SHREVEPORT, La. (AP) — Mona Hardin has been waiting five long years for any resolution to the federal investigation into her son’s deadly arrest by Louisiana State Police troopers, an anguish only compounded by the fact that nearly every other major civil rights case during that time has passed her by.

It took just months for Tyre Nichols ’ beating death last year to result in federal charges against five Memphis police officers. A half-dozen white lawmen in Mississippi have been federally sentenced in last year’s torture of two Black suspects. And federal prosecutors long ago brought swift charges in the slayings of George Floyd in Minneapolis, Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia and Breonna Taylor in Kentucky.

Every one of those cases happened months or years after the death of Ronald Greene in northern Louisiana on May 10, 2019, which sparked national outrage after The Associated Press published long-suppressed body-camera video showing white troopers converging on the Black motorist before stunning, beating and dragging him as he wailed, “I’m scared!”

Yet half a decade after Greene’s violent death, the federal investigation remains open and unresolved with no end in sight. And Hardin says she feels ghosted and forgotten by a Justice Department that no longer even returns her calls.

“Where’s Ronald Greene’s justice?” asked Hardin, who refuses to bury her son’s cremated remains until she gets some measure of accountability. “I still have my boy in that urn, and that hurts me more than anything. We haven’t grieved the loss of Ronnie because we’ve been in battle.”

Justice Department spokesperson Aryele Bradford said the investigation remains ongoing and declined to provide further details.

Under federal law, no statute of limitations applies to potential civil rights charges in the case because Greene’s arrest was fatal. But prosecutors have wavered for years on whether to bring an indictment, having all but assured Greene’s family initially that an exhaustive FBI investigation would produce charges of some kind.

A federal prosecution seemed so imminent in 2022 that one state police supervisor told AP he expected to be indicted. The FBI had shifted its focus in those days from the troopers who left Greene handcuffed and facedown for more than nine minutes to state police brass suspected of obstructing justice by suppressing video evidence, quashing a detective’s recommendation to arrest a trooper and pressuring a state prosecutor.

All the while, federal prosecutors asked local District Attorney John Belton to hold off on bringing state charges until the federal investigation was complete. They later reversed course, and in late 2022 a state grand jury indicted five officers on counts ranging from negligent homicide to malfeasance. Charges remain against only two, with a trial scheduled for later this year for a senior trooper seen on video dragging Greene facedown by his ankle shackles.

State police initially blamed the 49-year-old’s death on a crash following a high-speed chase over a traffic violation, an explanation called into question by photos of Greene’s body on a gurney showing his bruised and battered face, a hospital report noting he had two stun gun prongs in his back and the fact that his SUV had only minor damage. Even the emergency room doctor questioned the troopers’ initial account of a crash, writing in his notes: “Does not add up.”

All that changed two years later when AP published graphic body-camera video of Greene’s final moments, showing him being swarmed by troopers even as he appeared to raise his hands, plead for mercy and wail, “OK, OK. I’m sorry” and “I’m your brother! I’m scared! I’m scared!” Troopers repeatedly jolted Greene with stun guns before he could even get out of the car, with one of them wrestling him to the ground, putting him in a chokehold and punching him in the face, Another called him a “stupid motherf——.” They then ordered a shackled Greene to remain facedown on the ground, even as he struggled to prop himself up on his side.

A reexamined autopsy ordered by the FBI ultimately debunked the crash narrative and listed “prone restraint” among other contributing factors in Greene’s death, including neck compression, physical struggle and cocaine use.

Greene’s family members weren’t the only ones baffled by the pace of the federal inquiry. Then-Gov. John Bel Edwards expressed private frustration with the lack of answers in a closed-door meeting with state lawmakers, saying he believed from the first time he saw the video, in late 2020, that Greene’s treatment was criminal and racist.

“Are they ever going to come out and have a charge?” the Democratic governor asked amid reporting by AP that he had been notified within hours of Greene’s death that troopers engaged in a “violent, lengthy struggle.”

