporting.’ Some people found it difficult to acquire information on how to file a report, while others were deterred from completing the report by a lack of information about the post-reporting process. Most of these respondents never went through with reporting, unlike those discussed in the next section. The respondents gave up because they were dismissed or had received a negative reaction from the police and faced practical obstacles to filing a report that they could not handle.

5.1.5 The personal cost of reporting

Responses about the personal cost of reporting to the police focused on the risks involved and possible unwanted repercussions (see also Wong et al., 2020). Six responses pointed out that reporting and the subsequent proceedings were time-consuming, while 16 said the personal costs were too great – such as the risk of retaliation by perpetrators and an escalation of conflict. For some, reporting also carried the risk of being outed, as they were not openly known as LGBTQI in their social or professional networks (see also Chakraborti & Hardy, 2015; Herek et al., 2002). Muslim respondents mentioned fear of repercussions from other Muslims. One respondent recalled the personal cost of the court trial:

You kind of become detached from the whole incident, summoned as a witness in a criminal case, and yeah… it’s tough to meet the perpetrator again. He gets a lot of attention, and that’s probably good, but I thought afterwards that I should have had legal aid. It would probably have made it easier to comprehend the situation at the time, and I might have felt more taken care of.

The process of reporting compromised some people’s mental health, because they did not feel they were taken care of, either by the police or during court proceedings. There were other adverse effects on their personal well-being. This telling example was given: ʻthe process of filing a report was far too demanding, cumbersome, and painful. It just requires yet more from the person who has to go through this process of filling in countless forms about this and that.’ Another respondent spoke emotionally about being left to fend for themselves, without any help from the police or other public services: ʻIt feels like you are very alone in the support system when you are in an actual crisis and have to escape from violence, threats, and fears for your life.’ These experiences of personal costs and risks might well be reduced if they could be (or feel) better supported and protected throughout the criminal justice process.

This personal cost of reporting, in combination with being dismissed and having negative interactions with police officers during and after reporting, creates a body of experience that discourages hate crime reporting to police in the future. A small minority of respondents, however, had positive interactions with police that increased police legitimacy and encouraged future reporting.

5.2.1 The outcome of reporting

The anticipated outcome of reporting was the most common reason given for not reporting incidents: reporting to the police was seen as futile: 1354 respondents expected it to lead nowhere (see also Pezzella et al., 2019). This response encapsulates the experience of many:

I have seen what the police did about similar incidents, and things that were worse and where there was more evidence than for what happened to me. Dismissal. I don’t see the point of reporting when the police never act on hate crimes. Out of my group of 10 queer friends, five have reported one or more incidents, and nothing has been done.

The expectation that reporting will lead nowhere was often rooted in the experience of people in the respondents’ social networks, where cases reported by LGBTQI individuals had frequently been dismissed. Another respondent spelled out how being LGBTQI impacted reporting: ʻIt seems as if the police do not deal with queers’ cases because they either have too high a threshold or they simply have no understanding of how queer people can be exposed to hate crime.’ This was how respondents explained their non-reporting: ʻIt just doesn’t seem like anything will actually come of reporting it.’ Some respondents said that the police ignored hate crimes in the form of hateful speech because freedom of speech and freedom of religion trumped hate speech, thus making it pointless to report it. If reporting is understood to have no tangible results, it is understandable that few should bother with it.

Other respondents could not imagine that reporting to the police would be of any use and saw other ways of responding as more worthwhile: ʻI feel it is easier to get through hate crime on your own and with the help of talking to others in the same situation, rather than having to report something that is most likely to be dismissed.’ This indicates little trust in the police’s ability to provide support and justice to those who have been victimised.

