by Ian Parsons
A federal government study from 2008 reported that 22 percent of the federal inmate population in Canada is of aboriginal descent, a shamefully disproportionate figure considering that First Nations make up only 3 percent of the overall Canadian population. The figures reporting incarceration of aboriginal youth are equally disturbing. The abject poverty, isolation and anomie that afflict Canadian First Nations people are primary factors contributing to anti-social behaviour and alcohol and drug abuse. It is a disturbing issue for law-enforcement personnel, who do not have the tools, wherewithal or mandate to solve such vexing social problems. Yet police continue to be the “arm of power and authority” over those who have no way of escaping the morass of poverty and depression.
It is unsettling that a police force that historically set out to be friend and protector of our First Nations people has somehow become alienated from them. Many questions remain unanswered, even in the 21st century. What is the role of the police in Native law enforcement when, for years, governments have erred and are even now slow to resolve the plight of our First Nations? Should the police turn a blind eye to etiology? Should they ignore social inequities and dispense the law “Without Fear, Favour or Affection”? Such analysis and introspection is a difficult process that tends to place law enforcement on a slippery slope. Some will say this kind of deliberation is not the role of the police; however, I would argue that our craft has reached a level of professionalism that demands critical analysis of our actions in these often precarious social settings.
It is incumbent upon senior police administrators to be aware of social dynamics and ensure that first-line officers understand the reasons behind the problems experienced by the Native communities they serve. Police have historically been given the powerful option of discretion in enforcing laws in our country. This has always been an awesome responsibility. Political pressure is often exerted to direct enforcement to areas with high crime rates, often in less affluent neighbourhoods, and police strive to satisfy political masters yet maintain fairness and equity of enforcement at the same time. Police leaders have a responsibility to act as a buffer for first-line officers who may be exercising innovative enforcement options.
Providing policing service to an aboriginal community requires special skills acquired through additional education and in-service cross-cultural training. Above all, it is important to recruit and encourage members who have an interest in First Nations policing and who are aware of the difficult and disastrous path Native peoples have trod for the past two centuries. To ensure optimum staffing, consideration should be given to offering incentives for aboriginal policing duties, such as service pay and subsequent promotional opportunities. While laws still have to be enforced, and the incorrigible element will always be present, law-enforcement officers who demonstrate knowledge of community history and exhibit empathy and understanding will be viewed by Native citizens as part of the solution, not part of the problem. Recognition of cultural mores and elders has great worth, as does involvement in community events and sporting activities. The police gain respect, confrontations due to alienation are diminished and officers are safer. In addition, qualified aboriginal RCMP members should be identified and promoted in order to participate in the supervision and management of the organization.
Sadly, the difficult transition of our aboriginal peoples into mainstream Canadian society is ongoing. The complex socio-economic problems associated with First Nations communities will remain well into the 21st century. Canadian police need to be viewed as supporting this difficult transition rather than suppressing a people who have been unjustly treated.
CHAPTER 10
PUZZLE PALACE AND BEYOND
MY FIRST YEAR as a researcher in the RCMP Planning Branch Headquarters, called the Puzzle Palace by many, brought a promotion to sergeant, a host of new experiences and a great deal of learning. During that era, Planning Branch was tasked with forecasting the needs of the Force across Canada and spanned all levels of policing. In January of 1975, I was assigned to a section that responded to various studies as directed by the commissioner’s secretariat. I worked exclusively on a feasibility study on the implementation and ramifications of overtime, gathering and compiling data from across the dominion to assess the impact of paid overtime on the Force. This study gave impetus to one of the most dramatic changes in RCMP history.
The proposal to pay overtime met with initial resistance. I interviewed Superintendent R.H. Simmonds, then officer commanding of Vancouver subdivision, who would later become the commissioner of the RCMP. Simmonds disagreed with any form of overtime payment, remarking that paying overtime would compel him to identify and promote people who could manage resources rather than advancing those individuals who were competent policemen. It seemed that awareness of the two separate sets of skills was a new concept to him. Simmonds emerged from a generation who felt it unnecessary to reward hard work with money. After many interviews, I realized that traditional police managers recognized and rewarded those who logged voluntary hours. The predominant criteria for promotions were policing skills and the number of hours worked. There was little value placed on being a competent and effective administrator of human resources.
Our project chief was Ari Oosthoek, a brilliant young inspector with a master’s degree in sociology. His forte was statistics and mathematical formulae, and his manner of speaking and writing were almost beyond the comprehension of the common man. He was an excellent boss with an incisive mind and did not hide behind his rank. He insisted on candour from his team, listened carefully to feedback and gave credit where credit was due.