Alanah Odoms, executive director of the ACLU of Louisiana, said the “failure to pursue federal prosecution in this case would undermine public trust and confidence in the federal government’s commitment to upholding the rule of law.”

Perhaps the most significant hurdle to federal charges was the untimely death of Chris Hollingsworth, the trooper who was seen on the video repeatedly bashing Greene in the head with a flashlight and was later recorded by his own body camera calling a fellow officer and saying, “I beat the ever-living f— out of him.” Hollingsworth died in a high-speed, single-vehicle crash in 2020 hours after he was told he would be fired over his actions in Greene’s death.

Another major sticking point has been whether prosecutors could prove the troopers acted “willfully” in abusing Greene — a key component of civil rights charges that has complicated such prosecutions around the country. The FBI even enhanced the video of the arrest in an ultimately inconclusive attempt to determine whether he had been pepper-sprayed after he was in custody, focusing on an exchange in which a deputy jeeringly said, “S— hurts, doesn’t it?”

The Justice Department has also been conducting a sweeping investigation into use of force by the Louisiana State Police and whether it engages in “ racially discriminatory policing.” The department began that “pattern-or-practice” inquiry nearly two years ago following an AP investigation that found Greene’s arrest was among at least a dozen cases in which troopers or their bosses ignored or concealed evidence of beatings, deflected blame and impeded efforts to root out misconduct.

Also still pending is the federal wrongful death lawsuit Greene’s family filed four years ago seeking damages from the officers, who have denied wrongdoing. The civil case has been put on hold as the criminal proceedings play out.

Hardin said it’s long past time for the state of Louisiana to make amends.

“It started with a lie — we were told Ronnie was killed in a car crash,” she said. “That was wrong, and it has to be addressed. I will go to my grave knowing I did everything I could to get justice for Ronnie.”

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Contact AP’s global investigative team at Investigative@ap.org or https://www.ap.org/tips/

No valedictorian speech. No celebrity speakers. No main-stage ceremony, and no massive graduate walk to “Pomp and Circumstance” before tens of thousands of guests.

Instead, USC’s graduating seniors — whose traditional main graduation ceremony was canceled — were thrown an alternative party Thursday night: a “Trojan Family Graduate Celebration” at Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum on the eve of smaller campus commencement ceremonies where diplomas were set to be awarded at individual school events.

The USC cheerleaders perform at the Coliseum on Thursday.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

The Thursday night event was billed as an “electric atmosphere” — capped at six tickets per grad — featuring a drone show, fireworks and a “special gift” for the Class of 2024: a hat from rap star Travis Scott’s collegiate clothing brand.

The university had pitched the event as a “Southern California-style” celebration to compensate for the loss of the main-stage ceremony with a valedictorian, keynote speeches and the presentation of honorary degrees. But turmoil and campus protests over the Israel-Hamas war upended that ritual.

Thia Broido, a graduating senior who sat on a top row at the Coliseum with her parents and brother Thursday night, said she was saddened by the controversial cancellation of the main commencement.

Her high school commencement was upended by the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, with the graduation stage replaced by a “super cute” drive-in ceremony and social distancing, she said.

For her college graduation, she was glad to have the family-friendly event at the Coliseum, but she said it didn’t “remove anything that has happened” over the last few weeks.

“I don’t want to be a downer about it,” Broido said. “I’m happy for what we have. But what USC is doing is ongoing, and I can’t forget about that.”

Thursday night’s event included a drone show.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Citing unspecified safety threats, USC President Carol Folt last month rescinded pro-Palestinian valedictorian Asna Tabassum’s speaking slot and then canceled the main ceremony. After students set up a pro-Palestinian tent encampment and demanded that USC end its financial ties with Israel, Folt and her team called in the Los Angeles Police Department, and 93 people were arrested. On Sunday morning, police cleared a second encampment, but no arrests were made.

On Wednesday, Folt and Provost Andrew Guzman were censured by the Academic Senate, a body of representatives for USC faculty. The members cited “widespread dissatisfaction and concern among the faculty about administrative actions and decisions surrounding protests and commencement.”

