Why is public opinion of the police so mixed? From my experience, the people I encounter each day are polarised about the thoughts towards those they entrust to protect them - some appreciate the hard work we do and are grateful, whilst the other half despise us and can find nothing positive in all we do. Although undoubtedly the police service does not help itself with numerous high profile gaffes and indiscretions, the media impacts significantly upon public perception of the police. Normally the tabloids love to bash the police and gullible/suggestible reviewers/readers are more than happy to jump on the bandwagon - however, this week the media seemed on our side, if only because we found a common enemy in the British Government! What that fool Mitchell did was disgusting and completely inappropriate for a public servant. I do not think his opinion is completely characteristic of the Governments, but there is no doubt in my mind or that of any colleagues that the Government understand the unique role the police play in society, or the consequences of destroying what we have.
Any police officer will tell you the police service can be made much more efficient and save millions of tax payers money along the way. The police are not opposed to change, in fact would welcome it. The problem is the Government cannot see, or chooses not to see, that the whole antiquates judicial system needs revising from the ground up - but this is complex, will take years to change and will come at great expense. The Government is instead focused on a quick fix at the suffering of more obvious expenses - payroll, conditions and pensions.
Although with only a humble few years experience on the front line, I can confirm morale is at the lowest I have known it. Much more experienced colleagues also concur. Federation members are whispering about strike action. I fear the police service may be at breaking point and dark times are ahead.
On a lighter note, had an interesting chat with some young people the other day. The names have been changed but it went a little like this:
The poorest area of the township we patrol is without doubt the Chavington Manor Estate on the east side of town. It is the start of a Late shift and I am sent to the estate to investigate complaints from local residence of that most heinous of crimes in progress - knock down ginger.
After just a few minutes of searching I find a gaggle of youths matching the description passed:
“Hello kids, how are we today?” I open with.
The group skip over and converse with me through the open car window: “Hello Mister, what are doing around here?” enquires a cheeky twelve year old Tyrone who I have met a few times before during the course of my duties.
“Oh, not much,” I reply, “just patrolling to make sure you lot are safe.”
“Cool car. I want to be a police officer when I'm older,” says a freckly little lad in a Man United shirt, a little younger than Tyrone.
“Well that's good…” I start to say.
“Yeah, so that I can get a gun and shoot up all the junkies and dealers around here.”
Oh dear. Kids grow up fast in ‘The Manor’; at that age I was more interested in collecting Pogs and playing with my Thundercats, not gunning down members of the narcotics trade.
“Where possible we try not to shoot people; instead we arrest them, give them a fair trial, rehabilitate them, before introducing them carefully back into society and, where necessary, monitor them closely,” even I'm not buying that and by the look on his face Freckles is not convinced either.
“Can I see your gun, officer?”
“I don’t have one, sorry,” I say, although technically my incapacitant spray is considered a Section 5 prohibited ‘firearm’, but I think Freckles wants to see something a little more impressive than that which resembles a miniature can of deodorant.
“Why was the helicopter up over our house last night, Mister?” asks another.
“I don't know,” is my honest reply.
“I heard someone set fire to a stolen car, is that true?” enquires one more.
Possibly, but before I can answer: “No, I heard there was a riot and a man got killed?”
That’s less likely.
“I bet it was to do with drugs wasn't it, policeman?”
The questions are coming thick and fast now.
“Can I have a ride in the back of your car, copper?” asks Tyrone before I can answer the last.
“I think you've been in the back of my car before, Tyrone; remember Tesco's?”
“Oh yeah,” he laughs.
More children are now flocking to my panda like it’s a homing beacon and I’m giving out free fast food to anyone under the age of fifteen.
“How fast does your car go?” asks the only girl in the group.
“Well I had 115mph out of it on the bypass once,” I go on, before remembering the reason I came to the area in the first place: “Anyway kids,” getting back on track, “have you seen anyone knocking on people's doors and running away?”
“No!” they all shout together unconvincingly, broad smiles across most faces, conspicuously few expressions of guilt across others.
“Ok, well if it was you, please don't do it any more as it's a bit annoying.”
“Ok!” they all shout again.
“Give us a go with your taser?” freckles pipes up again.
“Right, I better be going...”
I actually really enjoy talking to the youngsters on the estate – it makes the ‘gavvers’ seem more approachable and friendly to a troubled generation – but I find over exposure to police officers, their weaponry and vehicles results in excessive stimulation for young minds and is counter-productive, so I like to keep these workshops short and sweet.
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