5.2.2 The nature of the hate incident

Another reason for not reporting a hate incident was the feeling that the incident was not serious enough (see also Herek et al., 2002; Vergani & Navarro, 2023). This dimension (the nature of the hate incident) was not discussed in the section on first-hand experience because it has to do with the nature of the incidents, rather than what the experience of reporting was like. One person expressed a view held by many respondents: ʻGetting abuse while walking along the street and unpleasant comments when going home from a night out are not fun to experience. The thought of reporting it has never occurred to me, and it doesn’t feel like something to be reported either.’ Non-reporting because an incident is not considered serious enough can be problematic if the decision arises from uncertainty about where the line between lawful speech and punishable hate speech is drawn.

Many respondents distinguished between verbal and physical incidents, noting that verbal harassment and hate speech were often below their threshold for reporting: ʻIt was only verbal, along with threats that I did not experience as real, so did not seem serious enough for me to report. The threshold for going to the police with something like this is high.’ Others distinguished between online and real-life incidents, making the threshold for reporting online incidents higher: ʻI don’t feel that getting hate online is “worthy” of reporting.’ Some described physical violence as something they would definitely report but still described serious incidents that they would not report: ʻI don’t feel it’s being prioritised [by police] and it might not have been “such a big deal” to be spat on compared to being knocked down, for example, which others in my circle have experienced.’

For some respondents, the threshold of seriousness for reporting an incident was influenced by external expectations: ʻWhen you are part of a minority or vulnerable group, you are constantly told to stop “being so sensitive”.’ However, had incidents involved serious threats or violence, most respondents said that they would have reported them.

Another reason for not reporting, given in 233 answers, was weak or no evidence. Many described incidents happening so suddenly or fleetingly that there was no time to secure evidence: ʻI thought there was no point because I had no evidence. It was sexual harassment by a person going past me. As a rule, this happens very quickly when it happens, and you don’t have time to pick up your mobile phone to film it, or you just want to get away due to fear of possible escalation and violence.’ In other incidents, the evidence was not strong enough to warrant a report. This was most often the case with hate speech incidents, as one respondent explained: ʻI got the impression that “the-other-person’s-word-against-mine” cases usually end up being dismissed, and I would therefore not file a report unless there was clear evidence such as wounds/scratches/other visible marks.’ Respondents also mentioned not being able to identify the perpetrator, since hate speech was often uttered in public spaces by strangers, which made it difficult to obtain evidence or solid information: ʻ[these incidents happen] in public places such as nightclubs, on the street or public transport, and from people I don’t know, so I don’t know if anything would be done about it since I don’t have the name or a clear description of the person.’

In a good number of responses (145), uncertainty about what the police regard as punishable was the reason for not reporting (see also Culotta, 2005; Chakraborti et al., 2014). This relates both to the nature of the hate incident and to filing a report to the police. This reason for non-reporting differs from the one above, where respondents themselves did not consider the incident serious enough to report. Respondents often saw incidents as worthy of being reported but were still hesitant because it was ʻdifficult to know where the line is drawn for what is actually criminal’. Related to this was uncertainty about what constitutes a criminal offence in the view of the police: ʻI don’t know if it’s a hate crime or not, because it’s not just me who is the target, but everyone [all LGBTQI people], for example, in a post saying “all gays should burn”.’

Respondents emphasised how difficult it was to decide when and whether hateful speech acts were criminal offences and when it was worth reporting them. One respondent mentioned a crucial issue: ʻI think it is difficult to distinguish between freedom of expression and hate crime.’ Some respondents connected this to not having learned in school or elsewhere what hate crime is and what to report. Several said the police had a responsibility to inform the public: ʻThe police must make it clearer what queers can report and what behaviour we should not accept.’

Being used to hate crime was given as a reason by 125 respondents for not reporting it (see also Cuerden & Blakemore, 2020; Wong et al., 2020); people in the LGBTQI community are used to getting hateful remarks, comments, and threats:

As queers, we start our lives in the famous ʻcloset’. By the time we’ve dared to open the door a crack, many have already experienced harassment, comments, and other remarks due to a difference that we might not even have figured out ourselves yet. Once the door is open, the comments can continue, for example about how a person looks, talks, or walks. Comments like ʻyuck’,’ fucking gay’, ʻscum’, ʻstay away from me’, ʻI’ll beat you up’, ʻyou deserve to die’. There’s a perception of being second-class citizens because we do not live up to a heteronormative standard. For my part, this means that I don’t report hate speech because I’m so used to it.