The research team travelled to all parts of Canada, interviewing hundreds of members of the RCMP from all ranks and representing as many facets of the Force as possible. When all the data from our study on overtime compensation were cobbled together, we knew how the report was written would be critical to its acceptance by senior management of the RCMP. Inspector Oosthoek wrote the first draft and gathered his team to discuss it. There was an awkward silence in the room, as we all were of the same mind. The report contained so much academic jargon and so many complex statistics that it smothered the reader. We knew if it went out as Ari had put it together, the senior executive of the Force would never absorb it. We also knew the inspector had spent many hours writing the draft, and we were reluctant to criticize it. Finally, Bill Bovey, one of the civilian members of Planning Branch and a veteran of many similar collaborations, turned to Ari and said, “It won’t fly, Sir. It has too much Oosthoekese!”
There was a brief, uncomfortable pause before the inspector’s face broke into a grin and he replied, “You’re right on the money, Bill. Now let’s get to work and put something together that the layperson will be able to read.” Thus began long, arduous sessions of putting Inspector Oosthoek’s very valuable and relevant data into a comprehensible package. It illustrated how well a team can work together, and the format we established was applicable to subsequent projects. As it turned out, Inspector Oosthoek’s report recommended that overtime compensation be implemented forthwith, and senior management of the Force endorsed his position.
Implementation became another complex issue, and it took two or three years before it was resolved. In the first instance, a lump-sum payment to all was considered; then management flirted with the option of paying these lump sums only to field personnel. Next, the option of paying lieu hours was considered. Finally, a form was designed for hourly compensation. The concept was greeted with great skepticism, and some subdivision OCs forbade the submission of overtime claims. The Division Representative System became active, lobbying and representing members submitting grievances for unpaid overtime. Around 1977 a system of precise payment of overtime hours worked was implemented.
Overtime payments soon began to have an impact on both individual members and the organization. In order to cope with the requirement to pay overtime, the Force concentrated on more efficient shifting of human resources. The organization transf
ormed in ways never imagined by the veterans, as commanders were compelled to work within human resource budgets. The requirement to pay overtime inflicted budgetary chaos upon an organization that had always enjoyed seemingly unlimited free labour.
With no bottomless pit of manpower, unit commanders were compelled to prioritize incoming calls for service. A classic example was the community’s expectation of immediate response to private and business alarms. With the proliferation of electronic alarm systems, frequent false alerts became a problem. It was necessary to restrict police attendance to such calls. This led to the appearance of new security firms to fill in for police who no longer had the resources to respond. These developments were only the opening salvo for harried detachment commanders. The first ominous cracks began to appear in the previously unassailable RCMP reputation. After the introduction of overtime, the RCMP would never again achieve adequate human resources to sufficiently compensate for the thousands of gratis hours dedicated personnel worked in the past. It was as if half of the operational complement had just walked out the door and left a very large and unexpected outstanding bill in its wake. Something would have to give, and administrators were not sure how it would all unfold.
As the Force emerged into the world of finite human resources, traditionalists decried the death of esprit des corps. Members completed their duties during their shifts and went home instead of hanging around the office waiting for the phone to ring. Yet, interestingly, having the benefit of fresh personnel coming on shift to deal with incoming investigations and complaints enhanced professionalism. Traditionally, life in the Force had been regarded as a vocation akin to the priesthood, but now members began to enjoy life away from the job, with many adopting healthier lifestyles. With more disposable income due to overtime, they were free to marry earlier and accumulate the trappings of married life, including homes and mortgages. The long-held rituals of back-room beer bashes were losing their attraction. Members with young children and wives to support and lawns to cut now had competing priorities.
In addition to the payment of overtime, an important organizational change occurred within the RCMP when women donned the storied red serge and began to serve as regular members in 1975. This momentous decision would have an irreversible impact on the Force in ways never anticipated or expected. From the moment the first female recruit entered the training grounds in Regina, policy makers began to discover factors they had overlooked. Incorporating women in the ranks was largely a process of trial and error, which gave the appearance that the organization had not consulted with other police forces that had included women earlier. The first indoctrination troops to include women were solely female, but later they were trained in troops with men. Dormitories and washroom facilities were inadequate, and the first female uniforms were poorly designed, with flaws eventually identified and changed over a period of years. The entire training division seemed to heave with awkwardness and discomfort. When the first women graduated and were dispersed across the country, supervisors either did not want women on the worksite or tried to be overprotective. Wives of serving members contributed to the negative reception by expressing their discomfort and dissatisfaction with having their spouses working with women. Indeed, the first female RCMP members entered an organization that was not ready for them.
