Netflix’s latest drama Legends offers a compelling window into the criminology of undercover policing, covert surveillance and organised crime.

Inspired by a real UK customs investigation, the six-part drama follows ordinary British customs officers sent deep undercover to infiltrate drug trafficking gangs.

Written by Neil Forsyth (also creator of Brink’s-Mat robbery drama The Gold), Legends balances tension and realism with a measured, slow-burn pace that prioritises character over spectacle. Steve Coogan plays Don, a former undercover police officer tasked with recruiting customs officers to go undercover themselves to infiltrate drug gangs.

Much of its strength rests on the central performance of Tom Burke, whose portrayal of the lead undercover officer, Guy, anchors the series emotionally. Burke brings a quiet intensity to the role, capturing the unease, vulnerability, and moral ambiguity of someone living between identities.

The supporting cast also does an exceptional job, reinforcing the drama’s grounded and realistic tone, capturing the collective pressure, uncertainty and emotional toll of undercover work.

Becoming a legend

Unlike elite operatives, these are everyday officials thrust into extraordinary criminal worlds, making the series not just gripping television, but a sharp exploration of how undercover work reshapes identity, morality and survival.

The title itself is significant. In undercover policing, a “legend” is the carefully constructed false identity, complete with backstory, relationships, habits and a believable past. These identities must withstand intense scrutiny from criminals, meaning success depends on absolute credibility.

In Legends, officers must abandon their real selves and convincingly live as criminals to gain trust. This demands constant performance, producing intense psychological strain as loyalty to the state clashes with the need to belong within a criminal world.

In criminology, this reflects the concept of identity conflict. Undercover officers must operate simultaneously as agents of the law and participants in deviance. Howard Becker’s labelling theory is particularly relevant here: labels do not simply describe behaviour – they shape it.

To be effective, officers must adopt the identity of the “criminal,” often participating in minor illegality or forming close ties with offenders. As former undercover cop Don explains, “Your legend has to come from you, or it won’t work,” emphasising that a convincing undercover identity cannot simply be performed, it must feel authentic and internally lived to be believable.

Psychological unravelling

The result is moral ambiguity, where the line between observation and complicity becomes increasingly unstable. As seen in Donnie Brasco (1997) and The Departed, (2006) prolonged immersion can erode the boundary between professional duty and personal identity, leading not to control, but fragmentation.

Legends appears to centre on this psychological unravelling. These are not distant professionals but ordinary individuals removed from everyday life, required to deceive family and colleagues while facing the constant threat of exposure. This is particularly evident with Guy, who appears increasingly weighed down by the demands of sustaining his legend.

Even in controlled situations, there is a sense of constant vigilance in his interactions – carefully measured responses, restrained body language, and an underlying tension that suggests the effort required to remain convincing. At the same time, brief glimpses of his life beyond the operation hint at growing emotional distance, reinforcing how the undercover role begins to dominate his identity.

Criminologists describe this as role contamination, where it stops being a performance and begins to reshape the real self. The deeper the infiltration, the harder it becomes to return.

The criminal world they enter is equally significant. The series focuses on drug gangs, which links directly to organised crime theory. Drug trafficking organisations are not chaotic groups of offenders, but structured systems with hierarchies, codes of loyalty and mechanisms of control. Trust is currency; betrayal is often fatal.

For undercover officers, success depends on understanding not just who controls the drugs, but who controls fear, respect and power. This aligns with criminal enterprise theory, which argues that organised crime emerges in response to market demand.

Drug trafficking persists because prohibition generates profitable black markets, and criminal groups operate much like businesses within them. In this sense, Legends is not simply about crime, but about parallel economies embedded within society – where criminals may wield more immediate authority than the state.

In many communities, organised crime groups provide forms of protection, employment and dispute resolution where trust in formal institutions is weak. Drug gangs can become alternative authorities. For undercover officers, this makes infiltration even more complex because they must navigate a world where legitimacy is not automatically attached to the police or the government.

Instead, loyalty may belong to the gang leader who provides security or income. As it goes on, Legends is likely to show how dangerous this balance becomes when officers must earn trust in a system built on suspicion.

Legends also raises pressing ethical questions. Undercover policing relies on deception, manipulation and at times emotional exploitation. Officers may form relationships with people who are unaware they are being investigated, blurring the boundaries of acceptable state power.

If the law depends on deception to enforce itself, where should the limits lie? As films like Sicario (2015) suggest, the pursuit of justice can itself become morally compromised. Legends will probably explore this moral uncertainty, showing that successful infiltration often comes at a personal and ethical cost.