Several respondents described hateful remarks as a part of their everyday lives, something they had been taught to manage by giving them as little attention as possible: ʻWe are so used to it. We accept far too much, perhaps because we live in Norway and the conditions here are, after all, better than elsewhere. Another reason could be that you want to put it behind you as soon as possible.’ In this sense, reporting may be unappealing because it involves magnifying hate incidents by giving them increased attention.

One person expressed a sentiment held by many: ʻBecause it happens so frequently, you eventually learn to live with the hate.’

5.2.3 The personal cost of reporting

Great personal risks and the possibility of negative repercussions were described in 439 responses as reasons for not reporting. Many respondents expected that the post-reporting process would involve significant stress, including the fear that state institutions would not support them or ensure their well-being: ʻUnfortunately, I still have a fundamental doubt whether the system cares about me. I can’t bear to put myself in that situation if it only leads to more strain and no other outcome’.

Numerous responses referred to the personal costs that other LGBTQI people had experienced when reporting hate crimes. This led one respondent, like many others, to conclude that ʻreporting to the police and sitting in an interview is extremely demanding, and the questions the police ask are also offensive. It requires too much.’ Another person gave an example of the risk of repercussions, which echoed many other responses (see also Shields, 2021; Wong et al., 2020): ʻPotentially, I would be forced to walk around unprotected, with the fear that it would get worse when the person was reported, and if the police did nothing, I would be exposed, and the other person would be angrier.’ Of the 439 responses, 129 referred specifically to fear when speaking of the anticipated costs of reporting. One person said ʻmany were afraid that the case would become even bigger. Afraid of the burden it could cause.’

In addition to fear, respondents frequently weighed the expected costs of reporting against the potential benefits. Several underscored the stress that sexual and gender minorities routinely experience because of who they are and said this could be intensified by unrealistic expectations and investing too much effort in reporting: ʻIt is emotionally and psychologically exhausting to go through a process that will most likely be dropped.’ The same person went on: ʻMinority stress is triggered by having to hand yourself over to an agency that you feel has little knowledge of the minoritised group you are part of, with the fear you will not be looked after or dealt with in a humane way.’ The personal costs of reporting were thus expected to be too burdensome and emotionally exhausting, rather than representing an opportunity to be acknowledged and see justice done. The costs were thus expected to outweigh the potential benefits of reporting.

5.2.4 Interaction with police during and after reporting

Interaction with the police, more specifically lack of trust in the police engendered by the interaction, was given as another reason for not reporting hate crimes in 109 answers (see also Cuerden & Blakemore, 2020; Culotta, 2005). This included not trusting officers or not expecting to be treated with respect: ʻI have no confidence that I’ll be received with respect, heard, or that it would lead to any kind of action.’ Lack of trust was often the result of negative personal experiences with the police or of those of their acquaintances and others in their social networks. One respondent described their experience thus: ʻI have myself been harassed by the police several times. I have no confidence in the police and have chosen not to report ANY of the times I have been a victim of hate crime, as I feel that involving the police will make me even less safe than I already am.’

Distrust also arose from cases that attracted widespread news media attention and involved serious hate crime against queers but were nonetheless dismissed. Because of this, some felt that reporting to the police would only further compromise their safety, as they did not expect the police would be able to protect them. Some individuals said their trust in the police decreased when they advised the cancellation of all Oslo Pride events following the terrorist attack on 25 June 2022, as they could not guarantee the security of people attending them. A few people did, however, express hope that the police might change: ʻUnfortunately, I have zero trust in you [police], but I hope you will work on yourselves so that I and many others can regain faith in you.’

The less common reasons for not reporting (below 100 responses) in this dimension are not described here but are listed in Table 3.