Other important changes had occurred during the early 1970s. At this time, dissatisfaction with working conditions erupted into open rebellion across the Force. Several members were advocating the formation of a union, and the masses were listening. Overtime was not yet being paid, members on call were not reimbursed and too many worksites were understaffed. Commissioner Maurice Nadon appointed several senior officers to travel across the country and listen to the grievances of members. As a result of these meetings, serving members were elected as division representatives by their peers. They were given full-time duties to listen to complaints and advance these to management. Today, staff relations representatives monitor member concerns, sit on committees for pay review and kit and clothing, and generally have freedom to express criticism. The existence of this system has averted the formation of a union or association within the RCMP to this day, and many police forces around the world have studied this model.
My brief period as a researcher acquainted me with the many facets of headquarters in Ottawa and gave me a much broader understanding of how all the pieces might fit into this amazing bureaucratic puzzle. Shortly after my arrival in the capital, I became interested in the Canadian Police College. The college was expanding into a modern, comprehensive campus and was the model for management and communications training for police forces across Canada. Many of my former Depot co-workers taught at the college, and when I was approached to join I transferred from research back into the training business. It was the beginning of the most exciting phase of my training career. Upon entering the CPC as a staff member, my experience as an instructor in Depot qualified me to join the communications staff, teaching potential instructors who were preparing for rotation into Depot. Then, because I had completed several university courses, I was quickly absorbed into the management training unit. Back when I was an instructor in Depot, the elite aces from the management training unit of CPC Ottawa had visited Regina to conduct management courses for municipal police departments. I had been awestruck by their skill and panache, never presuming that one day I would be one of them.
Already intimidated at the prospect of lecturing senior NCOs from police forces across the dominion, I was assigned to teach complex management topics. I had to learn while I earned; minimal time was set aside for indoctrination and preparation, and I had to adapt quickly or suffer the consequences. A novice lecturer like me could easily become isolated if I disputed a point with a single candidate and the other class members took his side. If challenged, I found it useful to solicit input from the group and hope that members of the class would support my position.
I also quickly realized that it was unwise to preach to this experienced cadre of policemen. I had to assure candidates at the outset that I was acting solely as a catalyst in the pursuit of greater knowledge. These experienced police officers did not suffer fools gladly and were liable to lock an instructor out of his own lecture room if they didn’t agree with his position or teaching methods. Those of us who were fortunate enough to lead executive development courses involving senior police administrators learned much from the accumulated management experience in the room.
While I was leading a session during a senior police administration course, I shared a strange but poignant moment with one of the candidates. During a break, a candidate named Jack approached me and enquired whether I was the Ian Parsons whose father, Joseph, had also served with the Force. When I said yes, he became emotional, explaining that I had been named after his father, whom he never knew. The story had its roots during the oppressive period in RCMP history when members were forbidden to marry unless they had seven years’ service. Many who served during that era were either unable or unwilling to wait and married secretly. After serving for the required time, they anxiously requested approval to marry. Members went to great lengths to conceal their marital status, and often their wives—and sometimes children—resided with parents.
Jack related that his father’s first posting had been with my father in Kamsack, Saskatchewan. His father had met the love of his life, and when he moved on to another location they secretly married. Their clandestine life continued pending completion of the seven-year waiting period, but his official marriage application was never to be. While he was assigned mounted duties for a Victoria Day parade, he suffered a massive heart attack, fell off his horse and died in the street. He passed away not realizing his secret wife was pregnant. She remarried, but she insisted that Jack carry the surname of the father he never knew. I was moved by the story and the sequence of events that led to our serendipitous meeting in a CPC classroom.
Soon after, I asked my parents about this other Ian they had known so many ye
ars ago. They confirmed the story and were astounded to learn that Ian’s son not only carried his father’s surname but had also followed his footsteps into the RCMP. My parents had lost track of Ian’s wife and had been unaware that he had fathered a child. They told me that young Ian had been an exceptional young policeman with great potential. They were as close as three people could be in a small two-person detachment, often sharing meals, good times and bad. My parents recall being completely devastated by Ian’s passing, as he was only 30 years old. Jack returned to his post after completing his studies at the Canadian Police College and served out his time, reaching the rank of staff sergeant, only to die of a heart attack shortly after his retirement. It seemed genetics had visited a similar fate upon the next generation.
Faculty members at CPC were required to travel from time to time to various areas of Canada, where we delivered abbreviated versions of management and instructional topics to police forces on their home turf. While difficult to quantify, it is certain that CPC helped to transform police departments in Canada from autocratic to more participative environments. Thousands of senior police managers were exposed to contemporary management theories and techniques during the 1970s. Time constraints often only allowed us to skim the surface of sophisticated concepts, but the subject material piqued the interest of many and led them to pursue further education. I met candidates at all levels with integrity and devotion to their respective departments, and some became lifelong friends. I found that the professional lecturers selected from all disciplines and walks of life were invaluable in dealing with topics such as human behaviour theory, management dynamics, police–media relations and cross-cultural education. My position as a management resource person at CPC enabled me to pursue these disciplines to an extent almost equivalent to a university degree in human management.