Ultimately, Legends is far more than a crime drama about drug gangs. It is a study of how states confront organised crime by constructing false identities and sending ordinary people into extraordinary danger.

This makes Legends not only compelling television, but also a valuable exploration of policing, identity, organised crime, and the hidden moral costs of state power.

Adriana Marin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Following recent antisemitic violence and aggression, calls from some quarters for a temporary ban on pro-Palestine marches have gained traction. Conservative party leader Kemi Badenoch has firmly supported a ban, while Keir Starmer, the prime minister, has suggested that some protests may need to be stopped. The government’s independent reviewer of terrorism legislation has called for a moratorium on such marches.

Those who have made such calls do so on the grounds that pro-Palestine marches, whatever their intent, are contributing to a “tone of Jew hatred within our country”, in the words of Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis. Starmer has also expressed concern about the “cumulative” effect of the marches on Jewish communities.

This is an understandable position in some ways. There can be little denying that some participants in pro-Palestine events have articulated antisemitic positions. And in a period where more clearly needs to be done to address antisemitic violence and aggression, a ban appears to provide a way for authorities to send a clear message that there is no place for antisemitism in Britain today.

Yet there are also problems with such proposals. As policymakers consider their options, it is important that these problems are taken seriously.

Evidence on the relationship between protest activity and targeted violence outside of the protest arena is limited. The available evidence points to a complex and context-dependent relationship.

Some studies have found that when protests increase, extremism and extremist violence can also rise, especially when society is more divided. Such a pattern has been observed, for example, in the US, where the bipartisan thinktank the Center for Strategic and International Studies identified heightened protest activity and rising domestic terrorism during the early 2020s.

However, many studies of nonviolent protest show that it reduces political violence, by providing nonviolent means of pursuing social and political objectives.

Where heightened protest activity coincides with increased extremist violence, it is often unclear whether protests or marches themselves are the cause. Today, people participating in social movements are likely to access and share information through a range of (often unregulated) spaces both offline and online. It is difficult to assess how important protests themselves might be in influencing people to go on to engage in targeted violence.

This is not simply academic nitpicking. It means that it is possible that a ban on marches would have little to no effect on the use of targeted violence against Jewish communities.

In fact, there is a distinct possibility that banning pro-Palestine marches, even if only temporarily, might actually increase violence.

Studies show that violence is less likely to escalate when moderate groups within protest movements are present and have influence. This has been observed, for example, in research into the escalation or inhibition of violence during waves of far-right protest.

Expanded state repression – such as bans on certain forms of previously legal protest – can weaken the position of moderate factions. When this happens, calls for restraint and advocacy of non- or less-violent strategies can lose credibility within the movement, weakening the “internal brakes” on violence.

Practicalities of enforcement

A moratorium on pro-Palestine marches would also raise many questions about the practicalities of any restrictions. For one, calls on the police to ban other contentious demonstrations that risk hostility towards different groups would increase.

What particular types of action would be banned? Marches? Demonstrations? Would size be a factor? Would it cover a protest against the ban on the protest? What about other forms of action such as sit-ins, information stands or coordinated online action? And what sanctions would be imposed on those who did not comply?

Attempting to enforce such bans could become a significant drain on already stretched public resources, not least because activists would probably seek to increase pressure on authorities because of those costs. This is one of the most obvious lessons to draw from responses to the government’s attempts to ban the group Palestine Action.

Read more: Labour wants to restrict repeat protests – but that’s what makes campaigns successful

In addition to this, police have also recently been authorised to consider the “cumulative impact” of protests on local areas when policing. They have had to grapple with how and when to incorporate this in addition to their usual powers.

Before introducing a ban, it’s important to think about the example it would set and how it could influence future decisions about the right to protest. The UK would be less able to criticise authoritarian countries and illiberal democracies that misuse counterextremism and counter-terrorism powers that limit people’s freedom.

None of this is to deny the urgency of confronting antisemitic violence and aggression in the UK. This requires sustained political commitment, effective policing and community protection. But restricting the right to protest is a blunt and risky instrument.

The available evidence suggests it may do little to reduce harm and could, in some circumstances, make matters worse. Politicians should therefore be cautious before treating bans on marches as a solution to complex and deeply rooted problems.

Joel Busher has received funding from the Centre for Research and Evidence on Security Threats (CREST) for his work on the escalation and inhibition of political violence.

Tufyal Choudhury does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.