Caught on camera and spiraling into a public relations disaster, a Rhode Island prosecutor’s arrest for trespassing has ignited a firestorm of scrutiny over privilege and accountability in public office.
According to Fox News, Devon Flanagan, a Special Assistant Attorney General in Rhode Island, found herself in handcuffs for trespassing, only to have bodycam footage reveal her attempting to dodge consequences by repeatedly proclaiming her status, while her future with the Attorney General’s office hangs in limbo on unpaid leave starting Monday.
The incident, captured by Newport Police Department body cameras, shows Flanagan in a heated exchange, shouting, “I'm an AG!” as if her title were a get-out-of-jail-free card.
While being escorted to a police car, Flanagan doubled down, ominously warning officers, “You're going to regret this.” Such a statement reeks of entitlement, a stark reminder of how some in power might expect special treatment when the law catches up.
The arresting officer, unimpressed by her bravado, shot back with a blunt, “Good for you.” It’s a refreshing moment of accountability, cutting through the nonsense of title-dropping with the cold reality that no one is above the law.
Initially, Flanagan was placed on paid leave as the Rhode Island Attorney General’s office reviewed the matter, a move that raised eyebrows about whether taxpayers should foot the bill for such behavior.
Now, starting Monday, she transitions to unpaid leave, a shift confirmed by the Attorney General’s office, though the duration of this status and a final call on her job remain murky. It’s a step in the right direction, but the lack of a clear timeline leaves questions about how seriously this will be handled.
State payroll records, as reported by the Boston Globe, show Flanagan earned a hefty $113,000 annually in her role. For a public servant pulling in that kind of salary, one might expect a higher standard of conduct, not a public meltdown over a trespassing charge.
Attorney General Peter Neronha didn’t mince words, calling her actions “inexcusable behavior” in a radio interview, while hinting at “strong, strong sanctions [s].” His frustration is palpable, and rightly so—public trust isn’t a toy to be tossed around by alcohol-fueled antics, as Neronha noted this incident appeared to be.
Neronha also pointed out Flanagan’s previously “unblemished” record and high regard within the state bar association, which complicates the narrative. While past performance matters, it can’t erase the embarrassment she’s caused, as Neronha himself admitted, “She’s humiliated herself.”
Adding another layer, Neronha oversees a staff of 110 lawyers and feels Flanagan’s actions have tarnished them all, stating, “She embarrassed all of them.” It’s a sobering reminder that one person’s misstep can cast a shadow over an entire institution, especially when progressive ideals of leniency sometimes seem to overshadow accountability.
Flanagan is reportedly taking steps to make amends, including an apology to the Newport Police Department. That’s a start, but apologies don’t automatically rebuild trust, particularly when bodycam myths—like her incorrect claim that officers must turn off cameras on request—are peddled, as Neronha noted, “I’m not sure what she was thinking.”
Neronha referenced a prior incident with another staffer, whom he fired and later rehired after a drunken driving case, citing the need for experienced lawyers in tough cases. “It’s just really hard to find and keep capable lawyers,” he admitted, underscoring the balancing act between discipline and practicality in a justice system stretched thin.
Yet, as Neronha put it, “Regardless of what happens vis-a-vis her employment with us, she’s going to have a long time coming back from this.” It’s a grim but fair assessment—public scandals like this don’t vanish overnight, no matter how many apologies are issued or how stellar a record once was.