Folt has defended her actions, and said in an interview with The Times that campus safety is her “North Star.”

“For me, I have a very clear North Star: that I am the person at the university, no matter how complicated the issue and how much I empathize with everybody involved — which has been true for me — I still in the end have to sit back and say, ‘What can I do to keep my campus and my people as safe as possible?’ ”

Among the entertainment was the Trojan marching band.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Typically, the annual Baccalaureate Ceremony — a nondenominational, interfaith celebration — is held on the eve of graduation at Bovard Auditorium in the center of campus. This year, there was an “in-person blessing” for the Coliseum bash, as well as an “online interfaith blessing” that could be viewed on a commencement website.

During the Student Recognition Awards Ceremony on Thursday afternoon, students clad in graduation gowns cheered at length when Tabassum was recognized. She laughed and pretended to check her watch as the applause continued.

“You may not know this,” the announcer joked, “but Asna is USC’s 2024 valedictorian.”

Her classmates then gave her a standing ovation.

Security at the Coliseum leading up to commencement has been tight.

On Thursday, access to USC’s campus, which was already restricted to the university’s students, faculty, staff and registered guests, became even stricter. Students and staff had to show USC identification, and anyone else trying to access campus needed a commencement ticket.

Grads gather before the event at the Coliseum on Thursday.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Metal fences and black gates were posted around campus. Guests walked through metal detectors and were asked to carry clear purses or bags. Since the Sunday encampment sweep, officers from several law enforcement agencies have been stationed at the center of the USC campus.

They included officers from the Baldwin Park Police Department, La Habra Police Department, Los Angeles Police Department and Los Angeles Airport Police, according to David Carlisle, assistant chief of the university’s Department of Public Safety.

Officers were stationed near the Tommy Trojan statue, which had been cleaned after a protester — who organizers of the student encampment said was not affiliated with them — spray-painted “Stop Genocide” on its plaque.

No demonstrations disrupted Thursday night’s event, although speakers and attendees acknowledged the tense campus climate.

Inside the Coliseum, deejay duo Phantogram took the stage at 7:45 p.m. for a set before a sparse crowd of about 350. But attendance had grown substantially by the time the event began about 45 minutes later.

A campus spokesperson said more than 22,000 people attended.

Broido, the graduating senior, said she thought it was odd that the university would give out the Travis Scott hats — black caps with the words “USC Alumni” — which were distributed at a tent. She said she stopped being a fan of the rapper after 10 people were killed in a crowd crush at the 2021 Astroworld music festival in Houston.

“I think it’s ironic that USC would partner with him,” Broido said. “I like his music — it’s just mixed feelings.”

Varun Soni, dean of religious life at the university, delivered the invocation — a tradition typically held during the main-stage commencement.

“There are so many in our community who are wrestling with anger and grief,” he said.

The world, he said, is gripped by “five major crises” — war, justice, health, sustainability and joy.

“We have a full-blown crisis of joy,” he said.

The evening’s event, he said, was about celebrating the graduates and giving joy when it is needed the most.

A series of video messages were projected on a large screen, including remarks by late-night host Jimmy Kimmel.

“This class,” he said, “has been through a lot. More than other classes have had to deal with.”

When the event concluded, the words “Class of 2024” and “Fight On!” were spelled in the sky by drones with red and white lights.

Jack Callahan, who was decked out in USC gear, flew out with his family from Buffalo, N.Y., to watch his daughter Kiera graduate. Callahan was glad the university hosted a “big event to celebrate the graduates” after the family was initially disappointed to learn about the main-stage commencement’s cancellation.

“I loved the camaraderie, the spirit and the drone show,” Callahan said. His wife, Liza, was equally thrilled with the drones, which she called “absolutely amazing.”

“When we graduated,” she said, “there was nothing like that. Technology has come so far.”

But Kiera, who studied psychology, would have preferred the real graduation.

“I thought it was cute,” she said. “It was nice that they did something. But it doesn’t replace commencement.”

Times photographer Gina Ferazzi contributed to this report.